The Brooklyn Rail

“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”— Albert Einstein

“There are only two kinds of men: the righteous who think they are sinners and sinners who think they are righteous.”— Blaise Pascal

Of all tyrannies, a tyranny that is driven by a sincere belief that it is acting for the good of its intended casualty may turn out to be the most oppressive, partly because it allows us to act in a way that meets with the approval of our conscience. This form of tyranny has proven, from time to time, how powerful and selective self-righteousness can be. As long as in our mind we are convinced that our actions are rational, and even noble, they seem totally justified, no matter how reckless or dangerous they may appear to others. In other words, the intoxication created by the delirious euphoria of our own virtue is so glorious that we are not only unable to see our own feet of clay, but we would even die for the sake of our cause.

With some luck, we come to recognize that our righteous protest movement may be employing means that are not so righteous, and that our state of mind resembles that of people who are involved in a cult-like activity. A case in point is last year’s action of two young people who opened cans of tomato soup and threw their contents onto Van Gogh’s painting Sunflowers (1888). And an even more aggressive example was last month’s action by another two young people who used hammers to smash the glass protecting Velazquez’s Rokeby Venus (1647). Both unfortunate incidents, which took place at the National Gallery in London and were carried out by climate activists from the group Just Stop Oil (a new reincarnation of Extinction Rebellion), were part of an ongoing series of similar acts of vandalism targeting art museums throughout Europe. These included gluing themselves to Botticelli’s Primavera (ca. 1480) at the Uffizi, to another Van Gogh painting, Peach Trees in Blossom (1889), at the Courtauld Gallery, London, and to Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring (1665) at the Mauritshuis museum in the Hague, the Netherlands; throwing mashed potatoes at Monet’s Haystacks (1890) at the Museum Barberini in Potsdam, Germany, and smearing cake on the glass protecting da Vinci’s Mona Lisa (1503) at the Louvre, in Paris. By deploying such disruptive and destructive tactics, Just Stop Oil and some of its offsprings have in fact achieved their objective of being covered in various news outlets, both locally and internationally.

As we’ve seen in recent years, environmental issues have become increasingly crucial, and there is a widespread disaffection regarding the way large corporations often ignore both the environment and the welfare of large segments of the population worldwide. But why, I wonder, are activists who are understandably unhappy with the way the interactions between big money and politics have created so many unpleasant and harmful situations – why have these activists decided to express their outrage by committing outrages on works of art? What is it about works of art that so provoke the activists? One understands that they might feel justified in harshly criticizing institutions that accept money from certain kinds of corporations, but why do they want to inflict physical harm on works of art? Is it because doing so will capture people’s attention? And if that is the case, don’t they realize that they are letting their self-righteousness blind them to the gravity of the transgressions they are committing?

Those of us who feel we have a moral duty to fight for the good of humanity should also protect freedom of expression, it being understood that freedom of expression also comes with certain moral responsibilities—such as not harming either innocent people or works of art. As we continue to struggle for the space in this culture where the arts, humanities, and sciences can be nourished in full, we should at this particular moment also think of the suffering of our fellow men, women, and children whose lives are being taken as by-products of ethnic, religious and political conflicts: in the Russia-Ukraine war since February 2014, and Israel’s war on Gaza since early last October 2023. Even in a democratically free society, we know how profoundly difficult it is to mediate war with writings, works of art, poems, pieces of music, and dance, among other creative means. But it is also important to keep in mind the solace that is afforded by works of art. At the time of this winter holiday, we will think of peace in our hearts, and meditate with sorrow on the lives that we have lost. And above all, we send our deep condolences to families whose loved ones have left them, and we extend to all our deeply felt wishes for peace and good will in the future.

Love and peace, with courage and optimism to us all,

Phong H. Bui

P.S. This issue is dedicated to the remarkable lives of our four friends, William Anastasi (1923–2023), Radcliffe Bailey (1968–2023), Francesco Pellizzi (1940–2023), and Anthony Vidler (1941–2023). The former two’s works of art have shaped how we perceive abstraction that can be made with narrative content, and narrative content into abstraction, while the latter two’s thinking and writing about art, anthropology, architecture, history, as well as their commitment to teaching, have changed many lives who have encounter their monumental minds and generosities. We send our deepest condolences to their equally brilliant partners, Dove Bradshaw, Leslie Parks Bailey, Jeanie Alhadeff, Emily Apter, and the rest of the members of their immediate families as well as countless friends and admirers here and across the world.