The Map of Art History
Nelson, Robert S, The Art Bulletin
From the nineteenth century, History was to deploy, in a temporal series, the analogies that connect distinct organic structures to one another.... History gives place to analogical organic structures.... This event, probably because we are still caught inside it, is largely beyond our comprehension.-Michel Foucault1
This is an essay about knowledges of space and time that aspire to be global but remain local, and about their inscription in the discipline of art history. It proceeds from the microcosm to the macrocosm, from particular points on the spatial surface of art history to its broad, totalizing plane, and thence to an awareness of the jagged, gerrymandered divisions of art history itself. It wends its way from moments in the present and the lived past to distant pasts dimly remembered in a discipline that typically studies the histories of everything but itself, conveniently forgetting that it, too, has a history and is History. The intent is to examine notions that exist, as Foucault suggests, at the level of a disciplinary unconsciousness and to argue that Order, History, Space, and Time do matter. Through them, art history is constituted and, in turn, constitutes objects, narratives, and peoples. Yet what is made can be unmade or re-sited, re-structured, and re(-)formed, and what has become tangible and reified can revert to mere heuristic category, if first consciously addressed.
The argument takes for granted that contemporary art history, like any other academic subject or learned profession, is a practice, a discipline, a narrative, and a rhetoric with its own history, protocols, and institutional structures. In the admittedly small but growing body of literature about the history of art history, investigations of individual art historians have dominated heretofore. There is, however, more than a little need for studies of the poetics of art history2 and of the means and consequences of its rise to the status of a discipline over the past two centuries.3 As discipline, art history acquired and has been accorded the ability and power to control and judge its borders, to admit or reject people and objects, and to teach and thus transmit values to others.
If these structures are seldom noticed, much less studied, they are always present. They are revived and replicated whenever a student attends an introductory class, reads a survey book, or follows a prescribed curriculum, whenever a colleague retires, a chair justifies and a dean endorses a replacement position, and a recent Ph.D. is hired, and whenever the discipline or a subfield, such as Renaissance or medieval art, convenes its members or publishes its journalacts of scholarship but also of ritual, with their attendant consequences for the production of social meanings and identities. And they are in operation whenever someone looks for a book on a library shelf, or when a visitor to an art museum walks through its symbolically charged spaces, thereby enacting and embodying a narrative of art, as Carol Duncan has recently explained.4
In this essay, the space and time created by the disciplinary gaze are at issue and the issue. They can be encountered in a multitude of sites and performances. I choose three: a grid of fields into which new Ph.D. dissertations are set, a library classification of art history, and the structure of basic survey books. Because I seek to explore the typical, ordinary, or commonplace of disciplinary order, I have deliberately avoided its most public and visual manifestation, the museum. A topic of sustained interest these days, the art museum, both as a model of and model for art historical classification, is certainly relevant to the inquiry, but that investigation is being ably pursued by others.5
In using the word "map" in the title of this essay, I am aware that I risk its being swept up into that torrent of recent scholarship about maps and mapping, taken literally and allegorically.6 Art history's general relation to these important and ongoing discussions is by no means "surveyed" here. The senses of map that I intend are surely allegorical, but they also are prosaic, commonplace, or literal. That literalness comes easily to art historians: we work daily with maps, plans, or diagrams. My inquiry extends that disciplinary routine to the visual and spatial aspects of art historical classification. Thus, I take map as metaphor, but also, following Steve Pile and Nigel Thrift, as
a fetish, a speculum, a bounded and purified re-presentation of mapper, mapping, and mapped.... Maps are not empty mirrors, they at once hide and reveal the hand of the cartographer. Maps are fleshly: of the body and of the mind of the individuals that produce them, they draw the eye of the map-reader.7
