*** Long Post ***

Dear All,

Victor Margolin’s post on intertextuality and the uses of literature
raise important issues for our field. Victor’s short note has me
thinking about what we can label “literacy.” This will be a long and
closely-reasoned response, so if you’re not in the mood, feel free to
delete my comments now or skip past them.

Ken Friedman

--

1. What is Literacy?

Any professional field linked with an academic discipline necessarily
has a literature. Since the 1950s, the field of design has emerged as an
academic field, developing a respectable literature of its own. In
fields of professional practice as law, medicine, psychology, or
engineering, students are expected to read and understand a literature
from which the field and the central ideas of the have grown. This is
also true of research fields such as physics, mathematics, philosophy,
experimental psychology, history, or literature. Without entering the
debate on what such words interdisciplinary or transdisciplinary mean,
I’ll argue that this is especially the case in a world where fields
cross and link disciplines, and I’ll argue that design is such a field
in many respects. 

Before going further, let me quote Victor’s post to PhD-Design: “As
a quasi-lurker on this list, I have read numerous comments, blog posts
to which I have been referred, and statements from other sources that
seek to state with some authority what design is or isn’t, what
designers are or aren’t, etc. Sometimes these statements ring true.
Sometimes they do not. What is missing in the way that much design
discourse unfolds, at least outside the few academic journals that
exist, is that writers do not always feel obliged to make reference to
what others have written or said before them. Hence, we get a steady
stream of ever new statements. This, I must say, is in sharp contrast,
to most academic fields where intertextuality, that is, reference to and
citation of - other authors is mandatory for any new contribution. I
would venture to say that many writers on this list could not list the
major thinkers in the field of design since the end of World War II. Nor
do I imagine that PhD students are exposed to this literature in their
doctoral programs. That, I would submit, is not the mark of a mature or
maturing field. Should we keep on simply inserting our opinions about
design, its character, or its future, into the listosphere and
blogosphere without any obligation to locate such writings within a
trajectory of what others have written, we will never get off the merry
go round nor will design research or design discourse move forward in a
broad way so as to characterize the collective knowledge of a field
rather than the isolated accomplishments of a lesser number of authors
and journals. I am heartened that specialized fields such as HCI and
some others do rely on intertextuality but that occurs within the
particular community of HCI or other specialty researchers rather than
in the larger design research arena.”

As Victor notes, we expect students in every mature field to read,
understand, and take on at least a journeyman acquaintanceship with the
literature of the field. We expect research students to develop a
journeyman skill. We expert professors – masters – to master the
literature. In earlier times, the titles of “master” and
“professor” were somewhat interchangeable, depending on the
customs of the university and the faculty, as were the degrees of
“master” and “doctor.” The degree entitled one to teach, and
university masters were the equivalent of guild masters in some
respects, though not as wealthy or influential. One aspect of
equivalence was that the master or professor embodied the knowledge of
the field: a true master knew the literature well enough to lecture
without notes, serving as the living embodiment of the subject field.
The literature has grown so much in the intervening centuries that this
is no longer possible. 

It is a bit of an aside, but the argument between embodied knowledge
and the externalized representation of knowledge is at the core of the
case that Socrates makes against writing in Plato’s (1998, unpaged)
Phaedrus, where he describes the encounter between the god Thoth and the
god Thamus. Thoth was a thinker: he had invented arithmetic,
calculation, geometry, astronomy, draughts and dice. His great invention
was the use of letters. He wanted to give letters and literacy to
humankind to make human beings wiser and to improve memory and intellect
both.

Thamus was opposed to the idea. He opposed letters because he believed
that letters would “produce forgetfulness in the souls of those who
have learned it, through lack of practice at using their memory, as
through reliance on writing they are reminded from outside by alien
marks, not from within, themselves by themselves. So you have discovered
not an elixir of memory but of reminding. To your students you give an
appearance of wisdom, not the reality of it; thanks to you they will
hear many things without being taught them, and will appear to know much
when for the most part they know nothing, and they will be difficult to
get along with because they have acquired the appearance of wisdom
instead of wisdom itself” (Plato 2005: 62).

