Dewey and Design: A Pragmatist Perspective for Design Research [1st ed.] 9783030474706, 9783030474713

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Design Research Foundations

Brian S. Dixon

Dewey and Design A Pragmatist Perspective for Design Research

Design Research Foundations Series Editors Ilpo Koskinen, School of Design, University of New South Wales, Sydney, NSW, Australia Pieter E. Vermaas, Department of Philosophy, Delft University of Technology, Delft, The Netherlands Assistant Editor Clementine Thurgood, Faculty of Health, Arts and Design, Swinburne University of Technology, Melbourne, VIC, Australia

The goal of the series is to provide a platform for publishing state of the art research on foundational issues in design and its applications in industry and society. Suitable topics range from methodological issues in design research to philosophical reflections on the specificities of design rather than actual design work or empirical cases only. The definition of design behind the series is inclusive. In terms of disciplines, it ranges from engineering to architecture. In terms of design work, it ranges from conceptual issues in design through design experiments and prototypes to evaluative studies of design and its foundations. Proposals should include: A proposal form, as can be found on this page A short synopsis of the work or the introduction chapter The proposed Table of Contents The CV of the lead author(s) If available: one sample chapter We aim to make a first decision within 1 month of submission. In case of a positive first decision the work will be provisionally contracted: the final decision about publication will depend upon the result of the anonymous peer review of the complete manuscript. The series editors aim to have the complete work peer-­ reviewed within 3 months of submission. The series discourages the submission of manuscripts that contain reprints of previous published material and/or manuscripts that are below 150 pages / 75,000 words. For inquiries and submission of proposals authors can contact the series editors, Pieter Vermaas via: [email protected] or Ilpo Koskinen via: ilpo.koskinen@ polyu.edu.hk More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/13775

Brian S. Dixon

Dewey and Design A Pragmatist Perspective for Design Research

Brian S. Dixon Faculty of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences Ulster University, Belfast, UK

ISSN 2366-4622     ISSN 2366-4630 (electronic) Design Research Foundations ISBN 978-3-030-47470-6    ISBN 978-3-030-47471-3 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-47471-3 © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Preface

I first encountered John Dewey’s pragmatism by chance at a difficult point in my PhD. It was my second year. I had framed a context of inquiry centering around the design of mobile maps and had begun to undertake my fieldwork. All was going well but the thorny subject of methodological positioning was beginning to pose challenges. As I was designing something—an interface—I had decided to label my research as ‘practice-based’. The term appealed on an emotional basis but unfortunately it didn’t appear to carry much intellectual weight. The available academic resources were limited. I couldn’t seem to find any relevant methods texts or paradigmatic overviews that followed the logic of design; it appeared that there was no formal stance that allowed flights of the imagination to sit alongside data collection and analysis. I was beginning to suspect that the gap separating creative decision making and formal knowledge production was unbridgeable. The problem, so far as I could tell, lay with existing theories of knowledge or, to be more precise, epistemological positions. Of the theories/positions I had encountered, most focused on defining a means of describing what was and had little or nothing to say about developing something that wasn’t but could be. Yet, despite this apparent gap, I continued to believe that it would be possible, eventually, to find an argument or a theory or some philosophical device that would allow me at last to link the practical and theoretical and (one day) successfully complete my doctorate. It was a colleague who first suggested a solution might be found in John Dewey’s work. I gladly followed up the recommendation but was very disappointed by my initial readings. I found his prose dense and, at times, impenetrable. His slow elaborations and frequent digressions made it difficult to hold onto or, indeed, grasp the underlying argument. Worse, try as I might, I failed to draw clear connections between what he said and the principles of practice-based research. It was only when I began reading authors such as John McCarthy and Peter Wright, Peter Dalsgaard, Marc Steen and others, who were actively promoting Dewey’s pragmatism in the context of design that I came to understand his relevance. Through this literature, a striking figure and an equally striking body of work v

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began to emerge. There was his theory of inquiry; a clear, transparent and credible account of how we, as live creatures, set about finding answers to problematic questions. There was his concept of ‘warranted assertability’, whereby the quality of one’s conclusions become the measure of an inquiry’s validity. There was this theory of experience, where he appeared to be suggesting that the first-hand qualities of daily life need not be ignored or overlooked, but rather had a central role to play in the elaboration of what it was to be, to believe and to know. Over time, I was gradually able develop a viable understanding of these theories and, further, found ways of enfolding them within my doctoral work. Yet, beyond the doctoral work, I felt that more needed to be done. What I had uncovered in Dewey’s work demanded closer attention and a much fuller expression. I had come to the view that Dewey had far more to say than design theorists had yet realized. However, now there was another problem: how to bring it all together, to give his work a sense of coherence and form in the context of design. The moment of revelation came through reading Ralph Sleeper’s The Necessity of Pragmatism, a grand exposition of Dewey’s work. This text finally opened up the connections that I was desperately seeking. He set out a clear and compelling account of what Dewey was working towards, who he was battling against and how close he came to achieving his goals. With these insights to hand, I was able to gain an appreciation of Dewey’s logic and its association with epistemology, his theory of communication and his metaphysics. From here, it became possible to forge ahead and assimilate his theory of art and religious experience, as well as draw wider connections to the broader outlay of twentieth-century philosophy. All of a sudden, his work had coherence and form. This personal inquiry, though mundane and unremarkable, has resulted in the present book. It constitutes an attempt to ‘use’ Dewey’s philosophy to ground what, I would argue, is already felt (if not articulated) in some areas of design research. The essential argument is that he can be seen to form to what is unseen and overlooked—to put into words to what is tacitly understood, at the same time as filling in some blanks. Ultimately, it is my belief that Dewey can speak directly to designer-researchers who, in turn, want to speak to practice at the same time as locating their efforts within a philosophic matrix. More especially, I also believe that he can speak to designer-researchers who want to involve practice in their research. Indeed, I would say that he offers a philosophy for design research involving practice. This is so because many of the values that Dewey cherished are those that designers cherish. As such, an alignment of Deweyan pragmatism and design research involving practice does not require any suppression of motivations, awkward reshapings of methods, or redirecting of interests. To encounter Dewey’s work as a designer-researcher is to come home to what is already known. Glasgow 2019  Brian Dixon

Acknowledgements

Though there are too many people to acknowledge in the small space available, I do wish offer out a small number of very specific expressions of gratitude. The first must go to Professor Janet McDonnell of Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design. Though she would not likely see herself as being in anyway integral to the production of this volume, on my view she most certainly is. It was Janet who, in late 2017, first suggested to me that I should consider writing a book—as it turned out, this was all the encouragement I needed to frame an initial proposal and seek out a publisher. By early 2018, I was writing. Beyond Janet, it is very important that I extend deep thanks and heartfelt thanks to Ilpo Koskinen. Ilpo was kind enough to suggest that this series might provide a suitable space in which to publish the present text and I was delighted to take the opportunity. I am honored that he saw value in what was proposed and am very grateful for his careful, thorough, and insightful guidance, as well as his jovial attitude throughout. I have learned an immense amount from him—no doubt, more than I have yet registered—especially with regard to how to be a good editor. (From my initial reflections, this seems to require that one be encouraging but also honest). In broad and simple terms, this work is what it is because Ilpo put in the time. He didn’t have to but he did and I am humbled by that. I can already see that, in the years ahead, his example will stand out as one to emulate. Beyond Ilpo, a very special thanks has to go to the incredible John McCarthy of University College Cork, who selflessly labored over the initial draft manuscript and several revisions to offer many, many exceptionally helpful comments and points of note. If any coherence emerges in the final text it is, in large part, due to his efforts. Particular thanks must also go to my Glasgow School of Art colleagues, especially those in the Innovation School. I found Dewey while working at Glasgow, and much of what is written was originally thrashed out in the course of extended discussion and debate. As I move on, I will miss those opportunities to test my thinking and clarify my presentation.

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On a personal level, I would like to thank my parents, Regina and Gerard. In many ways, they are true pragmatists and it is quite probable that my attachment to Dewey’s philosophy comes from the philosophy of life that they imparted knowingly and unknowingly, through my early years and on into adulthood. Finally, the greatest thanks goes to Ciara and Samúéil, my little (and still new) family. In their own ways, they have helped and supported me in carrying the work forward little by little, understanding that the process takes time and allowing me that time to work. There would be no book without them. I hope that now and increasingly in the years to come they will be able to see parts of themselves in the pages, as we develop our own approach to life and the world together. To Ciara, Samúéil and ?

Contents

1 Design, Pragmatism and Dewey ������������������������������������������������������������    1 Picking up on Some Philosophic Threads�����������������������������������������������     1 The New Design(er)��������������������������������������������������������������������������������     3 Design Research��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������     4 In Focus Box 1.1, CODE: The Centre for CoDesign��������������������������     6 Design Research and Philosophy������������������������������������������������������������     7 Classical Pragmatism and John Dewey ��������������������������������������������������    10 John Dewey’s Philosophic Project����������������������������������������������������������    15 Comparing John Dewey and the Alternatives������������������������������������������    20 The Structure of this Book����������������������������������������������������������������������    23 References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    25 2 Experiencing as Doing and Undergoing������������������������������������������������   31 The Problem of Experience in Philosophy and Dewey’s Response����������������������������������������������������������������������������    33 Having an Experience������������������������������������������������������������������������������    38 User Experience and Experience as an Approach to Design(ing) ����������    40 In Focus Box 2.1, Katja Battarbee: Working with the Pragmatists to Understand Co-Experience������������������������������������    43 Dewey’s Critical Theory of Existence: A Naturalistic Metaphysics or Experience as Real ��������������������������������������������������������    46 The Meaning of Dewey’s Metaphysics for Dewey and for Design: Nature in Experience and the Experiencer in Nature��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    52 A Practical Case 2.0: Everyday Design Studio’s Morse Things Project ��������������������������������������������������������������������������    56 References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    59 3 Knowing in Making ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������   63 The Evolution of Design Research����������������������������������������������������������    65 Design Inquiry: An Inquiry About and into Designing����������������������������    67 Donald Schön’s Epistemology of Practice����������������������������������������������    68 ix

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Design Practice Meets Design Research: Research Into, About, Through, by and for Design ��������������������������������������������������������    71 In Focus Box 3.1, Tom Jenkins: Researching Through Design in Co-Housing IoT����������������������������������������������������    73 Dewey’s Theory of Inquiry: A Pattern for Intelligent Action������������������    77 Referencing Dewey’s Theory of Inquiry in Relation to Design Practice and Research��������������������������������������������������������������    81 In Focus Box 3.2, Peter Dalsgaard: From Interaction Design Research to Deweyan Inquiry��������������������������������������������������    82 Where the Theory of Inquiry Begins to Take Us: A Continuum of Inquiry and Knowing in Making����������������������������������    87 A Practical Case 3.0: Marc Steen’s Navigation of Dewey’s Pattern in Co-Design��������������������������������������������������������    88 References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    89 4 Making Things Meaningful��������������������������������������������������������������������   93 Design as Meaning, Design as Communication��������������������������������������    95 Dewey’s Theory of Communication: Language, Meaning and the Things of the World��������������������������������������������������������������������    98 The Deweyan Imagination: Part One, Meanings and Nature������������������   100 The Work of Art Concept—Art with and in Experience��������������������������   103 The Work of Design—Design ‘with and in’ Experience? ����������������������   105 The Works of Design as Knowledge Artifacts ����������������������������������������   107 In Focus Box 4.1, Daria Loi: my|your|our suitcase ����������������������������   109 In Focus Box 4.2, Anne Louise Bang: A Game as a Contribution����������������������������������������������������������������������������������   113 A Deweyan Perspective on the Work of Design in Design Research����������������������������������������������������������������������������������   116 A Practical Case 4.0: The Emerge Exhibition ������������������������������������   119 References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   121 5 Making Things Better������������������������������������������������������������������������������  123 Setting the Stage: The Origin and Evolution of Participatory Design����������������������������������������������������������������������������   125 The Public and its Problems: Dewey’s Concept of the Public����������������   129 In Focus Box 5.1, Tanja Rosenqvist: The Design of Urban Sanitation Governance in Indonesia ������������������������������������   133 Making Things Public: Dewey’s Concept of the Public in Participatory Design����������������������������������������������������������������������������   135 Deweyan Democracy: Democracy as a Way of Life�������������������������������   136 In Focus Box 5.2, Sissel Olander: Labs Without Walls as Democratic Experiments ����������������������������������������������������������������   138 Dewey’s Ethics or Deliberating the Future or the Deweyan Imagination Part Two������������������������������������������������������������������������������   141 Bringing Democracy, Education and Ethics Together: Meliorism as a Radical Middle Position��������������������������������������������������   144

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Design, the Melioristic Discipline: Taking on a Deweyan Perspective�����������������������������������������������������������   145 A Practical Case 5.0: A Participatory Design HCI Project with Young Forced Migrants����������������������������������������������������������������   149 References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   152 6 Making as Valuation��������������������������������������������������������������������������������  155 Sleeper’s Dewey: Inquiry, Communication and Existence as the Deweyan Approach to Knowledge������������������������������������������������   156 The Object of Knowledge������������������������������������������������������������������������   159 Dewey’s Theories of Value and Valuation: The Basis of Philosophic Criticism����������������������������������������������������������������������   161 Designing in Design Research: A Transformational Act of Value Creation������������������������������������������������������������������������������   165 Discussion: Design Research Involving Practice Built on Values ����������   169 A Practical Case 6.0: Exploring Scotland’s Digital Futures����������������   170 References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   172 7 Dewey’s Pragmatism as a Philosophy for Practice in Design Research Practice��������������������������������������������������������������������  175 Dewey as a Voice for Practice in Research����������������������������������������������   176 Our Journey through Dewey’s Pragmatism and Design��������������������������   177 Some Methodological Implications of Adopting Dewey’s Pragmatism as a Philosophy for Design Research Involving Practice: Setting out the Starting Points of an Early Framework of Considerations and Questions ������������������������������������������������������������   182 Acting Within the Early Framework: Designing in Design Research Involving Practice��������������������������������������������������������������������   186 The Early Framework’s Underpinnings: Dewey’s Democratic and Ethical Strands����������������������������������������������������������������������������������   189 The Framework’s Underpinnings Continued: Dewey’s Meliorism ��������   190 Lastly: Managing Dewey’s Exploded Concept of Experience����������������   191 In Focus Box 7.1, Two Examples of Mapping������������������������������������   193 Dewey and Design: A Philosopher for Design Research Involving Practice������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   196 References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   199

Chapter 1

Design, Pragmatism and Dewey

Abstract  In this chapter I offer an introduction to the book as a whole. I begin by first exploring the contemporary state of design practice, highlighting a number of recent shifts that have led to the discipline’s transformation. Following on, I offer an overview of the historical trajectory of design research and consider its present configuration as well as some key points of continued contestation. Following on, the relationship between design research and philosophy is briefly examined with reference to the work of Wittgenstein, the phenomenologists and the pragmatists. This leads into a discussion of classical pragmatism in particular. From this, I finally focus in on John Dewey’s work by offering an early, concise outline of his unique brand of pragmatism and its special features. I then move to close the chapter by considering his work in relation to the other, already referenced, popular philosophic perspectives within the field of design research, i.e., the later Wittgenstein and phenomenology. Keywords  Design research · Design practice · John Dewey · Pragmatism · Design philosophy

Picking up on Some Philosophic Threads At first glance, it would seem that the concerns of philosophy and design are incompatible. For example, what does practical application matter to a philosopher? Equally, what can metaphysics, ontology or epistemology mean to a designer? While philosophers have traditionally celebrated the well-structured rational argument, designers operate apart from the constraints of fixed protocols and formal logic. According to the standard narrative, they deal in real-world concerns and open-ended experimentation, not in the language of abstraction. Yet, despite this apparent divergence, it is possible to draw links between these two worlds. A brief survey of recent design literature will reveal an increasing interest in how the contributions of philosophy, as well as particular philosophers, can be seen to relate to the concerns of design. Though these texts all aim to draw links and © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 B. S. Dixon, Dewey and Design, Design Research Foundations, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-47471-3_1

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open up new horizons of thought, their strategies vary. In some cases, authors will present their philosophic material as something akin to a toolkit, a resource that can be seen to offer compelling perspectives or advance an area of practice. In other cases, authors will engage in a more careful and systematic analysis of specific arguments and, as they do so, work to contextualize previously overlooked theories next to design. Such efforts, it is sometimes claimed, are undertaken with a view to repositioning or reframing the discipline’s intellectual or theoretical ‘foundations’ (e.g., Krippendorff 2006). The emergence of a new philosophic outlook within design has not arisen by chance—a number of factors are behind the trend. For one, there is the increased presence of technology and, with it, the proliferation of ever-more complex products, services and commercial experiences (e.g., Kolko 2015). In response, designers have been required to develop a more agile and expansive approach to their practice. Equally, as design outcomes are now less tangible, they are also under pressure to put forward a more robust articulation of design’s value as they seek to justify their professional role. Alongside this, there is another and, perhaps, more pressing factor behind the growing interest in philosophy—the academization of the field of design. For several decades now, behind the scenes, a quiet but definite process of formalization has been taking place. In countries such as the United Kingdom, Australia and elsewhere, government policy has dictated that design education move out of the art schools and into the university. Within this new structure, previously practice-­ orientated faculties have been required to draw new connections to theory and, for the first time, to conduct formal, publishable research; that is, contribute to a live discourse. As a result, philosophy is being ‘unstiffened’ and put to work (to adapt and combine two phrases of William James’s1). On the one hand, it is helping professionals navigate a reconfigured landscape of practice. On the other, it is opening up new routes for emerging design scholars as they attempt of define their subject matter and methods. Through the coming sections, attention will be directed towards the latter strand and, in a particular, to an area of design research, which I term design research involving practice (see e.g., Koskinen et al. 2011). As will be further explored, when taking such an approach, researchers generally position design practice as either a central aspect of the method, or an important part of the outcome, or both. Though a number of promising methodological and theoretical formulations have begun to emerge on the subject, these are generally set forth without any attempt being made to define or specify an underpinning set of philosophical bearings. For many, this is not an unhappy scenario. As we will see, the global network of researchers engaging with the design practice is so diverse and their projects so

1  In his famous text Pragmatism: A New Name for an Old Way of Thinking, James claimed both that pragmatism demands that theories be unstiffened and equally that they be put to work, tested in the real world (see James 1975/1907).

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varied, that any attempt to negotiate the potential of philosophy’s role here becomes a perilous task. However, despite the apparent danger, I take the view that philosophy—in particular, the work of the classical pragmatist John Dewey (1859–1952)—does have an enriching role to play in the context design research involving practice. In the following text, it is my aim to show that Dewey offers the field an especially potent reference point; one that allows it to preserve its diversity at the same time as enhance its intellectual grounding. Of course, Dewey is no stranger in design circles. Many design researchers will already hold some familiarity with his work. For several decades, his theories have been linked to the core of the field’s discourse, sometimes being taken up directly but mostly approached through second-hand readings. As result, while many reference Dewey, the field lacks a complete and coherent account of the full breath of insights and interconnections that may be found in his philosophy. At this point in the design’s advance and, in particular, in relation to the emergence of design research involving practice, the time seems right for a coherent and comprehensive examination of Dewey’s work, as well as the intellectual horizon it opens up. However, before we can pick up the topics of design research involving practice, philosophy or, indeed, John Dewey’s pragmatism, it will be necessary to first take a look at the evolution and current structure of design practice and, quickly following on from this, design research.

The New Design(er) The last four decades have been a time of rapid change and reorganization, not least in western nations. The process of globalization has transformed conventional economic structures; whereas manufacturing was once the primary source of employment, the service industry now dominates. Technology too has had a radical impact, with the internet now forming an all-pervasive background to our daily lives. Alongside this, new ecological and ethical concerns have also emerged. The issues of climate change and global inequality mean consumers are now more alert to the wider implications of their choices than ever before. And topping it all off, since the 2008 financial crisis, the public have become less trusting, more skeptical of the ability of large-scale institutions to work in their interest. These changes have meant that design too has changed. Since the turn of the twentieth-first century, an increasing number of commentators have observed, projected and mapped out a series of possible disciplinary forward paths. For example, writing in the early 2000s, Cooper and Press (2003) proposed that, as well as products and services, designers would soon be expected to create meaningful experiences. Within this reorientation, design practice would expand to enfold concerns relating to citizenship, sustainability, entrepreneurship, and knowledge production (p.  199). An emphasis has also been placed on the increasing prominence of collaboration (e.g., Mau and Leonard 2004) and co-creation (Sanders and Stappers 2008, 2014). Here,

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working directly with members of the public, designers might be taking on the role of facilitators, mediators, visualizers or even negotiators (e.g., Inns 2009). Then there is the phenomenon of design thinking (e.g., Brown 2008), where non-designers are actively encouraged to apply design practices in response to particular problems and challenges and collectively contribute to the establishment of a creative culture (Kolko 2015). These shifts have resulted in an arena which is both uncertain and unstable but also full of promise and potential. At present, it seems that there is no space beyond the reach of design. Footholds have been established in areas such government (e.g. Kimbell and Bailey 2017), policy formation (e.g., Bason 2016), financial services (e.g., Kolko 2015), and healthcare (e.g., Tsekleves and Cooper 2017; Jones 2013). This has been paralleled by a rapid expansion in the range of design specialisms (e.g., Wilson and Zamberlan 2015). Recent additions include service design, innovation design and transformation design to name but a few. While much work has been done attempting to clarify and refine the special remit and contribution of each new domain, some have questioned the value of maintaining a sharply defined disciplinary focus when the only constant is change (see e.g., Bremner and Rodgers 2013). All of this, in turn, has inevitably impacted upon the trajectory of design research.

Design Research Oddly, the relationship between design research and design practice is not a straightforward coupling of one thing with another in the same way that, for example, theoretical science links to applied science. At times, research is presented as an activity which may occur both in and through practice. Conversely, a stricter, more orthodox view holds that research can only be about practice or for practice, an activity sitting apart from design itself. The issue is further confused by the debates surrounding ‘design knowledge’ (Cross 1999a, p. 6) and the question of whether or not design should be seen as distinct from the sciences and humanities, as has been suggested by Nigel Cross (2007).2 Then there is also the multi-directional and multi-layered development of the field. It is an oft-overlooked fact that design research only began to mature as, little by little, over the course of the twentieth century, engineering, architecture, industrial production, craft and commercial art converged around their shared subject matters, practices and theories (see Buchanan 2009). This has resulted in a vast and, at times, difficult to navigate field of inquiry. Indeed, its list of investigative contexts can seem almost endless. There is, of course, the history of design (e.g., Dilnot 1984); the socio-cultural roles of design and how these have evolved over time (e.g., Julier 2013; Margolin 1995; Forty 1992); the  For a discussion on issue of whether ‘practice–based’ design research—that is, research which incorporates aspects of practice—should be seen as a special form of knowledge production see Biggs (2002) and Biggs and Büchler (2007). 2

Design Research

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science of design or, more accurately, the science of the artificial (see Simon 1996/1969); the design process (e.g., Lawson 2008/1980; Dorst 2011); the creativity of design practitioners (e.g., Schön 1983); design in the context of human-­ computer interaction (e.g., Zimmerman and Forlizzi 2007); and design management (e.g., Cooper and Press 1995); not to forget the now abandoned efforts to model and specify design methods, as occurred through the 1960s and 70s (see Jones 1992). While design research has long constituted a distinct field of inquiry,3 design researchers have, over the years, been required to adopt and appropriate the methods and tools of other fields. In this, they have turned to areas such as the physical ­sciences, sociology, psychology, anthropology and fine art (e.g., Koskinen et  al. 2011). While this has undoubtedly enriched the field as a whole, recent years have seen the emergence of a new, more design-centric agenda.4 Many researchers, both within and beyond the academy, have become increasingly interested in exploring the ways in which the design practice itself may play a role within formal research processes. From the mid-1990s onwards, a growing number of commentators put forward arguments outlining how such an approach might be structured (e.g., Frayling 1993; Archer 1995; Zimmerman and Forlizzi 2007; Scrivener 2009). Gradually, terms such as research through design (Frayling 1993); practice-based research (e.g., Biggs 2000), practice-led research (e.g., Durling 2002) and, later, constructive design research (Koskinen et al. 2011) began to gain a foothold in the literature. As the discourse evolved, some debated the legitimacy of claiming design outcomes as research contributions (e.g., Biggs 2002; Zimmerman and Forlizzi 2008). Others examined the relationship between practice, research and theory development (e.g., Zimmerman et al. 2010; Gaver 2012). Though such proposals were met with some strong objections (e.g., Friedman 2003, 2008; Cross 1999b), the possibility that design practice may be embedded within formal research has now gained wide recognition (e.g., Durrant et al. 2017, p. 9). As the approach has become established, it has also begun to mature, to establish norms and parameters. In this, it does not diverge from the conventional academic standards of rigor (Biggs and Büchler 2007), but nonetheless, regardless of the exact label attached, it is often positioned as a special approach (e.g., Bang et al. 2012). In broad sweeping outline, we might say that its adherents aim make things and transform situations. They often consider what could be as opposed what is (Steen 2011, p. 48), constructing alternative visions and scenarios and, as such, are gradually setting forth a ‘science of the imaginary’ (Koskinen et al. 2011, p. 43). In response to the rising popularity of this general approach, the wider field of design has responded on a global scale. Over the last two decades, many practice-­ orientated research program have opened around the world, in the United Kingdom, the Scandinavian countries, the Netherlands, Italy, Australia, the United States, as

3  Though it is difficult to specify precisely when the field was established, McDonnell (2015) claims that we may reasonably date it to the immediate postwar period, i. e., 50–60  years ago (p. 108). 4  For a discussion of the motivating factors behind this move, see Chap. 3.

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well as in Korea, Japan and China. More broadly, many universities and institutions of higher education now allow for doctoral study by practice in design. Further, a growing number of design conferences are placing a greater and greater emphasis on the themes, concerns and outcomes of research which involves design practice.5 It is this area of work—small but growing, somewhat confused but always gaining confidence—which will hold our focus through the remainder of the book, looking in particular at its relationship to philosophy and Dewey.

In Focus Box 1.1, CODE: The Centre for CoDesign The Center for CoDesign is a recent example of a design research program grounded in practice. The program was based at the Royal Danish Academy for Fine Arts in Copenhagen and led by Professors Eva Brandt and Thomas Binder with the support of a number of associates. It had to two aims. Firstly, it sought to investigate collaborative design processes in practice—the how, what and why of co-design. Secondly, alongside this, it also sought to develop and explore new collaborate processes. Project themes focused on large-scale societal challenges in Denmark, picking up on issues such as recycling, care for the elderly, and urban renewal. The research was labelled ‘event-based’, focusing on the coming together of people and designer-researchers in real world settings. Here, co-design becomes a form of design experimentation (see e.g. Brandt and Binder 2007), where questions are asked, approaches trialed and feedback sought. Across all of the projects, emphasis was placed on the role of tools and techniques—how these can enable and facilitate participation and collaboration, helping people tell their stories, develop shared understandings and envisage alternative futures together. One example of a general tool/technique developed by CODE researchers is the exploratory design game approach. Based on a system of explicit rules, accessible materials and a shared setting, participants are encouraged to explore future-focused scenarios and devise design proposals for a given context. The point is to allow for creative scope by ensuring that there is an incompleteness to the content. There are no full-accounts of people, things or environments offered, only fragments. Most importantly, it should not be possible to anticipate the outcome in advance, this must emerge in the playing. The games approach is deemed compelling on the basis that most people will have a familiarity with the general format. Equally, for the CODE researchers, the process of playing a game can be seen as similar to the process of designing. Participants have roles, resources and rules. To achieve a desirable outcome, they must ‘act, communicate and negotiate with each other; they also need to enter into compromises when making decisions’ (Brandt 2010, p. 131).

5  Of particular applicability here is the Research through Design conferences which were launched in 2013.

Design Research and Philosophy

7

However, despite the emphasis placed on such approaches, CODE researchers did not view tools/techniques in prescriptive terms. Each is presented as a possible source of inspiration for those hoping to achieve similar results in their own particular setting. CODE’s program, its methods and aims, offer us an initial sense of how design research involving practice works in general ‘real-world’ terms. From the above description of the exploratory design game we have an example of how design practice itself may play a role within formal research processes. Here, on the basis of designer-researchers developing a game, a context is provided for participants to actively engage in the design process at the same time as contribute to a broader inquiry around specific large-scale societal challenges. Both they and designer-­ researchers are being creative at the same time as working to answer particular research questions. As we will see as the chapters unfold, this way of doing research raises a series intriguing possibilities (e.g., can we come to know in and through making), as well as some dilemmas (e.g., what is the status of the made things within this scenario). As proceed will also see how the work of the American pragmatist philosopher, John Dewey provides us an impressive stock of relevant and useful perspectives that go some way to clarifying these possibilities and resolving some of the dilemmas.

Design Research and Philosophy In Design Research through Practice, Koskinen et al. (2011) suggest that, in the context of design research, philosophy is often approached as an implicit rather than an explicit concern. Theoretical commitments, they argue, will ultimately link the work to deeper philosophic strands (pp. 119–120). This is likely true. Beyond defining a methodological orientation, design researchers do not often trace out their philosophic grounding. There are, however, exceptions to this rule. Over the past two decades, a growing number of texts have put forward robust presentations arguing in favor of appropriating of one or another philosophic perspective. Though these proposals are as diverse as their authors, a number of key references have begun to emerge. These include the philosophy of the later Wittgenstein; the work of Martin Heidegger along with other phenomenologists, including Maurice Merleau Ponty; and, finally, the classical American pragmatists, in particular the philosophy of John Dewey6 and Charles Sanders Peirce. Beyond these more popular figures, a number of other philosophical references have emerged. For example, the work of Gilles Deleuze has been the subject of recent study (i.e., Marenko 2015). Equally, the neo-pragmatism of Richard Rorty has also received attention. Indeed, Gavin Melles (e.g., 2008a;

6  It is worth noting that Richard Rorty identifies Wittgenstein, Heidegger and Dewey as the three greatest philosophers of the twentieth century, see Rorty’s Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1979).

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2008b) has argued that Rorty’s work holds potential as a paradigmatic framework for design research. Of the three main strands, it is perhaps the later Wittgenstein that has drawn the most attention over the years. In the 1980s, his concept of language games—where the rules of interaction are seen to emerge in interaction—formed a theoretical touchstone in Pelle Ehn’s (1988) account of Scandinavian workplace participatory design projects. More recently, two major texts—Klaus Krippendorff’s The Semantic Turn (2006) and Johan Redström’s Making Design Theory (2017)—have both drawn upon Wittgenstein to advance their presentations of design and design theory. For Krippendorff, a Wittgensteinian perspective leads to an emphasis on the use of artifacts and the ways in which meanings emerge in and around instances of use. For Redström, Wittgenstein’s work underwrites the proposal that language can be seen to facilitate a more flexible form of theory construction occurring in and through design practice.7 Looking beyond Wittgenstein, Heidegger’s philosophy has been influential in participatory design, interaction design and discussions on the question of sustainability. In the sphere of participatory design, many have drawn inspiration from his concept of ‘thinging’, which refers to the process of collectively debating issues of mutual concern (see Heidegger 1971, pp. 172). Various theorists have linked this concept to the practice of participatory design, with the term ‘design Things’ coming to signify the complex grouping of positions and perspectives which occur in a participatory design project (see Bjögvinsson et  al. 2010, 2012). In interaction design discourse, Heidegger’s work has been linked to that of the French phenomenologist, Maurice Merleau Ponty. For example, the combined perspectives of Heidegger and Merleau Ponty enfold within a theory of ‘embodied interaction’ (e.g., Dourish 2001). This theory offers a particular vision of how human bodies interact with the world, guide thought and action and, ultimately, ground and frame our interactions with technology. Lastly, in the area of sustainability, his negative views on technological thinking along with his explorations of materiality have helped shape calls for a more ecologically sound approach to design (see e.g., Fry 2010; Tonkinwise 2004). Next to these rich contextualizations of Wittgenstein and Heidegger, the pragmatists are often presented in peripheral rather than central or ‘foundational’ terms. Some have positioned their work as a general epistemological reference (e.g., Overbeeke 2007), but most aim to articulate individual, isolated pragmatist principles. For example, many have explored the alignments between Charles Sanders Peirce’s notion of abductive reasoning and designerly logic (e.g., Roozenburg 1993; Cross 2007; Dorst 2011). There has also been great interest in the applicability of John Dewey’s theory of inquiry as a framework for modeling design and design research processes (e.g., Steen 2013; Buchanan 2009; Dixon 2019). Despite this apparent tendency to deal with pragmatism in narrow terms, some have, over the years, made efforts to shape a larger pragmatist vision for the field.

 Both of these texts will be referenced again later.

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9

Richard Buchanan, for example, has set forth wide-ranging arguments connecting design, design research, and design thinking to some of the central aspects of Dewey’s philosophy (e.g., Buchanan 1992; Buchanan 2009). Equally, Donald Schön’s theory of reflective practice (e.g., 1983; 1987) was also heavily influenced by aspects of Dewey’s work and continues to inform thinking within design research. More recently, notable contributions have also been made by Peter Dalsgaard (2009, 2014, 2017), Ronald Wakkary (2009) and Leif Östman (2005). Working in the context of interaction design, Dalsgaard and Wakkary both draw out key Deweyan themes—in particular, inquiry and knowing—in an effort to develop frameworks for design and design research. Östman takes a similar approach. Positioning his work in an architectural context, he too explores the epistemological bearings of Deweyan pragmatism and, alongside this, highlights the democratic aspects of Dewey’s aesthetic theory. Linking the two, he goes so far as to propose a ‘pragmatist theory for design’. As has already been noted, each of the above philosophic alignments—whether linking to the later Wittgenstein, Heideggerian phenomenology or pragmatism in general—are proposals, functioning only as possible ways of seeing things and not as absolute visions for the field. Despite the best efforts of the various contributors, consensus continues to remain elusive. The precise reasons for this are unclear. It may be that the field of design is far too pluralistic to ever align with any one, singular perspective. Indeed, given the value sometimes placed on this pluralism, alignment/consensus may not even be desirable. On the other hand, it may be that a more detailed articulation of the above philosophies is required before any definitive choices are made regarding who or what is worth linking to. While I hold some sympathy with the latter articulation argument, I believe it is more likely a matter of plurality. It is possible to argue that design research, especially design research involving practice, is simply too multivariate to be defined and framed in final terms. That said, at a fundamental level, I would also argue that those who engage in design research need to do more to properly investigate, contextualize and refine their philosophic commitments, both implicit and explicit.8 Doing so would allow the field to better represent its positioning and value. This, however, is a general point and beyond the scope of the present work. The particular argument that I will now move to advance is that the special area of design research involving practice would benefit from gaining a deeper understanding of, and familiarity with, the tenets of classical pragmatism. In this, it is my particular contention that the work of John Dewey—most especially his later and middle philosophy—deserves far

8  It is important to point out that, in saying this, I am not arguing that design students should be asked to read philosophy. Rather, I believe that design education, at both undergraduate and postgraduate levels, would benefit greatly from a more thorough and rigorous presentation of how design may be seen to connect to various philosophical perspectives. Without any contextualization of the currents of Western thoughts, designers and design students will remain adrift, unable to locate (let alone articulate) their value next to the preeminence of the physical sciences or, indeed, the comparative self–assurance of the social sciences and humanities.

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more attention and detailed examination than it has received to date. Through the following sections, I will seek to outline why.

Classical Pragmatism and John Dewey It is difficult to trace the precise origins of the pragmatist movement and the broader philosophy to which it gave rise. On the standard account, pragmatism has its genesis in the philosophy of Charles Sanders Peirce (see e.g., Thayer 1968), most especially in his work relating to logic, science and semiotics.9 This attribution came, initially, from William James (1842–1910), a prolific Harvard professor, renowned for his work in the then-emergent field of psychology.10 Delivering a lecture at the University of California in 1898,11 James claimed that it was Peirce who first set forth what he called the ‘pragmatic principle’. Writing in Pragmatism: A New Name for an Old Way of Thinking (1975/1907), his first publication on the subject,12 he provided the following overview: Mr Peirce, after pointing out that our beliefs are really rules for action, said that, to develope [sic] what conduct is fit to produce: that conduct is for us its sole significance. […] To attain perfect clearness in our thoughts of an object, then, we need only consider what conceivable effects of a practical kind the object may involve—what sensations we are to expect from it, and what reactions we must prepare. (James 1975/1907, pp. 28–29).

In Pragmatism, James positions Peirce’s principle as the underpinning method of the pragmatist movement, a shared resource uniting an otherwise diverse and, perhaps, even incongruous band of intellectual adventurers. In its philosophic application, it is seen to allow for the determination of the real-world consequences of accepting one or another set of concepts or ideas; ultimately, functioning as a means of evaluating alternative theories based on their practical import. As such,

9  While Peirce’s contributions and interests will be discussed later, it is worth highlighting here that the emergence of pragmatist thought is often linked to two of Peirce’s articles written in the 1870s, namely, “The Fixation of Belief” and “How to Make Our Ideas Clear”. A brief, helpful outline of the content of these articles is provided by Sleeper (1986, p. 49). 10  James’s three volume Principles of Psychology, published in 1890, is seen as foundational within the field of psychology (see James 1981a, 1981b). 11  The original lecture was entitled “Philosophical Conceptions and Practical Results”. 12  It is an often–overlooked fact that the 1907 Pragmatism is not a transcript of 1898’s “Philosophical Conceptions and Practical Results”, but rather a publication of lectures James delivered at Boston’s Lowell Institute between December 1906 and January 1907. However, a close examination of both reveals that each relies on a similar argument. As such, Pragmatism may be approached as a development and expansion of “Philosophical Conceptions and Practical Results”, but not a directly related text.

Classical Pragmatism and John Dewey

11

James sees it as a guard against otherwise ‘interminable’ metaphysical disputes (1975/1907, p. 28).13 This Jamesian account14 is, for the most part, accurate. Peirce did first coin the term pragmatism, and his principle may be applied in the way James proposes (though Peirce himself was none too pleased to see this done).15 Nevertheless, there is a larger, surrounding context which must be brought into focus when tracing the emergence of classical pragmatism. In their histories of pragmatism’s inception, both Louis Menand (2002) and Philip P. Wiener (1949) draw integral linkages between the publication of Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species in 1859, the fallout of the American Civil War (1861–1865) and the subsequent emergence of pragmatism. Darwin’s theory had shattered theological certainties, with biology taking up the role formerly played by God. The civil war changed America’s image of itself, upending an entire generation and, ultimately, marking the point at which the nation shifted from a reliance on a rural-agrarian economic base to an urban-industrial one. For both Menand and Wiener, pragmatism, in the round, is to be seen an intellectual response to these new and unsettling circumstances, a ‘making sense’ of the troubling changes. As an emergent movement, classical pragmatism, then, drew inspiration from evolutionary theory, becoming, in the broadest sense, a biologically-orientated philosophy. Equally, responding to the new, post-civil-war political reality, its adherents went on to explore how humanity may best approach uncertainty through the

 He also went on to argue that the principle points to a special, pragmatic theory of truth. On this view, truth is something that ‘happens’ to an idea. We experience it through its demonstration and verification in action. As James puts it: ‘ideas (which themselves are but parts of our experience) become true just in so far as they help us to get into satisfactory relation with other parts of our experience’ (1975/1907, p. 32, italics in original). Consequently, from a pragmatic perspective, truth is not to be understood as a presentation of an absolute ‘transcript of reality’ (ibid, p. 31), but merely as a functional, profitable belief which we can demonstrate as required and, in doing so, show that it works. 14  It is important to note that the pragmatism presented in the 1898 lecture and the 1907 Pragmatism is very much James’s own creation. While he acknowledges the work of Peirce, he improperly specifies the etymological root of the word as relating to the Greek word for ‘practical’ when, in fact, Peirce had drawn it from Kant’s distinction between praktisch and pragmatisch. On the Kantian view, these terms point to two separate and independent forms of reasoning: the former relates to moral action, while latter refers to what is empirical or experimental. See Thayer (1968, pp. 138–139). 15  In time, Peirce came to object strongly to James’s framing of pragmatism. He was so incised that he went on to write an article entitled “What Pragmatism Is” (1905), in which he disassociated himself entirely from James’s work and renamed his own philosophic perspective pragmaticism, a term he thought was ‘ugly enough to be safe from kidnappers’ (p. 166). 13

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cultivation of both tolerance and understanding.16 From these twin reference points, the movement’s thematic range came to enfold existence, experience, possibility and community, with a broad base of concerns weaving around each. An archetypal classical pragmatist would likely be concerned with to our natural place in the world; the complex meaning of experience; how we are to respond to the constant of possibility; and how community may be understood as both a means and an end, what we work through and for (see Campbell 2015, pp. 64–65). In the longer term, this complex nexus cohered within what H. S. Thayer identifies as a biosocial, transitional, future-inclusive theory of knowledge, experience and reality, as well as an attitude towards the way which we conceptualize experience (1968, p. 431). Of course, surrounding Peirce and James, there were many others who were involved in shaping and honing this intellectual trajectory. For example, in the beginning, Peirce and James were both greatly influenced by fellow members of Harvard’s Metaphysical Club.17 Notably, individuals such as Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. and Chauncey Wright18 with whom they met regularly through the 1870s. A little later, in England, there was also the German-British philosopher Ferdinand

 While pragmatism’s orientation towards evolutionary theory is easy enough to evidence on the basis that most of the movement’s key contributors referenced evolutionary concepts, the commitment to tolerance and understanding is more varied. We see aspects of both underlying key aspects of Peirce’s, James’s and Dewey’s thought. Peirce placed a great emphasis on the social aspect of knowledge, noting how, in science, individual insights are corrected through the long–term efforts of a wider community of inquirers (see Peirce 1992, pp.  52). He also argued that evolutionary theory required supplementation with a recognition that ‘love’, alongside brute force, guided evolutionary processes forward (see West 1989, pp. 52–53). Alongside Peirce, James was highly–tolerant of and, indeed, championed the co–existence of alternative perspectives. Reality, on his view, was to be seen as heterogeneous coming together of many realities, what he referred to as a ‘pluriverse’ (see James 1977). Finally, Dewey was deeply concerned with the organic communal processes which he saw as underpinning and, ultimately, securing political democracy. He was a passionate advocate of dialogue; dialogue between separate communities, and dialogue between communities and the institutions of government (see e.g., LW 2; Pappas 2008; Narayan 2016). 17  The Metaphysical club can be seen as an informal philosophic society. It is said to have included figures such as James, Peirce, Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., Nicholas St. John Green, Joseph Bang Warner, John Fiske, Francis Ellingwood Abbot, and Chauncey Wright. Interestingly, apart from Peirce, none of the other members left any record of their participation or membership, though third–party sources such as Henry James (William James’s brother) did mention the Metaphysical Club in correspondence (Menand 2002, pp. 201–203). In any case, the conversations initiated by the group are often positioned as pragmatism’s intellectual epicenter. For broad–ranging overviews see Menand (2002) and Wiener (1949). For Charles Sanders Peirce’s account see Peirce (1998, pp. 399–400). 18  Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. was a lawyer and later a supreme court judge. He was committed to idea of experience as a guiding principle (particularly in law) and embraced the concept of experimentation as an all–encompassing framework. (For a selection of his key writings see Holmes 1992.) Chauncey Wright was a mathematician. From the publication of the Origin of the Species onwards, he championed Darwin’s work and was firmly committed to the theory of natural selection as a general principle of creation (Menand 2002, pp. 209–210). Compelling portraits of both of these men are presented in Menand (2002) and Wiener (1949). 16

Classical Pragmatism and John Dewey

13

C. S. Schiller.19 He and James struck up a philosophic correspondence which lasted from the 1890s until James’s death in 1910. John Dewey entered the scene in the early twentieth century while working at the University of Chicago.20 It was at this time that he began to explicitly align his work with that of James and, as such, became a pragmatist by default. Dewey was also greatly influenced by a number of colleagues who can be described as holding a pragmatist orientation. Key among these was the philosopher and social psychologist George Herbert Mead, whom he worked with at the University of Chicago, as well as Jane Addams, a social reformer based in Chicago’s impoverished inner city.21 Peirce, James, Mead and Dewey, are now often identified as the key drivers of the movement.22 Their lives and careers all intersect at various points. As contemporaries, Peirce and James certainly inspired one another. The same is true of Dewey and Mead. Alongside this, the collective efforts of Peirce and James as ‘first generation’ classical pragmatists can also be said to have inspired Dewey and Mead. To a point, it would be possible to combine their individual positions within a single, enveloping narrative, but to do so this would require that one ignore some profound disagreements. I draw them together here as it is Peirce, James and Mead who form the core group around which Dewey’s own, individual philosophic journey may be told. Each, in their own way, contributed strongly to his development and, as such, a brief introduction of their work will provide a helpful lead-in to a broader treatment of Dewey’s work.23

 Now largely forgotten, F.C.S. Schiller (1864–1937) was an Oxford academic who aligned his work with that of William James. Though he accepted pragmatist label, he preferred to use the term ‘humanism’ in reference to his own philosophy. It is arguable that, to an extent, he contributed to the development of classical pragmatism. While this is briefly noted below, an excellent account of his philosophy, general contributions and relationship with pragmatism is available in Porrovecchio (2011). 20  Dewey’s move to the University of Chicago to head up the department of philosophy is often seen as a pivotal moment in his career. While this is briefly discussed below, a highly engaging biographical account can be found in Martin (2002), for a detailed discussion of the Chicago years in particular (with some asides) see pp. 137–228. 21  Beyond this grouping, there remains a host of lesser–known figures—including philosophers such as Josiah Royce and C. I. Lewis, both of Harvard—who might reasonably merit inclusion within the broader story of classical pragmatism. 22  Many would now argue that Jane Addams deserves inclusion within this listing. I have sympathy with this view, not least due to her direct and regular contact with both Dewey and Mead, but more especially because her life’s work—in particular Hull House—stands an example of how one may apply ideas, philosophic and otherwise, in the direct and active pursuit of a program of positive transformation. Nonetheless, I hold off on her inclusion on the basis that her primary focus was social reform and not the elaboration of a philosophic project. 23  As will be noted below, Dewey’s position evolved over the course of his career, moving, in his words, from ‘absolutism’ to ‘experientialism’ (see LW 5, pp. 149–160). Cultural naturalism was the eventual final position that he arrived at, with the publication of Experience and Nature in 1925 (Alexander 1987, p. 58). For a helpful, systematic overview of Dewey’s various phases and their highlights, see Raymond Boisvert’s Dewey’s Metaphysics (1988). 19

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Peirce was predominantly concerned with logic and, within this, valorized the scientific method. The universe, on his view, was seen to contain objective truths which, through the long-term efforts of a community of scientific inquirers— expanding the horizon of understanding and gradually correcting past errors— would be revealed one-by-one. Alongside this, he also argued in favor of a rebalancing of evolutionary theory away from an emphasis on the principle of ‘the survival of the fittest’ and towards the values of mutual care and concern.24 James, in contrast to Peirce, focused in on individual experience, exploring the nature of belief, meaning and truth. He advocated in favor of a pluralistic understanding of the reality and against a ‘block’ conception of the universe—where all is seen to fit together in tight, unchanging completeness. Threaded throughout his work is the vision and a promise of a reconstructed form of empiricism, what James termed a ‘radical empiricism’. Such an empiricism would aim at a deeper and richer understanding of, and approach to, experience; moving beyond notions of experience as the passive reception of ‘sense data’ and, instead, recognizing the continuities and discontinuities, the meanings and values inherent in daily life. In contrast to James, Mead understood the mind in social, as opposed to individualistic, terms. He was primarily concerned with examining how we communicate through the symbols, whether verbal (as in spoken language) or physical (as in gestures). On his view, the group must be seen to precede the individual. Mead’s ‘self’ is an entirely social entity, coming into existence only through others. Further, positioning his work in sharply evolutionary terms, he also argued that organisms— whether human, animal or other—are to be seen as the outcome of an extended process of environmental interactions, the form and function of collective experience over time.25 Though it must be stressed that Dewey’s thought struck an individual course, he also drew inspiration from each of these three philosophers. He was scientifically orientated like Peirce, experientially orientated like James, and socially orientated like Mead. In the longer-term, he framed a philosophy which links the individual to both their culture and environment, and, through their culture and environment, to the possibility and potentiality of growth. It is this philosophical thread, linking all of Dewey’s thought which will hold our focus through the remainder book. There are a number of reasons for preferencing Dewey over Peirce, James or Mead. Most obviously, while Peirce and James are men of the nineteenth century, he lived long into the twentieth century. His later thoughts and concerns (at very least) are not very far removed from our own. Equally, though Mead was a contemporary, his philosophic corpus—due to his focus on social psychology—is nowhere near as expansive as Dewey’s. In terms of the sheer volume of work he produced, it

 Peirce referred to his rebalancing under the label of ‘agapism’. For more on this principle see Deledalle (1990, p. 70). 25  Perhaps the most concise way of lining up Peirce, James, Mead and Dewey would be to say that Peirce was an evolution–orientated but morally–infused scientific realist, James an individualistic humanist, Mead a biosocial behaviourist and, finally, Dewey a melioristic cultural naturalist. This, however, obscures the richness and depth of each individual perspective. 24

John Dewey’s Philosophic Project

15

is no exaggeration to say that Dewey was most prolific of all the classical pragmatists. His accumulated works run into thirty-seven thick volumes and there are few philosophic subjects he didn’t cover. Logic, metaphysics, politics, social issues, art, and religion are all given attention. These are not, however, the most important reasons. I preference Dewey’s philosophy over that of the other classical pragmatists because I believe that he has the most to offer design researchers who involve practice within their project work. As will gradually be revealed, his perspectives can be seen to articulate and respond to some of their general concerns relating to areas such as experience, knowing, communication, politics and ethics. In order to gain an initial sense of this broad offering, it will be useful to now take a brief look at his life and wider philosophic project.

John Dewey’s Philosophic Project John Dewey was born just before the onset of the American civil war in 1859 and died just after the commencement of the cold war in 1952. In between, he bore witness to some of the great events of American history. From the late-nineteenth to the early-twentieth century there was the final closure of the continent’s western frontier, the rapid growth of urban industrial capitalism and the shock of the first world war. From the early twentieth century on there is the great depression, the second world war and, finally, America’s rise to global dominance at the dawn of the atomic age. In short, his was a journey from relative simplicity to the unyielding complexity of modernity. He took his first steps towards a career in philosophy in the early 1880s with the submission of two articles to the Journal of Speculative Philosophy.26 Eventually, after a determined effort, he went on to receive a Ph.D. from Johns Hopkins University in 1884. After graduation, he secured his first teaching position at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Then, over the subsequent decades, he took up additional posts at the University of Minnesota (1888–1889) and the University of Chicago (1894–1904), before finally settling in for the long-term at Columbia University in New York (1904–1939).27 This was a time of change and possibility in American academia. Institutions of higher education were gradually moving from a religious to a secular orientation

 The two articles in question were “The Metaphysical Assumptions of Materialism” and “The Pantheism of Spinoza” (see EW 1, pp. 3–19). Most of Dewey’s biographers position the production of these texts as turning point in his early life (see e.g. Dykhuizen 1973 pp. 22–24; Martin 2002, pp. 50–52). 27  An astute observer will note a gap between Dewey’s years in Minnesota and Chicago. This gap marks a period between 1889 and 1894 where he returned to the University of Michigan from the University of Minnesota to take up a senior post as chair of philosophy which had been left vacant by the death of his mentor George Sylvester Morris (see Martin 2002: 117–120). 26

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(see Marsden 1994) and Dewey was among American’s first-wave of professional, non-theological philosophers. Equally, disciplinary boundaries were still not so sharply drawn as to prohibit investigation across (what we would today perceive to be) separate fields. Consequently, for a period of at least twenty years, Dewey was able to operate in, and make major contributions to, the domains of philosophy, psychology and pedagogy simultaneously. As would be expected within such a long career, Dewey’s thinking followed a slow, gradual developmental arc, ultimately resulting in a full and complete movement from one position to another. In later years, he himself characterized this movement as a ‘drift’ from ‘absolutism’ to what he termed ‘experimentalism’ (see LW 5, pp. 149–160). The absolutism label is a reference to his initial interest in the German idealist philosopher Hegel,28 whose work he first encountered through a mentor at Johns Hopkins (and later at the University of Michigan) George Sylvester Morris.29 Hegelian philosophy30 is both broad ranging and determinedly systematic. It encompasses almost every conceivable philosophic domain, including metaphysics, epistemology, logic, aesthetics, ethics, politics, history and religion. Central to the whole is a rejection of dualistic and partial thought. Instead, human activity, history, and, indeed, the totality of the universe are to be understood as a process in which— through the unfolding of events—opposite perspectives productively combine to reveal an absolute form and ideal logic. Dewey claimed to have been originally attracted by Hegelianism’s systematic approach, as well as its rejection of dualisms such as ‘subject and object, matter and spirit, the divine and the human’ in favor of conceptual synthesis (LW 5, p. 153). It is difficult to pinpoint precisely what guided his eventual ‘drift’ away from the philosophy.31 On his own account, there were a number of related reasons: the importance he placed on the theory and practice of education; what he came to see as the unnecessary separation of morality and science; his appreciation for the ‘biological approach’ of William James’s psychology; and, leading on from this, his eventual

 It will likely be observed that Hegel was also a key inspiration for Karl Marx. While Dewey flatly rejected Marxism and would eventually also disassociate himself from his early Hegelian alignment (See LW 5, pp. 147–160), a common reference point can be identified here. 29  George Sylvester Morris is but one of a number of Dewey’s early mentors. Others included H. A. P. Torrey, a professor at the University of Vermont who, Dewey claimed, guided him towards ‘philosophy as a life pursuit’ (LW 5, p. 149) and W. T. Harris, editor of the Journal of Speculative Philosophy who published Dewey’s first two articles. Jay Martin’s biography The Education of John Dewey (2002) provides an engaging insight into the influence of these various personalities on the young Dewey. 30  Hegelian philosophy is notoriously challenging, both conceptually and structurally. While several useful readers exist, helpful introductions can be found in Kaufmann (1966) and Finlay (1958). 31  According to James Good, if we examine the Hegelian aspect of Dewey’s thought over the course of his career, we can see that though he rejected Hegelism’s metaphysical and theological aspects early on, he remained committed, in the long–term, to the latter’s emphasis on the humanistic and historical (Good 2006). 28

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turn towards the social themes of participation and communication (LW 5, pp. 156–159). Examining the matter more precisely, Dewey’s first biographer, George Dykhuizen, claims that it was his work on logical theory—initially Hegelian but later naturalistic (see below)—which spurred the rejection (Dykhuizen 1973, p. 82). Alan Ryan, on the other hand, isolates Dewey’s 1890s psychological research as the catalyst. This work focused in on the contextual, embodied and teleological basis of human learning. One of its key conclusions was it was ‘no longer necessary to suppose that an Absolute or Divine Intelligence filled the world with meaning; in dealing with the world, we fill it with meaning’ (Ryan 1995, p. 126). In a related vein, Alexander speculates that Dewey’s 1890s pedagogical research—involving the direct observation of school children engaged in learning activities—must have made the ‘whole conceptual ballet of Hegelian dialectic seem useless and artificial in the extreme’ (Alexander 1987, p. 58). Regardless of the underlying reasons, by the turn of the twentieth century Dewey had firmly launched his ‘experimentalist’ phase (see Boisvert 1988). This commenced with his 1903 work Studies in Logical Theory. The Studies marks a first attempt to formulate a natural theory of logic, wherein logic is positioned the process of investigating and knowing that originates in, as well as relies upon, experience. The theory was later developed in How We Think (1910) and The Quest for Certainty (1929), before finally reaching what is undoubtedly32 its fullest expression in Logic: The Theory of Inquiry (1938).33 Dewey’s experimentalist agenda was not limited to logic however. There were several off-shoots: his naturalistic metaphysics—referred to by Ralph Sleeper as a ‘critical theory of existence’ (see Sleeper 1986); his theory of ethics (e.g., Ethics published in 1908 and later revised in 1932); of communication (most especially in Experience and Nature and Logic); of art (in Art as Experience published in 1934); and also value (The Theory of Valuation published in 1939). Then there is his extensive and widely praised work on education,34 which, in turn, sits alongside his explorations of democratic and political subject matters (e.g., The Public and its Problems published in 1927).35

 I say ‘undoubtedly’ based on the sheer scale and depth of the Logic. It runs over several hundred pages and assigns whole chapters to subjects like ‘judgment’. 33  Alongside a detailed expansion of earlier themes, this latter text offers a useful ‘pattern of inquiry’ as well as a novel approach to the issues of belief, knowledge and truth. 34  In his educational theories, Dewey relates the child and the school to the broader context of the society in which they are situated, as well as the sustainability and enhancement of democratic life. 35  From the late 1920s and through into the 1930s, he set out a series of forceful, polemic texts— including The Public and its Problems (1927), Individualism Old and New (1930), Liberalism and Social Action (1935) and Freedom and Culture (1939)—which together examine the tensions between the individual, the local community, the media, big business and the institutions of government Collectively, these works may be seen to form an extended argument calling for a full and thorough revitalization of social and political life in United States. 32

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In developing his vast philosophy, Dewey drew inspiration from many sources but still emerged with a perspective that was his own. In his biography of Dewey, Jay Martin notes that he ‘never really forgot any intellectual or personal passion’ and ‘stored up all he learned and, forgetting its individual sources, made it his own’ (Martin 2002, p. 131). Similarly, Dewey himself noted that I seem to be unstable, chameleon-like, yielding one after another to many diverse and even incompatible influences; struggling to assimilate something from each and yet striving to carry it forward in a way that is logically consistent with what has been learned from its predecessors. Upon the whole, the forces that have influenced me have come from persons and situations more than books—not that I have not, I hope, learned a great deal from philosophical writings but that what I have learned from them has been technical in nature in comparison to what I have been forced to think upon and about because of some experience in which I found myself entangled. (LW 5, p. 151)

Perhaps because of this apparent malleability, Dewey was a reluctant pragmatist. Though he was associated with the movement, he was never very keen on the label and made regular efforts to move beyond it (see e.g., LW 2, pp. 3–21).36 There is some merit to seeing him in separate terms to James and Peirce.37 His philosophy diverged markedly from the vision laid out in James’s 1907 Pragmatism. He wasn’t only interested in resolving metaphysical disputes. Ultimately, his focus was guided towards social concerns (far more so than James and Peirce). On a fundamental level, he wanted to instantiate a philosophy that could deal directly with the problems of men, a philosophy that could change the world. Indeed, Ralph Sleeper suggests that divergence runs so deep that Dewey’s work should be seen not as an extension of pragmatism but, rather, an uncompromising reconstruction of the insights of Peirce and James (Sleeper 1986, p. 47). Reconstruction or not, Dewey’s philosophy is far from perfect. For a variety of reasons, his work has been the subject to sharp criticism over the years.38 For

 It is often noted that Dewey cycled through a number of possible labels for his particular philosophic vision. These included instrumentalism, experientialism, experimental empiricism, natural empiricism, naturalism, and cultural naturalism (for an extensive list of labels see e.g., Martin 2002, p. 493). The latter term, perhaps comes the closest to expressing, most clearly, the underlying commitments of Dewey’s work. 37  It is often claimed that Peirce and James exacted the most direct and profound influence upon Dewey’s work; from James, he is said to have drawn a particular understanding of experience and from Peirce, a theory of inquiry. With James, careful examination suggests that the influence was more limited than might at first seem the case. Dewey himself was insistent that it was specifically William James of the Principles of Psychology—as opposed to the James of The Will to Believe, Varieties of Religious Belief, A Pluralistic Universe or even Pragmatism—from whom he drew inspiration (LW 5, p. 157). Here, James presents experience as regulative of our modes of apprehending and understanding the world. According to Sleeper (1986), this can be seen as a primary source for Dewey’s logic. With Peirce, John Shook’s recent scholarship has revealed that Dewey is likely to have arrived at a similar conception of inquiry via his own independent efforts. Here, Shook argues that it was only after Peirce’s work was published in the 1930s that any meaningful engagement with the latter’s theory of inquiry took place (Shook 2000, p. 212). 38  There is an entire volume dedicated to the contemporary criticism Dewey’s work received (see Morgenbesser 1977). 36

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example, Richard Gale criticizes Dewey’s passionate, ‘religious-type faith’ in the transformative power of intelligence (see Gale 2010).39 Richard Rorty bemoaned the apparent groundlessness of Dewey’s hopeful social vision (see Rorty 1979). Others go to great lengths to identify particular flaws and internal inconsistencies.40 Alongside such objections there is the more pressing problem of the written material itself.41 Dewey is often characterized as a ‘terrible writer’ (Ryan 1995, p. 20), with one author going so far as to call his arguments ‘involuted, stammering, [and] murky’ (Alexander 2017, p. 45). While there is some truth to this, it must also be acknowledged that, along the way, Dewey regularly offers up brilliance. As Abraham Kaplan has put it, Dewey can be ‘diffuse and repetitive’ but, at times, he is also ‘straightforward, lucid, and eloquent’. For Kaplan, Dewey requires ‘less of a close reading to grasp the meaning of what he says than a sensitive reading to get at the point of his saying it’ (Kaplan 1987, p. vii). For my part, I follow Ralph Sleeper (1986), who argues that Dewey requires patience. In taking this view, I accept that, at times, his arguments seem to chart a wandering course and his special terminology can easily confuse. The fact is that reading Dewey requires at least a basic appreciation of his core theories (e.g., the theory of inquiry) and as well as an understanding of the special definitions he attaches to key terms (e.g., ‘habit’). Such prerequisites may be off-putting but, given time, both are easily obtainable. Through a slow and careful examination of Dewey’s works, one comes to notice reoccurring patterns in his argument. For example, he regularly returns to a series of touchstone themes such as the power of the experimental method; the misunderstandings which underlie and sustain traditional philosophic problems; and the need for social and political reconstruction. Over the years, through many lectures, articles and books, his approach to these and other favored subjects was gradually refined. Yet, though his arguments sharpened, they were never fully cohered to form a single, all-encompassing statement.42 Consequently, the experience of reading Dewey’s corpus is not dissimilar to watching lines of light reflect the movement of a body of water. The lines are indistinct; they come together and overlap but never finally draw together. As such, there’s 39  In contrast to Rorty, Gale (2010) applauds Dewey’s metaphysics but calls into question the link Dewey draws between it and his wider philosophy. Alongside this, he also criticizes Dewey’s concept of philosophy as criticism, as presented in Experience and Nature (p. 16). 40  Roland Garret, for example, has systematically identified a number of contradictions in Dewey’s account of qualities (see Garret 1973). 41  John Herman Randall Jr. notes that Dewey used ‘the language of John Dewey’. This ‘owed its difficulty primarily to being the language of idealistic philosophy of social experience in which he grew up—a language now happily, but confusingly, forgotten’ (Randall 1953, p. 5). 42  In a reflection on John Dewey’s life and work, Horace Kallen noted that Dewey would not have been able to state a system in full because ‘if you wanted Dewey to state a system, he’d have to contradict himself. He’d have to set up a number of fixed points and a structured order of the universe, and deny practically all the fundamental concepts with which he identified. He thinks the functional thoughts, and writes the functional thoughts’ (Lamont 1959, p. 51).

