At the beginning of this century, I am told, the UK compiled a list of the top ten actions to be taken in an emergency. One of these was to save the famous Titian paintings in the National Gallery. Imagine if masterpieces such as Noli me tangere (1514) and An Allegory of Prudence (ca. 1550-65) suffered the same fate (looting by thieves) as the treasures of the Iraqi National Museum in Baghdad after the US invasion in 2003.
The British government’s concern for the safety of Titian’s paintings belies the claim that high art is dead. In a world drowning in triviality and “content,” classical paintings may seem meaningless, because in times of peace we can afford to be distracted. But war changes the equation. When a country or nation values its cultural individuality as much as its territory, natural resources or financial institutions, art can become a battlefield.
Consider Ukraine’s “anti-Pushkin law,” named after the 19th-century Russian poet Alexander Pushkin. Passed last year, it allows the removal or destruction of cultural monuments related to Russian and Soviet history. Numerous works of art – including paintings, sculptures and books by Russian artists – have been banned or destroyed as symbols of an imperial, totalitarian ideology. But to quote Talleyrand’s joke about Napoleon’s execution of the Duke of Enghien, summarily “devaluing” the cultural assets of another nation or ethnic group is worse than a crime; it is a mistake.
