Manifesto Destiny

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By Susan Glasser

Imagine what could happen if every museum studies program in the United States made it a graduation requirement that students submit a personal museum manifesto. Such a manifesto—"a public declaration of intentions, opinions, objectives or motives," per Webster’s—would cause them to reflect on why they believe in museums as cultural institutions and what contributions museums make to society. Collectively, this could spearhead public debate on what New York Times art critic Michael Kimmelman has called museums’ "identity crisis": why we exist, for whom and how.

The AAM Committee on Museum Professional Training, in its guide to standards and best practices, calls for "rigorous standards of scholarship that emphasize the importance of theory and critical analysis." I take this to mean not merely the study of museum theory but a call to contribute new thinking to it—both by students and faculty. Much of the current literature, when it deals with theoretical issues at all, seems to rely on idealistic dogma. Perhaps it is because we spend our careers surrounded by the world’s great natural and man-made objects that we museum professionals are an idealistic lot. Much of what we discuss and produce is based on how we think things ought to be: museums are essential social institutions, visitors come to museums to acquire knowledge, our collections tell the story of the natural world and of human endeavors. Let’s take a look at those propositions.

The Dogma: Museums are essential social institutions.

The Reality: This notion is a delusion of grandeur. Are museums important? Yes. Are they necessary? No. Like play, museums are "pointless but significant" in the words of theologian Romano Guardini, or like sports, "a wasteful, privileged endeavor through which very serious issues are sorted out," according to cultural critic Dave Hickey. Museum staff must recognize that the majority of our communities do not share our piety for museums. The real issue is, how do we get people to care a little about our collections and use them to help shape our nation’s cultural values?

The Dogma: Visitors come to museums to acquire knowledge.

The Reality: Even if this were true—which research suggests is not the case—it would be lamentable. If visitors want to master a topic, they would be better served by reading a book, taking a class, even watching a documentary, all of which provide more information in a format more conducive to reflection and retention than walking through an exhibition. Our overzealous commitment to "educate" may actually be backfiring. Does the plethora of information and programs we offer engage and inspire our audience, or does it send the tacit message that they are ill-informed? What differentiates museums’ insistent, authoritative voices from intellectual arrogance? For most people, museums are a diversion, not an educational imperative. Visits are more often about enhanced leisure than structured information-gathering. The real issue is, how might we support our audiences’ quest for pleasure in intellectually generous ways?

The Dogma: Our collections tell the story of the natural world and of human endeavors.

The Reality: The collections don’t tell stories. Museum staff do. We compose stories that bring objects from our collections into full color. We make connections between objects, between other ideas, between various fields of study. In other words, we put the objects to a useful purpose and in doing so come to understand them and ourselves more fully. Most of us are in the museum field because we are addicted to the deep satisfaction derived from using objects for a larger purpose—not merely to study them or preserve them but because of the life lessons, personal insights and mind-clarifying experiences we have had with them. Museum staff use objects as a means to an end. The real issue is, how do we help our visitors have comparable experiences? How do we transform visitors into object users?We know that the majority of museum visitors do not come to a museum with the explicit intent to learn about a particular topic. They may come—willingly or obligatorily—for socializing or for solitude, for diversion or contemplation. They do not enter our museums primed for the types of expert-level, time- and labor- intensive messages we spend so much money and effort to develop. Yet it is imperative for the health of our institutions, the fulfillment of our missions and the enrichment of our communities that we engage these visitors in a meaningful way.

Museum dogma, rather than helping achieve this goal, may be hindering our success. It has made sacrosanct those museum practices that we have (unfortunately) long stopped questioning. In making our case for why museums are essential—particularly to funders—how many of us (and I include myself here) point to the number of schoolchildren served annually? Yet most museums’ school programs involve minimal contact hours or measurable educational efficacy. While the numbers look impressive, if we scratch below the surface they hold little real meaning and are certainly a poor indicator of the essential nature of museums. Our insistent desire to educate even our non-student visitors started with labels and lantern shows which were replaced with scripted slide presentations, then with video theaters and now with computer kiosks and audio, cell phone and smart phone tours. Such strategies assume that reading and listening are more compelling (or important) then contemplating visual information—i.e., our objects. Museums have succumbed to the tyranny of words that dominates our language-based culture. This is regrettable, given that museums are one of the few institutions that are fundamentally about visual rather than linguistic ways of experiencing the world. As inviting as storytelling may be, it too is another vehicle for inundating our visitors with information we deem necessary and meaningful. Why has providing answers taken precedence over stimulating questions? When visiting museum exhibitions, I am oft reminded of the late film critic Vincent Canby’s observation, "A mediocre film explains everything twice and always means exactly what it says. It waves sincerity aloft like a true flag. It leaves no questions unanswered." That is a wonderful definition of filmic mediocrity and one that can be equally applied to museum exhibitions, programs and resources.

At its core, the greatest harm delivered by dogma is that it leads to a failure of imagination. We have been remiss in examining the intellectual premises of what museums’ contributions can and should be. How do we forge a distinct role that will enhance our museums’ mission and strengthen the social contract with our communities? It’s time to reconsider the work of museums.

Once museum studies graduates get that first job, their days are filled with collections research, fundraising, program and resource development, meetings and office politics. The practical concerns of day-to-day work leave little time for reflecting on why we do what we do. The time to ruminate on these ideas is in graduate school, amidst a learning environment that supports philosophical speculation. I, for one, look forward to the day when the results of this type of academic activity begin to make a regular appearance on my bookshelf and at the AAM Annual Meeting.

Susan Glasser is director of education at the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh and a PhD candidate at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond. Her dissertation will develop a theoretical framework for fostering aesthetic experiences in museums.