Complexity theory hints at a different, nonhierarchical way to understand this interdependence. As Mitchel Resnick, a professor in the Epistemology group at MIT Media Lab puts it, numerous individuals, whether they are birds in a flock or ants in a colony, by executing very simple "instructions," can give rise to very complex group behaviors.

Of course, as artists and creative types, we are especially sensitive, whether it is through the writings of Kafka or Foucault, the photographs of Brazilian gold mining by Sebastiao Salgado, or, simply, 4th grade science class, to these metaphors for capitalistic serfdom and the erasure of the individual.

Resnick's point is the opposite. As a society, we are too prone to reifying a centralized mind, a controlling or leading intelligence, when counterintuitively, much of the world works differently.

The network, we all now know through endless recitations of the early history of the Internet and nuclear warfare, is non-hierarchical. It is decentralized. Nodal. It is rhizomatic.

What is the role of the museum in a nonhierarchical - or should I say differently hierarchical--ecology?

One possibility is based on the meme. Richard Dawkins has said that the idea of a meme is based on the gene. It is an idea or cultural unit that replicates. The network, of course, is a significant distribution mechanism for the replication of memes. But it is important to note that for memes to survive, it is not enough for them to have a worldwide distribution mechanism. They must replicate.

So what is the relation of museums to memes?

Heath Bunting might say Own, Be Owned, or Remain Invisible. I want to argue that museums are good at surviving - Dawkins' definition of a successful gene - and perhaps we can figure out a way to take advantage of this.

But first I need to try and innoculate my argument with a vaccine of the historical record.

Since the 15th century, about 50 institutions have survived. One is the Icelandic parliament, one is the parliament of the Isle of Mann, one is the Catholic church, one the Lutheran, and the rest are universities.

Museums, of course, were not invented in the 15th century, but you could argue that aside from the Catholic and Lutheran churches - and who can argue with faith - the parliaments and universities are based on a process = the search for knowledge - not a fixed ideology or, more to the point, a permanent collection.

I would argue that in order to survive in the rhizomatic age, museums must quickly shift their emphasis from what they own to what they know.

Even more sobering is the example of the famed library of Alexandria. To make a long ago story short, Luciano Canfora, author of the brilliant The Vanished Library, has argued convincingly that despite a certain amount of redundancy between Alexandria and libraries in Byzantium and other centers of power,

what has come down to us is derived not from the great centers but from "marginal" locations such as convents and from scattered private copies.

From less of a long view, however, the museum has been pretty good at replicating itself and not bad at taking care of its collections.

The Web, however, is notoriously ephemeral. One of my favorite seminal projects, Muntadas's File Room, is no longer accessible via the Web. Tilman Baumgaertel has recently pointed to the "disappearance" of important European projects. Even something as recent as the Documenta X Web site is only available in a version guerilla-archived by media archaeologist Vuk Cosic. Even so, the curator of the site claims it is an inferior copy.

Does this mean we should not try to collect or archive art made for the net?

While there is much debate over the hows - the technical specifics - to my mind there can be little question that the efforts of net artists are significant cultural artefacts - important artistic achievements deserving of preservation. To not do so may be a prerogative of the artist. Brett Weston ceremonially burning all his negatives late in his life or the William Gibson limited edition that was designed to erase itself after one reading, come to mind. But for the culture not to be committed to providing acceptable preservation solutions is akin to burning books, only through intentional neglect.

There is an important distinction to be made, of course, between a collection and an archive. The Walker, for instance - like many institutions - has presented performing arts events for over 20 years, including one of the earliest public performances by Laurie Anderson. About all we have as a record of that performance is a title and a date. To collect that performance doesn't really make sense, but neither does the paucity of documentary - archival - evidence.

Clearly some net art is performative and time-bound. But I do not believe this means it should not be documented and archived to the extent possible.

More to the point, many net art works are created precisely to be experienced online. Their instantiation may vary with every access, but that too is part of the design.

Perhaps in the long run artists and collectives who revel in the so-called low-barriers-to-entry, the disintermediation of the artworld ecosystem, the rhizomaticizing of the playing field, will not be so interested in paying server charges, updating software, increasing bandwidth, and any of a myriad of other details, which are not particularly interesting once solved - and what's worse, potentially time consuming.

On the other hand, if we overlook the minor detail that most museums don't understand computing any better than they understand net art - if we are charitable about the ability of museums to adapt and learn - perhaps they can be very good at the task of transmission, embedding net art in the culture meme that is replicated in future generations.

And let's admit it, there is very little to lose that we are not already losing.

The Walker, along with a few other institutions, has dived into the fray. About a year ago, Benjamin Weil and company told me and others that America Online, which had acquire äda'web through some inexorable if bizarre functioning of the digital food chain, was no longer willing to support the site. They were looking for a new home. I said we were very interested in helping out and months later, äda'web has been semi-frozen, and is now served from the Walker basement.

If you read Robert Atkins's or Benjamin Weil's essays about äda'web, which we commissioned, there is a certain ambivalence about preserving the "corpse" of äda'web. Which I share. Nevertheless, I think it was the right thing to do.

I welcome robust debate about the archiving, collecting, and presentation of net art and how best museums can participate in rhizomatic culture.