Category Archives: Design

Sense, common and uncommon

Design, Exnihilism, Judaism, Kabbalah, Metaphysics, Philosophy

Common sense is our “sixth sense”: the sense of an objective world of objects intuited by the concerted perceiving of our five senses.

Each of us has this kind of intuitive common sense. Each person’s intuitive common sense overlaps significantly with that of every other. We tend to notice and focus of the differences, but they stand out precisely because they are anomalous.

Most intuitive common sense is shared, and to the degree it is shared it is taken as universally recognized givens of reality.

These universal givens of reality provide a second meaning of common sense — social common sense.

Social common sense is founded on the necessary assumption that our intuitive common sense gives us the same world, a world common to each and all of us, a world of objects we all know commonsensically.

Social common sense is the basis of all community and communication. We assume we all share common sense of a common world, and it is on this basis that we can communicate with others in our community.

The necessary assumption of common sense is so necessary that it rarely occurs to us to question it. We simply believe it and act on it. Let us call necessary assumptions behind belief and action faith.

And when we do question common sense, even in our questioning, we continue to assume common sense. We address others in our community and communicate with them in the faith that they will understand what we claim to question. This is “performative contradiction” and is symptomatic of “bad faith”.

(But the degree of universality of alleged commonsense universals is a contestable matter. We can, do and should challenge, test and debate norms of social common sense.)

Common sense is our immediate home, however imperfect, unsteady, contestable and ramshackle, and we must never attempt to abandon it, or pretend that we have escaped it.

We can certainly expand this commonsense home, however. Every culture, large of small, does precisely this. Upon the most common ground of social common sense shared by all human beings, each culture grows and builds (to varying degrees of cultivation and construction) ramifying, diverging common senses.

And this is one of the most intense sites of contested common sense universality. The boundary between natural and second-natural is blurry, broad, squiggly and often faint.

And here we come to the supernatural. Every culture until very recently (and even this exception is questionable!) has treated a supernatural reality as part of common sense, though each approached, related to and spoke about supernatural reality differently.

What do we do with this? Does the supernatural belong to the universal common sense or to the extended common sense of particular cultures? Is the supernatural only an artifact of the second-natural — perhaps an inevitable artificiality?

(Eventually, I need to develop a two-fold definition of transcendence, paralleling the two conceptions of common sense. Transcendence can refer to what transcends what is immediately given to our own being. Nothing is more ordinary than this transcendence. Past, future, substances, distances, self-possibilities, the reality of other people — these all transcend the present and immediate. But most people, when referring to transcendence mean realities beyond the totality universal common sense gives us. Below is a messy sketch, which will need serious rewriting.)

I am inclined to understand transcendence as another kind of common sense implied by the very existence of intuitive and social common sense.

We do not normally receive sensations as mere sensations. We necessarily take sensations as perceptions of reality — a reality that transcends mere sensation. We immediately make sense — an intuitive synthesis — of our perceptions, in the form of transcendent being, perceived in common by our senses (in intuitive common sense) that is shared by others (in social common sense).

But also, intuitive common sense is not univocal or perfectly continuous.

The more attentively and sensitively we cultivate and expand our common sense, the more we detect disturbances that suggest that there is more to reality than we perceive and understand. And when we attempt to make sense of these disturbances, the more surprising they become.

We arrive at another order of transcendence, beyond the scope of ordinary intuitive common sense.

It is a common sense born from aporias, ruptures, epiphanies and rebirths.

Perhaps we could call it “uncommon sense”. Some of us, in order to communicate it to our community speak of it objectively, because that is the law of common tongue. Some of us ritualize it because ritual participation is closer to its truth. We indicate, evoke, invoke… all given indirectly, but taken directly — grasped objectively, evertedly. We do our insufficient best, and sometimes communion accidentally occurs despite the communication.

The irruption of uncommon sense is disturbing, sometimes distressing and sometimes even devastating, but if it completes and consummates itself, it is always worth the ordeal.

What seems to be disease and death and annihilation in nothingness is ultimately revealed to be labor pangs of new life. Indeed, it is through these ruptures that meaning enters the world, ex nihilo.

Indeed, anyone who suffers this kind of common sense death only to be reborn into a better uncommonsense common sense can no longer see nothingness the same way. Nothingness is eternally pregnant ayin. Nihilism is no longer possible. One is an exnihilist.

It is because of the disturbing, but vivid and vivifying supernature of uncommon sense, and the need to connect it with intuitive and social common sense, in order to circulate meaning throughout the world and bathe the world’s tissues with purpose that I am religious.

Not spiritual. Not merely mystical. Socially religious. Jewishly religious.

And design is how I put my religious life into practice.

Design! Jewish! Not religious!

Not to you. Not yet.

Fromness

Design, Design Instrumentalism, Philosophy, Religion

When we obsessively look at things which are supposed to be seen from, we make one of our deepest category mistakes. We confuse subject with object.

The best tools are subject-object hybrids. In use, tools fuse with our subjectivity and extend our being beyond the frame of the body. They become transparent to us, like our own eyes, ears, hearts and hands.

We see through glasses. We write through pens. We transport our bodies through bicycles. We strike things across distances with bows and arrows. We summon sentences and images through software and digital devices. We envelop ourselves in clothing and buildings.

We attend to the world, interact with things and absorb ourselves in our activities through these tools, and when we do, tools are subject extensions.

But we can also turn our attention to them and take them as objects. Existentially, they evert into objects.

I believe gadget blogs destroyed the golden age of design. Design was something stared at, written about, chattered about, compared side-by-side, obsessed over — objectified like a woman.

As a designer, I love a tool that self-effaces into imperceptibility when we approach the world with it, but when we turn toward the tool, it reveals itself to us as beautiful and right.

“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Tools belong to the subtle realm (Yetzirah) — part subject, part object, wholly both.

Philosophies are known-from.

Religions are lived-from.

They should be beautiful to experience.

But most importantly — experience should be beautiful from them.

They are not beliefs. They are faiths by which beliefs are believed.

When they become objects, they empty the entire world around them: everted sepulchers.

Public poesis

Design, Design Instrumentalism, Philosophy

Design is public poesis. It is social making that makes society.

Design struggles to maintain itself in a world that is 75% pure chickenshit and 75% pure bullshit.

Chickenshit is meaningless practice. Chickenshit is activity that claims importance, but not only never generates anything important, but actively obstructs purposeful action. Chickenshit encogs us, wears us down and forces us forward by sheer duty and fear.

Bullshit is impracticable meaning. Bullshit promises more than everything, but delivers less than nothing. By less than nothing I mean the disappointment, disillusionment and nihilistic cynicism that overdraws our hope when infinity is expected and zero happens.

Design is about practical meaning and meaningful practice.

I want to write a short plain book about design for designers, which will help us remember who we are when we are drowning in bullshit, being crushed and pecked apart by chickenshit. This book should help us resist it, withstand it and push back against it. And of course, negatively put, it should prevent us from going along with it, or — God forbid! — adopting any of it in our own work!

Against pure transaction

Design, Ethics, Philosophy

From Lewis Hyde’s The Gift.

