In which I am torn

So last April when my husband and I went to Las Vegas, we ventured down to the Luxor to see the Titanic exhibit. I wanted to like it. I really, really did. It's apparent that a team of people worked very hard to put it together, and the exhibit is thoughtfully organized with loads of artifacts. The tour begins when the greeter hands you a card with the name of a passenger on it, and you are instructed to check the passenger list at the end to see if they survived. The main feature of the exhibit is a long piece of the actual ship's hull salvaged from the wreck. There is even a walk-through feature that approximates what it would have been like to stand on the deck at night, just before the ship struck the iceberg. And there is case after case of items ranging from an entire rack of dining room china to personal effects. You can see reconstructed cabins from all three classes, and even walk past the staircase with its famous clock of Honour and Glory crowning Time. It is a detailed and elaborate exhibit, full of interesting things to see.

And yet. It was honestly one of the most depressing experiences I have ever had. We went mid-morning and I think the fact that we were almost alone made it worse. I went from case to case looking at these items--eyeglasses and pendants and letters--that had been brought up from the bottom of the Atlantic, and I absolutely marveled that they had not only been recovered, but had been cleaned and restored so extensively that not a single item there looks anything less than brand-new. And it felt unspeakably wrong. I felt absolutely weighed down with each new room of the exhibit, and by the time it was finished, I could not get out of there fast enough. It was the single most oppressive atmosphere I have ever encountered, bar none.

Mind you, this is not at all the fault of the people who put it together. The work utterly boggles the mind because it is really very well done. I simply cannot imagine what these conservators must have felt, polishing up silver that had last seen the light of day seventy years before. (Of course, I can and do heartily blame the people who decided it would be a splendid idea to sell bits of coal recovered from the wreck site as souvenirs. That completely squicked me out, and I pretty much ran from the gift shop.)

I know it's completely hypocritical on my part to be maudlin about looking at the Titanic artifacts when I don't see anything wrong with hauling Egyptian grave goods out of tombs for display. My father is, although no longer practicing in the field, an archeologist. I understand exactly how important it is to excavate and preserve what we can from the past in order to understand it.

But did we need to excavate the Titanic? God, I hope so. I hope there was some scientific achievement that made it all worthwhile. I hope we learned something so significant that it justifies commercializing a mass grave because that is exactly what it felt like. I knew I was privileged to see those things--many of them quite beautiful. I also knew it felt distinctly wrong. So I put it to you, readers, when does it become acceptable to open up a grave and put the find on display? Does it take a thousand years? Or is fifty fine? I don't have answers, but I hope you do.