No More Learning

This is how a binary code works--which might
194 Self-Organization: Coding and Programming
include situations that require withholding one's judgment "for the time being" (the same is true in matters of truth). But without coding, there can be no decision; anything goes.
One must be cautious not to construe a fitting operation as a way of fa- cilitating the next move--as if we were dealing with a mathematical task or a technical construction. Adding further distinctions to the artworks form combination might facilitate connecting operations, but it can also make them more difficult. It might become questionable whether one will be able to continue, or whether one will ever manage to produce a work of art that is closed and rounded off. Often enough, the thrill resides in precisely this risk, in the lack of foresight, in the difficulty of the self-im- posed task. The only requirement is to stay clear of two limits: the neces- sary and the impossible. The artwork must remain within the modality of contingency and must draw its power to convince from its ability to pre- vail in the face of other self-generated possibilities. Suppose one needs a green color in order to balance two incompatible shades of red. But how about gray, which, if one were to use it instead, would look like green?
The fit or lack of fit, the success or failure of additions, does not affect the boundaries of the art system. Failed works of art are still works of art, if unsuccessful ones. This is why it makes sense to take on difficult pro- jects, to incorporate things that do not fit, and to experiment with possi-
30
bilities of failure. As the structuralists have taught us,
source for recognizing order. Likewise, the negative value of the code serves as a means of self-control, as a value of reflection. This is true even when art questions precisely this distinction--doing just that. If one wants to leave the art system, then one must look for orientation in a dif- ferent code or in no code at all.
O>O>O>O IIII IIII
23n Opi > Op > Op > Op
IIII IIII I>I>I>I
Operational sequences always transport both positive and negative con- notations without there being a way to recognize this fact except in the re- cursivity of operating--it cannot be identified as a telos or a rule. If this
trash is a prime
Self-Organization: Coding and Programming 195
proposition holds, it suggests that the code expresses an aggregate of these accompanying valuations. The accompanying diagram explains what we have in mind. The recursive sequence of observations condenses and asserts the system's code by presupposing it in each of its operations as a condition of both the operation's selection and the system's recursive recapitulations and anticipations. In this way, the code is enforced despite the variety of formal decisions. This happens no matter how aesthetics, in its capacity as a reflection theory of the art system, defines this code. There is still no con- vincing alternative to the labels beautiful and ugly. But this semantics is not to be construed as if art were concerned with "beautiful figures," "beauti- ful sounds," or other beautiful forms. If one wants to hold onto the se- mantics of the beautiful, then it might best be understood as a summariz- ing judgment about what fits /does not fit under added conditions of high complexity, that is to say, in the face of self-generated difficulties.
This does not yet explain how a code, as a component of the art sys- tem's self-organization, participates in the system's operations. Individual operations must be recognized as contingent; they must be "motivated" by the work. This suffices as a condition of their intelligibility. Put differ- ently, neither the artist nor the beholder needs the additional specification "coded" in order to observe. Likewise, in research there is no need to men- tion that truth or falsity is at stake, apart from the theories and methods with which one is working. Invoking the code becomes necessary, how- ever, when the question arises of how art or science distinguishes itself from other functional systems in society. The specificity of coding repre- sents, at a level of third-order observation, the distinction between system and environment. This may be of practical significance if one wants to control the system's recursivity. A piece of raw nature or a slice of un- processed society might find its way into the artwork--a natural stone in a sculpture or a newspaper ad in a collage. But whatever is integrated in this manner must find its place. Its origin per se does not legitimize its participation in art. Incorporating items of this sort requires no reference to the code--it suffices to be aware what fits in a given instance and what still remains to be done in order to accomplish the integration. That, to begin with, this makes sense and is permitted, and that it can be observed as a distinct process presupposes a higher level of reflection that inevitably reflects upon the code. "Transjunctional" boundaries of acceptance or, more generally, the limits of possible aesthetic forms provoke a definition of art on the basis of its code. Accordingly, the meaning of coding is
196 Self-Organization: Coding and Programming
bound to become more and more abstract, if one can demonstrate that a work's form combinations are still within the realm of the possible.
II
The miracle of recognizability precedes all programs of art. It is an ef- fect of forms that have been distinguished. A figure can be recognized if it is perceived first in nature and subsequently in an artificially created con- text. A buffalo remains a buffalo when projected against the wall of a cave. Even material differences can be overcome in this way. A human head re- mains a head--whether it is cast in clay or in stone, whether it is drawn on a vase or on a wall. We can repeat and recognize a melody whether it is sung, whistled, or played on an instrument. Art consolidates identities be- yond what nature has to offer, and it does so with a certain indifference to situations, contexts, and materials. Art accomplishes both a condensation and a confirmation of form, thereby ascertaining the hidden order of the world. To borrow a phrase from the ancient Greeks, art allows a glimpse into the essence of things.
This must have been amazing at first. For millennia, the evolution of art has profited from art's capacity to expand and refine its formal reper- toire to accommodate recognizability and to detach its forms from natural models, at least to a certain extent. This could be accomplished without differentiating between coding and programming. Whatever "beauty" might have meant, it remained a matter of form, and form was commit- ted to striving for exceptional recognizability. The essential depths thus opened in the world could be considerably intensified; this was, perhaps, above all the accomplishment of the Greeks. But early forms of writing might also be understood in terms of this desire to fix certain contents and to secure their recognizability, especially when presented together with images, so that writing and image illustrate one another and facilitate the
31
recognition of a content that might also be narrated.
ily at stake in such representations was the problem of securing the world, and, in view of this purpose, a differentiation of art would have presented an obstacle rather than an advantage. So long as the certainty of the world depended on the recognizability of its forms, its hidden invariance and essences, aligning art with religion, with political power, and eventually
32
with aristocratic genealogies was a commendable course of action.