It is the assumption of this book that a work of art is a gift, not a commodity. Or, to state the modern case with more precision, that works of art exist simultaneously in two “economies,” a market economy and a gift economy. Only one of these is essential, however: a work of art can survive without the market, but where there is no gift there is no art.

There are several distinct senses of “gift” that lie behind these ideas, but common to each of them is the notion that a gift is a thing we do not get by our own efforts. We cannot buy it; we cannot acquire it through an act of will. It is bestowed upon us.

Thus we rightly speak of “talent” as a “gift,” for although a talent can be perfected through an effort of the will, no effort in the world can cause its initial appearance. Mozart, composing on the harpsichord at the age of four, had a gift.

We also rightly speak of intuition or inspiration as a gift. As the artist works, some portion of his creation is bestowed upon him.

An idea pops into his head, a tune begins to play, a phrase comes to mind, a color falls in place on the canvas. Usually, in fact, the artist does not find himself engaged or exhilarated by the work, nor does it seem authentic, until this gratuitous element has appeared, so that along with any true creation comes the uncanny sense that “I,” the artist, did not make the work. “Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me,” says D. H. Lawrence. Not all artists emphasize the “gift” phase of their creations to the degree that Lawrence does, but all artists feel it.

These two senses of gift refer only to the creation of the work — what we might call the inner life of art; but it is my assumption that we should extend this way of speaking to its outer life as well, to the work after it has left its maker’s hands. That art that matters to us — which moves the heart, or revives the soul, or delights the senses, or offers courage for living, however we choose to describe the experience — that work is received by us as a gift is received.

Even if we have paid a fee at the door of the museum or concert hall, when we are touched by a work of art something comes to us which has nothing to do with the price. I went to see a landscape painter’s works, and that evening, walking among pine trees near my home, I could see the shapes and colors I had not seen the day before. The spirit of an artist’s gifts can wake our own. The work appeals, as Joseph Conrad says, to a part of our being which is itself a gift and not an acquisition. Our sense of harmony can hear the harmonies that Mozart heard. We may not have the power to profess our gifts as the artist does, and yet we come to recognize, and in a sense to receive, the endowments of our being through the agency of his creation. We feel fortunate, even redeemed. The daily commerce of our lives-sugar for sugar and salt for salt,” as the blues singers say—proceeds at its own constant level, but a gift revives the soul. When we are moved by art we are grateful that the artist lived, grateful that he labored in the service of his gifts.

If a work of art is the emanation of its maker’s gift and if it is received by its audience as a gift, then is it, too, a gift? I have framed the question to imply an affirmative answer, but I doubt we can be so categorical. Any object, any item of commerce, becomes one kind of property or another depending on how we use it. Even if a work of art contains the spirit of the artist’s gift, it does not follow that the work itself is a gift. It is what we make of it.

And yet, that said, it must be added that the way we treat a thing can sometimes change its nature. For example, religions often prohibit the sale of sacred objects, the implication being that their sanctity is lost if they are bought and sold. A work of art seems to be a hardier breed; it can be sold in the market and still emerge a work of art. But if it is true that in the essential commerce of art a gift is carried by the work from the artist to his audience, if I am right to say that where there is no gift there is no art, then it may be possible to destroy a work of art by converting it into a pure commodity. Such, at any rate, is my position. I do not maintain that art cannot be bought and sold; I do maintain that the gift portion of the work places a constraint upon our merchandising.

Another bit:

The classic work on gift exchange is Marcel Mauss’s “Essai sur le don,” published in France in 1924. The nephew of Emile Durkheim, a Sanskrit scholar, a gifted linguist, and a historian of religions, Mauss belongs to that group of early sociologists whose work is firmly rooted in philosophy and history. His essay begins with the field reports of turn-of-the-century ethnographers (Franz Boas, Bronislaw Malinowski, and Elsdon Best, in particular), but goes on to cover the Roman laws of real estate, a Hindu epic, Germanic dowry customs, and much more. The essay has proved to hold several enduring insights. Mauss noticed, for one thing, that gift economies tend to be marked by three related obligations: the obligation to give, the obligation to accept, and the obligation to reciprocate. He also pointed out that we should understand gift exchange to be a “total social phenomenon” — one whose transactions are at once economic, juridical, moral, aesthetic, religious, and mythological, and whose meaning cannot, therefore, be adequately described from the point of view of any single discipline.

I think I disagree a little with Hyde (at least so far), on one point. I I think ordinary market economies include a significant component of gift exchange, and to the degree they exclude gift exchange they stop functioning.

Confusing market economies with zero-sum transactionism is a mistake.

In service design, we speak of value exchanges broadly, to include not only material and functional value, but also emotional and social value. Some of this value is explicit and calculated, but much of it is not. The part that is not calculated, but instead intuited and felt is an indeterminate surplus of an exchange, and that flows into the relationships that bind people together in a market, and gives commerce soul. This is the stuff of gratitude, loyalty and brand.

The minute the value of the intuited surplus is quantified, extracted, inventoried and calculated into pricing, it no longer flows into the relationship, and the relationship begins to starve. Quantified brand equity is theft of the brand relationship by one of the organization who tries to steal, exploit and betray what is not theirs. It is not only bad taste, it is bad faith.

The drive to calculate all value in order to maximize profit squeezes relationship out of the picture, destroys brand and generally de-souls markets.

Of course, we can — if we want to — have a purely transactional market ethos governed by an ethic of impersonality.

But we cannot have this impersonality without paying a price — a very high price.

And we might eventually discover that it is a price we cannot afford to pay.

Wimbledon hooligans

Autobiography, Design, Fables, myths & parables

A horde of rioting football hooligans burst the gates of Wimbledon and flooded onto the courts, mid-match.

The officials instructed the players to play on.

“Yes, the game is more challenging with drunken louts milling about the courts, vomiting on the grass, shredding guitar solos on snatched tennis rackets and hanging the players from the rafters by their tighty tennis whities. Quite challenging, indeed.

“But,” the officials reasoned, “many of these people have never experienced the great sport of tennis. If they see the game up close, played by the best players, perhaps they will be won over to tennis. Maybe they will become the most passionate tennis fans.”

So the tennis players did their best to play around the active and occasionally brutal interference of the hooligans, and tried to win the conditions required to play tennis by playing even better tennis, by the rules of tennis.

Ethics are the principles that sustain an ethos.

Loyal members of an ethos appeal to and honor these principles.

Ethics are not binding beyond the ethos, even for the most principled member. In fact, to meet an existential threat to an ethos with ethics is unethical.

We must never confuse the ethical with the moral.

Ethics are binding within their particular ethos. Morality is universally binding.

Mutuality is for the mutual.

The Medium

Autobiography, Design, Philosophy

I have connected design and gifts for a good while.

When I understand the core service design concept of value exchange in the clear light of gift exchange, so that it includes, but also transcends, transaction, and enters the domain of freely given gifts, service design gains importance and universality.

