Vocabulary and Distinctions
(response to thread on theories of design)
The exchange of views on design theory has been extraordinarily rewarding.
A number of ideas and issues are developing in parallel. These include the
issues of theory, science, and research. Within each, we see the
articulation of several streams of thought.
In a post that was both playful and profound, John Chris Jones brought out
the idea that first, theorizing is difficult and problematic, and second,
that even to consider the issue of theory is to theorize.
After raising serious questions about the meaning -- and validity -- of
theory in design, he added, "I admit that it is essential to have a
language in which it is possible to discuss designing while doing it,
especially when designing things that are beyond the competence of the
specialized professions, even when working as teams of specialists (who
will often be either unable to understand each other or else be unaware
that they do not )"
I'd like to respond to this thought and to Anthony Dunne's post by
exploring the issue of vocabulary.
One of the difficulties in our dialogue is that we are not using the same
words in the same way. This may in part arise from the fact that design is
a broad, integrative field. Many members of the design community have come
to design from a variety of other fields. Many remain active in multiple
fields. Each of these fields has its own traditions of research,
vocabulary, and language.
Design research involves issues that engage the arts and humanities, social
science, natural science and technology. So does design practice. Many
specific disciplines are located within each of these broad frames. In each
discipline, vocabularies and ways of using words are often specialized. The
traditions of understanding and use that enable members of a community of
practice to speak with one another is rooted in years of development. Many
traditions go back to the medieval universities and to the guilds. Others
are new. Even fields that have emerged in recent decades are attempting
still to clarify vocabulary and usage.
As fields expand, they develop a richer range of specializations, a broader
expanse of issues with which they can hope to deal, a deeper range of
understanding and explanation for the questions they address. This requires
a vocabulary of distinctions. The ability to distinguish among and clarify
phenomena is connected to the ability to conceptualize and to understand.
A vocabulary that only permits a chef to speak of "eggs" is significantly
less valuable than a vocabulary that distinguishes among many kinds of
eggs. We may require fresh eggs, accept them a little old, or want them
aged. We may prefer free-range eggs to standard agribusiness eggs. We may
want brown eggs, speckled or white. When we break the egg open, it is
important to distinguish between the shell, the white, and the yolk: some
foods can only be made by people who distinguish among and use the separate
parts of the egg. When we cook eggs, it's useful to know the differences
between hard-boiled and soft; shirred, stirred and poached; fried up, fried
over easy, fried over hard; scrambled hard, scrambled soft or
half-scrambled; and then we come to omelets and baked dishes. Excellent
cooking requires distinguishing among the kinds of egg and the uses to
which the several kinds of egg can be put.
Since the proof of the egg is in the eating, the theoretical distinctions
one may draw among eggs and their uses require skilled practice to be
useful. This skill arises from the virtuous cycle that renders tacit
knowledge explicit and transforms explicit knowledge back into tacit
knowledge again. Learning to cook rarely rests on watching and doing alone.
To know why we choose one egg rather than another, to know why we perform
one step before another creates differences in quality that we can taste.
To do this means that we must be able to talk about eggs with one another.
The words we use must mean the same thing to everyone in the conversation.
Rarely do we put into words the many tiny facts and aspects of practice,
perspective, attitude, emotion, fact and knowledge on which we draw to
navigate our way through daily life. If we were to attempt to do so, we
would spend our days mired in discussion and definition rather than engaged
in practice. Polanyi's classic discussion of tacit knowledge makes explicit
just how much we require the unspoken dimensions of what we know to engage
in daily life. This is also true of professional practice.
Yet, tacit knowledge is not all. Polanyi elsewhere considers the rich
interplay of what we know as persons and the power that articulation gives
us to work with what we know.
Most developing professions undergoing the periodical process of reflective
self-examination, establishing vocabularies, defining terms, considering
and debating method. They set up frames of reference within which practice
and theory are to be considered. And they establish, debate and reestablish
the boundaries that a profession requires if to be distinct from other
professions as well as the overlapping frames of reference that any
profession requires if it is to operate in the world of human affairs.