In June 1995, the annual listing of American and Canadian dissertations appeared, as is customary, in the Art Bulletin, the principal journal of the art historical profession in North America. There each year the work of beginning scholars is duly certified by the "little seal"8 and classed according to traditional categories:
Egyptian, Ancient Near Eastern, and Classical Art; Early Christian, Byzantine, and Medieval Art; The Renaissance; Baroque and 18th-Century Europe; 19th- and 20thCentury Europe; Photography and Film; Art of the United States and Canada; Native American, Pre-Columbian, and Latin American Art; Asian Art; Islamic Art; African Art; African Diaspora; Art Criticism and Theory.9
The list is neither natural, consistent, nor logical according to our cultural categories, much less those of other societies, and presumably is a function of its compilers and the material to be compiled. Only our familiarity with this ordering prevents us from laughing, as Foucault did when, in the famous beginning to Les mots et les choses, he encounters Jorge Luis Borges's description of the classification system of animals in "a certain Chinese encyclopaedia."10
Presumably, what had amused this philosopher and historian of science was the incongruous classification of animalsincongruous, that is, by the criteria of Western rationality. But that same rationality may be turned, as Foucault did and as I wish to do, on Western systems of order. The ways and means that a certain version of logic is contravened in the Art Bulletin's listing is both puzzling and revealing. The word "art," for example, is found in all categories except, for reasons unknown, the "Renaissance" through "l9th- and 20th-Century Europe" and "African Diaspora." Less arbitrary, surely, is the use of the definitive article "the" for only one category, "The Renaissance," thereby making it a monolithic entity of unique significance. It is the Renaissance, not the Middle Ages, that presides at the middle of a five-part narrative from the beginning of art to the present in Europe. In this context, the Renaissance functions like China, literally the Middle Kingdom, at the center of Chinese maps, or like Europe or America in maps from these cultures.ll Indeed Renaissance art similarly presides at the heart of various museum collections of universal intent12 and inspires the architectural styles and semiotic messages of American museums from the Gilded Age, such as the Art Institute of Chicago.13
In the Art Bulletin, this grand Western narrative, known in the trade as "Pyramids to Picasso," is isolated from the United States and other geographical categories, and from the rest of the list, by the heading "Photography and Film," the only artistic medium listed. Not surprisingly, given the site of the periodical's publication, North America is the first continent to be appended to art history's aging but ever vital canonical core. South America, Asia, and Africa follow behind. Between Asia and Africa is the list's only religious category, "Islamic Art." At the conclusion comes "Art Criticism and Theory," as if only this category were either critical or theoretical.
Chronologically, the list proceeds in temporal sequence from antiquity to twentieth-century Europe, then moves more or less laterally to photography and film (nineteenth and twentieth centuries), the United States and Canada (sixteenthtwentieth centuries), and Native America (mostly nineteenthtwentieth centuries). Then there is a flashback within the same category to the Pre-Columbian. Forward progress resumes with the next term, Latin American Art. Asian, Islamic, African, African Diaspora, and Art Criticism and Theory occupy temporally ambiguous positions. European art is accorded the greatest number (five) of chronological subdivisions. The art of North and South America has two divisions, the explicit Pre-Columbian and the implicit post-Columbian, that is, all the rest (United States, Canada, and Latin America, and, I suppose, Native American) . Asia and Africa are undifferentiated temporally.
Geographically, the tabulation begins in Egypt and the "Near East," that is, northeast Africa and southwest Asia, continues to western Asia, northern Africa, and southern Europe (antiquity), to western Asia and Europe (Early Christian, Byzantine, Medieval), and then narrows to Europe exclusively (Renaissance to present). Next it vaults the Atlantic for the Americas (United States, Canada, Latin America, in this order),jumps back to Asia and Africa (Asian and African art), and somehow negotiates the combination of Asia, Africa, and Europe that encompasses Islamic art. Inserted into this narrative are the spatially ambiguous Photography and Film, African Diaspora, and Criticism and Theory.