Let us define transaction as any exchange of goods that is purely functional and impersonal. Neither party has any reason to feel any bond of solidarity. All parties performs their respective functions precisely as specified, without deficit or surplus. A transaction leaves a sum of zero in the accounts ledger.

Exchange of gifts is qualitatively different. First, it is bad taste (for it indicates bad faith), to quantify or even sharply calculate the value of any gift exchange.

This is because, (second), gifts always, necessarily and essentially carry an indeterminate, intentionally obscure, surplus.

And that indeterminate surplus goes directly into a mysterious qualitative fund belonging to the relationship itself. The surplus fund of the relationship is felt in various ways by the members of the relationship. It might be felt as gratitude, love, respect, trust, wonder or awe. But it will be felt as some sort of voluntary solidarity.

A relationship is not only, or even primarily, a formal arrangement or social status.

If it is a real relationship, it has a being of its own that transcends the being of any of its members. It is that transcendent third being who “owns” the surplus of any gift exchange.

A person in a relationship who aspires to perfect fairness is a person seeking transaction rather than gift, and that person will be incapable of forming real transcendent relationships with others. They will suffocate inside their own isolated tit-for-tat ingratitude and stinginess.

This does not mean that gift-governed relationships should be unfair or unbalanced. What it means is that the standard for its balance is not calculation.

The standard is an intuition of whether the relationship feels “worth it” to all involved. And that “worth it” is signaled by a feeling of solidarity, connection, goodwill, loyalty, identity and most generally, love, which is what value is.

I had a wonderful talk yesterday morning with one of my oldest, dearest friends. She is working on her brand, and has been preparing a brief for a talented designer who is working on her visual brand identity. She had this brief in mind, as we spoke about how she serves her teams and helps them serve organizations.

We agreed that the kind of brands people care about and feel connected to are collective persons with independent being that transcends particular members. Living brands are egregores.

Egregore is another name for a collective person. They are collective beings in whom we participate, from whom the world is received as given in some particular way.

An engregore enworlds some patch of reality in some specific way, and carries with it explicitly stated beliefs about being, truth, action, morality and maybe even transcendence. Each has its (Nietzsche once asked if gods philosophize, and the answer is, of course, yes — but to varying degrees. Most gods are like people, spending most of their time spontaneously perceiving and acting, and only stopping to reflect and articulate when some bit of their enworldment breaks.

An organization that can only work by stacking up words and calculations and other constructed systems, who rejects the philosopher’s stone of transcendent being, who tracks its transactions in a pristinely balanced ledger, and organization that sells precisely as high as it possibly can a buys precisely as low as it possibly can in order to shunt all surplus into the pockets of anonymous shareholders — that organization might (or might not) have some kind of collective being — but if it does have personhood it will not have be one anyone can want. Whether soulless or mis-souled, the organization don a phony persona and try to run charisma moves on whoever gets involved in it. It will be corporate.

Egregores organize themselves by assembling persons who serve the organization as organs. The life of the organization is a distributed throughout its organs and their relationship, actualized in value exchanges and the givens they receive in common as an organizational common sense. An egregore in its transcendent being can be understood as a materialized faith that receives givens (qualitative and quantitative data), responds in particular ways and instaurates and evolves ethomethods for regulating its internal organ system.

All that.

Engregores form around my friend.

She draws together designers (“creatives”) of various kinds — each with a unique ideal value exchange — and brings them to collective life, exchanging their best gifts with one another, in order to gift clients with their best work. She is weirdly good at this.

Whenever she leaves an organization, people cry. They cry hard. They are grateful to her for giving them the rare opportunity to meet their deepest need in the practical world: the conditions needed to give their best gift.

But clients don’t see this value. The value is concealed as the indispensable subjective container of the objective value it contains and pours forth. The client sees only the objective outputs: the deliverables. Tangible things is all they are willing to pay for.

I told her this reminds me of Marshall McLuhan’s cryptic aphorism: “The medium is the message.” Medium, as opposed to what? As opposed to the content conveyed by the medium. According to McLuhan engaging a medium changes the enworldment of a consumer far more than whatever the medium conveys in the foreground. You can watch hours of Howdie Doodie or Masterpiece Theater, and either will transform you into a TV viewer. In the early 20th Century the new medium of radio created a new kind of mass man, which could be molded into egregores of unprecedented size and aggression. Folks who doomscroll all day become doomscribes.

My own experience with a medium being the message was my encounter with Nietzsche. In order to make sense of the content of Nietzsche’s thought, I had to learn new ways of thinking it, and that way of thinking applied far beyond the scope of his books. It didn’t matter what facts he asserted. The message was the medium of thinking in a Nietzschean way, and that message changes literally everything. Pragmatically, what follows from my utterance of “everything” is different from what follows from yours. Everyone knows everything, but everythings vary in size.

This is when I brought up the branding classic, The Hero and the Outlaw. This book is about using Jungian archetypes and Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey to find potent brand archetypes upon which, allegedly, living brands can be modeled.

The Medium is the message. A medium who channels talent and converges it in order to summon the perfect team for a design problem. Medium!

I suggested she look for something approximate to “The Medium” — the summoner of collective being.

I also suggested that the brand itself is not an archetype. The archetype is one organ in a brand’s organ system, not a representation of the whole brand. Brands are not spectatorial, they are participatory. And the brand invites a customer (or employee or partner) into the living brand as a fellow character in the drama.

Often the brand archetype is not even the hero of the story. Sometimes the customer plays the hero.

I used to be obsessed with branding.

Me being leftist

Autobiography, Design, Ethics, Politics

A job offer should include not only salary and benefits but a service-level agreement (SLA) guaranteeing conditions conducive to effective, rewarding work.

This is especially important for “labor of love” professions, which are typically lower paying.

For such professions, the instrinsic reward of the work is more than half of the value exchange that makes the work feel worth it..

These professions often attract “empathy workers”.

Empathy workers are typically terrible at negotiating decent salaries. A person seeking a good faith win-win will fare poorly facing off against a bad faith opponent seeking a win-lose.

But tragically, empathy workers are also terrible at resisting unreasonable demands and pressures that cheat them out of the non-money half of their value exchange. They are, by nature, agreeable, flexible and accommodating. and this makes them the perpetual path of least resistance for workaday psychos looking to stampede and climb over and crush whatever is between them and the top of whatever hill they trying to be king of.

So empathy workers end up with lower salaries and depressingly impossible work conditions that burn them out and make them even less able to push back on the assholes who mercilessly squeeze, exploit and immiserate them.

Tricky life

Autobiography, Chord, Design, Philosophy

The Trickster persona maintains an ironic dual focus.

The second focus is the workaday foreground we all share with our peers and collaborators.

The first focus — the one that really matters to to the Trickster — is the uncanny background of all activity, the formless formational forces who move, shape and illuminate and obscure the unfolding of events for each person involved.

The Trickster moves in a world inhabited by mono-focused beings, who, lacking that second vision, lack parallax and, therefore, depth-vision. The one-eyed live in a flat world where everyone, even Tricksters, are flat.

Tricksters are tricky because they constantly try to remind the one-eyed that there is much more to life than matter-of-fact flatness. The Trickster winks, to remind people that they still have that first eye that they closed, perhaps to protect its first-eye innocence, one sad day at the dawn of youth.