Socrates’s point was that writing “pretends to establish outside
the mind what in reality can only be in the mind . . . writing reifies,
it turns mental processes into manufactured things” (Rose, 1992, p.
62). 

Now there is another view on this. Writing allows us to speak and to
listen across the years, conversing with friends and colleagues, arguing
with opponents, engaging in dialogue and dialectic as we learn and
grow.

This, in fact, is the essential point of Don Norman’s (1993: 45)
rejoinder to Socrates. Don quotes the Phaedrus to reach he opposite
conclusion. One reason that Plato’s Socrates is disturbed by the
externalization of memory in writing is that it is impossible, as he
sees it, to interrogate written text. Norman (1993: 46-47) argues the
contrary. Writing makes it possible for us to interrogate authors, to
interrogate history, to externalize, represent, and interact with ideas.


This is the value of a literature.  Through the power of
representation, literature gives us “increased memory, thought and
reasoning” (Norman 1993: 43).

Somewhere between Socrates and Don Norman, we’ve got Victor
Margolin’s point, and this is the way in which familiarity with a
literature builds a field. I appreciate both viewpoints. At some point
in life, any serious researcher has read so much that it is impossible
to keep everything in mind. At the same time, there is a pattern of
thoughts, ideas, memories, and reflections that allow us to speak and
write reasonably from memory. 


2. The Knowledge of the Field

In the early days of the university, the writings of the masters –
that is, master scholars – seems to mirror the way in which they
thought and lectured. Those with a taste for the lecture style of the
ancient university can get an idea of the rhetorical process and
argumentation in Martin Luther’s (1961) writings and sermons, or
Erasmus (1989).

But this involves more than 15th century theologians and philosophers.
To induct students into a field, one must know the literature well
enough to deploy it skillfully for their benefit. This means that those
of us who teach design must also understand the literature and how to
use it. Since the majority of comments to this list do not come from
students, but from those of us who teach or do research, the key message
in Victor’s post involves a lack in the literacy of design professors.


Victor asks why so few of the contributors to this list locate their
comments “within a trajectory of what others have written.” He
argues that until we learn to deploy the literature, “we will never
get off the merry go round nor will design research or design discourse
move forward in a broad way so as to characterize the collective
knowledge of a field.”

Literacy will not meet all of our needs. Much knowledge in a field is
unwritten. We see this when key people leave organizations and no one is
able to fill the gap they leave. We also see this in other kinds of
groups, including research fields and craft guilds. Birger Gerhardsson
(1977, 2001) describes how spoken traditions preserve social memory. The
master-disciple relationship and the tradition of oral transmission are
significant vehicles of social memory (Gerhardsson 2001: 7-14).
Gerhardsson’s (2001: 92-95) account of the various traditions
involving words and behavior apply to many forms of social memory,
collective memory, and organizational memory. Accounts of apprentice
training mke much the same point (see, for example, Blomberg 1994; Byrne
and Sands 2002; Lowry 1985; Musashi 1974, 1982a, 1982b; Yagyu 1982).
Memory plays a central role in cultural and social learning. This is
reflected in the context of embedded learning developed in behavior as
well as in speech. This becomes the kind of knowledge stored in what
Polanyi (1983) identified as the tacit dimension.

Whether transmission takes place in oral tradition, written documents,
or – in most cases – both, the members of every field pass knowledge
on that accumulates to become the “knowledge of the field.” It is
this transmission of shared knowledge that constitutes in part what it
is to be a field.

In many cases, even such resolutely physical fields as that of the
stonemason entail forms of knowledge, including a high level of
intellectual information, some written. Per Mollerup (1997: 34)
describes advancement through the ranks of the ancient mason’s guilds,
with three increasing levels of expertise. Masons moved through stages
of “personal development that grew from mastery of technique to
mastery of construction to mastery of style: from skills to
knowledge to creation.” According to Mollerup (1995: 46), “The
three disciplines corresponded to three degrees of the stonemason’s
career. The Geselle had skills. The Palirer had skills and knowledge.
And, finally, the Meister mastered skills and knowledge as well as
creation.”