Because design is an emerging profession in a time of rich development, it
is undergoing all these processes.
Because design is an integrative field, it faces an additional challenge.
The concept of an integrative framework necessarily raises the challenge of
a common vocabulary. When a field develops a rich network of
specializations, their traditions, language, and communities of practice
lose touch with one another and with the common core discipline, that once
contained them all. They fragment into multiple communities, and the
ultimately risk an inability to communicate or work together at all. Design
faces this problem in three ways.
First, the problem of vocabulary arises because the profession of design is
rooted in a craft tradition. Design education has generally been located in
art academies, craft schools, architecture schools, and the like. In many
cases, this means that designers have never in the first place had to
master or to use an articulate vocabulary of distinctions. Without a
vocabulary of distinctions, designers lack the conceptual, analytical, and
synthetic tools that depend on such a vocabulary. Instead, they have had a
practice rooted in guild traditions, tacit knowledge and studio practice.
These are important, yet they form only leg of the three legs on which any
professional must stand.
Second, the problem of vocabulary arises because of the new specializations
that emerge in design. Whatever unity the field may have had because of
common educational traditions and common foundations in practice, there was
no common intellectual core. The unity is now fading under the growth of
new specializations. A century ago, the profession of design barely
existed. As recently as a few decades ago, the profession was so uncommon
that many of the business leaders who needed to hire designers could hardly
distinguish between design and styling. Many still see design as an arm of
advertising, leaving design issues to the third level management team
responsible for marketing. Even so, knowledge of the uses and value of
design is increasing. Business Week and Time Magazine now regularly cover
design issues in relation to business and manufacturing. Moreover, the
design profession itself is developing a wide range of fields within which
designers practice.
Today, we speak of many kinds of design that designers may practice. The
professional distinctions one can find now include graphic design,
information design, systems design, furniture design, communication design,
interface design, process design, three-dimensional design,
four-dimensional design, time design, transport design, automotive design,
clothing design, tool design, ceramic design, glass design, lighting
design, and dozens more. Some of these design specializations emerge from a
common core of practice by virtue of the fact that their practitioners were
actually training in an older design specialization. Nevertheless, a
genuine common core of practice requires common principles, common
language, and a common range of theories on which advanced specializations
build. To date, there is no acknowledged common core in design, either in
practice or in theory. The multiplicity of kinds of education and kinds of
schools within which design education takes place ensures the absence of a
common core.
Third, the problem of vocabulary arises because the new, integrative
importance of design is attracting practitioners, scholars, theorists and
faculty members who are coming into design from many fields. This enriches
design. At the same time, it adds to the fragmentation of vocabulary and
conceptualization.
For design to function as an integrative practice, for design scholars and
theorists to communicate with one another, the issue of common vocabulary
is increasingly important. This is not the only profession facing such a
challenge. In the integrative professions and fields that face similar
challenges, the question of common vocabulary is increasingly important.
It is no mystery that the problems arise today. The mystery is why we have
taken so long to address it. Fortunately, it is not necessary to solve the
problem in its entirety. Some precedents and some solutions are already
available.
The Greek philosophers were among the first human beings to address the
problem of vocabulary and distinction. The development of a thoughtful and
robust terminology of knowledge and theory was one of the most powerful
contributions that Greek philosophy gave to human development.
The classical Greek vocabulary of knowledge and thinking shows a
sophisticated terminology that helped to develop Greek philosophy and
contributed to the sophisticated Greek theories of knowledge and
epistemology.
In a recent article titled "Knowledge management (KM) and the epistemic
tradition," J. Michael Pemberton asks why scholars confuse themselves and
their readers, by using terms and definitions that are located in the
language of one profession or, even worse, particular to one specific
scholar. Confused and confusing terminology creates problems when members
of the same profession or scholars in the same field can't speak
effectively with one another. If, to consider John Chris Jones's post, "it
is essential to have a language in which it is possible to discuss
designing while doing it, especially when designing things that are beyond
the competence of the specialized professions [or] teams of specialists" a
common language is necessary.