To identify geographical categories, the list uses the longaccepted names of continents, with the sole exception of the term "Near East." Logically, the latter makes sense only from some point to the West, such as North Africa, but we understand that this is the Near East from the perspective of a Europe that is unaware that Persia, Anatolia, Mesopotamia, and Arabia lie to the southeast. The term is also currently employed in the United States, from whose vantage point it ought to refer to Bermuda or the Bahamas. Linguists term a word like near or far, east or west a shifter Such a word is understandable only from the perspective of the speaker, and thus shifts from speaker to speaker in ways that are comprehensible in spoken, face-to-face conversation but often become ambiguous over the telephone or in formal writing. The fact that the term "Near East" is meaningful in the abstract, contextless listing of the Art Bulletin is proof of a semantic shift from shifter to substantive, a word functioning as a noun. This linguistic reification of the personal, the imaginary, and the ethnocentric never quite forgets nor forgives its European origins. 14
Every book creates order, individually and collectively.16 The order of a single book is a function of its written discourse, but the order of a group of books is greater than the sum of their texts. Historically, however, the classification of large masses of books became more than a theoretical issue only during the nineteenth century, as a consequence of the demand for books by the emergent middle class, the formation of great book collections, and the establishment of public libraries. Initially building on schemes that can be traced back to the Middle Ages, librarians began to create comprehensive systems of bibliographic classification. These, according to one historian, were and are predicated on certain assumptions: knowledge is cohesive and unified, established by mental discovery, and related as genus is to species, because this is how the human mind works. Consequently, libraries should be ordered to meet human needs through the application of principles derived from natural relationships.17
Mel-il Dewey (1851-1931), one of the leaders of the classification movement and the creator of the system that bears his name, stressed the educational mission of the newly accessible public libraries. Once a musty museum, the library should become a school, according to Dewey, and the visitor "a reader among the books as a workman among his tools."18 With the spread of open-stack policies, the classification of libraries became an important aspect of that educational mission, for classification served to inculcate the basic structure of knowledge.19 In this century, with the gradual adoption of the Library of Congress (LC) classification throughout the United States, efficient and standardized processing of books and retrieval of information became more important than the nineteenth-century's mapping of knowledge.20 Moreover, the LC system depends on literary output; categories are not created for nonexistent books.21 Yet the system is not as passive as it is sometimes represented, because it forever imposes and maintains an order for publications. By the 1980s it was this system that had come to be adopted by over fourteen hundred libraries in the United States and nearly two hundred abroad.22
Thanks to computerization and rapidly evolving information retrieval systems, the library of the present and the future might appear to be far different from its nineteenth-century ancestors, but classifications change slowly.23 No doubt inertia is partly responsible; to reclassify books is cumbersome and expensive. Rewriting and relearning computer programs provides trouble enough. The organization of knowledge in American university libraries today thus remains structurally beholden to philosophical and political systems thought long past. In particular, the dominant Library of Congress system has taken more than a little criticism for its ethnocentrism, even after certain embarrassing categories, such as the "Jewish Question" and the "Yellow Peril," have been dropped.24 For example, the LC classification still allots to all of Africa the same space as the topic "Gypsies."25 While the comparison is not meant to disparage the latter, who now wish to be called the Romany, it does call to mind Hegel's famous dismissal of Africa as not worthy of belonging to the "historical part of the World," that is, Europe or Asia.26
Not surprisingly, the major systems used in Western Europe and America are derived from values held by those societies. They prioritize European history; Christianity, Western philosophy, and capitalist economics. In different cultures, different classifications prevail. In the Soviet classification, MarxismLeninism was the lead category, instead of philosophy and Christianity at the beginning of the Dewey and Library of Congress systems. Similarly, a system designed for the Islamic world begins with Muhammad,27 and it has been proposed that South Asian classifications are indebted to the Vedic system of knowledge.28 The situation calls to mind the seminal study of Emile Durkheim and Marcel Mauss regarding "primitive" classification, first published in 1901-2. There, they argue against the then widespread notion that classification is merely logical and has its origin within the rational faculties of "man." Such attitudes are ubiquitous in accounts of the formation of library systems, as, for example, in the basic assumptions sketched above. For Durkheim and Mauss, classification involves the formation of groups and their arrangement hierarchically. It replicates not some fundamental human logic but conceptual structures of the present that are social, cultural, religious, political, etc., to choose contemporary Western categories. When created, systems mirror structures of their time and place, but once formed, they have the capacity to interact with the present, by classifying and interpreting phenomena and thereby fostering or hindering social change.29