Without making a full case for the descent of much design practice from
the artisan craft guilds, I will say that I agree with those who point
to this relationship. In my view, this is no cause for shame: it’s a
simple description of our past, and it describes many of the guild
studio traditions that still inform behavior in design firms and design
faculties. (For an explicit discussion of these issues, see: Byrne and
Sands 2002, Friedman 1997 [available from
http://hdl.handle.net/1959.3/189707  ]). Today, we have also
developed a line of descent from another guild, the university, the
corporation of masters and scholars. This guild also has traditions
(See: Friedman 2002 [available from http://hdl.handle.net/1959.3/47336 
]). These traditions include mastering a literature, developing it as
part of a discourse that functions across generations, and develops the
knowledge of the field.


3. Literacy and Progressive Research

Just over a decade ago, Tore Kristensen (1999: unpaged) raised an issue
of deep importance for design research in addressing the notion of a
progressive research program. This concept is so evident to those of us
who work in other fields that we had somehow overlooked the fact that no
similar notion had yet been proposed in the field of design.

What is a progressive research program? Drawing on Kristensen (1999:
unpaged), I have identified eight characteristics of a progressive
research program. These are:

1. Building a body of generalized knowledge,
2. Improving problem solving capacity,
3. Generalizing knowledge into new areas, 
4. Identifying value creation and cost effects, 
5. Explaining differences in design strategies and their risks or
benefits, 
6. Learning on the individual level, 
7. Collective learning, 
8. Meta-learning.

Here, I am going to postulate that the field of design requires a
progressive research program. Now I know that some participants on this
list argue that design research is either an oxymoron or an
impossibility, while others argue that design research cannot be
progressive. This is already a long enough post, so I won’t argue the
case against either of these positions. I will say that I am prepared to
offer a closely reasoned argument supporting the case for a progressive
research program in design should anyone wish me to do so.

The short form of these arguments is simple. The claim that design
research is an oxymoron rests on two claims. One is a mistake in
language. The other is an epistemological confusion. 

The language mistake is the idea that the word “research” somehow
means “to search backwards,” and that the word has etymological
origins with this meaning. This is not so. I am prepared to offer the
full linguistic argument should anyone wish it; for now I simply state
that the word research means “1: careful or diligent search 2:
studious inquiry or examination; especially : investigation or
experimentation aimed at the discovery and interpretation of facts,
revision of accepted theories or laws in the light of new facts, or
practical application of such new or revised theories or laws 3: the
collecting of information about a particular subject”
(Merriam-Webster’s 1993: 1002).

The epistemological argument is that we design things that do not exist
or we design for future preferred states that have not yet arrived.
Since we cannot research what does not exist, the claim is that it is an
oxymoron to speak of design research. 

The argument against this position is simple. While we may well design
things that do not exist, many of the steps in our design process
involve building on things that do exist. This includes planning to use
materials or processes whose properties we understand, combining them or
testing them to see how they will function in new applications. No one
can argue that human beings knew how to reach the moon when we first
began planning the moon landings, designing the systems and artifacts
that took us from the surface of the earth to the surface of the moon.
When Allan Turing first proposed what is now known as the Turing
Machine, computers were human beings who did calculations. Mechanical
computers did not exist. Turing engaged in a conceptual research program
first to create the concept of what a computing machine might be (Turing
1936 [Available online at http://www.abelard.org/turpap2/tp2-ie.asp  ])
and then to describe the possibility and consequences of such a machine
(Turing 1950 [Available online at:
http://www.abelard.org/turpap/turpap.php  ]

While the research programs leading to the moon landing and today’s
computers certainly fit Herbert Simon’s definition of design science,
one imagines that it is possible to lodge an argument against these as
cases of design research. One could claim, for example, that the moon
problem is plain engineering, while Turing’s work is an effort in
mathematics, logic, or philosophy – fields that use his work and claim
him. What can’t be argued is that in each case, human beings engaged
in research on artifacts and processes that did not exist. Whether or
not we wish to call this design, we can certainly dispense with the
epistemological objection to researching future states or things and
processes that do not now exist. 

