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The Speed of Beauty: Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht, Interviewed by Ulrik Ekman
*Ulrik Ekman *
/ University of Copenhagen/
ekman@hum.ku.dk
(c) 2006 Ulrik Ekman.
All rights reserved.
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/Professor Gumbrecht was interviewed after his visit in November
2005 at the Department for Cultural Studies and the Arts,
Copenhagen University, Denmark, arranged by the Research Forum for
Intermedial Digital Aesthetics directed by Ulrik Ekman. On that
occasion, Gumbrecht gave a seminar titled "Benjamin in the Digital
Age," which focused on his editorial work with Professor Michael
Marrinan (Stanford) on the essay anthology, /Mapping Benjamin: The
Work of Art in the Digital Age.//
/This interview originated in conversations during Gumbrecht's
visit and continued to develop further ideas raised in the
seminar. The interview took place mainly by email during the first
three months following Gumbrecht's Denmark seminar./
/This interview stretches the conventional limits of the genre in
more ways than one. The initial agreement was that questions and
answers would be exchanged several times, undergoing cuts or
further articulation as each party found necessary, until a format
and body of work acceptable to both was reached. The length of the
interview as well as the scope and complexity of the questions and
answers thus often exceed what one would normally expect. It has
from the outset been a conscious decision to articulate and even
to emphasize the participants' differences of position or of
approach. /
1. *UE*: The Dubrovnick seminar on the materialities of communication
not only resulted in the publication of a very rich body of
work,[1 <#foot1>] it also seems to have been of lasting importance
for you. You refer frequently to this event as the high point of
the seminar series,[2 <#foot2>] and one can see how it prefigures,
among other things, your later work on post-hermeneutics, the
production of presence, and meaning-effects. What was the
motivation, at that time, for bringing specific attention to
"materialities of communication," and how do you work with that
notion today?
2. *HUG*: "Materialities of Communication" (back in the spring of
1987, if I remember correctly), in a still almost "Socialist"
Yugoslavia, was indeed only one (the fourth) of four meetings that
my friends and I organized on the Eastern Adriatic coast between
1981 and 1989. Our main motivation was, typically enough, as I
might say today, to "keep alive" the theoretical and philosophical
impulses in the humanities that came from the "earthshaking years"
around 1970, but that we felt had been slowly ebbing since the
early 1980s. I am saying "typically enough" because today, in a
first and not yet totalizing retrospective, it is my impression
that it has always been my task (at least my main ambition) to
keep alive, and even to accelerate, intellectual movement. In
those Dubrovnik years, I once said that I wanted to be a "catalyst
of intellectual complexity"--and this certainly still holds true.
Now, such a self-description implies that I care much less about
"where" such intellectual movement will lead us. I care less about
the "vectors" of our thinking than about its actual happening--and
this works well with a general conception that I have of the
humanities as being a (small) social system, which, rather than
reducing complexity (which of course is necessary in general),
adds to the intrinsic complexity of our societies. We should be
less about solutions and more about producing new questions, i.e.,
more complexity. But back to your question, and my Dubrovnik
decade--the 1980s. As I am implying, it was not very clear at the
beginning of our colloquium series in which direction we could be
successful with our intention to keep intellectual movement alive.
What we first tried was a "revitalization" of the then-present
moment through a study of the history of our disciplines. But this
turned out to be too "antiquarian." Then we tried two universally
totalizing concepts, i.e., that of "historical periods" (in
German: /Epochen/) and "style." But in general, our experience
pointed out the misery of any type of constructivism; that is,
that there are certain concepts that one can endlessly expand so
that, in the end, they don't distinguish anything any longer. This
was, in the mid-1980s, the moment--a moment quite loaded with
frustration--when we were looking for a topic and a
self-assignment that would offer us more conceptual and
intellectual resistance. "Materialities of communication" seemed
to be the solution--and I assure you that, while the actual
invention of the topic caused great euphoria (I can still remember
it: it happened on a Sunday morning on the beautiful marble-stoned
main street of Dubrovnik), we didn't quite know where it would
lead us. It was in the most complete sense of the phrase: a
"search concept." Let me add, anecdotally, that the strongest
reason for choosing this concept back in the mid-1980s, was the
hope that it might contribute to a revitalization of a small
materialist Marxism. This clearly remained an ambition--almost
unbelievably, from my present-day perspective. Indeed, we
organized those colloquia in Yugoslavia because Yugoslavia was the
only country in that world that would let Westerners run academic
colloquia and that offered, at the same time, the possibility of
inviting colleagues from "behind the Iron Curtain" to participate.
3. *UE*: It seemed obvious that both the concern with the
materialities of communication and the ensuing inquiry into the
limits of the hermeneutic tradition of either assuming or
attributing meaning opened a host of difficult epistemological
questions, not just as regards any stability for (socially)
constructed meaning-effects but also respecting the centered, or
at least consensual unity versus a fragmentary multiplicity of
epistemological positions. You reflect upon this several times in
your work, and I wonder how you see this problematic today. In
addition, would there be a way to sketch out how the form and
style of your writing were influenced by this? I am thinking here
of the inventive and complex kinds of intermediary constellations
or configurations that you elaborate in both In 1926 and Mapping
Benjamin--in the first case via notions of arrays, codes,
collapsed codes, and frames--and in the second case via the notion
of mapping, the use of 16 critical terms, eight stations, and
various nodes or knots between these...
4. *HUG*: You know, you may have discovered something here that I
have neither seen nor intended myself--which of course does not
imply that what you are seeing is "wrong." The subjective truth
is, however, that, firstly, I have never cared all that much about
those "epistemological" motifs that came with the threatening
authority of prescriptions. While I do think it matters to care
about the "cutting-edge," in the sense of knowing "where it is,"
and in the sense of having the ambition to really "be"
"cutting-edge," it is not in my temperament to follow certain
fashions (I am too ambitious for that--it is rather my way to try
and "found" my own fashion by departing from existing ones).
Anyway, I have never thought that "epistemological fragmentation"
was the order of the day, or the order of the year. What you are
observing (correctly, no doubt) are "local" solutions to "local"
problems. My main personal desire for the project that led to the
1926 book was to find a way (and, later on, a discursive form)
that would allow me to produce this illusion of "full immersion
into the past." In the end, a "fragmentation" of my material into
fifty-three "entries" seemed to be an appropriate discursive
solution because it gave me the impression that I could "surround"
myself (full immersion!) with those "fragmented" entries. In the
Benjamin reader that I edited with Michael Marrinan, the question
between the two editors (two editors, by the way, who never
happened to agree easily--which is why I have such good memories
of my collaboration with Marrinan)--anyway, the question was how
we could "work through" and present "editorial discourse" on the
work presented by the multiple (and very short) contributions to
our volume. After long discussion, we constructed / "extracted" a
certain (perhaps I would tend to say: all too complicated)
conceptual grid along which Marrinan and I wrote our editorial
commentaries. We felt that this was a way, if you will allow for
this metaphor, to x-ray Benjamin's essay sixty years after its
first publication, with intellectual tools (to continue with the
metaphor)--with a "technology"--that was very different from the
prevailing intellectual tools of his time. I fear that this answer
may be disappointing, because it is so unprogrammatic--but at
least I am trying to tell you the truth.
5. *UE*: One of the intriguing aspects of your work on the
materialities of communication is the careful and repeated
traversal of the relation between epistemological and ontological
concerns. Your work displays, especially in its reiterated
encounters with "presence," an extremely intricate oscillation
between a move, perhaps unavoidable, towards epistemological
sense-making and conceptualization on the one hand, and, on the
other, an at least formally opening move in the direction of
ontological concerns, "ontology" here perhaps remaining altogether
other, overwhelmingly complex, or socially and historically
variable. Moreover, this oscillation seems informed by a
problematization of ideality and the empirical both, just as it
draws not only on modes of deconstructive differentiation from
Heidegger through early Derrida but also, and perhaps especially,
on the affirmative making of distinctions we find in the later
Luhmann. How do you see this oscillation today, and how do you
undertake the navigation between incessantly complicating
deconstructive gestures towards "presence"--such as the early
Derrida's concern with the "exteriority of writing" or Jean-Luc
Nancy's notion of the "birth to presence"--and the frequent
reduction of complexity in Luhmann's social systems theory, from
its centering on semantics in the mid-80s through the later
elaboration of autopoeisis and observation?