While Durkheim and Mauss's work may be justly criticized for an outmoded insistence on the primitiveness of certain peoples, a belief in cultural evolution, and a causal treatment of evidence,30 their basic assertion that classification mirrors social groupings and hierarchies may be productively extended to library systems in current use and to those that will now be created in the age of digital reproduction. In the case of the Library of Congress classification, the absence of a detailed analysis of the entire system need not hinder the exploration of an individual part, such as the ordering of Class N, art history, for each individual class was created and revised separately.31 At first glance, some aspects of Class N depend on contemporary aesthetic values. Thus, for example, photography is found not with the fine arts but with Class T, comprising engineering and technical subjects, such as electrical engineering, motor vehicles, and mineral industries. When Class N was first published in 1908, photography was not generally considered to be art, and it continues to challenge library systems.32 The significance for other hierarchies is more obscure. In the main, LC classifications proceed from the general to the particular and from a greater to a lesser importance. Thus, the ordering of artistic media as architecture, sculpture, drawing, painting, prints, decorative arts (see above) presumably constitutes a sequence of decreasing value, but if so, the early twentieth-century context of such a ranking is not known.33
The single feature of the classification that most clearly describes its point of view is its geographical ordering, the system that is applied, for example, to journals, buildings, schools of painting, etc. The same geographical arrangements are used with minor adjustments throughout the LC classification34 and, as expected, vary with the political realignment of the globe since the early twentieth century. Thus, in the more detailed schedule of Class H for the social sciences, Africa was formerly subdivided as follows: Egypt, then British, French, German, Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish possessions, followed by the much smaller category "other divisions, native states, etc."35 By 1989, African countries were grouped geographically, that is, north, south, etc.36
Yet, in spite of periodic revisions, the initial structural organization of global space in the LC classification has remained. The United States and a particular region within it continue to be the position from which the rest of the world is viewed. In the fourth edition of Class N, published in 1970, the regions of the world begin with America-North America before Central and South America. Within North America, the United States precedes Canada and Mexico. The United States itself is subdivided into the following regions: New England, Middle Atlantic States, South, Central, West, and Pacific States. Individual states follow alphabetically. After North and South America come Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, and Pacific Islands. Within Europe, Great Britain is listed first and subdivided into England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. In contrast, other European countries form an alphabetical series down to Turkey, after which Bulgaria, Montenegro, Rumania, and Serbia are appended. Next, a second alphabetical series extends from the Czechoslovak Republic through Yugoslavia. Asia is divided into southwestern, central, southern, southeastern, and eastern Asia. Within these regions, certain anomalies are apparent. Iran and, to a lesser extent, Israel receive greater classificatory space than Iraq, Jordan, or Saudi Arabia. Departing once more from an alphabetical sequence, southern and eastern Asia are subdivided into, respectively, India, Ceylon, and Pakistan; China, Japan, and Korea; and other countries.37
This order of fine arts in the LC classification is both perspectival and hierarchical.ss Like nothing so much as that famous Saul Steinberg drawing,sq the LC gaze proceeds as if looking across the United States from somewhere in New England, first south, then west. Outside the national borders, the classificatory gaze turns north to Canada and then south. Appearing next in view is Europe, where the exceptions to alphabetical order are telling. Listed first is Great Britain, with which the United States has that "special relationship." Subdivisions within the United Kingdom are also not alphabetical, and certain European countries are relegated to secondary lists. Next, the LC gaze turns toward Asia, but this is Asia seen from Europe, not America, and therefore ordered from east to west. Hence, the first region listed is the "Near East," followed by central, southern, and eastern Asia. Asia might just as logically have been observed from the Pacific coast of the United States, or west to east, yielding a different series: the Pacific Islands, east Asia (ordered as Japan, Korea, and China), Australia, and Africa. Inserting Africa between Asia and Australia, the LC system effectively divorces Australia and the Pacific Islands from Asia.
The classification of art history books, first by media and then by a certain gerrymandered map, thereby orders the browsing of open stacks. That serendipity of discovering an unknown but related book, the rationale for all classificatory systems, is thus hardly accidental. In their lifetime, many American readers have known nothing but the LC scheme. For them, its order is presumably never noticed or else taken as obvious, ordinary, or logical. Its compilers, led by Charles Martel, "Chief Classifier," have, in these cases, achieved more than an efficient arrangement of a knowledge, according to prevailing values. Like all successful classifications, the LC system also constructs and inculcates those same values and thereby supports and legitimates the societies that create and are created by the system.