Is a progressive research program possible in design? It is clear that
debates exist even in science on the nature and possibility of
progressive research (see, for example, Lakatos and Musgrave 1970).
Nevertheless, I’m going to assert at least a limited possibility for
such an idea in design, and I’m going to make the reasonable claim
that we know how to do many things better today than we once did.

We document and share the ways we do things better in our literature.
Thus we have a growing discourse that adds to the knowledge of the
field.

Of what does this literature consist? Without trying to be
comprehensive or trying to cover all the many design fields on which one
might write, I can name a reasonable array of the people I read in the
design universe. This reading helps to shape my conceptual universe and
my understanding of our field. 

Among the authors I can name are Pirkko Antilla, Bruce Archer, Eli
Blevis, Gui Bonsiepe, Richard Buchanan, Rachel Cooper, Nigel Cross,
Meredith Davis, Clive Dilnot, Kees Dorst, David Durling, Tony Fry,
Sigfried Giedion, Ranulph Glanville, Paul Hekkert, John Heskett, John
Chris Jones, Lorraine Justice, Lucy Kimbell, Pekka Korvenmaa, Klaus
Krippendorff, Harold Nelson, Tomas Maldonado, Ezio Manzini, Victor
Margolin, Per Mollerup, Lewis Mumford, Harold Nelson, Christene
Nippert-Eng, Ikujiro Nonaka, Donald Norman, Tiiu Poldma, Goran Roos,
Chris Rust, Donald Schon, Herbert Simon, Erik Stolterman, Dori Tunstall,
Allan Whitfield, Wendy Wong, Jonathan Woodham …

Let me stop here. Every time I finish the, I realize that I have missed
yet another name.

It is not necessary for me to agree with everyone on this list to
benefit from their work, to grow from their thinking, to respond to and
learn from their ideas. I’ve named several people here with whom
I’ve engaged in robust, even sharp debate, and yet their ideas are
essential to my understanding of the field.

For each of us, there is also a literature that informs us outside the
design field. For me, this includes the literatures of: management,
knowledge management, information science, and leadership; philosophy,
philosophy of knowledge, and philosophy of science; history, history of
science, and history of technology; religion, theology, and exegetics;
art and art history. This wider range of readings is anchored in the
different career paths I’ve taken at different times in my life. I
don't claim mastery of all this -- simply wide and sometimes careful
reading. I am always discovering to my chagrin just how much I have yet
to read. I can't claim to have mastered as much of the literature as I
should have done, but I did well enough to become a tenured professor in
two fields, and I worked in three academic departments in one of them.
Nearly everyone I know in design research has some kind of different
background. Engineering, mathematics, computing, information science,
and informatics are common; psychology, anthropology, sociology, and
cognitive science reasonably widespread; communication, economics,
behavioral science, and related fields not uncommon; architecture, urban
planning, fashion, and cognate design fields quite widespread.

The other fields we bring to our work form the hermeneutic horizon of
our perception and inquiry. These literatures frame our discourse,
giving us a substantive and methodological vocabulary, as well as giving
us an array of sources on which to draw in our research and teaching.

In each case, as individual as each case is, literacy involves more
than knowing how to read. It involves mastering, understanding, and
knowing a literature. The deep knowledge of a literature enables us
ultimately to embody a perspective. It is only when we draw explicitly
on our perspective and on the literature we represent that we expand the
discourse of the field. Even those who disagree with the possibilities
of a progressive research program in design must certainly recognize the
possibility of expanded discourse and growth through learning: if they
did not, they would not write, they would not present at conferences,
and they would not be involved in research. (The exception, of course,
would be people whom one would have to label cynics and careerists who
have in some odd way found their way into the design field with no
interest in developing the field or contributing.) 

The crucial issue in Victor’s note is that many of us neglect the
role that literacy plays in developing a field.


4. Gaps and Omissions

In the past two weeks, I’ve reviewed papers for several conferences,
including IASDR, and a number of journal submissions. Many of the papers
demonstrate the problems to which Victor’s note points. 

The failure to master and use the literature leads to papers that
repeat what’s known as well as to papers that fail to develop the
central topics as well as they might. The added problems involve
negligence and ignorance when what the field knows fails to inform the
research questions or the findings. This involves what people don’t
know, what they believe that is not so, and what they or proclaim that
is obsolete.

