Yoopya with The Conversation
On April 15, 2019, viewers around the world watched live footage of one of the most famous cathedrals on the planet, Notre-Dame de Paris, being devastated by fire. More than five years later, Notre Dame is due to reopen to the public on December 8th. Behind the headlines, a fierce debate has been raging about who is responsible for funding France’s cultural heritage and whether visitors to the landmark should be charged an entry fee.
The funding crisis of France’s sacred spaces
While France is a secular country with an explicit law against state subsidy of any religion, churches still receive government funding. Technically, churches built prior to the 1905 loi de séparation des Églises et de l’État (law separating church and state) – that is, the vast majority of them – are the property of local authorities, whereas any religious buildings constructed after 1905 are considered private and ineligible for public financial support. Municipalities have therefore found themselves financially responsible for the maintenance of these buildings, while all cathedrals, including Notre Dame, belong to the state.
Municipalities are struggling under this arrangement. Old religious buildings fall into disrepair quickly and are often being abandoned due to lack of finances. A recent article estimates that “at least 1,600 of the 40,000 religious buildings run by French local authorities are currently closed due to their dilapidated state”. Thousands more are at risk, with the Religious Heritage Observatory (Observatoire du patrimoine religieux) suggesting that 10 percent of religious buildings in France require urgent work, more than a third are in a “worrying condition” and between 2,500 and 5,000 churches are in danger of being demolished by 2030. The Notre Dame fire brought debates about the funding of the country’s spiritual and cultural heritage to the fore.
The donation debacle
No sooner had the fire been put out than donations to rebuild the cathedral started to pour in. Some of the richest people in France rushed to promise their aid. François-Henri Pinault, the owner of the luxury group Kering, which includes Gucci, Yves Saint Laurent and Balenciaga, promised €100 million. The Arnault family, who own LVMH, the world’s largest luxury goods company, pledged €200 million. Private philanthropy in the cultural sector is a story as old as time: the rich and powerful give to cultural institutions at the heart of society and, in return, secure their social status. Within three days of the fire, France’s billionaire class had donated nearly €600 million.
Or at least they promised to do so. In the months that followed, while the salaries of workers had to be paid and the approximately 300 tonnes of melted lead from the cathedral’s roof posed a toxic risk to all living nearby, needing immediate clean-up, these big-name donors “were slow to make good” As my research shows, this is typical in that individuals are more likely to donate when they are “nudged” in order to not “lose” something – such as a piece of cultural heritage – while cultural venues struggle to attract revenue to cover basic running costs.
Although it has since been announced that the billionaire tycoons eventually met their commitments, this was after the government passed a law limiting the use of funds to structural restoration and conservation. It appears these donors were waiting on “specific restoration plans and negotiations about how their contributions would be used”. Meanwhile, it was the far humbler gifts – “$39 million from 46,000 people and 60 businesses” – that allowed the work to commence, demonstrating why any philanthropic efforts must be collective rather than emerging from a few wealthy people.
While France’s cultural budget has been protected to a much greater extent than that of other European countries, in April, then Economy Minister Bruno Le Maire announced a cut of €204 million, although the culture ministry recently said that funding would return to pre-cut levels in 2025. As public funding is being progressively driven down elsewhere in Europe, arts institutions have had to adapt. The UK is a case in point, with museums regularly partnering with ethically and environmentally dubious commercial sponsors.
Unpacking entry fees for cultural spaces
With the cathedral finally set for reopening, Culture Minister Rachida Dati suggested that visitors to Notre Dame should be charged entry for the first time. At €5 a pop, she estimated it could raise €75 million a year, which would enable the country to protect its heritage and “save all the churches in France”.
While the Catholic Church in France immediately opposed this idea, arguing that churches and cathedrals must be able to “welcome all, unconditionally”, Notre Dame is very much the exception when compared to other European cathedrals. Indeed, visitors to Westminster Abbey in London pay €36 while those at the Sagrada Família in Barcelona pay €26. In comparison, €5 is a bargain. The church’s argument that a place of worship should be free for all, while a lovely sentiment, is at odds with the fixed costs of running these sites. Over the past five years, the French government has directed €280 million “towards restoring more than 8,000 sites”. To ensure the long-term sustainability of maintaining iconic landmarks, the money needs to come from somewhere.
Given that religious services would remain free, it is the cultural visitors who would contribute, according to Dati’s plan. Such visitors pay at least €14.20 to enter the Eiffel Tower, €18 for Palace of Versailles and €22 for the Louvre. The question is, are these monuments and repositories of French culture, art and history substantially different from Notre Dame?
Open to all, funded by whom? The paradox of free heritage
Charging a fee for cathedral visits brings into question how society values access to shared religious and cultural heritage. The debate is less about whether cathedrals can charge fees – many already do – but rather whether they should, given their unique role in blending the sacred and the cultural. While charging for entry is currently illegal in France, this may not be the end of the debate given funding pressures. A possible compromise would be a “pay-as you-can” model, which is particularly useful for purpose-driven and community-focused organisations. For nearly 50 years, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City was free to visit, its admission price recommended but not required. The museum’s “pay-as-you-wish” principle is still in place for residents of New York state, and for students from neighbouring Connecticut and New Jersey. Notre Dame could potentially benefit from such an approach. Durham Cathedral in the UK, for example, encourages a £5 donation at the entrance, but admission is technically free.
Arguably, it a historic work of art that brought Notre Dame into global popular culture and increased interest in its preservation: namely, Victor Hugo’s 1831 novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame and its subsequent adaptations, including the 1996 Disney animation. We are left with a question: as the number of people identifying as Catholic has been in decline in France, is it justifiable to allow Notre Dame’s spiritual purpose to come at taxpayers’ expense when the rest of the country’s cultural heritage does not receive the same subsidy? The cathedral has stood since the 12th century and hosted pivotal events such as Napoleon’s coronation. Yet in a country with countless other cultural treasures, many of which languish without the attention or resources that Notre Dame receives, this raises a concern: the effects of prioritising one icon at the expense of others.
Author:
Chloe Preece | Associate Professor in Marketing, ESCP Business School