The geopolitics of art historical books as a genre and a classification bears further scrutiny than is possible here, for the connection of art bibliography with nationalism and the constitution of national identity through cultural patrimony, while promising, is complex.40 But on a more prosaic level, the impact of nationalism can be observed throughout the bibliographic geography of the LC scheme. Below the level of continent and region, the modern nation-state is the defining category-hardly surprising for a system created by and for a national library and a further exemplification of the Durkheim-Mauss thesis. Because the classification rests on the unit of the contemporary state, its frequent revision is inevitable, as is the distortion of historical geography. Only relatively recent art ever fits the mold into which it is pressed. Moreover, when the grid of history is applied within the category of the nation-state, classification creates a linear history for that state-English Gothic, English Renaissance, etc.-and the fiction of a stable national identity. The construction of such pasts and traditions, as Benedict Anderson and others have discussed, is fundamental to the constitution of these "imagined communities."41 Finally, the historical sequencing of the LC classification conforms to the standard (Western) narrative and therefore reproduces the manifold contradictions of that order.42
But space and time in the LC system function only within a yet more basic framework, that is, the one listed above: N, NA, NB . . . This division of the visual arts according to medium is fundamentally antiquarian. Arnaldo Momigliano has written brilliantly about the transition from the early-modern antiquarian to the modern historian. He provides a cogent description of the two perspectives: "(1) historians write in a chronological order; antiquaries write in a systematic order; (2) historians produce those facts which serve to illustrate or explain a certain situation; antiquaries collect all the items that are connected with a certain subject, whether they help to solve a problem or not."43 Art history's resistance to history, theory, or other humanistic disciplines-that crisis so much lamented and analyzed in recent years-may owe something to its bibliographic (and certainly museological) classification. The positivistic, antiquarian nature of that system itself isolates art from other fields, subjects, or ways of understanding knowledge. It even frustrates the most traditional of art historical methods, artistic biography. Unlike literature in the LC system, for example, works by and about a single artist are grouped first not by maker but by medium.44
The choice of one category, of course, precludes another, and one classification system denies the existence of another, except through cross-referencing. In the electronic library of the future, new categories and new interrelations will presumably be possible, but the promise of that new world will be realized only if the present is not merely digitized into the future. Replicating the LC system electronically and thus extending its universal classification to new objects and subjects, or texts and people, will not constitute progress. On the other hand, replacing subject headings by mere word searches will impose its own order on books. Then, the current popularity of metaphorical titles, like mine, will presumably have to give way to prosaic versions, and thus to metonyms, parts of wholes, bytes that can be accessed more readily within vast computer databases.
The nature and structure of that universe is what remains at issue. Will new classifications simulate aspects of the spatial character of the present system? Or will spatiality utterly dissolve in the void of cyberspace? The latter, of course, is not real space, and perhaps for that reason it uses spatial terms, e.g., gateway, point of entry, path, navigator. It thereby attempts to reassure its users that nothing has changed; the first printed books imitated the formats of manuscripts for this and other reasons. Presumably for some time to come, libraries will still contain books, but electronic forms of knowledge do not need buildings, their space being literally utopic in the etymological sense of "no place." Bibliographic cyberspace has the potential to realize electronically the lost library of ancient Alexandria, that nostalgic dream of the universal library,45 or the modern nightmare of Borges's "Library of Babel."46 Conceptually, the wired library would seem to be the metaphorical rhizome that Gilles Deleuze and Feliz Guattari once predicted, a space without hierarchy or state control, spreading and multiplying organically like the rhizome and creating diverse chains of relationships, unfettered by externally imposed order or structure.47 Indeed, the terms Web and Internet are rhizomic metaphors. But human agency is not likely to disappear. Someone will still write the data programs and organize the modes of reference. Only members of certain communities will have the economic means to access that information, and already E-mail addresses in cyberspace encode professional distinctions (com, edu), institutions (uchicago), and country of origin, with the suspicious exception of the United States, which, of course, is the place of origin of the system. In the future, the bibliographic gaze may well pierce the electronic haze.
Each year thousands of undergraduate students in America pass through the disciplinary matrix of the introductory art history survey and the books written for it. For more than a generation, that course and publishing market has been dominated by the book that I, too, encountered on that occasion and remember fondly: History of Art: A Survey of the Major Visual Arts from the Dawn of History to the Present Day. Authored by H. W.Janson with his wife, Dora Jane Janson, this staple of American art historical pedagogy was first published in 1962 by Prentice-Hall and Harry N. Abrams and reprinted frequently thereafter. Translated into fourteen languages, it had sold over two million copies by 1982, and doubtlessly many more since.48 After twenty printings, a second edition appeared in 1977, a third, "revised and expanded by Anthony F. Janson," the son, in 1986, a fourth in 1991, and the latest in 1995. The name of Dora Jane Janson disappears from the title page after the second edition.