This is not simply an issue of discourse on the list. It involves the
way we develop the larger discourse of our field.

This gap has several consequences. As Victor notes, we do not develop
the rich discourse typical of mature fields. But there are further
consequences in failing to understand and develop an intertextual
discourse. One consequence is that conference papers and even journal
articles are often conceptually thin, with authors who do not know the
literature repeating earlier contributions in papers accepted by
reviewers who don’t know the literature either. The thin, repetitive
quality of many papers is one reason that few designers and design
scholars cite papers from design conferences. The failure to develop an
intertextual literature often makes design conference papers little more
than an exercise in metrics rather than a contribution to the knowledge
of the field.

Conference organizers exacerbate this situation. They welcome added
revenue, taking on papers that are not ripe while measuring the success
of a conference by the number of participants and the overall budget.
These factors together mean that reviewers or organizers accept many
conference papers without a proper foundation in the literature of the
field. Papers that do not fill a genuine gap in the knowledge of the
field add to the useless conference papers that no one finds worth
citing. The quality of design conference papers is an issue to debate in
its own right, but the failure of most design conference papers to
contribute to the literature of our field is clear. Nearly no one cites
them. One reason for this is that so few fill a genuine gap in the
knowledge, a gap that would be revealed by proper use of the
literature.

Whether or not one accepts the possibility of a progressive body of
knowledge, building such a body of knowledge is impossible without
developing an intertextual discourse.


5. The Role of Literacy in Other Fields

Most mature fields make use of an intertextual literacy that adds
weight and depth to the discourse. Theology and philosophy are the great
fields of intertextual discourse, linking conversations cross 2,500 to
3,000 years of reading. While philosophers tend to focus on a narrow
text with a tight focus on a question, problem, or puzzle, theologians
talk with one another across the ages. This was the beginning of
hermeneutics and exegetical inquiry. This has little to do with design,
but it has a great deal to do with understanding hermeneutics as an
interpretive method of inquiry. (For a good account of hermeneutics,
see: Thiselton 1980, 1992. To read a talented interpreters of the
hermeneutic tradition at work, see: Vanhoozer 1998, 2002, 2009.)

Books such as de Lubac’s (1998) Medieval Exegesis demonstrate the
uses of intertextual literacy in building a sustained argument. 

Intertextuality is also the heart of legal studies, and one can read a
legal hermeneutics that is also an intertextual masterpiece in Robert
Cover’s (1983) famous preface to the Harvard Law Review analysis of
the Supreme Court 1982 Term. Joseph Lukinsky’s (1987: 1836) analysis
of Cover’s article praises its intertextual qualities as an essay that
links “legal history, legal theory, Biblical and Talmudic
deliberation, literary criticism, anthropology, psychology, [and]
philosophy of science” with law. The law is all about the
intertextual, spoken and written. I cite this particular example both
because it is particularly distinguished and because it is available as
a free download for those who wish to read a brilliant example of how
intertextual discourse builds the knowledge of a field. [Nomos and
Narrative is available from PDF from: http://www.bepress.com/ils/iss8/ 
]

It is by engaging with the ideas of colleagues that we develop ideas
and find the gaps in the knowledge of the field. I’ve described two
specific examples of this on this list in earlier posts, and I will use
them again.

Einstein’s great papers of 1905 show how it is possible to look in
new ways at what others have seen and described to find new and
startling results. One example is Einstein’s (1998: 85-98), famous
paper on Brownian motion that established the physical reality of atoms.
Einstein brought well-understood facts together with well-known
observations, reframing them in a way that shed light on a basic
physical problem that had not hitherto been solved. John Stachel (1998)
tells the story nicely in his introduction.

But there is more to this than an imaginative genius suddenly arriving
at a new concept. Jeremy Bernstein (1993: 14-27) discusses an aspect of
this in an entertaining and profound article that asked, “How can we
be sure that Albert Einstein was not a crank?” Bernstein proposes two
criteria to separate the production of a crank from the real thing. One
of the two criteria is “correspondence.”