6. *HUG*: Let me start by admitting that, in a not-so-remote past, I
cherished the word "ontology" because it was such a "dirty word,"
the word with the worst possible philosophical reputation--a word,
therefore, that had an enormous potential for provocation. This
"explosive" situation, unfortunately, has faded away--and at
times, I accuse or pride myself on having made a certain
contribution to this development. But, more seriously, my best way
of saying what I am referring to by "ontology," is, surprisingly,
I hope, to say that the word refers to an epistemological
situation, an epistemological feeling that is no longer completely
obedient to the premises and prejudices imposed by the so-called
"linguistic turn." Yes, I refuse to accept what Foucault, Luhmann,
and ultimately even Derrida almost joyfully accepted, i.e., that
it is neither possible nor desirable to "speak," or even to think,
about anything that is outside of language. Of language, or, in
Luhmann's terms, outside of "communication," i.e., outside of
those systems, all social systems and the psychic system, whose
functioning is based on "meaning." It turns out that, quite
simply, I am fascinated by things, i.e., by that which is "not
language"--I have, for example, long felt that it is stupid and
counterproductive to describe sex as a form of communication (I
never forget to tell my undergraduate students that, if they want
to communicate, they should rather use language than sex). A more
academic way of perhaps expressing the same would be to say that
there is nothing wrong with "post-linguistic turn" philosophy--the
basic argument is of course quite convincing: that nothing outside
of language can ever be grasped by our minds. But this leaves us
with a relatively narrow range of possibilities for thinking. Now,
if thinking in the humanities is genuinely "riskful thinking"
(just another way of saying that the humanities should produce
complexity), then we have a right and an obligation to rebel
against such reductions in the range of thought-possibilities (as
has been advocated for almost a century now by what we call
"analytic philosophy"). This is a way of saying what, despite his
quite repulsive biography, I cannot help but be fascinated by
Heidegger's philosophy: it is a philosophy that does not care
about the premises and prescriptions coming from the "linguistic
turn." Derrida, unfortunately, as far as I am concerned, soon
abandoned a motif that was strong in his earlier work, the motif
of the "exteriority of the signifier" (as my Chicago colleague
David Wellbery called it), a motif that could have made his
philosophy a "non-linguistic turn" philosophy. But he ended up
embracing linguistic absolutism and Hermeneutics, its Teutonic
equivalent. Luhmann, in this sense, was a linguistic-turn
philosopher right from the beginning, i.e., from his very first
programmatic essay--which had the title "Meaning as Basic Concept
of Sociology." But, after all, why should my heroes from the
previous intellectual generation necessarily be those who have
already thought everything that I myself might desire to think?
7. *UE*: The editor of the first anthology to present in English a
fuller range of your early texts was Wlad Godzich, who was also
one of the contributors to The Materialities of Communication. You
refer more than once to his essay in the latter, which delineates
a very interesting history of the crisis of legitimation for
language and literacy vis-à-vis the hegemony of images, especially
in a contemporary culture of digital technology and media.[3
<#foot3>] As regards image-culture today Godzich remarks towards
the end of his essay that we are "living in the midst of a
prelogical affirmation of the world, in the sense that it takes
place before the fact of /logos/, and it threatens us with an
alienation that modern thinkers could barely conceive" (368).
According to him, this means that we are now "inhabited by images
that we have not drawn from ourselves, images of external
impressions that we do not master and that retain all their
agential capability without being mediated by us" (369). It is not
just that world, subject, and language thereby lose stability and
fixation as was the case with the modern putting into motion of
these concepts, something which still permitted constructive
solutions in the sense that modes of control over velocities could
be achieved, along with effects of stability and management of
instabilities. Rather, what Godzich has in mind here, echoing
Virilio's concern with such acceleration, is that today "the
technology of images operates at the speed of light, as does the
world" (370), something which at best allows one to ask whether
language can indeed bring the speed of the image under control,
turning images into some new kind of language. Godzich, of course,
is not alone in pointing out the problematic vicissitudes of the
digital image; in fact, there is still no consensus on an
aesthetics of the digital image, in spite of the laudable efforts
of Sean Cubitt, Edmond Couchot, W.J.T. Mitchell, Jonathan Crary,
Bernard Stiegler, Mark B. Hansen, and quite a few others.[4
<#foot4>] We still seem to be left with discussions about the very
possibility or impossibility of framing the digital image, prior
to any more elaborate or differentiated engagement that retains
notions of /aesthesis/, whether more traditional or as regards
relations to, or breaks from, the avant-garde. When you concur in
your texts that we do, as Godzich has it, live in a world of
floating images, how do you see the relation of images and
language, and in what ways do digital images enter your work?
8. *HUG*: I was just saying earlier that I am inclined (not to say
eager) to find that my very impressive predecessors (although I
have never seen them in a "Harold Bloomian" way, as all too
threatening)--that my very impressive predecessors have left
something for me to think. But now you have jumped--and you seem
to confront me with a question that, from my perspective, seems to
be a question/an assignment for the next generation (although you
are referring to my friend Wlad Godzich, who is three years older
than I). Anyway, to really think about what it means to be
increasingly surrounded by and immersed in an environment of
"floating images" is, from my point of view, a question for the
next generation, because I, frankly, try to be as little
surrounded by "floating images" as I possibly can. I have nothing
on earth against TV, for example (on the contrary, my family may
well hold the record for the most TV hours per week for an
academic family). But I personally (and atypically, within my
family) don't like TV. The truth is that I regularly fall asleep
in front of the TV screen--even if I am not tired at all, even if
I am watching the most exciting thing for me, i.e., sports and
athletic events. So I am just not in a good position to analyze
"floating images"--although I of course acknowledge that the
question is important.
9. But let me try to say something more general (from the wisdom of
my age?) about the character of such tasks. It is my impression
and my criticism that your generation, i.e., the "media
theory-generation," is always trying to come up with the "genius
formula," the "genius intuition," when it comes to describing and
analyzing such phenomena. Patiently working on and developing a
network of distinctions (I know I now sound like an analytic
philosopher) does not seem to be your thing. Many protagonists of
your generation (and of my own) do look strangely "Hegelian" to
me--but Hegelian with the ridiculous ambition to be geniuses and
/geistreich./ Like those late nineteenth-century naturalists who
were "hunting butterflies" with nets, and never caught any.
Virilio, for example, looks to me like the embodiment of such bad
intellectual taste; I have never managed to read any of his texts
all the way through. Very seldom, Friedrich Kittler participates
in such lapses of bad taste--but his best pages are of course
sublime--and the admirable phenomenon is that most of his pages
are "best pages." Anyway, I am trying to make a pledge for patient
and descriptive accuracy. Following this pledge, one will discover
that we are of course not as exclusively surrounded by "floating
images" as Godzich would have it. Not our entire world is MTV.