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consistency to Dewey’s work but no constancy. We are continually being presented with the potential of synthesis without ever seeing it realized. In some ways, this is what makes Dewey such a compelling philosopher; even after everything has been lined up and brought together there is no final word to be had. We ourselves are still required to go further but, having referenced his work, are much better equipped than before.

Comparing John Dewey and the Alternatives As has been alluded to above, I do not think it unfair to suggest that classical pragmatism—including Deweyan pragmatism—has been neglected by the design researchers and theorists.43 Though perhaps a bold statement, it is supported by the evidence. For example, there is no one broadly orientated text setting out the ­contributions of any of the individual pragmatist philosophers. Equally, few comprehensive, contextualizing statements appear in literature. Often, the referencing of particular work is limited and repetitive, offering only a superficial insight into subjects which are far wider in scope then they might first appear.44 This apparent neglect is both striking and surprising. How is it that such a rich of store of philosophic insight has been overlooked for so long? Though this is a difficult question to answer, a number of possible reasons present themselves. It may be a matter of historical distance—classical pragmatism’s emergence in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century appears to place it at a too great a remove from contemporary concerns, philosophical or otherwise. It may also be a matter of reputation. From the mid-twentieth century on, classical pragmatism entered into a period of extended and (on the standard account) terminal decline, as it was usurped by logical positivism and, later, analytic philosophy. On the other hand, it might be that the issues are cultural. After all, classical pragmatism is, for the most part, seen as an avowedly American tradition, with its originator and exponents all associated with the United States. As such, its applicability to a European or other contexts is rightly open to question. There is, of course, some truth to all of these points. However, the issues raised do not fully withstand scrutiny. Indeed, over recent decades a number of strong counter-arguments have emerged which begin to challenge the underlying claims.

 There will of course be those who dispute the suggestion that design research has neglected Dewey’s work. For example, it certainly arguable that Donald Schön’s The Reflective Practitioner (1983) can be seen to have embedded Deweyan thought at the core of methodological formulations within design research. There is also, of course, the many references to his concept of ‘the public’ within participatory design discourse (see e.g., Bjögvinsson et al. 2012; Le Dantec 2016; DiSalvo 2009). Be this as it may, I maintain that there is no clear and comprehensive contextualization of Dewey’s thought in relation to the concerns of contemporary design research. 44  An example would be the frequent referencing of Peirce’s definition of abduction, or Dewey’s definition of inquiry. 43

Comparing John Dewey and the Alternatives

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For example, on the issue of historical distance and relevance, many commentators are now coming to recognize that the tradition has much to say to contemporary concerns (see e.g., Pihlström 2015; Hickman 2007). Equally, with regard to classical pragmatism’s apparent decline, careful analysis of the historical record reveals that, though the label may have become unfashionable, essential pragmatist themes have been guiding the advance of philosophy right up to the present day (see e.g., Bernstein 2010). This links to the final issue, that of the cultural origins and heritage of classical pragmatism. It is of course the case that the movement, in its substantial form, arose, developed and matured in the United States. However, strange as it may sound, one may identify clear parallels between classical pragmatism and other major philosophies of the twentieth century such as the later work of Ludwig Wittgenstein and the phenomenology of Martin Heidegger. Hillary Putnam, for example, has posed the question ‘Was Wittgenstein a Pragmatist?’ (1995, pp. 27–56). Similarly, Mark Okrent (1988) has identified and highlights many pragmatist themes in Heidegger’s work. Pushing things even further, Robert Brandom has worked to expand the traditional understanding of pragmatism to enfold the work of such thinkers as Hegel, Heidegger and Wittgenstein45 (e.g., Brandom 2002). Picking up on this latter argument, the eminent pragmatist Richard Bernstein has suggested that while it would be ‘inflationary’ to label such grand figures pragmatists, he sees shared motivational points of departure in the work of Peirce, Wittgenstein and Heidegger. Peirce, Wittgenstein and Heidegger – working in and out of very different traditions – are motivated by a “felt difficulty,” a similar problematic. Each of them detects that something is profoundly wrong with Cartesianism, and each of them seeks to rethink a more adequate way of understanding our forms of life and our being-in-the-world. They are critical of what Dewey called the “spectator theory of knowledge” and shift our attention to know-how, to how we engage with the world and social practices. Each of them repudiates what Rorty calls “philosophy as the mirror of nature.” (Bernstein 2010, p. 19)

But this is only is only part of the story. One might also argue that pragmatism’s image as a wholly American philosophy does not accurately represent the historical and present-day reality. For one, the classical pragmatists were each influenced by particular European philosophers and philosophies; Peirce was most heavily

45  Putnam and Brandom are not alone in proposing that it may be possible to position Wittgenstein within the bounds of the pragmatist tradition. Writing as early as 1968, H. S. Thayer, for example, gives over a section of his critical history of classical pragmatism to considering Wittgenstein’s links to the tradition. On his view, the Wittgenstein of Philosophical Investigations is ‘very much in accord (sometimes coinciding remarkably) with the outlook and writings of Dewey and Mead’ (Thayer 1968, p. 313). More recently, offering a somewhat more balanced view, Sami Pihlström suggests that the later Wittgenstein may be seen as ‘both a pragmatist—after all, his language games are practical ways of being in the world, based upon practices or “forms of life”—and a Kantian transcendental thinker engaged in the question of how meaning is possible’ (Pihlström 2015, p. 27). For further recent scholarly discussions of the relationship between Wittgenstein and pragmatism, see Bakhurst and Misak (2017) and Boncompagni (2016).

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influenced by Kant; James the British Empiricists; and Dewey by Hegel.46 Leading on from this, there is also the question of whether the development of classical pragmatism need necessarily be seen as an exclusively American phenomenon to begin with. For example, Thayer’s early critical history of pragmatism (1968) does not limit its account to the shores of the United States. Beyond Peirce, James, Dewey, and Mead, European philosophers from England, France and Italy are also drawn into the mix. Here, we are offered histories of, not only Ferdinand C. S. Schiller (England), but also Georges Sorel (France) and Giovanni Panini (Italy).47 Furthermore, there is the question of legacy. While pragmatism may have lost much ground in the United States from the early twentieth century on, Richard Bernstein has argued that post-second world war German philosophy—including the work of Karl-Otto Apel, Jürgen Habermas, Hans Joas—was heavily influenced by the themes of classical pragmatism (see Bernstein 2010, pp. 23–25, pp. 168–199). Finally, there is the contemporary academic context. Across the globe, a growing body of dedicated international research centers, societies, and networks in countries from Europe to Asia are exploring the work of the classical pragmatists—pragmatist scholarly activity is no longer limited to the United States alone48 (see Pihlström 2015, pp. 284–286). Accepting or even acknowledging the possible validity of such a recalibration would draw the pragmatist tradition into a much closer alignment with both historical and contemporary European philosophy. This may offer a ‘way in’ for those holding alternative allegiances, which, on the surface of it, appear to stand in intellectual opposition to the tenants of classical pragmatism. Whatever the verdict reached, we are still left with an outstanding question. If the present work is to focus on Dewey in relation to design research involving practice what are distinct benefits of Deweyan classical pragmatism when set against the alternatives of the later Wittgenstein or, equally, of Heidegger and the other phenomenologists?

 See Thayer (1968) for a concise outline of these influences.  Reflecting on the possibility of developing a more international narrative around the genesis of classical pragmatism, a number of brief points are worth noting in relation to William James. Firstly, there is the clear connection between James and F.C.S. Schiller, who was German born but Britain–based and often considered the leading European pragmatist of the time. Porrovecchio (2011), who notes that Schiller had very early interactions with James dating back to at least the 1890s, questions the dominant narrative that the ‘founding instigators’ of were all American (p. xxii). Secondly, James was aware of and, indeed, met with Giovanni Papini and other representatives of the Italian pragmatist movement, including Giovanni Vailati, Mario Calderoni, and Giovanni Amendola (Eldridge 2015, p. 259). He even went so far as to write an article about their work (see James 1906). Thirdly and finally, though James attributes the origin of the ‘pragmatist principle’ to Peirce in Pragmatism (1975/1907, p. 28), it is important to note that he also makes glowing reference to the work of both Schiller and Papini (along with Dewey, of course). 48  Until recently, the major center of pragmatist study in the United States was the Center for John Dewey Studies at the University of Southern Illinois in Cardondale. Its former director, Jo Ann Boydston, managed the editing and publishing of the thirty–seven volume Collected Works of John Dewey (1967–1990). Regrettably, as of 2017, this center is now closed. 46 47

The Structure of this Book

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I would suggest that the first and, perhaps, most significant factor is Dewey’s theory of inquiry. As Donald Schön (1983, 1987, 1992) and others (e.g., Buchanan 1992, 2009; Steen 2011; Dixon 2019) have has already demonstrated, I believe it establishes a direct connection between what both designers and design researchers do in action and Dewey’s philosophy. While Wittgenstein (1963/1958) explores the notional structures which underpin language and meaning as lived and Heidegger (2010/1927) theorizes our existential being in the world, neither offers such a comprehensive outline of the processes which underpin our approach to transforming the world. Of similar importance is Dewey’s wholehearted and long-term commitment to democracy as a process of social and political reconstruction. This is underscored by his profound meliorism, i.e., the belief that the world can be made better through human action (see Chap. 5). Again, neither Wittgenstein nor phenomenology can be seen to offer anything nearing a comparable position. This is not to say that they do not consider the political or the social, only that they do not consider it to the same extent. The third factor is Dewey’s distinct form of anti-foundationalism; that is, the belief that there can be no absolute grounds for certainty upon which to rest our claims to knowledge. Here, Dewey holds that, though we cannot know the universe in total, systematic terms—as in classical metaphysics—we can, through experimentation, detect its some of its general features, which he refers as the ‘generic traits of existence’. While it is true that both the later-Wittgenstein as well as Heideggerian phenomenology are also anti-foundational in outlook, neither presents their vision in quite the same way. I take the view that both may be seen as ‘recursively’ human—in that they do not allow us to properly imagine existence beyond ourselves. With Wittgenstein we are beholden to our ‘forms of life’, with Heidegger our ‘being-in-the-world’. Dewey, for his part, acknowledges our human perspective and recognizes that we, as human, cannot escape our own point of view. Equally, like Wittgenstein, he is also very clear that we are social beings first and foremost. However, he also makes an effort to approach the world head on. His human inquirer is shaped by physical as well as cultural forces—their knowing emerges in world-bound, social activities as they test things together. This, it seems to me, is a designerly perspective—a way of understanding our understanding that links us directly to the world, through shared action; a bio-socio-cultural anti-foundationalism. Of course, on these and other points there is more that could be said. The exact nature of Dewey’s special offering will become clearer as we move through the book. As has already been noted, to properly appreciate Dewey we must take our time and, admittedly, put in quite a bit effort. However, it is the both premise and promise of this book that the task is not only possible but also worthwhile.

The Structure of this Book How is this all to be taken forward? The present chapter has laid out a vision of design, design research, design research involving practice, the relationship between design research and philosophy, a view of pragmatism, a view of John Dewey’s

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pragmatism and final a contextualization of John Dewey’s pragmatism in relation to the alternative philosophic perspectives available, i.e., the later Wittgenstein and phenomenology. This has led us to a point where, through the remainder of the book, we may examine the connections and alignments which may be drawn between Dewey’s work and design research involving practice. Additionally, later on, we will also be able to give consideration to how the Deweyan perspective can be brought together and, possibly, positioned as philosophy for design research involving practice. The book will be structured as follows. Launching the broader discussion, Chap. 2 focuses in on Dewey’s treatment of experience and aesthetic experience, as well as his concern with the felt, qualitative values that are found to arise in experience. This outline is then related to the discussions of experience and user-experience in the field of design. As a next step, attention turns to Dewey’s theoretical interlinking of experience and nature within his ‘naturalistic metaphysics’—an often-overlooked aspect of his philosophic project (at least in design). The chapter concludes with a reflection on how, from this interconnecting exposition of Dewey’s theories, a more expansive understanding of experience might be established within design. Having established a background theory of experience, Chap. 3 turns to the subject of knowledge or knowing in design research involving practice. It begins by exploring the advance of design research over the last four decades. Particular attention is paid to the work of Donald Schön, as well as the emergence of design research involving practice. From this, focus is directed towards Dewey’s theory of inquiry, a highly significant aspect of his overall philosophy. The theory is linked to developments in design research and is shown to offer a means of articulating the possible role of practice in research, as well as the practice-research relationship. By outlining and contextualizing the theory of inquiry, a general point of reference is established for the remaining chapters. Building on the Chapter’s 3 discussion of knowing in design, in Chap. 4 attention turns to meaning and communication. From an opening exploration of the increasing prominence of these themes within in design, we return to Dewey’s metaphysics and aesthetic theory. Here, his handling of language, the imagination and the ‘work of art’ are all examined in turn. Following on, the implications of these positions for design are considered. Emphasis is placed on how Dewey’s insights can support the theoretical articulation of meaningfulness in design as well as the communicative value of artifacts in academic design research. Taking a slightly different direction, Chap. 5 expands on previous discussions by shifting the focus towards the social and political aspects of Dewey’s philosophy. The chapter opens with a consideration of how his work has been drawn upon in participatory and collaborative design discourse. From this presentation, attention turns to his original writings, with his stance in relation to democracy and ethics, as well as his melioristic perspective (i.e., the belief that human action can lead to positive change) all being highlighted in turn. The chapter draws to a close with a discussion of how these concepts can be related to contemporary understandings of the democratic within design practice and research.

References

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Chap. 6 aims to cohere previous discussions by exploring the connections which may be drawn between Dewey’s treatments of experience, knowing and reality. By grouping these aspects together, it is possible to argue that Dewey sees inquiry—or, more particularly, the identification and resolution of problems—as a transformational act which reconfigures the world in which find ourselves. Alongside this, Dewey’s approach to value and valuation is considered. These Deweyan perspectives are then related to existing approaches to knowledge production in design research involving practice. With the ‘making’ of products, services, and experiences ‘remaking’ our reality and, equally, our understanding of ‘the possible’ and ‘the valuable’. The chapter closes with a general reflection on the applicability of such a perspective to design research involving practice. Following on, Chap. 7 acts as a conclusion for the book as a whole. It opens with a general summary which lines up the key points of the preceding discussions. Next, based on these key points, the potential methodological implications of Dewey’s pragmatism are explored in detail. The aim here is to group these together to form a Deweyan framework for design research involving practice, drawing out any potentially relevant considerations and questions that might guide a project’s advance. Lastly, a final section will offer a reflection on the value of adopting Deweyan pragmatism as a philosophy for design research involving practice.

References Alexander, T. M. (1987). John Dewey’s theory of art, experience & nature: The horizons of feeling. Albany: State University of New York Press. Alexander, T. M. (2017). The human Eros: Eco-ontology and the aesthetics of existence. New York: Fordham University Press. Archer, B. (1995). The nature of research. Co-Design, 2(11), 6–13. Bakhurst, D., & Misak, C. (2017). Wittgenstein and Pragmatism. In H.  J. Glock & J.  Hyman (Eds.), A companion to Wittgenstein (pp. 731–745). London: Wiley. Bang, A.  L., Krogh, P., Ludvigsen, M., & Markussen, T. (2012). The Role of Hypothesis in Constructive Design Research. Paper presented at the 4th The Art of Research: Making, Reflecting and Understanding. Aalto University School of Arts, Design and Architecture, Helsinki, Finland, 28–29 Nov 2012. Bason, C. (2016). Policy design. Abingdon: Routledge. Bernstein, R. J. (2010). The pragmatic turn. Cambridge, MA: Polity Press. Biggs, M. A. (2000). Editorial: The Foundations of Practice- Based Research. Working Papers in Art and Design, vol 1. Available via University of Hertfordshire. http://www.herts.ac.uk/artdes/ research/papers/wpades/ vol1/vol1intro.html Accessed 28 May 2019. Biggs, M. A. (2002). The role of the artefact in art and design research. International Journal of Design Sciences and Technology, 10(2), 19–24. Biggs, M. A., & Büchler, D. (2007). Rigor and practice-based research. Design Issues, 23(3), 62–69. Bjögvinsson, E., Ehn, P., & Hillgren, P.  A. (2010). PD and democratizing innovation. In Proceedings of the 11th Biennial PD conference, 29 November  – 3 December (pp.  41–50). ACM New York: Sydney Austrialia. Bjögvinsson, E., Ehn, P., & Hillgren, P. A. (2012). Design things and design thinking: Contemporary participatory design challenges. Design Issues, 28(3), 101–116. Boisvert, R. D. (1988). Dewey’s metaphysics. New York: Fordham University Press.

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Boncompagni, A. (2016). Wittgenstein and pragmatism: On certainty in the light of Peirce and James. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Brandom, R. (2002). Tales of the mighty dead: Historical essays in the metaphysics of intentionality. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Brandt, E. (2010). Playing design games. In J.  Halse, E.  Brandt, B.  Clark, & T.  Binder (Eds.), Rehearsing the future (pp. 130–132). Copenhagen: The Danish Design School Press. Brandt, E., & Binder, T. (2007). Experimental Design Research: Genealogy, Intervention, Argument. Paper presented at International Association of Societies of Design Research conference. Hong Kong, China, 12–15 Sept 2007. Bremner, C., & Rodgers, P. (2013). Design without discipline. Design Issues, 29(3), 4–13. Brown, T. (2008). Design thinking. Harvard Business Review, 86(6), 84–92. Buchanan, R. (1992). Wicked problems in design thinking. Design Issues, 8(2), 5–21. Buchanan, R. (2009). Thinking about design: An historical perspective. In A.  Meijers (Ed.), Philosophy of technology and engineering sciences (Vol. 9, pp. 409–453). Amsterdam: Elsevier. Cooper, R., & Press, M. (2003). The design experience. London: Gower. Cooper, R., & Press, M. (1995). The design agenda: A guide to successful design management. Chichester: Wiley. Cross, N. (1999a). Design research: A disciplined conversation. Design Issues, 15(2), 5–10. Cross, N. (1999b). Subject: research, practice, etc. DRS Discussion List. Available via Jiscmail. http://www.jiscmail.ac.uk/DRS Accessed 14 April 2018. Cross, N. (2007). Designerly ways of knowing. Basel: Birkhäuser. Dalsgaard, P. (2009). Designing engaging interactive environments – A pragmatist perspective.. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation. Aarhus, Denmark: Aarhus University. Dalsgaard, P. (2014). Pragmatism and design thinking. International Journal of Design, 8(1), 143–153. Dalsgaard, P. (2017). Instruments of inquiry: Understanding the nature and role of tools in design. International Journal of Design, 11(1), 21–33. Deledalle, G. (1990). Charles Sanders Peirce: An Intellectual biography (trans: Petrilli S). John Bejamins Publishing Company, Amsterdam. Dewey, J. LW 1–17. In J. A. Boydston (Ed.), John Dewey the later works, 1925–1953. Carbondale IL: University of Southern Illinois Press. Dilnot, C. (1984). The state of design history, part I: Mapping the field. Design Issues, 1(1), 4–23. Dixon, B. (2019). Experiments in experience: Towards an alignment of research through design and John Dewey’s pragmatism. Design Issues, 35(2), 5–16. Dorst, K. (2011). The Core of ‘design thinking’ and its application. Design Studies, 32(6), 521–532. Dourish, P. (2001). Where the action is. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Durling, D. (2002). Discourses on research and the PhD in design. Quality Assurance in Education, 10(2), 79–85. Durrant, A. C., Vines, J., Wallace, J., & Yee, J. S. (2017). Research through design: Twenty–first century makers and Materialities. Design Issues, 33(3), 3–10. Dykhuizen, G. (1973). The life and mind of John Dewey. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Ehn, P. (1988). Work–oriented design of computer Artifacts. Stockholm: Ph.D. dissertation Arbetslivscentrum. Eldridge, M. (2015). A chronology. In S. Pihlström (Ed.), The Bloomsbury companion to pragmatism (pp. 257–264). London: Bloomsbury. Finlay, J. (1958). Hegel: A Reexamination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Forty, A. (1992). Objects of desire: Design and society since 1750. London: Thames and Hudson. Frayling, C. (1993). Research in art and design. Royal College of Art Research Papers, 1(1), 1–5. Friedman, K. (2003). Theory construction in design research: Criteria: Approaches, and methods. Design Studies, 24(6), 507–522. Friedman, K. (2008). Research into, by and for design. Journal of Visual Art Practice, 7(2), 153–160.

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Fry, T. (2010). Design as politics. London: Bloomsbury. Gale, R. (2010). John Dewey’s quest for unity: The journey of a promethean Mystic. New York: Prometheus Books. Gaver, W. (2012). What should we expect from research through design? In Proceedings of the SIGCHI conference on human factors in computing systems (pp. 937–946). New York: ACM. Good, J. (2006). John Dewey’s “permanent hegelian deposit” and the exigencies of war. Journal of the History of Philosophy, 44(2), 293–313. Heidegger, M. (1971). Poetry, Language, Thought (trans: Hofstadter A). New  York: Harper and Row. Heidegger, M. (2010/1927). Being and time (trans: Stambaugh J). State University of New York Press, Albany NY. Hickman, L. (2007). Pragmatism as post-postmodernism: Lessons from John Dewey. New York: Fordham University Press. Holmes, O. W., Jr. (1992). In R. A. Posner (Ed.), The essential holmes: Selections from the letters, speeches, judicial opinions, and other writings of oliver wendell holmes, Jr. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Inns, T. (2009). Designing for the 21st century: Volume II: Interdisciplinary methods and findings. London: Gower. James, W. (1906). G. Papini and the pragmatist movement in Italy. The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, 3(13), 337–341. James, W. (1975/1907). In F. H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, & I. K. Skrupkelis (Eds.), The collected works of William James: Pragmatism: A new name for some old ways of thinking. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. James, W. (1977/1909). In F. H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, & I. K. Skrupkelis (Eds.), The collected works of William James: A pluralistic universe. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. James, W. (1981a). [1890]). In F. H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, & I. K. Skrupkelis (Eds.), The collected works of William James: The principles of psychology, volume 1. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. James, W. (1981b). [1890]). In F. H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, & I. K. Skrupkelis (Eds.), The collected works of William James: The principles of psychology, Volume 2. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Jones, J. C. (1992). Design methods: Designing designing. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Jones, P. (2013). Design for Care: Innovating healthcare experience. New York: Rosenfeld Media. Julier, G. (2013). The culture of design. London: Sage. Kaufmann, W. (1966). Hegel: Reinterpretation, texts and commentary. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Kimbell, L., & Bailey, J. (2017). Prototyping and the new spirit of policy-making. CoDesign, 13(3), 214–226. Kolko, J. (2015). Design thinking comes of age. Harvard Business Review, 93(9), 66–71. Koskinen, I., Zimmerman, J., Binder, T., Redstrom, J., & Wensveen, S. (2011). Design research through practice: From the lab, field, and showroom. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Krippendorff, K. (2006). The semantic turn: A new foundation for design. Boca Raton FL: Taylor and Francis CRC Press. Lamont, C. (Ed.). (1959). Dialogue on John Dewey. New York: Horizon Press. Lawson, B. R. (2008). [1980] How designers think. Oxford: The Architectural Press. Le Dantec, C. A. (2016). Designing publics. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. Marenko, B. (2015). Deleuze and design. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Margolin, V. (1995). Design history or design studies: Subject matter and methods. Design Issues, 11(1), 4–15. Marsden, G. M. (1994). The soul of the American University: From protestant establishment to established non-belief. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Martin, J. (2002). The education of John Dewey. New York: Columbia University Press. Mau, B., & Leonard, J. (2004). Massive change. London: Phaidon.

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McDonnell, J. (2015). Gifts to the future: Design reasoning, design research, and critical design practitioners. She Ji: The Journal of Design, Economics, and Innovation, 1(2), 107–117. Melles, G. (2008a). An enlarged pragmatist inquiry paradigm for methodological pluralism in academic design research. Art, 2(1), 3–11. Melles, G. (2008b). New pragmatism and the vocabulary and metaphors of scholarly design research. Design Issues, 24(4), 88–101. Menand, L. (2002). The metaphysical Club. New York: Macmillian. Morgenbesser, S. (1977). Dewey and his critics: Essays from the journal of philosophy. Lancaster PA: Lancaster Press. Narayan, J. (2016). John Dewey: The global public and its problems. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Okrent, M. (1988). Heidegger’s pragmatism: Understanding, being, and the critique of metaphysics. Ithaca NY: Cornell University Press. Östman, L. E. (2005). A pragmatist theory of design. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation. Stockholm: Royal Institute of Technology. Overbeeke, K. (2007). The Aesthetics of the Impossible. TU Eindhoven, Eindhoven. Available via research.tue.nl https://research.tue.nl/en/publications/the-aesthetics-of-the-impossible Accessed 11 Feb 2020. Pappas, G. (2008). Dewey’s ethics: Experience as democracy. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Peirce, C. S. (1905). What Pragmatism Is. The Monist, 15(2), 161–181. Peirce, C.  S. (1992). The essential Peirce, volume 1 (1867–1893). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Peirce, C.  S. (1998). The essential Peirce, volume 1 (1893–1913). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Pihlström, S. (Ed.). (2015). The bloomsbury companion to pragmatism. London: Bloomsbury. Porrovecchio, M. J. (2011). F.C.S. Schiller and the Dawn of pragmatism: The rhetoric of a philosophical rebel. Lanham: Lexington Books. Putnam, H. (1995). Pragmatism: An Open question. Oxford: Blackwell. Randall, J. H. (1953). John Dewey, 1859–1952. The Journal of Philosophy, 50(1), 5–13. Redström, J. (2017). Making design theory. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Roozenburg, N.  F. (1993). On the pattern of reasoning in innovative design. Design Studies, 14(1), 4–18. Rorty, R. (1979). Philosophy and the mirror of nature. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ryan, A. (1995). John Dewey and the Hide tide of American Liberalism. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Sanders, E.  B. N., & Stappers, P.  J. (2008). Co-creation and the new landscapes of design. Co-Design, 4(1), 5–18. Sanders, E. B. N., & Stappers, P. J. (2014). From designing to co-designing to collective dreaming: Three slices in time. Interactions, 21(6), 25–33. Schön, D. A. (1983). The reflective practitioner. New York: Basic Books. Schön, D. A. (1987). Educating the reflective practitioner: Toward a new design for teaching and learning in the professions. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Schön, D.  A. (1992). The theory of inquiry: Dewey’s legacy to education. Curriculum Inquiry, 22(2), 119–139. Scrivener, S. (2009). The roles of art and design process and object in research. In N. Nimkulrat & T. O’Reilly (Eds.), Reflections and connections: On the relationship between creative production and academic research (pp. 69–80). Helsinki: University of Art and Design Helsinki. Shook, J. R. (2000). Dewey’s empirical theory of knowledge and reality. Nashville TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Simon, H. (1996). [1969]. The sciences of the artificial, 3rd edn. The MIT Press, Cambridge, MA. Sleeper, R. W. (1986). The necessity of pragmatism: John Dewey’s conception of philosophy. New Haven: Yale University Press.

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Steen, M. (2011). Tensions in human-centred design. CoDesign, 7(1), 45–60. Steen, M. (2013). Co-design as a process of joint inquiry and imagination. Design Issues, 29(2), 16–28. Thayer, H.  S. (1968). Meaning and action: A critical history of pragmatism. New  York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company. Tonkinwise, C. (2004). Is design finished? Dematerialisation and changing things. Design Philosophy Papers, 2(3), 177–195. Tsekleves, E., & Cooper, R. (Eds.). (2017). Design for health. Abingdon: Routledge. Wakkary, R. (2009). Experiencing interaction design: A pragmatic theory. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. Plymouth: University of Plymouth. West, C. (1989). The American evasion of philosophy: A genealogy of pragmatism. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Wiener, P.  P. (1949). Evolution and founders of pragmatism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wilson, S., & Zamberlan, L. (2015). Design for an unknown future: Amplified roles for collaboration, new design knowledge, and creativity. Design Issues, 31(2), 3–15. Wittgenstein, L. (1963). [1958]. Philosophical investigations (trans: Anscombe GEM). Basil Blackwell, Oxford. Zimmerman, J., & Forlizzi, J. (2007). ‘Research through Design as a Method for Interaction Design Research in HCI. In: Proceedings of CHI 2007, San Jose CA, April 28th–May 3rd 2007. Zimmerman, J., & Forlizzi, J. (2008). The role of design artifacts in design theory construction. Art, 2(1), 41–45. Zimmerman, J., Stolterman, E., & Forlizzi, J. (2010). An analysis and critique of research through design: Towards a formalization of a research approach. In Proceedings of the 8th ACM conference on designing interactive systems (DIS ‘10). New York: ACM.

Chapter 2

Experiencing as Doing and Undergoing

Abstract  In this chapter I aim to draw some initial alignments between Dewey’s work and design research by focusing in on the theme of experience. To begin, I examine Dewey’s approach to experience in both its general and aesthetic forms. This then leads in to a consideration of how the theme of experience is currently approached within the field of design. Here, some existent points of Deweyan inspiration are identified in user experience and experience-centered design literature. Thereafter, I seek to extend the discussion further by offering an in-depth exploration of Dewey’s theoretical interlinking of experience and nature within his ‘naturalistic metaphysics’—an often-overlooked aspect of his philosophy. The chapter then concludes with a reflection on how, by drawing on Dewey’s work, a more expansive understanding of experience might be established within design. Keywords  Design research · Design practice · Interaction design · User experience · Experience-Centered design · John Dewey

Experience. Experience. Experience. The word is now firmly embedded within the designerly lexicon; all at once enfolding concerns relating to people, emotions and meaning. In terms of direct application, it is often associated with technology. User-­ experience, for example, has become a grounding reference point in the development of almost all digital systems. However, the design-experience connection should not be seen as limited to technology. Framing and defining the experiential aspects of a given proposal now sits at the core of both product and service design practice. Indeed, today, most design methods would place the concept of experience at their center (see e.g., Buxton 2007). Yet, in spite this evident popularity, a key issue lies unresolved. Though multiple commentators have attempted to define the parameters of experience, it continues to operate as an almost boundless concept, referencing everything and pointing everywhere. Oddly, this boundlessness likely forms part of its appeal. Its accommodating. We can relate it to whatever in whatever way we chose. Moreover, its familiar. After all, we are constantly experiencing things. Taking a walk, sharing a joke, cooking a meal, feeling tiredness, glancing at the sky—these are things we do on a © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 B. S. Dixon, Dewey and Design, Design Research Foundations, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-47471-3_2

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daily basis and whether prosaic or extraordinary such events combine together to form the texture of our lives. This does not mean however that experience should be seen as a simple matter. Give a specific experience prolonged thought and suddenly its special character and quality elude us. If we try to describe our activities, we soon find that our ability to provide a faithful account of their thisness and thatness is remarkably limited; the meaning of what we do or think or feel evaporates. Like it or not, on reflection, experience emerges as a strangely complex phenomenon. Its hardly surprising, then, that given this apparent mix of familiarity on the one hand and complexity on the other, philosophers have agonized over the precise nature of experience for centuries. The British empiricists, for example, invested great efforts in developing an account of how knowledge must be seen to arise directly and solely out of experience, understood as the assimilation of sense data. The phenomenologists, similarly, directed their energies to examining and describing how phenomena, ‘things’ as they would have it, reveal themselves in and through human perception and action. Entering into this broad and long-standing debate, Dewey, too, spent a large proportion of his career working out an account of experience. Over many decades, he gradually came to advance a vision which pushed far beyond the orthodoxies of Western philosophy. It was his view that experience was more than simply the passive reception and processing of the external phenomena (as with the British empiricists). Rather, on the Deweyan account, experience was to be seen as a process of active involvement; an all-encompassing wrapper enfolding human doing alongside human undergoing. And while humanity was central to his vision, the boundaries were not drawn at the ‘merely’ human (as was alluded to in Chap. 1). Dewey also attempted to forge an immediate and direct link between experience, on the one hand, and nature on the other. This link relied on idea of line of continuity being drawn between the two—of experience and nature being seen as one. As would be expected, his efforts were fraught with difficulty. He received strong criticism from his academic peers. These debates, in large part, centered around whether or not Dewey was taking what would be termed a ‘realist’, ‘naturalist’ or ‘idealist’ perspective, and the extent to which he was failing to conform to one or another of these particular positions.1 Regrettably, such issues were never properly resolved. Dewey never succeeded in offering his readers a single, standalone theory that can just be ‘set out’ and moved on from.2 Rather, to access the Deweyan theory of experience one has to unpick aspects of his broader philosophy and then carefully piece them back together again. Despite, or perhaps because of, the effort required, Dewey’s views on experience can be helpfully positioned as the starting point for a broader discussion of his

 A wide sample of these debates can be found in Morgenbesser (1977).  Though some would say he came close in Experience and Nature (LW 1).

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works. With experience, you find a center of gravity in Deweyan thought3; a locus from which you may draw wider connections. Then, given the current importance of the subject of experience for design and design research involving practice, it also allows us to draw some early alignments between his work and design discourse. Thus, marking a starting point and drawing some early alignments, the chapter will proceed as follows. Setting out, we will begin by considering Dewey’s approach to experience in both its general and aesthetic forms. This leads us into a discussion on the areas of user-experience and experience-centered design, which, in turn, allows us identify the existent points of Deweyan inspiration in the literature. Thereafter, expanding the discussion further, we will move on to consider some larger and (in the context of design) less well-known aspects of his work, looking in particular at his ‘naturalistic metaphysics’, with its inherent interlinking of experience and nature. The chapter then concludes by drawing out a series of insights which point to how a more expansive understanding of experience might be established within design.

 he Problem of Experience in Philosophy and Dewey’s T Response As has already been noted, over the centuries, the concept of experience has presented philosophy with a series of seemingly intractable problems. Ultimately, these problems have arisen as philosophers set out to answer the question of what it means to ‘know’ something and, linking to this, whether certain knowledge—knowledge that is absolute and guaranteed—is ever attainable. Taken together, their efforts can be seen to constitute theories of knowledge or the mind. Some of these theories will be familiar, others perhaps less so. For instance, there is the proposal that the mind and the body are separate, disconnected entities (coming from the French philosopher Rene Descartes); that knowledge is acquired through the senses alone (coming from the English philosopher John Locke); or, instead, that we also hold a basic ‘a priori’ conceptual understanding of the world which helps us apprehend and perceive objects around us (coming from the German philosopher Immanuel Kant). If we were to examine such theories in detail today, we would likely be struck by the peculiarity of the claims made and the concerns they address. They are after all historical theories. However, the perspectives set out still inform our understanding of what is real and truthful and, most importantly, what matters to us and what doesn’t. For example, many would still align with Descartes’s claim that the mind and body are separate, disconnected entities and such a belief has profound

3  This is not to say that experience acted as the point of origin for Dewey’s philosophy, but rather that understanding Dewey’s claims regarding experience allow us to better approach his wider body of work.

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implications for our world-view; leading in some cases to a tendency to value the intellectual over the physical, here-and-now of our experiences.4 The ultimate legacy of these various theories is that we are left unsure of ourselves. Should we see our mind and body as separate? What can we really know of things? Do we trust what we can see, hear, taste, touch and smell? Or do we treat our worldly interactions as nothing more than a series of untrustworthy ‘impressions’? From the late-nineteenth through to the early twentieth century, a number of attempts were made to untangle this dilemma; some were direct, others tangential. William James was among the first who sought to recover the human perspective. From the 1880s onwards, he began to explore the likely biological origins of experience by integrating evolutionary theory and psychological concepts (see James 1981a/1890; McGranahan 2017; Wiener 1949). Concurrently, the French philosopher Henri Bergson began to set out a philosophic vision rejecting mechanistic understandings of the universe and, instead, favoring the principles of creativity and unpredictability, as well as person-centered notions of temporality (see e.g., Bergson 1910, 1911). Similarly, somewhat later, Martin Heidegger examined the existential basis of being, highlighting how we, as humans in the world, must gradually learn to approach and master the possibilities and inevitabilities of life (see Heidegger 2010/1927). A little later still, Maurice Merleau Ponty articulated an embodied understanding of our perceptual processes. On his view, the human person was better understood as a ‘body-subject’ as opposed to a bundling together of a body with a mind (see e.g., Merleau Ponty 2012/1945).5 Dewey too would eventually develop an interest in repairing this fault-line in humanity’s self-understanding. His ‘way in’ came through his readings of William James’s Principles of Psychology published in 1890 (see James 1981a/1890; 1981b/1890). Dewey would later remark that he gained two key insights from this work. The first related to James’s treatment of consciousness. Here, James rejected then-dominant theories of the mind which framed mental phenomena in terms of discrete and separate elements such as ‘sensations’, ‘images’ and ‘ideas’. By way of alternative, he suggested that consciousness was best seen as a continuous process that coupled to our immediate activities.6

4  Further, it prevents us from imagining an ‘embodied mind’; that is, a mind which is relies on and develops through the body (see, for example, Varela et al. 1991). 5  In his last years, Merleau-Ponty’s line of philosophical inquiry would expand to include language and what Mead would have called ‘the generalized other’, i.e., an abstract understanding of others’ likely approach to action and thought. In France, this would eventually inform Foucault’s proposal regarding the ‘archeology of knowledge’, which suggests that rather than there being one definite, precise form of knowledge, there are instead forms of knowledge which can be understood to arise in relation to the discourse from they emerge (i.e., things said in a particular way within a particular dialogue). Beyond this, some related concepts that have found their way into the design literature include Derrida’s notion of “deconstruction”, and Deleuze’s idea of the “rhizome”. 6  James refers to this as the ‘stream of consciousness’, though he does also consider using the metaphor of a river (James 1981a/1890 p. 237).

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The second insight was drawn from James’s biological emphasis, noted above. Here, Dewey focused in on James’s proposal that intelligence (or the ‘mind’) could be identified with the pursuit of future ends. This was seen to impact upon James’s treatment of such areas as attention, distinction and comparison and conception. For James, each is best understood as teleological; that is, trained towards a particular, pre-defined end goal7 (see LW 2, pp. 15–17). Dewey’s first appropriation of these insights can be found in his 1903 Studies in Logical Theory8 (see MW 2, pp.  293–378). As was briefly noted in the last chapter, this text marked Dewey’s earliest efforts to begin to frame and define a logic of experience, or what he referred as “instrumentalism”. While the book addressed such themes as judgment, knowing, affection, appreciation, practice and reality (MW 2, p. 296), Dewey does not manage to bring the theme of experience into full resolution through this work. As such, the publication of Studies can be seen as the beginning of a longer process whereby, working through James’s insights, Dewey would dedicate a great deal of effort to exploring experience in its own terms. It was a process that would continue for at least the next quarter century, extending right up to the late 1920s if not beyond.9 Though the line of development was gradual, his 1905 article, ‘The Postulate of Immediate Empiricism’ may be seen as ‘crucial’. This claim is made on the basis in The Postulate essay is said to present what was to become the ‘guiding insight of [Dewey’s] mature philosophy’; namely, that reality is not to be equated with an ‘object’ of knowledge or, to put it another way, with knowing something (Alexander 2017, p. 34). On Dewey’s newly framed account, knowing is just one possibility among many. We feel as well as think, react as well as know; no one form of experience is realer than another and none are seen to hold a privileged status.10 The process of working this out continued until the publication of Experience and Nature (LW 1). This book, difficult and challenging though it is, can be seen to offer Dewey’s fullest available account of experience and, in many ways, forms a

7  In The Necessity of Pragmatism, Ralph Sleeper (1986) puts forward the convincing argument that James’s biologically orientated explorations of areas of psychology is the primary source of inspiration for Dewey’s logic, 8  It is important to note that the 1903 Studies in Logical Theory was dedicated to James, with his permission and James was especially praising of the vision it set out. Equally, as has been pointed out in Chap. 1, Studies may be seen to mark a key moment of development for Dewey where he begins to formally move away from idealism and towards experientialism. 9  Much is often made of the fact that right up until the end of his life Dewey was still working on revisions of the introductory chapter of one of his key texts Experience and Nature and, in this, still grappling with how to deal with the subject of experience (see e.g., Sleeper 1986, pp. 106–107; Campbell 1995, p. 68), 10  Perhaps unsurprisingly, this was a controversial text and, in the immediate period following publication, a number of forceful objections were issued. Dewey, however, was undeterred. In fact, it would appear that he was bolstered. Over the coming decade, he produced a further slew of articles, as well as a high–profile book (Essays in Experimental Logic). Through each he sought again and again to iterate, refine and reissue his vision of experience.

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key nexus point within his broader philosophy.11 As such, it will be useful to outline its account in detail. As an entry point, we may note Dewey’s proposal that experience is of nature and not just ‘in’ nature. We do not, he says, experience experience-in-itself but rather things, disparate material and complex phenomena such as ‘stones, plants, animals, diseases, health, temperature [and] electricity’ (LW 1, p. 12). In design terms, we might say that we experience interfaces, mobile phones, and the general delivery of a services and not, as it might otherwise seem, our ‘sense’ of them. Dewey however makes a qualification here—experience is seen to occur on two levels, which he terms ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’ (ibid, pp. 15–16). Primary experience refers to experience ‘in gross’, experience in ‘its primary crude forms’ (ibid, p. 366)—the stuff of everyday life as it presents itself first hand. Secondary experience is equated with reflection. It builds on primary experience. It allows us to discern the meaning of things as they relate to one another within the broader continuities of nature/the world (p. 16). So, on reflection, we might take the view that a particular object belongs to broader family of ‘products’. For example, that it’s a type of car or item of kitchenware. It is through primary experience, that we encounter values as what they are— real, qualitative characteristics of given situations. In keeping with Dewey’s earlier claims made in “The Postulate” essay, he argues that we do not know values. Rather, they indicate modes of being or having. We are angry or stupid or wise. We have sugar and friends and laws (to use some of Dewey’s examples). These are distinct from knowing—they are ‘non-cognitively present in experience’ and, as such, existentially real in and of themselves (p. 377). Again, in design terms, this might refer to the colors we are seeing on screen or the gleam of metal on a product’s casing— things that present themselves as-is. Leading on from this, it is important to note that such qualities are not just seen as real or existent on a personal level alone. Though Dewey acknowledges there is a personal side to experience—the notion of ‘experiencing’—he strongly objects to accounts which position experience merely in terms of ‘personal sensations, images and feelings’ (LW 1, p. 382).12 Reflecting on such states as ‘love and hate, desire and fear’, he argues that they are not ‘states of mind’ but rather active performances to and about other things,—acceptances and rejections, assimilations and forth-spewings of other things, strugglings to obtain and to escape things. (LW 1, p. 382)

 Experience and Nature focuses on experience in the introduction but there are in fact two introductions as the book was published in two editions. The first appeared in 1925 and the second in 1929. The first edition, while widely praised, drew a raft of criticism not dissimilar to that which followed the “The Postulate of Immediate Empiricism”. In an effort to address these objections (and misreadings), the second edition came with a new introductory chapter. Both are referenced here. For an excellent comparison of both chapters see Alexander (2017, pp. 54–71). 12  The use of these particular concepts—sensations, ideas, and images—points to the work of the British empiricists, most especially Hume and Locke. 11

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For Dewey, then, this would place our felt, emotional reactions to designed things (indeed all things) in a non-subjective category, drawing them out as real behaviors that occur in given situations. Of course, this represents a broad shift in thinking. As such, it is one that we will have to deal with gradually as the text progresses through the various aspects of Dewey’s philosophy. For now, holding to the experiential account, we may note that this claim layers into a series of further claims. First, through such an understanding of qualities/ values, culture is seen to act as the ultimate form of memory. From birth, Dewey says, it ‘clothes’ the things of the world in meaning, making them appear natural, setting up expectations and defining our social interactions (ibid, p. 383). Through this process, experience is also to be seen as social. Then following on, we are also told that experience is also a ‘temporal process’ (ibid, p. 384). It draws in the whole of the past, being ‘at least as wide and deep and full as all the history on this earth’ (p. 370). Indeed, Dewey goes so far as to claim experience ‘is history’ (p. 385) and also suggests that, in its unfolding, it lines up potential futures, pointing to the ‘destiny of mankind’ (p. 384). Beyond these aspects, Dewey makes a final important distinction that challenges the traditional account of experience and its meaning. Here, he argues that experience is two-sided, or ‘double-barreled’, as he puts it.13 On the one hand, there is the aforementioned experiencing—what happens to a person, emotionally or otherwise. Then, next to this, there is what the person does, how they act and interact with others and the things of the world. As such, experience becomes an active, as well as a passive, process that includes what men do and suffer, what they strive for, love, believe and endure, and also how men act and are acted upon, the ways in which they do and suffer, desire and enjoy, see, believe, imagine… [I]t recognizes in its primary integrity no division between act and material, subject and object, but contains them both in an unanalyzed totality. (LW1, p. 18, italics in original)

We now have all the components of Deweyan experience. We can say that it: • is of nature, not apart from it; • divides into primary and secondary forms—our direct encounters with real qualities/values (primary experience) and our reflections on those encounters (secondary experience); • is social and temporal; • emerges through our cultural understanding and drawing in the past and future, as well as the present;

13

 This term comes from William James, whom Dewey cites.

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• and, finally, referencing the experience-is-double-barreled proposal, may be seen as a way of grounding of the broader human situation in relation to nature.1415 The implications of the latter aspects of this list require dedicated attention in the context of design and, so, while an initial sketch of their meaning will be offered at the end of the present chapter, more will be forthcoming later. For now, we will move from a consideration of Dewey’s account of experience to his treatment of aesthetic experience.

Having an Experience As we will see in the next section, Dewey’s theory of aesthetic experience has received extensive attention in design research literature (see e.g., Forlizzi and Battarbee 2004; McCarthy and Wright 2004; Wright and McCarthy 2010). For the most part, this work has taken an interaction design focus, where user experience and experience-centered design have emerged as key reference points. Before looking directly at these framings, it will be worth briefly returning to Dewey to gain a handle his original presentation. The theory of aesthetic experience was first set out in the 1934 work Art as Experience.16 This text marks a distinct and special moment in Dewey’s philosophic career, as he (briefly) shifts emphasis from a discussion of means and ends (i.e., ways of doing aimed at particular outcomes and consequences) and turns, instead,

 Though not often represented in Deweyan scholarship, this notion of experience and culture being relatable was at least partly inspired by the work of Franz Boas, an anthropologist and colleague of Dewey’s at Columbia. Through Boas’s anthropology he gained his (somewhat unusual) interrelated or interfused understanding of culture and experience. This resulted in an understanding of cultural experience as something ‘collective, context–dependent, inclusive of individual thought and communication’ (Colόn and Hobbs 2015, p. 145). In many ways, this can be seen as a progression of the insights he had drawn from the psychologies of William James and George Herbert Mead (see above and Chap. 1). As will be noted later, Dewey would eventually go on to link this perspective to his understanding of nature in his metaphysics. 15  Despite Dewey’s reworking of Experience and Nature in 1929, the criticism of his peers persisted and, through his later career, he was still regularly required to clarify his position. In the late 1940s, he once again set out to rewrite the troublesome introductory chapter. This time, he envisaged a wider historical account, tracing the development of Western philosophy and, in doing so, highlighting how the term experience had come to hold its current (limited) associations. By now, Dewey had given up hope of ever reappropriating the word and all but acceded that the task was beyond him. As a replacement for experience, he came to the view that ‘culture’ would better convey his general orientation and the complex of meanings experience had come to hold (see e.g., West 1989, p. 95) 16  The book was developed from material first delivered at the inaugural William James lectures in Harvard three years previously. 14

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towards the concept of consummatory experience, or experiences that may be seen as ends in themselves. The book’s primary subject matter is, of course, art and aesthetics but slipping in between, almost as an interweaving thread, we are also offered a renewed and enriched understanding of experience—building on his work in Experience and Nature. In argumentative outline, Dewey rejects the ‘museum conception of art’ (LW 10, p. 11) and, instead, looks to open up a more generous and holistic vision of artistic expression and aesthetic experience which he firmly grounds within ordinary everyday life. Art, he proposes, can be found to arise out of experience and experience itself thus becomes an art form. Working outwards from this definition, Dewey offers what has been, perhaps, one of his most impactful theories for design—the concept of an experience.17 The italicization of ‘an’ in this instance is very important. It indicates a neat coming together of the material interactions that define a particular event or activity; we perceive it in holistic, contained terms. Examples of such cases offered by Dewey include a severe quarrel, an incredible meal, our passage through a powerful storm and so on (LW 10, p. 43). The defining characteristic of an experience is said to be continuity. The whole may be punctuated by rests and pauses, but there will be no gaps or breaks (ibid). Equally, the point of conclusion does not arrive as a marked off, separate event but rather the ‘consummation of a movement’ (p. 45, italics added). This is sustained by a single unifying quality; a drawing together that is neither exclusively practical, nor intellectual, nor emotional but rather the unique completeness of the event itself (p. 44). Summing up, Dewey offers us the following outline: Experience in the degree in which it is experience is heightened vitality. Instead of signifying being shut up within one’s own private feelings and sensations, it signifies active and alert commerce with the world; at its height it signifies complete interpenetration of self and the world of objects and events. Instead of signifying surrender to caprice and disorder, it affords our sole demonstration of stability that is not stagnation but is rhythmic and developing. Because experience is the fulfillment of an organism in its struggles and achievements in a world of things, it is art in germ. Even in its rudimentary forms, it contains the promise of that delightful perception which is esthetic experience. (LW 10, p. 25, italics in original)

An experience, then, can be seen as uniting of organism and environment, as an evolving and unfolding event that is definite but at the same time emergent, an event that reaches a conclusion and, in this, affords a feeling of completeness and finality. With this overview to hand, let us now turn to consider how experience, both general and aesthetic, has been handled in interaction design and beyond.

 The difference between experience and an experience in English has the following correspondences in other languages: erlebnis vs. erfahrung in German; upplevelse vs. erfarenhet in Swedish; elämys vs. kokemus in Finnish; esperienza vs. avventura in Italian.

17

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 ser Experience and Experience as an Approach U to Design(ing) Over the last two decades, terms such as ‘user experience’, ‘experience-centered’ and ‘experience-based’ have become firmly established concepts within design. As with the term experience, it would seem that such concepts are relatively simple and uncomplicated. We might reasonably assume that each implies a focus on human side of the process; that the person—body, mind, thoughts and emotions—is being drawn together and properly represented in design. Yet, on examination, these terms turn out to be as vague and ambiguous as experience itself. They do not hold readily identifiable point of origin or a precise history. They are surprisingly difficult to articulate and lack standard definitions.18 Indeed, even designers and design ­academics have struggled to reach consensus on the meaning of the most ubiquitous term of all, user-experience (see, for example, Lallemand et al. 2015). Nonetheless, in spite of the vagueness and ambiguity, it is possible to briefly trace a developmental path for this coupling of experience and design. In the most straightforward sense, user-experience (along with experience-centered design in general) may be seen as an offshoot of historical developments within the field of human-computer interaction (HCI). In the early years, HCI aligned with assumptions and methods of cognitive psychology. Put simply, the relationship between the human mind and the computer was modeled as a problem of information-­processing set against the constraints of various mental faculties, including perception, attention, and memory. Such a model was useful because it enabled a system of possible outcomes to be defined and predicted. From a design perspective, the aim was systematic efficiency—to get all of the parts to work together as they should. The issue of human input was just another problem to solve (see e.g., Kutti 1996). However, in time, this model came to be seen as problematic and, beginning in the late-1980s, its dominance was challenged. Here, two texts in particular spearheaded the broader critique—Understanding Computers and Cognition by Terry Winograd and Fernando Flores (1986) and Plans and Situated Action by Lucy Suchman (1987). Winograd and Flores advocated in favor of tilting towards a human perspective in HCI. The pair proposed a new theoretical framework for design and computing— linked to phenomenology—that centered on social communication and the ways in which language forms and informs our shared practices. Similarly, Suchman (1987) challenged rule-based understandings of action in computing and instead proposed a theory of ‘situated action’. On this account, the parameters of action are to be seen

 It is not that no definitions exist but rather few that are shared. In a key interaction design textbook, Rodgers, Sharp and Preece (2011) describe the concept of user experience as ‘central’ to the discipline. It is defined as ‘how people feel about a product and their pleasure satisfaction when using it, looking at it, holding it, and opening or closing it’. It is also seen to include users’ ‘overall impression of how good it is to use, right down to the sensual effect small details might have’ (p. 13).

18

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as being determined within the contingency of a given situation. As such, one cannot anticipate precisely what needs to be done or, indeed, precisely what a particular user’s needs will be. While both texts have been criticized over the years,19 their impact on the field of HCI has been profound. Gradually, understandings of human action as inherently problematic have given way to alternative theories of the user as an active, creative agent (see, for example, Bannon 1991) and cognitive modeling has been overtaken by perspectives grounded in practice, understanding and feeling.20 In the mid-1990s, references to ‘experience’ began to appear. Donald Norman was among the first to apply the term ‘user experience’ in a discussion of Apple’s approach to interface design (Norman et  al. 1995). Writing at the same time, Lauralee Alben (1996) began discussing the possibility of focusing on ‘qualities of experience’ in product development and use. Soon after, in a book entitled Experience Design, Nathan Shedorff (2001) proposed a new discipline, combining the concerns of the areas of interaction design, information design and visual design among others. It would not only focus on the design of digital products but was positioned as all-encompassing, drawing in physical artifacts, environments and events.21 Over time, a parallel strand of theoretical writing began to emerge. Here, starting the early 2000s, a number of wide-ranging programmatic arguments were set out calling for an aesthetic enrichment of HCI (e.g., Overbeeke et al. 2002; Hassenzahl et al. 2001). At Eindhoven in the Netherlands, Kees Overbeeke and colleagues at the Designing Quality in Interaction Group framed a program of research grounded in phenomenology and pragmatist insights. In this, Overbeeke was keen to explore design in holistic terms, extending beyond functionality to include concepts such as expressivity, beauty, meaning and value (see Overbeeke 2007). At Aarhus in Denmark, Marianne Graves Petersen and others shaped an approach to interaction design based on pragmatist aesthetics. Rather than a system-based study of efficiency, the work focused in on the ideas of improvisation, play and intrigue (see Petersen et al. 2004). Alongside these developments, a number of authors began to present tentative frameworks which aimed to interrelate experience and design (e.g., Forlizzi and Ford 2000, Hassenzahl 2003, Forlizzi and Battarbee 2004), as well as offer a renewed philosophic perspective for the field (e.g., Dourish 2001; McCarthy and

 The criticism has arisen for different reasons. Winograd and Flores have been heavily criticized by Suchman (1993) for failing escape the rationalism they disavowed. Suchman was criticized by Vera and Simon (1993) for her apparent rejection of planning. 20  In recounting this shift, Rodgers (2012), for example, draws attention to the emergence of approaches such as activity theory, ecological psychology, ethnography, ethnomethodology, and distributed cognition. 21  Although Shedorff does not use conventional academic referencing, he does draw on the work of John Dewey in his initial discussion of experience as a concept (2001, pp. 4–5). However, it is regrettable that, given book’s subject matter, Dewey is represented only as a ‘a turn–of–the– Century educator’ and not a philosopher of experience and practice (p. 4). 19

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Wright 2004). Reflecting on these and other early developments, Hassenzahl and Tracktinsky (2006) set out what they called a ‘cursory sketch’ of the state of research within user experience.22 Arising from this work, they proposed that user experience be understood in relation to ‘a user’s internal state, the characteristics of the designed system and the context within which the interaction occurs’ (p. 95). Through most, if not all, of the latter contributions connections were drawn to Dewey’s work.23 Overbeeke (2007) highlights Dewey’s holistic agenda with reference to his idea that meaning emerges interaction (see Chap. 4). Petersen et  al. (2004) focus in on his general theory of art (see Chap. 4),24 emphasizing the social aspect of experience and appreciation. Further Deweyan referencing underpins the experiential frameworks of Jodi Forlizzi, Shannon Ford and Katja Battarbee (see Forlizzi and Ford 2000; Forlizzi and Battarbee 2004). In seeking to outline the possible dimensions of experience, Forlizzi and Ford (2000) interlink Dewey’s theory of an experience with the simpler, more mundane flows of ordinary daily life, and the concept of experience as a ‘story’ (see pp. 419–420). Building on this, Forlizzi and Battarbee (2004) went on to propose an ‘interaction-centered’ framework which connects types of experience to three types of product interactions: the fluent, the cognitive and the expressive.25 As with Petersen et  al. (2004), experience is here presented in social terms; Battarbee’s concept of co-experience26 comes to replace the concept of experience-­ as-­a-story. Co-experience offers a novel perspective on the basis that it seeks to move beyond traditional, personally-bound framings of user-experience and refers to experiences grounded in interpersonal interaction (as we shall see, a very Deweyan notion).27

 They divided the then–current research landscape into three main strands: ‘beyond the instrumental’, examining the ways in which interactions can extend beyond defined task and incorporate aesthetic considerations such as beauty, surprise and intimacy; ‘the experimental’, focusing on the situation of use, its various components and their interrelationship; and ‘emotion and affect’, focusing on the facilitation of positive, rewarding interactions and outcomes. 23  These connections have a longer–term legacy in the field. For example, Richard Buchanan (2009) claims that Dewey’s Art as Experience—in particular the chapter ‘Having an Experience’— was picked up as a key resource at the Xerox Palo Alto Research Center in the 1970s (pp. 418–419). 24  Petersen et al. (2004) focus in on Dewey’s theory of art more than his theory of aesthetic experience. For a full account of the former see Chap. 4. 25  It is worth briefly noting the distinction between these types of interactions as they point to likely types of experience. The fluent refers to our seamless negotiation of a straightforward task; the cognitive to those to activities which require focused attention; and the expressive to those interactions which allow the user to modify and adapt the object or interface that they encounter. 26  The concept of co–experience in the context of technological interaction was first proposed by Katja Battarbee through her doctoral study, undertaken at the University of Art and Design Helsinki. This theory relies on Blumer’s symbolic interactionism (e.g., Blumer 1969) which in turn links to the work of George Herbert Mead (e.g., Mead 1934). See, for example, and Battarbee (2004) and Battarbee and Koskinen (2005). 27  It is important to note that though Battarbee cites Dewey and other classical pragmatists throughout her dissertation and its associated papers (in relation to experience), co–experience relies 22

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I n Focus Box 2.1, Katja Battarbee: Working with the Pragmatists to Understand Co-Experience User experience was a relatively new concept in early 2000s—multiple theorists were setting out alternative, competing models for how it might be approached and conceptualized. Katja Battarbee, a researcher at what was then the University of Art and Design Helsinki (now the University of Aalto), identified an inherent gap in these proposals. This gap related to the question of social interaction in the context of human-computer interaction. How might one account for the phenomena of shared attention or communication in the use of digital technology? With the subsequent rise of social media, such a question seems even more relevant and, indeed, urgent for the world we live in today. In order to develop an answer, Battarbee turned to the work of the classical American pragmatists. Here, as was noted above, she referenced John Dewey in relation to the character of aesthetic experience. William James was also citied on the subjects of theory and truth. In the end, however, she focused in on a sociological offshoot of pragmatism referred to as symbolic interactionism. Originally set out by Herbert Blumer—a former student of Dewey’s Chicago colleague George Herbert Mead—the theory draws on Mead’s social psychology (see Chap. 1) to present an understanding of the social world as being grounded in our meaningful interactions with people and things. Drawing on this pragmatist complex and most especially on Blumer’s work, Battarbee developed her concept of ‘co-experience’ (for a useful outline see Battarbee and Koskinen 2005). In co-experience our social and technological interactions are seen to be linked; we are brought together in communication and action via the media at hand. To design for such an experience, Battarbee proposed that we must attend to the following set of principles: • • • •

People are involved in the process; more than one person is involved; the study must take place in a real context, not a lab; people are seen as ‘authors of their own experience’; that is, creative actors in their own right; • and that experiences are studied over time, not just in momentary terms. (Battarbee 2004, p. 92) Though these principles are not derived from Deweyan philosophy, they do, on a fundamental level, align with his understanding of communication and meaning (in Chap. 4, I offer an account of Dewey’s theory of communication). Equally, as we have noted, Dewey was greatly inspired by Mead and drew heavily on his social psychology to furnish his own understanding of what he referred as ‘the social

almost entirely on the tenants of symbolic interactionism as developed by Herbert Blumer (see Blumer 1969; Mead 1934).