Correspondence involves literacy. It involves the ways in which a new
proposal melds with prior art, how a new theory explains the earlier
theories and models at a deeper and richer level. “I would insist,”
writes Bernstein (1993: 18) “that any proposal for a radically new
theory in physics, or in any other science, contain a clear explanation
of why the precedent science worked. What new domain of experience is
being explored by the new science, and how does it meld with the old?”
While Bernstein discusses theories and models in physics, this is a
general issue research and it applies to all fields, including design.
Correspondence involves literacy, building on the literature of the
field. What Victor has not seen in so many posts is the quality of
correspondence, a quality that would enable the new approaches to
explain or help us to understand earlier - or current - problems at a
deeper or richer level.

Let me place this in perspective with a story from yet another field.
In 1908, a German industrialist (Singh 1997: 133-146) established a
major prize that a foundation would award to the first mathematician who
could prove Fermat’s Last Theorem. In the first year of the prize, 621
attempts were registered. By the 1970s, so many tens of thousands of
attempts came in - mostly written by cranks - that the foundation had
long before determined that most of the absolute rubbish would be sent
back immediately, unregistered. Then there is the material that “looks
like mathematics” (F. Schlichting in Singh 1997: 145). Until Andrew
Wiles came along, analysis demonstrated that beneath the surface
appearance, much of this was also crank work, or work on such an
elementary level that it failed a basic analysis.

Wiles made a dramatic breakthrough by combining a rich selection of
existing tools from his research field. He broke through after a
seven-year march through the field to win the extraordinary insights
that emerge from hard work on tough problems. For the prior three and a
half centuries, tens of thousands of cranks tried to solve the problem.
Better said, they imagined that they were trying to do so. Several
serious mathematicians also tried to solve the problem and failed.

Wiles’s proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem is a classic example of
literacy. The theorem was a famous problem, crisply defined in the
margins of a book found in Pierre de Fermat’s library. Fermat’s copy
of the book - a Latin translation of Diophantus’s Arithmetica -
disappeared long ago. The theorem, written sometime around 1637, became
one of the most famous in mathematical history. Mathematicians struggled
with it until 1993, when Wiles solved it in a 200-page proof drawing on
half a dozen major approaches to mathematics and dozens of specific
previous findings.

Wiles solved this problem by a rich combination of methods that took
him through nearly two millennia of mathematical development. This
required mastery of the literature of his field, genuine literacy. What
he did not do was try to redesign the entire research approach of the
field, nor to solve the problem simply by proposing concepts. Every one
of the tens of thousands of misguided attempts to solve the problem was
put forward by someone who thought that conceptualizing was a strength:
a great enough strength, in fact, that the supposed proof would solve
one of the great mathematical riddles of the past four centuries.

This case is a good example of the struggles and challenges a
researcher can face in solving difficult problems. In this case, two
excellent books describe Wiles’s search for solutions, showing how one
may draw on the literature of a field to attack and solve a problem.
Amir Aczel (1996) and Simon Singh (1997) both wrote excellent accounts
of Wiles’s struggle.

Fermat stated his theorem in two short Latin sentences. In that sense,
Fermat defined the problem. To solve this simple but tough problem,
Wiles had to open the problem out analytically into a series of
subsidiary problems and steps, seeking, finding, inventing, and -
depending on your view - creating problems on the way. To reach his
goal, he solved problems, sought new opportunities, and occasionally
created alternatives to what exists. Finally, he synthesized his
findings into the proof.

At that point, the mathematics community entered the picture, checking
the proof step by step, at one point finding a serious flaw that Wiles
then overcame. 

There are other uses of a literature in developing our ablity to think
problems through. Einstein frequently referred to the importance of
critical reasoning based on empirical evidence and rigorous thinking. He
discusses the role that empiricism played in his development. For one
crucial advance in special relativity theory, Einstein writes that the,
“type of critical reasoning which was required for the discovery of
this central point was decisive furthered, in my case, by the reading of
David Hume’s and Ernst Mach’s philosophical writings” (Einstein
1969 [1949]: 53).