Most of us are also surrounded, for many hours a day, by the
environment of electronic mail and of the Internet, which is,
after all, still a "verbal" environment. Now, the new thing, the
thing yet to be analyzed by a good phenomenological description,
is that, on the one hand, visual perception ("images") is less
embodied and requires different reactions from our bodies than
visual perception that is not produced by a screen. On the other
hand, communication by email and by the Internet "feels"
different, in this very bodily sense, from writing a text by hand
or on the typewriter, and from receiving a "traditional" letter on
either beautiful or cheap stationery. The simple proof is, for me
(if this observation requires proof at all), that I miss that
old-fashioned type of correspondence every day when I look into my
(real space) mailbox in the mailroom of my building at the
university--and see that it is empty; whereas the "mailbox" on my
screen contains around five hundred new electronic messages every
day. Now, I shouldn't fall back (or "fall ahead") onto that tone
of cultural criticism; all I want to say is that not only do I not
have a formula for describing our profoundly changed communicative
environment, I feel that one should not even go for such a
formula. In more critical terms: I think that media research and
media theory would have made much more sense and much more
progress if it had concentrated more insistently and more broadly
on good descriptions.
10. *UE*: One of the recurring debates about the digital image
concerns the question whether the condition of "post-photography"
and the variability or manipulability of the digital image entail
a more or less complete departure from ontological and realistic
representational dimensions. Currently, Mitchell is very much
concerned to counter exactly such leave-takings of realism, and
others try to point out how work in this area does not exclude
notions of realism in the first place and, secondly, is not
unidirectional but rather seems to be undergoing a more
differentiated development. In particular, Lev Manovich points out
that the almost unlimited digital simulation in cinematic
post-production that we know from the Wachowski brothers' The
Matrix, and from virtuality-oriented art more generally, now
increasingly seems to be supplemented by new modes of work that
focus on sampling rather than on pure simulation, or on
documentary video realism rather than on the full-scale special
effects of Hollywood cinema.[5 <#foot5>] If we keep in mind the
rich set of focal interests for the study of the materialities of
communication, how do you view such debates over the "real" status
of (moving) digital images?
11. *HUG*: Unfortunately I am not familiar with most of the
works--artistic and academic--that you are invoking here. In this
case, my ignorance has no excuse; it is sheer ignorance, and not a
judgment, as in the case of Virilio, whose work I find grotesquely
overrated. Sometimes, if you will allow me this remark, I am
astonished to see--and grateful at the same time--that I have
survived the challenges of an academic life, being the slow reader
that I am. I read slowly, I spend a lot of time taking and making
notes, and I write comparatively much. But that feeling of being
"behind," of not reading enough, of not responding to so many
questions, grows, the older I get--and unfortunately, this is not
just secretly self-congratulatory rhetoric. This is the reason why
my reaction to your question about the "reality-status" of
"moving" and digital images has to be all too general and
abstract. Whatever degree of "reality" you want to invest them
with of course depends on the epistemological premises, the
philosophical system, or the conceptual network within which you
are asking this question. Each framework (think of analytic
philosophy, systems theory, deconstruction--you name it) will
produce a more or less predictable answer. What I find interesting
(and not in the sense of a judgment) is that I, for example (and I
believe: like many people of my age) have a hard time reacting to
(and an even harder time connecting with) some of these digital
effects and miracles. I do not deny their value and their
potential merit; it does not astonish me to see that you, for
example, really enjoy and appreciate them. But in my case, they
have produced a paradoxical reaction. The more I see myself
confronted and surrounded by a technologically mediated
environment of stimuli, the more I enjoy that which, at least from
a naïve standpoint, is not mediated. As I said before, there is a
huge difference for me between watching a game of American
football on TV /or/ in the stadium--and I am well aware that I see
"less" in the stadium. As I am answering your questions, I am
looking through the window of my library carrel, across the red
roofs of the buildings of Stanford University, in their strangely
nineteenth-century Spanish Colonial style--and in the background,
I see a mountain range, and, faintly, the wings of a white bird. I
find this moving; I wish I had learned earlier to be more a part,
with my own body, of this natural and physical environment. Now, I
am not talking (at least not mainly talking) about "ecological
politics." What I am trying to point to is an aesthetics, perhaps
an impossible aesthetics, of "immediate experience"--which no
doubt, in my case, depends on being overfed and overstimulated by
manmade technologies. Yes, this is very romantic; you may even
call it /kitsch/. But I do not seem to be the only one, at least
in my generation. Read, for example, the book of my good friend
and closest colleague Robert Harrison, The Dominion of the Dead.
This book is about rediscovering a feeling for the ground we walk
on as the ground that contains the remnants of our predecessors.
It is a feeling that we have largely lost, and I will admit that
this (objective) loss has only become a (subjective) loss for me
in the past few decades.
12. *UE*: You open your co-edited essay anthology Mapping Benjamin:
The Work of Art in the Digital Age, by introducing the coupling of
two critical terms, aesthetics and perception, as part of the
reactualization of Benjamin's work today. In the treatment of
perception you point out that we might understand the intellectual
background of "aura" as "Benjamin's last-ditch effort to save, in
the face of a growing challenge from technology, the physical
limits of our human bodies as the yardstick of perception itself"
(7). More specifically, you see in Benjamin's polarization of
"cult value" and "exhibition value" a certain reintroduction of
the traditional philosophical dualism of what you call nativist
and empiricist models of perception. On this view Benjamin seems
unable or unwilling to consider perception in a technologically
expanded field. Could one understand you as saying that he allows
for an opening, at the very least, of the question respecting
whether and how "the fundamental parameters of perception itself
might escape the limits of our physical bodies" (6)? In that same
passage regarding perception, and the missing link in Benjamin to
seemingly inhuman models of perception, you describe today's
dominant model of perception as based on the body qua "information
processor"--one that "deploys a complex system of long-term and
short-term memory storage, of hierarchical coding schemes, and a
modular chain of cognitive operations very much like a computer"
(6). In that case, embodied perception would be attuned to the
production, dissemination, and reception of digital data. While
the reception of Benjamin's mechanical production essay is
famously multiplicitous, at least two recent efforts draw
extensively on Benjamin as a source of inspiration for a
materialist theory of digital media and a notion of the lived body
as the framing capacity vis-à-vis digital art. I am thinking here
of the reactualization of Benjamin and cinematic paradigms in
Manovich's widely read study, The Language of New Media, and of
Mark B. Hansen's more recent New Philosophy for New Media, which
opens by citing Benjaminian perception as a source of hope for the
survival of media today in spite of digital convergence and
various posthuman positions. Hansen devotes his entire text to
fleshing out the notion of the body as the framer of information
artworks. In addition, at least two of the essays in Mapping
Benjamin, by Bolz and Werber, go quite far, albeit differently,
towards actualizing Benjamin's notion of the "training of
perception" as something valuable today. I know that bodily
being-there, the experience proper to the life world, as well as
(mediated) spectatorship and/or participation figure very
prominently in your work, including in the recent text on athletic
beauty.[6 <#foot6>] How do you see Benjamin, the body, and the
training of perception in our digital age?
13. *HUG*: Of course I find Benjamin's essay (which someone told me is
the most frequently cited essay in the academic humanities) very
important--otherwise I would not have invested my time into a
collective volume discussing it. But I find it important as a
symptom of its own time, the late 1930s, of its specific
sensitivities, hopes, and above all prognostics. For me (and I
know how irreverent this may sound), Benjamin's prognostics were
about as grotesquely wrong as Jules Vernes's imagination of the
future world (although it is very interesting that, in both cases,
intellectuals passionately insist on how miraculously right they
both were). Look, for example, at how Benjamin predicts that aura
will disappear--whereas our contemporary truth is that so many
more artifacts than in the mid-twentieth-century have become
"auratic." If, in Benjamin's time, a drawing by Paul Klee or a
picture by Picasso had an aura, today we consider even the (very
"selective") posters (I always find a touch of kitsch there) of
Klee and Picasso exhibits auratic, and subsequently frame them. Or
take the moving but completely erroneous idea that a
multiplication of "cameramen" would entail some effect of
"emancipation" (whatever this may mean). Technologically, this has
happened. But I cannot imagine that anyone would seriously claim
that running through the world with a camcorder, or being able to
take photographs with a cell phone, has had any "emancipatory"
effect. Now, I am not blaming Benjamin--I think his essay is a
bundle of strong intellectual intuitions--whose incoherence (and I
mean it in the sense of "glorious incoherence") has probably
contributed to the unique breadth of its reception. But give me a
break! Can people be serious when they claim that Benjamin's
concepts will help us to analyze our present-day media
environment? This would be even more hilarious than to claim that
scientific labs of the late 1930s were superior in terms of the
"truth value" that they produced, than contemporary labs. So I
won't even begin to discuss the question of whether Benjamin's
concepts or intuitions can be helpful in analyzing our present-day
technological and media environment. They can definitely not. The
interesting question is, once again, why so many of my colleagues,
specifically younger colleagues (colleagues of your generation),
are so obsessed with and so insistent in finding more than
inspiration, in finding, indeed, "Truth," in the classics of our
field. It is as if today, very different from those days around
1980, when my friends and I (with the beginning of the Dubrovnik
colloquia) tried "to keep intellectual movement alive" we have
fallen under a paralysis or a prohibition of independent thinking.