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matrix’; that is, the way in which our experience is informed by our culture and language. Nonetheless, beyond this connection, it is worth considering the extent to which the above principles may be linked to the components derived from Dewey’s account of experience, set out earlier in the chapter: i.e., experience understood as being of nature as well as social-temporal-cultural-historical doing and undergoing. First and foremost, there is, of course, a social angle here. Battarbee’s co-­ experience is, after all, about experience as shared between people. There is also a temporal angle—her final principle advocates studying experiences over time. Dewey, of course, speaks of temporality directly but also in terms of the cultural past and history more generally. Here, one might argue that while Battarbee promotes temporal engagement in the context of technological experience she is not quite advocating direct cultural-historical engagement through her principles, whether in relation to individuals/groups or to the technology itself. However, given Battarbee’s commitment to symbolic interactionism, it seems fair to say that, even if not named as a principle, on some level, cultural-historical engagement will likely be required here. For example, culture and (personal) history would need to be attended to when considering the backgrounds of the individuals involved in the study. As such, we can take it as an implicit given. Moving on from this, we can identify another point of alignment emerging in relation to Battarbee’s insistence that any study must take place in a real context and not a lab. Dewey would agree. As is noted above, for him experience is of nature, not apart from it. Accordingly, he would argue that it must be approached in those terms. As a final point of note, Battarbee’s positioning of people as the authors-of-their-­ own-experience may also be linked to Dewey’s Jamesian experience-as-double-­ barreled perspective. If people are authors of their experience they are doing and not just undergoing. Taking all of the above into account, it would appear that while Batterbee’s work is ‘more than’ Deweyan in its referencing, designing for co-experience is, largely, to design in Deweyan terms. This, however, is not the end of the matter. As the chapter progresses we will take up this topic again. In doing so, it will become clear that designing for Deweyan experience may be slightly more tricky then it first appears. Beyond this work, what might be described as perhaps the most prolific attempt to enfold Dewey’s philosophy within design was put forward by John McCarthy and Peter Wright (e.g., McCarthy and Wright 2004; Wright and McCarthy 2010). In Technology as Experience, the pair argued that many technologists and product manufacturers held only a ‘limited’ understanding of what was meant by experience (McCarthy and Wright 2004). On their view, the concept was either approached in fuzzy terms or, alternatively, something to be predefined as part of a broader, programmatic design process. In response, they sought to offer an account which drew out the emotional and sense-making aspects of experience. In this, they lean heavily

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on the Dewey’s theory of aesthetic experience,28 as well as work of Russian philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin. The core contribution of the text is a framework for designing through experience in a technological context. The framework is based on what the pair term the four threads of experience: the sensual, the emotional, the compositional, and the spatio-temporal (see pp. 80–94). Though presented as separate, each thread is seen to overlap and coalesce. As a further addition to the framework, the pair also identify a number of phases of sense-making within experience, including anticipating, connecting and reflecting, among others (see pp. 123–127). Together, these threads and phases are presented as a basis on which we can begin to design with experience in mind. In a more recent book, Experience-Centered Design, the pair restate their general argument with some additional considerations (see Wright and McCarthy 2010). Bakhtin’s work is discussed less frequently and Dewey is now the guiding voice, providing epistemological direction and ethical guidance; the pair expand their account to include his theory of inquiry (see Chap. 3) as well as his concern for democracy and education (see Chap. 5). Looking in particular at the latter material—the frameworks and theories which reference Dewey—we can see how important his theory of aesthetic experience has become for the field. It has allowed for richer conceptualizations of user experience than might otherwise have been achieved were one to think exclusively in terms of a series of individual-system interactions. For example, we have the proposal that experience may be understood as a story (Forlizzi and Ford 2000), or the idea of there being overlapping threads in experience—i.e., the sensual, emotional, compositional and spatio-temporal (McCarthy and Wright 2004). This is not where the referencing of Dewey’s work ends however. Beyond these, texts it is worth also briefly drawing attention to the work of Peter Dalsgaard (e.g., 2009) and Ronald Wakkary (e.g., 2009). While both tackle Deweyan experience, their focus lies with framing interaction design as a research process as opposed to exploring experience-as-a-design-context. Accordingly, their work shall be explored properly in the next chapter (Chap. 3), in relation to the theme of inquiry. For now, it is sufficient to point out that both go some way to appropriating the components of Dewey’s account of experience listed above. Dalsgaard sees experience as fitting into a broader set of Deweyan themes. On his presentation, it is a two-fold concept, referring both to the flow of encounters, as well as ‘distinct occurrences that stand out’ (2009, p. 105). Wakkary offers a particularly in-depth presentation. We are told, for example, that experience ‘neither resides in the person nor in the world but in the interaction between them’. Equally, it is seen as ‘inexhaustible, being saturated with intellect, memory, affect, somatic awareness, and history’. Experience is then presented as holding dimensions for interaction design. It is: concrete, in that it is what appears to be; multiplicitious,

 Though it may not be immediately apparent the title Technology as Experience is a nod to Dewey’s Art as Experience.

28

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i.e., it has many layers; and relational, i.e., it resides in the interaction between entities (Wakkary 2009, pp. 111–112).29 On the later point, Wakkary is clear that experience is bound to the world and does not belong singularly to the experiencing individual. We can see, even in these brief glimpses, that both Dalsgaard and Wakkary honor the two-sided nature of Deweyan experience. Equally, Wakkary also acknowledges its inherent relation to nature/the world. At the same time, through his reference to multiplicity, he also introduces the idea of its never-ending potential to draw-in and enfold. Surveying the whole of the literature presented above, it would appear that Dewey’s experience-based work is now firmly embedded within design discourse, particularly in HCI.  However, I would argue that there is still an opportunity to explore the potential of the Deweyan account of experience further. For example, apart from Wakkary, few contributors appear to discuss of the line continuity Dewey draws between experience and nature. Equally, apart from Battarbee and Petersen et al., there is little mention of the emphasis he places on the social aspects of experience or the sheer vastness of his temporal reference (i.e., through his drawing in of culture and history). Speaking more generally, however, there is a further point to make. It would appear that design commentators have largely overlooked the metaphysical background (i.e. the existential theory) out of which these perspectives arise. In some ways, this oversight is understandable. Why would designers or design researchers and theorists for that matter have an interest in metaphysics, one might ask. Such a question seems fair—design and metaphysics make an unlikely pairing. Nonetheless, it is part of the wider argument of this book that the metaphysics provides a highly useful set of bearings which can support the navigation of Dewey’s philosophy as whole. Equally, as we shall see below, the fact that it acts as the background to his account of experience allows us to gain a deeper sense of the role that experience plays in Dewey’s worldview and its potential meaning for design. In order to gain an initial sense of this, we will now turn to consider the general features of his metaphysics.

 ewey’s Critical Theory of Existence: A Naturalistic D Metaphysics or Experience as Real The metaphysics forms what is perhaps one of the most puzzling strands of Dewey’s overall philosophy. Puzzling because, like design and metaphysics, the pairing of Dewey and metaphysics does not seem to make sense. He is thought of as a philosopher who placed a great emphasis on the importance of immediate experience, of practical concerns and of the particularity of situations. Classical metaphysics, on 29

 Wakkary’s precise terms are concreteness, multiplicity and entities–in–interaction.

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the other hand, seeks to move beyond these human threads. It is commonly presented as the study of what exists, looking in particular at the properties and relations of existent things. Above all, it aims for the general over the particular, whole and not the part. For Richard Gale (2010), this results in a conception of reality that places true being outside of direct experience, undemocratic and unverifiable theory, and, ultimately, a discourse which holds little meaning for ordinary people (p. 112). How then did Dewey deal with the subject and overcome this apparently irreconcilable gap between his interests and classical metaphysics? The answer comes in two parts. In the beginning, there was no gap to overcome. After his move away from Hegelianism through the 1890s, he developed an openly hostile attitude towards metaphysics and took pride in the idea that his own emerging philosophic perspective—the instrumentalism of Studies in Logical Theory (see Chap. 1)—did not require a foundation or guarantee in the classic sense. In the context of the situationally grounded, real-world philosophy that Dewey was in the process of working out, such a position made sense. However, after his move to the Columbia University in 1904, he came in contact with a number of individuals who encouraged him to reconsider. These included Frederick J.  E. Woodbridge,30 a fellow philosopher and Franz Boas,31 an important anthropologist of the early twentieth century.32 From Woodridge he gained a deeper understanding of the possibilities of metaphysics and, in this, the potential usefulness of Aristotle’s work.33 From Boas, he absorbed a general pluralistic approach to understanding human culture which, in keeping with the views of George Herbert Mead

 Contemporary scholars almost completely ignore Woodbridge’s work. Given his emphasis on metaphysics this is perhaps unsurprising but, viewed from an historical perspective, it is rather regrettable—especially so given his prominence in the early twentieth century American philosophy and his strong connections to Dewey. Surveying the literature, William Frank Jones Nature and Natural Science: The Philosophy of Frederick J. E. Woodbridge (1983) is one of the few available books on his work. For an account of how his philosophy related to Aristotle see Anton’s American Naturalism and Greek Thought (2005). 31  It has often been claimed that Boas inspired Dewey but that Dewey did not inspire Boas. For example, Ernest Nagel, a former student of Dewey’s, noted that ‘Dewey got a good deal from Boas; but if one can judge from what from students of Boas repeat, Boas got very little from Dewey’ (Lamont 1959, p. 55). 32  For a useful overview of Boas’s work see George W.  Stocking’s The Shaping of American Anthropology, 1883–1911: A Franz Boas Reader (Boas 1989). 33  Through his interactions with Woodbridge, Dewey too came to see the possibility and, indeed, value of a contemporary, naturalistic metaphysics framed along Aristotelian lines. There are many sources for this claim. Among the most compelling are offered by Woodbridge and Dewey’s students John Herbert Randall Jr. and Herbert Schneider. Randall’s “Epilogue: The Nature of Naturalism” (1944, p. 365) offers an insight here. Further, in his History of American Philosophy Schneider goes so far as to say that Woodbridge ‘encouraged Dewey to think naturalistically, to take metaphysics empirically, and to write Experience and Nature’ (1963, p. 474). 30

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(see Chap. 1), emphasized the importance of collectivity, context, meaning and communication in all experience (Colόn and Hobbs 2015, p. 145).34 In enfolding the views of Woodbridge and Boas, he began to formulate a metaphysical perspective that interlinked and bound together the cultural alongside the natural. While the beginnings of this perspective can be detected in much of his early twentieth-century work,35 it was the publication of “The Subject Matter of Metaphysical Inquiry” in 1915 (see MW 8, pp. 1–13) which saw him issue his first important metaphysical statement. In it, he imagines the possibility of an enduring role for metaphysical inquiry when set against the increasing vigor of the sciences. Metaphysics, he suggests, might become a knowledge-base which seeks to identify the ultimate traits of the world ‘found in any and every subject of scientific inquiry’ (ibid, p. 4). However, he was still reticent and claimed not to be interested in developing such a metaphysics himself. The “Subject Matter” essay was followed by a number of texts—for example, “The Need for a Recovery in Philosophy” (MW 10, pp. 3–48) and Reconstruction in Philosophy (MW 12, pp.  77–202)—which demonstrate the emergence of an underlying metaphysical concern. In Reconstruction in Philosophy, for example, he argues that, if philosophy is to play a role in contemporary society, it must be released from the ‘sterile’ metaphysics of the past and focus instead on resolving contemporary social and political challenges (MW 12, p. 152). Dewey’s eventual response to the problem of classic metaphysics was, in the end, to give in and issue a grand metaphysical statement of own. This was the above-­ mentioned Experience and Nature of 1925. As we have already seen, Experience and Nature provides some useful insights into Dewey’s theory of experience. However, contained within this, it also sets out a number of key arguments on such questions as the relationship between events and values, communication and action, art and science. As has been noted, following Woodbridge, Dewey took his metaphysical reference from Aristotle. On Aristotle’s account, metaphysics was to be understood as a first philosophy, preceding the natural sciences and mathematics. Further, in taking a naturalistic perspective, Aristotelian metaphysics may be understood to relate to the directly experienced, empirical world. This meant that, unlike his philosophic predecessor Plato,36 his theory did not rely on the posited existence of unseen and unknowable entities or spaces and, rather, placed its emphasize on the seen and

 Colón and Hobbes (2015) offer a useful overview of Boas’s impact on Dewey at the same time as putting forward the unusual argument that Dewey had an important influence on American anthropology in the early twentieth century. 35  Ralph Sleeper makes the convincing claim that, as well as a logic of experience, Dewey’s Studies in Logical Theory also contains the germ of ‘a metaphysics of existence’ (1986). 36  Famously, Platonic metaphysics envisages a world of perfect forms, located beyond this world. These perfect forms are seen to act as the templates from which imperfect, empirical forms draw their reference. For a series of interpretations of this aspect of Plato’s philosophy see William Welton’s Plato’s Forms: Varieties of Interpretation (2002). 34

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knowable. He also acknowledges the existence of contingency of the world, i.e., that unpredictable things can happen. However, while Aristotle recognized the existence of contingency he also held a belief in, and indeed favored, the fixed and certain. This lead to his special theory of forms. On this account, every thing is seen to hold particular attributes that mark out its essence and, as such, connect it to a preexisting category of being. Dewey rejects this latter view, arguing that, in light of modern science, no such categories can be said to exist (LW, p. 163). Rather than honoring fixed and certain categories, Dewey focused in on the inherent potentiality of the world and ways in which opposites—both the good and the bad—enable one another. This makes it an especially compelling perspective for design. Here, we have a worldview which insists on the idea that change is always possible, that things can always be different. Equally, with an eye on design research involving practice we can see how a fixed understanding of things might not always be appropriate. As will be developed later, in a world of potentiality, we may need to explore how we can change things too. The following passage provides us with a keen insight into this initial positioning from Dewey’s perspective. We live in a world which is an impressive and irresistible mixture of sufficencies, tight completenesses, order reccurrences which make possible prediction and control, and singularities, ambiguities, uncertain possibilities, processes going on to consequences as yet indeterminate. They are mixed not mechanically but vitally like the wheat and tares of the parable. We may recognize them separately but we cannot divide them, for unlike the wheat and tares they grow from the same root. Qualities have defects as necessary conditions of their excellencies; the instrumentalities of truth are the causes of error; change gives meaning to permanence and recurrence makes novelty possible. A world that was wholly risky would be a world in which adventure is impossible, and only a living world can include death. Such facts have been celebrated by thinkers like Heracleitus and Lao-tze; they have been greeted by theologians as furnishing occasions for exercise of divine grace; they have been elaborately formulated by various schools under a principle of relativity, so defined as to become itself final and absolute. They have rarely been frankly recognized as fundamentally significant for the formation of a naturalistic metaphysics. (LW 1, p. 47)

From this, Dewey goes on to launch his own naturalistic metaphysics with the proposition that ‘every existence is event’ (LW 1, p.  63). Presented as such, events become, what the philosopher George Santayana termed, the ‘elements’ of the Deweyan scheme (Santayana 1925, p. 677). On the one hand, they are seen as complete in themselves, with each carrying a distinct quality or, as Dewey has it, an irreducible ‘isness’ (LW 1, p. 75). On the other, they are seen to line up as ‘a complex’ which, taken as a whole, can be understood to constitute the entirety of nature (ibid, p. 66). Approached from either perspective, events are seen as always emergent—there are no fixed or certain ends in Deweyan nature. Indeed, in seeking to avoid any teleological connotations (i.e., the view that natural processes are purposeful), Dewey proposes that, rather than ends, nature be conceived of as a series of beginnings. Beginnings do not suggest a preordained direction or prior definition. They

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point only to possibility. On this account, Dewey suggests that nature may be seen as an ‘affair of affairs’, a flow of ‘incessant beginnings and endings’ (ibid, p. 83). Though non-teleological, each affair or event is seen as potentially meaningful. Unlike the irreducible qualitative ‘isness’ mentioned above with regard to experience, Dewey does not believe that these meanings are inherently given. Rather, he argues that humanity creates meaning through the process of communication.37 Developed and sustained in this way, meaning comes to extend and transfer throughout nature. It impacts upon processes that have traditionally been considered in wholly isolated, individualistic terms. Consciousness, for example, comes to be seen as the meaning-of-events-in-the course-of-remaking (ibid, p. 233) and ideas38 as meanings-in-response-to events39 (p. 231). Events themselves become ­‘messages’ that have ‘marks, notations, and are capable of con-notation and de-notation’ (pp. 137–138). In other words, they can be recognized, pointed to, described and shared.40 This, in turn, brings us to the focal point of Dewey’s metaphysics—what he terms ‘the generic traits of existence’. Generic traits of existence are those common and constant characteristics of events which emerge as situations evolve. While Dewey does not attempt to offer anything approaching an exhaustive list of traits we are told they include such aspects as qualitative individuality, constant relations, contingency, need, movement and arrest. For Dewey, the ultimate goal of a naturalistic metaphysics is to detect and define these traits, in order that we might refine our understanding of the type of world we live in. This, he argues, will allow us to develop a figurative ‘ground map’ from which we may develop and refine our ability to secure the qualities/values we most prize (see LW 1, pp. 308–309). The process of securing particular qualities or values necessitates adjustment of our environing conditions. Viewed in light of our present considerations, one might say that it necessitates design. In a very designerly vein, Dewey notes that we, as living creatures, must learn to carefully strike appropriate balances between such varied states as ‘permanence and flux, one and many, continuity and discreetness, order and progress, law and liberty, uniformity and growth, tradition and innovation… the actual and the possible’ (LW 1, p. 67). Indeed, he goes so far to position  At this point, it should be noted that communication is central to Dewey’s overall philosophy. As we shall see later in later chapters, while fundamentally important in and of itself, it also underpins his approach to the dual issues of both knowledge and reality. 38  It is important to note that, for Dewey, all intellectual activity is to be viewed in natural terms. He would argue that thinking men and women do not add ideas to the world, as though drawing energy from an extra–natural source. Instead, ideas are a ‘doing of nature and a further complication of its own domain’ (LW 1, p. 315). 39  We will come to see in Chap. 4, that alongside consciousness and ideas, Dewey also focuses in on the imagination. He argues that if we are to properly understand the imagination it must be approached in objective rather than merely fanciful, subjective terms. To be imaginative is to engage in the ‘modification’ and ‘reconstitution’ of existence (LW 1, p. 171). As such, it may be seen as ‘a continuation of natural processes […] something man learned from the world’ (p. 315). 40  In due course, we will also see that—in the context of art, understood as intelligent practice— they can also be modified. 37

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such complex balancings as art and that all types of productive intelligence— including the technical procedures of science—should in fact be viewed as creative processes.41 Design, on this view, becomes something which is related to science. Intriguingly, such a proposal is in line Dewey’s general argument. He aims to dissolve what he sees as the confused and outmoded42 separation of knowledge from art, and practice from theory. To act intelligently is to practice and intelligent practice is art. Approached broadly, art-as-intelligent-practice—again it is not too brave a leap to say design—is seen as a means by which events may be shaped and transformed, and desired values brought into existence. Following this line of thought, Dewey suggests that we will come to seen that the only distinction worth drawing is not between practice and theory, but between those modes of practice that are intelligent, not inherently and immediately enjoyable, and those which are full of enjoyed meanings. When this perception dawns, it will be a commonplace that art—the mode of activity that is charged with meanings capable of immediate possession—is the complete culmination of nature, and that science is properly the handmaiden that conducts natural events to this happy issue. Thus would disappear the separations that trouble present thinking: division of everything into nature and experience, of experience into theory and practice, art and science, art into useful and fine, menial and free. (LW 1, p. 269, italics in original)

Dewey’s last line, highlighting the engrained division of things such as experience and nature, brings us back to the chapter’s opening discussion of experience. Here, it was noted that Dewey sees experience as being of nature. Ultimately, this is the point of the whole project—the instantiation of a naturalistic metaphysics, framing existence and naturalizing experience. Throughout his entire presentation, Dewey affirms again and again that we—as creative humans—are in nature and an inseparable, integrated part of its complexity. There is no riddle to be solved, just a world to be explored and understood. The simple fact is that experience is Dewey’s method. It makes possible a descriptive metaphysics that references the world—nature—as it is, as we experience it. It relies on meaning and meaning is seen to arise through  It is important to note that, in reference to art, Dewey does not draw any hierarchical distinctions between fine art and what he terms ‘useful’ art, that is, art–as–technical–production. Rather, he sees both as operating along a continuum. ‘The only distinction’, he writes, ‘is that between bad and good art, and this distinction between things that meet the requirements of art and those that do not, applies equally to things of use and if beauty’ (LW 1, p. 283). For a helpful, though brief, exploration of the problem of drawing a distinction between the fine and ‘useful’ arts, see LW 1 (pp. 281–284). 42  Through Experience and Nature, along with other texts such as The Quest for Certainty, Dewey traces the origin of contemporary philosophic concerns. One of his most common references is classical Greek culture’s separation of theory from practice and science from art. The elite were seen to focus their efforts on abstract contemplation, while a separate class of servile artists were required to engage in the uncreative production of necessary goods to meet society’s needs. See, for example, LW 1 (pp. 76–81). However, as Raymond Boisvert cautions, Dewey’s treatment of historical and, in particular Greek philosophy, cannot be taken as absolute. According to Boisvert, he often ‘lumps Greek thinkers together and attributes a single position to them all’ (1988, pp. 49–50). 41

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communication—social intercourse. This, in turn, shapes our consciousness and ideas. To engage with the meaningful, eventful world we must act, but not arbitrarily. We must be reflective and imaginative. We must seek out causes and effects, learn and act on what we have learned. We must aim, at all times, towards intelligence practice. There are three quick ideas to be drawn out here for design research involving practice. The first is Dewey’s positioning of consciousness, ideas and meanings as features of the world. Here, within this, we see how intelligent practice, or in our terms design, is a central and essential force in Dewey’s world view—it is immediate and natural, simply what we need to do in order to secure desirable qualities or values. The second point is that in linking art and science, practice and theory, Dewey offers us a means by which we may draw design into direct relation with knowledge production. It becomes another means by which we may conduct ‘natural events to their happy issue’.43 Finally, there is Dewey’s positioning of art (both fine and ‘useful’) as the culmination of natural events. This appears to valorize creative endeavor,44 conferring upon it a sense of complete closure. It follows that the development of design outcomes may also be seen as the close of a larger dynamic movement, drawing in both nature and human action, resulting in another new beginning within nature’s affair of affairs. Ultimately, all of these points combine to provide the basic undergirding for an interweaving of Dewey and design practice in research. The exact form this takes shall be dealt with in Chap. 7. Having outlined the full sweep of the metaphysics, I will now move to reflect on its broader meaning.

 he Meaning of Dewey’s Metaphysics for Dewey T and for Design: Nature in Experience and the Experiencer in Nature In this section I would like to offer answers to two questions that will, no doubt, have become pressing: • What is the point of Dewey’s metaphysics? • And what might it mean for design? These will be answered one after the other.

 To an extent, Richard Buchanan has already made this point in his discussion of Dewey’s work in the context of design thinking (see Buchanan 1992). However, Buchanan was focusing on design practice in particular and my focus lies with design research involving practice. 44  Richard Buchanan has drawn important connections between Dewey’s views on art and design thinking, see Buchanan (2009, pp. 6–8). 43

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In terms of tackling what metaphysics is supposed to do for Dewey, we must, in fact, look at what Dewey does to metaphysics.45 This is where the value of his efforts begins to reveal itself. Both Ralph Sleeper and Larry Hickman argue that, rather than issue a personal system of his own, Dewey was, from the off, looking to reconstruct the term and what it stood for (e.g., Sleeper 1986, Hickman 2007; also see Boisvert 1988). According to Hickman, Dewey salvages metaphysics by steering it away from the grand existential assertions of classical philosophy and towards the study and evaluation of the ‘common features of human experience’ (see Hickman 2007, pp. 20–26). On Sleeper’s view, his key innovation was to position metaphysics as a last rather than a first philosophy (1986; 1992)—a theory that emerges from the other theories.46 In this way, it is seen to become a ‘critical theory of existence’ (1986, p. 26), a background theory ‘that shows why inquiry is necessary, and why it is possible’ (ibid, p. 61). Offering an outline of what he sees to be the value of Experience and Nature, he writes: In Experience and Nature Dewey attempted to demonstrate the fallacy of constructing metaphysics on a foundation of first principles assumed to be self-evident truths. Such a procedure, he argued, is the root cause of dualisms that litter the trail of Western thought from Plato to positivism, driving conceptual wedges between matter and form, body and mind, fact and value… He outlined the idea of a metaphysical perspective formulated as a background theory rather than a foundational first philosophy. He argued, against classical conceptions of metaphysics, that we evolve our first philosophy from the logic of experience, from analysis of existential problems and their means of resolution, rather than from the contemplation of eternal truths dimly perceived as somehow transcending and governing the confusing world of the live creature. (Sleeper 1986, p. 137)

This notion of the metaphysics-as-an-existential-background aligns with Thomas Alexander’s proposal that it may best to approach Dewey’s metaphysics as ‘the broadest, most comprehensive search or inquiry into an adequate understanding of experience and nature as a transactional whole’ (Alexander 2017, p.  87). Such a broad and comprehensive inquiry allows us to identify and define the generic traits of existence and gradually come to develop a ‘ground map’ of their relations. However, it is important recognize that simply to identify, define and list the generic traits is not enough. According to Raymond Boisvert, Dewey requires that we go  Dewey’s metaphysics, like his theory of experience before, was the subject of sustained criticism since the publication of Experience and Nature onwards. Indeed, this criticism has continued right up to the present, with several recent and contemporary scholars taking issue with the theory. As was noted in Chap. 1, the late Richard Rorty called the metaphysics a ‘mistake’. On his view, Dewey did not need to work out any special ‘redescription’ of experience or nature in order to redirect philosophy (1982, p. 85). Richard Gale, on the other hand, applauds the metaphysics as a standalone venture, but does not believe it should be positioned as a ‘grounding’ for Dewey’s broader system. Such support is, to his mind, unnecessary (Gale 2010, p. 16). As will gradually become clear, I do not align with such views but, rather, agree with commentators who hold that the metaphysics is as a valuable addition to the package forming the whole of the Deweyan philosophic project (e.g., Sleeper 1986; Alexander 1987; 2017; Hickman 2007). 46  This proposal holds come credibility. The metaphysics of Experience and Nature was the result of forty–three years of philosophical reflection. In this way, it can be seen as arising out of his other work on logic, ethics and education. 45

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further and examine ‘how these traits are implicated in actual existents and events’ (Boisvert 1988, p. 4). Such an approach would allow us to draw connections between the things and events of the world and, in doing so, forge links across disciplinary boundaries (see Alexander 2017, p. 96). Consequently, inquirers would be better equipped to conduct their own special inquiries (see Gale 2010, pp. 129–134).47 So taking all of the above into account, we are now in a position to answer our first question, regarding the point Dewey’s metaphysics. Put simply, it is the background inquiry to the foreground of the very human process of making sense of the world and coming to understand our place within it. This background inquiry gives us a set of conceptual references—the generic traits of existence—that allow us to do two things. Firstly, to draw connections which will ultimately contribute to better understandings of the type of world we live in. Secondly, with these understandings to hand, to become better at making sense of the world in which we find ourselves, whether in straightforward everyday terms (e.g., when encountering an unfamiliar situation) or through rigorous research, scientific or otherwise (i.e., by having a reliable baseline of ‘traits’ from which to draw from). Having answered the first question, we now turn to the second question of what the metaphysics means for design. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this is a more challenging question to handle than the first. A full answer can only come after we have explored some other areas of Dewey’s philosophy. There are, however, some initial threads to collect together from the earlier sections. We have already noted Dewey’s emphasis on potentiality, that he saw change as always possible and how, against this, a fixed understanding of things might not always be appropriate. Equally, we saw how this leads to a view of intelligent practice (i.e., design) as being a natural, essential process; that art and science are linked; and how, within this, the creative process is seen to mark a natural point of closure. Further, it was noted how these combine to provide a basic undergirding for an interweaving of his work and design research involving practice. Beyond all of the above, there is an important aspect to foreground at this point, relating to Dewey’s general account of experience. This was set out a series of components in the earlier part of the present chapter and returned to tangentially in the latter metaphysics discussion. As was promised in regard to the components, at this point it is possible to offer a sketch of their possible application for design. In essence, we can say that Dewey’s account of experience explodes experience. It is bound to the world, to the social, the temporal, the cultural, the historical, and more generally, to the human situation in relation to nature. Further, it comes in primary and secondary forms. First as real qualities and, set against this, in reflections. Such an account is highly disruptive for design. We can see at once that though Dewey’s theory of aesthetic experience (i.e., an experience) is valuable in that it furnishes interaction design with a highly productive reference, it does not offer the  In offering this reference to Gale, it is important to highlight that he does not necessarily endorse such a view. Rather, he merely proposes that it is what Dewey is claiming that the metaphysics will enable.

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full picture. The Deweyan account of experience, when presented in the round, demands a complete rethink, a general reframing of the concept of experience. Here, experience cannot simply be understood as what happens for someone, or between some people (as in the case of Battarbee’s co-experience), but rather must be approached in terms of the broader context. Accordingly, designing for experience cannot be (completely) isolated to the momentary, episodic use of a single product or service, or participation within an activity. It must be must be understood as forming part of a larger whole, something more significant than individual experience in and of itself. If properly tackled, this has wide-ranging implications for areas such as user experience and possibly even sustainability. With user experience, it may no longer be appropriate to always center a single user’s interactions. This calls for a shift away from the person-situation perspective of the earlier Deweyan work (e.g., Forlizzi and Ford 2000; McCarthy and Wright 2004). Instead, in seeking a reframing, one might attempt to think in terms of what could be referred to as a field of experience—the social-temporal-cultural-historical doings and undergoings of individuals and groups in given situations and sets of situations. To conceive of a field of experience requires a metaphor. I believe, the image of an emergent horizon, a ‘moving forward line’ if you like, works well in this instance. With the horizon, there is the present ‘here’, which enfolds the action and interaction of the situation, including both what is immediate and felt and what is secondary and a matter of reflection. Around this, there is the personal and the social, the individual(s) and the group. Then, behind the horizon, we have there the cultural and historical, our shared memories, our shared meanings and traditions, our past and the past beyond that past. Lastly, beyond the horizon, there is the future—what might be done and what might happen as a consequence of what is being done and is happening, as well as what has been done and what has happened (i.e. the cultural-historical). In seeking to apply this in design, we might focus on certain individuals and moments in time, personal occurrences as it were, but the point would be to pursue meaningful, reflective exploration; to move forward and back over the horizon, between and across frames (e.g., the social, the cultural, the historical) depending on the particular need at hand (e.g., asking a specific question or responding to a given issue). At times, one might favor the group and their shared history and take this as one’s experiential field. At another time, one might instead focus on the person in reference to their social relationships and draw in a cultural-historical angle to map a future trajectory beyond the field’s horizon. With regard to sustainability, there is another issue to attend to. If we are properly to address the idea that experience is of nature, we must seek to develop a continuous perspective with regard to our place in the world.48 Here, there can be no  To further extend the discussion, it is worth noting that Dewey did not see an environment merely as a physical location, containing things but rather as a life–sustaining process, forming and transforming through the evolving existences of organisms, held within a web of dependencies. Thus, for Dewey, organisms are seen to live by ‘means’ of the environment, not in it. See LW 10

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division been the human or the environment, between man and nature, only attempts to bring both into conceptual alignment. Equally, our deliberations in relation to how we design and for who, would need to be holistic. Again, we are called upon to think in terms of fields of experience that each carry consequences and impact beyond their horizon. Following this view, so far as is possible, all actions, all consequences and impacts would have to be taken into consideration in our design decisions if we are to have any hope of sustaining the whole. Returning to the metaphysics itself, it might be possible that the scheme of ‘events’ in nature offers us a conceptual means for dealing with this notion of fields of experience, our place in the world and where design fits. In following such a course, we might attempt to think of the world as a series of beginnings, events with their own distinct qualities and set of possibilities. We would say that experience enters into this and wraps around it. Through communication, meaning is created. We come to see events as things to be ‘recognized, pointed to, described and shared’. Things that can dealt with through design. The challenge then becomes a matter of how we account for events-in-nature, draw out all they contain and the roles of experience and communication therein. A brief pitch for how such a grand challenge might be addressed methodologically via the technique of mapping will be set out an area for future research towards the close of Chap. 7 (see A Practical Case 2.0 below also). While many of the above themes will be reprised over the course of the text, the present chapter must come to a close here. Approached as a whole, its discussions may be seen to mark a first step in scoping a Deweyan framework for design research involving practice. Though the above sections may seem initially abstract for those who are unfamiliar with Dewey’s work or philosophy in general, it is hoped that their full meaning will become clearer as the chapters progress and the wider value of Dewey’s work is drawn out. In due course, we will come to see how the present chapter’s outlines of the theory of experience and the metaphysics form a useful baseline that allows us to position and articulate an approach to design research involving practice which speaks directly to the concerns of the field. Continuing this process, we now turn to explore Dewey’s theory of inquiry.

 Practical Case 2.0: Everyday Design Studio’s Morse A Things Project The Morse Things project was initiated by the Everyday Design Studio, an interaction design research lab within Vancouver’s Simon Fraser University (see Wakkary et al. 2017). The project saw multiple sets of ‘networked’ ceramic cups and bowls

(pp. 18–20) for a brief but helpful outline of this stance and for a broad examination of Dewey’s ecological views, see Hickman (2007, pp. 131–177).

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(i.e., cups and bowls with internet connection) being deployed in household settings over a six-week period. The networked cups and bowls were offline most of the time. However, once every eight hours, each item would issue a Morse code sequence to the network in both sonic form (i.e., by making an audible sound), as well as by tweeting to a dedicated Twitter account. These communications functioned as an announcement of the individual cup or bowl’s presence and all contained the declaration that they were ‘listening for any response’. Each household was made up of both expert and non-expert participants, i.e., individuals who were fully immersed in the HCI domain and those who were not. At the end of the six-week period, all of the members of the households, i.e., both expert and non-expert participants, were invited to a workshop to explore the ‘role of Morse Things and ultimately the gap between things and humans’. The discussions were found to center around three key themes: the search for humanness in the Morse Things; the question of thing-centeredness; and the tensions of making sense of the gap between humans and things in general (ibid p. 508). It is important to note that philosophical framing of the Morse Things was highly particular. As a whole, the study was presented as a ‘thing-centered’ material speculation, wherein ‘counterfactual’ artifacts (i.e., non-commercial, exploratory artifacts) were produced in order to investigate the divide between humans and things. The ‘thing-centered’ approach was taken up in explicit opposition to human-­ centeredness, in order to explore what such an outlook might reveal about our relations with technology (Wakkary et al. 2017, p. 503). Backing this up, in terms of specific philosophic allegiances, the authors claim to align a ‘postphenomenological’ perspective49 (see e.g., Idhe 1990, 2009). On this account, people and things are seen to mutually shape one another through ‘mediations that form the human subjectivity and objectivity of any given situation’ (ibid, p. 504). Given the above commitments, Morse Things cannot be understood as a Deweyan project in a strict sense. Nonetheless, it does provide us with a useful case from which to consider some of this chapter’s discussions regarding the Deweyan account of experience and his metaphysical perspective. To begin, it is worth pointing out that Dewey may not have been fully thing-­ centered but, through his experience-nature link, nor is he fully human-centered either. Taking a Deweyan view, we might say that that Morse Things represent a particular existence in nature (understood in the broadest possible terms) created by a team of designer-researchers in order to ask questions and seek answers. In their continual broadcasting or ‘communicating’, we may observe an event, i.e., something which happens. The participants who are ‘hosting’ the Things may experience this event; that is, become part of it in some way, give it meaning, enter into its happening. For example, the participants who lived with the Morse Things in their homes were able to engage with the artifacts directly and develop relationships with  Intriguingly, while Idhe’s initial references were to predominantly to Husserl (see e.g., Idhe 1990), he has more recently drawn links to Dewey (see e.g., Idhe 2009). As such, we can say that postphenomenology has a Deweyan reference point at least.

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them. Some took to actively listening out for the periodic auditory signals. Others would check their tweets on Twitter. If we call up the ‘field of experience’ proposal from the end of the last chapter, we can see that we, as designer-researchers, have the opportunity investigate this event from the point of view of the experience of these participants.50 As was suggested above, we might take them as one large group and consider their experience as a collective with an emphasis being placed on how their shared cultural background might inform this experience. Here, the unfolding actions and interactions and resulting relations (i.e., the ever-moving present horizon) might be studied and traced out with a view to characterizing the behaviors and meanings that spontaneously arise in relation to the Things (i.e., the listening out, the reading of Twitter). Are these cultural informed? Might they reveal something of our culturally bound human-technology relations? We could introduce the social frame as well. What do people do together with the Things. Do they talk about them? Do they give them a role of some sort in their shared activities? As an alternative course, we might group the participants on a household-by-­ household basis. Here, the histories of individual households might inform an investigation of aimed at understanding how groups with particular backgrounds approach the ‘hosting’ of the Things. What meanings do they bring to their shared situations which are more-than cultural? What does this suggest about how particular types of groups may accommodate technology (e.g., those with children, those without, those who are older, those who are younger). Another course still might be focus in on those who have an interaction design background, look at their experience, and contrast this with those who do not have an interaction design background but ultimately participated in the same field of experience. What are the similarities? What are the differences? Issues of history and culture and time (e.g., the duration of time spent with the Things) might come into play here but it is more likely that the focus would revolve around the particular level of subject-experience individuals bring to their actions/interactions. Through any of these possible approaches, we could ask speculative questions about the future beyond the present horizon of action of and interaction. For example, what new relationships with technology might be possible? We could also ask questions about the value of the Things. What their broadcasting/communication amounts to in exclusively human terms. What it amounts to in wider existential terms—as Wakkary and colleagues did. One might argue that applying ‘the field of experience’ approach here would undermine the study’s thing-centeredness, making it, in essence, lightly human-­ centered. Viewed from a certain angle there is, admittedly, the potential for this to happen. However, I would hold that ‘the thing’—in our case, the Morse Things— remains at the center of the type of questioning explored above. What matters is the layers we chose to draw in and how these are related to the ‘things’ in particular. The

 It should be highlighted, this was explicitly not the point of the Morse Things study. Rather the point was to consider things in their own right.

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questioning will reveal something of ourselves (and possibly humanity more generally), but it will also reveal something of existence too, even if only tangentially. In the Morse Things case, we might say that the being of the cups and bowls will begin to register. Ultimately, Morse Things offers us a glimpse of how complex the consideration of objects (digital or non-digital) becomes when we attempt to bypass individualistic questions of use in the context of experience-as-episodic. Though the project was not a user-experience project—it was, after all, thing-centered—it does provide an example of how the concept of experience might be redefined in design if we were experiment with Dewey’s account and the possibility of viewing experience as a field. Here, ultimately, we see that the individual recedes in a rebalancing towards the group, the things come forward and the moments of interaction become part of a web of moving trajectories whether social, cultural, historical, or future-focused.

References Alben, L. (1996). Defining the criteria for effective interaction design. Interactions, 3(3), 11–15. Alexander, T.  M. (1987). John Dewey’s Theory of Art, Experience & Nature: The Horizons of Feeling. Albany NY: State University of New York Press. Alexander, T. M. (2017). The human Eros: Eco-ontology and the aesthetics of existence. New York: Fordham University Press. Anton, J. P. (2005). American naturalism and Greek philosophy. Amherst: Prometheus. Buchanan, R. (1992). Wicked Problems in Design Thinking. Design Issues 8(2), 5–21. Bannon, L. (1991). From human factors to human actors: The role of psychology and human computer interaction studies in system design. In J. Greenbaum & M. Kyng (Eds.), Design at Work: Cooperative Design of Computer Systems (pp. 25–44). Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum. Battarbee, K. (2004). Co-experience: Understanding user-experience in interactive systems. PhD Dissertation. Helsinki: University of Art and Design. Battarbee, K., & Koskinen, I. (2005). Co-experience: User experience as interaction. CoDesign, 1(1), 5–18. Bergson, H. (1910). Time and free will (trans: Pogson FL). London: George Allen. Bergson, H. (1911). Creative evolution (trans: Mitchell a). New York: Henry Holt and Company. Blumer, H. (1969). Symbolic interactionism: Perspective and method. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice– Hall Inc. Boas, F. (1989). In G. W. Stocking (Ed.), A Franz Boas reader: The shaping of American anthropology, 1883–1911. New York: Basic Books. Boisvert, R. D. (1988). Dewey’s metaphysics. New York: Fordham University Press. Buchanan, R. (2009). Thinking about design: An historical perspective. In A.  Meijers (Ed.), Philosophy of technology and engineering sciences (Vol. 9, pp. 409–453). Amsterdam: Elsevier. Buxton, B. (2007). Sketching user experiences: Getting the design right and the right design. San Francisco: Morgan Kaufmann. Campbell, J. (1995). Understanding John Dewey: Nature and cooperative intelligence. Chicago: Open Court Publishing. Colόn, G. A. T., & Hobbs, C. A. (2015). The intertwining of culture and nature: Franz Boas, John Dewey, and Deweyan strands of American anthropology. Journal of the History of Ideas, 76(1), 139–162. Dalsgaard, P. (2009). Designing engaging interactive environments – A pragmatist perspective.. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation. Aarhus, Denmark: Aarhus University.

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Dewey J (MW 1–15). J. A. Boydston (Ed.) John Dewey the middle works, 1899–1924. Carbondale: University of Southern Illinois Press. Dewey J (LW 1–17). J. A. Boydston (Ed.) John Dewey the later works, 1925–1953. Carbondale IL: University of Southern Illinois Press. Dourish, P. (2001). Where The Action Is. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Forlizzi, J., & Ford, S. (2000). The building blocks of experience: An early framework for interaction designers. In Proceedings of the 3rd conference on designing interactive systems: Processes, practices, methods, and techniques (pp. 419–423). New York: ACM. Forlizzi, J., & Battarbee, K. (2004). Understanding experience in interactive systems. In Proceedings of the 5th conference on designing interactive systems: Processes, practices, methods, and Tsechniques (pp. 261–268). New York: ACM. James, W. (1981a). [1890]). In F. H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, & I. K. Skrupkelis (Eds.), The collected works of William James: The principles of psychology, volume 1. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. James, W. (1981b). [1890]). In F. H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, & I. K. Skrupkelis (Eds.), The collected works of William James: The principles of psychology, Volume 2. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Jones, W.  F. (1983). Nature and natural science: The philosophy of Frederick JE Woodbridge. New York: Prometheus Books. Gale, R. (2010). John Dewey’s quest for Unity: The journey of a promethean Mystic. New York: Prometheus Books. Hassenzahl, M. (2003). The thing and I: Understanding the relationship between user and product. In M. Blythe, K. Overbeeke, A. Monk, & P. Wright (Eds.), Funology: From usability to enjoyment (pp. 31–42). Dordercht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Hassenzahl, M., Beu, A., & Burmester, M. (2001). Engineering joy. IEEE Software, 18(1), 70–76. Hassenzahl, M., & Tractinsky, N. (2006). User experience–A research agenda. Behaviour & Information Technology, 25(2), 91–97. Heidegger, M. (2010). [1927] Being and time (trans: Stambaugh J). State University of New York Press, Albany. Hickman, L. (2007). Pragmatism as post-postmodernism: Lessons from John Dewey. New York: Fordham University Press. Idhe, D. (1990). Technology and the Lifeworld: From garden to earth. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Idhe, D. (2009). Postphenomenology and Technoscience: The Peking University lectures. Albany: State University of New York Press. Kutti, K. (1996). Activity theory as a potential framework for human-computer-interaction research. In B. Nardi (Ed.), Context and consciousness: Activity theory and human computer interaction (pp. 16–44). Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Lallemand, C., Gronier, G., & Koenig, V. (2015). User experience: A concept without consensus? exploring practitioners’ perspectives through an international survey. Computers in Human Behavior, 43, 35–48. Lamont, C. (Ed.), (1959). Dialogue on John Dewey. Horizon Press, New York Merleau Ponty, M. (2012). [1945] The Phenomenology of perception (trans: Smith C). Routledge, Abingdon. Mead, G. H. (1934). In C. W. Morris (Ed.), Mind self and society from the standpoint of a social behaviorist. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. McCarthy, J., & Wright, P. (2004). Technology as experience. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. McGranahan, L. (2017). Darwinism and pragmatism: William James on evolution and self transformation. Abingdon: Routledge. Morgenbesser, S. (1977). Dewey and his critics: Essays from the journal of philosophy. Lancaster PA: Lancaster Press. Norman, D. A., Miller, J., & Henderson, A. (1995). What you see, some of what’s in the future, and how we go about doing it: HI at Apple Computer. In Conference companion on human factors in computing systems (Vol. 155). New York: ACM.

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Overbeeke, K. (2007). The Aesthetics of the Impossible. TU Eindhoven, Eindhoven. Available via research.tue.nl https://research.tue.nl/en/publications/the-aesthetics-of-the-impossible Accessed 11 Feb 2020. Overbeeke, K., Djadjadiningrat, T., Hummels, C., & Wensveen, S. A. G. (2002). Beauty in usability: Forget about ease of use. In W. Green & P. Jordan (Eds.), Pleasure with products: Beyond usability (pp. 9–18). London: Taylor and Francis. Petersen, M.  G., Iversen, O.  S., Krogh, P.  G., & Ludvigsen, M. (2004). Aesthetic interaction: A pragmatist’s aesthetics of interactive systems. In Proceedings of the 5th conference on designing interactive systems: Processes, practices, methods, and techniques (pp. 269–276). New York: ACM. Randall, J. H. (1944). Epilogue: The nature of naturalism. In Y. H. Krikorian (Ed.), Naturalism and the human Spirit (pp. 354–382). New York: Columbia University Press. Rodgers, Y. (2012). HCI theory: Classical, modern, and contemporary. Synthesis Lectures on Human-Centered Informatics, 5(2), 1–129. Rodgers, Y., Sharp, H., & Preece, J. (2011). Interaction design: Beyond human computer interaction (3rd ed.). Chichester: Wiley. Rorty, R. (1982). The consequences of pragmatism. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Santayana, G. (1925). Dewey’s naturalistic metaphysics. The Journal of Philosophy, 22(25), 673–688. Shedroff, N. (2001). Experience Design. Indianapolis: New Riders. Sleeper, R. W. (1986). The necessity of pragmatism: John Dewey’s conception of philosophy. New Haven: Yale University Press. Suchman, L. A. (1987). Plans and situated actions: The problem of human-machine communication. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Suchman, L. A. (1993). Do categories have politics? The language/action perspective reconsidered. In Proceedings of the third European conference on computer-supported cooperative work, ECSCW’93. Milan, Italy, 13–17 Sept 1993. Springer, Dordrecht (pp. 1–14). Varela, F.  J., Thompson, E., & Rosch, E. (1991). The embodied mind: Cognitive science and human experience. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Vera, A. H., & Simon, H. A. (1993). Situated action: A symbolic interpretation. Cognitive Science, 17(1), 7–48. Wakkary, R. (2009). Experiencing interaction design: A pragmatic theory. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. Plymouth: University of Plymouth. Wakkary, R., Oogjes, D., Hauser, S., Lin, H., Cao, C., Ma, L., & Duel, T. (2017). Morse things: A design inquiry into the gap between things and us. In Proceedings of the 2017 conference on designing interactive systems (pp. 503–514). New York: ACM. Welton, W. A. (Ed.). (2002). Plato’s forms: A variety of interpretations. Oxford: Lexington Books. West, C. (1989). The American evasion of philosophy: A genealogy of pragmatism. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Wiener, P.  P. (1949). Evolution and founders of pragmatism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Winograd, T., & Flores, F. (1986). Understanding computers and cognition: A new Foundation for Design. Norwood: Albex Publishing. Wright, P., & McCarthy, J. (2010). Experience-centered design: Designers, users, and communities in dialogue. Synthesis Lectures on Human-Centered Informatics, 3(1), 1–123.

Chapter 3

Knowing in Making

Abstract  In this chapter I focus in the subject of knowledge or knowing in design. First, I explore the advance of design research over the last four decades, noting the field’s shift from a science to a practice orientation. Here, particular emphasis is placed on the work of Donald Schön and his concept of an epistemology of practice, a concept which is largely underpinned by Dewey’s philosophy. This leads directly in to a discussion of the recent emergence of research involving practice in design— in other words, research involving practice. At this point, I hone in on some recent methodological formalizations of such an approach, putting forward the argument that these lack a sufficient epistemological justification. As a response, I turn to look at Dewey’s theory of inquiry. Examining the theory, it is shown to offer the beginnings of an epistemological justification for design research involving practice through its articulation the role of practice in research, as well as the practice-­ research relationship. By outlining and contextualizing the theory of inquiry, a general point of reference is established for the remaining chapters. Keywords  Design research · Design inquiry · Donald Schön · John Dewey · Design epistemology

In the last chapter, we explored some of the facets of Dewey’s theories of experience and aesthetic experience. We also considered the current intertwining of experience and design and, from this, briefly examined Dewey’s metaphysics, giving thought to its applicability for the field. In the present chapter, we will aim to extend the discussion further and take a look at Dewey’s theory of inquiry. This theory forms a fundamental link in Dewey’s overall philosophy. Consequently, it will be central to our discussions going forward. One might wonder why the theory of inquiry is seen to play such a key role for Dewey. There are in fact a number of reasons, some of which will only become relevant later on. However, in immediate terms, attention can be drawn to two points in particular. Firstly, Dewey positions the activity of inquiring as a general,

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explanatory narrative for how humanity deals with environmental or social challenges.1 Beyond this, inquiry is also seen to provide the underpinning template for coming to know or understand something. This links the most prosaic technical inquiries (e.g., the mechanic at work) to the greatest achievements of scientific endeavor (e.g., the discovery of the Higgs-Boson) along a single continuum of having a question and searching for an answer. For Dewey, both are seen as cases of knowledge production, one informal and other formal. Of the two characterizations, it is the second—relating to the area of knowledge production—which is of the most significance to us here. Ultimately, the question of how one is to acquire valid knowledge is key to all types of formal research. Design research is no exception, whether practice is involved or not. As we saw at the opening of the last chapter, questions relating to knowledge are intimately bound to questions concerning the scope and limits of human experience.2 Here, it was noted that, over the centuries, philosophers have taken a series of positions—termed theories of knowledge or the mind—which each put forward a view on whether or not experience is of nature or, rather, a bothersome ‘veil’3 that cuts us off from reality. It was shown that these positions have resulted in a number of seemingly odd characterizations of human experience. Fundamentally, however, we must remember that as theories of knowledge such positions are first and foremost concerned with what it means to know and what constitutes knowledge. When Descartes proposed that body and mind were separate, he was also insisting that the senses must be seen as deficient when compared to the superiority of the mind’s ability to engage in mathematical reasoning. When Locke argued that we gain knowledge through the senses, he was putting forward the case that we are not born with an ability to reason. Rather we must learn to do so. When Kant proposed that we must hold some conceptual ‘a priori’ understanding of the world, he was seeking to strike a balance between the rational and the empirical.4 Taken together, positions such as these form a segment of a much broader debate within a special area of philosophy referred to as epistemology—the study of knowledge. It may not be surprising that Dewey loathed standard epistemological discourse; objecting, in particular, to any theorization of knowledge in the abstract, as a thing separate from context (see Hickman 2007, pp. 206–207). Indeed, by the

1  Inquiry would cover the idea of applying intelligent practice, or design, in the pursuit of desirable values (see Chap. 2). 2  Those who hold a general philosophical understanding will be aware that epistemological issues directly link to issues relating to ontology (i.e., the study of being) and metaphysics (i.e., the study of existence). It is the notion of truth—i.e., what constitutes accurate knowledge of the world—that ultimately requires that the latter aspects, i. e., ontology and metaphysics, be given due consideration. 3  Dewey uses this word to characterize some traditional philosophic conceptions of experience as a distortion of what ‘really is’ (LW 1, p. 5). 4  Standard contextualizations of such major philosophic positions are, of course, available from innumerable sources. A brief, accessible and useful overview of how they fit within the development of Western epistemology can be found in von Glasersfeld (1995).

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end of his career, he had begun to find the word ‘knowledge’ so vexing that he called for a repositioning of its meaning.5 To properly understand how Dewey responded to these issues we must recall his treatment of reality as diverse and multiplicitious, indefinable as a whole (see Chap. 2). Against this, ‘knowing something’ was positioned as but one of many situational possibilities. Marking out its special quality, Dewey linked the process of coming to know to particular types of situations, which he termed ‘problematic’. In such situations, we are said to experience a sense of doubt. In seeking to resolve the doubt, we are often inclined to act and, if we do act, we may also come to know something. Through this outline, we encounter, in brief, the essence of Dewey’s theory of inquiry. As will be apparent it draws the inherent link between doing and knowing to fore—knowledge is bound to action. Ultimately, Dewey is insisting that there can be no meaningful understanding of knowledge without taking inquiry into account and there can be no account of inquiry without reference to action of some sort. In the end, we are being called upon to acknowledge the interrelationship of all of these things. Ultimately, it will be the argument of this chapter that such a view is in complete accord with the concerns of design research involving design practice. The chapter will proceed as follows. To open up the discussion, I will explore developments in design research over the last four decades, paying special attention to the work of Donald Schön and the emergent areas design research involving practice. Highlighting some of the methodological challenges associated with such work, I then turn to consider Dewey’s theory of inquiry and look at how the theory has been referenced in design literature. Finally, seeking to progress beyond these accounts, I move to propose that the theory offers additional features that may further inform developments in the field.

The Evolution of Design Research Over the decades, the field of design research has developed in a number of distinct directions. As was noted in the first chapter, past and present subject areas have included design history, the socio-cultural role of design, the structure of the design process, designer’s creativity and so on. Attempting to line up and interrelate each of these individual areas presents a number of challenges. What distinguishes one subject area from the next? In general terms, how are these areas to be grouped? In an effort to give form to this broader complexity, Richard Buchanan (2009; 2007) identifies the emergence of three broad strands of work within the field: the dialectic, design science, and design inquiry. Referred to as ‘methodological strategies’, each is seen to pursue a special agenda and apply a particular set of

5  In Logic: A Theory of Inquiry, published in 1938 when Dewey was 78 years old, he stated the term knowledge suffered from ‘ambiguity’ and that, set apart from inquiry, ‘its meaning is so empty that any content or filling may be arbitrarily poured in’. Its only solid meaning, he believed, was as the conclusion which satisfactorily closes inquiry (see LW 12, pp. 15–16).

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methods—marking out a more or less self-contained set of interests. As such, the strategies allow us to begin to structure a holistic view of how one subject areas links (or not) to the next. Broadly speaking, the dialectic may be seen to represent a socio-cultural-­ historical approach. This relates to design’s evolution over time, design in society, design as it interfaces with culture and so on. It sets out to ‘explain design and the products of design within a larger whole or system’ (Buchanan 2007, p.  57) by identifying and overcoming ‘conflicting opinions and oppositions on issues such as form and matter, [as well as] the values held by producers and […] consumers’ (Buchanan 2009, p. 411).6 Next to this, design science may be seen to offer a more technical perspective. The notion of design science was first conceived by Buckminster Fuller and others such as Sydney Gregory7 (e.g., Gregory 1966). However, it is Herbert Simon who is generally credited with having properly defined the field. In his 1969 text The Sciences of the Artificial, Simon argued in favor of establishing a common ‘core of knowledge’ which links the concerns of daily life, of problem-solving, to our understanding of the natural world (Simon 1996/1969, p. 136). Working within this field, researchers would focus their efforts on analyzing and identifying the underlying elements and mechanisms of the design process, so these might be formalized and rendered replicable. In the end, this, essentially, amounts to the study of design as an activity apart from the human actor. The final strategy of design inquiry takes the opposite tack. It considers design directly; that is, as an activity involving human actors and human situations. In general terms, this strategy is seen to focus on ‘the experience of designers and those who use products, without recourse to the theoretical abstractions of Dialectic or Design Science’. This translates into a dual interest in the creative capacity of designers, on the one hand, set alongside the discipline of making, on the other8 (Buchanan 2007, p. 58). Of Buchanan’s three strategies, it is design inquiry which most concerns us here. More than the dialectic and design science, design inquiry

6  In “Thinking about Design: An Historical Perspective” Buchanan offers two key examples of the dialectical approach in design. The first is the educational program at Hochschule für Gestaltung Ulm (HfG Ulm) which sought to ‘to overcome the dichotomy between theory and practice’ by exploring ways of applying theory in ‘addressing the problems of action in industrial culture’ (2009, p. 427). The second example is the work of Christopher Alexander, who is seen to propose a method of synthesis linking form and context in architectural design (ibid, p. 440–441). 7  This is highlighted by Nigel Cross in “Designerly Ways of Knowing: Design Discipline versus Design Science”. For a detailed account see Cross (2001). 8  Further outlining this dual aspect, Buchanan divides design inquiry into two separate lines of investigation. The first is referred to as rhetorical inquiry. This is so called on the basis that it focuses on the communicative and imaginative power of the designer (Buchanan 2007, p. 58). For a more detailed outline of design inquiry as rhetorical inquiry, see Buchanan’s “Design and the new Rhetoric: Productive Arts in the Philosophy of Culture” (2001a). The second line of investigation is referred to as productive science (or poetics). Here the discipline of making is examined, with a focus on products and their use. On a fundamental level, an interest in human experience in relation to design is seen to link rhetorical inquiry and productive science (Buchanan 2007, p. 58).

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begins to point to the power of design as a situational, contextual research method— wherein research, practice and knowing are bound together within a continuous process. As we shall see, it opens up the path for design research which involves design practice.