When the Trickster winks, it is the second eye that closes. The first eye remains open, bathing the beheld in magical sight. If the beheld has any vestigial intuition vital enough to penetrate the workaday flatness, this hermetic winksight is experienced as the opposite of an evil-eye. Most of the time, though, it is experienced as inefficient creepiness.

And now, as always, I am recalling a Nietzsche quote — which always ripples out into a blessed recollection and re-membering of Nietzsche himself:

‘Let us be forbearing towards the great one-eyed!’ — said John Stuart Mill: as though it were necessary to beg for forbearance where one is accustomed to render them belief and almost worship! I say: let us be forbearing towards the two-eyed, great and small — for, such as we are, we shall never attain to anything higher than forbearance!

‘Let us be forbearing towards the great one-eyed!’ appears to refer to an essay by Mill on Bentham:

The truths which are not Bentham’s, which his philosophy takes no account of, are many and important; but his non-recognition of them does not put them out of existence; they are still with us, and it is a comparatively easy task that is reserved for us, to harmonize those truths with his. To reject his half of the truth because he overlooked the other half, would be to fall into his error without having his excuse. For our own part, we have a large tolerance for one-eyed men, provided their one eye is a penetrating one: if they saw more, they probably would not see so keenly, nor so eagerly pursue one course of inquiry. Almost all rich veins of original and striking speculation have been opened by systematic half-thinkers: though whether these new thoughts drive out others as good, or are peacefully superadded to them, depends on whether these half-thinkers are or are not followed in the same track by complete thinkers.

Nietzsche had much more to say about one-eyed being. Here is where my wiki bears fruit. From Human All Too Human:

The cyclops of culture. — When we behold those deeply-furrowed hollows in which glaciers have lain, we think it hardly possible that a time will come when a wooded, grassy valley, watered by streams, will spread itself out upon the same spot. So it is, too, in the history of mankind: the most savage forces beat a path, and are mainly destructive; but their work was nonetheless necessary, in order that later a gentler civilization might raise its house. The frightful energies — those which are called evil — are the cyclopean architects and road-makers of humanity.

Another quote is from from Assorted Opinions and Maxims. Please note the “true-but-not-true-enough” winking acknowledgement of the one-eyed by the two-eyed, which was performed by Mill toward Bentham:

Cult of culture. — To great spirits there has been joined the repellent all-too-human aspects of their nature, their blindnesses, deformities, extravagances, so that their mighty influence, that can easily grow all too mighty, shall be kept within bounds by the mistrust these qualities inspire. For the system of all that which humanity has need of for its continued existence is so comprehensive, and lays claim to so many and such varying forces, that humanity as a whole would have to pay heavily for any one-sided preference, whether it be science or the state or art or trade, to which these individuals would entice it. It has always been the greatest fatality for culture when men have been worshipped: in which sense one may even feel in accord with the Mosaic Law which forbids us to have other gods beside God. — Next to the cult of the genius and his force there must always be placed, as its complement and palliative, the cult of culture: which knows how to accord to the material, humble, base, misunderstood, weak, imperfect, one-sided, incomplete, untrue, merely apparent, indeed to the evil and dreadful, a proper degree of understanding and the admission that all this is necessary; for the harmonious endurance of all that is human, attained through astonishing labours and lucky accidents and as much the work of ants and cyclops as of genius, must not be lost to us again: how, then, could we dispense with the common, deep and often uncanny groundbass without which melody cannot be melody?

Here is an apparent Jew-eyed wink at Jesus. Blessed-but-not-blessed-enough?

A Christian friend of mine one quipped “Jesus converted you to Judaism.”

Yes, true. But whose Jesus?

In my early days as a Nietzschean-on-fire, I thought Nietzsche was a crypto-Christian. But that was only because Judaism was still too far out of reach for me. I lacked landmarks for situating my new self in this new landscape. “Christian” was the closest available match, but it was not close enough. <— wink wink wink. Judaism has depths that supercessionists desperately need to truncate with aggressive incuriosity. And pogroms, if necessary.

Misapotheotics, especially, experience Jewish winksight as burning. This is the true origin of hatred of Am Yisrael, whether it the animosity is religious, racial, social or political — or some new expression, like the newly fashionable antizionism, adopted en masse by every independent-minded, politically-active, self-aware, NYT-believing nyet. Another Nietzche zinger: “What? You search? You would multiply yourself by ten, by a hundred? You seek followers? — Seek zeros! –” Tell a million zeros they are independent thinkers, and they will all believe it in unison.

Another passage is from The Wanderer and his Shadow: and seems to affirm Mills’s forbearance of the one-eyed.

The democratization of Europe is irresistible: for whoever tries to halt it has to employ in that endeavour precisely the means which the democratic idea first placed in everyone’s hands and makes these means themselves more wieldy and effective: and those who oppose democracy most on principle (I mean the spirits of revolution) appear to exist merely to impel the various parties ever faster forwards along the democratic path through the fear they inspire. Yet one can in fact feel anxious for those who are working consciously and honestly for this future: there is something desolate and monotonous in their faces, and grey dust seems to have got even into their brain. Nonetheless, it is possible that posterity will one day laugh at this anxiety of ours and regard the democratic work of a succession of generations somewhat as we regard the building of stone dams and protective walls — as an activity that necessarily gets a lot of dust on clothes and faces and no doubt also unavoidably makes the workers a little purblind and stupid; but who would wish such a work undone on that account! The democratization of Europe is, it seems, a link in the chain of those tremendous prophylactic measures which are the conception of modern times and through which we separate ourselves from the Middle Ages. Only now is it the age of cyclopean building! We finally secure the foundations, so that the whole future can safely build upon them! We make it henceforth impossible for the fruitful fields of culture again to be destroyed overnight by wild and senseless torrents! We erect stone dams and protective walls against barbarians, against pestilences, against physical and spiritual enslavement! And all this coarsely and literally at first, but gradually in a higher and more spiritual sense, so that all the measures here indicated seem to be an inspired collective preparation for the supreme artist of horticulture, who will be able to apply himself to his real task only when these preparations have been fully carried out! — To be sure, given the great length of time which lies between means and end, and given the very great effort of mind and body, an effort spanning the centuries, needed even to create or procure each one of these means, we must not hold it too much against those who are working on the present-day if they loudly decree that the wall and the trellis are the end and final goal; since no one, indeed, can yet see the gardener or the fruit-trees for whose sake the trellis exists.

There is no contradiction between these two attitudes toward one-eyedness. It is a paradox of ironic two-eyedness. In fact, all paradox is the speaking of two views in one utterance — either a lower and higher perspective, like this one, or two lower ones dialectically subsumed in an implied higher perspective that sees them together, unified yet still differentiated.

Soelling it all out: Forbearance between one-eyed and two-eyed is not a mutual arrangement.

It goes one way. It is an unrequited and unrequiteable gift.

Let us not forget: “free gifts” injure.

And this is true even when a gift is stolen.

