David Frost is wrong about the Elgin Marbles

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Dull is the eye that will not weep to seeThy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removedBy British hands…
The campaign for the return of the Elgin Marbles began almost from the moment of their removal. Byron's lines have been quoted for two centuries by restitutionists.
If there were a way to restore the mouldering shrines to the Parthenon itself, it would surely have happened by now. Who could resist making whole the Temple of Athena? There would be no need for long-term loans. My colleagues Lord Frost and Baroness Debbonaire would not be insisting that their surrender would be 'good diplomacy'.
But there is no way to restore them to the original structure. All sides agree that those magnificent metopes and pediments – bleached and numinous yet, at the same time, eerily realistic with their flowing robes and flared horses' nostrils – need to be preserved indoors.
A few carvings have found their way into collections in Paris, Copenhagen, Munich, Vienna and Würzburg. But most are housed either at the Acropolis Museum, which opened in 2009, or at the British Museum.
The argument is therefore whether to move them from one museum to another, which raises the question of what makes a successful museum. I would set the following tests. Where will any given artefact be most carefully looked after? Where can we best appreciate its cultural impact? Where is it most accessible to specialists and scholars? Where will the largest number of people get the greatest pleasure from seeing it?
The Greeks unquestionably have a great location. To admire those white Pentallic stones on the slopes of the Acropolis, glimpsing its heights through the windows, is quite an experience. But the British Museum is the most visited museum in the world (at least if we count the Louvre as a gallery rather than a museum).
Museums, as the etymology implies, are secular temples to the muses, those ancient goddesses who inspired sublime feelings in mortals. They were designed to raise the spirits of the masses, not only to spread knowledge, but also to elevate artistic sensibility.
The British Museum has been carrying out that function since the mid-18th century, and in a remarkably universalist spirit. It was the first public institution to call itself 'British', yet it never saw its vocation as national. It was intended from the start to be encyclopaedic, a place to display curios from every culture.
This universality is rarer than people realise. Most museums have a national or ethnic focus. In Washington DC, for example, you will find the National Museum of the American Indian, the Chinese American Museum and the National Museum of African American History and Culture. But the British Museum, as its former director Neil MacGregor put it, 'remains a unique repository of the achievements of human endeavour, and there is no culture, past or present, that is not represented within its walls. It is truly the memory of mankind.'
If our aim is the greatest happiness for the greatest number, there is a good case for keeping the stones divided, and using modern technology to fill in the gaps with exact replicas (the Acropolis Museum currently represents the missing stones with deliberately rough plaster casts so as to emphasise its grievance).
But this is not really about aesthetics. It is about nationalism, and the desire of successive Greek administrations to claim a direct link to the ancient city states. And here, I part ways with my House of Lords colleagues. For demands that rest on collective racial entitlements are incompatible with freedom, property and the rights of the individual.
Commentators are often conflicted about these ethnic claims. The kinds of people who insist on performing indigenous land recognition ceremonies in Canada and Australia would be horrified at the idea that second-generation immigrants to Britain were here contingently.
Yet free contract rules out ancestral claims. If my grandfather sold his house to yours, I have no right to turf you out.
There is no question that the British Museum purchased the collection legally from Lord Elgin, who had acquired it with the full permission of the authorities. Elgin had not at first intended to remove the carvings. He wanted to sketch and measure them, but changed his mind when he saw passers-by carting them off.
'The Turkish government attached no importance to them,' he told a parliamentary committee. 'Every traveller coming added to the general defacement of the statuary in his reach.' Elgin saved the stones.
Free contract and private property trump the superstitious idea that being descended from someone, or at least living in the same part of the world, establishes some kind of ownership right.
If the Acropolis Museum wants the collection, it should put in an offer. Frankly, the way Britain is going, we might soon need the money.
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