Einstein was a careful and rigorous student of earlier work. Those who
Einstein’s notes as a doctoral student discover “the notes of a
conscientious student with a clear understanding of the physics that
preceded his own.” This stands in great contrast with the insistence
on pure, speculative concepts anchored only in private imagination:
“The typical crank appears to regard all this apprenticeship as
beneath his intellectual dignity. He wants to go right to the head of
the class. No apprenticeship for him.” (Bernstein 1993: 27)

Einstein’s work was a triumph of imagination. This triumph was based
on the deep relationship between Einstein’s work, the empirical world,
and earlier work. Einstein was always open to imaginative ideas. He had
little time for solipsistic thinkers who failed to engage the larger
field in rigorous inquiry. That engagement requires literacy, and we see
too little of it.


6. Pause

And here I will rest. There is more to be said on this topic … but
it’s late Sunday night in Melbourne, I have an early day tomorrow,
and it’s time to send this off and call it a day.

As promised, I am happy to answer specific questions and I will provide
full argument on the issues that I addressed here in brief form.

Ken Friedman



References

Aczel, Amir D. 1996. Fermat’s Last Theorem.  Unlocking the Secret of
an Ancient Mathematical Problem. London: Penguin Books.

Bernstein, Jeremy. 1993. Cranks, Quarks and the Cosmos. New York: Basic
Books.

Blomberg, Catharina. 1994. The Heart of the Warrior. Sandgate, Kent:
The Japan Library.

Byrne, Bryan, and Ed Sands. 2002. “Designing Collaborative Corporate
Cultures.” In Creating Breakthrough Ideas, Bryan Byrne and Susan E.
Squires, editors. Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Publishing Group, pp.
47-69.

Cover, Robert M. 1983. “The Supreme Court 1982 Term. Foreword: Nomos
and
Narrative.” Harvard Law Review, Vol. 97, pp. 4-68. [Available from
PDF from: http://www.bepress.com/ils/iss8/  ]

De Lubac, Henri. 1998. Medieval Exegesis. The four senses of scripture.
Translated by Mark Sebanc. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans. 

Einstein, Albert. 1969 [1949]. “Autobiographical Notes.” In Albert
Einstein. Philosopher-Scientist. Third Edition. Edited by Paul Arthur
Schilpp. La Salle, Illinois: Open Court Press, 1-9

Einstein, Albert. 1998 [1905]. Einstein’s Miraculous Year. Five
Papers that Changed the Face of Physics. Edited and introduced by John
Stachel. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press.

Erasmus, Desiderius. 1989. The Praise of Folly and Other Writings. A
New Translation with Critical Commentary. Chosen, translated, and edited
by Robert M. Adams. New York: W. W. Norton and Company.

Friedman, Ken. 1997. “Design Science and Design Education.” The
Challenge of Complexity. Peter McGrory, editor. Helsinki: University of
Art and Design Helsinki UIAH, 54-72. [Available in PDF format from:
http://hdl.handle.net/1959.3/189707  ]

Friedman, Ken. 2002. “Design curriculum challenges for today’s
university.”Proceedings of ‘Enhancing the Curricula: Exploring
Effective Curricula Practices in Art, Design and Communication in Higher
Education’, the 1st International Conference of the Centre for
Learning and Teaching in Art and Design (CLTAD), London, United Kingdom,
10-12 April 2002. Allan Davies (ed.), pp. 27-63. [Available in PDF
format from: http://hdl.handle.net/1959.3/47336  ]

Gerhardsson, Birger. 1961. Memory and Manuscript. Oral Tradition and
Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity. (Acta
Seminarii Neotestamentici Upsaliensis 22). Lund: Gleerup.

Gerhardsson, Birger. 2001. The Reliability of the Gospel Tradition.
Peabody, Massachusetts: Hendrickson Publishing.

Kristensen, Tore. 1999. “Research on design in business.” (Slides
from conference keynote presentation.) Useful and Critical: Research in
Design. University of Art and Design, Helsinki. Unpaged.

Lakatos, Imre, and Musgrave, Alan, eds. 1970, Criticism and the Growth
of Knowledge. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Lowry, David. 1985. Autumn Lightning. Boston: Shambhala Publications,
Inc. 