Design Inquiry: An Inquiry About and into Designing Design inquiry links up a number of major contributions within the field of design. There is the former design methods movement lead by John Chris Jones, Bruce Archer and others; Nigel Cross’s theory of designerly ways of knowing; and the reflective practice proposals of Donald Schön. Each of these may be seen to offer a distinct perspective on design activities, and, in their own way, each has subtly altered our understanding of the design process and the special value it can bring to bear on a situation. The design methods movement defined the early years of formal design research. As the name suggests, the movement’s adherents held the broad aim of identifying appropriate methods of structuring and managing design processes. Its formalist agenda, was pursued with a view to a developing a more rigorous, more precise understanding of design; such that discipline might adequately respond to the inherent complexity of postwar industrial processes (e.g., Archer 1984; Alexander 1964). The movement’s key contributors included John Chris Jones, Bruce Archer, Horst W.  J. Rittel, and Christopher Alexander.9 Working independently of one another, each evolved their own special methodological position. Jones sought to strike a balance between the intuitive, imaginative aspects of design and the logical, mathematical drive of the sciences, proposing a method with allowed for both (e.g., Jones 1984). Archer sought to frame a systematic approach to design, categorizing its progressive stages and assigning a particular focus to each (e.g., Archer 1984). Rittel explored the types of design problems as well as the forms and variety of design reasoning, believing that an understanding of both might underwrite a science of design (e.g., Rittel 1984; Rittel 1988). Lastly, Alexander was concerned with the conflicting or contradictory elements which he saw as necessarily underlying design problems. Working through the concepts of form and patterns, he devised a means of identifying and drawing together the apparently oppositional aspects within a design process (e.g., Alexander et al. 1977). While the movement attracted much initial enthusiasm, it failed to bear meaningful results for practice (McDonnell 2016, p. 109). Indeed, by the early 1990s, John Chris Jones openly acknowledged that the program as a whole had been

 While Jones and Alexander formed an English contingent, Rittel was based in Ulm in Germany. Archer, however, straddled both camps, working in England and Germany. 9

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unsuccessful (see Jones 1992).10 Many rejected the emphasis placed on ‘procedures and step-­by-­step instructions’ as well as the perceived lack of attention paid to ‘human creativity and values’ (Buchanan 2009, p. 444). From the late 1970s onwards, the design methods movement had given way to a more diverse program of empirical research. Though lacking a shared orientation, studies coalesced around the dynamics of design as a real-world activity, variously investigating designers’ cognitive processes, behaviors and (eventually) interactions. Bryan Lawson, for example, explored design practice from the perspective of constraints (2008/1980)11; identifying that designers are solution-oriented (Lawson 1979) and arguing that, in formulating solutions, expert designers rely heavily on precedent and memory (Lawson 2004; Lawson and Dorst 2009). Nigel Cross12 approached design as a unique knowledge domain, distinct from the natural sciences and the humanities. On his view, practicing designers are said to enact ‘designerly’ ways of knowing; that is, ways of knowing which rely on the special principles, methods and logic of design (1982; 2007).13 Beyond Lawson and Cross, there is the work of Donald Schön. Of the three, Schön presents a special case. His work will lead us to first consider the integration of design practice in research and then, from this, to turn at last to Dewey’s theory of inquiry.

Donald Schön’s Epistemology of Practice Over the course of his career, Donald Schön worked to develop an alternative vision of professional action centered upon a cyclical model of experimentation and evaluation. As will be discussed later in the present chapter, this alternative vision draws extensive reference from Dewey’s theory of inquiry and, as such, the two can be seen as related.

 Perhaps one of the design methods movement’s key legacies may found in Horst Rittel’s account of problem solving (Rittel 1972). Here, reflecting on the failure of rational approaches in certain planning situations, Rittel coined what is now a famous distinction between ‘tame’ and ‘wicked problems’. Tame problems can be easily controlled and manipulated. Wicked problems, on the other hand, are too complex to yield to easy definitions or straightforward resolutions (p. 392). This distinction is useful on the basis that it highlights the intractability of certain problems and, as such, still draws attention in design literature (e.g., Coyne 2005). 11  On this account, design is seen to connect a series of diverse activities, including: formulating responses to problems, developing possible solutions to problems; representing through drawings, sketches and models; evaluating; and, finally, reflecting in the process, as well as beyond (Lawson 2008/1980, p.  291). Lawson explicitly references Schön’s work, as he highlights the aspect of ‘reflecting’. 12  Working with Kees Dorst, Nigel Cross explored the interrelation of design problems and solutions, providing evidence that designers gradually work and rework their definitions of problems as they work towards a design solution (see Dorst and Cross 2001). 13  Cross has gone on to argue, that ‘designerly ways of knowing’ or design knowledge, may be seen to find expression in design processes (i.e., designers’ ways of working) as well as design’s products (i.e., the outcomes of design) (1999a, p. 5). 10

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The 1983 text The Reflective Practitioner is perhaps Schön’s most famous work on the subject. In it, he argues that designers and other expert professionals are not rational problem-solvers, as per Simon’s design science perspective (see above), but rather engaged in a ‘conversation’ with their situation; creative, intelligent beings, carefully testing their on-going performance both in and beyond the unique spaces of practice. Importantly, reflection was seen to underpin this process. On Schön’s account, reflective capacity manifests in two forms, ‘reflection-in-action’ (i.e. testing and evaluating simultaneously) or, alternatively, ‘reflection-on-action’ (i.e. post-event evaluation). By reflecting in action, the practitioner is able to progress and correct their immediate performance within their situation. By reflecting on action, they are also able to reorient their future performance. Schön believed that reflection-in-action could be seen to constitute a special kind of knowing which can only be understood in relation to action—a kind of knowing that arises in doing, a form of intelligent action. In outlining the scope of this proposal, Schön notes there is nothing strange about the idea that a kind of knowing is inherent in intelligent action. Common sense admits the category of know-how, and it does not stretch common-­ sense to say that know-how is in the action—that a tight-rope walker’s know-how, for example, lies in, and is revealed by the way he takes his trip across the wire… There is nothing in common sense to make us say that know-how consists in rules or plans which we entertain in the mind prior to action. Although we sometimes think before acting, it is also true that in much of the spontaneous behaviour of skillful practice we reveal a kind of knowing which does not stem from a prior intellectual operation. (Schön 1983, pp. 50–51)

In comparing this conception of knowledge to standard accounts of what it means to know, he coined a new expression, ‘the epistemology of practice’. In straightforward terms, this can be understood to refer what we might call a practical theory of knowledge. Though Schön does not claim to have reached a fully formulated articulation of such a theory, he does present what he believes to be its parameters. These include an ability to usefully frame a problem; an ability to bring past experience to bear on their situation; an ability to experiment within the bounds of their situation; and, finally, an ability to appreciate the outcomes of such experiments (1983, pp. 128–132). The act of framing the problem centers around the act of seeking to identify a problem that can be solved. A problem that can be solved allows the inquirer and the inquiry to keep ‘moving’ (p. 136). Framings which reveal such a problem are seen as successful, while those which don’t are not. In considering the application of past experience to present problematic situations, Schön believes that, over time, practitioners come to build up a ‘repertoire’ of examples—a continually expanding stock of personal reference points, based on ‘images, understandings and actions’ (p. 138). These references points do not translate into a set of ‘general principles’ but rather function as exemplars, cases to inspire and direct thought and action. He believes that such references enable practitioners to approach each new experience on the basis of past experience. This problem is seen in relation to that (former, resolved) problem. Drawing on his/her

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repertoire, the practitioner will look to act similarly. In this way, the successes and failures of the past are brought to bear on the present. Schön’s approach to experiments within this setting is especially compelling, particularly in relation to design research involving practice. He calls into question the classic, scientific definition of controlled experimentation and opens up a series of additional approaches which he believes practitioners regularly draw on as they seek to understand and change their situation. Thus, within the epistemology of practice, experimentation becomes a far wider concept, extending across a number of seemingly disparate activities. In seeking to map these alternative approaches to experimentation, he offers a tripartite typology which progresses from, what he terms, smaller scale ‘exploratory’ experiments, through to ‘move testing’ experiments and on to ‘hypothesis testing’ experiments.14 Exploratory experiments occur when practitioners act to ‘see what follows, without accompanying predictions or expectations’ (p. 145). Move testing experiments occur when an action is ‘undertaken with an end in mind’, i.e., the practitioner has a desired goal and looks to see if it can be achieved via particular means (p.  146). Finally, hypothesis testing experiments operate as in the classic scientific account of experiments, where a variety of possible explanations are explored in relation to a particular phenomenon. Schön points to the example of a carpenter seeking to identify the source of a table’s stability (p. 147). In outlining these approaches, Schön is clear in marking out what he sees to be the distinguishing factors between conventional experimentation and his wider understanding of practitioner experimentation. By reflecting while acting within a new situation, a practitioner is, he says, enfolding exploratory, move-testing and hypothesis-testing within a single continuum of activity. Here, some individual actions probe. Others, which follow on, are undertaken with an end in mind. As the situation ‘talks back’, hypotheses are framed. These, in turn, direct further actions. At all times, the practitioner is looking to both understand and change the unique problematic situation in which they are working. They are seeking ‘to exert influence in such a way to confirm, not refute, their hypotheses’. They are actively working to make a hypothesis come true (p.  149)—something a scientist could never countenance. However, situations are not ‘wholly manipulable’, they may resist the inquirer’s ‘attempts to shape them’ and talk back in unexpected ways (p. 150). Thus, practitioners must understand that they are experimenting in concert with the situation. They may be aiming to change it but, equally, they are bound by it. This latter aspect provides the grounds on which experiments in practice may be considered rigorous. If practitioners cease to attend to the talkback of their situations, they are merely enabling self-fulfilling prophecies (Schön 1983, p. 153). This, in sum, provides us with a reasonable sketch of Schön’s epistemology of practice proposal, which we shall return to in due course below. As with the various  As a means of differentiating between these three types it may be noted that in moving from exploratory experiments through to hypothesis testing, the practitioner is seen to hold an increasing sense of clarity and purpose. They have ‘framed’ their purposes.

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studies of the design process mentioned in the prior section—from the design methods movement, through to the work of Lawson, Cross and beyond—the proposal has had a profound impact on our understanding of design practice. Due to the work of Schön and the others, today, on the whole, design is better understood and, as such, is easier to communicate as a general process or approach. This has been especially useful from a research perspective, as more and more, researchers seek to involve design practice as a core activity within their research projects.

 esign Practice Meets Design Research: Research Into, About, D Through, by and for Design15 It is interesting to note that, across the broader field of design, though the strategy of design science was dominant from the 1970s through to the mid-1990s, design inquiry and, in particular, design research which involves design practice has recently risen to prominence.16 This is especially so in the United Kingdom, Scandinavia, Australia, and mainland European countries such as the Netherlands and Italy. While the shift is likely to have been driven by a number of factors, it is beyond doubt that the vigorous and on-going academization of the field (see Dorst 2013) has played a significant role. Academization proper can be seen to have begun in the early 1990s. Different countries underwent different transitions. In the United Kingdom, art schools and polytechnics where invited to join the university system in 1992.17 This move was mirrored in Australia, with institutes of technology and colleges of advanced education also gaining university status (Melles 2010). Though the Scandinavian countries had a long tradition of embedding design within large university-led research projects (see e.g., Simonsen and Robertson 2013), the 1990s saw a new, internationalized—and possibly more theoretical—discourse emerge here too (see Ehn 2017). Beyond these examples, in the United States, many design departments established dedicated research units with government and industry support (Bayazit 2004, p. 27). Design was here seen to represent the ‘new learning’, a means of breaking down the barriers between disciplines (Buchanan 2001b, p. 7). Taken together, such changes led to what Mary Henkel (2000), in reference to broader academic trends, has described as a ‘crisis of identity’ among design  Design research involving practice has been bedeviled by the terminology used to distinguish one possible approach from another. One of the first typologies came from Frayling (1993), who spoke of research into, through and for design. The other terms of the title point to some of the subtle variations that have emerged over time. 16  Dorst wryly comments that apart from a ‘stubborn’ few, the design science agenda is no longer (2016, p. 2669) 17  At the same time, the remit of the United Kingdom’s Research Excellence Framework (REF) was expanded to include the evaluation of such outputs as ideas, images, performances and artifacts, alongside the more traditional journal papers and books (see HEFCE 1992). 15

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faculties.18 Whereas the discipline had previously been almost exclusively orientated towards practice, it was suddenly necessary to develop a research culture in response to the demands of traditional university systems and academic norms. This, in turn, led to the question of establishing research degrees in design and, of course, doctoral awards. Indeed, through the late 1990s and early 2000s, numerous high-profile conferences were held to debate the subject of doctoral education in design (see e.g., Buchanan et al. 1998; Durling and Friedman 2000; Durling and Sugiyama 2003).19 Many large-scale PhD programs were developed in the years subsequent, with institutions such as the Royal College of Art (UK), Aalto University (Finland),20 Politecnico Milano (Italy), TU Delft (the Netherlands), Carnegie Mellon (USA), the University of the Arts London (UK), and Swinburne University of Technology (Australia) emerging as global doctoral hubs. Collectively, this emerging community of design researchers—comprised of both academics and students—has made strident efforts to articulate a clear, coherent and common approach to both their subject matters and methodological underpinnings. In an oft-cited paper, written by the rector Royal College of Art in the early 1990s—Sir Christopher Frayling—it was proposed that contemporary design research could be seen to fit into three separate categories21: research into design, research through design and research for design (Frayling, 1993, p. 5).22 While the clarity of these categories has subsequently been criticized (e.g., Jonas 2007), for many, they have acted as helpful signposts, introducing an otherwise unavailable set of possibilities. Indeed, the research through design and research for design categories, in particular, are widely cited reference points for design research projects involving practice (e.g., Koskinen et al. 2011, p. 4; Rust, Mottram and Till 2007, p. 11). Ultimately, their function has been to provide a ‘way in’ for taking a practical approach within design research. Following on from Frayling’s initial proposals, the subject of ‘research through practitioner action’ was picked up by Bruce Archer (1995). Archer emphasized that, though ‘practitioner action’ may play a role in research, such activity must always be ‘knowledge directed, systematically conducted, unambiguously expressed’ (p. 13). He did, however, also accept that there are some circumstances where the  While Henkel’s work refers to academia in general, this is seen as particularly applicable to the field of design in the period immediately following the reorganization of the higher education sector in various countries and emergence of doctorates in design. 19  Key conferences held at the time included: The Ohio Conference on Doctoral Education in Design held in Pittsburgh in 1998 (see Buchanan et  al. 1998); the Foundations for the Future: Doctoral Education in Design conference held in La Clusaz, France 2000. (see Durling and Friedman 2000); and the Doctoral Education in Design conference held in Tsukuba, Japan in 2003 (see Durling and Sugiyama 2003). 20  Aalto gained doctoral rights in 1983–4 but only allowed for doctorates involving practice from 1998–9 onwards. 21  It does not seem incidental that Frayling’s paper emerged just after the 1992 reorganization of the UK’s higher education sector. 22  The origin of this categorization has been attributed to Bruce Archer, who is said to have used the associated terminology at the Royal College of Art since the 1960s (Pedgley and Wormald, 2007 p. 72). 18

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best way of exploring a practical query is ‘to construct something, or to enact something calculated to explore, embody or test it’ (p.11). Subsequent to Archer, a number of commentators continued to question of the status of practice in research. One of the most keenly debated issues related to the role of what was referred to ‘experiential’ or ‘tacit’ knowledge in design research involving practice. Niedderer (2007, 2013), for example, argues that, in the context of design, ‘practical, experiential, personal, or tacit knowledge’ (2007, p. 5) is as valuable as explicit knowledge. Developing this further, Niedderer and Durling (2007) identified a number of specific roles for practice in research, including amongst other categories: designing to test; designing as demonstration; and designing as creative exploration. The pair take the view that designing as creative exploration was both the most ‘desired and debated’ use of practice in research, allowing for either analysis or synthesis at the same time as assembling a physical ‘record’ of the research process in the form of artifacts. Highlighting a similar possibility, Scrivener (2009) noted that as well as guiding the method and communication of research, design may also be the subject, the justification and the goal of inquiry. He takes the view that, while practice may play multiple roles across all of these categories, a truly practice-orientated study would foreground creative activity within its method. Others have been more skeptical. Michael Biggs (2002), for example, took the view that while experiential and tacit knowledge may well be highly significant within design research involving practice, it is still necessary for such researchers to set out an explicit argument (in the form of a written thesis). Without such an argument, Biggs takes the view that it would not be possible for researchers to properly substantiate any decision-making or knowledge claims, in a way that is comparable to other disciplines. Writing later with Daniela Büchler, he went so far as to argue that, ultimately, as design research involving practice must conform to the standard academic conventions regarding validity it is ‘both undesirable and unnecessary to create a separate category of research called “practice-based research”’ (Biggs and Büchler 2007, p. 69).

I n Focus Box 3.1, Tom Jenkins: Researching Through Design in Co-Housing IoT In the Co-Housing IoT project, Tom Jenkins (2018) explored how co-housing’s special socio-spatial configurations—involving multiple public and private layers— might allow for novel applications of IoT (i.e. the connected devices); thus, breaking from standard visions of the technology acting as an enabler in the private domestic setting. Jenkins firmly positions his work as a ‘research through design’ project. Reviewing his overall approach, it is possible to detect are three underlying phases. The first phase, involving desk research, field visits and sense making, is presented as a phase

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of ‘design research’. The second is a making phase framed around critical and speculative design practices, which Jenkin’s refers to as ‘research through design’ proper. Following on, a final, concluding phase centers on evaluation. Social theory is referred to but only as an aid to help Jenkins shape the intellectual orientation of the practical activities. Ultimately, his methods are the methods of design—he is applying a designerly logic throughout and aiming towards a design-based outcome (Fig. 3.1). In practical terms, the inquiry’s contributions take the form of what Jenkins refers to as ‘design things’ (see Atelier 2011; and Chap. 5). These include a series of ‘process workbooks’ offering an insight into the field work, as well as a series of ‘speculative prototypes’ that are said to ‘postulate alternative values for IoT’ (Jenkins 2018). The whole is underwritten by a traditional, text-based dissertation (see Jenkins 2018), setting out a series of practical implications and recommendations which, in turn, are also positioned as contributions in their own right. This is a project which foregrounds the making as it sets forth its claims to knowledge. Reflecting on the above discussion and various perspectives contained therein, it is possible to make a number points. The first is that, speaking broadly, it may be argued that Jenkins’s study conforms with Niedderer and Durling’s concept of ‘designing as creative exploration’ within inquiry. He wants to create something which responds to a general set of circumstances (i.e., the existence of IoT technology and its potential in the context of co-housing). Design is the means by which that response is formulated. Equally, following Scrivener (2009), we can also say that not only is design the method, it is also: ‘a mode of communication’ (i.e., in the form of the artefacts); the subject (i.e., the design of IOT in the context of co-­ housing); the justification (i.e., design allows for the exploration of such

Fig. 3.1  A co-housing radio IoT prototype from Jenkins’s project, designed to play community sound clips, music and notices as a way of bringing the co-housing dwellers together. (Image courtesy Tom Jenkins)

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possibilities); and the goal of inquiry (i.e., to demonstrate particular IoT possibilities in the co-housing context). The other point to make is that though Jenkins clearly involves experiential knowledge within the research (e.g., within his critical and speculative design practices), he also recognizes the need to explicate his work, as demonstrated through the text-based dissertation. As was noted above, this dissertation allows him to clearly present his knowledge claims in the form of practical implications and recommendations. Equally, in referencing contemporary social theory within in the dissertation, he further grounds his practice in a research context. With regards to the latter, Jenkins clearly aligns to the work of the French social theorist Bruno Latour (see Chap. 5). As such, his position cannot be described as Deweyan in the strict sense. However, there are some general links that may be drawn between his process and Dewey’s pattern of inquiry (see below). Without having yet discussed the pattern, I will here simply point out that Jenkins’s process of moving from desk research, field visits and sense making, through to experimentation and evaluation, loosely corresponds with Dewey’s outline of how we inquiry and, in this, come to know. As will become clear, Dewey would value the time and effort that Jenkins invests in coming to understand his context before moving to design and experiment. For Dewey, understanding one’s situation is the essential first step in research (Fig. 3.2).

Fig. 3.2  A ‘participation scales’ IoT prototype, allowing co-housing residents to measure and reflect upon their level of community interactions. (Image courtesy Tom Jenkins)

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In spite of such objections, researchers and theorists have continued to explore the possible role(s) of design practice in design research.23 Indeed, recent years have seen the emergence of an increasingly vibrant methodological discourse, with a number of contributions setting out formalized ‘research through design’ models (e.g., Brandt and Binder 2007; Koskinen et al. 2011; Bang et al. 2012). Across this work, there is a general tendency to highlight and reposition conventional methodological tools and techniques as directive aids for design practice applied within a research context. Brandt and Binder, for example, argue that a well framed design research program allows for the formulation and iteration of research questions which, in turn, will direct cycles of practical experimentation (2007, p. 3). Zimmerman and Forlizzi (2008) place emphasis on motivations as a directive element, highlighting a distinction between real-world and conceptual concerns. Offering a more expansive view, IIpo Koskinen and colleagues (2011) propose that, rather than research through design, the term ‘constructive research’ might better label research which ‘imagines and builds new things and describes and explains these constructions’ (p.  6). Following this approach, the group claim that those working in this area are likely to align to one of three separate methodological arenas: the lab, the field and showroom, with each referencing different, pre-­established research traditions (p. xiii). More recently, along with various colleagues, Ann Louise Bang has presented a model of research through design/constructive research wherein motivations, hypotheses and research questions are all seen to support an intensive cycle of iterative design experiments (e.g., Bang et al. 2012; Bang and Eriksen 2014). Alongside this, looking beyond Zimmerman and Forlizzi’s motivations, Bang et  al. (2012) have also explored the wider motivational range that might underpin the research through design/constructive design research approaches. They suggest a more nuanced motivational taxonomy, which variously interweaves artistic, empirical, ethical, political and theoretical concerns (pp. 7–9). Taken as an extended overview, the above outline brings us to a critical juncture, one which will define the latter section of this book. Broadly speaking, I take the view that the above methodological formulations would be reinforced through the development of a supporting argument for how knowledge or knowing functions in the context of research which involves practice; in other words, an accompanying epistemological justification for the method of inquiry they present. At present, they lack it. This absence can generally be traced to one of two overriding positions. Firstly, there is a tendency to outsource philosophical and theoretical commitments to the larger background research program or alternatively to the research methods24 that sit alongside the practice (see, for example, Koskinen et al. 2011). Secondly, there is the claim that design researchers are responsive to context (e.g., Zimmerman

 Or, perhaps, one might argue it is because of such objections/opposition that the general interest in practice–based and practice–led approaches continued to grow over the following decade. 24  As has been noted, Koskinen et al. (2011) propose that design research, as a broad category, takes reference from three main research and (consequently) epistemological traditions; namely the natural sciences, the social sciences and art.

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and Forlizzi 2008) and, as such, what qualifies as knowledge is defined through an experimental process (Bang et al., 2012). This brings us back to Dewey. I believe that, through Dewey’s work, it is possible to forge an alternative to the above positions/options. To do so, requires a mapping out and linking together of the various threads of Dewey’s work which constitute his approach to knowledge. Collectively, the approach will be revealed over the coming chapters, thread by thread, before its final ‘setting out’ in Chap. 6. In this chapter, we will deal with only one of these threads—his theory of inquiry, to which we now turn.

Dewey’s Theory of Inquiry: A Pattern for Intelligent Action In straightforward terms, as has already been indicated, the theory of inquiry ultimately refers to Dewey’s treatment of logic. As an area of philosophic investigation, logic has traditionally focused on the issues surrounding the structure of valid arguments and the processes by which we may reasonably infer something to be the case. It was Dewey’s belief that the study of logic had become detached from its source in the everyday affairs of men and women. Defined logical processes are, he argued, nothing more than an outgrowth of conducting successful inquiries (LW 12, p. 107), tried and tested ways of responding to real problems in the real world. This of course implies design on the basis that it too can be seen as a mode of responding to real problems in the real world (i.e., the intelligent-practice of the last chapter). Seeking to give granular form to his proposal in the sprawling 1938 text Logic: The Theory of Inquiry (LW 12), Dewey offered a wide-ranging technical overview of how we might approach logic in empirical, naturalistic terms. While much of the discussions contained within Logic extend far beyond the concerns of designer-­ researchers, a number of scholars have recently focused in on its so-called pattern of inquiry (e.g., Buchanan 2009; Steen 2013). The pattern aims to present a generic outline of how inquiries proceed and, as such, how logical processes come to be defined. In drawing attention to this aspect of the work, such scholars have highlighted the parallels that may be identified between Dewey’s theory and design practice. As we will see, some have also considered the parallels between it and design research involving practice. Dewey himself introduces the pattern by offering out his much-quoted definition of inquiry as the controlled or directed transformation of an indeterminate situation into one which is so determinate in its constitute distinctions and relations as to convert the elements of the original situation into a unified whole. (LW 1, p. 108)

This sets out the basic underlying premise, i.e., that we inquire in order to problem-­solve and transform. The process is said to begin when we first encounter an indeterminate situation. Something is disturbing, troubling, confusing or

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obscure.25 Having encountered such traits, Dewey believes that we are compelled to seek out a resolution. This marks the beginning of what he calls the ‘institution of the problem’. From a design perspective, and linking back to Schön, we might call this the act of problem-framing (see e.g., Schön 1983; Dorst 2015).26 To frame a problem, he insists that we must begin by observing the facts of our situation.27 In doing so, he sees it as essential that we work to identify a genuine issue, as opposed to one which we ourselves invent. Ultimately, referencing as many sources as possible gets us closer to such an issue. For designer-researchers, this would mean working directly with the context, observing who is doing what and noting patterns over time. It would mean talking to people, taking the time to listen. Equally, it would also mean surveying any available secondary evidence—statistics, reports and so on—in order to qualify and better understand what we are seeing and hearing against a robust dataset. On the Deweyan account, this matters because, for him, problems and solutions are directly related. Once we have a problem we are on a path to a solution. Indeed, on the Deweyan account, problems automatically suggest would-be solutions. This is how we move forward. At first, he says, images of would-be solutions ‘flash upon us’ as vague possibilities we might pursue. They become proper ideas as we check whether or not they might actually allow us to begin to resolve the problem at hand (ibid, p. 114). Thus, progressively, through iteration, they become ‘an anticipation of something’, a promise of a way forward. In design, we can trace this creative arc through sketchbooks, across whiteboards, into mock-ups and storyboards and pitches. Little by little, what was nothing more than a scribble becomes a credible proposition, we can see it ‘working’ in the real world. For Dewey, this process is guided by reasoning. Here, the meaning of any newly formed idea28 must be related to the broader framework of the inquiry. If it is does not relate, we draw it into relation by turning it over in our heads and enhancing its relevancy. What was near meaningless becomes meaningful. This is an important process. Dewey cautions against accepting a particular idea outright. To do so, he argues, is to ‘cut’ an inquiry short (ibid, p. 115) and ultimately to reach a premature conclusion. Our solution would likely fail and the situation will remain indeterminate.

25  Alluding to his metaphysical perspective, Dewey is keen to stress a continuity between these traits and the situation. Thus, it is not just the inquirer who is disturbed, troubled, confused and so on, but also the situation (LW 12, p. 110). 26  Interestingly, Dewey acknowledges the fluidity of problems and notes how, as things in themselves, they also require ‘progressive inquiry’ (ibid, p. 112, italics in original). 27  In an example, he speaks of a fire alarm sounding. If we are to survive, there are a number of things we must determine rapidly, e.g., where the fire is, the position of the aisles and exists. Alongside this, he notes, there will be other less fixed features, such as the movement and behaviors of the crowd. Only by taking all of this into account will we be able to begin to consider a solution to our immediate dilemma. 28  Dewey’s exact phrase is the ‘meaning contents’ of an idea (see LW 12, p. 115).

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In the long-run, Dewey expects that our reasoning will be supported by cycles of experimentation. At some point, we will be forced to stop ‘turning’ ideas over in our heads and will have to try and test their impact in the real world. Here, our ideas become the basis of hypotheses which allow us to frame experiments. The results of these experiments lead to refinements in our ideas and new hypotheses. In a design research project this often takes the form of iterative prototyping, whereby gradually, an exemplar of something—be it an artifact or an experience—is developed and given form, experiment by experiment. Reflecting on the literature discussed in the last section (i.e., Frayling, Archer, Niedderer and Durling, Scrivener, Koskinen et al., Bang et al.), this would appear to function as an outline of what we might term a ‘classic’ model of design research involving practice. Real world experimentation allows us to reason out the design, we are thinking through making and, all the time, carrying the inquiry forwards. Oddly, Dewey is somewhat vague about the end of an inquiry. His pattern does not include an ‘ultimate’ or penultimate stage; no set of concluding actions are specified. He does however draw an explicit link between ‘knowledge’ and closure.29 Knowledge is knowledge, he says, ‘because it is the appropriate close of inquiry’ (LW 12, p. 15, italics in original); a ‘settled outcome’ has been reached which is itself in some way ‘conclusive’ (p. 123). Ultimately, Dewey is suggesting that it is the responsibility of the inquirer(s) (i.e., in our case, the designer-researchers) to identify a satisfactory criterion or set of criteria by which they may recognize a settled outcome and declare closure. In doing so, they will likely have arrived at a satisfactory answer to their opening question or the question this has evolved into.30 But equally, for the designer-researcher, it might also mean that they have arrived at a design that ‘works’. In both cases, the inquiry, as a movement from the doubtful to the less doubtful, is complete. Dewey’s general ambiguity on the end of inquiry, may be attributable to his view that inquiries are progressive; one links to the other, as each set of conclusions—that is, the knowledge arrived at—informs further work. He is firm in stating that no outcome is final in and of itself. There is always the possibility that beliefs will be overturned and that new formulations, practical and theoretical, will emerge. Equally, new situations will arise. These, in turn, will require new solutions. The moon landings, for example, led to the development of wholly new technologies, from cordless devices to special types of polymer material. It is Dewey’s point that such new solutions will likely reference older, prior solutions (e.g., non-cordless devices) but, at the same time, will, in themselves, form a unique response to their particular problematic.

 Interestingly, this is the only point in The Logic that Dewey discusses knowledge as having a direct meaning within inquiry. 30  Equally, following Dewey’s definition of inquiry, it would also seem likely that the inquirer(s) would be in a position to claim that the original indeterminate situation has become so ‘determinate’ such that there is no further need for experimentation. 29

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All of this links directly to Dewey’s approach to truth. In keeping with his general avoidance of the word knowledge, Dewey also avoids the use of the word truth in The Logic and, in its place,31 introduces the concept of warranted assertability. Connecting to the notion that the attainment of knowledge marks the close of inquiry, and that inquiries link to other inquiries, warranted assertability points to the quality of the conclusions reached. To claim that one’s conclusions hold warranted assertability is, on the one hand, to claim that the inquiry is sound—its methods have proceeded in accordance with accepted norms—and, on the other, that its findings hold the potential to guide and inform further inquiry; that they may become a ‘means of attaining knowledge of something else’ (ibid, p. 122, italics in original). In this way, concerns about whether or not certain conclusions hold a correspondence with an absolute reality, i.e., whether they are true in the final sense, are dissolved. For Dewey, inquiry functions in order to solve problems and beget further inquiry, not to hold a ‘mirror’ up to nature.32 All of this leads us to a novel and, in the context of design research involving design practice, perhaps the most compelling aspect of Dewey’s theory of inquiry— a concept that we might term the continuum of inquiry. As we saw in the last chapter with Dewey’s linking of art and science, with the continuum of inquiry Dewey suggests that a clear connection can be drawn between scientific inquiry and what he terms ‘common sense’ inquiry, that is, ordinary everyday activities aimed at solving particular problems. Dewey argues that the only distinction worth making between these two approaches, is their differing subject matter and the technical complexity of the methods applied. Indeed, in other writing, he went so far as question the assumed of preeminence of scientific knowledge as set against other modes of knowing. Here, by emphasizing the problem-solving aspect of inquiry, he introduced the possibility of an equivalence of disciplinary value, again mirroring the art-science link of Chap. 2. There is no kind of inquiry which has a monopoly of the honorable title of knowledge. The engineer, the artist, the historian, the man of affairs attain knowledge in the degree that they employ methods that enable them to solve problems which develop in the subject matter they are concerned with. As philosophy framed upon the pattern of inquiry does away with all wholesale skepticism, so it eliminates all invidious monopolies of the idea of science. By their fruits we shall know them. (LW 4, p. 146)

In this example, we see clearly how Dewey’s intertwining of inquiry and knowledge, of knowing and doing, overturns the standard account of knowledge as an absolute final statement on the world, held apart from everyday concerns and

 It is often overlooked that Dewey did not directly link truth and warranted assertability. Rather he introduces the concept as a replacement for knowledge and belief. Ultimately, warranted assertability removes the question of truth as a correspondence with reality. Instead, the question becomes: Does the evidence stack up? 32  Dewey’s rejection of a notion of knowledge as a ‘mirror of nature’ was highlighted by Richard Rorty in Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1979). 31

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activities. Physics, chemistry, history, art and of course (by implication) design are all ranged along a single continuum of ways of inquiring. On this presentation, it is not the disciplinary label that matters, but rather what a particular inquiry achieves, where it gets us. Identifying and defining problems, working to frame possible solutions, moving from suggestions, to ideas, to experiments and back again; this is where the value lies and this is what knowing, on the Deweyan account, means. On this view, design research involving practice becomes a highly valuable approach to knowledge production. It centers upon defining problems, working to frame possible solutions and so on. It is, in essence, solution-­ orientated as Brian Lawson would have it (2008/1980). It wants to get us somewhere. Before moving on, it is also worth briefly noting that, if we reflect on the above outline in relation to Schön’s work, it becomes possible to identify the germ of his epistemology of practice in outline. As will be explored further below, we can see the problem-framing, the experimentation and the negotiation of the outcomes of such experiments all in evidence—it’s mostly, if not all, there. However, this is a discussion for the next section. The simple point to be made is that returning to Dewey allows us to see how Schönian theories may be related to knowledge production; in other words; how Schön’s reflective practice relates to the Dewey’s account of research practice. Having set out the above account, we will now briefly examine some appropriations of Dewey’s theory/pattern of inquiry in the context of design, including, by way of return, the work of Schön.

 eferencing Dewey’s Theory of Inquiry in Relation to Design R Practice and Research Dewey’s theory/pattern of inquiry has, over the years, inspired a number of major methodological and theoretical contributions in the field of design. As was just noted, one such contribution is Schön’s epistemology of practice. Three further examples, briefly referred to in Chaps. 1 and 2, can be found in the work of Peter Dalsgaard (e.g., 2009), Ronald Wakkary (2009) and Leif Östman (2005). Additionally, another relevant example comes from Marc Steen (2013). In this section, we will consider each of these contributions in turn, looking first to Dalsgaard, Wakkary, Östman and Steen, and then finally turning again to Schön. We begin then with Dalsgaard. Dalsgaard drew on Dewey in his doctoral work in interaction design. Sitting behind the research activities proper, Deweyan philosophy is seen to play two roles within the project. On the one hand, it supports the framing of the research approach which Dalsgaard terms ‘research into and through design’. On the other, it acts as a conceptual scaffold, supporting the design and use of the interactive technologies within the research. Taken as contributions, both are said to constitute a ‘pragmatist perspective for interaction design’.

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In setting out this perspective, Dalsgaard foregrounds a number of key Deweyan concepts, including situation, inquiry, transformation, technology, and experience (2009, p. 75). Against these, interaction design is positioned as a form of experimental inquiry aiming towards the ‘creative and purposive transformation’ of situations through technology. Technology is seen as something which is both designed and used. Equally, as was highlighted in the last chapter, following Dewey (and ultimately James), experience is held to be a two-fold concept, referring both to the flow of encounters as well as those occurrences which stand out (ibid, p. 105). Dalsgaard also argues that the Deweyan understanding of inquiry is inherently creative. Creativity is seen to extend across the situations of design and use. It is dialogical and distributed: dialogical because the situation in all its dimensions ‘talks back’ in the sense suggested by Schön; and distributed because the transformation of the situation(s) is reliant on multiple social and technological interactions which both enable and carry forward action (ibid, pp. 86–87).

I n Focus Box 3.2, Peter Dalsgaard: From Interaction Design Research to Deweyan Inquiry Peter Dalsgaard undertook his PhD at the Centre for Advanced Visualization (CAVI) at Aarhus University, through an involvement in a series of medium-sized research projects focusing on the design and development of interactive digital environments (see Dalsgaard 2009). For example, in one project, he was part of team exploring the possibilities of embedding media facades in interior spaces. In another, he was involved in the design of a competition for a modern art museum in Warsaw. In the end, the individual projects were grouped to form a series of case studies, allowing Dalsgaard to issue a set general proposals for the field of interaction design alongside positioning the practical outcomes of the work as contributions in their own right. As has been noted in the main text, Dalsgaard draws an explicit methodological link to the classical pragmatist tradition and, in particular, to the work of John Dewey. Intriguingly, he does not foreground Dewey’s philosophy within his initial overarching outline of his method; rather it is something that he builds towards gradually. He sees his methodology as being firmly grounded in design practice, aligning in particular with Brandt and Binder’s model of programmatic design research (2007). Using this model as a basic frame of reference, he reflects on the work he has undertaken and suggests that rather than a single program of research he has been involved in multiple programs, which, together can be seen to form an interlinking chain of activity. Dewey’s work is layered on top of the design activities. Here, the concepts of inquiry, transformation, technology, creativity and so on are adopted as useful frames of reference, allowing the work to be seen and understood in a certain way. Dalsgaard insists that he has no interest in elaborating a ‘formal model of inquiry’

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from Deweyan pragmatism, on the basis that such an outcome would run the risk of becoming a ‘strait-jacket’ which inhabits rather than supports design research (2009, p. 81). Instead, he is invites other interaction design researchers to draw on his appropriation of these concepts in their own work, suggesting that it offers a ‘tenable foundation for further theoretical development’ (2009, p. 108). Dalsgaard’s case offers us a highly compelling example of how design research involving practice can enter into a creative dialogue with philosophy and, of course, with Dewey in particular and still preserve its essential features. Dalsgaard is not insisting that interaction design, as a field, be permanently aligned with pragmatism only that Deweyan pragmatism offers a constructive perspective which might be explored further. What is essential here is the idea of the design experiment, of its taking place and of its adding value within its context. Referencing Dewey helps Dalsgaard to articulate this. It does not enable such activity. To put it another way, Dewey’s work does not become a framework for interaction design, rather his work inspires Dalsgaard as he shapes a framework which, itself, is grounded in the practice of interaction design. Next, we encounter the work of Wakkary. Like Dalsgaard, Wakkary aligns to the field of interaction design (2009). Interestingly, however, he does not turn directly to Dewey’s theory or pattern of inquiry but rather explores his experiential approach to knowing found in Experience and Nature (see Chap. 2). Taking this route, he links to Schön’s work on the epistemology of practice and, in doing so, formulates a ‘new theoretical framework’ for interaction design. As with Dalsgaard, he claims this framework instantiates a novel, pragmatist perspective for the field. Intriguingly, as was noted to the last chapter, the experiential approach he articulates enfolds much of the Deweyan account of experience presented in the last chapter (see Chap. 2). Here, experience is said to hold: concreteness, in the sense that it is as it appears to us; multiplicity, in the sense that it can be understood as many-­ layered in the way described above; and entities-in-interaction, in the sense that it is constituted in dynamic interaction (Wakkary 2009, pp. 111–112). Against this, Wakkary positions the interaction designer as an inquirer. As inquirers, they rely on: their embodiment, whereby there are present to the research and the experience; and their proactivness, whereby they actively seek shape experience in a process of ‘imaginatively’ giving form to its ‘latent possibilities’ (ibid, p. 112). Beyond these two contributors, Leif Östman also turned to Dewey in the context of doctoral study, albeit, in his case, working within the field of architecture (2005). He links aspects of Dewey’s theories of inquiry and aesthetics33 to formulate both a ‘pragmatist theory of architecture’ as well as a proposal for the possibility of structuring a broader ‘pragmatist theory for design’. With the former, Östman foregrounds, what he perceives to be the democratic spirit34 underlying Dewey’s theory of aesthetic experience. Thus, his theory recognizes the creative value of both the

 This theory has been set out in the last chapter.  Dewey was of course one of the twentieth century’s greatest champions of democracy (e.g., Westbrook 1991). This aspect of his philosophy and its relation to design research will be covered in Chap. 5.

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avant-garde and ‘sublime adoptions to tradition and culture’, but places an emphasis on the ‘moral attitudes’ and ‘strategies for action and inquiry’ that lie behind the design process. On his account, Deweyan aesthetics and, accordingly, his own theory, demands an open, inclusive and humanistic perspective in architecture, which aims towards an integration of all forms of experience, whether intellectual, embodied, artistic, social or other (p. 321). In the context of the broader pragmatist theory for design, Östman suggests that Dewey’s philosophy might be positioned as an ‘epistemological framework’ for design (p.  333). Like Schön, he believes that Dewey’s theory of inquiry may be taken as a model of the design process. However, rather than conceiving of this model in linear terms or as exclusively aimed towards problem solving, Östman suggests that a more balanced perspective is preferable, describing design as ‘a developmental process, including some elements of [the] management of problems and, of course, to some degree problem solving’ (2005, p. 335, italics added). More broadly, he believes that the Deweyan perspective requires that theory be developed from practice (p. 333). On his interpretation, the point of theorizing is ‘not to pin down knowledge to a simple and fixed truth, but to address problems and to promote understanding by clarification and criticism’ (p. 334). Lastly, Marc Steen has also recently drawn attention to the parallels between the pattern of inquiry and the practice of co-design (2013). Through a phase-by-phase overview, he offers a presentation of the pattern contextualized in co-design terms. For example, Steen suggests that Dewey’s interlinking of ideas and experimentation can be related to co-design’s approach to ‘trying-out’ solutions by ‘organizing tests with users or customers’ (p. 23). Additionally, it is worth noting that, in the same piece, he goes on to link the pattern to Dewey’s ethics, an aspect of his philosophy we will cover later (see Chap. 5). Surveying the above, we can see that each contributor characterizes Dewey’s theory/pattern of inquiry in distinct ways, highlighting some aspects and aligning these to other areas of his work. Dalsgaard offers us a version of the theory/pattern which sees it become a pivotal concept in a broader framework for interaction design. Focusing in on the technological (in particular, interactive technologies) and creative aspects of inquiry enables him to better ground the concept of inquiry in relation to interaction design. For example, inquiry is presented as inherently technological and technology-in-­ inquiry is said to experiential, as well as a transformative (in the sense outlined above). In this way, the theory/pattern comes a productive intellectual hook, allowing Dalsgaard to conceive of his technologically-bound, creative practices/activities as coming together to comprise a program of research. Wakkary is different to the others. By focusing on experience and linking to Schön, he avoids having to reference the theory/pattern of inquiry proper. As such, there is no discussion of doubtful situations or reasoning or warranted assertability. Rather, ‘design inquiry’, understood in Schönian terms relating to the experience of designing in design projects, becomes the process by which knowledge is produced. Here, Wakkary foregrounds the idea of experimentation and links this to the themes of embodiment, imagination and future possibilities (p. 113). As such, his offering

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is thoroughly designerly, there is no true separation between the designing-designer and designer-researcher. Next, there is Östman. His presentation is both ambitious and thorough, linking, as he does, the theory of inquiry to aesthetic experience and Dewey’s democratic ideal (see Chap. 5). Through Dewey, he frames a holistic, perspective for design (in particular for architecture), which allows us to see and come to apprehend the aesthetics of the everyday existence as supported by design. For example, in the context of life lived in a family home. Equally, his proposal for a pragmatist theory for design begins to offer us a sense of how a more robust epistemological narrative for design practice in research might be formulated. Indeed, in this, his successful linking together of many of Dewey theories (i.e., aesthetics, ethics and inquiry) demonstrates that there is value and meaning in offering the field of design a ‘joined-up’ Dewey. Lastly, we have Steen. He can be seen to helpfully offer us a design-based rendering of theory/pattern. On his presentation, we can clearly see how the various processes contained within the theory/pattern may readily be aligned to specific design activities. In his case, these are co-design activities. Nevertheless, it would be possible to reference this alignment as we seek to test other alignments—whether to product design, service design, design thinking or, as I began to explore in the last section, design research involving practice. Beyond these accounts, we must now turn to look once again at the work of Donald Schön (e.g. 1983; 1987). Given its highly influential nature, I believe that the relationship between Schön’s epistemology of practice and Deweyan inquiry deserves special attention. As was alluded to at the end of the last section, Schön and Dewey are interlinked. Though Schön makes scant reference to Dewey in main text of The Reflective Practitioner, he does at least partially acknowledge this debt in the footnotes, commenting that he has borrowed his ‘language’ from Dewey (1983, p. 357). We can see this clearly in his use of terms such as situation, problem, solution and experiment. However, as has been highlighted, the referencing runs deeper than language. Throughout Schön’s outline of the epistemology of practice we may detect a basic connection to the phases of inquiry outlined in Dewey’s pattern. This is especially the case as he describes the progress of design experiments35—problems are seen to give rise to imagined solutions which, in turn, are tested through the situation’s talk-­ back. One experiment leads to another, and on and on, in cycle. Beyond The Reflective Practitioner, Schön was more forthcoming on the details of his Deweyan referencing. In two articles entitled “The Theory of Inquiry: Dewey’s Legacy to Education” (1992) and “Knowing-in-Action: The New Scholarship Requires a New Epistemology” (1995), he sets out the points of inspiration clearly. Dewey’s interlinking of thought and action is identified as a

 Schön also talks of experimental ‘transactions’; which on his account refers to the ‘interaction of the knower and known’ (1983, p.  361). Here, again he acknowledges his debt to Dewey, who devised the concept in partnership with a sometime co–author, Arthur Bentley. For a detailed outline of the concept see The Knowing and the Known (in particular LW 16, pp. 96–109).

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fundamental concept within reflective practice (1992). Connections are also drawn with Dewey’s emphasis on doubt and problem-framing as points of entry into inquiry. Intriguingly, Schön takes the view that Deweyan inquiry is not so much aimed towards solutions, as it is finding new sets of problems. In his words: ‘the proper test of a round of inquiry is not only “Have I solved this problem?” but “Do I like the new problems I’ve created?”’ Reflecting on the broader nature of the Deweyan conception of inquiry, he goes on to suggest its structuring might be likened to the act of designing. Here, he is not referring to the design in the professional sense (e.g. architecture or industrial design) but, rather, is drawing attention to what he sees as the ‘the more inclusive process of making things’ inherent in all creative, problem solving (1995, p. 31). On the face of it, Schön appears to do an excellent job of furnishing the bare outline of Dewey’s theory/pattern with rich and insightful details regarding the minute ‘hows’ of practice. His account of design experiments and their in-built rigor is also highly compelling. We can identify the ways in which the practitioner maps their experiments to the situation, binding the two together in action. Over the years, however, a number of critics have called attention to what they feel are gaps in Schön’s Deweyan referencing. Shapiro (2010), for example, has argued that Schön’s appropriation offers a ‘limited and, at times, distorted reception’ of Dewey’s philosophy. On his account, Schön fails to grasp Dewey’s ‘holistic phenomenology’ (p. 312), that is, his understanding of personhood. This, in turn, is seen to leave the notion of reflection-in-action—his epistemology of practice— without a full account of the depth of professional practice, as it relates to experience, behavior and ideals.36 Buchanan (2007) has advanced a more particular and, in the context of design research involving practice, directly relevant criticism. In setting out his history of design’s methodological advance, he suggests Schön’s account is one-sided. Schön, he argues, only offers us ‘a popularised version’ of Dewey’s concept of common sense inquiry. While Dewey himself is seen to offer the ‘stronger arguments and concepts for this kind of activity, well grounded in the philosophy of pragmatism and the nature of inquiry’. We are also told that where ‘Schön’s exposition begins to falter and become vague, Dewey’s line of argument offers a more sustainable strategy for development’ (Buchanan 2007, p. 62). For me, as may be apparent from the point made at the end of last section, this strategy for development relates to knowledge production; in particular, to knowledge production in the context of design research involving design practice. Schön’s work is clearly invaluable, but it is my belief that if we are to fully realize a sufficiently rich epistemological narrative for design research involving practice, we need to keep our sights firmly on Dewey. Having reached the end of the present chapter, I would now like to return to the pattern again, one last time. Although it is not yet possible to offer a full account of  More particularly, this can be set out as the full breath of our experiences, the progressive way in which habitual behaviors take form and the way in which ideals play a role in action (Shapiro 2010, p. 312–317).

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its applicability for the field, we are in a position to draw some immediate links between its essential features and design research involving practice.

 here the Theory of Inquiry Begins to Take Us: A Continuum W of Inquiry and Knowing in Making In the most straightforward sense, we can say that Dewey’s pattern of inquiry weaves together problematic situations, questions, ideas, solutions, experiments to knowledge. As Schön has illustrated this is the path of reflective design practice but, more importantly, in Dewey’s terms it may also be presented as the path of academic research. Looking to Dewey directly, we can see that the underlying way of working, the broad method, is presented in equivalent terms to designing within the design process. We move around and in and out of a problem. Solutions, whether in the form of a product or a theory, ‘flash’ upon us as suggestions. They build up and take shape. Their refinement improves. The designer and the designer-researchers are shown to be following the same course. This dual aspect—i.e., its ability to simultaneous re-present both design practice and academic research practice—recalls, in turn, Dewey’s continuum of inquiry; that is, his relating of common sense inquiry and scientific inquiry. Once we come to see that Deweyan inquiry can represent both practice as practice and practice in research, the continuum provides us with means of both relating and distinguishing between the two. In everyday practice situations, design is design—a common sense inquiry aiming towards contextual solutions. It may lead to a satisfactory set of conclusions but their quality will inevitably vary. Some may be transferable, others not. In simple terms, everyday practice is unlikely to further or extend the collective knowledge of a community of inquiry, whatever the strength of a given individual or group’s reflective practice. Conversely, in the context of academic design research design becomes a method, a means of attaining collective knowledge with respect to particular concerns and communal interests. In order to qualify as academic research the work must be transferable, at least to a degree. This is where the true value of the concept of warranted assertability comes into play. ‘Warranted assertable’ conclusions—‘objects of knowledge’ to use Dewey’s term—must be both internally valid and externally useable. In other words, they must be transferable. As such, warranted assertability is the mechanism by which practice-in-research becomes more than practice-as-practice. Done right, it becomes practice-as-method—a means to an end which extends beyond contextual solutions and aims instead towards outcomes pertaining to a particular design research community. Taken as whole then, Deweyan inquiry operationalizes knowing in designerly making. Here, designerly making is repositioned as the means to knowing. This, however, is not all. As I have indicated, inquiry only marks a first step. In the round, Dewey’s approach to knowledge extends considerably further than the

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theory of inquiry. When finally presented it will draw in both the metaphysics of the last chapter and the theory of communication of the next chapter; a unique tripartite combination which, I believe, offers a robust epistemological narrative for design research involving practice.

 Practical Case 3.0: Marc Steen’s Navigation of Dewey’s A Pattern in Co-Design In the early 2010s, Marc Steen explored how Dewey’s pattern of inquiry might be applied as a conceptual framework in co-design (Steen 2013). Briefly highlighted in the middle of the above chapter, Steen’s presentation merits further analysis here on the basis that it will provide us with a practical example of how a relationship may be drawn between the pattern on the one hand and design on the other. Steen’s presentation is grounded in a reflection on his involvement in Together Anywhere, Together Anytime (TA2); an EU-funded research project exploring the development of novel digital communication technologies aimed at enabling group-­ to-­group communication. Bringing together over forty researchers, designers and developers, the project was punctuated by a series of co-design events; with some events focusing on team cohesion and project-framing and others supporting design and development work. In moving to relate the pattern to co-design, he contextualizes each of these events in relation to Dewey’s concepts of problems and solutions. First, we are told, a series of team-based workshops were organized in order to align perspectives and clarify goals. Ultimately, these are seen to allow the team to explore and define the problem. Next, a series of storyboards illustrating potential use scenarios were produced. With these to hand, both team-members and participants were better able to perceive the problem, as well as conceive of possible solutions. Through this activity a possible ‘problem-solution’ is formed. Lastly, a series of prototyping activities were framed in terms of trying out and evaluating solutions. Here, multiple potentially viable applications were built and tested by the team in ‘realistic situations’ with participants (ibid, pp. 25–27). This links directly to the activities of reasoning and experimentation in Dewey’s pattern, whereby things are made, tested and refined, on and on in cycle. Steen’s rendering of Dewey pattern can be seen to contrast with my own on the basis that Steen does not emphasis the production of knowledge but rather communication, cooperation and problem-solving. As such, he does not discuss the concept of knowledge-as-an-endpoint, or warranted assertability or inquiry as a progressive, ongoing activity. Ultimately, his interest lies with the practice of co-design and the means by which its qualities and characteristics can be best described and represented. In the end, he draws firm links between Deweyan inquiry and Deweyan ethics on the basis that reflection, imagination and empathy are seen as primary to both. On this framing, his mapping of Deweyan inquiry to co-design becomes, by default, a mapping of co-design to ethics. Co-design, he argues, may be seen to hold

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inherently ethical qualities as participants are able to ‘express and share their experiences, to discuss and negotiate their roles and interests, and to jointly bring about positive change’. This is a presentation of the pattern (and co-design), which, to use Steen’s words, relates thinking and feeling, facts and values (ibid, p. 28). To this, I would add academic conclusions and empathic understanding. All in, it amounts to highly valuable contribution and goes some way to demonstrating the potential richness of the Deweyan scheme when related to design. For my part, at this point in the discussion at least, the knowledge angle must hold so far as the issue of inquiry is concerned—our focus continues to reside with design research which involves practice. On this view, the concepts of knowledge-­ as-­an-endpoint, warranted assertability and inquiry-as-a-progressive activity are vital tools that allow us to frame design practice in terms of research. However, this is not to discount the ethical aspect of Deweyan inquiry nor to question the value of Dewey’s ethics. These themes will be taken up in due course as we come, eventually, to explore the ethics in relation to his treatment of democracy and politics more generally (see Chap. 5, where Steen is referenced again).

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Buchanan, R. (2009). Thinking about design: An historical perspective. In A.  Meijers (Ed.), Philosophy of technology. Buchanan, R., Doorden, D., Justice, L., & Margolin, V. (Eds.). (1998). Proceedings of the Ohio conference, 8–11 October. Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University. Coyne, R. (2005). Wicked problems revisited. Design Studies, 26(1), 5–17. Cross, N. (2001). Designerly ways of knowing: Design discipline versus design science. Design Issues, 17(3), 49–55. Dalsgaard, P. (2009). Designing engaging interactive environments – A pragmatist perspective.. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation. Aarhus: Aarhus University. Dewey, J. LW 1–17. In J. A. Boydston (Ed.), John Dewey the later works, 1925–1953. Carbondale: University of Southern Illinois Press. Dorst, K. (2013). Academic Design. TU Eindhoven, Eindhoven. Available via research.tue.nl https://pure.tue.nl/ws/portalfiles/portal/3801566/dorst2013.pdf Accessed 11 Feb 2020. Dorst, K. (2015). Frame innovation: Create new thinking by design. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Dorst, K. (2016). Design practice and design research: Finally together? In P. Lloyd & E. Bohemia (Eds.), Proceedings of DRS 2016, design + research+ society, future-focused thinking, Vol 7 (pp. 2669–2678). Brighton. Dorst, K., & Cross, N. (2001). Creativity in the design process: Co-evolution of problem-solution. Design Studies, 22(5), 425–437. Durling, D., & Friedman, K. (Eds.). (2000). Doctoral education in design: Foundations for the future. Staffordshire: Staffordshire University Press. Durling, D., & Sugiyama, K. (Eds.). (2003). Doctoral education in design: Practice of research. Tsukuba: University of Tsukuba. Ehn, P. (2017). Learning in PD as I found it (1970–2015). In B. DiSalvo, J. Yip, E. Bonsignore, & C.  DiSalvo (Eds.), PD for learning: Perspectives from practice and research (pp.  7–21). Abingdon: Routledge. Frayling, C. (1993). Research in art and design. Royal College of Art Research Papers, 1(1), 1–5. Gregory, S. A. (1966). Design science. In S. A. Gregory (Ed.), The design method (pp. 323–330). London: Butterworth. HEFCE. (1992). Research assessment exercise 1992: The outcome, universities funding circular 26/92. Bristol: HEFCE. Henkel, M. (2000). Academic identities and policy change in higher education. London: J. Kingsley. Hickman, L. (2007). Pragmatism as Post-Postmodernism: Lessons from John Dewey. New York: Fordham University Press. Jenkins, T. (2018). Co-housing IoT: Designing edge cases in the internet of things. Unpublished PhD dissertation. Atlanta: Georgia Institute of Technology. Jonas, W. (2007). Design research and its methodological meaning to the development of the discipline. In M. Ralf (Ed.), Design research now (pp. 187–206). Basel: Birkhäuser. Jones, J. C. (1984). A method of systematic design. In N. Cross (Ed.), Developments in design methodology (pp. 9–31). New York: Wiley. Jones, J. C. (1992). Design methods: Designing designing. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Koskinen, I., Zimmerman, J., Binder, T., Redstrom, J., & Wensveen, S. (2011). Design research through practice: From the lab, field, and showroom. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Lawson, B. R. (1979). Cognitive strategies in architectural design. Ergonomics, 22(1), 59–68. Lawson, B. R. (2004). Schemata, gambits and precedent: Some factors in design expertise. Design Studies, 25(5), 443–457. Lawson, B. R. (2008). [1980] How designers think. Oxford: The Architectural Press. Lawson, B. R., & Dorst, K. (2009). Design expertise. Abingdon: Routledge. McDonnell, J. (2015). Gifts to the future: Design reasoning, design research, and critical design practitioners. She Ji: The Journal of Design, Economics, and Innovation, 1(2), 107–117.

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Melles, G. (2010). Design research and training: Views of educators in a University of Technology in Australia. Procedia–Social and Behavioral Sciences, 2(2), 757–761. Niedderer, K. (2007). Mapping the meaning of knowledge in design research. Design Research Quarterly, 2(2), 1–13. Niedderer, K. (2013). Explorative materiality and knowledge. The role of creative exploration and artifacts in design research. Form Akademisk-forskningstidsskrift for design og designdidaktikk, 6(2). Niedderer, K., & Durling, D. (2007). The benefits and limits of investigative designing. In: Proceedings of the 2nd International Congress of International Association of Societies of Design Research, Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong, 12–15 Nov 2007. Östman, L. E. (2005). A pragmatist theory of design. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation. Stockholm: Royal Institute of Technology. Pedgley, O., & Wormald, P. (2007). Integration of design projects within a Ph.D. Design Issues, 23(3), 70–85. Rittel, H. W. J. (1972). On the planning crisis: Systems analysis of the ‘first and second generations. Bedrifts Økonomen, 8, 390–396. Rittel, H. W. J. (1984). Second generation design methods. In N. Cross (Ed.), Developments in design methodology (pp. 317–327). New York: Wiley. Rittel HWJ (1988) The Reasoning of Designers. Arbeitspapier A-88-4, Institut für Grundlagen der Planuug, Universität Stuttgart, Stuttgart. Rorty, R. (1979). Philosophy and the Mirror of nature. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Schön, D. A. (1983). The reflective practitioner. New York: Basic Books. Schön, D. A. (1987). Educating the reflective practitioner: Toward a new design for teaching and learning in the professions. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Schön, D.  A. (1992). The theory of inquiry: Dewey’s legacy to education. Curriculum Inquiry, 22(2), 119–139. Schön, D.  A. (1995). Knowing-in-action: The new scholarship requires a new epistemology. Change: The Magazine of Higher Learning, 27(6), 27–34. Scrivener, S. (2009). The roles of art and design process and object in research. In N. Nimkulrat & T. O’Reilly (Eds.), Reflections and connections: On the relationship between creative production and academic research (pp. 69–80). Helsinki: University of Art and Design Helsinki. Shapiro, H. (2010). John Dewey’s reception in “Schönian” reflective practice. Philosophy of Education Archive, 311–319. Simon, H. (1996) [1969]. The Sciences of the Artificial, 3rd edn. Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. Simonsen, J., & Robertson, T. (Eds.). (2013). Routledge handbook of PD. Abingdon: Routledge. Steen, M. (2013). Co-design as a process of joint inquiry and imagination. Design Issues, 29(2), 16–28. von Glasersfeld, E. (1995). Radial constructivism: A way of knowing and learning. London: Falmer Press. Wakkary, R. (2009). Experiencing interaction design: A pragmatic theory. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. Plymouth: University of Plymouth. Westbrook, R. (1991). John Dewey and American democracy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Zimmerman, J., & Forlizzi, J. (2008). The role of design artifacts in design theory construction. Artifact: Journal of Design Practice, 2(1), 41–45.