Why do those who are interested in digital art not use their own
competence to describe and analyze it, to develop theories? Why do
you read Benjamin with the hope of finding help for the analysis
of contemporary technology, instead of thinking for yourselves?
14. *UE*: I was quite intrigued when watching the opening ceremony of
the most recent Olympic Games--for on that occasion bodily
presence, perception, participation, and the spectacle of the
sports event all seemed to be displaying in uncircumventable ways
the changes our culture and our life world are currently
undergoing due to digital augmentation and the pervasiveness of
computing. I am not just talking about the real time or "live"
televising with multiple cameras and the big screens on the
stadium, but also about the fact that a most of the spectators
present and the participants themselves were carrying and actively
using cellular phones, digital cameras, as well as digital video
cameras. "Presence," "being-there," and "participation" here
rather obviously included the navigation through the augmented
dimension, in the sense of engaging with quite complicated
overlays of physical space and data spaces, place and
tele-distance--just as the pervasiveness of computing made it
difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish clearly between
embodied and digital perception at the level of at least the
audio-visual and the haptic or tactile. You have written
extensively on sports events, spectatorship, participation, and
the relation to the media,[7 <#foot7>] but today how is one to
make sense of, and is one indeed to make sense of, so many
athletes and spectators pointing and waving with one hand, while
talking right there as well as via their wireless headsets, and
video recording with the other hand?
15. *HUG*: Yes, this time I am familiar with the (screen) images that
you are referring to. I have seen those closing ceremonies of the
Olympic Games, for example, where the athletes whom we see on the
screen have nothing better to do than to shoot photographs or use
their cell phones. Frankly (and after the first part of our
conversation, you won't be surprised to hear this), I find these
images depressing--I certainly cannot identify with this attitude.
Had I ever had the privilege of participating in the Olympic
Games, I would have tried to indulge, as best I could, in the
immediacy (here is this /kitsch/ word again!) of every moment. It
wouldn't have crossed my mind to become an amateur reporter--and
why would I ever take photos or produce a video in order to enjoy
the event retrospectively, /instead of enjoying the event in real
time/? But this movement and practice have a long history,
meanwhile. When my four children (today 27, 23, 16 and 14 years
old) were born, I was of course present in the delivery room--and,
quite honestly, I cannot remember any other moments or events that
I have found more impressive or incisive for my life. But alreaady
at that time (back in the spring of 1978), there were dads who
filmed the "event" with their camcorders. I found that
obscene--but even forgetting the criticism of "obscenity"--how can
one possibly forego the immediacy of the event in order to prepare
for a retrospective viewing? Now, let me become self-critical
here: there is clearly something that I do not get. Of course
these children, today, use their computers as photo albums; they
edit pictures; they fast-forward through them; they enjoy them in
a way that I cannot follow--I always want to tell them that I want
to take more time with each picture (and I no longer dare to tell
them that I would so like to have a print--and an album full of
prints). It is as if the speed of beauty was not for me.
16. *UE*: This problematic of sense-making, assumption or attribution
of meaning, and of semantics generally has been a lasting concern,
indeed one of the most indisputable and energized foci of your
work. It is evident in your approaches to the everyday life world
on psychological and socio-cultural planes both, and in your
reconsideration of what the role of meaning can be in the
encounter with art and the spectacle, but perhaps it is enjoying
special foregrounding in your explicit reflections upon the
difficult challenges posed by a new epistemology that does not
grant that traditional kind of privilege to interpretation and
hermeneutics which we find not least in Germany. What was the
original motivation for your questioning of interpretation, and
what do you consider to be the more or less unmet challenges today
for post-hermeneutic epistemology, or epistemologies?
17. *HUG*: Although I get the impression that this, the
"non-hermeneutic" epistemology, is what colleagues and readers
most associate with my work and with me, this is indeed a good
question in many ways. The most banal way in which it is a good
question (and the most interesting one for me personally) is that
if I am such a verbally exuberant person, someone who always
interprets, who always attributes meaning, why am I so radically
against the "universality claim of hermeneutics"? Of course I will
not venture any kind of self-reflexive psychoanalysis here. Let me
admit, rather, that there is clearly some academico-Oedipal
dynamic at play here--about which I have recently written for the
first time (symptomatically enough, the essay was first published
in Russian, but will soon come out in the American journal Telos[8
<#foot8>]. My own /Doktorvater/ and first academic boss (whose
name I had sworn I would not mention in the public sphere again)
was a great admirer (rather than a student, as he claimed) of
Hans-Georg Gadamer, who was himself a student of Heidegger--who
was a student of Husserl; this is a heavy genealogy already,
which, despite a remark I made earlier in our conversation,
probably did incite some Oedipal energies. But while I have come
to greatly admire Gadamer's work (and Heidegger's even more so), I
have always hated the authoritarian way in which my academic
advisor handled interpretation--even more so when he pretended
that his method was "dialogic." Another, very German, way of
answering your question would be to say that what separated that
advisor of mine and myself was the (never to be underestimated)
distinction between German Protestant culture and German Catholic
culture. While my parents did not give me an orthodox Catholic
upbringing, I was an altar boy, I enjoyed incense, sumptuous
religious rituals, the "real presence" of God in the
Eucharist--rather than the Lutheran insistence on the gospels, the
Word, and their meaning. Some people have said that I am simply
"sensual"--and of course I hope that this is also true.
Nevertheless, I believe--or should I say: I fear?--that the
Oedipal (self-)interpretation goes a long way in my case.
18. *UE*: When reading through your texts on post-hermeneutic
epistemology as an historical sequence, according to their date of
publication, my impression is that a certain transformation is
gradually taking place: the earlier texts appear quite a lot more
radical, either in their call for a strict departure from
hermeneutics and sense-making or in their emphasis on the severity
of the difficulties that work on a new epistemology is facing, and
the later texts sketch out a more balanced and consensus-seeking
approach to meaning-production and interpretation. I am thinking
of certain earlier passages in Making Sense in Life and Literature
and in Materialities of Communication as read in dialogue with the
more recent comments in The Production of Presence. Let me try to
unfold this a bit.
19. In the first of these texts you point out that: "the proposal to
analyze sense making as an intrasystemic operation depending on
each system's specific environment (without 'picturing' it)
generates the new question of whether we have to count, according
to the high variation in the frame conditions of sense making, on
a multiplicity of different modalities in sense and meaning"
(Making Sense 12). You remark that you are not taking any answer
to this question for granted but rather consider its pursuit
"important in an epistemological situation in which we have been
aware for quite a long time of the fact that our concepts for the
description and the analysis of sense making turn out to be
insufficient whenever we apply them to contemporary culture (12).