Supercessionism is mispotheotic ingratitude. It is not enough to steal the gift. The giver is a living insult for ever having what was stolen.

I have got to do something about this rage.

On to the next one-eyed passage. We are going in chronological order, by the way. This one if from the Gay Science:

Anyone who now wishes to make a study of moral matters opens up for himself an immense field of work. All kinds of passions have to be thought through separately, pursued separately through ages, peoples, great and small individuals; their entire reason and all their evaluations and modes of illuminating things must be revealed! So far, all that has given colour to existence still lacks a history: where could you find a history of love, of avarice, of envy, of conscience, of piety, of cruelty? Even a comparative history of law or even of punishment is so far lacking entirely. Has anyone done research on the different ways of dividing up the day or of the consequences of a regular schedule of work, festivals, and the rest? Do we know the moral effects of foods? Is there a philosophy of nutrition? (The incessantly erupting clamour for and against vegetarianism proves that there is still no such philosophy!) Has anyone collected people’s experiences of living together — in monasteries, for example? Has anyone depicted the dialectic of marriage and friendship? The customs of scholars, businessmen, artists, artisans — have they found their thinkers? There is so much in them to think about! Everything that humans have viewed until now as the ‘conditions of their existence’ and all the reason, passion, and superstition that such a view involves — has this been researched exhaustively? To observe how differently the human drives have grown and still could grow depending on the moral climate — that alone involves too much work for even the most industrious; it would require whole generations, and generations of scholars who would collaborate systematically, to exhaust the points of view and the material. The same applies to the demonstration of the reasons for the variety of moral climates (‘why does the sun of one fundamental moral judgement and primary value-standard shine here — and another one there?’). Yet another new project would be to determine the erroneousness of all these reasons and the whole essence of moral judgements to date. If all these jobs were done, the most delicate question of all would emerge in the foreground: whether science is able to furnish goals of action after having proved that it can take such goals away and annihilate them; and then an experimenting would be in order, in which every kind of heroism could find satisfaction — an experimenting that might last for centuries and eclipse all the great projects and sacrifices of history to date. So far, science has not yet built its cyclops-buildings; but the time for that will come, too.

Now we see a call for a bifocally directed cyclopeanism.

This reads to me, not like a description of the future, but of the recent past. It reads like a description of Cold War academia, before the West lost its best frenemy and collapsed into lassitude, which then deteriorated into the casually suicidal nihilsm of our denatured, dispirited, anomic proclass.

The last quotation is from Beyond Good and Evil:

Pity in a man of knowledge seems almost ludicrous, like sensitive hands on a Cyclops.

I will conclude this quotation chord with an aphorism of my own,

Conflict divides the world into four halves.

Or two halves, if you are a cyclops.

Often in qualitative design research we will talk about how we thicken the What with insights into the Why.

The classic example we give is the difference between a blink and a wink. The former is a physical thin description. The latter adds thickness of the meaning behind the eye movement. Thickness is an attempt to say depth without all the spiritual and psychological pretensions.

The cyclops just wants the certainty of blink counts. And this counting necessary. But is not sufficient.

With this work I’m being forced to do, which occupies all my time and daytime headspace, it takes an entire morning to remember who I am.

Re + member. <— wink wink wink wink wink

Mission mistatement

Design, Design Instrumentalism, Enworldment, Philosophy, Polycentrism, Pragmatism

I am still coping in my usual way, by bludgeoning my angst with my philosopher’s stone.

If the below reads like diary logorrhea, that is because it is. I don’t know why I can’t just keep a private diary like a normal person. My diary is powered by confessional exhibitionism. Dignity is not my lot.

In design, we work in teams to make things for groups of people.

Each team member has significant differences in how they experience, understand and respond to the world.

Each person for whom the team designs also experiences, understands and responds to the world differently.

If we stay suspended in the wordworld, many of these differences slide by us without notice. Imprecision, inattention, synonyms, vapid jargon coat language with social grease, and keep things slippery and smooth.

Designers, however, live under the Iron Law of Pragmatism:

In order to ascertain the meaning of an intellectual conception one should consider what practical consequences might conceivably result by necessity from the truth of that conception; and the sum of these consequences will constitute the entire meaning of the conception.

One of my dear designer friends summarizes this as “…and therefore?” We designers must body forth the myriad therefores blackboxed inside abstract words as concrete things: visualizations, approaches, plans of action, prototypes, artifacts, new social arrangements — things that will be put to the test.

As soon as abstract words are applied and translated into concrete things, things get abruptly solid, resistant, obtrusive, abrasive, disturbing, distressing.

The making and doing of concrete things is where differences manifest, and manifest hard.

These differences in experience, understanding and response and — even more dramatically, the (meta)differences in how we (meta)experience, (meta)understand and (meta)respond to the experiences, understandings and responses of other people — painfully and dramatically manifested in the practical — all this is the everyday hell of the life of a designer.

Designers live in a hell of subjective difference refracted through incompatible objectivities, conflicting values, spastically dis-concerted responses.

And this hell is made exponentially harder by non-designers who refuse to accept these differences as a point of departure for design work.

These non-designers refuse to do their work outside their own private workshop paradise of their own objective certainty, their own rigid conceptions of objectivity and judgments of proper conduct, methodological rigor and quality.

These non-designers are happy to work on design problems, as long as they have everything their own way, following the laws of their own private paradise — which is precisely the opposite of how design proceeds.

It has been fashionable for some time for self-proclaimed designers to self-efface and flatter others by claiming that “everyone designs” and therefore “everyone is a designer.” This is horseshit. Many professional designers aren’t even designers.

Few people can tolerate the hell designers must navigate to do their work.

And even designers have limits. Any Atlas will, at some point, buckle, when one too many uncooperative paradises has been piled on his shoulders.

When people naively speak of a given, self-evident, objective truth of a given, self-evident, objective reality, implying an absolute objective truth — whether metaphysical or “ontological” or spiritual or social or scientific or technical or psychological — any designer who aspires to etiquette must stifle sarcasm.

Absolute objective truth is an oxymoron.

And objectivity is neither given, nor universal.

Establishing shared objectivity is hard work.

What is the origin of these differences in experience and response?

Faith.

Faith is the purely subjective background of all objectivity.

Faith is the tacit metaphysical ground that generates our uncannily divergent ontologies

The subjective being of faith is known only by its objective fruit.

Faith bodies forth objective fruit that — for those with eyes to see it, ears to hear it, skin to feel it, tongues to taste it, noses to smell it, souls to intuit it — indicates a world of origin.

A faith enworlds a given portion of reality.

Design is a metafaith and metaenworldment that deals in faiths and enworldments and works to reshape them and make them sharable.

That is our mission.

The world needs design so badly it rejects design.

Value exchanges, sahib

Autobiography, Design, Enworldment, Etymology, Love, Philosophy

I have been thinking a lot lately about value exchanges, the heart of service design.

In service design we try to arrange things (in the broadest possible sense) so that each person involved in a service — whether receiving it, delivering it on the front lines or supporting it behind the scenes — feels at each moment of the experience that the service is “worth it”.