Chapter 4

Making Things Meaningful

Abstract  In this chapter, building on the previous discussion of knowledge/knowing, I turn to consider the themes of meaning and communication in design research. To open, I explore of the work of three key theorists—Roberto Verganti, Klaus Krippendorff and Nathan Crilly—who have each explored these themes in detail. From this, I turn once again to Dewey’s work, looking in particular at his handling of the subjects of language, the imagination and the ‘work of art’. With these positions set out, I then move to consider some of the possible implications for design research, focusing in particular on the ‘work of art’ concept. Ultimately, emphasis is placed on how Dewey’s insights can support the theoretical articulation of meaningfulness in design as well as the communicative value of artifacts in academic design research. Keywords  Artifacts in research · Design artifacts · John Dewey · Imagination · Meaning · Communication

Things mean things. The conduct of daily life relies on this fact. Consciously or unconsciously, we are continually working to understand what it is that has happened or is happening. We act, interact, and react on the basis of these actualities or possibilities and, gradually, we become increasingly skilled at interpretation and predication. We can ‘see’ what has happened and ‘foresee’ what will likely happen. Things have become meaning-full. Alongside this and more significantly still, there is the meaning that occurs in communication where the intricacies of language add another layer of complexity to our lives. Here, we are not simply dealing with what is or might be in immediate terms but, rather, we are able to span the full spatial and temporal range (i.e., anywhere and any time). This is possible because language is founded on symbols which can stand in for that which isn’t present. Importantly, leading on from this, language also opens up and enables the social dimension in our lives. Through it, we can coordinate shared activities, plan and replan, do things together. Complex goals can be achieved and even more complex

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goals imagined. Perspectives can be shared and a common understanding reached. Language allows us to form and sustain friendships and relationships. It brings us together and, in this, informs who we are and who we might be. The question of language, of its features and functions, has inspired some of the twentieth century’s most prolific Anglo-American and European philosophy. Indeed, in the prewar and immediate postwar eras, the field underwent what has been referred to as a ‘linguistic turn’ (e.g., Rorty 1967), with language (and meaning) becoming central philosophic concerns. This resulted in a general shift in methods and agenda and new philosophic approach termed analytic philosophy. Here, philosophers were committed to a very clear task—the dissolution of conceptual problems through either the ‘reform’ of language or, alternatively, an analysis of the ‘ordinary’, everyday use of language (ibid, p. 3). On this view, philosophical problems had become problems of language. While many contemporary philosophers would align with the linguistic tradition, one key historical figure continues to stand out in regard to language—the infamous Ludwig Wittgenstein. Wittgenstein’s impact cannot be underestimated. Many would claim he changed the course of philosophy and, certainly, he has transformed our understanding of language (see e.g., Monk 1990 for a useful introduction). His early work is often characterized as offering ‘picture theory’ of language. Here, Wittgenstein proposes that, when appropriately used, language can be understood to re-present the world (i.e., offer back a picture). However, after a lengthy period apart from philosophy, he more or less abandoned this idea in favor of a more nuanced and complex proposal centered around the contextual emergence of meaning in everyday situations (see 1963/1958). Now, language was to be approached as subject that could only be understood in its use, not in the abstract.1 Wittgenstein’s philosophy has inspired at least three key design theorists. Klaus Krippendorff, whose work will be covered in the next section; Johan Redström, whose work will be touched upon briefly in a later section of the present chapter; and Pelle Ehn, whose broader contributions will be noted in Chap. 5. Though each appropriated the Wittgensteinian perspective in their own way, on some level, they can all be seen to respond to his general emphasis on the need to frame meaning in contextual, practical terms. Through Wittgenstein, they variously foreground the real-world complexities of a designer’s decision-making and users’ appreciation and understanding of the outcomes of a design process. Together, along with some others (see e.g., Sless 2007), they point to potential of deep alignment between Wittigensteinian view on language-meaning and design and design research, possibly even design research involving practice. Wittgenstein and Dewey are not often discussed together. However, intriguingly, Dewey, like Wittgenstein, also offers us a contextual, practical understanding of

1  Over the coming decades, others advanced relatable theories. J.L. Austin, for example, developed a speech–act theory of language, which equated saying something with ‘doing’ something. On his view, uttered sentences were not to be understood in ideal terms (e.g., as propositions or assertions) but rather as performances with the possibility of consequences and implications (see Austin 1962).

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meaning and language. In spite of this, unlike Wittgenstein, he is not seen as a contributor to the linguistic turn. Indeed, his work in this area has not had much impact in philosophy, let alone design. In seeking to address this, at least in the context of design research involving practice, the present chapter will consider his theory of communication as expressed in his metaphysics and theory of art. Here, I will claim that a turn to a Deweyan perspective on communication serves to two purposes. In the first instance, it provides an opportunity to draw out its immediate value for design and design research involving practice. This is especially appropriate in light of the recent interest in the subject in design, as noted above in terms of the reference to Wittgenstein’s work. The second reason is more expansive. Continuing the gradual unfolding of Dewey’s ‘special offering’, it should be noted that the theory of communication forms another fundamental link within Dewey’s approach to knowledge. Accordingly, providing an outline here will, again, support the later consolidation of the whole. The chapter opens by exploring some existing perspectives on meaning and communication as conceptual reference-points within design discourse. From this, I turn to look at Dewey’s treatment of language, the imagination and the ‘work of art’ in sequence. Collecting these positions together, consideration is then given to some of their possible implications in the context of our present study. Here, emphasis is placed on how Dewey’s insights might enrich the theoretical understandings of the emergence of meaningfulness in design, as well as the communicative value of artifactual outcomes in design research involving practice.

Design as Meaning, Design as Communication The themes of meaning and communication have recently gained ascendency in design discourse.2 We have seen this above in relation to those theorists who have been inspired by Wittgenstein but the trend extends further. At this point, I would like to discuss the work of three individuals—Nathan Crilly, Roberto Verganti, and Klaus Krippendorff. None of the three refer to Dewey’s work— Krippendorff, as has just been highlighted takes his reference from Wittgenstein. However, it will still be useful to briefly consider their positions as a means of framing an initial context for the later discussion on Dewey. We begin with the work of Nathan Crilly. Crilly’s proposal is to present design as a communication process, with products/artifacts being presented as a shared

2  There are other, historical reference points we might attend to. For example, the semiology of Ferdinand Saussure (see e.g., Saussure 2011/1916) and semiotics of Charles Sanders Peirce (e.g., Peirce 1991), have both been referenced by many. Equally, outside philosophy, information theory found a way into design through the Ulm School in the fifties, where Tomas Maldonado and Otl Aicher pushed designers to think of communication in terms of a sender coding a message to a channel, and the recipient decoding it. Aicher, however, would subsequently, return to Wittgenstein’s philosophy (See Leopold 2013; Krippendorff 2008).

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‘media’ which link the designer and the consumer. Consolidating previous work in the area, Crilly has developed a framework which aims to offer the field a comprehensive model of design-as-communication (see Crilly et al. 2008a). The model is made up of three parts. On one side, there is the designer and their intentions; in the middle, the finished artifact or product; and, on the other side, there is the consumer and their interpretations. Both designer and consumer are seen to approach the mediation with their own experiences, beliefs, motivations and so on (Crilly et al. 2008b, p. 22). Within this interaction, the artifact is seen to undergo a staged evolution. Working iteratively and envisioning a consumer response, the designer plans and eventually ‘realizes’ the final ‘thing’. Then, on the other end, through their eventual interactions with the product, the consumer comes to form their own understanding both of the ‘thing’, as well as the designer’s intentions. Crilly suggests that this model provides a firm foundation for design research, education and practice. Roberto Verganti’s work (e.g., Verganti 2009; Norman and Verganti 2014; Verganti 2006) places a similar emphasis on meaning, but builds on semiotics. Writing from a management perspective, he considers how design can be seen to make a unique contribution to the innovation process; a theory he refers to as ‘design-driven’ innovation. It is important to note that, for him, the term ‘design’ does not refer to a set of professional skills or even a specific type of outcome but rather to a broad-based organizational capacity. Verganti understands design as a process of ‘making sense’ and developing new meanings. On this account, ‘design’ emerges in the dynamic interaction of multiple actors—artists, social scientists, anthropologists, marketers, technologists, and the media, as well as traditional designers—who surround an organization (Verganti 2009, p.  119–125). Each, in their own way, is seen to ‘listen’, ‘interpret’ and ‘address’ emergent cultural values—meanings—resulting in a ‘design discourse’. Effectively managed, this discourse can lead to radical new meanings; that is, products and services, which, as yet, have no grounding within everyday experience. This is contrasted with the more conventional approaches to innovation which, for Verganti, are only likely to offer incremental shifts in existing offerings.3 On his view, the prize of design is a remaking of our sense of the possible. Here, by way of illustrating how meanings can drive design, we might consider Alessandro Mendini’s well-known toy-like designs for the upscale Italian kitchenware company Alessi or how Nintendo’s Wii console reframed traditional conceptions of video-gaming as sedentary (see Norman and Verganti 2014). Of the three, it is perhaps Krippendorff who advances the most ambitious presentation. Alongside his referencing of Wittgenstein’s later philosophy, he has also drawn on semiotics to develop a novel perspective which presents design as a process of ‘making sense of things’ (Krippendorff 2006, p. xv). The initial threads of

3  Writing with Donald Norman, Verganti has highlighted how what has traditionally been referred to as a ‘user–centered’ design process has a tendency to lead to only incremental change as it is relying on the insights of users who are drawing their existing understandings of particular contexts and possibilities (see Norman and Verganti 2014).

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this perspective, can be located in his theory of product semantics, first set out with Reinhart Butter in the early 1980s (see Krippendorff and Butter 1984). A more recent formulation is offered through the extensive Semantic Turn, published in the mid-2000s (Krippendorff 2006). In this latter text, Krippendorff proposes a full-­ scale reorientation of the field in relation to the general concept of meaning, looking at how design artifacts confer meaning and, equally, how meaning is conferred upon design artifacts. Conferral is seen to occur within a variety of contexts: through use; through language—where language is seen to refer to the communication process, as well as the social and cultural reception of things; through the ‘lives’ of artifacts, where life is understood in relation to the artifact’s own lifecycle, as well as its place within a broader process of historical evolution; and, finally, across networks (or, to use Krippendorff’s word, ‘ecologies’) of ‘meaningfully related’ artifacts, things that ‘do’ things for and to each other. He argues that his presentation points to the possibility of a new science of design, which would offer a collection of accounts of ‘successful design practices’, design methods and the lessons learned from both. It would also offer ‘ways of drawing on related knowledge bases’ to support design decisions, approaches to collaboration and research and, further, support the framing of methods for validating design (ibid, p. 208). As will have been noted, each of the above theorists offers a unique perspective on meaning/communication in design. Taken together, the key point to make in relation to their work is that, as a grouping, the material demonstrates the viability of approaching design from a meaning-based/communication-based perspective. Crilly offers us a well-rounded system of design as communication. We have our designers, our designed thing and our consumers. We can follow the line of interaction and interpretation forward and back through time, theorizing and calculating possibilities as we go. Verganti, for his part, puts meaning at the heart of design, giving us a scale to move along as we consider either the value of our own work or attempt to appraise that of others. Does our outcome offer only incremental innovation? Or is it radical, does it push the boundaries of the possible—potentially reframing our view of things? Kriddendorff too centralizes meaning. As we have seen, for him, design literally becomes a process of sense making. And while, depending on one’s pre-existing commitments and beliefs, the merits of his particular vision may be debatable, he certainly demonstrates how a meaning-based account might allow us to draw the various design disciplines into a stronger alignment. Thus, we can see how, for example, through meaning, areas such as visual communication and product design might become more relatable to one another as design practices. Both, after all, require sense making in order to generate an outcome. Equally, it is not too far a stretch to say that both sets of outcomes find form through use, as well as through language. Further, these outcomes—whether visual or product— have lifecycles, form networks and may be meaningfully related to other artifacts.

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This provides us with at least an initial sense of the potential value of existing meaning-based/communication-based perspectives in design. Each offers a special way of seeing, a different lens by which to frame the subject of design and designing. Some of the points made above will be returned to later in this chapter and, further ahead, in the penultimate chapter. For now, however, I wish to add another voice to the mix—Dewey’s. Here, to begin, we will look at how he, in his own special way, approached the themes of communication and meaning.

 ewey’s Theory of Communication: Language, Meaning D and the Things of the World Unsurprisingly, Dewey did not treat communication as a straightforward matter. On his account,4 we as communicators, are not simply bundling up information and ‘transmitting’ it. ‘A’ does not package a message for ‘B’ to decode on a one-to-one basis, as per the conventional account. Rather, on the Deweyan view, communication is to be seen as a process which underwrites human sociality; a cooperative coming together which opens up a shared space between two or more parties leading to the possibility of joint undertakings, now or in the future. In this way, communication is seen as both instrumental and consummatory. Its instrumentality emerges as we communicate to make things happen. For example, we might be able to get something we want by ‘claim, appeal, order, direction or request’. Alongside this, the consummatory aspect is linked to the direct enjoyment we derive through the process. Dewey offers the examples of two parties greeting one another, of successes and failures being retold, of a song accompanying a dance and so on (LW 1, p.  144). In such instances, communication becomes an end in itself, something to be enjoyed for what it is, there and then, in the moment. This presentation relies on a special understanding of language. Here, again, Dewey does not defer to convention. For him, languages are multiform, being constituted not only in the spoken and written word but also in gestures,5 artifacts,

 Somewhat regrettably, Dewey did not present a singular, definitive account of his understanding of the communication process. There is no ‘theory of communication’ text as such. Instead, most if not all, his major works make some reference to an aspect of communication, whether language, symbols or meaning in general. Of the later texts, it is perhaps Experience and Nature (LW 1) and Logic: The Theory of Inquiry (LW 12) which most obviously stand out as key sources from which a clear account may be drawn. Accordingly, if we are to establish a comprehensive overview of his theory of communication, we must trace across these and other titles selectively. 5  For keen observers, the similarities between Dewey and Mead on the subject of communication will be unavoidably clear. Indeed, in his introduction to the Logic, Dewey acknowledges his heavy debt to his former colleague (LW 12, p. 5). Strangely, to the best of my knowledge, no detailed comparison of the perspectives of these two philosophers exists; though, of course, there are many stand–alone presentations of their work contained within numerous texts. However, Recovering Pragmatism’s Voice: The Classical Tradition, Rorty and the Philosophy of Communication (Langsdorf and Smith 1995) is a useful text on pragmatist theories of communication and includes accounts of how Dewey and Mead have approached the subject. 4

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physical objects, and even architecture.6 Dewey equates language with signs systems of all kinds, drawing in the full spectrum of symbolic experience. He defines it as the ultimate ‘tool of tools’ (LW 1, p. 146). On this view, it is seen to perform a ‘significant function in the complex that forms the cultural environment’, which involves giving ‘form and content’ to things at the same time as shaping our modes of behavior and ways of acting (see LW 12, p. 51). In other words, language is seen to ground our being in the world, both in terms of what we perceive and what we do. This leads to the additional (metaphysical) claim that language forms a ‘naturalistic link’ between experience and nature (LW 1, p. 7). It is how experience and nature are joined as one.7 Here, from Dewey’s perspective, language converts the purely biological—whether an immediate need, problem or concern—into something more than purely biological. We become capable of accounting for the things of the world (LW 12, p. 52). This is where the question of the meaning comes in. Here, Dewey says that the ‘meaning of the thing is the sense it makes’ (LW 1, p. 144, italics added). We might readily link such a formulation to Krippendorff’s proposals on meaning in design. Indeed, in simple terms, it can be said that Dewey also believes that language allows us to confer meaning upon things. But, at the same time, on top of this, he also adds that language enables us to keep account of that conferred meaning. ‘A creature’ he writes, ‘might accidentally warm itself by a fire or use a stick to stir the ground in a way which furthers the growth of food plants.’ Without language, however, this is where the meaning of such actions begins and ends, as the effect of the comfort ceases with fire, existentially; a stick even though once used as a lever would revert to the status of being just a stick, unless the relationship and the consequence were distinguished and retained. Only language or some form of artificial signs, serves to register the relationship and make it fruitful in other contexts of particular existence. (LW 1, p. 147)

Thus, through the meaning enabled by language, things become sensible both in and beyond their context.8 This thing or that thing is no longer limited to being what it is here and now, in immediate terms. As Dewey illustrates above, language also allows things to be understood in terms of their potential; that is, in terms of the possibilities they present. We can see what a certain thing might enable us or someone else to do. As Dewey puts it Meanings are rules for using and interpreting things; interpretation always being an imputation of potentiality for some consequence. (LW 1, p. 147)

 Indeed, art and music are presented as modes of communication (see e.g., LW 10).  Arguably, it might be said that this forms the pivot of Experience and Nature (LW 1), Dewey’s metaphysical text. 8  Like Wittgenstein after him, this is the key aspect of Dewey’s overarching theory of communication. Indeed, the similarities between these two philosophers are often overlooked. It was Dewey who first wrote about meaning emerging in use while Wittgenstein still held his ‘picture theory of language’. 6 7

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This is where we see meaning and action meet. On Dewey’s view, recognizing things as things-with-meaning is to envisage a course of action which leads to a particular consequence; in other words, a clear outcome. In communication, language allows us to bring to people, things and consequences together as one. All at once, we can know pasts, envisage futures and to make things happen. Reflecting on the metaphysical discussions of Chap. 1, we might go far as to say that it drives experience forwards, both in terms of our ‘doings’ as well as our’ undergoings’. Such an understanding of language—as the naturalistic link between experience and nature, as the system by which we keep account of the meaning conferred upon things, as well as envisage their potential—highlights again the importance of language (and the meaning it enables) for design. Focusing in on the language-design relationship that may be drawn from Dewey, we might say that, in summary, language allows us to recognize designed things and, at the same time, understand their possible uses. These are fundamental existential capabilities, skills which enable our humanity. That is not all however. Dewey offers us more. He would also argue that there is another core aspect of language; namely, its ability to support imaginative thought—an essential feature of design and often a central feature in design research involving design practice.

The Deweyan Imagination: Part One, Meanings and Nature The imagination is not a subject that Dewey dealt with head-on, so to speak. Rather it is discussed in passing, as a subtheme, at a number of points in his writing such as Experience and Nature (LW 1) and Logic: The Theory of Inquiry (LW 12) as well as Art as Experience (LW 10). Alongside these sources, other intriguing perspectives also emerge in A Common Faith9 (see LW 9, pp. 1–58) and his Ethics (LW 7).10 Continuing on from where the last section left off, our focus here will remain on meaning as enabled by language. The key point to be drawn out is that Dewey positions the negotiation of meanings in language as the driving force of the imagination. It is his basic argument that, as we communicate, we are, often unconsciously, testing the boundaries of meaning; pushing things a bit and trying out new arrangements to see if these tests work. If our new arrangements do work, we are likely to

9  A Common Faith is a short book Dewey wrote on religion and the notion of religious experience. It was originally delivered verbally for the 1934 Terry Lectures. Held annually at Yale, this lecture series focuses on religion in respect of the developments of science and technology (LW 9, p. 448). Dewey’s approach was in keeping with this thematic, looking in particular at how the ‘religious attitude’ might come to underwrite a collective striving towards humanity’s shared ideals. 10  Dewey’s Ethics was co–authored with James Hayden Tufts. It came out in two editions, the first in 1908 and was revised and reissued in 1932 (see MW 5 and LW 7, respectively). As will outlined below, the imagination is seen to play a vital and signification role in the process of ethical evaluation. For an insightful account of this and how it might be built on see Fesmire (2003).

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carry them forward and try them again out in the future. This might relate to a new expression or the application of an old meaning to new context. This is, at its core, a creative process. In the following quotation, Dewey goes so far as to draw a relationship between the way we experiment with making things and the way make new meanings through language. Meaning […] may be imaginatively administered and manipulated, experimented with. Just as we overtly manipulate things, making new separations and combinations, thereby introducing new things into new contexts and environments, so we bring together logical universals in discourse, where they copulate and breed new meanings. (LW 1, p. 152)

I would argue that this amounts to a presentation of language as a creative forum, a space in which, as with physical making, new things may be shaped and tested. From this account, we might notionally consider how language functions as an enabler of the design process, focusing in on how our use of verbal and visual meanings helps us to create new meanings. In this scenario, the process of verbally/visually bringing together existing meanings and trialing them in ‘new separations and combinations’ would be of fundamental significance for design and, indeed, some have already suggested as much (see, e.g., Lawson, 2004; McDonnell and Lloyd 2009). This may be potentially useful in the context of design research involving practice and, as such, it is one that we shall be return to in Chap. 7. Beyond this, Dewey offers a number additional useful points in relation to the imagination. One is the distinction he draws between the imagination as it might traditionally be understood (i.e., as a subjective, fanciful response to the world) and the imagination as he understands it. This is well expressed in A Common Faith, where our imaginative faculties are directly related to the development and refinement of our social aims and ideals. Here, Dewey insists that the things we imagine (and ultimately what we end up creating) are not made of imaginary stuff. They are the made out of the hard stuff of the world of physical and social experience. The locomotive did not exist before Stevenson, nor the telegraph before the time of Morse. But the conditions of their existence were there in physical material and energies and in human capacity. (LW 9, pp. 33–34)

We must break this down circuitously. Dewey’s reference to the original developers of the locomotive and the telegraph—both special and transformative innovations in their day—alludes to the link between an individual, their creative concepts and how these are realized; in other words, to the link between the person who imagines and what is imagined and made. We often perceive this to a self-contained process (i.e., individually driven), the result of personal genius. Dewey, however, is insisting that the imaginative aspect of developing novel products and processes is physically and socially grounded. So rather than simply intervening without reference to preexisting things, Dewey would argue that the person who imagines works through the stuff of the world and from within social experience. He is saying that their ‘rearrangement of existing things’ to create new things (ibid, p. 34) is based not fancy or whim but on what is physically and socially available. This connects us back to Dewey’s grand metaphysical claim that experience and nature are naturalistically linked through language. In keeping with this essential

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commitment, Dewey also proposes that the activities of the imagination arise in response to the environmental conditions in which the ‘live creature’ finds themselves11 and as such is not an ‘extra-natural’ occurrence. ‘Every thought and meaning’ he writes, ‘has its substratum in some organic act of absorption or elimination of seeking, or turning away from, of destroying or caring for, of signaling or responding. It roots in some definite act of biological behavior; our physical names for mental acts like seeing, grasping, searching, affirming, acquiescing, comprehending, affection, emotion are not just “metaphors”. (LW 1, p. 221)

Thus, the imagination is to be understood in terms of the same movement from the purely biological to the more-than-purely-biological—the naturally continuous process that occurs in interpersonal communication. In the simplest terms, for Dewey, the imagination amounts nothing more than the natural amplification of the meanings that we have developed in action and interaction. A process that is kept in check by the reality of the physical and social world and our attempts at adaption therein. In this way, as with language in the broadest sense, experience and nature are joined as one and not to be understood as two things apart. There are some quick implications to be drawn out for design here. Moving outwards from the claims that the imagination is physically and socially bound and wholly naturalistic, I would venture that, Dewey would caution against placing too great an emphasis on the idea of creative genius. Rather, it seems more than likely that he would stress the need to consider context, to note what was physically and socially present to the individual designer or group, and to understand this as the grounds of their creativity. Set against this, I believe that Dewey is offering us the possibility of reorientating the positioning of the imagination in the context of design research involving practice. The basic argument would be that, as with creativity in general, we no longer need to fear the imagination as an unaccountable, exclusively personal, extra-­natural process, something that has no place in research. Instead we have the opportunity to look to our language, to our use of verbal/visual expression, to the physical and social realm in which we find ourselves and, from this, develop a means by which we can take register of their input and note how these aspects may be informing our work. Though complex in itself, the above does not delimit the full scope of the Deweyan understanding of the imagination. There are other aspects which will be picked up in the next chapter relating to ethics (see Chap. 5). For now, we will turn to look at how, for Dewey, the imagination links directly to the creative process— that is, how the imaginative working through of meanings guides the making of meaningful things.

 This may even relate to the subconscious. ‘Apart from language’ he writes, ‘we continually engage in an immense multitude of immediate organic selections, rejections, welcomings, expulsions, appropriations, withdrawals, shrinkings, expansions, elations and dejections, attacks, wardings off, of the most minute vibratingly delicate nature’ (LW 1, p. 227).

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The Work of Art Concept—Art with and in Experience The last of this trio of Deweyan theories/concepts relating to communication/meaning concerns Dewey’s presentation of the ‘work of art’, set out in Art as Experience. To a degree this concept can be seen to fold in elements from our prior discussion, in particular, the workings of the imagination. Equally, as we shall see, it also links us back to Dewey’s aesthetic theory (see Chap. 2) and his theory of inquiry (see Chap. 3). While, as is to be expected, our focus here will be on the subject of art, in the next section we will attempt to carry the concept over into a design context. To begin, it is important to point out that Dewey does not understand the ‘work of art’ to be the ‘final outcome’ of a creative process. Rather, for the sake of clarity, this is deemed the art product. Next to this, the work of art is defined as what an art product does ‘with and in experience’ (LW 10, p. 9). As before, aligning with the presentation set out in Experience and Nature (i.e., LW 1) and earlier writing (e.g., MW 2, pp.  293–375), Dewey is interpreting experience broadly, interlinking the doings and undergoings of life (see Chap. 2). He locates origins of the ‘work of art’—and, by extrapolation, creative production more generally—within this vast, all-encompassing experiential complex. Here, we link to the imagination (and by implication meaning). Dewey suggests that the process of realizing an art product—i.e., its initial development and its making—relies on an interplay of the imagination and the material reality.12 Within this, he speaks of a conflict between inner and outer ‘vision’, between the drive of the imagination, on the one hand, and the material to be shaped, on the other. The artist/ maker makes and compares the results to what they imagined. Working through this process, they are able to quickly ascertain whether or not their efforts are adhering to the hoped-for result. Dewey believes that such rapid evaluation is possible on the basis that ‘there is an immediate sense of things in perception as belonging or as jarring’ (LW 10, p. 56). Here, we connect back to his pattern of inquiry, discussed in the last chapter. In particular, we may observe an alignment between this idea of making–evaluating and the aspects of inquiry relating to reasoning and experimentation (see Chap. 3; and LW 12, pp. 115–118). Like the maker-in-evaluation, the inquirer is seen to be constantly moving back and forth, building something up, as they encounter meanings/outcomes and test them. Eventually, of course, like an inquiry, the ‘work of art’ will reach an endpoint for the artist—a final art ‘product’ will be achieved. Again, much like the endpoint of inquiry, there is a certain vagueness attached to this aspect of the process. What is

 As will become clear through the below quotations, Dewey tends to offer craft–based examples in order to illustrate his points. For the most part, it would appear that this is due to his need to outline the structure of aesthetic experience in artistic making/production. Of course, to a degree, it also reflects the realities of then–contemporary industrial and artisan manufacturing processes. Regardless of both this focus and the historical lag, I will contend that it takes relatively little effort to remap his claims into contemporary design contexts involving digital tools; the same attentive forward-and-back of imagination and material reality pertains.

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clear is that Dewey is very much against the notion that an endpoint or final art product might be defined in advance of the creative process. ‘A rigid predetermination of an end-product’ he writes, ‘leads to the turning out of mechanical or academic product’ (LW 10, p. 143). Art and science, we are told, aim towards discovery (ibid, p. 144). As such, art cannot be framed prior to making or perceiving, it can only emerge through ‘the means from which it issues and which it sums up’ (p. 143).13 Critically, for Dewey, it is the whole of the process that matters. He believes that, in true art, a sense of unity attaches to the flow experience; it becomes a pronounced form of aesthetic experience, an experience, to use his favored term.14 This brings us at last to a final, crucial relational aspect of the ‘work of art’; namely, its audience and their responses. Dewey regularly discusses the audience in the context of the ‘work of art’. As with the maker’s making, art products also work ‘with and in’ the experience of perceiving and appreciating. Dewey believes that in perceiving and appreciating, the audience are, in fact, taking on an active and participatory role. As he puts it, ‘receptivity is not passivity’. Like making it is said to consist ‘of series of responsive acts that accumulate towards objective fulfillment’ (p. 58). This is reception in its truest sense, an openness in perceiving, which allows for appreciation. If this process is cut short and does not ‘develop freely’ the audience is said to be falling back on recognition, i.e., they see something as something, labeling it without any effort at interrogation or investigation (pp. 58–59). Returning to our discussion of language, we might say that they ‘read’ in default terms. For Dewey, proper reception requires ‘surrender’, the ‘adequate yielding of oneself’ and ‘energy’ on the part of the perceiver. We are told, that the perceiving audience must ‘create’ their own experience, which he terms a ‘recreation’ (p. 59–60). Without recreation, Dewey goes on to argue, the audience’s appreciation will amount to nothing more than ‘a mixture of scraps of learning’ which conform to the ‘norms of conventional admiration’. There may be a genuine emotional reaction, but this too will be ‘confused’ (p. 61). For the audience must return to the artistic process and work through this doing for themselves. They must ‘re-make’ the work in their own experience. Our ability, as an audience, to undertake such an activity will be determined by the background we bring to the situation. Dewey is clear that although the effect of art may feel spontaneous, its bearings originate in past experience. As such, the

 On this account, the work of art is unlikely to conclude with a sudden abrupt moment of closure, i.e., with an object-in-the–making suddenly becoming an ‘art product’. Rather a gradual, eventual resolution is more likely—the work of art progresses and develops, is evaluated and reevaluated, progresses and develops further. ‘The final end’ we are told ‘is anticipated by rhythmic pauses’. It is final ‘only in an external way’ (LW 10, p. 142). 14  On his view, it all held together by form, a concept he sees a fundamental to aesthetic experience and art in particular. It is here said to refer to ‘the operation of forces that carry the experience of an event, object, scene and situation to its own integral fulfillment’. Art is said to enact ‘more deliberately and fully the conditions that effect this unity’ (p. 142, italics in original). Ultimately, such an outline equates to a pronounced instance of aesthetic experience; in other words, an experience. 13

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artist/maker cannot know what will be communicated through their product. All they can be sure of is what the audience will need to do in order to begin to create an understanding—adopt an open attitude and give over their time. Within this, the ‘product’ may be understood as intended, but equally it may not. Having set out the above, we will now consider the extent to which any connections might be drawn between the ‘work of art’ and design.

The Work of Design—Design ‘with and in’ Experience? Ultimately, through the ‘work of art’ concept, Dewey is setting out a perspective on aesthetic making and perceiving/appreciating which, as a whole, is grounded in the imagination and experience. His presentation is detailed and exacting. It offers us a sense of the minute interactions of making in the real world, in real time. We are offered an outline of how meaning and material come together through imagination. We are also introduced to the idea that the audience must work to understand the products of art, that, like the artist, they too must create in order to gain something from their encounter. While the ‘work of art’ concept is clearly bound to the context of art ‘proper’, I would like to argue that its scope and application need not be limited to this context alone. In fact, I believe that it is readily transferable to design. Such a proposal, I suggest, does not present a radical break or even a minor diversion from Dewey’s presentation of the ‘work of art’ concept in Art as Experience. Throughout this text, he is exceptionally broad in his definition of art, conceiving of it as a ‘process of doing and making’ which ‘does something with some physical material’ whether ‘the body or something outside the body’. It is said to be undertaken with a view to producing ‘something visible, audible or tangible’ (LW 10, p. 53).15 Clearly, design, in its contemporary mold, would not necessarily be excluded from such a vision. What might Dewey have to say here? Somewhat unexpectedly, Dewey does tackle the subject of design directly in Art as Experience. It is, however, discussed in relation to art. Design objects are here referred to as objects of ‘the industrial arts’. Examples include ‘rugs, urns, or baskets’.16 These things have a use but they may also be seen to hold an aesthetic form. He reflects that it is

 It is worth noting that Dewey is also very broad in his definition of the scope of the materials in art. He suggests that art ‘involves molding of clay, chipping of marble, casting of bronze laying out of pigments, construction of buildings, singing of songs, playing of instruments, engaging roles on stage, going through rhythmic movements in dance’ (LW 10, p. 53). 16  Arguably, on the Deweyan account, it is the fact that these objects are produced with a purpose in mind (e.g., covering the floor with the rug, holding liquid with the urn, holding things with the basket) that marks them out as objects of ‘design’. They are objects to be used as much as perceived and appreciated. 15

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significant that the word “design” has a double meaning. It signifies purpose and it signifies arrangement, mode of composition. The design of a house is a plan upon which it is constructed to serve the purposes of those who live in it. The design of a painting or novel is the arrangement of its elements by means of which it becomes an expressive unity in direct perception. In both cases, there is an ordered relation of many constituent elements. The characteristic of artistic design is the intimacy of the relations that hold the parts together. In the house we have rooms and their arrangement with respect to one another. In the work of art, relations cannot be told apart from what they relate except in later reflection. (LW 10, p. 121, italics in original)

We see that in the closing lines of the above quotation Dewey distinguishes what he terms ‘artistic design’ from the ‘work of art’, on the basis that our understanding of the relations between parts in design are more or less immediate, while relations in the ‘work of art’ are only revealed ‘in later reflection’. I would venture that, we must assess this distinction in light of how much design practice has changed since the time of Dewey’s writing. It must be recalled that at the time of Art as Experience’s publication, in the early 1930s, design had was not yet properly established as a stand-alone field in the way we conceive of it today. In so far as it existed at all, the discipline was understood in terms of a coming together of art and industry,17 the provision of aesthetic insight in mass-production and, to a lesser degree, technical expertise.18 Design today is a self-determining enterprise, which, as was noted in the first chapter, enters into almost every sphere of contemporary life. It would now be possible to claim that, today, some forms of design, do in fact require prolonged reflection in order to interpret their full meaning. For example, the critical design work of Dunne and Raby (see e.g., Dunne and Raby 2001, 2013) provides a clear case of how the meaning of what is presented to us in immediate terms will not equate to the entirety of the meaning contained in what we are viewing/perceiving. Such work requires extensive intellectual engagement before one might claim to understand the relations it presents. As will become clear below, this latter point is especially pertinent in the context of design research involving practice, in particular with regard to the issue of presenting designed artifacts as contributions to knowledge. Returning to the question at hand, i.e., the art-design relationship, we may say that it is debatable whether or not Dewey might have accepted our contemporary understanding of design as sufficiently aligned to his conception of ‘artistic design’. In many ways, however, such concerns are beside the point. Given Dewey’s broad conception of art, it would seem reasonable to at least attempt to draw a connection between the two.

 It is worth noting that Dewey bemoans the dehumanizing aspects of industrialized manufacturing, where things are made to fulfill a material need without concern for their impact on the quality of human experience (see LW 1, p. 271–272). 18  By way of exemplifying this we need only to turn to the title of Herbert Read’s Art and Industry (1934), an early and important history of design, which is more or less contemporary with Art as Experience. For a historical reflection on this text, see Robin Kinross’s “Herbert Read’s Art and Industry: a history” (1988). 17

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I take the view that his explicit reference to ‘doing and making’ in order to bring about material change, found in his definition of art affords an especially useful starting point. In the moment of making, one might reasonably argue that there is little or no difference between the felt reality of the artist and the designer. If engaged and committed to their task, both are fully immersed in the forward-and-back of imagination and material, whether physical or digital, tangible or intangible. Both do and evaluate, do and evaluate, on and on in cycle until the process reaches resolution. Both feel the acute reward of success and the nasty sting of failure in the same absolute and immediate terms. In essence, following Dewey’s general line of argument, it would seem fair to suggest making-in-design can be as aesthetically whole as making in art. Ultimately, what distinguishes the work of artist and the work the designer is the motivational context of each. An artist is likely interested in ‘self expression’ (LW 10, p. 15). A designer, on the other hand, will likely be working in a commercial context. Naturally, these orientations give rise to different goals. However, they do not separate the two as such. If, based on Dewey’s broad and generous definition of art, doing and making can be seen to bridge art and design then the ‘work of art’ and ‘work of design’ may be understood as both related and relatable. Like the work of art, we may see the imagination as a driving force in the ‘work of design’. Equally, if an audience is to perceive and appreciate a particular design product they must work to understand. They too must create. We have thus set out the Deweyan theories/concepts of language, meaning, imagination and the ‘work of art’, as well as drawn a link between the work of art and work of design. It will now be useful to return to recent design research literature to take a look at how authors have approached the subject of design artifacts (i.e., made, designed things) in research contexts.

The Works of Design as Knowledge Artifacts By taking up the subject of design artifacts in design research, we are again, to an extent, returning to the last chapter’s discussion of inquiry but, this time, turning our focus to its outcomes. We are also returning to the related discussion regarding the emergence of design research involving practice. As we saw here, this emergence triggered an occasionally fraught debate as to whether design artifacts or, more broadly, the outcomes of an inquiry involving design practice, may be seen to constitute legitimate contributions to knowledge. From a design perspective,19 the argument in favor of such a view might proceed along the following lines. At the outset, it would be highlighted that, in design

 I write a ‘from a design perspective’ consciously as there is also a complimentary argument which emanates from fine art. In broad terms, proponents of this argument would propose that ‘art products’, as Dewey describes them could be seen to embody and (in some way) communicate knowledge (see e.g., Scrivener 2002; Biggs 2002).

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research projects involving practice, the design process can function as a method, i.e., be applied in order to aid the process of knowledge production. This, in turn, may result in a made object—that is, a real, physical or digital artifact—being designed and developed with a view to testing a concept or idea (e.g., whether a particular interface design meets the needs of a particular user group). It might also be constructed in order to support the development of particular concepts or ideas (e.g., to gain an insight into a community’s views on a certain issue or topic). Equally, looking beyond these examples, the made artifact might not be physical or digital at all. It might also be a process or a way of working that the designer-­ researcher represents in some way (e.g., in the form of a video, diagrammatic overview or other mode of audiovisual/visual communication). Regardless of the artifact’s form, the key issue resides in the relationship that is drawn between the made object and any knowledge claims. If the artifact—whether physical, digital or process-based—is made with a view to producing knowledge then it would seem reasonable to propose that, once produced, it can in some way be seen to embody that knowledge. If this is accepted, it would then also seem reasonable to extend the argument further and propose that the artifact might also communicate knowledge. In other words, it could be seen to hold the capacity to meaningfully represent the research findings to a potential audience, whether that audience is conceived in broad or specialist terms. Some have gone so far as to claim that it may be possible to frame a PhD thesis as a designed artifact. For example, Daria Loi’s thesis was presented as a suitcase containing both written material and interactive objects. It included items such as CDs, ‘found objects’, and ‘sculptural elements’. Loi claimed that the non-textual aspects of the submission allowed for the inclusion of ‘sensorial, emotional, and intellectual’ content that would otherwise have been impossible. For her, this equated to offering an ‘embodied argument’ (Loi 2004, p.  6). Reflecting on her own approach, she proposed that the parameters of ‘what constitutes a postgraduate thesis should be “stretched” allowing for ‘new ways of addressing, demonstrating and accessing content’ (ibid, p. 13). Loi’s thesis-as-suitcase is, of course, an extreme case. Few would go so far in their approach to communication/dissemination in research. Concurrent to Loi’s work, others were making the somewhat lesser claims. For example, Seago and Dunne (1999) were among the first authors to suggest that—in the context of design—artifacts may be understood to contribute to discourse, not in and of themselves, but through ‘explicit’ recoverable data that other researchers might (if they so wished) replicate (p. 16).20 Writing a little later and, to an extent, summarizing the prior debate, Maarit Mäkelä (2007) held that artifacts, in both art and design, could be seen to provide answers to research questions as well as act as a record of work undertaken within the project of research. Conducting a broad-ranging review of the then-contemporary landscape of practice-led research, Rust, Mottram and Till

 Reflecting on three then-recent PhD-by-projects (i.e., examples of practice–based/led research) Seago and Dunne state: ‘The record of the conduct of [the work] is “transparent” in the sense that a future researcher could uncover the same information, rehearse the arguments expounded and, to a lesser or greater degree, produce the same results’ (Seago and Dunne 1999, p. 16).

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(2007) added to this view, reflecting that those who ‘shape artifacts’ within their research can be seen to ‘expose novel possibilities’ (p. 57). Over the years, however, many authors have taken issue with such arguments, viewing them as ultimately problematic. Scrivener (2002) argued that while artifacts (or art objects) may communicate ‘knowledge’, this is not their primary function. On his view, art is not an investigation undertaken ‘in order to gain new knowledge and understanding’. Rather, he defines ‘making art’ as a form of research focusing on ‘original creation undertaken in order to generate novel apprehension’. For him, it aims to provide ‘ways of seeing and ways of being in relation to what is, was, or might be’ (ibid, p. 12). Michael Biggs—who, as was noted in the last chapter, questioned the value of labels relating to practice (see Biggs and Büchler 2007)—took the view that practical understanding or, in his words, ‘experiential content’ may play a significant role in the method and the communication of research which involves practice. However, he was adamant that practical outcomes, such as artifacts, must be supported by an explicit linguistic argument in order to properly communicate the context of the work21 (Biggs 2002). This view was further strengthened by Mäkelä (2007), who, while wholly supporting the inclusion of artifacts in research, also acknowledged that artifacts could not speak for themselves and as such it necessary to seek, in some way, to give them ‘a voice’. Over the following decade, it is arguable that this became the field’s default position. If artifacts are produced as part of a design research involving practice then it is now necessary that these be supplemented by a written, textual argument.22 Alongside this there is a drive to explore the extent to which making artifacts could be seen to give rise to other types of outcomes (e.g., theory) or, if artifacts were the contribution, how a textual accompaniment/argument might function.

In Focus Box 4.1, Daria Loi: my|your|our suitcase Daria Loi’s PhD work focused on ‘ways to foster organizational spaces where collaborative activities can be undertaken using design tools and methods’. In the research, she explored how co-design tools could to be designed to allow for

 For a dedicated exploration of the role of artifacts in design research see Biggs (2002).  Looking back to Daria Loi’s example of the thesis-as-suitcase (2004) and reflecting on the contemporary debate in relation to this issue, it would seem that there remains a degree of ambiguity regarding the extent to which the written or textual argument must be presented in ‘linear’ sequence. In other words, it would seem that it is still debatable as to whether or not the argument must have a clear beginning, middle and end. This is apparent in a recent publication on digital dissertations and theses, where, in outlining how an examiner might interact with a website as part of a thesis submission, the authors note that issues of ‘argumentation will be at stake’ because traditional written arguments are linear and sequential while digital dissertations are, by their nature, non–linear and non–sequential. As a consequence, it is here recommended that examiners do not impose an external vision of how they believe a thesis should be presented (Andrews et al. 2012, p. 6). 21 22

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participatory practices to emerge. Her outcome was the concept of ‘playful triggers’, tools which aimed to help build understanding and support communication among in the early stages of collaboration. This outcome, in turn, had implications for the thesis which, in the end, took the form of a suitcase filled with small boxes which themselves were filled with further contents such as booklets, CDs, postcards, and undefined ambiguous objects. The point was to encourage the audience to directly experience the physical, emotional and conceptual aspects of the work and not ‘just’ read a textual argument (Fig. 4.1). The suitcase thesis was eventually expanded upon, with a public version of the work being displayed at ParticipART – MART conference in Trento Italy in August 2006. The display took the form of an L-shaped table holding two suitcases and a laptop. The first L-section held the original PhD suitcase termed the ‘my|our’ suitcase. This section was named the ‘explore area’. The second L-section contained a new, almost empty second suitcase termed ‘our|your’. This section was named the ‘work area’. With the first ‘my|our’ suitcase in the explore area, participants were invited to experience the playful triggers of the original thesis as before; opening up the

Fig. 4.1  Loi’s suitcase thesis, with the various objects decanted. (Image courtesy Daria Loi)

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individual boxes and exploring their contents, playing the CDs on the laptop, leafing through the books and postcards. Then, having experienced these elements, they could move on to the new ‘our|your’ suitcase in the work area. This suitcase contained seven boxes. The first six boxes contained a series of prompts, encouraging participants to engage in a variety of activities such as making things, adding materials, writing and observing, all in response to the conference theme of ‘boundaries’. The final box, termed the ‘reconnection box’, contained a random assortment of ‘gifts’. Participants were invited to take one for themselves and well as leave a new one for those that followed. Loi’s work links to this chapter’s discussions on two levels. First, there are the correspondences that can be drawn with the Deweyan theories/concepts of meaning, the imagination and the ‘work of art’/the work of design. Second, turning specifically to the present section, there is a clear position being taken in relation to the status of the written thesis and its mode of argumentation. Both of these considerations are, of course, connected—one leads us into the other. With the regard to area of meanings-imagination-work-of-art/design, it seems reasonable to propose that Loi’s inquiry hinges on questions of meaning, the imagination and experience. Here, in seeking to enable communication and collaboration, her ‘playful triggers’ have been designed to facilitate the exchange of meanings with a view to creating shared meaning (i.e., understanding). The idea of the imagination enters in through the emphasis on play, prompting and, ultimately, experimentation. The triggers are about trying something out, seeing if it works. To use Dewey’s terms, they allow us to administer and manipulate meaning. This comes to the fore in the ‘our|your’ suitcase, where participants are invited to making things, add materials, and write. Focusing in on the ‘work of art’/design aspect of the inquiry, it is clear enough that the making of these materials will have been significant for Loi. There will have been an inner and outer vision. She will have imagined, made, and evaluated as the project advanced, incrementally, decision by decision. This is straightforward outline of the ‘work of design’ progressing on as one would expect. What is more significant here, in this particular case, is the audience’s perspective as they come to encounter the inquiry’s outcomes/artifacts. In this instance, the ‘work of design’ is very clearly carried over to the reception of the work. The point of the whole is for participants not only to experience the playful triggers but also to become content creators in their own right, active contributors. As such, their ‘recreation’ of work, to use Dewey’s term, is grounded in a transparent process of creation. This brings us to the question of the relationship between the argument and the artifact. In the present section, it has been noted that some (e.g., Biggs 2002; Biggs and Büchler 2007; Mäkelä 2007) objected to the proposal that the artifacts, on their own, can somehow communicate research findings. Loi, however, breaks the rules not by claiming that her artifacts communicate but rather by presenting an artifactual argument. Of course, her suitcase-as-thesis does not constitute a linear argument. One can enter and exit the content in many ways. However, its textual elements can guide our perception and appreciation. Equally, in interaction, the whole

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functions to demonstrate the inquiry’s core proposition (i.e., that playful triggers may support early-stage collaboration) (see Loi 2019). What remains questionable is the data and our ability to navigate Loi’s decision-making. Whatever one’s position, in the end, it must be acknowledged that there is body of evidence here. From this, the warranted assertability of the inquiry’s conclusions can be contested and the playful triggers are rendered transferable. No matter what judgement remains possible (Fig. 4.2). John Zimmerman et al. (2010) take the view that research involving design practice may result in two forms of theoretical contribution: theory for design and, possibly, theory about design (p. 313). On their account, theory for design groups a broad array of possibilities including: conceptual frameworks, guiding philosophies and ‘implications’ for design. These can then be offered to a community of designers and/or researchers, who may choose to accept or reject the contribution. William Gaver, Ben Hooker and Antony Dunne (2001) argued that science and design have divergent accountabilities. On their view, science is epistemologically accountable and design aesthetically accountable, i.e., it must work (p. 202–203). In subsequent writing on research through design, Gaver (2012) has drawn attention to the ‘generative’ potential of theory in science and goes on to argue that designer-­ researchers might approach theory in a similar way, aiming to formulate statements which are ‘sometimes right’ (p.  941). Here, practical outcomes such as artifacts

Fig. 4.2  Loi’s thesis on display at the ParticiART – MART in Trento in 2006. (Image courtesy Daria Loi)

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become ‘the definite facts’ of research involving practice, while the accompanying theory would make ‘accessible the kinds of decisions and rationales’ underpinning such work; thus, acting as a form of ‘annotation and inspiration’ (p. 944).

In Focus Box 4.2, Anne Louise Bang: A Game as a Contribution The Emotional Value of Applied Textiles project was undertaken as a collaboration between designer-researcher Anne Louise Bang and the Danish furniture textile company Gabriel A/S (see Bang 2011). In the project, Bang worked directly with the company’s designers to build up an understanding of how a sense of materiality could play a meaningful role within the design and innovation process. Her overall approach was based on a ‘programmatic’ model. She asked questions and continually experimented with possibilities (see Brandt and Binder 2007; and Chap. 3). Over time, her focus narrowed in on the question of how to enable dialogue—that is, meaningful conversations—around the sensory perception of fabric and other materials. Here, drawing various psychological concepts and techniques, she developed ways to account for certain differences between fabrics, as well as types of pleasure. Iteratively, the approach was cohered to become a game, allowing players to make fabric selections and discuss these with a view to informing a design process (Figs. 4.3 and 4.4). In the end, Bang positioned the game as one of the outcomes of her inquiry, an ‘exemplar’, giving form to the other contributions, which include: a frame of reference and ‘systematic approach’ for textile design; an approach to defining the ‘emotional value’ associated with textile design; a tool for dialogue about these emotional values; and a ‘procedure which invites participation in the design process from users

Fig. 4.3  An early prototype of the game. (Image courtesy Anne Louise Bang)

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Fig. 4.4  Participants using the Stakeholder Game to communicate concepts of emotional value in a test. (Image courtesy Anne Louise Bang)

and stakeholders’ (Bang 2011, p. 10). At the same time as embodying these contributions, the game can also be seen to function in its own terms as a self-contained practical demonstration of the knowledge that has been generated within the inquiry; it can be used by designers, it can be used by other design researchers. Equally, as with any reasonable conclusive statement, it can be critiqued and developed, transferred into future inquiries. (For further details on the project as a whole see Bang 2011; and Bang 2013). This represents a more straightforward argument-artifact relationship than that exemplified by Loi’s suitcase-as-thesis (see In Focus Box 4.1 above). It is true that Bang’s inquiry centers around the production of a game and the game becomes an outcome, in the same way that Loi’s inquiry centered around the production of the ‘playful triggers’ and these become her outcome. However, alongside her game, Bang present a separate written thesis which stands apart from the artifact. Here, unlike in Loi’s suitcase-as-thesis, we have a linear argument. Various design interventions are presented, data collection and analysis is described, results emerge and these, in turn, are seen to inform further work. There is no question of ambiguity with regard to Bang’s decision-making or her claims to knowledge. These are set out in clear and contestable terms. The audience can clearly assess their warranted assertability. Equally, through a close reading of the text, they will be able to transfer and test her contributions in other contexts. At the same time, the game is there to be interrogated and played. All in all, we can see that the artifact and the

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argument are functioning in relation to one another—we have both the experience and its explanation, the explanation and its experience. Following on from Gaver et al.’s accountability argument, Koskinen and Krogh (2015) recommend that designer researchers, who aim to speak to design practice, develop what they term a ‘design accountability’; that is, an accountability to practice. In pursing such a strategy, researchers would firstly seek to foreground practice, while theory would allow for the explication of the work (in keeping with Gaver’s theory-as-annotation approach). Sitting alongside this, as a second requirement, the pair state that the methods would have to be understandable to designers. Then, thirdly, they would also have to seek to ensure that their work continues to be perceived as design (as opposed to art).23 This design accountability proposal is reflected in Johan Redström’s recent work on design theory (2017), which, as was been noted in this chapter’s opening, draws reference from Wittgenstein. Implicitly aligning with both Gaver (2012) and Koskinen and Krogh (2015), Redström sees practice—the making of objects—as primary. He proposes that designer-researchers aim to develop (make) theory through practice, as opposed to the other way around. On this account, theory is seen as linked to the development of terms, concepts and definitions that emerge through both design and the design research processes. Redström values flexibility over precision, highlighting, for example, how our understanding of the colors (which manifests in our interaction with the things of the world) must remain fluid to allow for change and adaption as circumstances alter. This approach to design theory does not allow for a set of fixed formulations, but rather presents itself as a related series of transitional entities, changing and evolving over time; only ever finding expressing in and through design and (crucially) its associated discourse. Taking this view, then, linking to the initial practice-as-primary position, it is the artifacts that come first.24 Reflecting on the above literature, we may note that it would appear that the field is more or less reconciled to the idea that artifacts are permissible as contributions to knowledge in design research involving practice. What appears to remain questionable is the status of these artifacts, i.e., how important are. Are they primary, as Gaver and Redström would likely have it? Or do they sit at an equivalent level to their accompanying explanations or theories? Or are they merely supplementary, an aspect of the submission we might tolerate but ultimately place little value on, as would seem the case for Biggs and Büchler?  In relation to the issue of perception, Koskinen and Krogh draw attention to the ways in which critical design (e.g., Dunne and Raby 2001, 2013) is often interpreted as art (Koskinen and Krogh 2015, p. 125). 24  It is important to note that while Redström (2017) honors practice over theory as a fixed and final concept, he does not dwell (perhaps wisely) on the debates surrounding design research involving practice and the extent to which artifacts may be considered legitimate contributions to knowledge. His concern, rather, is with showing how understandings of design (theories in the broad sense) emerge in relation to made objects. He suggests that there may be a mismatch between ‘the character of the theories used and what design researchers use them for—and as a consequence, issues related to what we expect the theoretical impact and feedback to be like’ (Redström 2017, p. 13). 23

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Conversely, there is the role of the linguistic argument. Does it merely function to annotate? Or should it do more? For example, offer us a detailed outline of the theories for design, as envisaged by Zimmerman and colleagues? Equally, is it the space in which one might aim to demonstrate one’s accountability to practice as recommended by Koskinen and Krogh? In the context of the present work, we have a further question to answer. Namely, what does Dewey’s ‘work of art’/work of design concept, as well as the broader theory of communication and imagination that sits behind it, offer design research involving practice here? Might a Deweyan perspective allow for a more integrated understanding of the relationship between practice in research, the potential of artifactual outcomes and, finally, how these may be approached/perceived/understood by their audience (academic or otherwise)?

 Deweyan Perspective on the Work of Design A in Design Research Returning to the chapter’s initial discussion of Crilly, Verganti and Krippendorff, we may start this section by quickly asking what does Dewey teach us about meaning that is absent in the work of these theorists? The most important message, I believe, is that Dewey does not separate communication/meaning from his broader philosophy of inquiry. Dewey’s detailed perspective on language, the imagination and making, as well as how the ‘made’ is received all join up in relation to asking questions, seeking answers and trying things to see if they fit. It is a vision of communication which, at its heart, focuses on exchange, sense-making and discovery. Beyond this, we might also consider where Dewey would sit in relation to the question of artefactual contributions to knowledge. If we approach communication/ meaning from Dewey’s perspective, it would seem that his theories/concepts lend credibility to the suggestion that art and design artifacts may legitimately communicate research findings or, more profoundly still, perhaps even constitute a contribution to knowledge in and of themselves without the need for a textual argument. A close reading, however, reveals that this is not entirely the case. In Art as Experience, Dewey is explicit in insisting that art production does not equate to knowledge production. In his words, art is not a ‘mode of knowledge’. Rather, referencing to the writing of William Wordsworth and Percy Bysshe Shelley,25 he proposes that art, in fact, transforms knowledge. Here, knowledge is seen to become ‘something more’ because ‘it is merged with non-intellectual elements to form an experience worth while as an experience’ (LW 10, p. 294). From this, he goes on to

 The specific quotations that Dewey calls up are found (unsourced) in the following lines: ‘Wordsworth declared that “poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science.” Shelley said: “Poetry… is at once the centre and circumference of all knowledge; it is that which comprehends all science and to which all science must be referred” (LW 10, p. 294).

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say that art can present the meanings of ‘reflection and science’ in a ‘clarified, coherent, intensified or “impassioned” experience’ (ibid, p. 295). So, what does this Deweyan view on art and knowledge mean for the artifact-as-­ contribution or the artifact-requires-a-linguistic-argument debate? In simple terms, we can say that Dewey is in agreement with those who argue that art (and design) objects do not embody knowledge, as such, but rather may work to expand our horizons of understanding. Here, it is perhaps Scrivener who most clearly expresses a comparable view, when he proposes that making in art is undertaken with a view to generating ‘novel apprehension’ (Scrivener 2002, p. 12). As Dewey himself puts it: “Possibilities are embodied in works of art that are not elsewhere actualized” (LW 10, p. 272).26 At this point, it will be useful to briefly recall the distinction that Dewey draws between common sense inquiry and scientific inquiry (see Chap. 3). As was noted, common sense inquiry aims towards an individual, personally-grounded outcome, while ‘scientific’ inquiry aims towards formal knowledge that contributes to the work of a broader community of inquiry, whether in physics, chemistry, sociology, or design. Following on from this distinction, it appears reasonable to argue that, on the Deweyan view, a designer-researcher who ‘makes’ but does not position their work in reference to the work of other researchers and theorists is not, in fact, researching but rather engaged in common-sense, personal practice; the knowledge they are producing is individual (rather than communal/social) in nature—there is no contribution being made to ‘the field’. Ultimately, to make a proper contestable contribution to a field of inquiry, it remains necessary, as Biggs (2002) and Mäkelä (2007) have both forcefully argued, to present a linguistic argument, with an explicit logic and structure. This does not preclude artifacts, as Biggs himself makes clear. Depending on the context of inquiry or the particular study, artifacts may indeed be necessary to properly answer questions or communicate findings—for, example, to ‘demonstrate’ something, following the proposals of Nieddeder and Durling (2007)—but it cannot be claimed that they speak for themselves in a fully transparent manner. Even if one were to argue that the artifact or made-object is primary as Redström (2017) and Gaver (2012) both attempt, any value claims or, indeed, the very rationale for primacy itself will have be issued linguistically. Equally, if one were to aim to make design research ‘accountable’ to practice (Koskinen and Krogh 2015) or formulate theories for design/of design from artifacts (Zimmerman et al., 2010) it will, again, be necessary to rely on linguistic argument. This leaves us more or less where we might expect to be; accepting that a textual argument must accompany an artifactual contribution. However, this is not to say that Dewey has nothing to offer here. When he says that that art/design have the potential to transform knowledge and ‘form’ an experience— in other words, to

 Intriguingly Dewey argues that ‘“Revelation” in art is the quickened expansion of experience. Philosophy is said to begin in wonder and end in understanding. Art departs from what has been understood and ends in wonder. In this end, the human contribution in art is also the quickened work of nature in man.’ (LW 10, p. 274).

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‘embody’ possibilities—he is saying that art/design, in their final form, can create new meanings at the same time as play a (crucial) role in the communication of research. This is enriching and extends beyond the flat vision of text plus artifact. It recalls the play of meanings that he sees as being fundamental to the conduct of inquiry—the reasoning process that guides the forward thrust of experiment/observation. It also recalls the idea that propagation of meanings (i.e., communication) is a fluid endeavor, not a straightforward process. As we have seen through Dewey’s presentation of the imagination, meanings are not static or fixed, they can be ‘imaginatively administered, and manipulated, experimented with’ (LW 1, p. 152).27 Here, we must return to the audience and the contribution they are seen to make in perception/appreciation. I believe that this is where an artifact’s embodied ‘possibilities’ are truly ‘actualized’. We will recall that to properly understand what is being presented, the audience will have to work to ‘re-create’ the object for themselves. This is where the linguistic argument (whether a written thesis or something other) comes into its own. When used as a guide in the audience’s attempts to perceive and appreciate the artifact it can do two key things. First, it allows them to work through the researcher’s decision-making, to reconstruct the project’s logic and, eventually, arrive at a set of conclusions that they may test against those of the researcher. Alongside this, it can also allow them to begin the process of carrying things forward for themselves—starting to consider an artifact’s embodied possibilities through an imaginative process of experimentation that works with what has been asserted in the text. At this point, it is worth recalling that, in Chap. 2, it was suggested that because Dewey understands values—our felt reactions to things—to be existentially real then we, as designer-researchers, are also called upon to attempt to conceive of reactions to designed things in non-subjectivist terms. In attempting to do so, we must recognize that the way in which others perceive and appreciate something is a live event, their perceptions and appreciations are real and situational. On this view, we can see the linguistic argument as a potential safeguard, intervening as a corrective against any unintended interpretations. Alongside the above there is another point to be drawn out in relation to Dewey’s positioning of the imagination as naturalistic, functioning in relation to our physical and social reality. In the context of the linguistic argument it might also be possible to explore how there is an opportunity to ground a narrative of a designer-­researcher’s imaginative trajectory. It is likely that such an undertaking would require additional layers of practice. This might take the form of annotated sketchbooks, of journals or field notes and so on. Equally, it might be more curated, centering around a reflective account which sits on top of the latter material. In both cases the point would be to consciously record emergent meanings as they emerge. Again, as with the final artifact, there is a need to be explicit and contextualize one’s meaning-making such that it might be recreated on the part of another.