At that time your conclusion was first that we were facing the
task of inventing "a new epistemology capable of theorizing and
analyzing ways of sense making that perhaps no longer include
effects of 'meaning' and 'reference,'" and, secondly, that so far
we "simply /do not know/ what interfaces such as those between TV
and psychic systems, or between computers and social systems, look
like." Accordingly, the question of "sense making" might continue
to be the issue at hand, but this would no longer hold for
meaning, representation, and reference--which leads one to suspend
the question whether "our dealing with new modes of sense making
will make sense" (13).
20. In your closing essay for the second volume you undertake a more
detailed macro- and micro-mapping of the urgent tasks for projects
working on materialities of communication, and your key hypothesis
here is that quite a few emergent theory-positions could be seen
to converge in a shared problematizing of conceptualizing the
humanities as hermeneutics, i.e., "as a group of disciplines
grounded on the act of interpretation as their core exercise"
(Materialities 396). In the case of the inquiry into the
materialities of communication, such problematizing of
interpretation would cause, you remark, a shift in the main
perspective of investigation. This shift would go "from
interpretation as identification of given meaning-structures to
the reconstruction of those processes through which structures of
articulated meaning can at all emerge" (398). Rather than assuming
given meaning or unproblematic attribution of such meaning, the
projects gesturing towards the materialities of communication
would thus be trying to take care of all the phenomena that
somehow contribute to the constitution of meaning without being
meaning themselves. Hence the difficult question whether and how
it is at all possible for psychic and social systems to constitute
meaning, a question that simultaneously pursues a replacement of
"interpretation" with "meaning constitution" and seeks to pay much
more attention to the human body and the physical qualities of
signifiers.
21. In contrast to such marked departures towards a rather decidedly
post-hermeneutic condition, The Production of Presence emphasizes
the various ways one should precisely /not/ take you to be
opposing or abandoning meaning, signification, and interpretation.
For example, when reflecting upon Derrida's early remark that "the
age of the sign" will "perhaps never /end./ Its historical
/closure/, however, is outlined," you point out that whatever else
this kind of "beyond" might involve, putting an end to the age of
the sign and the metaphysics of presence can "certainly not mean
that we would abandon meaning, signification, and interpretation"
(Derrida, Of Grammatology 14; Gumbrecht, Production of Presence
52).[9 <#foot9>] Rather, if we are to talk of such a "beyond" and
of what it would take to end metaphysics, this can, you emphasize,
"only mean something in addition to interpretation--without, of
course, abandoning interpretation as an elementary and probably
inevitable intellectual practice" (52).
22. Some of this perceived change in your work could, of course, just
be due to a later, strategic response on your part, not least
because you have been misread so often on this score, but if there
is some truth to the impression of such a gradual change of your
position, could you elaborate on the implications of this movement
you now seem to be gesturing towards, a movement somehow between
interpretative meaning and a "beyond" whose birth is otherwise?
*HUG*: You are right, the insistence on the "non-hermeneutic"
character of my work has certainly changed over the past decades
(or over the past two decades)--my tone has become more
conciliatory. I will not even try to deny that this is, partly at
least, an effect of (incipient?) old age, and of becoming more
established. I wouldn't go so far, as a Berlin newspaper recently
did, as to say that I have now "joined the club of toothless old
ex-intellectuals"--but, yes, it would be pathetic to try to
maintain a full-fledged "Oedipal energy" at age 57. But the most
important answer to your question--at least for me--lies
elsewhere. As I mentioned before, when we organized the
"Materialities of Communication" colloquium, when I was
experimenting with a concept (if it was a concept at all) such as
the "non-hermeneutic," it was not quite clear where this journey
would take me--if it took me anywhere at all. This fact, that I
had a vague feeling and intuition of wanting to find something
like an "alternative" to hermeneutics and interpretation, made it
more or less necessary to be very radical. Ever since I "found"
(not the Promised Land, but) the dimension of "presence," since I
have begun to develop, as best I could, a network of concepts
regarding presence, I can afford to be less fanatical. Besides
that, would it not be ridiculous to "deny" the existence of
meaning and of interpretation? Of course we do interpret all of
the time; it is (Heidegger was right) one of our more basic
existential conditions--up to the point that I would confirm that
we cannot /not/ interpret. But the point is (and here again, I
turn against the "linguistic turn," that there is more to our
lives than just interpretation; there is what I call
"presence"--and there might well be other dimensions that, like
presence, our Western philosophical tradition has abandoned and
neglected for many centuries. So, to come back to your question,
the answer is that I believe that I could begin to be more open to
"meaning" again as soon as I had a clearer conception of what was
the non-hermeneutic dimension on which I wanted to concentrate.
23. *UE*: I was particularly intrigued by the possible convergences
between your notion of an in-between movement for sense-making and
a different production of presence on the one hand, and the
situation facing one in the contemporary field of digital art and
aesthetics. Perhaps the latter can be seen to be almost the
obverse of the traditional privileging or taking for granted of
meaning and interpretation in the humanities. That is, digital
artworks more often than not present one with the difficulty or
even impossibility of sense making, seeing that whatever we might
take to be meaningful here implies and originates from digital
media, communication, discrete code and programs, and
technology--all of which most often operate well beyond human
ratios of perception, or well beyond the speeds of either embodied
interaction or conceptualization. This is most evident when purely
technological and machinic agency drives the artwork, but it
appears in video installations and hyperfictions depending on
human interaction as well--for example, in Bill Viola's work with
technological and media-specific slowness or acceleration as paths
towards the delimitation and/or reactualization of affect in Anima
(2000), or in Urs Schreiber's sometimes rather radical departures
from printed text, literacy, literariness, and the tradition of
the book in Das Epos der Maschine (2001). Would it be possible to
see in your recent work the emergence of a more visible limit,
border, skin, communicative membrane, or level of structural
coupling between sense making and "presencing": constitutive of
meaning in various ways and yet vanishing in the very birth to
presence of sense, sensation, and the sensible? What would the
prospects be, do you think, of approaching meaning-effects and
presence in the area of digital art and aesthetics via your
reflections on such an in-between, perhaps more specifically via
your notions of rhythm, oscillation, and speed?
24. *HUG*: No doubt you are right. I think my old "Oedipal" and
radical denial of the hermeneutic dimension has morphed into an
insistence on the difficult, tense, always complex and never
"natural" cohabitation of "meaning" and "presence." When I talk
about "oscillations" between meaning and presence, I mean
"oscillation" in the sense of a /pluraletantum/--there is a
variety of such oscillations--and given that the variety might be
endless, I am simply not sure at this point whether it makes
sense, as I used to think, to work towards a "typology" of such
oscillations. Clearly, however, the proportion--the "weight," if
you will--of "meaning" in relation to "presence" is different for
different media. It would certainly be hilarious to say that, in
reading a novel, the material "presence" effects of the book are
as important as the meaning conveyed by the text. Instrumental
music might be the opposite: we can certainly not help but produce
associative meanings while we are listening to music--but I
believe that these meanings are highly personal, futile, and that
they ultimately draw our attention away from what only music can
provide: the beautiful feeling of being wrapped in the light and
soft touch of the materiality of sounds.
25. *UE*: In your more recent engagements with art and aesthetics you
explicitly reintroduce the distinction between the beautiful and
the sublime, but now with the intent of foregrounding and granting
a different privilege to beauty and the beautiful. Perhaps this
move has an element of surprise to it and is not immediately part
of the intuitive horizon of expectation for many
readers--considering the import of the limits of the Kantian
imagination for, say, Heidegger's relatively early work, the
attention paid to the sublime in several strands of what often
passes under the somewhat homogenizing rubric of
poststructuralism, the role played by overwhelming complexity in a
Luhmannian notion of art as a social system, or the emphasis in
many other efforts towards a contemporary aesthetics that cares
for the avant-garde or for the strict singularity of the
experience of art. So, my question is triple, I think: What is at
stake in this actualization and bringing into movement of the
beautiful, under what conditions do digital works of art present
beauty from your perspective, and do the experience of art as well
as art as a social system retain a distinguishable or even
privileged role in contemporary culture?