In the European tradition, a common basic idea was the notion of gen-
What was primar-
Self-Organization: Coding and Programming 197
eralization, which entailed the possibility for drawing, at the level of the universal, distinctions that constituted relationships of exclusion among the objects distinguished. Plato called what was so distinguished genos and the art of distinguishing it dihairesisP In the Greek word dihairesis (de- rived from haireo), it is impossible to distinguish among the activities of reaching out toward an object, of dividing, and of distinguishing the ob- ject. The g<<z<w-technique, one might say, constitutes a procedure for gain- ing access to the world that articulates and divides the world by means of distinctions. The basic rule is to avoid paradox. Although the genos com- prehends a multiplicity within the form of a genre, it is imperative that genres not be confused with one another. The to kata gene diaireisthai de- mands that one and the same genre cannot be another and that another genre cannot be the same as the first one. This is a requirement of cogni-
34
tion (episteme), which Plato calls dialectic.
ception of the ideas that allow for gathering many disparate things into one (despite their diversity). This technique, which Plato illustrates with
35
reference to grammar and the alphabet,
torical use of paradox; in other words, it is distinguished against the prob- lem of paradox.
The desire to exclude paradox constitutes the countertheory to rhetoric.
It combines the internal logic of writing, language, and technique with
the assumption that, by penetrating to the Ideas, one can arrive at an un-
derstanding of how the world is divided, and how one needs to place one's
distinctions accordingly. Technique is still understood to be an art of dis-
tinguishing bound by nature. Aristotle later supplies the concept of cate-
gory (= an accusation to which the world must respond) to indicate the
primary divisions of being. In his Poetics, Aristotle assigns to poetry the
task of representing the Possible (dynaton) as the Universal--that which by
necessity arrives at its destination unless it encounters an obstacle. To this
task corresponds the assumption that the recognition of cognitive insights
into the essence of things (insights that are difficult to come by) creates
pleasure, which justifies imitatio as the goal of art. The rhetorical notion
of amplification builds on this g^wof-technique. Rhetoric values amplifi-
cation positively, because it tests generalizations and retains successful
ones as "commonplaces. " This procedure was still common in the Renais-
36
sance.
the seventeenth century devalorized this tradition.
did not affect the general division of the world according to species and
The more stringent demands made on rationality and proof in
It presupposes a clear con-
is opposed to the Sophists' rhe-
37
At first, however, that
198 Self-Organization: Coding and Programming
genres, which prevailed until Kant explicitly raised the issue of the possi- bility for a future metaphysics, finding it difficult to appreciate the dis-
38
tinction between species and genres.
As a result of this genos technique, the concept of imitation could be
broadened significandy, if it not bent entirely out of proportion. Sir Philip Sidney (1595), for example, defines imitation as follows: "Borrow nothing of what is, has been, or shall be, but range (only reined with learned dis-
39
cretion) into the divine consideration of what may be or should be. " The demands of a learned (classical) education continued to constrain im- itation, while indicating the point where the concept is put at risk by fur- ther developments. "Imitation" seems to serve as no more than a cover for a differentiation of art that has already advanced considerably.
Whence the impulse to change this situation? Presumably, the motive
was an external incident: the loss and rediscovery of the artistic skill of
antiquity, which focused attention on how antique art was made. More-
over, print provided an opportunity to proliferate technical literature,
thus liberating artistic know-how from the oral doctrine taught in the
40
workshops.
primary--at first in the coordination of production and cognition (Ba- con, Locke, Vico). This move, however, only expresses what is implied in the technique of dihairetics and is later made explicit in Kantian theoret- ical technique, namely, the desire to pursue into the regions of meta- physics the question of how reality can be reworked by the subject. The transition from "what" questions to "how" questions always indicates a shift from first- to second-order observation, and second-order observa- tion now required programs of its own.
If this assessment is correct, then it should come as no surprise that the artistic programs of the late Middle Ages and early modernity appear in the form of recipes and rules. At stake in these programs is above all the renaissance of antiquity, the recovery of artistic skills along the lines of re- discovered thematic models. With the discovery of perspective in the late Middle Ages, however, second-order observation and the search for its rules went beyond that impulse to rediscovery. Learning the rules sufficed to master this new technique, and if following such rules led to deviations, the sheer demonstration of artistic skill might still count as art. The prime focus continued to be on recognition, albeit within an increasingly ex- panding, universal realm of meaning independent of thematic models. One studied the rules in anticipation, as it were, of everything that might
Questions of "how" gained prominence, indeed, became
Self-Organization: Coding and Programming 199
be considered art. In so doing, art severed its ties to religion, but in a way that included rather than excluded religious art.
Rules formulate a preference for doing things right. They are no longer abstractions of genos, but they are abstractions nonetheless. Rules antici- pate multiple applications in a variety of cases; indeed, this constitutes the regulative meaning of the rule without infringing on its identity. As be- fore, one avoided Plato's tautonlheteron paradox. To the extent that rules express certain preferences, they do not tolerate a distinction between cod- ing and programming. Following the rules was believed to be the condi- tion for a work's beauty.