 This clearly aligns with Verganti’s claim that design discourse gives rise to radical new meanings through cultural interpretation (see e.g., Verganti 2009).

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The point of all the above is, of course, managing the communication and, ultimately, the meaning of the research from its inception to completion—making it communicable and meaningful. As will be clear, this demands careful detailing and openness. In this way, not only can an audience judge the warranted assertability of a designer-researcher’s claims but, equally, and perhaps more importantly, they may also be inspired to build on and extend the meanings they have encountered (i.e., created/re-created); to continue the imaginative administration, manipulation and experimentation of and with knowledge. In short, to continue to make things meaningful.

A Practical Case 4.0: The Emerge Exhibition Carnegie Mellon academics Aishling Kelliher and Darragh Byrne have recently explored the concept of annotated portfolios (Gaver 2012) in art and design through their involvement in the Emerge symposium at Arizona State University (ASU) in 2012 (see Kelliher and Byrne 2015). Focusing on their work here will allow us to consider in greater detail the idea of how one might relate a linguistic argument—or, in more straightforward terms, a text—to the artifactual outcomes of design research involving practice. Bringing together researchers from art, design, the sciences and the humanities, the Emerge symposium was framed around a series of workshops exploring the theme of ‘what it means to be human’. A set of design methods were deployed across the workshop including design fiction, ‘sci-fi prototyping’ and scenario planning, leading to a variety of future-focused outputs. Additionally, a final public event, based on the presentations and performances offered an insight into the symposium’s general themes and activities. Across both the workshops and the latter final event, the team embedded a series of data capture techniques, including: passive photography, a web-camera taking one image a second; a dedicated social media account which participants were encouraged to use; a series of design probes for participant-use; and embedded documentation teams, who collected ‘hand written field notes, digital photos, digital movies and audio recordings’ (ibid, p. 3). Through consultation with various symposium contributors, the data was analyzed and categorized. Thereafter, it was annotated and summarized according to a multiple-level schema which identified common themes across the data. This, in turn, allowed for the representation of the symposium’s findings and outcomes as well as its ‘foundational ideas, methods and practices’ in the form of a three-month ‘participatory’ exhibition, entitled ‘Emerge’, held at ASU’s Art Museum in Phoenix. For Kelliher and Byrne, the Emerge exhibition functioned as a final annotated portfolio for the early symposium. It contained some of the generated artifacts developed in the workshops. Equally, participants were offered an insight into the workshop process through the display of some of the generative materials such as ‘letters to the future’. Further, participants were invited to experience some workshop activities for themselves (e.g., by writing letters to the future). Alongside this,

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the final public event was represented through a nine minutes video with some of the performers’ costumes on display next to the projection. Before moving to consider the argument-artifact relationship, it worth briefly considering the role of the imagination in the Emerge. While there no explicit consideration of the subject enters into Kelliher and Byrne’s discussion, it can be detected as an implicit aspect of the overall program. The choice of generative design methods such as those highlighted (i.e., design fiction, sci-fi prototyping and scenario planning) indicate a definite expectation of imaginative thought on the part of the organizers. In their participation, the researchers will have had to imagine possibilities and future trajectories based on their physical and social experience. Imagination will also have been key to the development of the exhibition (i.e., the final annotated portfolio). It too amounts to a ‘rearrangement of existing things’ i.e., the data. In terms of addressing the argument-artifact relationship, I would argue that a definite attempt at an ‘argument’ emerges in the annotation of the work. In the annotations, we have themes and findings—the story of the particular work of design (or art) is rendered accessible. Ultimately, the audience is able to engage with material—whether it be an artifact or something else—which ‘required a more nuanced, translational or indeed transformative approach in developing an appropriate surrounding context’ (p. 4). This links to the above claims regarding the necessity of the argument on the basis that the while artifacts are seen as central and indispensable, ‘primary’ in the words of Gaver (2012), they are still supplemented by an explanatory text, which, in turn, was derived from data analysis. By exploring the text in relation to the artifacts, the audience are able to undertake a detailed and focused ‘recreation’ of the researchers’ decision-making. They will have been able to reconstruct the project’s logic not only by reading, listening and viewing but also through trialing its methods and practices for themselves (e.g., by writing letters to the future). Their reading-­ listening-­viewing-trialing will have allowed them to arrive conclusions which they could then testing against the exhibition’s final, overarching claims. Equally, further work can be imagined and potentially pursued at a future date. A compelling aspect of this case that is worth noting is the integration of the research and its representation we can see in the Emerge program as a whole, i.e., the symposium and the exhibition. Reflecting on the project in its entirety, Kelliher and Byrne characterize their approach as amounting to a ‘hybrid multimodal framework for capturing, annotating and presenting the activities, processes and generated artifacts of research through design practice’ (ibid, p.  1). Data, analysis, ‘annotation’ and argument (i.e., the text) are all vertically aligned here. One links to the other. Equally, the data (e.g., the workshop letters) and the method (e.g., the workshop process) become part of the presentation. Through their inclusion, they do some of the work of the argument by demonstrating their immediate meanings, i.e., what they are here and now in experience. We see this also with the opportunity to trial the workshop methods. In our doing, we too will come to know.

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Chapter 5

Making Things Better

Abstract  In this chapter I shift the focus from questions of epistemology/methodology and turn, instead, to consider the social and political aspects of Dewey’s philosophy and their relation to design practice and research. The chapter opens with an exploration of how Dewey’s work has been drawn upon in participatory design discourse, looking in particular how individuals such as Pelle Ehn, Christopher Le Dantec and Carl DiSalvo as well as a number of related science and technology theorists have appropriated his ‘publics’ concept. From this presentation, I then turn my attention, again, to his original writings, with his stance in relation to democracy and ethics, as well as his melioristic perspective (i.e., the belief that human action can lead to positive change) all being highlighted in turn. The chapter draws to a close with a discussion of how these concepts can be related to contemporary understandings of the democratic/ethical within design practice and research. I conclude with the proposal that Dewey’s work might provide socially/politically motivated design practice and research with a value-based philosophic grounding that gives articulation to some pre-existing concerns. Keywords  Participatory design · Political design · Democracy · Design ethics · Meliorism

Everything, so the argument goes, is political. Design is no exception. In a very straightforward sense, politics form and inform all design activities. When designing a product, a service, or an experience, designers can be seen to be making a series of micro-level political decisions regarding who will be included, who will be excluded, who will benefit and who will lose out. Then, on a larger scale, it must also be remembered that the design industry operates within the context of a particular economic model. In a very general sense, this model determines the type of projects that can be supported and the type of projects that cannot be supported. Thus, some needs and wants will be met (e.g., the desire for luxury hand-bags) while others will be ignored (e.g., certain healthcare and accommodation needs). Equally, some practices or ways of working will be valorized (e.g., entrepreneurialism), while others dismissed as misguided or naïve (e.g., sustainability drives). © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 B. S. Dixon, Dewey and Design, Design Research Foundations, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-47471-3_5

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While designers have not always been conscious of their political role, there has, over recent decades, been a growing awareness of the discipline’s wider social and cultural impact, both actual and potential. Many practitioners would now be able to offer thoughts on whether or not design can ‘make a difference’, ‘play a role’ or ‘change things’. Equally, those taking a positive view would likely also be ready to suggest ways in which such measures could be enacted. To certain degree, this growing awareness can be related to the emergence of an increasingly prominent socially and ethically minded discourse within the field. Over the years, there has, of course, been many manifestos issued—calls by designers for other designers to step up and seek out more appropriate, worthy channels in which to apply their in-demand skills (e.g., the “First Things First Manifesto” of 19691). Alongside these efforts, Victor Papanek’s Design for the Real World (1971), stands out as an early, historical example of a vision for a new, ethical direction in design. His suggestion that designers seek to routinely apportion time to deserving causes has continued to resonate with practitioners through the decades. Indeed, the drive to harness design for the social good continues to this day, with more recent work focusing on issues such as ecological sustainability (e.g., Walker 2010; Escobar 2018) and designing for positive behavioral change (e.g., Lockton, Harrison and Stanton 2010). With regard to design research involving practice, projects tend to be grounded by ideas of improvement and transformation; many would align with John Zimmerman and Jodi Forlizzi’s ‘real world’ motivational contexts (2008), rather than anything that might be described as overtly ‘philosophical’. This can be seen in such examples as the ‘design for social innovation’ work of Ezio Manzini (see e.g., 2015), or the work of the Danish Design School’s CODE research unit in ‘rehearsing the future’ through civic projects which propose fresh approaches in areas such as waste collection and urban renewal (see Halse et al. 2010, and In Focus Box 1.1). Even if the aim is not to bring about political or social change, it will likely still incorporate the idea of improvement of some form; for example, Joep Frens’s doctoral work on enriching the interactive features of a camera (2006). Of these latter references, it is perhaps Manzini’s ‘design for social innovation’ work, which stands out as the most prolific and impactful recent example of an approach to design which aims to ‘make things better’. On his view, we are presently witnessing an historically important moment of transition where social innovation is coming to replace technological-industrial innovation as the key driver of human change (Manzini 2015, p.  26). Within this context, Manzini claims to detect an increasing push towards sustainability, with design for social innovation finding form in the ‘social conversation’ that opens up around ‘what to do and how to do it’ (i.e., how to achieve sustainability). While everyone (i.e., every citizen) is capable of

1  The First Things First Manifesto was originally written by graphic designer Ken Garland and, subsequently, signed by another twenty-one other designers. In the manifesto, Garland called on designers to seek out opportunities to apply their skills in non–commercial, more socially–orientated contexts. For an overview and discussion of its relevancy beyond its initial presentation, see Poynor (1999).

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contributing to this conversation, design professionals have a special role to play in helping guide and shape what is said (p. 63). Here, by balancing ‘the need to put forward ideas’ and the need to gather ideas (p. 70), it is proposed that they may ‘activate, sustain and orientate processes of social change toward sustainability’ (p. 62). Manzini’s work will be briefly touched upon again later in the chapter. Beyond Manzini, however, there is another important strand of work that must be picked up on here, as yet not mentioned—participatory design. In terms of specific approaches, participatory design has, more than any other area of practice, come to define the scope and possibilities of a politically-orientated, socially and ethically grounded mode of designing. Arising in the context of a series of trade union-initiated projects undertaken in Scandinavian workplaces in the 1970s and 80s, participatory design was originally shaped by a desire to improve people’s working conditions through a human-centered approach to the design of technological systems (e.g., information technology systems). Over the intervening decades, the movement’s adherents have largely transferred their focus from industrial settings to the wider civic arena. Here, designers and researchers have explored the possibilities of positioning collaborative design techniques as a means of creative decision-making and as a strategy for bringing about the positive transformation of social contexts (see e.g., Bjögvinsson et al. 2012). In many ways, this shift remains ongoing, with the question of how to best frame and position the contemporary participatory design movement’s political orientation and social and ethical grounding still a matter of some debate (see e.g., Bødker and Kyng 2018). Through this latter reference to participatory design we are led back, once again, to the relationship between John Dewey’s philosophy and design research involving practice. As we will come to see below, within the last decade, a link has been drawn between contemporary participatory design research and Dewey’s work on democracy through what is referred to as his ‘publics’ concept. It is an emergent link; as yet, not fully consolidated, but a link nonetheless. Honing in on this, the present chapter has two key aims. In the first instance, I look to present a brief outline of the participatory design-Dewey link and explore some of its wider theoretical associations. The second aim of the chapter, is to extend on this by considering how the broader scope of Dewey’s work—incorporating his perspectives on democracy, education and, more generally, ethics—could potentially provide socially/politically motivated design and design research involving practice with a value-based philosophic grounding. In essence, begin to offer a mapping of the principles by which aiming to make things better through design might align.

 etting the Stage: The Origin and Evolution S of Participatory Design Participatory design stands out as a special case in the broader scheme of design practices—both historical and contemporary—on the basis that its adherents, participatory designers, commonly seek to frame and pursue a political agenda in and

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through design. Ultimately, their concern lies with facilitating a democratic process—ensuring that those who will eventually use a particular design are involved in that design’s development and refinement. As has been noted, this stance can be traced to the movement’s origins in a series of Scandinavian research projects initiated by trade unions in partnership with computer and social scientists. Here, the general orientation of the work was Marxist-­ inspired—workers and their unions were understood to stand in opposition to management-led agendas (see Ehn 2017). Thus, in the projects, unions set out to challenge organizational initiatives aimed at improving efficiency through the introduction of technology. Early work—such as UTOPIA, looking at changes in the printing industry, and Florence, looking at a nursing information and communication system—explored how, in the context of this wave of technological change, workers might retain agency and reasonable working conditions (see Kensing and Greenbaum 2013, pp. 28–29). Over time, the approach came to be referred to as the ‘critical’ Scandinavian model—a way of considering the question of technology and work, led by the ideal of enabling inclusive, democratic workplaces (Bansler 1989, p. 15). Despite its early successes, this ideal was confronted by a number of challenges as the decades advanced. For example, though interest in participatory design spread to the United States in the 1980s, it was found that the notion of workplace democracy did not transfer to an American corporate context (e.g., Greenbaum 1990). Through the 1990s, the dominant global economic model shifted—neo-liberal economics replaced the postwar Keynesian consensus2—which inevitably led to changes in participatory design practices. Trade unions were no longer automatic project partners (Kyng 2010, p. 53) and the movement’s political focus gave way to a set of more individualistic ethical concerns (Bjerknes and Bratteteig 1995). By the late 2000s, the political drive had become so diluted that commentators were situating participatory design within a broader suite of co-creative practices operating across a diverse range of contexts, often beyond the workplace (e.g., Sanders and Stappers 2008). Novel collaborative techniques, including ‘co-design’ (see e.g., Steen 2011) and ‘empathic design’ (see e.g., Mattelmäki et al. 2014), were beginning to gain popularity and, unlike participatory design, these approaches did not imply any political commitments on the part of the designers. At the same time, some had begun to relate democracy, technology and ‘use’ together in ways, which

 An overview of the economic policies of the mid to late–twentieth century is beyond the scope of the present text, it will be sufficient to note that, in the West, through the 1950s, 60s and early 70s there was a general consensus that state intervention in the economy was both necessary and positive. From the early 1980s onwards, with the election of Margret Thatcher in Britain and Ronald Regan in the United States, this consensus was gradually undermined. Both of these politicians held the firm belief that state intervention was unnecessary and, indeed, damaging—a view which is now termed ‘neo–liberalism’. For an overview of this historic shift see Kotz (2015). 2

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diverged markedly from the original ‘critical’ Scandinavian approach (e.g., von Hippel 2005).3 In response to this fracturing, several contributors put forward proposals calling for a realignment of the underlying aims and commitments of participatory design. First, in the initial period of reflection, there were calls for the field to return to, and re-examine, its political roots. Here, Eevi Beck (2002), argued that democracy had ‘lost its evocative power and become somewhat discredited as a general ideal’ (p. 82). By way of alternative, she advocated in favour of a new form of political awareness, focusing on patterns of dominance, power, marginality and exclusion (p. 88). Dan Shapiro (2005) proposed that participatory design’s ability to tackle social and political challenges might be of benefit in the procurement and development of large-scale systems in the public sector. In contrast, Morten Kyng (2010) argued that relinquishing an explicit political commitment would allow participatory design researchers to better contribute to the future development of the expanding information and communication technology sector. Second, there has been a successive wave of calls for a renewed action-oriented methodology. Mostly, recently, in a 2018 special issue of the Transactions of Human Computer Interaction (TOCHI) journal, a number of proposals and statements have been put forward regarding possible future directions for the field, with a particular emphasis being placed, again, on the political dimension. In their introduction to the issue guest editors Bannon et al. (2018) identify, what they perceive to be, some key areas of concern in contemporary participatory design. First, there is ‘a desire to gather Participatory Design back in, to reform it, pull it together somehow’. Another concern relates to scale. While small projects are sometimes preferred, the group suggest that many contemporary issues (e.g., those relating to the digital economy) require that projects must take on a wider remit. Then, finally, it is noted that new ways of recognizing and evaluating research—ways which move beyond conventional approaches to reviewing—may be required in participatory design in order that as many design cases and perspectives as possible be enfolded within discourse (pp. 1:5–1:6). In another important article from the same issue, Bødker and Kyng (2018) propose that, as a consequence of the rise of aggressive corporate interests and the apparent inability of governments/institutions to act against them, a new participatory design is required. On their view, such a participatory design would be framed around what the pair refer to as ‘high technological ambition’, with a strong emphasis being placed on the production of working prototypes and powerful alliances which extend beyond the immediate project context. Further, linking to Bannon et al., Bødker and Kyng’s new participatory design demands a commitment to scale (i.e., the ability to extend and expand an outcome). Alongside this, the pair also insist that their new participatory design requires an ability to recognize success and

3  In the mid–2000s, von Hippel (2005) argued that increased access to information and technology meant that elite groups of ‘lead users’ might now participate in the production process. He referred to this development as a ‘democratization of innovation’.

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failure and must be undertaken as a form of action research (pp. 4:19–4:20). The latter aspect is seen to allow for an ability to address new needs as and when these are identified4 (p. 4:25). Though, as will be clear from the above contributions, the (re)orientation of contemporary participatory design is by no means defined, there are nonetheless areas of relative definition in evidence. In particular, over the last decade, a key strand of activity has emerged around the framing of relatively small-scale programs of civic intervention. This work, exemplified by the likes of Malmö Living Labs in Sweden, contrasts sharply with the technology-at-scale perspectives set out above (e.g., Bødker and Kyng 2018). At the same time, it also contrasts sharply with the original industrial-­ technological inquiries of the early days. Participants are no longer workers but citizens, predominantly drawn from marginalised groups. There is no one ‘site’ or group as such, but many sites and many groups. Nonetheless, these differences aside, as before, the ultimate aim of these projects is to initiate and frame sustainable political action. Third and finally, alongside the above there has also been recent efforts to shape out a renewed philosophical positioning for the field. Here, moving beyond their traditional Marxist roots, participatory design researchers and theorists have tended to draw on the perspectives of science and technology studies (STS)—a branch of sociology focusing on complex interactions/intersections of people and things which manifest through scientific and technological practices/processes. In this, many have found value in the rich and (sometimes) challenging texts of French sociologist Bruno Latour. Latour’s key offerings include his actor network theory (see e.g., Latour 2005) and his contextualization of the Heideggerian concept of ‘thinging’. Actor network theory offers a framework which seeks to trace or map ‘the social’ in terms of relationships; relationships as they exist between people but also relationships as they exist between people and the objects that surround them. The concept of ‘thinging’ references Heidegger’s claim that in traditional northern European societies the word ‘thing’ was used to refer to the process of communal or regional convening (see Heidegger 1971, p. 172). On this account, ‘things’ are to be understood as collectives in which concerns are raised and issues debated. In appropriating the concept, Latour suggests that there may be value in conceiving of a form of ‘thinging’ wherein a multiplicity of actors, both human and non-human (people and objects), are figuratively brought together around an issue in which they are implicated or, on some level, feel compelled to address (see e.g., Latour 2005). Closely related to Latour’s work, is that of the British-Dutch sociologist Noortje Marres. Marres draws directly on Dewey in her articulation of a socio-material politics, which she refers to as ‘material participation’. In line with Latour’s Heideggerian thinging, human and non-humans, people and objects, are seen as being drawn together in relation to issues (see e.g., Marres 2012). Intriguingly, Marres references Dewey’s work in her discussion of how issues become matters of public concern. In

 An ability which participatory design as design-only is seen to lack.

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particular, she draws attention to the key arguments of his 1927 text The Public and its Problems, which sees him outline his views on how ‘publics’ are formed and constituted. This Deweyan referencing has, in turn, inspired Latour. He claims that the Deweyan public concept offers a particularly compelling articulation of how controversial issues can initiate and enliven political discourse among otherwise disaffected groups of citizens (see e.g., Latour 2007). Bringing the whole together in 2005, Latour and Peter Weibel produced an exhibition entitled Making Things Public, held at the ZKM Center for Art and Media in Karlsruhe. The public of the title was a direct reference to Dewey’s concept, while the word things pointed back to the Heideggerian notion of things-as-parliaments. The work exhibited represented a variety of attempts to consider how issues could be made public and alternative forms of political discourse enabled. Following on from the exhibition and its subsequent publication (i.e., Latour and Weibel 2005), both concepts—i.e., publics and things-as-parliaments—have been drawn upon by participatory design theorists in their efforts to articulate the socio-­ material complexity of a politically-motivated collaborative design process. Here, the large-scale, participatory design project is recast as a discursive coming together of all manner of entities and existences (see e.g., Ehn 2008; Telier et  al. 2011; Binder et al. 2015). Before considering this work further, it will be useful to first turn directly to Dewey’s own writings on the subject of publics. In doing so, we will, for now, refer solely to The Public and its Problems. This will allow us to gain a sense of how Dewey introduces the publics concept and, equally, the broader, contextual meaning it carries within his work.

The Public and its Problems: Dewey’s Concept of the Public The Public and its Problems was first published in 1927 as a response to the public servant and political theorist Walter Lippman’s earlier text The Phantom Public (Lippman 1925). The Phantom Public set out a pessimistic view of democracy in the United States of the day, challenging the notion that there was such a thing as a collective ‘public’ or ‘omnipresent citizen’ capable of rational political judgement. Such an idea, Lippman claimed, was nothing more than a construct, a theoretical fiction with no applicability in the real world. Contemporary industrial societies, he argued, were simply too complex to be understood by ordinary citizens. In any case, ordinary citizens were too preoccupied by their own everyday individualistic concerns to be able to form a view on the nature of this or that political problem, the possible form of this or that social policy. Rather than expect a public to make difficult political decisions, Lippman envisaged that those who were directly involved in managing and overseeing a program of public work—a group he termed insiders—would be responsible for the direction and formation of social policy. In this scenario, there was little if any role for the public. They might be consulted during times of crisis; that is, presented with

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selection of candidates proposing alternatives responses to a given problem or challenge. Otherwise they would simply stand back and allow the insiders to get on with running day-to-day affairs competently and efficiently. Ultimately, this was a vision for government by experts—a government for the people but not by the people. In The Public and its Problems, Dewey sympathizes with Lippman’s view but does not, in the end, concur. Rather than being a theoretical fiction, he believes that public participation in the political process is both possible and desirable. Opening the text, he traced a notional, idealized outline of how a public might form. Here, he begins by focusing in on the idea that ‘[c]onjoint, combined, associated action is a universal trait of the behavior of things’. Through such behavior, human groups come to frame ‘purposes, plans, measures and means to secure consequences which are liked and eliminate those which are found obnoxious’ (LW 2, p. 257). Over time, the consequences of one group’s activities will likely come to impact, in some way, on the lives and livelihoods of another group. For example, if one community of hunters were to pursue an animal to extinction, then other nearby communities would be denied the opportunity to hunt that same animal in the future. Or, to choose a more contemporary example, if an industry in one part of the world were to produce an airborne pollutant, then this pollutant will likely spread far beyond the original site of its production, causing environmental damage many thousands of kilometers away. Dewey argues that, over time, such negative consequences will likely provoke a reaction on the part of those who must endure the ill-effects. He suggests that, if a group is sufficiently motivated, they will move to exert ‘practical influence’ or ‘control’ over the original actions which brought about/are bringing about the negative consequences, e.g., the process of industrial production causing airborne pollution. Dewey goes on to suggest that such groups are ‘organized and made effective’ through official representation, whether in the form of legislators, executives or judges. In other words, he believes that publics consolidate when they invest particular individuals with the authority to speak for their shared interests. He concludes his outline with the proposal that, historically, this vision of political organization—in other words, his definition of the formation of publics—might be seen to as the source of governments and, ultimately, the political state (ibid). While this idealized outline may render the publics concept accessible, it cannot be seen to provide a map to the present. As Dewey goes on to makes clear through the remainder of The Public and its Problems, in the context of the present (i.e., the United States of the 1920s), matters of political organization and public participation were both chaotic and overwhelmingly complex. Large portions of the text are dedicated to examining how modern day cultural and technological experience— that is, the doings and undergoings of life as lived in the early twentieth century— had come prevent or, at very least, hinder the development and maintenance of coherent political forms. Rather than being non-existent, he argued that the would-be publics of the present had been eclipsed. This was attributed to a number of issues. For one, due to the ‘machine age’, there were too many publics, with each seeking to uphold their own limited concerns. Equally, the issues they faced were too expansive and

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all-­encompassing to be readily appreciated (ibid, p. 314). Alongside this, following Lippman, Dewey believed that the would-be public was distracted by the attractions of mass media and popular culture. Technologies such as the ‘movie, radio, cheap reading matter’ meant that ‘the political elements in the constitution of the human being, those having to do with citizenship, are crowed to one side’ (ibid, p. 321). With each of these issues, would-be members of a larger scale public were unable to identify one another, let alone organize into a coherent group. It seems likely that many would have sympathy with this diagnosis in the context of our own contemporary political situation. In the age of social media networks and online news there are many more publics than existed in Dewey’s day, with no realignment, as yet, on the horizon. The fragmented media has further fragmented our publics. Alongside this, where Dewey refers to technologies such as movies, radios and cheap books, we might just as easily refer to streaming services, lifestyle podcasts and ebooks. It seems that, in our time, just as in Dewey’s, one may easily draw a relatively straightforward connection between the large-scale media consumption and a general lack of political and social engagement. On Dewey’s analysis, such issues could only be solved by means of communication. Based on his appraisal of his then-contemporary political scene, he identified three specific areas to address. In the first instance, he suggested that there was a mismatch between the ‘aims, desires and purposes created by the machine age’ and those of the past. New symbols were necessary in order to give form to the ‘ideas and absence of ideas in connection with which technological factors operate’ (ibid, p. 323). The second area related to social inquiry. Here, Dewey proposed a bold new experimental research program, bringing experts and citizens together to explore policy initiatives and institutional reform.5 No policy decision or act of reform would be absolute or final in itself. The role of the public would be to ‘judge the bearing of knowledge supplied by others’ (ibid, p. 365). Finally, the third area related to the communication of such research, as well as the role of news and journalism more generally. In order to judge new social knowledge, Dewey believed that the public needed access to the results of social inquiry, with the news potentially acting as one channel through which such access might be granted.6

5  At regular intervals through his works, Dewey bemoans what he sees as the poor state of social inquiry. This subject receives extensive treatment in The Public and its Problems but is also given a dedicated chapter in Logic: The Theory of Inquiry (see LW 12, pp. 481–505). 6  Another key challenge for a reformed news, lay with presentation, i.e., how it was packaged. ‘A technical high-brow presentation’ he suggested, ‘would appeal only to those technically highbrow; it would not be news for the masses’. The need was for presentations/publications which appealed on a deeper level. Art was capable of breaking through the ‘plane of conventionalized and routine consciousness’ (ibid, p. 349). By disrupting everyday consciousness—news as it was commonly experienced—the well-crafted, well-considered presentation of social research would aid the formation of sound opinion and judgement. It would ensure that, when the time came, the public could make an informed political contribution.

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There is a role clear role for design in relation to each of the above recommendations. Symbolism, understood in terms of language and meaning, is, as we discussed in the last chapter, central to design activity. However, rather than help us to tackle the complexity of the ‘machine age’, we now urgently need a new symbolism to help us apprehend the sometimes-overwhelming developments of our digital age. Allowing us, for example, to begin to consider and appropriate the possible meanings and likely impact of areas such as AI and nanotechnology. This might emerge through a critical design approach, but equally it might emerge also through a focused inquiry dedicated to investigating how we represent the potential of such technologies to bring about existential transformation. Moving on to the next recommendation, there is also a potential role for design in the process framing of policy initiatives and institutional reform. Here, it is possible to point to, for example, the work of the UK’s Policy Lab. Based in Westminster, the lab applies design methods as a means of exploring and testing possible responses to pressing national challenges (see e.g. Kimbell and Bailey 2017). We also this see evidenced in the policy design work of Christian Bason (see e.g., Bason 2016), who, along with Thomas Prehn, co-led Denmark’s MindLab. This unit that was originally set up to explore digital reform in the Danish civil service but would eventually move into area of civic problem-solving (see e.g., Carstensen and Bason 2012). Then there is the communication of the results of social inquiry via the media. As with the communication of research findings discussed in the last chapter (see Chap. 4), Dewey believed that art—in the broadest sense of the word, inclusive of design—held the potential to better present such results to the public. In fact, this is now an emergent area of research in and of itself. In the last number of decades, extensive work has been undertaken exploring the communication of scientific findings in general, with particular consideration being given to the role of that media can play within this process (see e.g., Bucchi 2002). Concurrently, a great deal of work has also been undertaken in relation to the design of scientific exhibitions (see e.g., Macdonald and Basu 2007). Nonetheless, a gap remains with regard to how the design of media platforms (i.e., news and journalism) might best connect citizens to the results of social inquiry, at least in the way that Dewey intended. Whether or not contemporary design or design research involving practice should take up these challenges in the way that Dewey intended is open to question. It was certainly his belief that, with these three factors attended to, large-scale industrial democracies such as the United States could see a revitalization of the political public, with citizens informing policy and shaping institutional change. As many commentators have pointed out, Dewey did not expect that such an ideal vision would be realized in full, but rather that it might guide efforts to improve upon the existing situation.

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I n Focus Box 5.1, Tanja Rosenqvist: The Design of Urban Sanitation Governance in Indonesia Tanja Rosenqvist’s Experiencing Everyday Sanitation (see Rosenqvist 2018a) project focused on the governance of sanitation services in Indonesia. Historically, in this context, sanitation had been perceived as a private issue and not a matter of public concern, with a majority of schemes operating under a community-management model. Consequently, the system suffered from a lack of oversight, coordination and investment and, as a result of urban expansion, was becoming increasingly unsustainable. Recognizing the need for radical reform, Rosenqvist set out to explore to how ‘designerly disruptions’ might allow for the identification of alternative governance strategies. Following Latour-Marres, she links theoretically to Dewey’s work via the public concept, with design again being presented as the means by which her public is ‘sparked’ into being (Rosenqvist 2018b, p.  52). Beyond this latter positioning, her project is labelled ‘transdisciplinary’, with further links being drawn to the areas of international development and governance. Methodologically, the project was grounded in a series of case studies undertaken in a medium-sized city of one million people. Rosenqvist held workshops which brought together a mix of local stakeholders including representatives from community-based organizations (CBOs) overseeing schemes, the local government and non-governmental organizations (NGOs). These workshops centered upon game-based activities, which sought on the one hand, to map out the current situation with regard to the management of sanitation and, on the other, to envisage how things might be otherwise. Through these activities the stakeholders were able to conceive of potential solutions to the challenges faced within the current system. Although no outright agreement was reached, a shift in perception was registered. Whereas previously stakeholders had struggled to see how local government might play a role in the management of sanitation systems, this was no longer the case. The possibility of government involvement was seen as both achievable and in some cases desirable (see Rosenqvist 2018b) (Figs. 5.1 and 5.2). For Rosenqvist, there were three key project outcomes. The first was repositioning of the meaning of sanitation—shifting from a waste-based perspective to a human-centered one. The second was a typology of ‘designerly strategies for questioning and rethinking societal governance’ as defined within her workshops. The third, arising out of these latter strategies, was the conceptualization of a wholly new area within design termed governance design, which would effectively position design as a means through which the challenges of governance can be explored. Rosenqvist’s project offers us an initial sense of how Dewey’s publics concept can be meaningfully applied within design. An issue, in this case, urban sanitation, has become so problematic that it needs attention. A public—i.e., representatives of the CBOs, local government and the NGOs—is formed around it. Design allows this public to recognize itself and, equally, to come to terms with the issue at hand. By participating in the games and mapping out the situation, they are able to understand and appreciate its dimensions and, most importantly, come to acknowledge

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Fig. 5.1  A game designed by Rosenqvisit, allowing participants to visualize the relationships (actual and possible) between NGOs, local government and private stakeholders in the delivery of public services. (Image courtesy Tanja Rosenqvist)

Fig. 5.2  A game designed to Rosenqvist, allowing participants to explore how public services are and could be delivered and governed. (Image courtesy Tanja Rosenqvist)

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that local government has a role to play in the management of sanitation systems. Here, we have direct impact, in context. Design has gone some way to making things better. In the broader context of the field of design as a whole, Rosenqvist’s work traces out a means for overcoming large-scale, systematic challenges; making things better for communities by focusing on the structuring of roles and responsibilities at a macro-level—allowing all parties to play a part. In this, her work comes into alignment with Dewey’s ideal of creative democracy, discussed below. Here, as we will see, the idea is that communal discourse—for example, the consideration of issues such public sanitation—should inform and shape government agendas (e.g., via policy or renewed institutional approaches) as a matter of course.

 aking Things Public: Dewey’s Concept of the Public M in Participatory Design As was noted above, with the growing popularity of STS theory, the Marres-Latour presentation of Dewey’s publics concept has steadily become enfolded in the participatory design discourse. Among the more prolific contributors, three key theorists stand out—Pelle Ehn, Christopher Le Dantec and Carl DiSalvo. Each has made direct reference to the concept in their research, linking it to the real-world contexts of practice and drawing out its relevance for design. Ehn, writing with various colleagues, references the concept in relation to work undertaken at Malmö University’s Living Labs. Drawing together a diverse range of actors, the labs aimed to offer citizens a space to explore questions and possibilities in open-ended experimental interventions (see e.g., Bjögvinsson et al. 2010; 2012). In one example, a lab investigated how a hip-hop group from a disadvantaged area in the city might be supported through the development of a bespoke technological platform. Here, a peripheral public is being offered a means to forge links with other publics and the broader community at large. Similar to Ehn, Le Dantec and DiSalvo have both explored the publics concept in the context of community-based participatory design (e.g., Le Dantec and DiSalvo 2013; Le Dantec 2016; DiSalvo 2009). In referencing the concept, they investigate how design may play a role in the constitution of publics and, equally, how, once constituted, publics can be supported in their efforts achieve desired goals. In one project example, the pair worked with a group of participants to collectively look at the possibility of developing a sensor-based community radio program to promote the sites and attractions of a deindustrialized township (Le Dantec and DiSalvo 2013, p. 253). In this context, the public may be understood as a small-­ scale, politically active community, a group that a particular design intervention has mobilized in positive action. Across such examples, design—in particular, participatory design—is presented as a mode of engaging, interacting and experimenting which aims towards devising

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a response to issues that conventional politics and conventional institutions have failed to address. Following the words of Latour, it becomes the means by which each new issue acquires its own ‘protocol’ or mode of response (2007, p. 819). While this recent participatory design literature profitably applies the publics concept and usefully positions Dewey in the context of contemporary theory, it is possible to argue that it does not fully represent the context in which Dewey grounds the original concept. We are not offered any sense of his views on democracy, or education, or ethics, which form its background. Consequently, at present, design and design research involving practice lack a sense of Dewey’s broader vision, of what he was advocating. In short, the publics concept may fill a gap in argumentative or conceptual resources but it is not, and at present cannot be, fully appreciated in its own right. The argument I wish to take up here, in the remainder of this chapter, is that Dewey’s broader body of socio-political work—linked to but extending beyond the publics concept—aligns well with the motivational stance of both design and design research involving practice; that is, the general belief system or orientation that designers and designer-researchers attach to their work. In order to flesh this out, the following sections will aim to offer an insight Dewey’s socio-political perspective and, from this, draw a link back to design and design research involving practice.

Deweyan Democracy: Democracy as a Way of Life In the history of twentieth century political philosophy, Dewey stands out as a vocal, articulate and determined champion for the democracy, particularly, of course, in the context of the United States. As was illustrated through the case of Walter Lippman, Dewey’s contemporaries were not generally enamored with democracy. Indeed, it had become politically ‘unfashionable’ (Narayan 2016, p. 15). Across the world, old certainties were crumbling. The emergence of USSR offered a live and seemingly successful example of communist government. In Europe, one after another, fascist states were established in Italy, Germany and eventually in Spain. Combined, these events appeared to suggest that liberal democracy’s future was by no means secure. In spite of this background reality, Dewey’s democratic faith remained undiminished. This is perhaps attributable to how he contextualized and understood democracy. He did not frame its value in terms of universal suffrage (i.e., full voting rights for all citizens above a certain age), the freedom of speech or the formal institutions of government (e.g., parliament). Rather, for Dewey, the heart of democracy was to be found in, what he termed the ‘democratic way of life’. The democratic way of life places emphasis on the person-to-person interactions which give form to communities and link together different (and differing) groups in a complex weave. This is a vision of democracy grounded in the dialogue and fine-grained negotiations of the everyday. What matters here are the connections

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people have and create, as well as the act of connecting. Locating this concept, Dewey writes that I am inclined to believe that heart and guarantee of democracy is in the free gathering of neighbors on the street corner to discuss back and forth what is read in the uncensored news of the day, and in the gathering of friends in the living rooms of houses and apartments to converse freely with one another. (LW 14, p. 226)

In taking this view, Dewey does not understand democracy as a special form of government, or even a special quality of everyday life but, rather, it is seen as ‘the idea of community life itself’ (LW 2, p.  328). In other words, the principles of democracy and community are one. According to Robert Westbrook, this was underscored by a belief that democracy called upon all parties to ‘to build communities in which the necessary opportunities and resources are available for every individual’ allowing for their full participation in every area of life (Westbrook 1991, xv). Sitting behind this is an understanding of the relationship between the individual and society, society and the individual which diverges markedly from conventional accounts. Dewey rejected all accounts which placed an undue emphasis on one or the other. The individual, he held, was not truly individual but rather could be seen to form an ‘association’. Through our social position, each one of us is connected to a variety of groups, whether grounded in business, a school, a church group and so on. These relationships are maintained in and through free and flexible cooperation and communication. The great advantage of such interaction is that, in interacting, individuals and groups are afforded the opportunity to grow and develop (LW 2, pp. 327–328). It is worth briefly noting that we see this latter trait (i.e., the growth of individuals/groups) very much in evidence in participatory design projects where collectives are formed around a particular issue. A compelling example emerges in Le Dantec and DiSalvo’s (2013) community radio project outlined above, where the group, in their coming together, were able to develop a novel approach to responding to the challenge of post-industrial decline. In foregrounding the democratic way of life as the linchpin of democracy, Dewey envisaged an ideal political scenario that he referred to as ‘creative democracy’. In a creative democracy, there would be no separation between everyday community interactions and the broader, formal super-structure of the state (see LW 14, pp. 224–230). New publics would have the opportunity to interact with old publics, contributing to the formation of social policy and institutional reform. The state would be become an ongoing experiment, continually being reframed to reflect the needs of its citizens. At the core of the whole would be conference, consultation, negotiation and persuasion (LW 11, p. 56). This ideal was underpinned by a belief in human nature, in humanity’s equality and natural intelligence (LW 14, pp.  226–227). More significantly however, it was underwritten by a belief in the transformative potential of education.

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I n Focus Box 5.2, Sissel Olander: Labs Without Walls as Democratic Experiments Olander is a member of CODE, the Centre for Co-Design Research at the Royal Danish Academy of the Arts in Copenhagen (see In Focus Box 1.1). In a project undertaken in the context of the northern Copenhagen suburb of Vanløse, she explored the potential of an ‘experimental research device’ termed Network Lab. The work was inspired both by the actor network theory of Bruno Latour (see above) and Dewey’s philosophy—in particular, his publics concept (see above) as well as his basic democracy theory. As with Peter Dalsgaard (see In Focus Box 3.2), Olander does not attempt to literally translate Dewey’s work into practice, but rather uses the material as a point of reference with which ground her project activities. Dewey is seen to offer a way of thinking about issue-formation in the public domain. Further, she embraces what she describes as Dewey’s ‘experimental commitment’ and ‘his efforts to turn the problem of the public into a practical participatory question’ (ibid, p. 149). Though Olander does not explicitly refer to the concept of creative democracy (see above), the Network Lab can be read as a clear attempt to directly link citizens with the institutions of government. In terms of its practical realization, the Network Lab was not a physical space but rather a set of event-based, design-led interventions where various local officials— e.g., cultural workers and librarians—are drawn into contact with local citizens. The aim was to bring people together around issue-formation with a view to building understanding and assembling new networks; in Olander’s words, institutional platforms and political formats. The events ranged from large-scale workshops to small-­scale one-to-one meetings. In each, design tactics and tools are used to open up articulations of the present as well as possible futures (Olander 2015, p. 19). The link to creative democracy is perhaps best exemplified in one of the project’s key events, hosted in collaboration with the local council, where the aim was to open up a meaningful dialogue with local citizens. Two key features of the event are worth highlighting outright. First, in preparing for the event, successful efforts were made to recruit as diverse a sample as possible by reaching out directly to groups who did not normally interact with the local authorities. Second, the event activities themselves were grounded in imaginative thought and deliberation (a key aspect of Dewey’s recommended strategy for ethical action, as we will see below). Launching proceedings on the day, the design team encouraged participants to form groups by identifying shared a shared issue to focus on. Here, for example, some grouped around the future of a historic theater. Others considered on the music scene in a local social housing estate. Once the groups had identified their issue, they were then asked to engage in a scenario building exercise using dolls as props— referred as ‘doll scenarios’. The process of scenario building was supported by a series of additional workshop materials designed to ‘engage participants with many different backgrounds and stakes and agendas’. One example was a set of cards which told the story of a successful local circus school that had recently been established. As well as telling the story of the school, the cards posed a series of ‘what if’

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questions relating to participants’ scenarios. As a further support, imagery of local scenes was also used to ensure that participants were able to situate their proposals within familiar, everyday settings (Olander 2015, p. 223). In the end, ten scenarios were developed, recorded and subsequently discussed in a post-workshop plenary. Within the discussion, one originally skeptical council member went so far as to suggest that, based on the event’s success, the council’s approach to citizen-engagement would need to change. He could see that a greater degree of citizen involvement was both necessary and desirable. Indeed, after the event, the council explored how each scenario might be implemented. From Olander’s perspective, this iteration of the Network Lab constituted ‘a platform for speculation between representatives […] and citizens’ (ibid p. 227). She claims that it was a success because it balanced structure (e.g., the prompt of the circus school) with speculation (e.g., what if questions and scenario building) and blurred the lines between public and private concerns, i.e., people were able to discuss issues that concerned them as individual citizens collectively. Ultimately, Olander’s work can be seen to go some way to giving form to Dewey’s creative democracy ideal. Through the Network Lab, citizens and local government are very clearly brought into an immediate dialogue. In this, design, or more particularly co-design, is positioned as a tool of democratic communication, a means of enabling interaction and discussion. Present concerns are explored alongside imaginative possibilities. Through this form of communication, change becomes possible—the gap between those who make decisions and those whom the decisions will affect is, at least temporarily, erased. The citizens are being given a chance to shape their own future. Of course, one might reasonably argue that this is an isolated event with little long-term impact. There will be a degree of truth to such criticism. However, in the context of design research involving practice, there is also value in having this work as a reference. Here, it becomes an exemplar case which may inform future research efforts. Against it, we can ask further questions of the role of design in the context of democratic participation and, more particularly, about the meaning and value of Dewey’s concept of creative democracy for design research (Fig.5.3). For Dewey, democracy, both as a way of life and politically, was to be understood as inextricably intertwined with education. This conviction relied, at least partially, on first-hand experience. Throughout his entire adult life, Dewey was directly involved in education at one level or another—first as a primary school teacher and then, after graduating from doctoral study, as an academic. Famously, he spent a number of years heading up the experimental Laboratory School at the University of Chicago and, though this ceased after his move to Columbia University in New York, he continued to write and lecture on educational matters through the decades that followed. As a result, some of his most prolific texts refer to education, including Democracy and Education (MW 9; first published in 1916), Education and Experience (see LW 13, pp.  1–62; first published in 1938), and The School and Society (see MW 1, pp. 1–110; first published in 1899). As the various linkings of the titles suggest, each aims to draw some form of explicit relationship between the

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Fig. 5.3  A Vanløse workshop group in the process of scenario building. (Image courtesy Sissel Olander)

political, the social and the pedagogic. For Dewey, each of these subject areas implied the others and their interrelation.7 On his view, a robust and vibrant education system was to be understood as one of the foundation stones of a robust and vibrant democracy—the two went hand in hand. Education offered societies an alternative to instilling an unthinking allegiance to some form of ‘external authority’ (i.e., a dictator or an absolute monarch) and, instead, allowed for the cultivation of a ‘voluntary disposition and interest’ among citizens (MW 9, p. 93). Here, the pedagogic would help guarantee the political and social, with the curriculum and school activities being positioned as central within the whole. Over his many educational works, Dewey outlined a vision in which students would no longer be introduced to an endless series of more or less useful facts on this or that subject. Instead, they would be instructed in learning how to learn or, as Dewey himself put it, how to think.8 The experience would be framed in democratic terms. This would involve students acquiring an ability to conduct inquiry, engage in debate and deliberation, as well as pass judgement on the results of others’ inquiries (see LW 8, pp. 105–352). The concept of judgement in this context is crucial. As with his suggestions regarding the revitalization of the public, Dewey wanted

 It is interesting to observe, for example, that the role of education is discussed more than once in The Public and its Problems (LW 2, pp. 235–372) and the ‘method of democracy’ is such a forceful theme in his Ethics co–written with Tufts (LW 7). 8  How We Think (LW8, pp. 105–352) is the title of one of Dewey’s most famous works. 7

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students to be able to examine evidence and interpret the positions of others. He wrote that through ‘judging, confused data is cleared up, and seemingly incoherent and disconnected facts are brought together’ (ibid, p. 216). Alongside supporting students in learning how to learn, the school would also facilitate the transition from a child’s early years all the way up to their initiation as fully-emancipated members of society. Here, Dewey envisaged a scenario where, through an immersive course of learning, students would gradually come to understand the workings of the community, taking on greater and greater levels of responsibility over time. This would require a new form of curriculum, one which evolved over time and was ‘organized about the idea of social life as indeed a life, a moving changing thing’ (LW 9, p.  165). In keeping with this scenario, the school, in its interactions with society, would also endeavor to become a model for the ideal society, a ‘projection in type of the society we would like to realize’ (MW 9, p. 326). The entirety of the vision was held together through the concept of growth, another key term in the Deweyan scheme. Growth, in Dewey’s usage, is to be understood in both singular (individual) and plural (group) terms.9 On an individual level, the proper management of growth signifies that the ‘function of intelligence’ is invoked to its ‘maximum possibility’ (MW 9, p. 56).10 At the group level, this is seen to ripple outwards through the ‘conjoint communicated experience’ that the democratic way of life enables (ibid, p.  93). Taking the broad view, then, in the context of the democratic society, the school, with its opening up of responsibility, enables the individual student to grow, which, in turn, allows society as a whole to grow. In short, both are seen to progress side by side, along a twin track. Having outlined Dewey’s democratic perspective we are now in a position to move on to examine his ethical stance, that is, how he deals with questions of human conduct and right and wrong. As we will see, for Dewey, democracy directly relates to ethics; again, a consideration of one calls up the other. In addition to this, his ethical stance also draws in the imagination and, more generally, notions of the future— two key concerns for design.

 ewey’s Ethics or Deliberating the Future or the Deweyan D Imagination Part Two11 Taking a broad view, it is possible to suggest that two key perspectives dominate contemporary ethical theory. On the one hand, there is consequentialism which holds that the rightness (or wrongness) of a person’s actions can be judged in 9  It is important to note that, as we will see below, growth was as much a moral concept for Dewey as it was educational or democratic. 10  In Democracy and Education, Dewey dedicates an entire chapter (Chap. 4) to the theme of education and growth (see MW 9, pp. 46–58). 11  In some ways, this section links to  another section The Deweyan Imagination: Part One, Meanings and Nature in Chap. 4, where aspects of Dewey’s understanding of ‘the imagination’ are first introduced.

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relation to their eventual outcomes. On the other, there is the deontological perspective which takes the view that a person’s actions can be judged on basis of the intentions guiding their actions, or the particular rule they were operating in relation to. In simplistic terms, those taking the latter view (i.e., the deontologists), would argue that motivations matter more than consequences. Those holding the former view (i.e., the consequentialists) would say the opposite, that consequences matter more than motivations. Kant, with his categorical imperative, would fall into the deontologist camp. Then on the other side, Bentham’s utilitarianism, with its call for the maximization of societal good, exemplifies consequentialism.12 While aligning with certain aspects of both positions, Dewey’s ethical stance offers a somewhat different perspective. He did not believe there was a separate sphere of experience, set apart from all other forms of experience, that could be referred to as exclusively moral. Nor did he believe that it was possible to codify right and wrong without reference to circumstances. For Dewey, everything depends on context. Indeed, following contemporary ethical terminology, he would be labelled a ‘contextualist’. On this basis, habit and convention—i.e., what we know will likely work and what our society deems acceptable—are understood to function as sufficient moral guideposts in most situations. However, inevitably, habit and convention will fail. A situation will arise that does not conform to our taken-for-granted standards or ill-defined rules of thumb. When this occurs, Dewey argued, ‘the sole alternative to caprice and random action’ was reflection. Reflection requires that time and dedicated thought—what Dewey terms an ‘intellectual factor’ (LW 7, p.  185)—be directed towards the possible course of future action(s). The notion of the future is crucial here. Reflection is said to occur when individuals ‘seriously ask by what purposes they should direct their conduct’ and ‘what it is which makes their purposes good’ (ibid, p. 184). In the context of ethics, it is characterized as being ‘identical with formation of ends’ (LW 7, p. 185). As we form ends, particular consequences will be ‘foreseen’ (ibid, p. 186). Once foreseen, these consequences will guide what we do, as well as how and when we do it. Our activities come to constitute an inquiry aiming towards a certain outcome. This offers design research involving practice a vision of an internalized ethics, an ethics which sits nested inside of design’s necessary processes of decision-­ making. Following Dewey, we might say that, in simple terms, an internalized ethical process would unfold as follows. Engaged in their project context, the designer-researcher would encounter an ethical challenge, one that does not conform to convention. On the basis of this encounter, they would enter into a process of reflection and, in doing so, seek to address the challenge by taking a future-focus and working to frame a desirable ‘end’. Within the context of design research involving practice, this, in turn, would become and inquiry within an inquiry,

 Becker and Becker (2001) offer a helpful encyclopedic overview of the manifold dimensions of contemporary ethical thought. Additionally, Alasdair MacIntyre’s A Short History of Ethics (1998/1967) sets out an accessible, if conservative, history of Western philosophy’s ethical advances.

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guiding the direction of the whole and, in the process, transforming an otherwise neutral operation into an ethically-bound activity. To a degree, such a vision has already found expression in the participatory design literature. Here, referencing the work of Dewey and others, Robertson and Wanger (2013) have set out a series of ethical principles for participatory design based on reflection and iteration in the design process. On their account, participatory design is about envisioning future use (p.  79). Against this, they argue that designer-researchers should question the dynamics of decision-making, in-project learning, researchers’ perception of participants, participant evaluations and, crucially, whether the process allows for a ‘justified loss or change of design focus’ (p. 82). In relation to the latter, they offer the example of how a technology-focused project may uncover problems that require non-technological solutions. Returning to Dewey, we can say that the question of how this is addressed draws in the activity of judgement. As with pedagogy, judgement is a fundamental feature of his ethical scheme. He approaches the matter socially, linking it to the activity of deliberation, which, again, points to a designerly perspective, in particular a participatory design or collaborative designerly perspective. For Dewey, deliberation involves ‘confirmation and revision, by personal observation of consequences and cross-referencing of their qualities and scope’ (LW 7, p. 272), ‘an imaginative rehearsal of various courses of conduct’ (ibid, p. 275, italics added). This introduces us to another side of the Deweyan imagination, wherein the imagination is seen to fulfill a very specific role, allowing us to envisage things that may happen and evaluate these possibilities. We give way, in our mind, to some impulse; we try, in our mind, some plan. Following its career through various steps, we find ourselves in imagination in the presence of the consequences that would follow: and we then like and approve, dislike and disapprove, these consequences, we find the original impulse or plan good or bad. (LW7, p. 275, italics in original)

We are told that the advantage of such an approach is that it is retrievable, whereas overt consequences remain. They cannot be recalled. Moreover, many trials may mentally be made in a short time. (Ibid)

It likely be apparent that such a process suggests design. It is there in the simple imagining of consequences. At a base level, this is what designers do, what they are expert at. But, equally, and more importantly, it is there in abundance in the processes of ideation, of developing user stories and scenarios (see e.g., Carroll 2000), roadmapping and even prototyping. Techniques such as these allow us to foresee where things might go, what might happen and, further, allow us to check whether we like and approve, or dislike and disapprove the visions with which we are confronted. In many ways, this latter account can be seen to connect to Manzini’s vision for design in the context of social innovation (2015). For Manzini, one of the key means by which designers can ‘make things happen’ in social innovation is by making ideas visible and tangible. In this, he recommends the scenario, or to be more specific the ‘design-orientating scenario’. Scenarios, he believes, allow for debate.

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Those involved in what he terms the ‘social conversation’ can ‘say what they like and don’t like’. Equally they can agree or disagree as to how particular ideas might be pursued in real terms (p. 129). Here, returning to Dewey, we may bridge back to subject of democracy. Dewey directly related this ethical vision to democracy on the basis that democracy demands such negotiation/envisaging of possibilities in the way described above by Manzini. As far as he is concerned, to collectively deliberate over action, trialing all the various possibilities that a situation may throw up, is the only equitable method of managing the future. This provides a moral justification for democracy—it becomes a way of working together that aims at the ‘liberation of individuals on the one hand and the promotion of the common good on the other’ (LW 7, p. 349). Dewey acknowledged that his approach—of ethics as democracy and democracy as ethics—was especially idealistic. It would involve ‘constant meeting and solving of problems’ (ibid, p. 350) and demand a ‘positive toleration which amounts to the sympathetic regard for the intelligence and personality of others, even if they hold views opposed to ours’ (ibid, p. 329). However, as with democracy proper it would yield ‘the fullest possible realization of human potentialities’ (LW 13, p. 154). On this view, ethics becomes a negotiated imaginative inquiry, democratic in its constitution, open-ended in direction—a process that is always ongoing and happily never complete. It will not result in a set of rules but rather in a constantly evolving understanding of how we can live together well. So long as the commitment to tolerance holds, then newly emergent moral problems, the doubtful situations of life, can always be addressed through the asking of questions and seeking of answers. Though the answers may only lead to more questions, the hope it that they will be better. It will be clear enough that this is a designerly view. Good design, appropriate design, is open-ended. It too is always ongoing and happily never complete. It too relies on questions and answers and ultimately is underpinned by a hope it that things will be made better. This latter point leads us to Dewey’s melioristic perspective.

 ringing Democracy, Education and Ethics Together: B Meliorism as a Radical Middle Position Following on from the above material, there is every chance that Dewey might be read as a naïve optimist; that is, someone who holds an unquestioning belief in the inevitability (or, at least, high likelihood) of a positive outcome in relation to a given problem or problematic situation. For example, on the face of it, it would seem excessive to propose a wide-ranging program of social research in response to democracy’s ills. Equally, it could also be argued that a renewal of society’s methods and conditions of debate and discussion requires a degree of commitment which far exceeds any reasonable timeframe or investment of resources. Such proposals and suggestions were however, not pitched as inevitabilities. They were set forth as

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conditions which will likely support the desired outcome, i.e., in this case, a vibrant democracy. The fact is that Dewey was not a naïve optimist. He openly rejected the opposing poles of optimism and pessimism and, instead, argued in favor of a melioristic outlook. In simple terms, meliorism refers to the belief that the world can be made better through human effort. In holding such a belief, one is not insisting upon the view that betterment will necessarily be achieved, only that it is likely to be possible if an appropriate course of action is identified. As Dewey put it Meliorism is the belief that the specific conditions which exist at one moment, be they comparatively bad or comparatively good, in any event may be bettered. It encourages intelligence to study the positive means of good and the obstructions to their realization, and to put forth endeavor for the improvement of conditions. It arouses confidence and a reasonable hopefulness as optimism does not. […] Too readily optimism makes the men who hold it callous and blind to the sufferings of the less fortunate, or ready to find the cause of [the] troubles of others in their personal viciousness. It thus cooperates with pessimism, in spite of the extreme nominal differences between the two, in benumbing sympathetic insight and intelligent effort in reform. (MW 12, pp. 181–182)

The central point to make here is that meliorism, when viewed in relation to Dewey’s broader philosophic scheme, can be seen to offer a compelling and, more importantly, a credible middle option set between optimism and pessimism. This, I believe, is a path that designers and designer-researchers must attempt to take. It allows us to circumvent the more debilitating forms of cynicism and doubt. At the same time, it also acts as a guard against the sort of unthinking hopefulness that promises bountiful and sustainable futures waiting just around the corner. More importantly still, it allows us to be ethically clear with regard to our practice; design may work but, equally, it may not—a point that will be picked up below and again later. This rounds out our discussion of Dewey’s socio-political perspective. With the above account in place, we may reasonably ask what it all means for design and design research involving practice, in particular for socially/politically motivated work.

 esign, the Melioristic Discipline: Taking D on a Deweyan Perspective This chapter opened with a brief reflection on design and design research involving practice’s tendency to aim towards positive change, to make a difference in the world and to add value. In this, focus was directed towards participatory design practice and its general democratic orientation. It was noted that, over the years, participatory design theorists have drawn linkages between the values of practice and Dewey’s work, with a recent emphasis being placed on the STS presentation of his publics concept. While it was acknowledged that this appropriation of the public

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concepts has enriched design discourse, it was argued that little work has been done exploring Dewey’s democratic vision, his related ethical stance and his melioristic outlook, all of which can be understood to sit behind the publics concept. In broad terms, there are a number of reasons for the design and designer-­ researcher to pay more attention to these theories. As a collective, they offer an intellectual outline of how political, social and cultural processes can be conceived in fair, equitable and hopeful terms. Further, the fact that democracy, education and ethics are not seen as separate in Dewey’s system draws attention to the interconnectedness of all action, as well as the pervasiveness of moral issues. It can also be argued that, by lining up these Deweyan reference points, the complexity of each domain becomes more navigable on the basis of the interrelations he has set out. Beyond these reasons, there is an additional important point to be noted, one which has been alluded to above in relation to meliorism. Here, returning specifically to the suggestion that design and design research involving practice aim to make things better, I would argue that the above strands of Dewey’s work require that we augment the obviously naïve idea that making things better is something that designers and designer researchers can achieve with ease, as a matter of course. Indeed, there is an inherent danger that the rhetoric which attaches to design research involving practice may appear to promise guaranteed success and the sense that any design input will necessarily result in the positive transformation of a given situation. Dewey would reject such an assumption outright. For him, the good does not produce itself, nor can the route to its achievement be prescribed in advance—there is no one way, no sure way of bringing about positive transformation. As a whole, the process is to be understood as inherently complex. Indeed, if we follow the connecting threads of his democratic, pedagogic and ethical positions we can see that many things are required in order that a sustained, long-term good can be brought about for the widest possible number of people. Beyond this broad outline, there are some specific aspects of Dewey’s democratic, pedagogic and ethical work that are worth attending to in the context of design and design research involving practice. The first aspect relates directly to his understanding of democracy. As we have seen, Dewey centered democracy in every day interactions—conversations on street corners and in living rooms—the practice of democracy-as-a-way-of-life as he called it. Again, as was alluded to above in relation to the growth of individuals and groups, I would contend that, at a foundational level, socially and politically orientated design parallels this perspective. Surveying the wide-ranging evolution of these areas over recent decades, it is clear that practitioners have cultivated an ability to enter everyday settings and open up a highly effective dialogue, querying possible courses of action and exploring the likely impact. Participatory design, at least the participatory design of Ehn, DiSalvo and Le Dantec, locates itself in everyday settings; not necessarily on the street corner or in living rooms but certainly, historically, in the workplace and, more recently, in the civic arena. It originated as a form of democratic action and continues, in part, to operate at this level. Indeed, some participatory design theorists have gone so far as

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to argue that, in its civic-intervention mold, the field may be understood as a program of small-scale democratic experiments which one after another trigger small but meaningful political events (Binder et al. 2015). In some instances, it is claimed that such work can even extend to influencing civic and regional authorities (see e.g., Huybrechts et al. 2017). Viewed from this angle, participatory design might reasonably be positioned as an approach to achieving Dewey’s ideal of ‘creative democracy’ (see above), which envisages an upwards flow from citizens to the development of policy and institutional reform. Indeed, approached in this way, it may become possible to address some of the proposals set out by Bødker and Kyng (2018) and Bannon et  al. (2018)—in particular those to do with scale, as, here, the necessity of scaling is a given. Further, by working to forge connections across the citizen-institution divide, participatory design might be better placed to find a niche in which to explore the Bødker-Kyng agenda of large-scale technological ambition. On this front, it seems that, only in mobilizing the resources of the state, might any challenge to the current dominance of global technology firms become possible. Equally, it also seems that only the state could facilitate the level of prototyping and public involvement that such an agenda necessitates. However, even if it is accepted that participatory design can be conceived of and approached in this manner, the issue of how to bridge the citizen-institution divide and to manage the upward flow from citizen to policy formation/institutional reform remains. Here, Dewey can offer the field some guidance. We have seen how he argued for a broad program of social inquiry, for returning the results to the citizens and ensuring that citizens where able to criticize and judge these results. In the longer-term, of course, he argues that this can only be enabled through education, with students’ being initiated in learning how to learn and in becoming, integrated well-rounded citizens. This is ultimately the keystone of his democratic vision. On the face of it, it would seem that concerns relating to the structure of the education system, or the development of criticality and strong judgement hold little immediate relevance to design and design research involving practice. However, while designers and designer-researchers are unlikely enter schools or begin designing curricula (though of course they may), there are ways that they can seek to engage the young. If appropriately pursued, this could lead to individual and collective growth, opening up a sense of positive freedom among disadvantaged and otherwise marginalized groups.13 The possibility of learning occurring in participatory design has been picked up many (see e.g., Bratteteig 2004). Indeed, Robertson and Wenger pointedly highlight the need to support mutual learning within their list of ethical principles for participatory design (2013, p.  82). Looking beyond discussions of mutual learning however, it does not appear as though a concern for fostering criticality and an ability to cast judgement amongst participants has, as yet, emerged as a strong theme in the field. Thus, following Dewey, we might

13  Marianne McAra’s doctoral work (2017) presents a powerful example of how small-scale participatory design projects can effect positive change in young people’s lives.