26. *HUG*: Again, you have it right--and I am beginning to be scared
by how familiar you are with my thought, far beyond what I make
explicit and (sometimes at least) have come to understand myself.
But there is nothing terribly programmatic or symptomatic about my
"preference" for the beautiful (in comparison to "the sublime").
As I said before, it seems to lie in my temperament that I want to
speak about "the beautiful," but everyone else seems to
concentrate on the sublime (about "the non-hermeneutic," when
everyone else discusses interpretation), about literature
"itself," when everybody feels that theory is the only thing, and
so forth. In this very (ultimately banal) spirit, some of my
colleagues and I, back in the early 1990s, had planned to work
towards an issue of an academico-intellectual journal on
"Beauty"--but, fortunately for us, the journal did not survive,
and some of its projects shared this fate. A project from the same
journal that did survive, by the way, is the volume on Benjamin
that we have discussed. The one case where I have used the concept
of "the beautiful" quite systematically (and to a certain extent:
to my surprise), was my book In Praise of Athletic Beauty. While I
am of course not saying that watching sports does not have any
"sublime" moments, I am convinced that, in most cases of spectator
sports, "beauty" (according to Kant: the impression of
purposiveness without purpose) is the more feeling concept than
the sublime. Not unexpectedly, several reviewers have taken issue
with this opinion--but, interestingly enough, they never argued
about it. It was as if they wanted to say that there was one and
only one category to describe aesthetic experience, and that was
"the sublime."
27. *UE*: The field of digital art has focused from the late 1980s to
the last half of the 1990s on virtuality and thus on immersion,
simulation, and abstract or even transcendent self-reference as
aesthetic paradigms--witness such works as Charlotte Davies's
Osmose (1995) and Ephemere (1998)--the history and structures of
which have been charted quite engagingly in Oliver Grau's book on
virtual art. However, already with Jeffrey Shaw's Eve (1993) and
ConFIGURING the CAVE (1996), the focus has shifted not only
towards the use of physical and architectural structures to
achieve immersion effects, but towards opening up embodiment and
the relation between the body and space as altogether dominant
issues. When one considers the subsequent developments in the
field, one is tempted to diagnose symptoms of what one might call
"the physical turn" of digital art. For instance, the works in
tele-presence by Roy Ascott, Ken Goldberg, and Eduardo Kac, the
broadening of interest in transgenic art and artificial life, the
entry on stage of augmentation not only in everyday and commercial
culture but also in more classical art forms such as in Christian
Ziegler's dance performance scanned I-V (2000-01), and the very
recent peaking of interest in pervasive computing--all of this
bespeaks amarked change of aesthetic focus which seems to bring us
far away from the Cartesianism evident in William Gibson's early
exploration of the notion of "cyberspace" or in most earlier
artistic and critical theoretical engagements with virtuality. But
perhaps this change is most visible and tangible in the rather
radical widening of the field of digital art and aesthetics
concerned with the body--Stelarc is an obviously provocative
example, but a visitor to /Medien Kunst Netz/ will confront around
200 digital artworks that explore the body, embodiment, and social
or psychic effects of framing and/or identity-formation. Or, as
Manovich formulates this predicament more generally, the 1990s
were about the virtual. We were fascinated by new virtual
spaces made possible by computer technologies. The images of
an escape into a virtual space that leaves the physical space
useless and of cyberspace--a virtual world that exists in
parallel to our world--dominated the decade . . . It is quite
possible that this decade of the 2000s will turn out to be
about the physical--that is, physical space filled with
electronic and visual information.
I was wondering how one would want to think about this physical
turn in digital art, and, considering your inquiry into the
materialities of communication as well as the beauty of bodies
that matter, how you approach this emergence of digital body art.
In particular, I was struck by the impression, when confronting
the research in the field, that Cartesianism and more or less
strict dualisms of body and mind are not so easily left behind. In
the middle part of your Production of Presence you devote quite
some energy and reflection to reconsidering Heidegger's thinking
of "world" and "earth" in "The Origin of the Work of Art," and you
rightly emphasize Heidegger's critique of Descartes in that
context.[10 <#foot10>] In a recent essay, Katherine N.
Hayles--whose study How We Became Posthuman was instrumental in
provoking a more differentiated and qualified critical debate over
the posthuman, which Friedrich Kittler has also enriched in so
many ways--reconsiders her position and recognizes that she is
still haunted by the incessant returns of such dualisms. That
later essay sketches out a relational notion of emergence from a
dynamic flux both of the body and of embodiment, a relationality
that departs in a different way from Cartesianism than her earlier
work does.[11 <#foot11>] How do you think of the emergence or
presencing of embodiment and of the experience of beauty in a
digital age--on the other side of Cartesian and posthuman
temptations both? In particular, how would one want to consider
the beauty of digital art and embodiment in their concretely
specific differentiation and materiality--even on that level of
gendered difference which Lyotard brought into his work on the
inhuman, or on that level of "an erotics of art" which Susan
Sontag was thinking of in Against Interpretation?
28. *HUG*: Of course, "dualisms like body and mind are not so easily
left behind." For my part, I do not believe that I have ever
promised (!) to leave either "body" or "mind" behind (I may have
said that there are other tasks for the mind to get engaged in
than interpretation). In this spirit, I am convinced that the
provocative power of the concept of the post-human has long since
worn out. When Foucault (if it was Foucault) first used it, it was
beautifully provocative because it made us aware that a certain
concept of the "human" that we had thought to be metahistorical
and transcultural was indeed both culturally and historically very
specific (i.e., it was rooted in the eigtheenth century). So
Foucault's provocation helped us to not feel forever obliged to
live up to the eigtheenth-century concept of the "human." For
example, we have become much less optimistic regarding the natural
generosity of "humans" towards other humans--and we no longer even
think that this is such a devastating insight. But will we ever
become post-human, in the sense of not living through (in one way
or the other), this dualism (or should I say oscillation) between
"body" and "mind" (and again, what would be wrong with this)?
29. *UE*: I know that Luhmann's work and his intellectual impact on
the academy have been of extraordinary import to you and,
naturally, the lasting fascination with his social systems theory
has left many traces in your own production. On the one hand, I
wonder how you see the fate of Luhmann's work today, in the face
of a pervasively digital culture? Specifically, how do you
evaluate and handle the absence in Luhmann's work of a refined and
differentiated set of concepts and distinctions relating to new
media, including the questions raised, and debated by many of
Luhmann's readers, by the introduction of the notion of the "code"
versus the eventual discreteness of information in The Reality of
the Mass Media? On the other hand, you yourself on occasion
gesture towards what you find to be relatively unelaborated
aspects of Luhmann's work, his concepts of time and space in
particular.[12 <#foot12>] How would you describe your own
departure here towards different notions of form, event, position,
distance, movement, and the widening of the present as a dimension
of simultaneity?