A separation of coding and programming (and a reorganization of art in terms of self-organization) did not occur until novelty became an indis- pensable requirement of artworks and copying was no longer permitted.
and because it is not what was before. As Aristotle was well aware (Peri hermeneias IX), this explodes the logical law of the excluded third. Every- thing excluded must be condensed into a "third value," the value of unde- cidability. But how can this be, if one must eventually accept that the world itself becomes another world, a new world, from one moment to the next?
A new sense of novelty emerged from a covert revolution in the concept of time and an outspoken polemic against the Aristotelian heritage of the scholastic tradition. It affected the definition of time in terms of the ae- ternitasltempus distinction and the protection of beings within the pres- ence of the eternal. It concerned the presence of both the origin and the end, the actuality of the ground of being in every moment of its move- ment. Once one gave up these notions (which happened one by one in various thematic domains), a space was cleared for novelty, for a disrup- tion that requires meaning and selection. The only condition is that nov- elty must please, and practices of observation and description soon fo- cused on conditions of this sort.
Print might have been another motive for this "transformation of val- ues," especially cheap prints produced for the sake of entertainment and
42
Upon first sight, novelty is ontological nonsense. Something is, although 41
Novelty became a marketing strategy, since one could assume
polemics.
that no one who knew their content would buy such products.
The criterion of novelty settled an old sixteenth-century controversy. The
43
debate about demarcating poetry from science (or historiography)
had
raised the question of how poetry can expect to please if it represents false-
44
hoods and fictions. Apparently, only fools and children could take plea-
200 Self-Organization: Coding and Programming
sure in such things, and their use was therefore limited to educational con- texts. Temporalization, the shift of emphasis from deviation (from truth) toward novelty, created a respectable audience for poetry. As early as the six- teenth century, indications abounded that novelty was considered a neces-
45
sary condition for the surprising--and pleasing--effect of artworks.
first, this trend responded only to a specific problem in art and traditional poetics--the problem of how to account for art's interest in extraordinary objects and events {meraviglia in the widest sense). Because of the experi- ence of religious civil wars in the seventeenth century, innovation still car- ried negative connotations, especially in the domains of religion and polit- ical power and in the classical realms of natural and civil law (but not in the law of the "police," which was just beginning to emerge and claim its own territory). This is why tolerating--or even demanding--novelty could serve as a means of distinguishing functional realms.
Whereas antiquity valued the striking effect of certain objects as a con-
46
dition of recollection and a source of information,
the concept of novelty. One discovered the unique charm of novelty, de- spite its triumph over what was previously considered beautiful and often for this very reason. Sixteenth-century mannerism illustrates how this ten- dency became deliberate. (We shall address the question of "style" later. ) As a distinctive feature of art, novelty was introduced as a condition of pleasure--and it goes without saying that neither religion nor politics nor law must "please. "
The focus on "pleasure" or "pleasurable consumption" suggests that the relationship between producer and recipient, or between art and its audi- ence, was foregrounded in ways unknown in antiquity, in the Middle Ages, or even in the early Renaissance. Generally speaking, this trend strongly indicates that the transition to functional differentiation was un- der way, emphasizing a function-specific complementarity of roles every- where (buyer/seller, government/subjects, educator/pupil, lover/beloved). The distinguishing criterion of art, especially in its demarcation from sci- ence, was now sought in the manner in which art takes over the hearts of its audience. At the same time, the notion of "pleasure" appeals to indi-
47
viduals; it takes an individual to decide what is pleasing,
first not every individual was included--not every maid or peasant--but only those capable of judgment, individuals endowed with taste. In ret- rospect, one recognizes the transitional nature of this formula; it was a compromise that could convince only for a short time during the seven-
one now temporalized
although at
At
Self-Organization: Coding and Programming 201
teenth and eighteenth centuries. Only the individual endowed with taste could be stimulated by novelty, for only such an individual could decide what was new, even though one needed criteria to avoid falling prey to everything new.
The demand for novelty implies a retreat of time from all occupied
48
places.
placement, no need to prove superiority. To the extent that the principle of novelty takes hold, history and age no longer legitimate occupying places in a world whose sum remains constant. Novelty pleases because it doesn't need to be regarded as the outcome of some territorial dispute. Rather, novelty seeks to do justice to time itself by surpassing necessity through innovation. Novelty irritates in ways that resemble the delight one takes in paradox, but without proposing mere deviation from the or- dinary as a criterion for acceptance or rejection. Just like individuality, novelty challenges the bifurcation of the aristocratic world, of political ter- ritories and patron/client relationships, whose origin and age indicate that they have lost their meaning. Long before democracy will prescribe ever new elections, and long before individual destinies are made by careers rather than by social origin (as criterion), a sociostructurally harmless phe- nomenon such as art could place its bet on perpetual novelty. But how did art accomplish this? How can it bear the demand for novelty? Given the delight one takes in sheer irritation and provocation, how can one arrive at criteria for rejecting some innovations as failures?
On the one hand, one can form an art-specific preference for novelty (against copies). On the other hand, it is not feasible to code the entire art system along the lines of dated/new, thus devalorizing the entire stock of existing artworks--which one collects with great zeal. Nor is novelty suited to serve as a programmatic formula, since it provides no way of recogniz- ing which of the new works qualify as art and which do not. The difference between coding and programming solves this problem. The code remains stable, whereas what fulfills the program function of assigning the correct code value can be left to change, to the spirit of the age, and to the demand for novelty. The novelty postulate functions as a hinge that joins and sepa- rates coding and programming. Whatever else it may be, novelty is devia- tion. The novelty requirement destabilizes both the notion of deviation and the concept of rules. Valuing a work simply on the grounds that it fol- lows the rules no longer suffices; to the extent that one recognizes the work
49 was created by following the rules, it cannot be new and it cannot please.