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reasonably suggest that there is the potential for participatory and collaborative designer-­researchers to explore these aspects through the tools and techniques they deploy in research settings. A recent contribution from the eminent participatory design theorist Elizabeth Sanders (2017) points to such a possibility. Here, in reflecting on her extensive experience of working in participatory design over many years, Sanders sketches out a future vision for the field of design, which she titles ‘collective dreaming’. In the space of collective dreaming, she proposes that everyone will have the opportunity to engage in developing ‘imaginary scenarios’, whether real or virtual, about futures that could be. Though this is design-by-the-people there is still a role for expert designers. On Sanders’s view—a view which is very much in keeping with Manzini’s design for social innovation—they will be called upon to respond on two fronts. First, they will be expected to design ‘tools and materials for non-designers to express themselves creatively and collectively’. Second, they will also be asked to contribute to making sense of, and shaping, what emerges from this expression (p. 221). Though criticality and judgement are not explicitly addressed in her discussion, I would argue that, for the scenarios to have any value at all, such faculties would need to be foregrounded within the process (i.e., within the accompanying tools, materials and facilitation). The reality is that if individuals were not supported in working to understand the likely impact and consequences of their ‘dreaming’, of what possibility would be better or worse—both for themselves, as well as the group—then their dreaming would remain just that, dreaming or, worse, deliver unforeseen negative futures. This leads us to the ethical dimension of practice and research. As we already have seen above, for Dewey, deciding on the proper course of action—what to do or what not to do—was best explored through inquiry, particularly in doubtful, uncertain situations (as in Chap. 3). Here, we discussed how this offers design research involving practice a vision of an internalized ethics, an inquiry within the inquiry. It is however up to designer-researchers to ensure that they consciously work to identify such issues and that, at all times, their inquiries are flexible enough to accommodate a reorientation and a revised course of action, as outlined by Robertson and Wanger (2013). It was also noted at this point that Dewey insists on the requirement that possible courses of action be explored through deliberation, the imaginative rehearsal of the actions yet to be undertaken. As in last chapter, we here see Dewey move to reposition the imagination as a significant and meaningful intellectual process. Extending its bounds far beyond fancy and whim, it is said to allow for de-risked ethical experimentation, the trialing of particular approaches without having to suffer any adverse consequences. As was noted here in relation to the work of Manzini, we see that Dewey and design connect strongly at this point in the relation to envisioning and foreseeing the future, providing the material against which we might approve or disapprove of particular options or futures. Of course, we see this recurring again through our reference to Sanders’s vision of collective dreaming.

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Complementing the above, it is also worth highlighting that Marc Steen (2015; 2013) has discussed how collaborative design in general holds an inherent alignment with the ethical aspect of Dewey’s vision. Here, he has argued convincingly that, as modes of practicing and conducting research, such approaches can be positioned as forms of ‘moral inquiry’, wherein participants explore problems together. The ‘ethics of codesign occur’ he writes ‘when participants use their capacities for perception and engage with visualizations of the problem… or when they use their capacities for conception and engage in creative activities’ (ibid, pp.  406–407). Steen places particular emphasis on Dewey’s interrelation of inquiry and imagination. In the context of collaborative design, these are repositioned as collective pursuits, becoming processes of ‘joint inquiry and imagination’ (ibid p. 405; also see Steen 2013). Collaborative modes of design, then become a literal and discreet realization of Dewey’s ethics in action. Beyond ethics, the last factor, and the organizing principle for the whole is the powerful and compelling concept of meliorism. This is where Dewey really adds value. As was made clear, meliorism urges us to acknowledge that neither blind optimism nor flat pessimism will do—the designer and designer-researcher must aim to strike a reasonable balance between unquestioning hope and complete despair. The design process may here be positioned as the method through which the world can be remade for the better. Whether focusing exclusively on practical concerns or aiming towards knowledge production, this process cannot be seen as offering guaranteed success. Rather, properly conceived, it functions as an open-­ ended inquiry which may or may be not achieve its desired outcome. While we cannot predict success, it is only in trying—moving forward and back between experimentation and observation—that we will have any sense of whether or not this or that approach will work, whether or not this or that design strategy will likely make things better. We see this principle well expressed in Manzini’s vision of design for social innovation (2015). He perceives the possibility that such an approach may facilitate a transition to a more sustainable civilization but, equally, he recognizes that this is by no means guaranteed (see e.g., pp. 203–204). Linking up the full argument, then, we may come to see design and design research involving practice as enablers of democracy as a way of life; as processes allowing for personal growth; as two inherently ethical-minded practices; and, ultimately, as a means of achieving positive change and collective growth slowly and carefully—the melioristic discipline.

 Practical Case 5.0: A Participatory Design HCI Project A with Young Forced Migrants As we have seen, over the last two decades participatory design has been applied to predominantly civic settings. In line with this reorientation, a recent study by Duarte and colleagues (see Duarte et al. 2018) has explored the application of participatory

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design in an HCI project undertaken with young forced migrants (YFM) in Münster in Germany. Examining this case here will allow us consider the how the above Deweyan themes of democracy, education, ethics and, to a degree, meliorism can be seen to thread through and intersect within contemporary participatory design practice. Focusing on the development of a digital mobile tool, the project aimed to support the YFMs’ integration process—a highly complex and challenging issue in and of itself. Initially the team envisaged that the tool would provide spatial information, helping users to gain a familiarity with their adopted city’s geography. However, through the research, this was gradually augmented as, from the YFMs’ perspective, more social functionality, such as the possibility of making local connections and gaining access to language classes was considered desirable. Participants included both YFMs, between 16–18 years old, and local students from Münster. The project involved five workshops, ‘hands on activity’, a field trip and a final ‘data processing’ activity. The work was grouped into three separate stages. Stage one, which extended over the first two workshops, focused on brainstorming. Here, the goal was to gain a deep understanding of the YFMs’ challenges and needs (ibid, p. 3:15). Stage two, extending over the third and fourth workshops as well as the field trip, focused on collaboration. Here, teams of FYMs and local students explored both the services that YGMs might require access to as well as how this access might be facilitated. Finally, stage three, incorporating both the ‘hands-on activity’ and the fifth workshop, focused on co-designing. Here, using exploratory design techniques, initial wireframes of the tool were produced. At the end of the study, participants were surveyed and the results were jointly explored in the final data-processing activity. While several challenges were identified in relation to areas such as communication and the limited time-span of the project (see pp. 3:22–3:25), many positive aspects were also drawn out: YFMs had been highly engaged in the project, with facilitators observing strong collaborative dynamics among some groups in the workshop sessions; the participatory approach to the research14 had allowed for iteration and adaption of the study’s goals, questions and practices; and the YFMs were able to see potential in the proposed application (p. 3:26). Returning to Dewey’s perspectives on democracy, education, and ethics and their relationship to design outlined above, it is possible to highlight a number of points of correspondence. In the first instance, we see how, in this case of participatory design, there are clear overlaps between the democratic, the pedagogic and the ethical. In terms of democracy, all activities were framed around open and equitable decision-making processes. Wherever possible, efforts were made to balance perspectives. For example, multiple approaches to communicating ideas were explored, ensuring that those who were not comfortable speaking aloud were not put at a

 As well as a participatory design project, the study was also framed as participatory research project with the YFMs taking on the role of co-researchers at various stages.

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disadvantage. Later, when surveyed, the YFMs reported that had felt their voices were heard (p. 3:29). With regards to the pedagogic, all activities were framed around the promotion of mutual learning. Here, the sharing of ideas in workshops becomes an exchange of perspectives from which either side might benefit. Learning is seen to occur in the forward and back between two otherwise separate groups. Additionally, through their involvement in the wireframing activities, the YFMs were seen to acquire a new design skill, one which they had not previously been exposed to. These latter aspects also indicate a sense of individual and collective growth among a disadvantaged and marginalized group (i.e., the YFMs)—there is a definite sense of empowerment in evidence. Also, in terms of the pedagogic, it also worth noting that project activities were undertaken as part of the school curriculum. As such, the coming together of the YFMs and the local pupils was enacted in an educational context. Here, we see close alignment with Dewey’s vision of the school as a microcosm of the wider society. In terms the ethical, we can observe an overarching commitment to reflection and imagination being demonstrated throughout the process. As was noted above, the research goals questions and practices were all iterated and adapted as future possibilities were envisaged and deliberated in the workshop settings and beyond. This approach can be seen to have resulted in a new design direction for the digital mobile tool (i.e., through the inclusion of enhanced social functionality). As such, we can say that the project (or inquiry) was flexible enough to accommodate a reorientation/revised course of action arising from the decision-making of its constituent members. To echo Marc Steen (2015), they were able to successfully solve problems together. On another note, it is worth highlighting that we cannot claim that above study exemplifies Dewey’s ideal of creative democracy in direct terms. There is no upward flow from citizens to government in evidence; there is no sense that the project might inform policy or lead to institutional reform. That is not to say however that there is no possibility of this happening. The fact that the project was integrated within the school curriculum points to the possibility of change at an institutional level. Equally, with increasing numbers of YFMs entering Europe, the project will have had wide applicability across the region—its reporting allows for transferability. This in turn may lead to future impact. Beyond the above, I take the view that this case presents us with a clear example of a melioristic design research project. It foregrounds a particularly vulnerable group (i.e., YFMs), seeks to gain an understanding of their situation and, against this, explores how a digital product might be designed to improve that situation. The team is seeking to make things better. However, they are also measured in claiming success and do not shy away from discussing their project’s limitations. As was briefly indicated above, they highlight the communication difficulties and the project’s limited time-span. They also note the ambiguity of local participants’ levels of engagement and challenges regarding data management. The researchers do not claim that any special transformation, only a transform. A proposal for a digital tool

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now exists when previously the idea had not been considered. Two communities have come together, whereas otherwise they might not have had any contact. In this, communication has taken place and one will understand the other a little better than before. As Dewey would likely argue, that, in itself, is an outcome worth working towards.

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Ehn, P. (2017). Learning in PD as I found it (1970–2015). In B. DiSalvo, J. Yip, E. Bonsignore, & C.  DiSalvo (Eds.), PD for learning: Perspectives from practice and research (pp.  7–21). Abingdon: Routledge. Escobar, A. (2018). Designs for the Pluriverse: Radical interdependence, autonomy, and the making of worlds. Durham: Duke University Press. Frens, J. (2006). Designing for rich interactions: Integrating form, interaction and function.. Ph.D. Dissertation. Eindhoven: TU Eindhoven. Greenbaum, J. (1990). A Design of One’s own: Towards PD in the United States. In D. Schuler & A. Namioka (Eds.), PD: Practices and principles (pp. 27–37). Hillsdale: Laurence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Halse, J., Brandt, E., Clark, B., & Binder, T. (Eds.). (2010). Rehearsing the future. Copenhagen: The Danish Design School Press. Heidegger, M. (1971). Poetry, language, thought. (trans: Hofstadter A). New  York: Harper and Row. Huybrechts, L., Benesch, H., & Geib, J. (2017). Institutioning: Participatory design, co-design and the public realm. CoDesign, 13(3), 148–159. Kensing, F., & Greenbaum, J. (2013). Heritage: Having a say. In J.  Simonsen & T.  Robertson (Eds.), Routledge handbook of participatory design (pp. 21–36). Abingdon: Routledge. Kimbell, L., & Bailey, J. (2017). Prototyping and the new Spirit of policy-making. CoDesign, 13(3), 214–226. Kotz, D.  M. (2015). The rise and fall of neoliberal capitalism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kyng, M. (2010). Bridging the Gap Between Politics and Techniques: On the next practices of participatory design. Scandinavian J. Inf. Systems, 22(1), 5. Latour, B. (2005). From realpolitik to Dingpolitik or how to make things public. In B. Latour & P. Weibel (Eds.), Making things public: Atmospheres of democracy (pp. 14–41). Cambridge MA: MIT Press, ZKM/Center for Art and Media in Karlsruhe. Latour, B. (2007). Turning around politics: A note on Gerard de Vries’ paper. Social Studies of Science, 37(5), 811–820. Latour, B., & Weibel, P. (Eds.). (2005). Making things public: Atmospheres of democracy. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, ZKM/Center for Art and Media in Karlsruhe. Le Dantec, C. A. (2016). Designing publics. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Le Dantec, C. A., & DiSalvo, C. (2013). Infrastructuring and the formation of publics in participatory design. Social Studies of Science, 43(2), 241–264. Lippman, W. (1925). The phantom public. New York: Harcourt Brace. Lockton, D., Harrison, D., & Stanton, N. A. (2010). The design with intent method: A design tool for influencing user behaviour. Applied Ergonomics, 41(3), 382–392. Macdonald, S., & Basu, P. (Eds.). (2007). Exhibition experiments. Oxford: Blackwell. MacIntyre, A. (1998). [1967] A Short History of Ethics. London: Routledge. Manzini, E. (2015). Design when everyone designs. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Marres, N. (2012). Material participation: Technology, the environment and everyday publics. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Mattelmäki, T., Vaajakallio, K., & Koskinen, I. (2014). What happened to empathic design? Design Issues, 30(1), 67–77. McAra, M. (2017). Participatory design with young people: Exploring the experiential, relational and contextual dimensions of participation. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation. Glasgow: Glasgow School of Art. Narayan, J. (2016). John Dewey: The global public and its problems. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Olander, S. (2015). The network lab: A proposal for design–anthropological experimental set-ups in cultural work and social research. Ph.D. dissertation. Copenhagen: Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, Schools of Architecture Design and Conservation. Papanek, V. (1971). Design for real world. London: Thames and Hudson.

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Poynor, R. (1999). First things first revisited. Émigré, 51, 2–3. Robertson, T., & Wanger, I. (2013). Ethics: Engagement, representation and politics-in-action. In J. Simonsen & T. Robertson (Eds.), Routledge handbook of participatory design (pp. 64–83). Abingdon: Routledge. Rosenqvist T (2018a) Experiencing Everyday Sanitation Governance: A Critical Inquiry into the Governance of Urban Sanitation Services in Indonesia and How it could be Otherwise. Unpublished PhD thesis. Institute for Sustainable Futures, University of Technology, Sydney. Rosenqvist, T. (2018b). Redirecting a scattered public toward alternative matters of concern: Shifting perceptions of urban wastewater governance in Indonesia. Design Issues, 34(4), 51–65. Sanders, E. B. N. (2017). Learning in PD: Future aspirations. In B. DiSalvo, J. Yip, E. Bonsignore, & C. DiSalvo (Eds.), PD for learning: Perspectives from practice and research (pp. 213–224). Abingdon: Routledge. Sanders, E.  B. N., & Stappers, P.  J. (2008). Co-creation and the new landscapes of design. Co-Design, 4(1), 5–18. Shapiro, D. (2005). PD: The Will to Succeed. In O.  W. Bertelsen, O.  Bouvin, P.  G. Krogh & M. Kyng (Eds.) Proceedings of the 4th Decennial Conference on Critical Computing: Between Sense and Sensibility (pp. 29–38). New York: ACM. Steen, M. (2011). Tensions in human-centred design. CoDesign, 7(1), 45–60. Steen, M. (2013). Co-design as a process of joint inquiry and imagination. Design Issues, 29(2), 16–28. Steen, M. (2015). Upon opening the black box and finding it full: Exploring the ethics in design practices. Science, Technology, & Human Values, 40(3), 389–420. Telier, A., Binder, T., De Michelis, G., Ehn, P., Jacucci, G., Linde, P., & Wagner, I. (2011). Design things. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. von Hippel, E. (2005). Democratizing Innovation. Cambridge, MA: MIT press. Walker, S. (2010). Wrapped attention: Designing products for evolving permanence and enduring meaning. Design Issues, 26(4), 94–108. Westbrook, R. (1991). John Dewey and American democracy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

Chapter 6

Making as Valuation

Abstract  In this chapter I set out to cohere the book’s broader argument by exploring how a synthesis of Dewey’s key theories relating to knowing, reality, communication and value might be drawn to together to enrich our understanding of knowledge production in design research. In doing so, I turn first to the work of Dewey scholar Ralph Sleeper who has proposed that Dewey’s approach to knowledge emerges through the linking of the theory of inquiry to his metaphysics via his theory of communication. By grouping these aspects together, it is possible to argue that Dewey sees inquiry—or, more particularly, the identification and resolution of problems—as a transformational act which reconfigures the world. Having set out this ‘Deweyan perspective’ on inquiry, I move on to consider the question of value in research by considering his theories of value and of valuation, i.e., how, from his point of view, we might approach the subject of values (qualitative form in situations) and valuation (how we attach value to things). The chapter closes with a discussion of how design research involving practice can be seen to operate similarly, with the ‘making’ of products, services, and experiences ‘remaking’ our reality and, equally, our understanding of ‘the possible’ and ‘the valuable’. Keywords  Design research · Design epistemology · John Dewey · Design values · Valuation · Knowledge production

By now, we have encountered Dewey’s theories of experience, inquiry, art, communication, democracy, education and ethics. Across this grouping, we have picked up aspects of his metaphysics and begun to point towards his approach to knowledge (i.e., his epistemology). Seeking to draw things together, this penultimate chapter will, to an extent, aim to link up a number of threads that have been set out over the course of the previous chapters. It will also aim to present an interpretation of what the meaning of Dewey’s work, as a whole, can be seen to offer; defining, in grand terms, its possible offering for design research which involves design practice. To meet these aims, it will be necessary to retrace some of our previous steps— recalling aspects of Dewey’s metaphysics (see Chap. 2), as well as his theories of

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inquiry (see Chap. 3) and communication (see Chap. 4). I will also return (briefly) to the concepts of meliorism and growth set out in the last chapter (see Chap. 5) and relate these to Dewey’s theories of value and valuation. The former theories (i.e., the metaphysics, his theory of inquiry and theory of communication) will be shown to form a ‘tripartite bedrock’ underpinning his approach to knowledge, while the latter concepts of meliorism, growth and the theories of value and valuation will be positioned as the guiding principles for such an approach. The underlying argumentative thrust of this chapter builds upon my readings of Dewey scholarship originating mostly from the United States. Here, though a broad range of work is referenced, I ultimately defer to the perspective of Ralph W. Sleeper, who advanced a special thesis on Dewey’s approach to knowledge (Sleeper 1986). As a result, the chapter’s interpretation of Dewey’s work cannot, on its own, be understood as a wholly original contribution. Rather, it must be seen to result from a synthesis and re-presenting of the interpretations of others. The originality of what is presented is to be found in the contextualization of Dewey scholarship—Sleeper’s work—in relation to design of course, but, more specifically, in relation to design research involving practice. Thus, the account that I eventually at arrive below, can be seen to amount to a Deweyan approach to knowledge in the space of design research involving practice.

 leeper’s Dewey: Inquiry, Communication and Existence S as the Deweyan Approach to Knowledge Some of the earliest Dewey commentators were Sydney Hook (1939), Richard Bernstein (1966) and John McDermott (1981/1973). All focused on the experiential components in Dewey’s work, considering the various ways in which his concern with experience could be seen as a lead into other concerns, whether inquiry, education, art, politics, society, religion and so on. More recent Dewey scholars—Richard Rorty, Thomas Alexander, Larry Hickman, James Campbell—have each taken a somewhat different tactic. Rorty, while interested in Dewey, referenced his work only tangentially as, over the course of various texts, he proposed new roles for philosophy within contemporary society (see e.g., Rorty 1979, 1982, 1999). Thomas Alexander did not highlight specific theories, but rather elected to focus in on what he argues is a key thematic strand threading throughout the works. Here, we are told that the ‘central guiding thought in [Dewey’s] philosophy’ is to be found in ‘the aesthetic dimension of experience’ (Alexander 1987, p. xiii). Larry Hickman examined Dewey’s philosophy in relation to the theme of technology (Hickman 1990), as well as a perspective he terms ‘post-postmodernism’ (Hickman 2007). On his account, Dewey’s pragmatism is to be seen as a ‘productive’ philosophy; a way of approaching the world with an active orientation that looks beyond the limitations of modernism (e.g., a dualism of body and mind, matter and spirit) at the same time as anticipating and (implicitly) rejecting the more damaging excesses of

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post-modernism (e.g., the claim that all values/value-systems are arbitrary). Offering a more general overview, James Campbell (1995) directs his focus towards the social and political aspects of Dewey’s work. He believes the whole of his philosophy can be seen to come together through the notion of social reconstruction—the ambition to build a better, fairer society for all. Latterly, new contributors have entered the fray, notably John R. Shook (2000) and Richard Gale (2010). Shook argues that we can understand Dewey’s philosophy as an empirical theory of knowledge and reality, inspired in large part by George Herbert Mead as well as broader trends within turn-of-the-twentieth-century European psychology (2000, p.  262). Gale on the other hand, proposes a grand framework, wherein Deweyan pragmatism is to be conceived of as a pyramid with growth at the top followed by inquiry, moral democracy, communication and, lastly, education (2010, p. 14). Looking beyond these contributions, as already mentioned, I believe that it is another scholar, Ralph Sleeper, who ultimately offers designer-researchers the most compelling perspective on Dewey. Sleeper is not so much concerned with unpicking the tangles of his philosophic scheme but, rather, is intent on lining up the works in historical, developmental terms—following the emergence and evolution of the core arguments/positions over time and noting the points at which these arguments overlap and intersect. This particular strategy results in him moving to present a special perspective on Dewey’s approach to knowledge—how it is configured, how it works as a unit. Like many other Deweyan scholars, Sleeper would agree that, for Dewey, a successful inquiry can be understood as one which results in our coming to ‘know something’. In knowing something, we are in a position to make further decisions in relation to further actions. This may involve initiating a new inquiry or simply exploring ways to apply/reapply the knowledge we have recently acquired. On the face of it, such an account would seem sufficient to most readers of Dewey’s work. We might readily claim that this positioning marks the beginning and end of his approach to knowledge. Sleeper, however, argues that if we trace the historical origin of these positions, and sit them beside concurrent developments across the whole of Dewey’s philosophical project, we will notice that there is more to it than first appears. This is the point from which Sleeper sets outs his unique proposal that both Dewey’s theory of inquiry (where knowledge/knowing emerges an endpoint) and his metaphysics (where knowing is but one mode of experiencing among an inexhaustible spectrum of possibilities) can be linked via the theory of communication. In this arrangement, the metaphysics is assigned a key role in accounting for how knowledge is both possible and necessary in the world in which we find ourselves. Language and meaning, in turn, are granted a central, bridging role which link human action and understanding to the world in all its complete incompleteness. As a result of this interlinking Sleeper finds a unique approach to knowledge threading through the entirety of Dewey’s philosophy. Inquiry remains the central feature—it is the way into whole. Through inquiry, we come to answer the questions of daily life emerging in doubtful situations. Over time, progressing from

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inquiry to inquiry, we come to form an understanding of the world or, to follow Dewey’s metaphysical framing, ‘existence’. In this latter activity, we are said to define (and refine) the ‘the generic traits of existence’, the things that we believe we can expect of experience. Communication—that is, language and meaning—acting as a bridge, are the enablers that allow all this to happen—supporting us as we work to move across and between the two. In Chap. 4, we discussed the significance of communication for Dewey, focusing in particular, in relation to the content of Experience and Nature. Here, we noted how he understood language as the ‘naturalistic link’ between experience and nature. In performing this task, it was seen to allow the biological to become more than purely biological, making it possible for us to confer meaning on things. From this, we saw how Dewey claims that things which hold meaning—meaningful things—are thereby no longer limited to being what they are in the here and now. Their relationships to people, action and consequences become visible and, in this, their potential is revealed. It is Sleeper’s claim that Dewey is here offering us an understanding of communication as existential.1 On this usage, existential may be taken to mean real, meaningfully and generative, in and of itself. As real, meaningful and generative in and of itself, communication becomes an agent of change. It transforms events, situations. We see this latter aspect set out in the opening to “Nature, Communication and Meaning”, the central chapter in Experience and Nature. When communication occurs, all natural events are subject to reconsideration and revision; they are re-adapted to meet the requirements of conversation, whether it be public discourse or that preliminary discourse termed thinking. (LW 1, p. 132)

Sleeper, for his part, when outlining this transformative aspect of communication, hones in on another particularly striking passage, also drawn from Experience and Nature. Gestures and cries are not primarily expressive and communicative. They are modes of organic behavior as are locomotion, seizing and crunching. Language, signs and significance, come into existence not by intent and mind but by overflow, by products, in gestures and sound. The story of language is the story of the use made of these occurrences; a use that is eventual, as well as eventful […] they become language only when used within a context of mutual assistance and direction. The latter alone is of prime importance in considering the transformation of organic gestures and cries into names, things with significance, or the origin of language. (LW 1, p. 139)

For those who hold a familiarity with the work of Wittgenstein (see Chaps. 1 and 4) or Austin,2 the proximity between their philosophies and Sleeper’s contextualization of Dewey’s work will be clear. All put forward the view that words and

1  It will be recalled that in Chap. 4 it was stated that Dewey sees communication as being both instrumental and consummatory. The existential angle put forward by Sleeper extends beyond these roles. 2  J. L. Austin’s work has already been briefly noted in Chap. 4, with an explanatory footnote. Here, reference was made to his speech–act theory and how, within this theory, language is cast in performative terms—saying something is equated with doing something (see Austin 1962).

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utterances allow us to do things, whether this means asking someone to pass a brick as we build (by grunting and pointing) or getting married (by saying ‘I do’).3 Sleeper, acknowledges as much. However, he believes that Dewey goes much further than Wittgenstein, Austin and others. For him, the existential aspect of Dewey’s theory of communication—its inherent claim that communication changes things—has forceful implications for what it means to know something (i.e., the epistemological) and, from this, the nature of what is ‘real’ (i.e., the ontological).

The Object of Knowledge The key point of differentiation between Wittgenstein, Austin and Dewey can be drawn out in Dewey’s treatment of what is commonly termed the ‘object of knowledge’. The concept has a long history in philosophy, stretching back at least as far as the ancient Greeks. Put simply, it traditionally refers to the ‘thing’ we come to know through inquiry. The term made regular appearances in Dewey’s writing, particularly in his work on logic. In Studies in Logical Theory, he proposes that ‘the object of knowledge’ can be understood as that ‘which is known, considered as giving truth and reality to the knowing process’. He goes on to say that that which is known may ‘also be distinguished from that which is only erroneously assumed or accepted—from that which we deceive ourselves into believing’ (MW 2, p. 164). For designer-researchers, along with a set of well-framed conclusions, this might mean arriving at an artifactual outcome that, on some level, represents an appropriate practical response to an inquiry’s research question(s). In the context of Sleeper’s broader presentation of Dewey’s work, the relationship between the object of knowledge and act of communication is brought to the fore. For him, Dewey’s bundling of things, meanings and consequences within the act of communication—the playing out of social interactions—is seen to affect (or impact upon) what is known through inquiry. The thing we know is seen to undergo change because, now, it is related to other things in new ways and so has a different meaning/potentiality. Sleeper sets this out as follows. The thing is not merely seen differently as a result of inquiry, nor is the difference merely the effect of causal factors present in the operations of inquiry, which intervene between the non-cognitive object and the object as known. For the object, by being placed in wholly new relationships, becomes a different object. The transaction that takes place in inquiry reconstructs the object by reconstructing its relations. (Sleeper 1986, p. 121)

The implications of this claim are profound. Ultimately, Sleeper is suggesting that, for Dewey, inquiry, in its relation to communication, changes not only our understanding of the things we investigate but also reality itself. This proposition may come across as somewhat startling at first. In seeking to gain a handle on it, it is worth considering/reconsidering the path of Sleeper’s argument.  These examples come directly from the work of Wittgenstein and Austin respectively.

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Ultimately, under it all, Sleeper’s claim rests on the idea that, for Dewey, our knowing (i.e., the object of knowledge itself) is based on language and language, in turn, is based on relating things. At the same time, of course, Dewey also insists that it is our ‘naturalistic link’ between experience and nature. Accordingly, when, on the basis of knowing, we change how things are related in language we also change reality of the world in which we find ourselves.4 The doings and undergoings of experience comes to affect existence. As Sleeper puts it: ‘Knowing is thus an activity of “doing and making.”’; and additionally, ‘every doing is a redoing, and making a remaking’ (1986, p. 124). Here, the theories of inquiry, communication and the metaphysics come together to present as a Deweyan approach to knowledge which is existentially-bound. This may seem quite complex but as a brief ‘classical’ example, we might consider the study of black holes. When originally proposed, black hole theory effectively constituted a hypothetical rearranging of our conceptual bundling of space, time, gravity and light in communication/language supported by inquiry. When, through further inquiry, it was firmly established that black holes were existent entities they became an ‘object of knowledge’, i.e., a known thing with certain features defined in language. As an object of knowledge, things (i.e., space, time, gravity, light) were related in a new way and in their rearrangement they were remade. Here, in short, language is allowing us to move from an understanding in experience (i.e., coming to know about black holes) to a new, reframed understanding of existence which, itself, reframes existence (i.e., we now knowingly live in a universe which includes black holes, whereas we didn’t before). Of course, for design research involving practice the knowledge-transforms-­ reality angle carries a further very important implication which stretches beyond the bounds of the above example. Namely, artifacts-as-contributions would here be positioned as things-which-change-reality by virtue of their meaningful reconstruction of the relations between other things. For example, if we return briefly to Tom Jenkins’s exploration of IoT in the context of co-housing (see In Focus Box 3.1), we see that through his artifacts he is proposing a novel application for a novel technology (i.e., IoT) in a particular context (i.e., co-housing). Whereas before there were no such artifacts and, equally, no such coming together of this technology in this 4  Through the above, we are brought back to the metaphysics and Dewey’s claim that thought is a natural (as opposed to an extra-natural) process (see Chap. 2). Writing in The Quest for Certainty (LW 4), he gives us a sense of just how deep he believes this understanding of the relationship between thought and nature goes and what it means for knowing. Here we see him intersect directly with Sleeper’s argument and make direct reference to the ‘object of knowledge’. The organs, instrumentalities and operations of knowing are inside nature, not outside. Hence they are changes in what previously existed: the object of knowledge is a constructed, existentially produced, object. The shock to the traditional notion that knowledge is perfect in the degree to which it grasps or beholds without change some thing previously complete in itself is tremendous. But in effect it only makes us aware of what we have always done, as far as we have ever actually succeeded in knowing: it clears away superfluous and irrelevant accompaniments and it concentrates attention upon the agencies which are actually effective in obtaining knowledge, eliminating waste and making actual knowing more controllable. It installs man, thinking man, in nature. (LW 4, p. 168, italics in original)

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context, now there is. Through meaningful making and the linguistic/textual communication of the outcomes, artefactual and theoretical, inquiry has literally reshaped things. Reality has been transformed. These are just two examples. If we were to accept Sleeper’s claim, then we would have to accept that new objects of knowledge transform existence each and every day as people undertake inquiry, whether grounded in formal research or just a common sense working out of something or other. Thus, every day, through our doing or redoing, the world is remade over and over again ad infinitum. As will likely be apparent from the Jenkins example, for design research involving practice, this presents as an especially appropriate way of seeing knowledge production. The doing and redoing of each situational transformation, of each new artifactual outcome or set of outcomes sees designer-researchers very literally remake the world. All associated relations are reconstructed off the back of the novelty these set forth. So how is all of this to be summarized? Put simply, knowledge, now conceived of as being grounded in the active process of knowing, is to be seen as transformative of reality. It literally gives rise to ‘changes in what previously existed’. All of this is underwritten by the process of communication—that is, language and meaning and how these impact on action. Joining it up, then, we have an approach to knowledge centered around things, meaning and transformation. This is how Dewey extends beyond Wittgenstein and others and this is why he deserves our attention. In due course, we will move to consider how an adoption/appropriation of Sleeper’s thesis might support, as well as usefully complicate, the methodological space of design research involving practice. However, before doing so, it is important that we also consider another two complementary aspects of Dewey’s work— his theories of value and of valuation. Broadly, the theory of value covers the form values take in experience (i.e., their presence in situations), while the theory of valuation tackles the issues surrounding the way in which we come to ascribe and hold values. Both of these theories usefully add to the approach to knowledge just described and will further help us to appreciate what Dewey can offer design research involving practice.

 ewey’s Theories of Value and Valuation: The Basis D of Philosophic Criticism The question of values—of how they are experienced, defined, appraised, judged and realized—appears and reappears throughout Dewey’s mature works. As we have seen in Chap. 2, the theme is approached directly in Experience and Nature, where, in broad terms, he seeks to explores the relationship between values and philosophy. Another key text is A Common Faith, briefly referred to in Chap. 4, where he speaks of the possibility of humanity collectively defining and pursuing shared goals based on shared ideals. It appears again in the Ethics, where, as we have seen in the last chapter, he argues that, morally, action should to be judged on

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the basis of the good it derives for the greatest number (see Chap. 5). Beyond these examples, there is also the Theory of Valuation, which, as the title suggests, sees him focus in on the subject of valuation. If, in any of the above titles, Dewey offers a general theory of values, in terms of what they are and how they are experienced, it is perhaps best articulated in Experience and Nature. As noted, we have already touched upon this in Chap. 2’s discussion of experience. It will be recalled that, here, in primary experience (i.e., non-reflective experience) Dewey believed values were best understood as being simply ‘values’, that is ‘things immediately having certain intrinsic qualities’ (LW 1, p. 297); these might include ‘[p]oignancy, humor, zest, tragedy, beauty, prosperity and bafflement’ (p. 295), to reference his examples. As far as he is concerned, such things simply are what they are. They cannot be discussed or considered in isolation, only in relation to ‘their generative conditions and the consequences to which they give rise’ (p. 297). It will also be recalled that while some philosophers might associate values purely with human subjectivity, Dewey could not accept such a view. For him, values are to be understood as real, bound to a situation as much to any one individual’s ‘isolated’ perception. They are ‘indications of the possibilities of existences’ which are ‘generated by existences’ and ‘sustained by events’. Further, they are to be ‘used as well as enjoyed’ and can inspire us to act to ‘procure and buttress their causal conditions’ (p. 311). As we will see below, at the end of Experience and Nature, Dewey comes to suggests that it is the responsibility of philosophy to determine how desirable qualities can be rendered ‘more enduring and extensive’ (LW 1, p. 302). As such a framing implies, his interest lay in defining approaches or ways of working which would allow humanity to manifest and sustain those types of experiences judged to be worthwhile—literally valuable. The latter summary can be seen to cover values in isolation but alongside values there is also valuation. This refers to how values are appraised and judged. Approaching this subject in the Theory of Valuation, Dewey attempts to define and clarify the means by which value is attached to experience. His starting point, here, can be found in the proposal that all deliberate, all planned human conduct, personal and collective, seems to be influenced, if not controlled, by estimates of value or worth of ends to attained. (LW 13, p. 192)

Unsurprisingly, Dewey goes on to argue that valuations are not formed in a vacuum, they are not meaningless abstractions but, rather, form in relation to the context in which we operate. As far as he is concerned, this amounts to our noting a negative and, from this, imagining a move towards something more positive (LW 13, p. 202). Thus, as in inquiry proper, i.e., trying to resolve an indeterminate situation, values can be understood to emerge as ends in the context of experiencing ‘need, deficit and conflict’. This relates to the notion of ‘adjustment of environing conditions’ discussed Chap. 2, which, as was noted, can be understood it terms of design, i.e., the art of seeking to strike appropriate balances between varied states through intelligent practice.

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In regard to valuation, Dewey proposes that, through the type of imaginative deliberation described in the last chapter (see Chap. 5), various ‘alternative desires are weighed up’. He refers to these as ‘ends-in-view’—possible responses to the need, deficit or conflict we have encountered. In relation to design research involving practice, this form of deliberation was linked to the explicitly designerly processes of ideation, of developing user stories and scenarios, roadmapping, prototyping and so on. As was noted, these allow us to foresee and consider the possible consequences of particular actions. Like the possible ‘problem-solutions’ of inquiry (see Chap. 3), these are judged on the basis of how well they might ‘fit’ or respond to the issue at hand. Ends-in-view are appraised or valued as good or bad on the ground of their serviceability in the direction of behavior dealing with states of affairs found to be objectionable […] They are appraised as fit or unfit, proper or improper, right or wrong, on the ground of their requiredness in accomplishing this end. (LW 13, p. 233, italics in original)

We gradually come to a decision about the best possible end-in-view, the one which will deliver the most good. This becomes an ‘object held in view’. it is ‘intellectual or methodological’, functioning as a guide to action (ibid, p. 234) and allowing us to move forward through successive phases of activity, directing ‘further observations and experiments’ (ibid, p. 232). This equates to an imagined transformation of a situation or an imagined artifactual outcome. Once achieved, however, the end becomes an ‘end as consequence’, it is now ‘existential’ (ibid, p. 234). Here, the situation transformed and the artifact realized. For Dewey, an achieved end—i.e., the situation transformed or artifact realized—is seen as an ‘organization of activities’. Like the artist or maker who is, incrementally building up their final piece, the inquirer seeking out a value also moves forward step by step, working towards their end-in-view. On the one hand, this progression is based on ‘instatement of unified ongoing action’, but it is also ‘an enactment of a new state of affairs’ (ibid, p. 234, italics in original). Based on this presentation, we can also understand the process of valuation, like inquiry which enables it, as transformational. As we collectively deliberate and move towards our end-in-view we will gain a greater understanding of the situation and of the thing we are appraising. Equally, if we are successful in bringing about our end, the world will be different. On the one hand our desire will be met, on the other we will have a sense of its worth. In design research involving practice, we will know how much better (if at all) we have made things. Dewey does not believe in the finality of ends. Means and ends are only to be distinguished on the basis of where they occur in time and how they are related. ‘Every condition’, he writes, ‘that has to be brought into existence to serve as means is, in that connection, an object of desire and an end-in-view’. The end that we eventually reach is ‘a means to future ends as well as a test of valuations previously made’ (ibid, p. 229). Thus, there is no end in itself as far as he is concerned. Values may be consummatory but like any affair of nature, they are also beginnings, leading us on to somewhere else, to do something else. The good or bad situation will lead to another good or bad situation. The good or bad artifact will lead to another good or bad artifact.

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The reason all of this matters to Dewey is because it points to the possibility of uniting our means of finding out what is good (or right, or just) with our means of finding out about the world and its possibilities, i.e., conducting an inquiry. As was made clear in the last chapter, design research involving practice might readily do this at an ethical level. The suggestion here is that things might go further still. Intriguingly, in his own reflections, Dewey suggested that such a synthesis could allow for a coming together of our immediate experience of valuing with the facts of science—in other words, an integration of what is commonly understood as the subjective with the objective. Tracing this out, he concludes The Theory of Valuation by stating at the present time the widest gap in knowledge is that which exists been humanistic and non-humanistic subjects. The breach will disappear, the gap will be filled, […] when the conclusions of impersonal nonhumanistic science are employed in guiding the course of human behavior, that, namely, which is influenced by emotion and desire in the framing of means and ends; for desire, having ends-in-view, and hence involving valuations, is the characteristic that marks off human from nonhuman behavior. On the other side, the science that is put to distinctly human use is that in which warranted ideas about the nonhuman world are integrated with emotion as human traits. In this integration not only is science itself a value (since it is the expression and fulfillment of a special human desire and interest) but it is the supreme means of the valid determination of all valuations in all aspects of human and social life. (LW 13, p. 250, italic in the original)

While the emphasis on science may jar, the above lines are ultimately pointing to the idea that formal research can be understood in terms of its value—of the good it offers. We are being encouraged to explore ways of integrating research findings (about the ‘nonhuman’ world) as we go about deciding on courses of action, identifying means and ends. It is also being suggested that research, if appropriately undertaken and offering sound conclusions, allows us to determine value, both individually and collectively. At its core, this is a proposal ‘reconstruct’ the divisions we place been knowledge and its role in our lives. As will be discussed below, I believe that this general sentiment underpins design research involving practice, acting as its driver. On this view, it becomes an approach which aims to produce knowledge at the same time as aiming to make things better. Dewey’s pitch brings us back to Experience and Nature, and Dewey’s ultimate position on the role and meaning of philosophy. At end of the book, Dewey sets forth an equally aspirational and related values-based understanding of the discipline. Here, he claims philosophy is inherently criticism, having its distinctive position among various modes of criticism in its generality; a criticism of criticisms, as it were. (LW 1, p. 298)

Criticism is here understood as ‘discriminating judgement, careful appraisal’. This may sound focused and complex however Dewey believes that criticism can be very subtle, occurring whenever we do not accept or perceive value in outright terms but rather ask questions and estimate the ‘probable future’ of this or that thing. (LW 1, p. 299). This takes us back to the subject of valuation. Again, we would be asking

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how good something is and whether it is likely to bring good in the future. Philosophy as criticism—the criticism of criticism—thus becomes a means by which humanity may regulate ‘the further appreciation of goods and bads’. It can here support the ‘direct selection, appropriation, identification, and […] rejection, elimination, destruction’ of beliefs (i.e., knowings), ways of acting (i.e., conduct), and modes of considered thought (i.e., contemplation) (LW 1, p. 302). Through this presentation, Dewey is positioning philosophy as the mechanism that allows us to question and negotiate value across a broad plane drawing all the disciplines together, whether science, the humanities or the arts. In this role, he believes it can act as a ‘generalized medium of intercommunication’ supporting the ‘all-round translation from one separated region of experience into another’. It thus becomes a ‘messenger, a liaison officer’; ultimately, a language of transfer, representing human value in universal terms (LW 1, p. 306). Of course, on the latter point, Dewey’s focus lies with philosophy but, as with all the aspects of valuation highlighted above, I see design in here and more precisely design research involving practice. Having examined Sleeper’s presentation of Dewey’s approach to knowledge as well as covered Dewey’s theories of value and valuation, we may next ask what do these perspectives allow us to say in relation to design and design research involving practice?

 esigning in Design Research: A Transformational Act D of Value Creation In seeking to collect together the threads of the proceeding sections, I would like to propose that designing in design research can be understood as a transformational act—a (generally) melioristic process which, if successfully concluded, holds the potential to shift our reality, re-orientate our values and may, possibly, lead to growth, both individual and collective.

To start to tackle this, I believe that it is best to first focus in on the aspects of transform and value in relation to design research involving practice. I hold up the areas of transform and value because, essentially, the above proposition amounts to a Deweyan view of inquiry as transformational and generative of values. Thus, in taking this approach, we have two immediate questions to tackle. Namely, is design research involving practice transformational and does it help us frame and define values? Starting with the first question, I believe that, in straightforward terms, it is reasonable to propose that design practice itself is inherently transformational. Indeed, standard academic definitions of design often suggest as much. An obvious example is found in the form of Herbert Simon’s oft-cited quote. ‘Everyone designs who devises courses of action aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones’

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(Simon 1996/1969, p. 111).5 The emphasis here of course is on change6; design is change for the better. Another similar example comes from Marc Steen, as he explores the tension dividing design, in particular human centered design, and conventional research. While conventional researchers are interested in ‘studying or describing current or past situations’, designers, he writes, are typically concerned with ‘exploring or visuali[z]ing alternative or future situations’—they are more interested in ‘what could be’ versus ‘what is’ (Steen 2011, p. 48, italics in original). There are still more examples. For Nigel Cross, mapping out the distinctions that may be drawn between the sciences, humanities and design, design is positioned as a process focused on artificiality, making things. In terms of the methods used, designers are said to model, form patterns, and synthesize ideas. Rather than showing the concern with ‘truth’ as in science, or ‘justice’ as is found in the humanities, designers are concerned with ‘appropriateness’, making things that work (Cross 2007, p.  18). Designing is, he claims, not about identifying something which is already there but rather it is about active construction the part of the designer, the result of their ‘own efforts’ (Cross 2007, p. 24). Considering the role of design in a research context, Koskinen and colleagues go so far as to suggest that design research involving practice—or to use their terminology constructive design research—can be understood to function as the science of the imagination (2011, p. 42). In other words, it is positioned as a field which aims to prospect the future against the concerns and interests of the present. In outlining this position, the authors write that constructive design researchers ‘imagine new realities and build them to see whether they work’. They claim that, here, the main criterion of success is whether or not the outcome is ‘imaginative in design terms’ (p. 42). As has been highlighted in other sections, this proposition finds clear expression in the well-known critical design work of Antony Dunne, Fiona Raby and others noted above. Critical designers aim to give form to alternative scenarios, other presents and futures that might be if current circumstances were different. Proposals have sketched out new forms of energy production, ways of managing healthcare needs and even new political systems (see e.g., Dunne and Raby 2013). These designs, typically presented to the public in museum and gallery contexts, can arguably be understood to frame and set forth new ontological pathways. Their appearance grounds vague possibilities in tangible form. The horizons of what could be are transformed and, as such, reality itself, the world, is transformed.

5  It is often overlooked that Simon goes on to note that the ‘intellectual activity that produces material artifacts is no different fundamentally from the one that prescribes remedies for a sick patient or the one that devises new a sales plan for a company or a welfare policy for a state.’ (Simon 1996/1969, p. 111) 6  Our familiarity with this definition, may distract us from the fact that Simon is positioning design as a practice which aims to simultaneously bring about change and create value; preferred suggests better, at least for someone.

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Much work in the HCI community follows a path not dissimilar to the critical design agenda. Recent projects from Simon Fraser University’s Everyday Design Studio, for example, have explored the concept of ‘counterfactual’ artifacts (i.e., non-commercial digital products) to sense out the possibilities of technology and its meanings in daily life, as well as explore conceptual questions (see e.g., Wakkary et al. 2017; and A Practice Case 2.0). Indeed, writing with others, Ronald Wakkary, co-founder of Everyday, has proposed that it may be possible to ‘do philosophy’ through the making of design research. This is said to offer a means of ‘looking beyond human-centeredness’ and, ultimately, open up the possibility of exploring technological mediation in broader terms (see Hauser et al. 2018). The theorist and academic Stuart Walker has long advocated for a comparable approach in academic design in general through his concept of ‘propositional designs’. These are objects are objects which do not exist but could. It is his belief that academic design research has ‘the capacity and freedom to critique current approaches, examine their insufficiencies, and explore new possibilities’ in ways not available in everyday design practice. Indeed, given the urgency of our present-­ day crises and challenges, he argues that it has ‘an obligation to do so’ (Walker 2010, p. 98). The focus here is on devising design approaches which take ‘full advantage of the opportunities made possible by technological advance’ at the same time as attending to ‘the social, environmental, and economic requirements of sustainability but also to more substantive questions of personal meaning and fulfilment’ (ibid, p. 102). To explore how this might be possible, Walker conceptualizes and proposes design outcomes that ‘illustrate the potential of an alternative direction’ (p. 94). In one case, a novel mobile phone concept was developed in response to the challenge of product sustainability and concerns relating to the over-use of such devices. The phone was not presented as a single, already-functioning unit but rather as a series of modular parts, which had to be assembled in order to work. From a sustainability point of view, the modular format delivered a distinct advantage. Individual elements can be upgraded and adapted as required, expanding the product’s potential lifespan and, ultimately, resulting in reduced environmental damage in the longer term. From the perspective of over-use, the design disrupts the user’s unthinking, habitual patterns of behavior. If they want to make a call or send a text, they have to consciously choose to do so, as well as invest time in assembling the phone to make it a functional product. Such an approach offers a sense of how design research involving practice can open up new horizons of potentiality, enacting a new reality by virtue of an approach to making that is essentially remaking the possible. So, it would seem that design involving practice can be positioned as transformational. There remains the question of value. To a degree, we have already seen how this might work in the discussions of the last section. Equally, notions of value and valuation are, of course, threaded throughout the above discourse. We can see it in Simon’s notion of a ‘preferred’ situation. Steen’s ‘what could be’ implies better than ‘what it is’. Equally, the critical design of Dunne and Raby and others, along with Walker’s propositional design both

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demand that we examine the moral background against which current structures operate. We are being invited to question our present value commitments and, in turn, open up to the possibilities of other, alternative horizons. Beyond these examples, returning to the context of the last chapter, we can see the process of valuation drawn into high relief in participatory design and collaborative design. As was highlighted above, such practices see individuals and groups come together to explore possible future scenarios in terms of the goods they will likely deliver for the greatest number (e.g., Bjögvinsson et al. 2012; Sanders and Stappers 2008). Ultimately, it can be argued that these efforts are founded upon a commitment to deliberate the worth of, define the meaning of, and, finally, realize, particular values (e.g., Manzini 2015). Taking the broad view, we might go so far as to describe design as an inherently value-orientated activity. Indeed, focusing in on ‘design reasoning’ as compared with classical scientific reasoning, Kees Dorst (2011) explicitly suggests as much. On his account, design reasoning aims not at ‘results’ but rather at values as goals to be achieved. Designers are said to be driven by a desire to ‘create value for others’; they want to attain a ‘certain “value”’ (ibid, p. 523). Thus, values become ends-­ in-­view to use Dewey’s expression. Pushing further still, it may also be claimed that designer-researchers (i.e., those who incorporate design practice within their projects) can be seen not only to pursue particular values but also to mediate values across a range of other, related and unrelated knowledge domains. This is highlighted by Koskinen and colleagues, who note that ‘constructive’ design researchers often operate in interdisciplinary environments, collaborating with individuals who might be ‘sociologists, anthropologists and computer scientists’ (Koskinen et al. 2011, p. 29). Equally, in discussing the future possibilities for design research in the early 2000s, Richard Buchanan believed that the field held the potential to break down the barriers separating the older disciplines. On his view, the traditional disciplinary barriers had become problematic because they stand in the way of our knowing and understanding the world, and, equally, frustrate our efforts ‘to act knowledgeably and responsibly in practical life’ (Buchanan 2001, p. 6). Against this, design, he wrote, has ‘become the new learning of our time’. It opens up ‘a pathway to the neoteric disciplines7’ that must be engendered if traditional specialized knowledge is to lead to ‘productive results for individual and social life’ (Buchanan 2001, p. 7). Reflecting on all of this, it becomes possible to conceive of design and design research involving practice as live processes8 which frame, guide and shape change, leading us from the state of what is towards another, more desirable, value-­orientated future state. In simple terms, we might say that, in the main, both constitute  Neoteric disciplines can be understood to refer to new or modern disciplines.  It might be possible to also use the word disciplines, but in this instance the term feels too restricted. Also, questions, have been asked regarding the extent to which design can be considered a discipline or ‘disciplined’ on the basis that its practitioners may be understood to operate without any clearly codified system of rules or methods (see e.g., Rodgers and Bremner 2013; Krippendorff 2006). 7 8

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activities which (generally) aim to bring to good things into the being. Equally, they are likely to draw in other perspectives, beyond the purely ‘designerly’. As Buchanan suggests this latter tendency has the potential to give rise to new disciplines, new ways of bringing ‘knowledge’ together that support humanity’s need for productive practical change in the real world. With these answers to our two initial questions, we will now move to close by considering the proposition as whole.

 iscussion: Design Research Involving Practice Built D on Values So how can design research involving practice be understood as a transformational act; a (generally) melioristic process, with the capacity to shift our shared reality, re-orientate our values and enable individual and collective growth? To answer this question, I believe it is worth thinking through what happens when design practice is incorporated within a research project. Disregarding any special intellectual overlay—whether termed practice-based, practice-led or other—it could be suggested that, in general terms, a certain pattern can be seen emerge; a pattern of design inquiry if you will. First off, it is likely that we will be aiming towards a particular value, looking to bring a particular good into existence (e.g., Dorst 2011), that we will be motivated by a particular vision (Zimmerman and Forlizzi 2008). To support this process, it equally likely that we will experiment, try to make something and see if it works (e.g., Bang et al. 2012; Koskinen et al. 2011; Brandt and Binder 2007; Binder and Redsröm 2006). It is also very likely that will be required to appraise, judge and, ultimately, draw on findings which overreach any precise disciplinary boundary (e.g., Buchanan 2001). In the end, bringing it all together, we may have an artifact that we are more or less satisfied with—something that has been produced which, so far as it goes, works (e.g., Zimmerman et al. 2010). Even if we do not have an artifact, it is almost a given that things are changed and altered, reshaped (e.g., Krippendorff 2006; Simon 1996/1969). It is also very likely that we will have a clear handle on what the important values are at stake in the context of our inquiry (e.g., Steen 2013). We will understand what is valuable and what is not. Meliorism becomes necessary here if we are to bother trying at all. Indeed, it is likely that this process of making, changing, altering and reshaping, of involving design practice in research, will have been undertaken with a view to making things better (e.g., Steen 2013). If we consider it for a moment, were it not for the belief that human action can achieve positive change then there would be little or no motivation to make any attempt in the first place. Alongside this, growth in capability, individual and social, can be seen to occur as we move forwards together. It is a consequence of experimenting, doing and succeeding or failing, trying and retrying and learning, always learning. We get better as we go.

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In this pattern, loose and general though it is, we can readily detect an action-­ orientated epistemology, a transformational ontology, the pursuit of values, the undertaking of valuation and the inherent spanning of disciplinary boundaries, the interdisciplinarity already alluded to by Koskinen et  al. (2011) and Buchanan (2001). These are, of course, the core features of Dewey’s philosophy. Sitting this pattern next to the Deweyan view of inquiry as transformational and generative of values, we can say quite simply that Dewey fits with design research involving practice. What he offers is a philosophical understanding of designerly knowing and reality, as well as a way of seeing the pursuit of value that, together, ground its understanding of knowledge. Held in the round, it is a form of value-­ creation; where a value-based knowledge emerges, evolves and grows. This, in outline, offers us the beginnings of an epistemological justification for design research involving practice; a justification that may enrich current methodological formulations (e.g., Bang et al. 2012; Brandt and Binder 2007). Ultimately, to undertake design research involving practice is to recognize the scope of action in the world and the potential for change, positive change, that design practice brings. In coming to know in this way, we construct of a new ‘object of knowledge’ by a making/doing that is literally making/doing. Through this method we can discover where value lies and how to attain it. We can contribute to knowledge on the basis of changing the situation and, consequently changing the ontological baselines upon which we operate. Here, in making-knowing, making becomes remaking as it changes reality. This is what Dewey says and this is what design research involving practice claims to do and, indeed, often does do. The two go together as one.

A Practical Case 6.0: Exploring Scotland’s Digital Futures Scotland’s Digital Design Futures project, hosted by the University of Dundee in Scotland, aimed to investigate how emergent blockchain and related data-sharing technologies might have the potential to bolster Scotland’s digital design sector. Setting about their task, the researchers undertook a wide consultation with members of the sector, mapping the current situation in industry and ways in which the technology is already having an impact. From this, the team progressed to explore a number of what they refer to as ‘hypothetical designs’; that is, possibilities that might begin to address some of the opportunities and challenges identified in the consultation (Patrickson, Livesay and Gilman 2019, p. 9). One such hypothetical design was an ‘intentionally playful’ proposal for a local crypto-currency to support creative initiatives in the city of Dundee, to be called the ‘Angel’. The proposal emerged through two workshops undertaken at the University of Dundee. In the first workshop, titled ‘Sharing Insights Blockchain’, participants brainstormed around the question of what values they wanted to promote in Dundee. Some of the themes that emerged included: productivity, self-sustaining, networked, time to play, build together and so on (Patrickson 2018, p.  18). In the second

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workshop, a group of participants, drawn from both the creative sector and academia were asked to consider how a digital ‘token’ might be designed to ‘reward these values’. In the course of the workshop, concerns were raised in relation to how crypto-­ currencies ‘might commodify things beyond price’ as well as support illegal activity (e.g., the drug trade or tax evasion). Accordingly, it was decided that, in application, the token would need to promote cooperation over ‘free-trade’. This found form in three key suggestions. First, drawing inspiration from the Scottish approach to land conservation, it was envisaged that the token might support the sale of micro-shares in ‘cooperative housing and creative spaces’ in the city. Here, by distributing ownership the risk of gentrification would be greatly reduced. Second, it was also suggested that the currency could be issued as a specific reward for providing voluntary support in the creative sector. Third, drawing inspiration from an artists’ pension trust, there was the suggestion an ‘angel investor pack’ might allow groups of digital designers, including graduates, to form cooperatives around a ‘bundle’ of tokens. If these packs were sold on, all of the parties involved in the original sales agreement would benefit through an automatic commission payment (ibid, 19). Returning to discussion of the last section, I believe that this case begins to demonstrate how design research involving practice might be conceived of as a transformational act; melioristic, value-driven, ontologically-active (i.e., shifting the horizons of being), and carrying the potential for individual/collective growth. In order to unpack this, let us take the various layers step-by-step. To begin, we can say that this project—or, to use the Deweyan expression, this inquiry—is working with a set of existing things (i.e., the Scottish digital sector, blockchain technology, the concept of crypto-currency) and asking questions of them. This asking of questions leads to a set of answers regarding what is the case. For example, we have a mapping of the digital design sector in Scotland; we have an understanding of how blockchain and data-sharing technologies are currently being deployed in that sector. With this information to hand, further questions can then be asked regarding how these technologies might do more, how they their impact can be enhanced. This is where the melioristic angle comes into play—we see a basic belief that things can be made better through human effort. These melioristic questions allow the team to frame the workshop series and the workshops, in turn, can be seen to facilitate the exploration of a possible answer, what Dewey would term a ‘desirable end-in-view’; in this case, a local crypto-­ currency. Here, we see that another existing thing is being added to the suite of the project’s/inquiry’s other existing things (i.e., the Scottish digital sector, blockchain technology, the concept of crypto-currency). In their coming together we have the possibility of rearrangement and of something novel coming into being. It is within this space that design activity proper begins. In terms of specific activities, we can see that, within the workshops, participants deliberated over the values their new local crypto-currency might promote. Equally, using imaginative thought, they foresaw the possible consequences of taking a particular direction, i.e., they raised concerns regarding the potential that their cryptocurrency might support negative outcomes such as illegal drug sales or tax evasion.

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Here, the workshops become a space of valuation, that is, the participants can be seen to appraise the ways in which their end-in-view holds the potential to be good or bad. Through this appraisal they reshape it—in other words, make it a better ‘fit’ within their value-system—here, by emphasizing cooperation over ‘free trade’. Certain features (i.e., the micro-shares, the rewards, the angel investor pack) are then embedded within the proposal as a result. It is agreed that, with these features embedded, the hypothetical design would be of benefit for the Dundee’s digital design sector. At this point, the situation is transformed and the artefact is realized, at least so far as it goes. Returning to Deweyan terminology, we can say that the token, in its final, agreed upon form, constitutes an ‘object of knowledge’. It becomes an answer to the question of how blockchain and related data-sharing technologies might help bolster the digital design sector in a particular part of Scotland. Through this object of knowledge, the world becomes different; a rearranging has taken place, things— digital design, blockchain, crypto-currency, local currencies, Dundee—have been related differently. In this, our understandings of the possible has been shifted, even if only subtly. Though the concept of growth is not explicitly discussed, it will, one might reasonably argue, have taken place throughout. There will have been individual growth on the basis of people coming together in the workshops and jointly exploring the project’s/inquiry’s subject matters. In one-to-one and group interactions there will have been an exchange, new understandings will have been achieved. Collective growth can be seen to occur the basis that, now, Scotland’s digital design sector knows something more of itself both in terms of what it is and what it might be. Design enables this in its bringing together (i.e., of individuals) on the one hand, and bringing into being (i.e., of the object(s) of knowledge) on the other. The transformational act has transformed.