Lukinsky, Joseph. 1987. “Law in Education. A Reminiscence with Some
Footnotes to Robert Cover’s Nomos and Narrative.” Yale Law Journal,
Vol. 96, pp. 1836-1859.

Luther, Martin. 1961. Martin Luther. Selections from his writings
edited and with an
introduction by John Dillenberger. New York: Doubleday Anchor.

Merriam-Webster, Inc. 1993. Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary.
Tenth edition. Springfield, Massachusetts.

Mollerup, Per. 1995. Marks of Excellence. A theory of trademarks and
how they work. [Doctoral dissertation published by the Department of
Theoretical and Applied Aesthetics, School of Architecture, Lund
Institute of Technology, University of Lund.] Lund: University of Lund.

Mollerup, Per. 1997. Marks of Excellence. The History and Taxonomy of
Trademarks. London: Phaidon.

Musashi, Miyamoto. 1974. A Book of Five Rings. Translated by Victor
Harris. Woodstock, New York: The Overlook Press.

Musashi, Miyamoto. 1982a. The Book of Five Rings. Gorin No Sho.
Translation and commentary by Nihon Services Corporation: Bradford J.
Brown, Yuko Kashiwagi, William H. Barrett, and Eisuke Sasagawa. New
York: Bantam Books.

Musashi, Miyamoto. 1982b. The Book of Five Rings. (With Family
Traditions on the Art of War by Yagyu Munenori.) Translated by Thomas
Cleary. Boston and London: Shambhala.

Norman, Donald A. 1993. Things that Make Us Smart. Reading,
Massachusetts: Addison-Wesley.

Plato. 2005. Phaedrus. Translated by Christopher Rowe. London: Penguin
Books.

Polanyi, Michael. 1983. The Tacit Dimension. Gloucester, Massachusetts:
Peter Smith.

Rose, Steven. 1992. The Making of Memory: From Molecules to Mind. New
York: Anchor Doubleday.

Singh, Simon. 1997. Fermat’s Last Theorem. The Story of a Riddle that
Confounded the World’s Greatest Minds for 358 Years. London: Fourth
Estate.

Stachel, John. 1998. “Einstein on Brownian Motion.” Einstein’s
Miraculous Year. Five Papers that Changed the Face of Physics. Edited
and introduced by John Stachel. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton
University Press, 73-84.

Thiselton, Anthony C. 1980. The Two Horizons. New Testament
Hermeneutics and Philosophical Description with Special Reference to
Heidegger, Bultmann, Gadamer, and Wittgenstein. Grand Rapids, Michigan:
William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.

Thiselton, Anthony C. 1992. New Horizons in Hermeneutics. The Theory
and Practice of Transforming Biblical Reading. Grand Rapids, Michigan:
Zondervan Publishing House.

Turing, Alan. 1936, ‘On computable numbers, with an application to
the Entscheidungsproblem. Proceedings of the London Mathematics Society,
Series 2, 42: 230–265. [Available online at
http://www.abelard.org/turpap2/tp2-ie.asp  ]

Turing, Alan. 1950. “Computing machinery and intelligence.”,Mind,
Vol. 50: 433–460. [Available online at:
http://www.abelard.org/turpap/turpap.php  ]

Vanhoozer, Kevin J. 1998. Is There a Meaning in This Text? The Bible,
the Reader, and the Morality of Literary Knowledge. Grand Rapids:
Zondervan.

Vanhoozer, Kevin J. 2002. First Theology: God, Scripture, and
Hermeneutics. Downers Grove, IL:  InterVarsity Press.

Vanhoozer, Kevin J. 2009. Remythologizing Theology: Divine Action,
Passion, and Authorship. Cambridge Studies in Christian Doctrine.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Yagyu, Munenori. 1982. Family Traditions on the Art of War. (With The
Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi.) Translated by Thomas Cleary.
Boston and London: Shambhala.

--

Professor Ken Friedman, PhD, DSc (hc), FDRS | University Distinguished
Professor | Dean, Faculty of Design | Swinburne University of Technology
| Melbourne, Australia | [log in to unmask] | Ph: +61 3
9214 6078 | Faculty www.swinburne.edu.au/design