There is no need for power struggles, no competition in this dis-
202 Self-Organization: Coding and Programming
The code requires abstraction in order to express a preference for an art that is valued positively, and this is why one cannot derive rules from the code for the proper production and evaluation of artworks. And since new works are constandy being produced and exposed to evaluation, the possi- bility of a program of art that would not be cast in the form of rules be- comes questionable. In a sense, the doctrine of taste was the last attempt to answer this question in the affirmative.
Ill
The task of distinguishing between coding and programming requires distinguishing distinctions--not only objects, rules, or points of view. Ab- stract coding, which identifies a given operation as belonging to the sys- tem, already distinguishes between a positive and a negative value or, in traditional terminology, between beauty and ugliness. But this only se- cures the general contingency of the system's operations. In addition, one must be able to distinguish, at the level of programming, between correct and incorrect assignments of values to the code. In other words, it is pos- sible to apply the system's programs incorrectly, even though mistakes of this sort do not automatically attract the negative code value in the sense that they would be perceived as ugly. In the doctrine of good taste, these two evaluative levels are not clearly distinguished. A venerable truism states that even ugly objects can be represented artistically (although the
50
theory of art has a difficult time accepting this proposition ). Moreover,
the doctrine of good taste does not base its evidence on criteria but on the fact that there are clear-cut cases of bad taste. The question is: Can an art- work fail without therefore being ugly? And if so, how?
One might speak of failure when an observer loses control over a work's play of forms, when he can no longer understand how a particular formal choice relates to others on the basis of what this choice demands of the work as a whole. But this can be demonstrated only with reference to a concrete case, not by applying principles or rules.
We might answer this question by considering that every artwork is its own program, and that it demonstrates success and novelty if it manages to show just that. The program saturates, as it were, the individual work, tolerating no further productions of the same kind. At a conceptual level, this excludes the case on which Arthur Danto focuses his aesthetic theory, namely, two objects that look identical and are aesthetically indistinguish-
appear as constraints. "
Because it is difficult, on this basis, to account for
Self-Organization: Coding and Programming 203
able but are "transfigured" via interpretation into two different works of
51
art.
interpreted differently. ) Serial painting, which experiments with different versions of the same image, might also be acceptable. But this is a varia- tion on the basic idea of the self-programming artwork--a variation that, compared to a work confined to a single location, permits the display of greater complexity.
The Kantian formulation conceives the artworks self-programming as the freedom of the observer to let his cognitive faculties play without be- ing guided by concepts. The point in speaking of an "end in itself" or of a purpose without purpose--for Kant, at any rate--is to distinguish art
52
from a conceptually fixed cognition.
ters what we call self-programming without explicitly naming the phe- nomenon. Kant starts out from the cognitive faculties and subsequently directs his critical efforts against every position previously occupied by metaphysics. In this context, art has barely a chance to articulate itself-- except by stretching traditional terminology in ways that, even prior to ro- manticism, were not considered very helpful. What remains noteworthy is that the concept of freedom problematizes the observer, while blocking further pursuit of what the observer's function and role might be with re- gard to a self-programming artwork.
Then as now, whenever one speaks of freedom, one tends to think of it negatively, in terms of an absence offeree; when freedom is defined posi- tively, one thinks of it as oriented toward one's own (yet universally valid) reason. Since the positive determination of freedom is subject to semantic corrosion, only the negative definition remained stable and continues to be propagated today (on the basis of varying notions offeree) by liberal and socialist ideologues alike.
Following Kant, Schiller proclaims "that the laws by which the mind proceeds are not represented, and since they meet no resistance, they do not
53
(This does not exclude the possibility that a single artwork might be
the necessity that manifests itself in the artwork, one also sought evidence
to the contrary. Thus Schiller writes that "the imagination, even in its free
54
This presupposes a cognitive notion of freedom that, under frame conditions it must accept, makes room for
55
possible choices.
capabilities and one's imagination--generates the freedom to make deci- sions on the basis of which one can continue one's work. The freedoms
play, orients itselftoward boundaries. "
This version of the problem regis-
In this sense, creating a work of art--according to one's
204 Self-Organization: Coding and Programming
and necessities one encounters are entirely the products of art itself; they are consequences of decisions made within the work. The "necessity" of certain consequences one experiences in one's work or in the encounter with an artwork is not imposed by laws but results from the fact that one began, and how. This entails the risk of running into "insoluble prob- lems," problems that could never arise on the basis of laws.
The concept of self-programming solves the problems associated with
the traditional notion of freedom by relating freedom to self-generated
cognitive models. Self-programming does not mean that the individual
work is an autopoietic, self-generating system. But one can say that the
work constitutes the conditions of possibility for its own decisions, that it
observes itself, or, more accurately, that it can be observed only as a self-
56
observer.
nize how the rules that govern the work's own formal decisions are derived from these decisions. It is not clear how to specify such propositions at the operative level. It might suffice to point out that the work delimits the ob- serving operations of any observer (producer or beholder) by suggesting which ones are feasible and successful, and which ones are impossible, ob- structive, or in need of correction.
The concept of self-programming is incompatible with the notion that
57
one can get at the work's "essence" by disregarding the "nonessential. " This notion assumed that there is such a thing as a distinguishable es- sence, a remainder, so to speak. Today, this proposition convinces hardly anyone; at best, it gives rise to diverging views about the essence of art and of the artwork.