At every moment of a service each “service actor” — each participant in the perpetually emerging service — invests something valuable in order to receive something even more valuable. “Worth it” is not often a calculation. More often it is a felt intuitive verdict.

As long as every service actor involved feels what they are doing is worth it, the service itself flourishes.

To the degree all the value exchanges that make up a service feel worth it to all service actors, the service works.

To the degree the value exchanges that make up a service feel not worth it to any of the service actors, the service begins to break down. Service actors begin to withdraw, or cheat the system, or they drop out of the service altogether. And the service becomes less and less worth it to any of the actors, until it eventually fails and dies.

I am thinking about value exchanges because things no longer feel worth it to me.

I have no place where I am right now. I am galut.

I am trying to decide if providing service design services to clients can ever be worth it, anywhere.

When I bring it all back to value exchanges, I feel worth welling up in me.

“Value exchange” to most ears, my own included, sounds crassly transactional.

But I suspect that this might be the result of a prejudice against economics.

(Many of us carry vestiges of Christian values in our basic moral attitudes. We confuse the Christian faith with Christian doctrinal content. But that new wineskin Jesus made to hold that new wine of his, is exactly the same container that today holds our hypercharged weirdness toward sex and gender, our conviction that the last among us are first, and perhaps, most of all, our ambivalence toward money. The most secular idealists I know grasp their godless convictions in a christoidal death-grip.)

Look at the etymology of the word economy. It is all about the ordering of a home.

And value? Value is just some portion of love.

Exchange? We exchange money, yes, but we also exchange gifts and glances. All giving and receiving is exchange.

Even the word “transact” becomes lovelier under scrutiny. It is even prettier than “interact”. In transaction, we act across the boundaries of individuality.

We are accustomed to think of needs in terms of deficit. We need something we lack.

But it seems clear that the need to give is equally important.

If we are unable to give what we feel we exist to give we feel less than human.

Black Elk seems to have universalized this need even beyond the human species: “The Six Grandfathers have placed in this world many things, all of which should be happy. Every little thing is sent for something, and in that thing there should be happiness and the power to make happy. Like the grasses showing tender faces to each other, thus we should do, for this was the wish of the Grandfathers of the World.”

Mary Douglas’s introduction to Marcel Mauss’s The Gift: also speaks to the need of value exchange for social solidarity:

Charity is meant to be a free gift, a voluntary, unrequited surrender of resources. Though we laud charity as a Christian virtue we know that it wounds. I worked for some years in a charitable foundation that annually was required to give away large sums as the condition of tax exemption. Newcomers to the office quickly learnt that the recipient does not like the giver, however cheerful he be. This book explains the lack of gratitude by saying that the foundations should not confuse their donations with gifts. It is not merely that there are no free gifts in a particular place, Melanesia or Chicago for instance; it is that the whole idea of a free gift is based on a misunderstanding. There should not be any free gifts. What is wrong with the so-called free gift is the donor’s intention to be exempt from return gifts coming from the recipient. Refusing requital puts the act of giving outside any mutual ties. Once given, the free gift entails no further claims from the recipient. The public is not deceived by free gift vouchers. For all the ongoing commitment the free-gift gesture has created. It might just as well never have happened. According to Marcel Mauss that is what is wrong with the free gift. A gift that does nothing to enhance solidarity is a contradiction.

When I view service design in this expanded sense, it begins to feel not only important, but maybe the one thing most needful in this alienated, anomic time.

Unless someone will receive what we most need to give, we do not feel human.

Each of us in society needs to give some particular gift.

And if our gift is refused, we are no longer at home here.

It might be that our own souls are held together by value exchange. Imagine soul as society writ small. Imagine intuitive centers as citizens of our soul. Our souls are intuitive centers, full of potential for value exchange, awaiting opportunity to do its thing for the rest of ourselves. One intuitive center of our pluricentric selfhood serves another with what it perceives, or does, or knows, and another intuitive center responds in kind.

But our souls are sometimes of two minds. Sometimes we hate ourselves. One intuitive center denies the validity of another and refuses its gifts, perhaps because it misunderstands what is given.

Sometimes an organization has great use for one part of us, while scorning other parts, and in order to belong to the organization, we must alienate the best parts of ourselves. This can happen among friends, too.

Our self is permeable, nebulous, unstable, ephemeral.

Our self also extends itself into materials and environments.

This is only tangentially related to value exchanges, but I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to say it, and this seems like the time.

Saint-Exupéry (author of the Little Prince) said “Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.”

I have formed some of the best relationships of my life looking outward in the same direction with my fellow designers. And not only looking, but acting together, collaborating on problems, even before they came into clarity as problems, when they were dreadful and perplexing aporias.

And when this has happened, all of myself, too, looked out in the same direction. All the citizen intuitions of my soul were united in solidarity and mutual respect, and I was whole.

We all need this so much more than we know.

Service design cannot accept a value exchange that rejects its best gift, the most needful gift: restoration of soul to the world.

Instauratio

Design, Kabbalah, Metaphysics, Taoism

One face of all is material.

This material is not a materialistic material of science, politics or society.

This material is the stubborn resistance and graceful pliability of the world around us. It is the world we inhabit, in and among whom we live, in and with whom we participate as part, and to whom we belong.

One face of all is spirit.

This sprit is not the spirit of spirituality, religion or culture.

This spirit is awareness and oblivion, revelation and veiling of what matters most — infinite value in which all life, ourselves included, is rooted, on which all value subsists. Value is love.

Between these two faces is self — materially given, spiritually receiving, spiritually giving, materially shaping.

This self is not the self of psychology, economics or romanticism.

This self instaurates. The self discover-creates and makes sense of everything. It create-discovers and makes inspired works. This self is instaurated. As the self makes sense of everything and makes inspired works, the self begins to make inspired sense.

Instauration of material and spirit is instauration of self.

This self is singular and plural, I and We. Any singular self, of whatever scale, from intuitive spark to universal solidarity is e pluribus unum.

Material, self and spirit are traditionally known as Earth, Man and Heaven, the Great Triad.

Translating it for my family: Assiyah-Yetzirah, Yetzirah-Beriah, Beriah-Atzilut.

The concerted effort to convene Earth, Man and Heaven for the betterment of the world, with no attempt to reduce any one to any other, nor to allow any one to dominate or predominate over any other — but rather to find the right momentary constellation for present place, the present selves in the present time — this wants a name, but whatever has a name invites lust and conquest.

Perhaps the name “design” was as good a name as any.

Polycentric and pluricentric design

Design

I have used the word polycentric to mean two different things.

The original meaning, used by Michael Polanyi and later by Elinor Ostrom, referred to things (usually social things) having multiple agential centers. Only by understanding the semi-automous operation of these centers within an irreducible system can a polycentric phenomenon be comprehended.

The other, less orthodox meaning came from design industry resonances. Starting with Don Norman, design has decentered the designed artifact in order to recenter it on the people for whom the artifact is intended. User-centered design, then, more generally customer-centered, employee centered, patient-centered, student-centered, citizen-centered, name-your-role-centered design. These have been generalized into human-centered design. I’m not sure what we call what Temple Grandin did…

To my designer ear, polycentric described a key difference between the old one-person-at-a-time-centricity design I had done in my former life, and the new focus on interactions among multiple persons in service design.