The Greek philosophers managed to create a common understanding on
knowledge and the other terms of discourse by establishing clear
definitions. The question Pemberton asks and the question we should ask is
how they managed to do this nearly 2500 years ago while we can't seem to
manage it today.
The issue is a standardized vocabulary based on common, definitional
understandings of what words mean. In fact, we have the beginning of this
kind of understanding in the dictionary. What it requires is recourse to a
clarified vocabulary of terms in which we respect the meaning and
distinctions of words.
We can respect the meaning of a word without being bound to the concept it
represents. Bunge notes that "Definitions are stipulations or conventions,
not assumptionsDefinitions are conventions bearing only on concepts or
their symbols, not on facts." That is, we can respect a definition and use
a word in a clear and specific way without agreeing to or supporting that
concept which the definition represents. However, Bunge reminds us that
"the distinction between definition (a convention) and assumption (a
fallible assertion) is not always observed." When we confuse definition and
assumption, we confuse the vocabulary of distinctions that allows us to
speak together and the world that our speaking represents.
Here, I will consider the issues that Anthony Dunne raises in quoting Geuss
on critical theory.
The idea of critical theory in Geuss emerges from the usage of the
Frankfurt School, and, in fact, Geuss's book is subtitled "Habermas and the
Frankfurt School."
Anthony Dunne writes, "It seems to me that the assumption in this thread so
far, is that we need a sort of scientific theory of design to help us
design better, but another possibility is to develop critical theories of
design that might allow designers to adopt more radical social roles and
political positions through their practice."
Anthony is right in his analysis of the thread to date. It does involve a
theory - or theories -- of design to help us design better. No one has yet
addressed the second issue he raises, critical theory.
It seems to me that the issues raised in Frankfurt School discourse have
much to offer here. Not merely Habermas, but Adorno, Horkheimer, Fromm and
others raise issues that bear on design and on the social practice of all
the professions.
It should at the same be said that this is a different thread. That is, the
two kinds of theoretical discussion involve two kinds of theory. On is a
discussion of social and critical theory. It involves such questions as,
"Why design?" "For whom should we design?" "What is our responsibility as
designers?"
These are the kinds of issues Papanek addresses in The Green Imperative:
Ecology and Ethics in Design and Architecture. However, while Papanek's
inquiry addresses the issues implicit in critical theory, his methods rest
firmly on a wide range of research techniques. That is Papanek considers
how to design as well as why. If we do not know how, we can't meet the
ambitions of our "why?"
Geuss fails to distinguish between several kinds of theory, and one of his
definitions is simply wrong. He writes that "Scientific theories have as
their aim or goal successful manipulation of the external world; they have
instrumental use. If correct, they enable the agents who have mastered them
to cope effectively with the environment and thus pursue their chosen ends
successfully."
This is not so. Geuss conflates science with technology, a problem for
which the social scientists of the Frankfurt School are also noted.
And here we come to the question of what words mean.
Merriam-Webster defines science as "1 : the state of knowing : knowledge as
distinguished from ignorance or misunderstanding 2 a : a department of
systematized knowledge as an object of study <the science of theology> b :
something (as a sport or technique) that may be studied or learned like
systematized knowledge <have it down to a science> c : one of the natural
sciences 3 a : knowledge [or a system of knowledge] covering general truths
or the operation of general laws especially as obtained and tested through
scientific method, esp. as obtained and tested through scientific method b
: such knowledge [or such a system of knowledge] concerned with the
physical world and its phenomena : NATURAL SCIENCE 4 : a system or method
reconciling practical ends with scientific laws <culinary science>..."
The purpose of science is knowledge. Contrasted to this is technology, "1:
technical language 2 a : applied science b: a scientific method of
achieving a practical purpose 3 : the totality of the means employed to
provide objects necessary for human sustenance and comfort."