The notion of omission confounds the structural levels of coding and programming. The positive/negative distinction must be exe- cuted in applying the binary code to all cases. Without this distinction, nothing comes about. But what is accepted or excluded by the system can be decided only on the basis of a program. The "essence" of art is the self- programming of the artwork.
If the classical formulation emphasizes freedom, then this means that there are no rules or concepts to guide a "critical," cognitive apprehension of beauty. But it also follows that art must operate without prohibiting the opposite. In deciding what fits and what doesn't, art follows patterns al- ready established by the work; it cannot rely on independently existing criteria that would prescribe what is permitted and what is not. This seemingly gives rise to a situation in which art can orient itself--and in this sense, art becomes historical--only in its own history, the history of
In order to observe a work of art adequately, one must recog-
Self-Organization: Coding and Programming 2. 05
an individual work's production and reception, be it the history of styles, or the intertextuality of the art system itself.
But can self-programming still be programming, if this concept applies, as it usually does, to the conditioning of something other? What would be the identity of the "self" that is the object of its own programming? Fur- thermore, how can the self-programming artwork distinguish itself, if it is no longer distinguished from the inaccessible domain it symbolizes or from the object it signifies by imitation?
These problems were confronted for the first time in the romantic re- flection on art. The distinction that guides this reflection was now located entirely within the art system. The individual work of art identifies itself by its distance from the Idea of art, which the work reflects upon in the impossibility of attaining it. Every work of art must be art as such, art in general; the romantic notion of "art criticism" insists on that. But the Idea remains an idea, whereas the artwork must be concrete. It must be acces- sible to the senses, and yet it must transcend itself. What is "characteris- tic" in the artwork can therefore not be apprehended in sensuous experi- ence, nor can it be reduced to the effect of a cause. It aligns itself with the Idea of art without being able to represent that Idea. And the form for this is self-programming--the notion that the work gives itself a form and thereby determines what is possible in the work and what is excluded. In order to express this notion, romanticism has recourse to the symbol and,
58
in so doing, goes beyond Kant.
This means only that difference--in this case the work's distance from
the Idea--is understood as a unity. Contrary to the religious tradition, dis- tinction and unity are now located entirely within the autonomous realm of art, reflecting the fact that art has become autonomous. If this paradox is now called "self-programming," does that mean it has been explained?
Let us go further: self-programming is a case of self-reference. Self- reference can be practiced only if it can distinguish what it refers to. It pre- supposes the distinction between self-reference and hetero-reference. Thus one arrives at the question: What is the hetero-reference of the self- programming artwork?
According to the logic of second-order observation, the hetero-reference of art can only be that which is rendered invisible by the distinguishing schema of first-order observation (as an observation of an observer, second- order observation is also an observation of the first order). Accordingly, het- ero-reference refers to that which is rendered invisible when distinctions are
206 Self-Organization: CodingandProgramming
introduced into die world: it refers to the irreducible unity of the world as the always operative unmarked space. The program guarantees that the work of art can establish itself at the level of second-order observation, no matter in what concrete form. Or, put differently, it secures the program dependency, the contingency of all the operations that produce or en- counter the artwork in a world that as a world cannot be contingent, a world that makes possible the introduction of distinctions for its own ob- servation by withdrawing, as a world, from observation (distinction). In this way, the program prevents the collapse of two distinctions that must re- main separate, namely, the distinction between self-reference and hetero- reference, on the one hand, and between the positive and negative values of
59
the code, on the other --for it goes without saying that the artwork can-
not think of itself as a success and consider the world a failure.
This conception excludes the notion of the world (or society) as a source of directives for the execution of artworks. We have called this ex- clusion the autonomy of the art system while making the sociological as- sumption that world autonomy can be accomplished only via societal au- tonomy. This means that the directives for elaborating and evaluating a
work of art must be derived from the work itself.
In many cases, the observational possibilities provided by the artwork
can be rendered visible by means of persons: as, for example, in a painting
that incorporates unified perspective; in a building that at once offers and
denies observational possibilities to those inside and outside the building;
in drama, which stages the difference between seeing (knowing) and not
seeing (ignorance) in front of an audience; or in the novel, which does the
same for the reader. This strategy can be emphasized and brought to an
unbeatable conclusion when a play is staged within a play (or, more sim-
ply, through lying and deception), or when a novel illustrates how Don
Quixote or Emma Bovary creates his or her own destiny through a self-
60
inspiring reading.
The availability of an unambiguous metaperspective that is related to
persons and reflects on romanticism must have been responsible for mak- ing poetry the paradigm of art in general. But this claim becomes unten- able once the observer is conceived in correspondingly abstract terms (as we are doing here) and is defined as an application of distinctions for the indication of one, rather than the other side of a form. The artwork can then be understood as a frame for the observation of observational possi- bilities that are included or excluded whenever someone uses a distinction.
The world of dihairesis--a world that used to be collectively accessible
Self-Organization: Coding and Programming 207
on the basis of given divisions--must be sacrificed. At the level of first-or- der observation, there might still be error, dishonesty, deception, machi- natio, and so forth, all of which can and must be corrected at this level. At the level of second-order observation, however, there are no longer any di- visions, there are only distinctions. The problem no longer resides in the potential need for correction; rather, the problem is that observation re- mains invisible to itself, no matter what. The self-programming of art is the form of expressing that this is so and that the world, as the condition for introducing distinctions, remains invisible--no matter what kind of operative injunctions are issued by the program.