But the more I practice service design the more these two meanings diverge and seem to need two separate words.

Service designers are vitally concerned with the polycentricity ?of social systems. How do polycentric systems (which include but transcend project-sponsoring organizations) produce various outcomes, or fail to produce them? ?How are all these agential centers (“service actors”) interacting to strengthen or weaken the organization?

But that is only the objective third-person behaviorist understanding of the system. It gives us the What and How, but it does not give us the Why, which is the key to influencing the behaviors that produce the outcomes. To get at the Why we must understand the view of the system from within, from the perspective of each of the service actors who participate in it — who, based on what they experience, respond one way or another, supporting, undermining or abandoning the service.

I have been experimenting with using the word polycentric in its normal sense to describe in the third-person, the objective, emergent phenomenon of systems with multiple agential centers.

To describe the subjective, first-person interlapping experiences of multiple persons participating in an interactive social system (service or otherwise) I am using the word pluricentric.

As I’ve mentioned a half-zillion times before, service design considers the experience and agency of all participants in a service. We consider not only the people who receive the service, but also those who deliver the service, and those who support them. And of these who deliver and support the service, we consider more than just employees, but people outside the organization who partner with the organization. And often we consider indirect recipients of service, for example, members of a household, who influence the experience and actions of the direct recipient.

Every one of these service actors has a different experience of the service. A nurse, for example, almost certainly has a different overall life experience from many patients. When a patient and a nurse interact in a medical setting like an emergency room, that encounter is very different for the nurse, for the patient and for the patient’s spouse. Each wants different things from the interaction and experience it very differently. Part of what they all experience is what they perceive everyone else’s experience to be, so there is a feedback dynamic among participants. The nurse responds to the patient’s pain and the spouse’s fear, and both patient and spouse are keenly sensitive to the response and what it indicates about the person on whom they are suddenly so terrifyingly dependent.

The field of design is early in its development researching pluricentric dynamics and responding to them with design interventions capable of producing favorable polycentric outcomes.

The trends suggest retardation or regression rather than progress. So far, the emerging field of journey management has been monocentric. It is possible to hack it into a semblance of polycentricity, but doing so requires vigorous upstream swimming. Product management, after subjugating designers, and forcing them back into aesthetic and usability servitude, has rediscovered discovery to its great hubristic delight. Service design is whipped along at a trot too brisk even for adequate monocentric approaches. Economic hard times always hit designers first. But everyone says that ecomonic hard times are when the best investments can be made.

Confessions of a hedgehog

Autobiography, Design

“A fox knows many things, but a hedgehog knows one big thing.”

For there exists a great chasm between those, on one side, who relate everything to a single central vision, one system, less or more coherent or articulate, in terms of which they understand, think and feel — a single, universal, organising principle in terms of which alone all that they are and say has significance — and, on the other side, those who pursue many ends, often unrelated and even contradictory, connected, if at all, only in some de facto way, for some psychological or physiological cause, related to no moral or aesthetic principle.

These last lead lives, perform acts and entertain ideas that are centrifugal rather than centripetal; their thought is scattered or diffused, moving on many levels, seizing upon the essence of a vast variety of experiences and objects for what they are in themselves, without, consciously or unconsciously, seeking to fit them into, or exclude them from, any one unchanging, all-embracing, sometimes self-contradictory and incomplete, at times fanatical, unitary inner vision. The first kind of intellectual and artistic personality belongs to the hedgehogs, the second to the foxes.

Its been over a decade since I read this essay, so I cannot remember, but wikipedia assures me that Isaiah Berlin said Tolstoy was, by nature, a fox, but by conviction a hedgehog.

Maybe I need to reread it.

I wonder if he offers any examples of poor souls who were, by nature, a hedgehog, but by circumstance, the foxiest of foxes.

There is a fine and blurry line between cognitive impairments and a sense of purpose in life.

Behind one species of hedgehog — let’s call it the involuntary hedgehog — there is a small set of highly developed abilities, organized as a methodology. Part of the methodology is seeing the world that reveals applications for the methodology.

This hedgehog can do all sorts of things with this methodology — as long as he is allowed his methodology. Take the methodology away, the hedgehog’s quills are plucked and he looks like a shaved runt fox. Tragically, one of the methods in the methodology is not providing itself the conditions needed to apply the methodology. If the hedgehog’s quills are plucked, the hedgehog cannot defend itself long enough to restore or regrow them.

I can use design to solve all kinds of problems — but only if I have conditions to design.

If I am prevented from designing, I am well and truly fucked.

The thing about design

ANT, Design, Philosophy, Politics

Latour, from “A Cautious Prometheus”:

Now here is the challenge: In its long history, design practice has done a marvellous job of inventing the practical skills for drawing objects, from architectural drawing, mechanic blueprints, scale models, prototyping etc. But what has always been missing from those marvellous drawings (designs in the literal sense) are an impression of the controversies and the many contradicting stake holders that are born within with these. In other words, you in design as well as we in science and technology studies may insist that objects are always assemblies, “gatherings” in Heidegger’s meaning of the word, or things and Dinge, and yet, four hundred years after the invention of perspective drawing, three hundred years after projective geometry, fifty years after the development of CAD computer screens, we are still utterly unable to draw together, to simulate, to materialize, to approximate, to fully model to scale, what a thing in all of its complexity, is.

So little design writing pays attention to the social reality on both sides of design — design-in-the-making and design-in-use.

Whenever designers wax political, they fall in line with politics-as-usual. They talk about all the ways design should serve the political goals shared by all good people, opposed by bad people.

It is as if they have never designed.

It is as if they have never aligned any diverse group of people around a goal before.

It would be so much better if, when politics comes up, people would wax designerly,

We do not need to politicize design. We need to designize politics.

Smiling insistence

Design, Love

When I was younger I was “philosophical” in that casual way people are when they enjoy reflecting on life, but still don’t see much benefit in reading other folk’s difficult technical reflections. Maybe we want to keep our own original vision virginally pure. We think to ourselves: “You might need to get your ideas from books and teachers, but I have my own ideas and I don’t need to learn what to think from other people.” Or we read, but just to find others who also know what we know.

It was only a desperate existential need to defend my way of working — the conditions I need to design — that eventually drove me to do philosophy.

In my world, working as a designer, if I cannot make clear sense fast, I get chained to tasks that drown me in anxiety, boredom and despair.

If I hadn’t needed help wherever I could find it, I would have gone to my grave mistaking my very unoriginal notions of originality for pristine, untouched intuition. Naw… we learn from authority to exalt this complacently rebellious arrogant nonsense.

I am still desperate. But I have more inner resources for explaining what is happening to me, when people force me to work in ways that make design impossible.

I still get anxious and I still get bored, but I never despair.

I refuse to despair, because I know better.

But know and insist… and smile? That’s the next goal.

Susan teaches this: Warm demander.