30. *HUG*: Two or three years ago, in Copenhagen (indeed), I was
invited to give the closing lecture for the (at least then)
"largest Luhmann Congress ever." I accepted--but I did feel
slightly uneasy, because, by then, I had somehow ceased to be
"Luhmannian." My solution to this (emotional, rather than
cognitive) dilemma was to start the lecture by confessing (and
this is still true) that "Niklas Luhmann's work was the
intellectual love of my life." It had never before happened with
the same intensity as in the case of Luhmann's work--and I
anticipate that it will never happen again in my intellectual
life: I absolutely had to read each new book, each new article by
this author. It wasn't even a question of whether I agreed or not;
I fear (but why am I saying "fear"?) that "rapture" would have
been the adequate word here. I was in a true Luhmann-fever--it was
something like a novel released in serial form, to see how he
complicated his thought and his philosopy in a way that I found
aesthetically fascinating. This is the one side. On the other
side, however (and this is the simple reason why I am no longer a
Luhmannian--a reason, of course, that doesn't say anything against
Luhmann's work), what I have increasingly concentrated upon over
the past decade, i.e., the dimension of "presence," does not have
a place in Luhmann's work. Now, this fact is altogether
undramatic. Each philosophy, programmatically or preconsciously,
opts for certain problems and concepts that it can deal with--and
thus automatically excludes others. What my friends and I used to
call "materiality" (and what today I refer to as "presence") is
something that Luhmann's philosophy could not capture from the
(very foundational) moment Luhmann decided to make meaning
(/Sinn/) the key-concept of his work. In this sense, it is perhaps
more than a /bon mot/ to say--rather it is an ultimately laudatory
description--that Luhmann's philosophy is the "hermeneutics of the
digital age." I do not know whether his concept of "communication"
was deliberately or unintentionally adapted to electronic
communication--but I imagine that it would work beautifully and
gloriously to describe and to analyze our technological and mainly
electronic communication environment. Now, I insist: all of this
is not a criticism of Luhmann; rather it explains why I don't have
much use for the entire edifice of Luhmann's philosophy.
Nevertheless, his name still plays an important role in my ongoing
work--and it is not derogatory if I characterize this role by
saying that Luhmann has become my "main provider of punch lines."
Like many other stunning intellectual talents (he certainly
belongs to the five or even three most intelligent persons I have
ever seen), he was fantastic at coming up with sharp and always
surprising (i.e., counterintuitive) definitions. Many of these
definitions function as healthy thought-provocations even if you
do not buy into the entire complexity of Luhmann's system. And
this is how I use him today. Let me end with one further comment
on your question--which indirectly also refers back to our
Benjamin discussion. That author "X" (Niklas Luhmann, for example)
does not provide a full-fledged theory of phenomenon "Y" (in which
you happen to be interested), does not mean that author X is not
interesting. Here it is again, for me: this feeling of a taboo
imposed on independent thinking. Unlike your generation, I have to
say that I am always (and not only secretly) happy when I see that
my great intellectual heroes (/even/ my great intellectual heroes)
have their limits.
31. *UE*: You chose "Beyond Meaning: Positions and Concepts in Motion"
as the title of the third, very important chapter of The
Production of Presence. I was very taken by the possibility of
inquiring further into the notion you develop there of presence in
movement, for bodies in space as well as for the
conceptualizations proper to more mindful bodies, so as to sense
in it the delimitation of an aesthetics of movement for digital
art. I was perhaps particularly piqued by the kind of approach you
brought out here to such movement--since it not only encompassed
the dimensions of "vertical" movement (emergence into being-there
so as to occupy space) and "horizontal" movement (being /qua/
appearance or something that moves towards or against an
observer), but paid special attention to the more difficult
dimension of negativity in movement, i.e., the dimension of
"withdrawal" as in some (non-)sense prior to and (de)constitutive
of both verticality and horizontality, emergence and appearance.
You draw to good effect on the admirable work of Nancy and Bohrer
here, as well as on Seel's ingenious ways of pointing out the
limits of human control of "appearance" via his notion of
/Unfervügbarkeit./[13 <#foot13>] In a way, then, my question is
disturbingly simple: what would, for you, constitute a "composure"
for /Dasein/ in relation to the happening or taking place in
movement of the text, images, sound, and touch of contemporary
digital artworks, a "composure" that cares for the ontology of the
digital work of art so as not to forget either the
/Unfervügbarkeit/ of its appearance or its "birth" to presence,
nor simply denying its movement of withdrawal and dis-appearance
into discreteness?
32. *HUG*: Well, let me confess that, honestly (not the least thanks
to /your/ influence), I am increasingly trying to expose myself to
digital art whenever I have the chance to do so. Sometimes I find
it terribly pretentious, and it triggers that horribly petit
bourgeois question in me of whether the (aesthetic) effect was
worth all of the financial and technological investment. Sometimes
I find that there is too much self-reflexive ambition--as if
self-reflexivity were, without any question, the best thing our
life can offer. But sometimes I am impressed, I like what I see, I
could and would stay forever--and then, at the moment that I have
to go or decide to go, I find it consoling to know that this
digital work of art will not only continue to exist, but will
continue to "play," even in my absence. While there is nothing
terribly surprising in this description, I think it is already the
main effect of /Gelassenheit/. To be able to let go, to know that
certain things are /unverfügbar/ (strange, by the way, that
German, of all languages, has such a differentiated repertoire for
describing this state of mind). So, yes, for once I am able to
associate digital art with something that is dear to me, i.e.,
/Gelassenheit/. Now this is an effect that has a strange, not to
say decisive, existential impact for me. I hope (and would perhaps
even dare to claim) that I am not a complete control freak. But if
I am not a complete control freak, as I hope, my belief in the
capacities of human agency, despite all theoretical and
philosophical reservations, is unlimited. Yes, subconsciously and
pre-philosophically, I seem to assume that you can achieve
whatever you want enough to achieve. So it is good, it makes a
huge difference for me to realize that I cannot "force" certain
things--not even what matters most to me--my children's success,
my wife's good humor (on a Friday night), and the success of my
favorite sports team, the Stanford (American) Football Team. As I
am trying to answer you, I realize that there is astonishingly
little to say about /Gelassenheit/. Perhaps I should add, however,
that /Gelassenheit/ could always be an anticipation, a blank
cheque, so to speak, of that desire for (as I call it) "being in
synch with the things of the world." It is true and embarrassing,
at the same time, that, in this very sense, I find certain animals
terribly attractive--and the way I describe this attraction is to
say that, most likely, they don't have problems with their
self-reflexivity. These days, I am specifically impressed by a
population of sea elephants (I hear there are only a couple of
hundred left on the planet) that happen to mate on a Pacific shore
not too far from Stanford. When you first see them lying on the
dunes, they look like stones, like things. From time to time, they
move around, slowly. Yes, I tend to believe that it would be
beautiful to be a sea elephant--if you only don't take me too
seriously here. And let me add that, as a mating ritual, sea
elephants seem to engage in the cruelest and most bloody fights.
33. *UE*: In 2001 the media installation artist David Rokeby opened
the work /n-Cha(n)t/ to the public at the Banff Centre for the
Arts, a work that won prizes for interactive art the year after.
Rokeby described the motivation for the work as "a strong and
somewhat inexplicable desire to hear a community of computers
speaking together: chattering amongst themselves, musing, intoning
chants." The work is an advanced elaboration of the effort over
ten years to make rather intelligent "Givers of Names," i.e.,
linguistically intelligent IT-systems that can recognize objects
on location and give them names. In n-Cha(n)t the human
interactants encounter a community of networked "Givers of Names,"
where these intercommunicate among themselves in order to
synchronize their "states of mind." This communicative process of
synchronization goes on semi-organically; left to their own
devices, the "Givers of Names" will eventually arrive at a
coherent and shared chanting. The human interactants, however,
constitute a channel of disruption of this communication, a source
of disturbance, distraction, perhaps fragmentation or at least
slowing down of the speed of shared chanting of the "Givers of
Names." This is how Rokeby describes that part of the work:
When left uninterrupted to communicate among themselves, they
eventually fall into chanting, a shared stream of verbal
association. This consensus unfolds very organically. The
systems feel their way towards each other, finding resonance
in synonyms and similar sounding words, working through
different formulations of similar statements until finally
achieving unison. Each entity is equipped with a highly
focused microphone and voice recognition software. When a
gallery visitor speaks into one of the microphones, these
words from the outside "distract" that system, stimulating a
shift in that entity's "state of mind." As a result, that
individual falls away from the chant. As it begins
communicating this new input to its nearest neighbors, the
community chanting loses its coherence, with the chanting
veering towards a party-like chaos of voices. In the absence
of further disruptions, the intercommunications reinforce the
similarities and draw the community back to the chant.