All of this has consequences for the relationship between program and operation. A first-order observer who has begun working on, or looking at, a work of art (without a beginning there would be nothing to observe) can build on what is already there and search for what fits or might not fit. To such an observer, freedom appears as the constraint on further options. As a second-order observer, he can try to find out whether, and in what ways, other observers might observe his formal decisions. This accounts for the chronic feeling of "being misunderstood. " For what could guaran- tee that multiple observers read the same formative freedom into any given object? An observer of the third order, one in search of theoretical formulations, can only establish the existence of circular relationships. A program is the result of the operations it programs. Nothing else is meant by "self-programming. " At the same time, however, the second-order ob- server can see that the first-order observer might see things differently, so xhatfor neither of them does the tautology turn into paradox, and both can tell how it is possible to determine the next step.
IV
The notion of the self-programming artwork remains unsatisfactory in at least one respect. It raises the question of whether one should think of artworks as completely isolated from one another, or whether the pro- gramming must be programmed on its part--a notion that amounts to returning, albeit in a different form, to something like a rule-based art. Perhaps it was this unresolved question that prevented the individual work from being released completely into autonomy. Wouldn't one have to conclude that art emerges from chance or, at least, assume a new be- ginning in each individual case?
Evidence to the contrary was promptly found--in the realm of histori-
208 Self-Organization: CodingandProgramming
cal empiricism, so to speak. While observing broader contexts, one dis- covered that works of art influence the emergence of other works, even when imitation is prohibited. Winckelmann was perhaps the first to ex-
61
ploit this insight for a historiography of art ordered in periods. toricization of the self-description of the art system requires a periodization of art history (and vice versa). This move relates the concept of style to distinctions between periods; that is, it temporalizes a concept that had been familiar for a long time and initially referred to something like a type of design (maniera) or to genres of such types (like the curial style of text production or the stilo in rhetoric. ) This is not to say that a certain period is restricted to one particular style, nor does it mean that works of art lose their value when a certain style goes out of fashion. The acknowledgment of a plurality of styles interrupts the relationship between style and social class. The wealth of styles is now open to all observers who, as visitors of exhibitions or museums, are interested in art. From the viewpoint of the observer, inclusion in the art system renders style independent of prior
62
(social) stratification
might well disclose a correlation between the two, though this concerns only the interest in art rather than the preference for certain styles).
imposed by style.
(even though statistics, invisible in everyday life,
The form of style does not affect the autonomy of the artwork; it merely keeps stylistic deviation in check or permits such deviation (if the deviation succeeds). In this way, the canonization of style might encour- age the transition to another style, that is, it might stimulate evolution--
63
"defining itself and then escaping from its own definition. "
different kinds of style supersede one another, one can see--at a macro- level, so to speak--that art produces novelty and how, then, after ex- hausting the possibilities of a given style, moves on to the next. One can then recommend stylistic purity, recognize mixed stylistic forms, or regis-
64
ter their existence with astonishment.
style of mixing styles as a measure against stylistic purity.
There is an obvious temptation to make works of art converse with one another via their stylistic forms, that is, in view of the limited tolerance
65
This is why a junctional definition of style suggests it- self, one that can respond to the problem of how diverse artworks form a
66
network, so that a system of art can establish itself. By and large, this
functional definition covers what has been understood historically as "style"--both in the traditional sense of a design type and in the modern sense of historical styles that have a time of their own and become obso-
One might even recommend the
The his-
Observing
Self-Organization: Coding and Programming 209
lete once it is over. The paradigmatic significance of individual artworks that served as models to be copied fulfilled the same function, that is, it served as a functional equivalent to style. At the same time, the relation- ship of functional equivalence indicates that the increasing emphasis on originality--if not on the uniqueness of "authentic works," including the critique of copying--abandons style to this functional realm and encour- ages the observation of particularly impressive works of art in terms of style. If works of art are not allowed to be copies and have no style either, then they lose their significance as artworks. Singularities resist classifica- tion and therefore cannot be understood and observed as art. The act of assigning a work to a certain style signals that the work belongs to art. That is to say, there is a program-related possibility for representing art within the artwork, which exists apart from coding.
Does this amount to metaprogramming? Can one expect or demand that the artist search for and identify a style with which he then aligns his work? And has the classification of styles become indispensable to a com- petent art criticism?
It is doubtful that such notions can be sustained. The discussion of style, which by the nineteenth century had made a vain effort to clarify its self-understanding, is a clear indication. One sought the programmatic
67
only to use it for restorative purposes.
notion--especially if the motive is to find one's own style--that style is a matter of applying prefabricated formal decisions that owe their emer- gence to a work-dependent sense of what is fitting. To the observer and copier of styles, a style presents itself as a synopsis stabilized by habit, while he is aware that this is the side-effect of a spontaneous, merely code- oriented practice that has abandoned itself to the self-programming of the artwork. To emphasize this, one speaks of spontaneity or of an uncon- scious genesis of style, but spontaneity cannot be expected to occur twice. Choosing familiar styles as programs in an easily recognizable manner amounts to making a rather cheap claim to belong to the art system, and
68
often the works end up not being very convincing.
such degenerative trends are temporally marked as "new" (new gothic, and so on) or, when there is too much of that, as "post" (postmodernism). This seems to say that the demand for novelty, and thus for creativity, is constrained neither by style nor by the imitation of style. Any work of art can search for an as yet unoccupied niche within the context of family re- semblances between styles; it can probe new, "impressionistic" light con-
Yet it is difficult to appreciate the
Not accidentally,
210 Self-Organization: Coding and Programming
ditions in fields and forests, in cathedrals or train stations. It can also ex- press itself by rebelling against the constraints of style. The classification of styles can be left to the art expert who, like a botanist, consults hand- books on stylistics in order to determine a given style. In this respect, style is not a program but a formal model with which or against which one can work. The outward boundary against the unmarked space of the world is shifted once again. The task of rendering visible the invisible is distributed among two authorities, whose collaboration covers up the fact that this is at stake.