To judge from other testimonials, my undergraduate enthusiasm for Janson's book was scarcely unique. At the beginning of his useful recent book, Art History's History, Vernon Hyde Minor writes about his introductory course in 1963 and the book that he was assigned. What impressed him and his fellow students about "Janson" was "the sheer quality of the book: solid, beautifully bound...." and the best reproductions that they had seen.49 Reviewing the initial publication of the book on the normally staid pages of the Art Journal, Edwin C. Rae broke into rapturous prose to describe "this lusty, young contestant in the arena of the general history of the visual arts... . He concluded no less grandly, if repetitiously, that "it will be a strong-willed teacher indeed who can resist the temptation to try out this personable and well trained young contestant in the tournament of golden ideas."50 Twenty-six years later, in another issue of Art Journal, Bradford R. Collins termed History of Art "a central monument in the teaching of art history in this country for over a quarter century" and "the most widely used (because the most widely respected) text in the field since its publication in 1962." Mindful of art history,'s newly energized theoretical interests, Collins also criticized the book for its methodological narrowness, preoccupation with the transcendental character of art, and allegiance to an absolute standard of art.51 Today, the art history survey itself is being rethought,52 but it is not likely to disappear quickly.
Books like the Jansons' compete today, as then, in an actual marketplace of modern capitalism, not a pseudomedieval tournament of "golden ideas," and they continue to have a significant impact on the history of art that the discipline imparts to thousands of college students each year. Yet these books, as publishing phenomena and art historical survey, and the courses they accompany continue to be largely ignored by the art historical profession and its conferences and journals. Until the recent Art Journal issue of Fall 1995, there have been few investigations of this genre in comparison with the studies that have been made of the textbooks in other fields.53 While I, too, decline the challenge, I do wish to examine one aspect of the problem, the plotting of time and space in the survey book as a means of understanding the construction of the Western narrative of art history and the historical narrative of Western art.
That story is at once visible in the table of contents of the first edition of Janson's book (Figs. 1, 2). The structure remains little changed to the present, in spite of what immediately appears to be a peculiar definition of the ancient and medieval periods. Chapter 8, "Early Christian and Byzantine Art," has been placed in Part One, "The Ancient World," while the more or less contemporary Islamic art is made the opening chapter of Part Two, "The Middle Ages." The subject of Early Christian and Byzantine art dates from about A.D. 300 to the fall of Constantinople in A.D. 1453. Janson's chapter also includes Russian art and the church of St. Basil in Moscow from the mid-sixteenth century, substantially past what most people would regard as the end of the ancient world.54 Islamic art begins somewhat later, around A.D. 700, and continues, like the art of Russia and Orthodoxy, to the present. In Janson's book, Islamic art ends in the seventeenth century.
Whether classed as ancient or medieval, both Byzantine and Islamic art precede chapter 2 of Part Two, "Early Medieval Art" (of Western Europe). The latter, however, actually antedates the rise of Islam, the first example given here being the purse cover from the Sutton Hoo ship burial of the mid-seventh century. Thus the Jansons' narrative moves from the fourth to the sixteenth century in Part One, chapter 8, to the eighth to the seventeenth century in Part Two, chapter 1, and then back to the seventh to the eleventh century for the chapter on early medieval art. These chronological anomalies are neither arbitrary nor unprecedented but follow a disciplinary tradition that by 1962 was over a century old.55
The book's subtitle is A Survey of the Major Visual Arts from the Dawn of History to the Present Day, but its table of contents indicates that the scope is far from global. A "Postscript" describes the agenda:
Our interest in the past springs from a desire to understand the present. Behind it lies always the question, "how did we get to where we are now?" For the historian of art, "now" means the living art of our century; this art is the product of Western civilization on both sides of the Atlantic. We have, accordingly, discussed in this book only those elements outside Europe and America that have contributed to the growth of the Western artistic tradition; prehistoric and primitive art, as well as the art of Egypt, the ancient Near East, and Islam. Three major areas have been omitted-Indian Asia, China and Japan, and pre-Columbian America-because their indigenous artistic traditions are no longer alive today, and because these styles did not, generally speaking, have a