The new Merriam-Webster online edition defines technology in a slightly
different way, but the meanings are essentially the same: "1 a : the
practical application of knowledge especially in a particular area :
ENGINEERING 2 <medical technology> b : a capability given by the practical
application of knowledge <a car's fuel-saving technology> 2 : a manner of
accomplishing a task especially using technical processes, methods, or
knowledge <new technologies for information storage> 3 : the specialized
aspects of a particular field of endeavor <educational technology>."
Britannica Online distinguishes between science and technology in a similar
way. Science is defined as: "any system of knowledge that is concerned with
the physical world and its phenomena and that entails unbiased observations
and systematic experimentation. In general, a science involves a pursuit of
knowledge covering general truths or the operations of fundamental laws."
In contrast, technology is defined as "the application of scientific
knowledge to the practical aims of human life or, as it is sometimes
phrased, to the change and manipulation of the human environment."
A strange paradox arises in the failure to distinguish between science and
technology. To label the scientific urge to know as a direct decision to
manipulate suggests that knowledge is dangerous because the knowledge of
how to do something implies that it will be done. This view ignores human
agency and ethical or moral judgement. Taken to an extreme, it becomes a
premise on which we can forbid certain kinds of knowledge as too dangerous
for human beings. In short, the failure to distinguish between science and
technology is a serious flaw in the Frankfurt conception of critical
theory. Those who fail to distinguish between scientific theory and
technological theory diminish the conception of freedom and agency. The
paradox in this is that a vocabulary without this kind of distinction is
the shallow language of instrumental reason in contrast with the deep
language of emancipatory reason.
Nevertheless, the goal of scientific theory is understanding, not
manipulation.
This was exactly the struggle that Karl Taylor Compton faced as president
of MIT when he shifted the focus of the university from an emphasis on
technological applications to fundamental science. Compton called for a
curriculum based on "all-embracing fundamental principles."
Language can indeed be poetic and metaphorical, to good result. I agree
with John Chris when he calls for a language of design that is "less and
less like scientific theory and more and more like fiction, poetry,
colloquial speech and direct democracy, in which people can be political
and/or divine presences, not just consumers or specialists or instruments."
This is a political language, a language of feeling. In part, it is a
language of critical theory. The other language of critical theory,
however, is a language of science, social science, expressed through an
articulate vocabulary of distinctions.
To know the differences between these, to be able to distinguish among
kinds and ranges of theory, among levels of theory and units of analysis is
one step that must eventually be taken if one is to place design research
on serious footing.
Knowing how to use a language and how to choose which language to use is a
step toward maturity. It permits us to examine issues, and it helps us to
move toward the epistemological sophistication and philosophical wisdom of
the classical Greek tradition. Common language and clear definitions are
also the foundation of direct democracy, for only when we can speak with
one another on a basis of mutual understanding can we shape democratic
institutions and democratic practices. The purpose of democracy is to
create mutual agreement, or, perhaps, sufficient agreement to move forward
on one question or another. Mutual understanding does not imply mutual
agreement. It does, however, make it possible for us to understand one
another so that we may, as free agents, agree.
The value of science lies in the emancipatory power of knowledge.
The physicist Richard Feynman once argued the imaginative power and beauty
of science, not by arguing against the other arts, but by stating, simply,
that an understanding of how things work and why adds to the dimensions of
the beautiful. "Poets say science takes away from the beauty of the stars -
mere globs of gas atoms. I, too, can see the stars on a desert night and
feel them. But do I see less or more? The vastness of the heavens stretches
my imagination - stuck on this little carousel, my little eye can catch
one-million-year-old light. A vast pattern - of which I am part What is
the pattern, or the meaning, or the why? It does not do harm to the mystery
to know a little about it. For far more marvelous is the truth than any
artists of the past imagined it. Why do poets of the present not speak of
it? What men are poets who can speak of Jupiter if he were a man, but if he
is an immense spinning sphere of methane must be silent?"
Ken Friedman
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