In one of the most recent of his works, SubTitled Public (2005),
which is about pervasive computing (rather than forming a part of
the ongoing series of works concerned with relational
architecture), Raphael Lozano-Hemmer created an empty exhibition
space where human visitors are tracked with a computerized
infrared surveillance system and specific texts, or subtitles, are
projected onto their bodies, following them everywhere they go.[14
<#foot14>] No matter what kind of body-movements the visitors
perform, these textual brandings of individuals are impossible to
get rid of--except when you touch somebody else, in which case the
words are exchanged with the other. Lozano-Hemmer's work makes
obvious and ironic reference to the security-specific, juridical,
and political problematics of pervasive computing, in this case
the dimension of surveillance in particular.[15 <#foot15>] But
again, as in Rokeby's work, it is noteworthy that a posthuman
dimension informs the work: human bodies, interaction, and
communication pose at best as minor modes of suspension or
temporary interruption of informational speed.
34. Even such an impressively humanistic artist as Bill Viola works on
and with that sort of inhuman speed in his video installations, in
this case very often by using analog and digital video-technology
to achieve (almost) imperceptible effects of slowness rather than
radical acceleration. In Viola's case, one notices an incessant
effort towards crossing back and forth over the limits of human
affect at the micro-physical or micro-perceptual level and always
via digital speeding or slowing down. Witness the series of works
in The Passions, for example.[16 <#foot16>]
35. You deal with the problematic of speed in various places in your
texts, at least one of them directly relating to the question of
the materialities of communication.[17 <#foot17>] On that occasion
you describe speed as yet another aspect of coupling and
resonance. From this systems-theoretical perspective "rhythm"
gains a new relevance, because "rhythm" can be understood as speed
that facilitates coupling. You also note that such reflection upon
coupling and its conditions might furnish interesting ways of
rephrasing the contemporary philosophical tendency to problematize
concepts such as "agency" and "subjectivity." I was struck by the
ways in which this approach to speed seems so much cooler and
formally dry than, say, Virilio's very important, but tendentially
catastrophic diagnosis of an information society touching upon the
absolute speed of light, on the other side of the modern
transmission revolution, but also displaying much more interesting
critical potential than such utopian-minded thinkers of the speed
of posthuman robotics and intelligence as Moravec and Minsky. Not
surprisingly, perhaps, I want to ask you how you would flesh out
your notion of speed in relation to digital works of art whose
tempi and rhythms touch upon the limits of human affectivity,
interfaces, as well as modes of communication.
36. I wondered whether one can get far enough here to meet an all too
common reaction to the question concerning posthuman speed: "Yes,
sure, digital technology, mediation, and communication introduce
accelerations that go beyond the human in quite a few ways, but,
then, what does it matter?" Particularly in the area of digital
art and aesthetics people often shrug off this question of speed,
typically with a remark to the effect that, if indeed we cannot
perceive it nor place it in the sensible nor make sense of it, we
are not talking about art anymore anyway. And to a certain extent
I understand that response, at least if one can describe it as the
urge to abandon the question when we are not even dealing with
coding and hence with information--information in Luhmann's sense.
That is, I can understand it as a response of this kind: "If this
thing about speed is supposed to have to do with 'digital art,'
then 'digital art' does not matter--what difference does it make?"
The question becomes somewhat more pressing, however, once we are
dealing with speeds of coding and information, for what to make of
works that at least in part move too fast, or too slowly, for the
human sensorium, language, or thought, but achieve artful or
aesthetic effects nonetheless? Hence the title of this interview:
how are the speeds that grant beauty to digital artworks, and how
are we humans and our bodies, placed in relation to this?
37. *HUG*: Again, this weird and /passé/ concept of the "post-human."
What would be "human" speed--and why should any kind of speed, so
to speak, bother to be "human"? Isn't this ridiculously
anthropocentric, once you agree that the entire dimension and
category of the "sublime" (which we discussed earlier) could not
possibly exist if it were not for all of those (endless,
innumerable) phenomena that exceed the different human capacities
for decomplexification? Let me just suggest a very simple
comparison: we know that each of the different human senses only
covers or captures a limited range of what other living beings can
capture, and therefore perceive and even experience. There are
levels of speed (and slowness) that we may be able to calculate,
but for which we will never have any mental or physical affinity.
So what's the big deal? I suppose that any kind of speed or
slowness that can ever become aesthetically relevant /cannot/ be
post- or meta-human. In this sense, I believe that those phenomena
and works of art that we like to call "sublime" are those that
exceed the capacity of the human senses just by a bit. The extent
of this universe may be "way too big to be sublime." The same is
true for speed. If certain digital artists produce effects of
speed that are appealing to some or many viewers (seemingly not to
me), then these viewers must be capable of relating to this speed.
What I call "rhythm," I assume, helps to relate to different
speeds in the perceived transformation of phenomena, without of
course being a necessary condition of such relating. Now I
define/describe "rhythm" as a form given to (wrested from) a
"time-object" in the proper sense, i.e., an object that exists in
an ongoing self-transformation. So I assume that our possibility
for capturing the speed of such transformation is greatly enhanced
if these transformations take place in a rhythmic form. Of course
there might be transformations that do have a form and that do
take place at a rate of speed that simply exceeds our perceptive
capacities.
38. What I do not understand is why and how, for example, it would be
a "catastrophy" to discover (if this were ever the case) that the
speed of information comes close to the speed of light. Can
channels of information that have to do with electricity ever have
been much slower? And why would we want to perceive all of the
screams and waves of technologically-produced electricity (for
example) that surround us? Would it not only be to give us the
right to complain about present-day culture?
/ Department for Cultural Studies and the Arts
University of Copenhagen
ekman@hum.ku.dk /
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Notes
1 <#ref1>. See Gumbrecht and Pfeiffer, eds., Materialities of
Communication.
2 <#ref2>. See, for instance, Gumbrecht, "Epistemologie /
Fragmente" in Gumbrecht and Pfeiffer, eds., Paradoxien 837-50, 839.
3 <#ref3>. For Gumbrecht's remarks on this text, see Making Sense 12.
4 <#ref4>. See Cubitt, Couchot, Hansen, Stiegler, Mitchell, and
Crary.
5 <#ref5>. See Manovich, Image Future.
6 <#ref6>. See Gumbrecht, Lob Des Sports, translated as In Praise
of Athletic Beauty.
7 <#ref7>. See, for example, "'Dabei Sein Ist Alles'," "It's Just
a Game," "Epiphany of Form," and In Praise of Athletic Beauty.
8 <#ref8>. In Russian, see Gumbrecht, "From Oedipal Hermeneutics";
the original English version appeared in Telos.
9 <#ref9>. Gumbrecht writes in more detail about Derrida's work
and the institutional impact of deconstruction, in the U.S. in
particular, in "Deconstruction Deconstructed," "Who Is Afraid of
Deconstruction?" and "Martin Heidegger and His Interlocutors."
10 <#ref10>. See Gumbrecht, Production of Presence 65-67.
11 <#ref11>. See Hayles, "Flesh and Metal" 297-99. Hayles's text
is also available at Medien Kunst Netz
(
. That site
includes half a dozen rich critical articles that work towards
rethinking "cyborg bodies" today; see
.
12 <#ref12>. See Gumbrecht, "Form without Matter." Note also
Gumbrecht's turn to Heidegger in The Production of Presence when
engaging in a rethinking of space and bodily presence.
13 <#ref13>. The latter translated as Aesthetics of Appearing
(Stanford: Stanford UP, 2005).
14 <#ref14>. A four-minute video of the work is available at
.
15 <#ref15>. ZKM arranged an important exhibition on precisely
this, and the resulting publication is of seminal importance in
the field; see Frohne et al., eds.
16 <#ref16>. See Hansen's interesting article on this aspect of
Viola's work.
17 <#ref17>. See Gumbrecht, "A Farewell to Interpretation" 400.
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