Ethos, ethics, mutuality

Autobiography, Design, Judaism, Politics

The highest achievements of humanity stand upon mutuality. Mutuality is for the mutual.

Ethics belong to an ethos. Ethics are the participatory norms of those who belong to some particular ethos.

When enemies of an ethos demand ethical consistency from those belonging to an ethos, even as they attempt to undermine, weaken or destroy that ethos, they use an ethic against itself.

Imagine a horde of hooligans flooding the tennis courts of Wimbledon. When the players, referees and spectators try to drive them out of the stadium, the hooligans howl accusations of hypocrisy. “If you really loved tennis, you would adhere to the rules of tennis, and drive us out with better and better tennis playing! See? You are no better than us. You are hooligans, too!”

The rest of the world agrees, but takes it further: The tennis crowd is even worse than hooligans. We expect more from elite athletes and connoisseurs of such a refined sport. Hooligans are just noble savages, doing what hooligans do. Who are we to judge them? Who are we to tell them where they can and can’t be, and what they can and can’t do? Tennis players, though, are like us, and we expect them to live up to our high moral and intellectual standards. Maybe even higher! When tennis players use their rackets as weapons, that is truly a betrayal of the ideals of tennis — and to our own.

So Wimbledon is condemned by the officials of the Olympics, and sports officials around the world. Social media goes crazy over pictures of the brutality of the eviction and on and on. Wimbledon is boycotted. Before long, tennis courts and vandalized, tennis players are threatened, assaulted and abused. Soon nobody even wants to wear tennis shoes in public anymore.

The entire world of tennis suffers because of the brutality of Wimbledon security guards. And the fact that tennis players think Wimbledon is above criticism only makes it worse.

I have no idea at all why I got so intense about this analogy.

I suppose it is because this to me is real. Very real.

Maybe it is because I am a designer who is entirely dependent on how people around me participate in the projects I work on.

When we initiate a projects, we attempt to initiate our client collaborators into a new way of working, and establish a design ethos around the project. If we succeed, we can do great work.

But if we fail at this — if our project participants refuse to participate in design processes — we are no longer able to play the game of design. We might be able to flex and contort and pivot and get some kind of work done, but we are no longer doing what we agreed to do. And this is fine if we are good at doing all these other kinds of work. If we are excellent logistics managers, business analysts, process engineers and so on, this is unpleasant but doable.

But if we are designers who approach everything as design, and this is how we cope with practical matters, we are deprived of what is needed not only to flourish but to cope at all.

And to be told, “just design harder and harder, better and better” is a demoralizing insult.

Just play tennis better and better, be extra, extra punctilious about playing by the rules, and eventually the hooligans will see what we are doing, and choose to clear off the courts. Then they might eventually even learn to love our sport. We must have enough faith in our way that we keep playing even when our courts are crowded with people who loathe tennis and tennis players.

Design is not only a set of design techniques, or a design method for effective use of techniques in concert, or a design theory upon which method is grounded, or a design praxis of reflective practice and applied theory, or a tacit design way resulting from a life of deep design praxis. It is all of these, of course, but more than that design is an ethos, which depends on a set of design ethics.

Whenever I hear designers talk about design ethics it always goes directly toward the same set of environmental and social justice concerns. I have yet to hear designs discuss the behavioral norms required for design to happen at all.

And then designers wonder why we seem unable to get the conditions we need to do the work we do.

Our work is almost automatically rejected out of hand by industrious builders with no tolerance for non-rigorous intuitive fluff. They need to very efficiently show progress toward building the next undesirable, unusable unintuitive thing in their backlog.

Design is only possible where a design ethos (at least temporarily) prevails.

Liberalism only works within a liberal ethos.

Mutuality is for the mutual.

“What is Design?” chapbook

Design, Letterpress, Philosophy

I’ve been mulling over a project involving letterpress printed design wisdom.

Today, I am fantasizing about letterpress printing a chapbook, in an aphorism-reflection format inspired by Jan Zwicky’s beautiful Lyric Philosophy and Wisdom & Metaphor.

Here is my aphorism list so far:

  • “We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” (Winston Churchill)
  • “Design is everything. Everything is design.” (Paul Rand)
  • “Design should be invisible.” (Beatrice Warde)
  • “Perfection is achieved not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.” (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry)
  • “Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry)
  • “In true love it is the soul that envelops the body.” (Friedrich Nietzsche)
  • “Men who love wisdom should acquaint themselves with a great many particulars” (Heraclitus)
  • “The best design tool is a long eraser with a pencil at one end.” (Marty Neumeier)
  • “You can’t decide the way forward. You have to design the way forward.” (Marty Neumeier)
  • “Compete to be unique, not the best” (Joan Magretta, channeling Michael Porter)
  • “Usefulness, usability, and desirability: A useful design is one that people need and will use. A usable design is one they can either use immediately or learn to use readily. A desirable design is one they want.” (Liz Sanders)
  • “We think with our hands.” (Tim Brown)
  • “In theory, there is no difference between theory and practice. In practice there is.” (Anonymous)
  • “Behind a desk is a dangerous place from which to view the world.” (John LeCarre)
  • “Conflict divides the world into four halves.” (Anomalogue)
  • “Craft is material dialogue.” (Anomalogue)
  • “A problem well put is a problem half solved.” (John Dewey)
  • “If I had an hour to solve a problem and my life depended on the solution, I would spend the first fifty-five minutes determining the proper question to ask, for once I know the proper question, I could solve the problem in less than five minutes.” (Albert Einstein)
  • “The greatest challenge to any thinker is stating the problem in a way that will allow a solution.” (Bertrand Russell)
  • “Start anywhere.” (John Cage)
  • “Nothing happens without a plan. Nothing happens according to plan.” (Anonymous)
  • “No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.” (Carl von Clausewitz)
  • “A philosophical problem has the form: ‘I don’t know my way about.'” (Ludwig Wittgenstein)
  • “The aim of philosophy is to understand how things in the broadest possible sense of the term hang together in the broadest possible sense of the term.” (Willfred Sellars)
  • “He who sees badly sees less and less; he who listens badly hears more than has been said.” (Friedrich Nietzsche)
  • “What has a name is real.” (Basque saying)
  • “Never mistake motion for action.” (Ernest Hemingway)
  • “The best way to predict the future is to invent it.” (Alan Kay)
  • “The first minute of action is worth more than a year of perfect planning.” (James Clear)
  • “It is often easier to fight for principles than to live up to them.” (Adlai Stevenson)

I need more design-related aphorisms. If you have any, please share.

Best and worst projects

Autobiography, Design

When I introduce myself to clients, I’ll sometimes talk about my “zigzagging career path” through various design disciplines.

The coolest zag was through strategic design. That was a time when I ran around solving “undiagnosed design problems”. Many problems that appeared to be intractable political, management or process problems became far more tractable when approached as design problems.

This has me reflecting:

My most rewarding projects have always been those where we took a design approach to solve a problem that seemed outside the domain of design.

My least rewarding projects have been those where we were prevented from taking a design approach to solve what everyone knows is a design problem.