Accordingly, the concept of style is a concept of difference, that is, a concept of form. The limitations of a style yield the possibility for further styles--although at first only in the unmarked space of world possibilities. Historically, just this possibility offers the temptation to make the transi- tion to a new style. The test is that the work must succeed as an artwork. In this manner, one gains the impression of a plurality of styles that have proven themselves in artworks as if by evolutionary selection. This makes possible the ultimate form of reflection--the "postmodern" style of mix- ing styles--in which the sovereign self-programming of the artwork can be displayed once again. But the combination of diverse stylistic quota- tions as such does not yet constitute a program. It might succeed or fail. It must confront the code of art. Otherwise it will not be recognized as art.
? 6 Evolution
I
We know a great deal about the history of art. Ever since the forms and artworks inherited by tradition lost their binding force and ceased to serve as models--that is to say, since the eighteenth century--the historiogra- phy of art has amassed a tremendous amount of knowledge. And ever since one began to compare artifacts in an historically and regionally far- reaching manner, there has been "culture"--no longer in the sense of "cul- tivation o f . . . " (of agriculture or cultura animi), but as an elevated sphere of reality, a level at which all testimonies to human activity are registered a second time--not with an eye toward their utilitarian significance but in comparison to other cultural testimonies. In comparison, works of art
(but also religions, institutions of law, or forms of social order) appear "in- teresting," all the more so, the more the comparison ventures into realms that are foreign, bizarre, strange, or difficult to comprehend. Considered as culture, art and religion appear to be universals of human society, but only on the basis of the specifically European and specifically historical point of view that is interested in such comparisons and constructs com- parative viewpoints. As a result, one now finds art in places where neither the producer nor the viewer knew that art was at stake, let alone culture. This difference is reflected upon, for example, in Schiller's distinction be- tween naive and sentimental poetry.
With art, just as with religion, the observation of culture--a kind of second-order observation--must have had disastrous consequences. In or- der to compensate for that, culture is emphatically affirmed and cele-
211
2 1 2 Evolution
brated as a value sphere of a special kind. At die same time, culture suffers from a broken heart, reflecting upon its own reflection and registering what has been lost and will never be created again in terms of nai'vete\ Ob- serving works of art under such circumstances requires blinders that shut out culture, arid yet, their benefit is dubious when the works are already infected by culture, when they are produced with an eye to comparison and, as a result, cannot be adequately understood in a naive mode. Or can they? Could it be that including the exclusion of comparative culture has
1 become an essential component in the observation of art?
The differentiation of an academic art history seems to respond to pre-
cisely this problem by offering the possibility for distinguishing between
an observation as art and an observation as culture. Art historical knowl-
edge in part interprets individual works or masters within their own tem-
poral and historical horizons, in part reconstructs relationships of influence
by tracing presumed causalities. Art historians also analyze developmental
trends, whether or not they presume a historical progress of some kind. An
academic discipline established exclusively for this task has existed only for
2
about a century. For the collection and proliferation of such knowledge,
3
"sources" are significant. These "mouse-eaten records" count only when
they appear authentic in the eyes of art-historical knowledge. Authenticity almost suffices to legitimize a source as remarkable. When studying Vero- nese, one cannot afford to disregard a single work by this painter. Veronese is Veronese.
Following Dilthey, one tends to think that the historian's task is to ren- der totalities in the form of individual figures and to contextualize details. Such a task justifies a selective use of sources, above all a disregard for what happened later and could not have been known when the work was conceived. Of course, the historian has an obligation to investigate the past that was known at the time the artworks of interest to him were cre- ated. This explains the inclination (or compulsion? ) to see the totalities constructed by the humanities as historical totalities, whose temporal horizons vanished with them but can be rediscovered in the present as our own past. In this way, historiography, as well as the historiography of art, combines the binding force of origins with a (henceforth only) historical relevance. Both disciplines present temporal figures within a reflexive tem- poral horizon--our own--that modifies temporal horizons in time and through time. In addition, one discovers everyday worlds against which high cultures stand out as esoteric exceptions; or one can demonstrate, by
Evolution 213
means of quantitative or statistical analyses, "latent structures" that show how knowledge swims in an ocean of ignorance.
All of this is well known and, being current knowledge, it suggests a tempting proximity to our own concerns. What is remarkable forces itself upon us. This makes it all the more necessary to preface our analysis with a clarification: an evolutionary theoretical analysis of history pursues goals of a different sort, and it orders its material in different ways. It rests on a specific theoretical formulation of a problem. In biology, this problem can be stated as follows: How can the one-time biochemical invention of self- reproducing life give rise to such a great diversity of species? For the the- ory of society, the problem is how to account for the high degree of struc- tural complexity that develops once a continuous, rather than sporadic and repeatedly interrupted communication has been secured--where the structural complexity in question might concern a multiplicity of histori- cal societies or the modern world society. In Spencers well-known formu- lation, this implies a "change from a state of indefinite, incoherent homo-
4
geneity to a state of definite, coherent homogeneity. "
about the system of society is the diversity of functional systems, and within these systems, the emergence of media that facilitate rich, if unsta- ble, formations--ever new transactions in the economy together with the systems of production that accompany such transactions, or the continual modification of a positive law that remains nonetheless stable. A theoret- ical interest that goes under the name of evolutionary theory focuses on the conditions of possibility for structural change and, constrained by this focus, on explaining the emergence of structural and semantic complex- ity. This implies that the description of art, the emergence of a new con- cept of culture, the cultivation of art as culture, and even the emergence of a theory of evolution must be understood as a result of evolution. The theory of evolution is a self-referential, an "autological" paradigm.