References Alexander, T. M. (1987). John Dewey’s theory of art, experience & nature. Albany: The Horizons of Feeling. State University of New York Press. Austin, J. L. (1962). How to do things with words. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bang, A.  L., Krogh, P., Ludvigsen, M., & Markussen, T. (2012). The Role of Hypothesis in Constructive Design Research. Paper presented at the 4th The Art of Research: Making, Reflecting and Understanding. Aalto University School of Arts, Design and Architecture, Helsinki, Finland, 28–29 Nov 2012. Bernstein, R. J. (1966). John Dewey. New York: Washington Square Press. Binder, T., & Redström, J. (2006). Exemplary Design Research. Paper presented at the Design Research Society Wonderground Conference, Sociedade de Geografia de Lisboa, Lisbon, Portugal, 1–4 Nov 2006. Bjögvinsson, E., Ehn, P., & Hillgren, P. A. (2012). Design things and design thinking: Contemporary participatory design challenges. Design Issues, 28(3), 101–116. Brandt, E., & Binder, T. (2007). Experimental design research: Genealogy, intervention, argument. Paper presented at international association of societies of design research conference. Hong Kong, China, 12–15 Sept 2007.

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Buchanan, R. (2001). Design research and the new learning. Design Issues, 17(4), 3–23. Campbell, J. (1995). Understanding John Dewey: Nature and cooperative intelligence. Chicago: Open Court Publishing. Cross, N. (2007). Designerly ways of knowing. Basel: Birkhäuser. Dewey J (LW 1–17). J. A. Boydston (Ed.) John Dewey the later works, 1925–1953. Carbondale: University of Southern Illinois Press. Dewey J (MW 1–15). J. A. Boydston (Ed.) John Dewey the middle works, 1899–1924. Carbondale: University of Southern Illinois Press. Dorst, K. (2011). The Core of ‘design thinking’ and its application. Design Studies, 32(6), 521–532. Dunne, A., & Raby, F. (2013). Speculative everything. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Gale, R. (2010). John Dewey’s quest for unity: The journey of a promethean mystic. New York: Prometheus Books. Hauser, S., Oogjes, D., Wakkary, R., & Verbeek, P. P. (2018). An annotated portfolio on doing postphenomenology through research products. In Proceedings of the 2018 designing interactive systems conference (pp. 459–471). New York: ACM. Hickman, L. (1990). Philosophical tools for technological culture: Putting pragmatism to work. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hickman, L. (2007). Pragmatism as post-postmodernism: Lessons from John Dewey. New York: Fordham University Press. Hook, S. (1939). John Dewey, an intellectual portrait. New York: John Day. Koskinen, I., Zimmerman, J., Binder, T., Redstrom, J., & Wensveen, S. (2011). Design research through practice: From the lab, field, and showroom. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Krippendorff, K. (2006). The semantic turn: A new foundation for design. Boca Raton FL: Taylor and Francis CRC Press. Manzini, E. (2015). Design when everyone designs. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. McDermott, J. (1981). [1973] the philosophy of John Dewey. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Patrickson, B., Livesey, J., & Gilman, C. (2019). Scotland’s Digital Design Futures. In: Rodgers, P. (ed.) Design Research for Change. Arts and Humanities Research Council, London. Patrickson, B. (2018). Digital Design Futures in Scotland. Scottish Graduate School for Arts and Humanities, Glasgow. Rodgers, P., & Bremner, C. (2013). Design without discipline. Design Issues, 29(3), 4–13. Rorty, R. (1979). Philosophy and the mirror of nature. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Rorty, R. (1982). The consequences of pragmatism. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Rorty, R. (1999). Philosophy and social Hope. London: Penguin. Sanders, E.  B. N., & Stappers, P.  J. (2008). Co-creation and the new landscapes of design. Co-Design, 4(1), 5–18. Shook, J.  R. (2000). Dewey’s empirical theory of knowledge and reality. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press. Simon, H. (1996). [1969]). The sciences of the artificial (3rd ed.). Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Sleeper, R. W. (1986). The necessity of pragmatism: John Dewey’s conception of philosophy. New Haven: Yale University Press. Steen, M. (2011). Tensions in human-centred design. CoDesign, 7(1), 45–60. Steen, M. (2013). Co-design as a process of joint inquiry and imagination. Design Issues, 29(2), 16–28. Wakkary, R., Oogjes, D., Hauser, S., Lin, H., Cao, C., Ma, L., & Duel, T. (2017). Morse things: A design inquiry into the gap between things and us. In Proceedings of the 2017 conference on designing interactive systems (pp. 503–514). New York: ACM. Walker, S. (2010). Wrapped attention: Designing products for evolving permanence and enduring meaning. Design Issues, 26(4), 94–108. Zimmerman, J., & Forlizzi, J. (2008). The role of design artifacts in design theory construction. Art, 2(1), 41–45. Zimmerman, J., Stolterman, E., & Forlizzi, J. (2010). An analysis and critique of research through design: Towards a formalization of a research approach. In Proceedings of the 8th ACM conference on designing interactive systems (DIS ‘10). New York: ACM.

Chapter 7

Dewey’s Pragmatism as a Philosophy for Practice in Design Research Practice

Abstract  In this chapter I offer a conclusion for the book as a whole at the same time as aiming to trace a forward path. I open with a general summary of the books’ argumentative arc, lining up the key points of the preceding discussions. Next, based on these key points, I explore the potential methodological implications of Dewey’s pragmatism for design research involving practice. The aim here is to draw out the relevant considerations and questions that might guide a project’s advance. Lastly, in the final section, I offer a statement on the potential value of adopting Deweyan pragmatism as a philosophy for design research involving practice and, as such, installing Dewey as an ‘intellectual underwriter’ of ‘designerly knowledge production’. Keywords  Design research · Design epistemology · John Dewey · Design philosophy

Philosophy and design, design and philosophy; in reaching the end, we return to the beginning. This book opened with a brief reflection on the existing relationship between these disciplines. I drew attention to how the language of philosophy, with its stock of seemingly impenetrable terms—odd, unfamiliar words like metaphysics, ontology, epistemology, logic, ethics, socio-political theory—is distant and foreign for the majority of designers, not to mention many designer-researchers. Even with careful explanation, these terms often remain opaque and irrelevant, regardless of the simplicity of the definition offered. This book was not an attempt at a grand bridging of the gulf which exists between the two worlds—the intimidating intellectualism of philosophy on the one hand, and the hardy practicality of design on the other. Equally, I was not hoping to instruct in philosophy’s language or to vouch for its relevance in general terms. Indeed, I very much wanted to avoid long-winded overviews of specific philosophic domains and individual philosophers’ agreements and disagreements—though, admittedly, this may have occurred tangentially. Rather, my efforts were directed elsewhere, towards the work of a single philosopher—John Dewey. As I hope will have been demonstrated, despite the difficulty of some of his concepts, there is a certain ease in picking up Dewey’s work in the © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 B. S. Dixon, Dewey and Design, Design Research Foundations, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-47471-3_7

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context of design. This is not only because his work, once understood, is likely to resonate but also because of the pre-existing connections that have already been drawn in the discourse. Indeed, Dewey is often a familiar character for those engage with design literature. As we have seen, we find him popping up across a variety of theoretical presentations. However, there is an important point to make here. Familiarity does not equate to understanding. In spite of the pre-existing connections between Dewey and design theory/research, few of us get to know him in the round. Yes, his work is discussed, integrated, adapted, developed but only ever in partial form. As such, we have bits of him, a fragment here and there. Indeed, it may not be too much of an exaggeration to suggest that there are (at least) three separate Deweys in circulation in the design literature. There is the functionalist Dewey of the Logic, emphasizing the practicality of his pattern of inquiry and his switching of truth for warranted assertabilty (see e.g., Schön 1983; Jonas 2007); the aesthetic, experientialist Dewey of the Art as Experience, insisting on the wholeness of life (see e.g., McCarthy and Wright 2004); and, finally, there is the social and political Dewey, who appears most clearly through a those polemics texts written in the 1920s and 1930s, most especially The Public and its Problems (see e.g., Le Dantec and DiSalvo 2013; Bjögvinsson et al. 2012). These Deweys have functioned well in their respective roles for a long time. As we have seen through the book, advancing section by section, each adds something unique and special to the literature. At the same time, it must be also noted that each is in isolated. This containment has been possible because the focus has rarely if ever been directed towards defining a philosophic or epistemological perspective. Dewey has been just one voice among many, rarely the focus and rarely the voice that matters. This has resulted in the wholeness of his works being overlooked in favor of brief glimpses supporting broader arguments. So what does it mean to bring Dewey into focus?

Dewey as a Voice for Practice in Research As was stated in the preface, I have long believed that Dewey can speak directly to design researchers who want to involve practice in their research; those who wish to acknowledge creative activity within the process of knowledge production. However, for this to happen, I believe that Dewey must be presented as multiple-dimensional figure. As such, throughout this book, I have sought to present Dewey in continuous terms. The account has not been limited to just inquiry, or just aesthetic experience, or only to the parameters of his democratic vision but, rather, I have sought to line up all of these theories in the hope that they may become a series of related/relatable arguments that connect and interweave. Admittedly, the presentation has been incremental. I have advanced slowly, chapter by chapter in a focused, dedicated manner, taking one step at a time. But underneath the surface I have also been seeking to achieve two separate aims.

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In the first instance, my efforts have, of course, been directed towards working to carefully highlight the wealth of possibilities that arise for design and design research involving practice once Dewey is approached in his own terms, whether that be in relation to inquiry, aesthetics, politics or some other aspect of his work. This brings us to the second aim. Here, at the same time as progressively presenting Dewey’s work and its design implications, I have also been seeking to set down the guideposts for broad-based overview of the Deweyan philosophic perspective; gradually mapping out the special horizon he can be seen to offer design research involving practice. So far as any early Deweyan overview has been offered, I hope I have made clear that his was not a conventional endeavor in philosophy. He was a different type of philosopher. He did not deal in disinterested abstraction, and certainly not in philosophy for philosophy’s sake. Rather, when drawn together as a suite, I believe that his arguments constitute an effort to recognize and honor the value found in everyday life; the touchstone is ordinary people, individuals who live their lives in response the realities of the world in which they find themselves. Ultimately, he aims to frame and ground a means by which society, or better still, humanity, can move outwards and approach the future with hope. For Dewey, a better world is always possible, we just have to work for it. To a degree, it was the aim of the last chapter to bring an early overview together as a single proposal: the idea that a Deweyan view of inquiry as transformational and generative of values can fit with the pattern of design research involving practice. As a package, its ‘fitting’ acts as a proposal for a formally-framed, philosophically-­bound, designerly approach to knowledge and reality. It charts a course by which Dewey might be installed as an enlightening intellectual underwriter of design research involving practice; a figurehead who smoothens the lines running between philosophy as a necessary toolkit in research, on the one hand, and design practice as an aspect of the research process on the other. At this point, to gain a handle on the whole, it will be worth briefly retracing our journey through Dewey’s pragmatism and highlighting the relations that have been drawn to design.

Our Journey through Dewey’s Pragmatism and Design As has been noted, our journey through Dewey’s pragmatism and design has been necessarily wandering. Nonetheless, in spite of this, I have sought, from the very beginning, to tell a coherent and connected story. The chapters unfolded as follows. In Chap. 1, focus was initially directed towards the contemporary situation in design. It was noted that the recent academization of field has led to a growing interest in possibilities of design research and, in particular, in forms of design research which involve design practice within the method. Exploring the theoretical and philosophical underpinnings of this latter approach, I argued that design practice and design research involving practice stand to benefit from gaining an

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understanding of the tenants of classical pragmatism—a late-nineteenth, earlytwentieth century philosophy which challenges many of the standard accounts of knowledge, truth, meaning and value. Here, at last, I moved to introduce the work of John Dewey, briefly considering his contributions to philosophy as well as early psychology and education. In drawing the chapter to a close, I argued that Dewey offers a distinct and special perspective within Western thought, to be distinguished not only from those of the original classical pragmatists, such as Charles Sanders Peirce and William James, but also from two other, relatable major philosophers of the twentieth century—the later-­ Wittgenstein and Heidegger. Chapter 2 took up the broad subject of experience—often identified as a general point of entry into Dewey’s overall scheme (e.g., Bernstein 1966, McDermott 1981/1973; Alexander 1987). Examining his theory of experience, attention was drawn to how broadly he defines the term—referencing, both what men do, as well as what they undergo. Following on, his theory of aesthetic experience and its special concept of ‘an experience’ were introduced. This latter theory provided a bridge to the areas of user-experience design and experience-centered design, where Dewey’s work has received a great deal of scholarly attention in recent decades. It was found that while many have made use of aspects of Dewey’s views on experience, few explore the background context out of which these elements emerge— that is, his naturalistic metaphysics. Accordingly, in the chapter’s final sections both the naturalistic metaphysics along with its possible implications for design where considered, in turn. The metaphysics was shown to ground human experience within a wider framework, relating it directly to nature and existence in general. Here, Dewey’s emphasis on potentiality was highlighted. We noted how he believed in the constant possibility of change and that, against this, it was inappropriate to hold a fixed understanding of things. Following on, we saw how this leads to his view that intelligent practice—which, was understood to be representative of design—is a natural, essential process. This, in turn, was shown to lead to the view that art and science are linked and that creativity represents a terminal point in nature. Reflecting on the whole, all of these aspects were said to combine to provide a basic undergirding for an interweaving of Dewey’s work and design research involving practice. Further exploring some of the possible implications for design in the chapter’s closing section, it was suggested that because Dewey sees experience as an all-­ encompassing whole, efforts should be made to approach the concept in wide and holistic, as well as in narrow and episodic, terms. Here, it was proposed that the concept of ‘fields of experience’ might go some way to addressing this challenge. In Chap. 3, focus turned to Dewey’s theory of inquiry and how knowledge, as a concept and aim, is approached in design research. The chapter opened with a reflection on some of the developments in design research over the last forty years. Here, particular attention was paid to the work of Donald Schön and his theory of the reflective practitioner, offering a view of professional action grounded in cyclical experimentation and evaluation. Alongside this, attention was also directed

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towards the subsequent emergence of design research involving practice, as well as the methodological challenges faced by those seeking to undertake such work. Following on from these latter aspects, Dewey’s theory of inquiry, with its embedded pattern of inquiry was introduced. Here, an outline of the ‘pattern’ revealed an understanding of knowing and knowledge as being inherently grounded in and bound to action and activity. As a next step, I explored the work of a number of key theorists who had already considered the pattern in the context of design, including Dalsgaard (2009), Östman (2005), Steen (2013), and finally Schön (1983). In the chapter’s final section I moved to further extend this line of investigation by highlighting a number of additional, useful features of the pattern. In the first instance, I suggested that the pattern could be positioned as an initial reference point which begins to provide explicit philosophical backing for the view that knowing and doing, knowing and making are inseparably intertwined. Such a backing would enrich existing methodological formalizations of design research involving practice, which often place an explicit emphasis on real-world experimentation and iteration (e.g., Bang et  al. 2012; Brandt and Binder 2007; Binder and Redström 2006). Further to this, it was also proposed that, through Dewey’s notion of there being a continuum of inquiry (i.e., everyday inquiry and scientific inquiry), it becomes possible to simultaneous connect and distinguish between practice and academic research which involves practice. This is so because, following Dewey, we can see that both the practitioner and the academic researcher confront problems and search for solutions through the development and trialing of ideas. However, despite this similarity, the academic conducting formal research must also aim towards the generation of knowledge, which responds to particular concerns and interests of a particular community of inquiry. As a consequence, it was finally argued that, as well as seeking out solutions, the academic researcher must also offer transferable conclusions that are seen to hold warranted assertability (i.e. Dewey’s alternative mechanism for evaluating knowledge); in other words, they must offer conclusions which are based on sound evidence, valid in relation to context of inquiry and useable in other contexts. Here, Dewey’s pattern shows both its value and potential. Linking to the above presentation, Chap. 4 picked up on the theme of meaning, focusing in on aspects of Dewey’s theory of communication as well as his more general interest in meaning, as expressed in his metaphysics and theory of art. The chapter opened with an overview of the work of three key design theorists, who have examined the relationship between meaning and communication in design— Krippendorff (e.g., 2006), Verganti (e.g., 2009) and Crilly (e.g., Crilly et al. 2008). From this, I moved on to look at Dewey’s treatment of language and the imagination, as well as his concept of the ‘work of art’. Language, for Dewey, is seen to arise in and relate to action. It allows us to bring people, things and consequences together as one—connecting pasts, envisaging futures and making things happen. The imagination was defined as the natural amplification the meanings that we have developed in action and interaction; a process that is grounded in the reality of the physical and social world. Lastly, ‘the work of art’ was defined as what the outcome of the creative process—which Dewey

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terms the ‘art product’—does with and in experience. On his view, to be understood, art products must be re-created by their audience; that is, the audience must work to create an understanding of what is being presented from within their existing experience. Thus, an artist or maker cannot know what will be communicated through their product—only how the process will occur. Following on from these overviews, at the chapter’s close, attention turned to the role of ‘the work of design’ and the meaning of artifacts created in the context of design research involving practice. Through a review of some existing positions in the literature (e.g., Biggs 2002; Mäkelä 2007; Biggs and Büchler 2007; Gaver 2012; Redström 2017), the implications of Dewey’s views were considered. Here, it was found that while artifacts and making clearly have a crucial role to play in the research process, artifacts in themselves cannot be assumed communicate research findings. Rather, they must be accompanied by a sound linguistic argument, with an explicit logic and structure. The view was taken that, such an argument would support the audience’s recreation of the design research process—guiding them through the designer-researcher’s decision-making, reconstructing the project’s logic and, eventually, allowing them arrive at a set of conclusions that they may test against those of the researcher. Lastly, the potential of accounting for one’s imaginative trajectory in inquiry (e.g., via a recording and representation of any emergent meanings as they emerged) was also considered. Next, Chap. 5 saw a move away from epistemological and methodological concerns, with a broadening of the discussion to look at the general attitude or motivational stance that designers and designer-researchers bring to their work. Focusing in the idea that many designers and designer-researchers aspire to ‘make things better’, attention was initially directed towards the area of participatory design—an approach which generally aims to develop more equitable and contextually appropriate solutions to specific problems. Here, I examined how, to date, the field has drawn upon and enfolded Dewey’s work, looking in particular at its appropriation of the ‘publics’ concept—a theory of how individuals and groups become politically motivated and involved. Looking to build upon this, I moved to present an overview of his broader socio-­ political perspective or democratic vision, exploring the related subject-areas of democracy, education and ethics. It was noted that, for Dewey, democracy was grounded not in political procedure or government, but rather in the interactions of daily life. The principles of democracy and community, he argued, were one in the same. The challenge for political democracy was to find a way of linking the communal and governmental levels. A fully connected system would present what Dewey termed ‘creative democracy’, a scenario in which the communal and governmental march in lockstep. Equally, key to his vision was the idea that a functioning democracy required a robust and vibrant education system. Here, he held the view that students should be taught to learn how to learn, gaining a competency in inquiry and good judgement. In this way, the pedagogic would help to guarantee socio-political continuity and cohesion.

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The entirety of the vision was held together through the concept of growth— education was seen to enable individual growth at the same time as encouraging the development of democratic conversation at a societal level, which, in turn, would allow for the growth of the collective. Moving on to the subject of ethics, it was noted that Dewey argued in favor of the cultivation of what he termed a ‘reflective’ morality. Here, ethics was presented as a form of negotiated imaginative inquiry, undertaken in response to contextual concerns, and open-ended in direction. In offering this outline, I highlighted how the ethics could be seen to relate directly to his vision of democracy on the basis that, for Dewey, both ethics and democracy demand an interrogation and negotiation of possibilities. It was suggested that this presents design research involving practice with a vision of an ‘internalized ethics’ grounded in decision-making. Following on, Dewey’s meliorism—i.e., his belief that the world can be made better through human action—was then briefly discussed. It was claimed that in taking this stance, Dewey manages to avoid the potential pitfalls of either outright optimism or pessimism. Rather, through meliorism, he takes the view that betterment may be possible through a course of dedicated, intelligent action—in other words, inquiry. Attempting to draw all of the above together, at the end of the chapter, I argued that Dewey’s democratic vision—his interlinked understanding of political, pedagogic and ethical—had much to offer design practice and research involving practice, especially participatory and collaborative approaches. In general terms, the whole was seen to provide a useful intellectual outline of how these processes can be conceived in fair and hopeful terms—with their interlinking drawing attention to the interconnectedness of all action, as well as the pervasiveness of moral issues. Alongside this, it was suggested that the vision might act as a guard against potentially naïve understandings of design practice and design research involving practice as processes which necessarily deliver positive results. Good outcomes are possible but only if they are worked for—meliorism, rather than optimism or pessimism, is key. Alongside this, Dewey’s vision was found to hold general alignment with common motivational and ethical orientations of design practice and research involving practice—especially with those commentators holding a participatory design or collaborative design background. However, Dewey’s work was also found to recommend further action. It was suggested that participatory and collaborative design might be positioned as enablers of Dewey’s ‘creative democracy’ by supporting public engagement in the political arena. Here, it was suggested that designer-­ researchers might seek to work with all groups, but especially the young, to foster criticality and wise judgement through the tools and techniques they deploy in research settings, thus promoting individual and collective growth. The chapter concluded with the proposal that, in aiming to make things better through participation and collaboration, both design and design research involving practice can be seen as potential enablers of democracy-as-a-way-of-life—ethically-­ minded processes that allow for personal and collective growth and, ultimately, function as a means of achieving positive change.

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In Chap. 6, an effort was made to bring together the various theories that had been set out over the previous chapters, with the ultimate aim of presenting a grand interpretation of Dewey’s work in relation to design research involving practice. Here, following the perspective of the philosopher Ralph Sleeper, the argument was made that Dewey’s theory of inquiry could be related to his metaphysics through his theory of communication. As a unit, this tripartite interlinking was found to present a view of knowing as a process which works to directly transform reality as we move from experience to an understanding of existence via language and meaning. This, it was claimed, revealed the overarching structure of Dewey’s approach to knowledge. Continuing on, his theories of value and valuation were also considered. Here, we encountered a view of values as existential, things that simply are, which have causes and effects. Next to this, valuation (i.e., appraising and judging) was seen as a process which takes place in inquiry—the making of decisions about what is good and what is not good through the trial and error of deliberation, experimentation and observation. All of this, in turn, was seen to directly connect to Dewey’s understanding of philosophy, which he presents as the criticism of criticism, a way of negotiating value across disciplines. Drawing the whole together, I claimed that, as a combined presentation, we had a Deweyan perspective on inquiry as transformational and generative of values. By relating this to existing theoretical positions on design research involving practice, I proposed that the two could be seen to ‘fit’ together, with Dewey’s views lending philosophical support to the implicit and explicit expressions of what design means, what it means to know in design and, further, what design can mean in a research context. We have now summarized the book’s broader argumentative structure. Its core contribution is issued, of course, through the above proposal. In immediate terms, the proposal offers practice-orientated designer-researchers a useful intellectual reference point with which to ground their work, as well as a way of articulating the scope and meaning of research involving design practice.

 ome Methodological Implications of Adopting Dewey’s S Pragmatism as a Philosophy for Design Research Involving Practice: Setting out the Starting Points of an Early Framework of Considerations and Questions We now arrive at the question of what the functional, methodological implications of installing Dewey as an ‘intellectual underwriter’ of designerly knowledge production might be. Here we are asking if his philosophy, with all its various implications, can provide us with a guide as to how design can be involved in the conduct of research? In other words: Can Dewey help us enhance methodological protocol in design research involving practice? To answer this, we must look back over what

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has been already been said and consider how it can be meaningfully synthesized and brought together to form an accessible framework for designer-researchers and, possibly, designers too. Referring back to the summary of the last section, we have already set out the implications arising from the Dewey’s work, on a chapter by chapter basis. As a first step, then, it will be helpful to quickly group these implications together in a list. Following the order of the original presentation (at least for the most part), the list can be presented as follows: • from Dewey’s definition of experience, it was recommended that, in design, attempts should be made to conceive of experience in broad terms, rather than simply in episodic, isolated terms (Chap. 2); • from his metaphysics (Chaps. 2 and 6) and theory of art (Chap. 4) the world and our being in the world was seen as grounded in potentiality and responsive intelligent action (i.e., design); thus, it was recommended that the creative process, including the imagination, should be seen as a natural—as opposed to an ‘extra-natural’—process; • arising in reference to the pattern of inquiry, it was claimed that knowing and doing, knowing and making can be theorized and understood as being inseparably intertwined (Chap. 3); • it was also suggested that the ‘continuum of inquiry’ provides a conceptual means of relating and differentiating between design practice and academic research which involves design practice—in simple terms, both can be seen as activities which aim to solve problems by proposing solutions through a progressive and iterative ideation process, but formal academic research must also seek to generate new knowledge (Chap. 3); • drawing on Dewey’s concept of warranted assertability, it was also suggested that any claims to have generated knowledge must be based on sound, contextually-­valid evidence and be transferable to other contexts (Chap. 3); • based on Dewey’s ‘work of art’ concept and in keeping with the prevailing view in design research literature, it was recommended that all artifacts-as-research-­ outcomes should be accompanied by a sound linguistic argument, with an explicit logic and structure (Chap. 4); • within the latter argument, it was noted that one might seek to account for an inquiry’s imaginative trajectory in naturalistic terms, via a recording and representation of any emergent meanings as they emerged (Chap. 4); • following on, Dewey’s democratic vision, with its interlinking of the political, pedagogic and ethical, was upheld as a useful intellectual outline of how design and design research involving practice can be conceived in fair and equitable terms (Chap. 5); • with Dewey’s ‘reflective’ morality, it was suggested that there is the potential to conceive of an ‘internalized ethics’ in the context of design research involving practice; • in highlighting Dewey’s concept of meliorism, it was suggested the vision might be positioned as a guard against the, at times, unquestioned belief that design

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practice and design research involving practice will necessarily deliver positive results, no matter what the circumstances (Chap. 5); • finally, it was also suggested that the democratic vision points to the possibility of positioning participatory and collaborative approaches to design practice and research as enablers of creative democracy, with a focus on developing tools and techniques that help foster criticality and an ability to judge wisely (Chap. 5). In addition to the above list, I take the view that there are also implications to be raised with regard to the theories of value and valuation covered in Chap. 6. Technically, these theories have already been dealt with through their enfolding in that chapter’s proposal regarding the possibility of drawing a set of relations between Deweyan philosophy and design research involving practice. However, there remains a number of outstanding methodological threads that I would like to pick on here. • Firstly, there is Dewey’s understanding of values as existentially real, as things emerging in and attached to situations (Chaps. 2 and 6); I believe this holds implications for our conception of how inquiries are launched; • in the proposal of Chap. 6, Dewey’s understanding of valuation in inquiry—that is, appraising and judging the worth of possible courses of action or particular things as one inquires—was related directly to existing approaches in design practice and research involving practice; at this point, it is worth giving thought to how this might be explored further in methodological terms—which I will do below; • finally, and again referencing Chap. 6’s proposal, it was also suggested that design research involving practice can be aligned with Dewey’s understanding of philosophy as the ‘criticism of criticisms’ on the basis that the approach can be seen to frequently draw together the knowledge of independent disciplines in new combinations; again, I will explore some of the possible methodological implications of such a view below. Assessing all of the above as a single list, we can see that, potentially, Dewey’s work could have profound and far reaching implications for the field of design. Ultimately, he is challenging us to consider how our approach to the areas of experience, inquiry, communication, democracy, ethics, motivational principles, value and interdisciplinarity, might be better contextualized and possibly even repositioned. As a starting point for exploring these implications, we can begin at the beginning with a consideration of experience and problematic situations as the context in which an inquiry is launched. This immediately draws in Dewey’s theory of values, noted in Chapters 2 and 6 and highlighted above. We will recall that, here, it was pointed out that Dewey understood values as being existentially real, things which exist. In other words, he believed that the feelings or sensations of happiness, sadness, fear, anxiety, redness, zest and so on, are not to be taken as mere subjective happenings (erroneous or otherwise), but rather as situational facts, arising from and bound to the unfolding of real, worldly events.

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If we take values to be existentially real and situationally-bound, we are giving them a status apart from any one perceiving individual or group. This has direct implications for our understanding of problematic situations as the context in which inquiry begins. The problematic situation at the onset of inquiry are essentially value-based, a space in which certain troubling dynamics—what Dewey refers to as ‘conflicting tendencies’ (LW 12, p. 109)— are at play. Here, values become things to be detected, noted, observed. Indeed, when discussing the concept of a problematic situation in his pattern of inquiry, Dewey insists on such a view, stating that it is ‘the situation which has these traits’ and, further, claims that ‘[w]e are doubtful because the situation is inherently doubtful’ (ibid, italics in original). In methodological terms, I would contend that this offers us a more satisfactory approach to framing or defining an inquiry’s motivational context than might otherwise be available. As we have seen in Chap. 3, some existing positions on this issue have been set out in the literature. Zimmerman and Forlizzi (2008) suggest that either ‘real world’ or ‘philosophic’ concerns might act as triggers; while Bang and colleagues (Bang et  al. 2012) expand on this by suggesting that a wide range of starting points, including artistic, empirical, ethical, political and theoretical concerns, can guide an inquiry’s framing. While such taxonomies will no doubt be useful in helping us to define our motivations to launch a design research project, we currently lack a means of positioning these next to the situations of our inquiries. We may well be motivated to respond to what we encounter in a certain way but are we considering whether such motivations are appropriate, meaningful or relevant to the situation at hand? If we are asked to consider the existential reality of the values which upon which we hope to initiate an inquiry, then we are on surer ground than simply stating our personal motivations. In order to conform to this model, designer-researchers would need to work to evidence their initial claims regarding the problematic situation of their inquiry as was alluded to Chap. 3’s discussion of defining an inquiry’s problem. Focusing in here on values in particular, we might, for example, highlight the unhappy state of a particular community or group; or the apparent difficulty found in a specific approach to doing something; or the dissatisfactory quality of a particular designed artifact. This latter point links us back to Chap. 2, where it has already been noted that, following the values-as-real-proposition, individual reactions would by necessity be understood in non-subjectivist terms. In other words, they would be accepted as real, situationally bound happenings. In any case, whether relating to a particular community’s unhappy state or individuals’ dissatisfaction with certain designed things, all of these would have to be described in detail. That is, noted, detected and properly observed. In taking such an approach, we embark on a process of framing a legitimate context for inquiry. As with any competent process of problem-framing/definition, doing so will give it a form which extends beyond our own personal motivations, allowing us to avoid the ‘dead work’ that ‘does not grow out of an actual situation’. This latter notion that we, as designer-researchers, must work to frame a legitimate context for inquiry can be linked to the proposal that design research involving

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practice might act as a mediating, interdisciplinary discipline.1 Here, during the framing process, as we seek to gain a handle on our problematic situation, it is likely that we will have work to draw connections to various otherwise unrelated fields, identifying value in specific (possibly alien) knowledge domains and attempting to draw this knowledge together in the context of our inquiry. Those pursuing such a course must find a means of overcoming at least two immediate methodological challenges. In the first instance, as Dewey suggests, they must work to gain an understanding of ‘the language’ of their domain of interest, whether that is biology, sociology, psychology or some other area. In the second instance, they must also gain an understanding of that domain’s methodological frameworks. How is its knowledge generated? What are its tools and techniques? What are the assumptions backing these up? How do these link to design? In responding to both of these challenges, designer-researchers will be better able to examine a particular field’s offerings and identify value at the same time as appreciating its applicability. They will understand where it might fit and how it might be used, that is, put ‘into practice’. It may be that in linking to other knowledge domains, designer-researchers will choose to apply the methods of that domain alongside those of design. Indeed, in Chap. 3 it was noted that designer-researchers have long borrowed from other fields. For example, it is quite common that they might choose to apply psychological concepts in their analysis of users’ interactions with products or evaluate newly designed prototypes in formal, experimental lab-based settings (see Koskinen et al. 2011). The above outline gets things started, but only just. Having considered situational values, problem-framing/defining, interdisciplinarity and methodological plurality, we may now turn to what is perhaps the core ‘method’ of design research involving practice; namely, creative action.

 cting Within the Early Framework: Designing in Design A Research Involving Practice In turning to consider creative action, we link back to Dewey’s belief that the creative process should be understood in naturalistic terms—as something that develops in relation to the world and not apart from it. As was alluded to in Chap. 2, I would argue that, in essence, a naturalistic view of the creative process (along with the idea that our world is founded upon potentiality) provides us with an initial justificatory position regarding the place of creativity in inquiry. Here, a ‘creative’ response to a problematic situation, i.e., the conflicting tendencies or troublesome

1  Instead of interdisciplinary we might say transdisciplinary or antidisciplinarity. Joi Ito’s notion of antidisciplinarity has become firmly established at MIT’s Media Lab. Essentially, it refers to a research/practice approach which, consciously, does not conform to one disciplinary perspective but rather emerges in reference to the context (see Ito 2017).

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values we encounter, becomes nothing more than a natural, human response to the circumstances in which we find ourselves—the undertaking of intelligent practice (i.e., design) as a consequence of recognizing potentiality. Accordingly, and again as was noted in Chap. 2, we are not here claiming divine intervention on the basis of genius but rather a grounded and groundable way of working through the challenges of an inquiry. In this concrete context, Dewey’s understanding of language and the imagination comes into play. As we have seen in Chap. 4, he believed that the imagination is connected to our use of language and the process of meaning making, as people, things and consequences are brought together in fixed relation to one another as well as set against our physical and social experience. Though he saw these latter ‘fixed’ relations as being more or less set, he also believed that it was possible to experiment with meanings by proposing and trialing new combinations and separations; to ‘try things out’ with reference to what we know to be physically and socially available. This can be seen as the backbone of the creative process and it is something that we may evidence in real terms. With this understanding to hand, a number of points can be noted. • As was suggested in Chap. 4, we can see how language in general may have a crucial impact on design decision-making, both at an immediate as well as at an imaginative level. Following on, it might be useful to seek to track the lived interactions which accompany an inquiry’s development and progression. For example, we might focus on the exchanges between the designers themselves or the exchanges between designers and potential users of a proposed product or service. • Further to the above, it was also noted at the end of Chap. 4, that we might attempt to track the development of an inquiry’s imaginative trajectory and, ultimately, its creative process through a series of material outputs (e.g., our sketchbooks, journals, field notes); recording the emergence of meanings as they emerge. • Regardless of whether one or both of these angles is/are relevant, it would be advisable to aim to keep a systematic record of the interactions and decisions which we believe to be directly relevant to our meaning-making. With our lived interactions, for example, we might seek to make video or audio recordings of certain events such as workshops or, equally, keep ongoing field notes on how our interpersonal relations may be informing our design activities. • With the recording of our imaginative trajectory, we might attempt to date, annotate and catalogue our sketchbooks, journals or field notes, so they can be returned to at a later date. The point is that if we have such resources to hand, we will be better equipped to re-present the natural unfolding of our research inquiry and, eventually, be able to offer a meaningful account of what we did and why, in and through practice. Leading on from such considerations, we encounter a number of features drawn directly from Dewey’s pattern of inquiry, centered in the original list of implications set out the last section. As the list has revealed, these elements can be found to

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provide us with a series of valuable support mechanisms to aid the process of undertaking design research involving practice. They are as follows. • Firstly, there is the continuum of inquiry. On the one hand, this allows one to draw design practice and design research involving practice into an explicit and clear relationship. There need not be any sense of difficulty or awkwardness in claiming that the design process can be enfolded within a research process. Following Dewey, we can say that to a certain extent, both will involve problematic situations, both rely on the asking of questions, the iterative, progressive search for solutions through the formulation of ideas, and the testing of these ideas through experimentation and observation. • On the other hand, the continuum also allows us to assess whether or not a project holds a research or a practice orientation. Here, in making this assessment, we might ask some of the following questions. What are the project’s aims? Is the individual or team looking to generate knowledge? Are they asking and answering specific questions, identifying and applying specific methods? Do they hope to speak to a research community and not solely to the design community? Or, alternatively, does their work begin and end in the identification and dissolution of a contextual problem, without any sense of whether or not its outcomes are meaningful beyond the space of the project. • Linking to this, the concept of warranted assertability presents a means by which the quality of the work can be judged. Here, if the researchers claim to have produced knowledge, then a series of questions can be asked. Is the evidence sound? Does it hang together? Or is it flawed—does it fall apart on scrutiny? A further question arises in relation to whether or not the account of the work, of what was done and in what way, is sufficiently ‘thick’ (i.e., detailed enough) to allow other researchers and/or practitioners to ‘transfer’ and test its findings elsewhere, in other contexts. • This latter aspect connects, of course, to the possibility of presenting a made artifact, or a series of artifacts in the form of a portfolio or exhibition, as the sole outcome of a research project, representing its contribution to knowledge. As was noted above, in Chap. 4, Dewey’s ‘work of art’ concept aligns with prevailing views in the literature which holds that artifacts cannot speak for themselves in this way (see e.g., Biggs 2002; Mäkelä 2007), they must be accompanied by a sound textual argument so that the process of their construction along with their final meaning(s) can be understood. As such, the account of the work, of what was done and how, must also detail the claims to knowledge which are being made, outlining what the artifact offers a community of inquiry. This, in turn, requires that the researcher reference existing findings and position their work next to the work of others. Sitting behind this procedural outline we have the Deweyan interlinking of the political, the pedagogic and the ethical all held together within his democratic vision.

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 he Early Framework’s Underpinnings: Dewey’s Democratic T and Ethical Strands In immediate terms, the democratic vision provides a clear rationale for the selection of participatory and collaborative methods in the context of conducting a design research inquiry which involves practice. However, regardless of the label applied, methodologically, the point would be to ensure that as many different, and differing, groups of people as possible are brought together around an issue or set of issues. Equally, there is a need to consider how well or not, the inquiry’s tools and techniques—its designed artifacts and processes—are supporting the type of careful, future-orientated sense-making that Dewey promoted. At this point, we may draw on Dewey’s presentation of the imagination in the context of democracy and ethics. Here, it will be recalled that he positions the imagination as a tool for reflective exploration, the means by which we can openly deliberate, both individually and collectively, on the possible consequences of a given course of action. In designing for this, it would be advisable that we consider the extent to which participating individuals are being encouraged to explore an issue from multiple perspectives which extend beyond their own personally bound point of view. It is also important to give thought to the materials—the tools and techniques—which we design to support participants’ decision-making processes. Here, in broad outline, we would be looking to ensure that participants are being exposed to a sound evidence base and, from this, being given opportunities to map out, envisage and compare particular scenarios, weighing up the likely outcomes and making careful judgements.2 This also connects to Dewey’s understanding of valuation as being embedded in the inquiry process. Again, the implications relate to tools and techniques. Are participants being supported to understand and come to a view on the value of things? To gradually make a decision about the best possible end-in-view, the one which will deliver the most good. All of this requires careful thought and dedicated commitment on the part of the design research team. We must respect the inevitable plurality which surrounds contested issues, acknowledging that there are multiple ways in which an issue can be perceived and solved. Additionally, in our roles as facilitators and tool-and-process-­ creators, we must endeavor to provide a reflective context in which all feel at ease and able to contribute, regardless of the levels of disagreement or discord among opposing groups. Should we wish, it is possible to view this process—that is, the shared exploration of multiple perspectives and consequences—as embedded learning experiences; spaces in which participating individuals are being equipped to take on the role of being an active, engaged citizen. Here, as was suggested at the close of Chap.

2  Equally, as has been suggested, if appropriately directed, participatory design could contribute to the opening up of ‘creative democracy’. Here, the aim would be to link the communal and governmental levels, allowing citizens to engage in policy making and institutional reform. (For more on this, see Dixon 2018.)

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5, the accompanying tools and techniques can become learning aids, forming a scaffold around which participants’ criticality and judgement may be extended and honed. The last point to make relates to the moral position of designer-researchers, whether working as individuals or a group. As was explored in Chap. 5, Dewey’s ‘reflective’ morality offers design research involving practice a vision of an internalized ethics. The argument made here, in line with Steen (2015), was that such an ethics would be seen to operate from inside of design’s natural decision-making processes within the project context. Here, the designer-researcher would be open to the idea that ethical challenges, if encountered, may affect the final direction of the inquiry. This means that the aims held at the outset of a particular inquiry may change as new issues are encountered. Guided by reflection, we will be called upon to frame new ethically-bound desirable ‘ends’. Following on, from this, the next implication relates to the concept of meliorism.

 he Framework’s Underpinnings Continued: Dewey’s T Meliorism As has already been suggested, it is possible to position Dewey’s melioristic perspective as a guard against any naively positive accounts of design practice and research. This is especially important in the context of academic research where, unlike commercial design practice, the process and its proposed/actual outcomes must be represented in wholly authentic terms. This applies both to the period before a project has begun, as well as afterwards. For instance, at the outset of an inquiry, it would be disingenuous and highly unethical for a design research team to promise that a proposed course of action will definitely resolve an otherwise insurmountable challenge; that design is the answer. As was pointed out at the end of Chap. 5, in research involving design practice, outcomes can only be worked towards, they cannot be guaranteed. Equally, once an inquiry is complete and its results and outcomes finalized, a design research team cannot simply gloss over failure or misrepresent an unsuccessful outcome when they come to formally communicate their work. Other researchers will need to know what was done and what happened so that they may reapply a similar approach themselves. All findings and conclusions must be both trustworthy and transferable—otherwise, the work cannot be presented as academic research. In terms of embedding this within a protocol in the context of design research involving practice, the following may be considered. • At the outset of a project, it is imperative that the team make all parties—both the participants and the funders—aware of what design practice can and cannot achieve in a research context. The aim is to ensure that blind optimism is held in check by the reality that no one can know how events will unfold and what the results will be.

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• Equally, once the work has begun and the project is being discussed and represented, emphasis should be placed on the meaningful activities that led to particular results or outcomes. • In relation to the latter, it makes sense to focus in on any difficulties that have been encountered by the team and to outline how, in the end, these were overcome, if at all. Such an approach would, of course, dissolve much of the mythic quality which currently surrounds design. Happily, however, it would also reveal a truth that cannot be avoided in practice—that doubtful, difficult situations do not transform themselves. Such situations can only be transformed by doing things. Intentional action will lead to outcomes and contribute to the meaningful unfolding of events. To a certain extent this unfolding can be guided towards an ultimate desired end, but there can be no guarantee that such an end will be achieved. In accepting this, it follows that a successful outcome—an outcome which resolves the situation—will require effort and dedication from the team. It will not be ‘design’ in and of itself, as some perfect, self-supporting method, that delivers the desired result. Rather, as those holding a melioristic outlook would insist, it is hard work, coupled with the belief that humanity can affect positive change, that sets us in the right direction. We have now covered all of the original list’s implications, apart, that is, from the first relating to Deweyan experience (this will be covered in the next section). It is hoped that the above sequence offers a more or less coherent outline of how a research project which involves design practice might proceed. It highlights some of the considerations that might need to be taken into account and the questions that might need to asked, thus offering the potential for greater overall methodological precision and clarity. For example, we can now see how we might give form to the early stages of an inquiry (i.e., by contextualizing the situation) or tell the difference between practice and research involving practice (i.e., by applying the concept of the continuum of inquiry). Equally, we can trace the beginnings of how rigor might be pursued and assessed. For example, we now have the idea of accounting for our practical decision-­making, as well as the concept of warranted assertability with regard to judging an inquiry’s conclusions. However, as we have just noted, one item remains outstanding—the area of experience as handled by Dewey. As has been flagged in Chap. 2, this requires additional methodological attention and so, before closing, it will be worthwhile to offer a final, brief mediation on the attendant possibilities/challenges it presents.

Lastly: Managing Dewey’s Exploded Concept of Experience In Chap. 2 we explored how designers have developed a wide array of increasingly sophisticated tools and techniques allowing them to tackle experience as a context in which products and services can be problematized, designed, developed and

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tested. It was noted that user-experience design has emerged as one of the dominant design domains of today. Equally, we saw how there is a growing interest in the idea of experience-centered design in HCI and beyond (e.g., Wright and McCarthy 2010; McCarthy and Wright 2004; Krippendorff 2006). Set against this, at the close of Chap. 2, I claimed that, when properly examined, Dewey’s account of experience explodes experience. He presents it as being bound to the world, to the social, the temporal, the cultural, the historical, and more generally, to the human situation in relation to nature. In attempting to appropriate such an account, I noted that, if we are to accept this view, experience cannot simply be understood as what happens for someone, or between some people but rather must be approached in terms of the broader context; experience would need to be considered in more expansive terms than at present.3 At the end of Chap. 2, I proposed that we might here conceive of ‘fields of experience’—the social-temporal-cultural-historical doings and undergoings of individuals and groups in given situations and sets of situations. The metaphor of a moving temporal horizon was introduced. Along the horizon line, we had present actions and interactions; behind it, there was our cultural and history and our past and the historical past; and beyond it, the future. I suggested that if this were to be applied in design, we might conceptually ‘frame’ the field in any number of ways depending on the needs of the inquiry. For example, we might focus on certain individuals and moments in time, personal occurrences as it were, but we might also consider focusing on groups, grouped individuals, or individuals in reference to their social relationships. At the end of Chap. 2, I also presented a case study, which further demonstrated how this might be explored in design (see A Practical Case 2). However, a question remains: what methods and approaches would work if one were to attempt to ‘frame’ or ‘capture’ a field or a series of ‘fields of experience’? Any answer, of course, requires pause and thought. Following Dewey, we might say that it requires inquiry. If one were to experiment methodologically, I believe that visual mapping is likely the most appropriate medium for both framing/capturing and re-presenting what might be termed the ‘experiential field’. This may seem a prosaic proposal. After all, visual mappings abound in user-­ experience design. However, it also possible to argue that their full potential for design and design research involving practice, as yet, remains untapped. There are still possibilities to explore.

3  It is important to note, in making this latter proposal, I am not seeking to reject or discount the value of prior work. As the contemporary strength and popularity of the experience theme attests, this is clearly an area that yields real value for the field of design. Its specific tools and techniques will always have their uses. For example, Bill Gaver and others’ method of cultural probes, developed at the Royal College of Art, allow us to gain a sense of what life is like for particular groups whose world is shaped by very specific and otherwise inaccessible circumstances (see e.g., Gaver, Dunne and Pacenti 1999). Equally, the humble post–it note wall allows us to survey multiplicities of themes as they emerge in analysis. However, useful as they are, such tools and techniques do not, on their own, allow us to tackle the ‘exploded’ account of experience that Dewey sets out.

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In Focus Box 7.1, Two Examples of Mapping In the research domain, it is possible to identify compelling examples of recent work which, if not Deweyan in orientation, begin to offer us a sense of how experience can be apprehended in situational terms extending beyond the episodic. Michael Johnson’s PhD, “Mapping Design Things” (2016), explored how Bruno Latour’s actor network theory could underpin mapping forms to support a situational analysis of how individuals and organizations interact in a given context. In one case, he looked at the working practices of a mill based in the Scottish Borders, using the map to trace relationships between employees and various internal and external entities across time. Participants are encouraged to add and subtract links, to inquire together as they give form to the intangible structure affecting their activities. Though the historical and cultural were not explicitly addressed, the social and the temporal certainly were (Fig. 7.1). Another example can be found in Visser and colleagues’ work on ‘contextmapping’ which seeks to understand people’s actual and desired interactions with products (Visser et al. 2005). The method is based on a temporally distributed, six-step process that begins with simple exercises involving ‘generative’ tools, moves through to a session involving mindmapping exercises and ends with analysis, feedback and the design of new concepts. Particular emphasis is placed on the central mindmapping session where, after having been primed by earlier activities, participants are asked to visually re-present their experiences within a given context—for example, their routine activity in their kitchens—and then to envisage a future-­ focused scenario. Visser and colleagues define context broadly as “‘all factors that influence the experience of a product use’”. Next to this, experience is understood as a ‘subjective event, felt only by the person who has the experience’. On the face of it, the latter understanding would appear to distance this work from Dewey’s and to a certain

Fig. 7.1  Johnson’s mapping technique in action. (Image courtesy Michael Johnson)

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extent it does. However, through the coming together of a broad-based understanding of context with ‘subjective’ experience, the contextmapping method can be seen to have developed a means of gaining as comprehensive a view as possible over participants practices and situations in a given area. The examples of mindmapping presented are vibrant and suggestive of complex, multi-layered activity. Most importantly, what matters is not the individual outcomes as such but more what the outcomes, on aggregate, might mean. The various layers of meanings are not explicitly separated, but notionally, at least, there is the potential that, through analysis, we might pull out social-temporal-cultural-historical doings and undergoings as and when these are relevant. Taken together, both Johnson and Visser and colleagues’ work demonstrates that mapping can facilitate the meaningfully grounding of experience in way that can be linked to Dewey’s holistic understanding. Across the various representations discussed, we can see doings and undergoings, as well as (in some cases) histories coming together. Meaning emerges through the connections and links that are drawn across their surfaces. It would appear that, through their instantiation of a situational perspective, new understandings and new possibilities can be meaningful explored and identified. Importantly, experience is not being approached in episodic terms and, through their distinct commitments to enfold multiple viewpoints, we can begin to see how the social might be brought out. However, a note of caution is necessary. As was highlighted above, there examples are not Deweyan in origin. In other words, though they may be drawn into alignment with his perspective, they are not of his perspective. As such, any focused attempt to contextualize this work as Deweyan would be ill-advised. Here, it is likely that, in the long-run, a ground-up strategy to ‘Deweyan’ mapping, would be both more appropriate and desirable. Equally, it can also be said that while these approaches appear to have added value in their respective project contexts—i.e., working with organizations and consumers to explore things in relation to practices and behaviors—further work would undoubtedly be required to reveal any wider potential for the field. Accordingly, taking both of the above considerations on board, we can say that the potential of these approaches to realize an application of Dewey’s account of experience in design might be somewhat limited. Nonetheless, if such examples can support researchers and practitioners to gain a broader perspective on experience then they will add value. Indeed, practitioners and researchers are continually refining and building on existing approaches. This is vital. As the complexity of the design space grows, and processes and events become ever more relevant there is a need to find new ways of collecting, storing and re-presenting data. This is particularly so in the area of service design, which seeks to focus on the abstract relationship between a system and its users. For example, it is possible to argue that, to a greater or lesser extent, the service design process is punctuated by the generation of particular map types at particular

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moments in time4 (see e.g., Stickdorn et  al. 2011). Indeed, with service design’s abstract focus, it is difficult to imagine how a service designer might conduct their project-based research or move to propose an outcome without producing some form of visual map; whether a customer journey map, an experience map or a service blueprint. Each becomes a threshold to be crossed in order that the next phase can commence. On some level, such examples begin to demonstrate an approach to lived experience that gives form to the situational perspective Dewey espoused. They symbolically link human and infrastructural/organizational realities. They attempt to present an overview of the possible relationship between individual action and background functions. In some cases, efforts are even being made to track emotional responses over time. However, despite their ongoing refinement and development, I would argue that such approaches, whether linked to service design or some other area of practice, remain limited, allowing only for a narrow insight into the complexity of processes and interactions. There is also the very real danger that maps-as-tools can become staid and formulaic—things that need to be produced so that other things can be produced, and not exploratory, reflective tools. Methodologically, conceptually, more can be done. At the end of Chap. 2, I suggested that it might be possible to position Dewey’s metaphysical concept of events-in-nature as a further means for dealing with his account of experience in relation to design. On this framing, the world would be seen as a series of beginnings, events with their own distinct qualities and set of possibilities. We might choose any nature of event as a focus here. It could be small and seemingly inconsequential like Wakkary’s cups and bowls broadcasting (see a Practical Case 2.0). It could be large, like an ecological disaster or a nationwide protest or a global financial crisis. By introducing Deweyan experience, these events become things to be ‘recognized, pointed to, described and shared’; things that design can tackle. Next to these, we have the original ‘fields of experience’ horizon metaphor with its foreground of actions and interactions and their potential futures, as well as its background of culture, history and our past actions (discussed in Chap. 2). It might be that this provides us with an initial set of parameters for structuring a mapping of an event-based ‘field experience’ in relation to user experience or questions of sustainability or, if desired, something else entirely. However, quite what form this would take is an open question. An obvious past, present, future divide makes sense. We might emphasize the present horizon, or the past or the future depending on our preference. We might choose to honor the event as something to be examined in detail and the ‘field of experience’ appending as a mere aside, something to be drawn out through further inquiry. Ultimately any form would have to arise in relation to function, and as I see it, there would be two essential functions here. The first would be to allow

 For a deeper discussion of the role of the artifact in design practice see Kimbell (2009).

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designer-­researchers to survey and understand—to gain an insight into the experiential complex as it is structured in relation to the study; that is how events links to the particular cultural-historical doings and undergoings of individuals and groups in given situations and sets of situations over time. What connects to what? What is supporting these connections. What is happening where? What is supporting this happening? In order to gain real insight and to avoid the staid and formulaic, all of this would by necessity be iterative. Importantly, it would also have to be acknowledged no absolute overview could ever be achieved, as the originators of the map— designer-­ researchers—are experiencing individuals themselves, not all-seeing, objective knowers. The second function and perhaps the more significant would be to allow for the identification of opportunities within the overview that is achieved. That is, places and times where things might be linked to other things. Places and times where something might happen which currently isn’t. The latter could be supported by democratic, imaginative deliberation, by introducing questions of value and allowing for valuation. It could be ethical to its core, allowing for reorientation on the basis of reflection and desirability. The point would be to experiment, to try it out and see where it takes us. Again, this is a call to inquire. It is my belief that Dewey’s case for a broader, more expansive understanding of experience presents a compelling opportunity for design and design research involving practice—a way of seeing things differently, which may yet yield value. For this reason alone, it is worth exploring further and, if nothing else, it points to the possibility for further research. However, this is a topic we will have to leave aside here. Having now reached the chapter’s close, I would like to conclude by offering a final reflection on Dewey as a philosopher for design research involving practice.

 ewey and Design: A Philosopher for Design Research D Involving Practice In the end, this book offers two key contributions. There is the proposal that a Deweyan perspective on inquiry as a transformational and generative of values ‘fits’ with the existing commitments of design research involving practice. As noted at the end of Chap. 6, through it, we are offered a designerly understanding of knowing and reality. As a whole, it was said to ground a design-based understanding of knowledge production. Then, we also have the grouped implications of the last section. As we have seen, these can be drawn into a framework of considerations and questions which may support designer-researchers in framing and refining their projects. The meaning or value of either of these contributions can only be known over time. Both require testing. As with the question of experience, designer-researchers must try them out, see if, on the one hand, a Deweyan perspective on inquiry does,

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in fact, ‘fit’, or, and, alongside this, if the framework supports the shaping of individual research projects. Until then, both can only be seen as hypotheses, constructs with potential but, as yet, unproven. In the present book, I have sought to demonstrate that Dewey can speak to design research involving practice from across the divide which separates the field of philosophy from the field of design. In this demonstration, I have endeavored to sit faithful portraits of two separate subjects next to one another—with Dewey on the one side and design research involving practice on the other. In doing so, I wanted to show the reality as well as the possibilities of their correspondence. As such, I highlighted the ways in which Dewey’s work reflects and gives form to what already is articulated (and unarticulated) in design research involving practice and, at the same time, drew attention to points where he can offer some additional clarity, which perhaps, take us a little further than we have currently advanced. Above all, the point has been to underscore that, in Dewey, designer-researchers’ concerns— the challenges we will eventually face in design-based knowledge production—can be lessened and, to a large degree, addressed. This brings us to a final proposal, one that I have alluded to on a number of occasions throughout the above text. Surveying the whole in its entirety, it does not seem overly bold to suggest that Dewey offers a fully rounded intellectual perspective to take up and run with—a philosophy for design research involving practice. In making this case, I am not proposing that Dewey’s work be taken up as the philosophy of design research. Properly conceived, a philosophy of design would represent a native mode of argumentation, an approach to logic which is design’s alone (or, at least, primarily held within design). It may be that such a philosophy exists in tactic form, waiting to drawn out; it may be that Donald Schön has already articulated it in raw form through his epistemology of practice (see Chap. 3); and, of course, others have gone so far as to explore the theme directly (see e.g., Galle 2002; Vermaas and Vial 2018). In any case, it is not what is being aimed at here. A philosophy for design is about finding something from the outside that works and can be worked with. As I have tried to show, Dewey offers this. How so? • There is his broadness. As we have seen, we have seen he is comprehensive to the point of exhaustion—spanning a wide spectrum of human concerns ranging from science to art, drawing in ethics, education, politics and sociology. Almost, no area of life is left untouched. • There is his responsible, practically-minded intellectualism. He would insist that thought on its own has little or no value—it must lead to impact. As such, he offers an antidote to intellectualism for intellectualism’s sake. Following Dewey, we are not allowed to get wrapped up in theories. We also have to act. • There is his belief in the value of human creativity. Indeed, as we have seen, human creativity stands at the core of his vision, as does the necessity of change, the transformational quality of doing and making, and the enabling of growth.

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• Alongside this there is his belief in possibility, his conviction that social reconstruction is necessary and possible; a compelling attitude and one which is urgently required in our times of political instability and ecological crisis. • Then there is the sense he makes. In the end, it is the familiarity of Dewey’s essential arguments, the everyday perspective that he insists upon, that most recommends his work to the field of design. To accept what Dewey says does not require any sharp deviation from what we know to be the case, first hand, in daily life. His is a philosophy of life that includes a theory of knowledge, not a theory knowledge that gives a nod to life. Its beauty is that we do not have to search to find ourselves in it. We are there, regardless of whether we are cast as ‘living organisms’, ‘humans’, or ‘citizens’, regardless of whether we see ourselves as creatives, designers, researchers or designer-researchers. Ultimately, this is because Dewey is adamant that man is in nature, not apart from it and must be seen as such. For him, we have become who we are—maker-knowers—because we have learned how to respond to the unending change of the world by making-­ knowing. In making-knowing, we are essentially re-making, transforming what we encounter with each and every encounter. • Finally, there is his appreciation of the need to bring things together. Dewey may have championed science regularly within his writing, but as we have seen in the last chapter, as well as at other points in the text, he was also very keen to see the apparent divide between science and art be broken down. He hoped for a continuity of knowing and appreciating, of knowledge and aesthetic experience. As has been suggested above, I believe that design research involving practice can act as this bridge. With its ability to bring ‘things’ together (Ehn 2008; Bjögvinsson et  al. 2012) and to ‘make sense’ of things (Krippendorff 2006), along with its potential to actualize ‘neoteric’, or new, disciplines (Buchanan 2001) it can open up the new ways of seeing, bringing about new realities that positively reconfigure what is. Before closing, it is worth briefly taking a reverse view—i.e., looking from Dewey to design research—and considering how he might have reacted to the rise of design research involving practice. Of course, while we will never have the direct answer to such a question it would seem that, examining his philosophy and comparing it back to what designer-researchers do, he would likely have appreciated the general approach. It is even possible he might recognize some of himself in the methodological and epistemological bearings and would probably have immense sympathy for the field’s claims regarding human potential. Most of all, I believe he would be highly impressed by the spirit of intelligent, empathetic doing; the willingness of designer-researchers to engage, to think, to hypothesize and to test, test and test again. I imagine however he would also have demanded more from the design research community—more discourse, more criticality, more rigor, more efforts at coordinating perspectives and methodologies. He would probably also demand a stronger movement aimed at evidencing impact and demonstrating the real value of project outcomes for those directly affected. Ultimately, he would see the need to secure the

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future of what has emerged and what is promised. He would want to make sure the work continues. In the end, it would seem fair that any young and emergent program of research be challenged in this way. The path to maturity requires as much. It has been my proposal that Dewey’s work provides the material by which such a path might be explored. However, for this to happen, he must be recognized as a potential philosopher for design, a voice to engage with and be engaged by, a guide that can take us forward a few more steps. The prize, as I have alluded to, is a general way of positioning design research involving practice as a valid approach to knowledge production—a way of representing the knowing which occurs in the remaking that is our making. His philosophy is there, he is waiting; ready to be put to work.

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