The scientific usage of the term evolution is not necessarily so precise. Especially in the social sciences, pre-Darwinist notions prevail. Merely de- scriptive phase models of social development--in vogue since the eigh- teenth century (thus long before Compte)--are frequently offered as a theory of evolution. There might be an explanation for this. One might argue, for example, that "social Darwinism" has never been persuasive in the social sciences, that one needs dynamic models capable of explaining why things today are no longer the way they used to be, or that, while evolutionary adaptation to accidental structural changes cannot be de-
What is impressive
214 Evolution
nied, such changes might be analyzed more adequately with reference to
5
Lamarck rather than to Darwin. In a rigorous and precise conceptual
sense, none of these approaches deserves to be called a theory of evolu-
tion. This is why the theory of evolution has been called an "untried the-
6
ory," and justifiably so. This is all right--at least according to the many
social scientists who reject evolutionary theory as a biological metaphor or as an illegitimate analogy to the world of organisms.
Specifying a line of inquiry that might be called evolutionary theory (but could certainly assume other names as well) is an indispensable pre- paratory step, even though it says little about the research program. The theory of evolution deploys a specific distinction, namely, the distinction between variety, selection, and restabilization. This line of questioning does not focus on a process, nor does it attempt to explain in a historical or causal manner why things happen the way they do. Rather, it is moti- vated by systems-theoretical concerns. If autopoietic systems are set up in such a way that they must use their own operations to create and modify, or forget and dispose of their own structures, and if this mode of operat- ing always presupposes a potential network of operations--that is, a structure--then the question arises: How is it possible that these struc- tures become increasingly complex? Above all, this tendency is unlikely. What makes it more likely? And how does improbability--the fact that certain phrases are uttered nevertheless, that certain goods are bought, and certain forms are created and admired as art--eventually become so plau- sible that one can almost count on it? How can society establish its own improbabilities (which require that something specific must be selected from coundess other possibilities) in such a way that they stabilize one an- other, and the sudden failure of crucial accomplishments (for example, the loss of the monetary economy or the police force) would result in a catastrophe whose consequences would be impossible to contain? How, in other words, is it possible that the improbability of emergence continually
7
transforms itself into the probability of preservation?
The theory of evolution is concerned with unfolding a paradox, namely,
the paradoxical probability of the improbable. However, we cannot help formulating this paradox in a manner that statisticians will not accept. In statistics, it is trivial that reality, in each of its expressions, is extremely un- likely and at the same time entirely normal. It is therefore not surprising that the statistician fails to register this paradox, precisely because he pre- supposes its unfolding. The same holds for the theory of evolution. The
Evolution 215
comparison illustrates, however, that recourse to paradox--no matter how insignificant its methodological benefits might be, and inasmuch as it must be prohibited methodologically--allows one to raise the theoretical question of what kinds of identification facilitate, in one way or another, the unfolding (= rendering invisible) of the paradox. This paradox is ulti- mately a paradox of self-implication, which resides in presupposing a dis- tinction (here, probable/improbable) whose unity can be indicated only paradoxically. Logicians might object that theory creates this puzzle only to solve it on its own. This is certainly true. The question is: What kinds of comparative possibilities become visible in this manner?
II
One can present the history of society as the history of a general socio-
8
cultural evolution.
system of society at large. Changes in the realm of art would appear only as instances in the evolution of society. As early as 1800, this problem was discussed--albeit without sufficient theoretical preparation--with refer- ence to Kant's legal-political concept of society and in view of the rising
9 expectations being placed upon art and aesthetic experience. If one as-
sumes an elaborated theory of evolution instead of a theory of conscious- ness, then the question becomes whether independent (albeit condi- tioned) subsystems can exist within evolving systems. In order to prove this assumption, one would have to show how, and under what condi- tions, autopoietic subsystems close themselves off and, by differentiating operational modes of their own, become capable of treating environmen- tal perturbations as chance events that stimulate the variation and selec- tion of system-internal structures.
We have addressed this issue in conjunction with the historical condi-
10
tions of the art system's differentiation.
to furnish evidence for special environmental conditions that favored dif- ferentiation. In the following, we seek to identify the evolutionary mech- anisms whose separation facilitates this process.
Let us begin by recapitulating our analyses of the artworks form. Already in the individual artwork, we can see how the improbability of emergence is transformed into the probability of preservation. The first distinction, the one from which the artist starts out, cannot be programmed by the work of art. It can only occur spontaneously--even though it implies a decision
But the system reference of such a history remains the
In that context, our concern was
2 l 6 Evolution
concerning the work's type (whether it is to be a poem, a fugue, or a glass window) and perhaps an idea in the artist's mind. Any further decision tightens the work, orienting itself toward what is already there, specifying the unoccupied sides of already established forms and restricting the free- dom of further decisions. Once the distinctions begin to stabilize and relate to one another recursively, what occurs is precisely what we expect from evolution: the artwork finds stability within itself; it can be recognized and observed repeatedly. The work might still suffer destruction, but any fur- ther modification becomes increasingly difficult.