LITERATURE COMPENDIUM 2010

- for 3. Master ID students & 11. Semester students following U-CrAc.

Dear Strategic designers [miniproject]

This project will take form during U-CrAc, where you will work with a variety of disciplines –
your role will partly be the role of the design strategist. I have collected a few relevant articles
for you to read before the start of the workshop to develop an understanding of strategic
design and how user analysis can support it.
If desired we can most likely find an appropriated time for discussion.

Please study:

• Hambrick, D. C., Fredrickson J. W., 2005. Are you sure you have a strategy?
Academy of Management Executive, Vol. 19, No. 4

• Zoels J.C. & Gabrielli S. (2003). Creating Imaginable Futures: Using Design Strategy
as a Foresight Tool. Design for Future Needs – European Union Project Report,
http://www.dffn.org.

• Munnecke, M., van der Lugt, R., 2006. BOTTOM-UP STRATEGIES IN CONSUMER-
LED MARKETS Second International Seville Seminar on Future-Oriented
Technology Analysis: Impact of FTA Approaches on Policy and Decision-Making

Dear Design researchers [mainproject]

This project is most likely your first project in which you focus on the practice of design it-self
or a closely related theme. The field of design research is broad, but nicely framed in two
articles by Ken Friedman.
I would like to encourage you to form groups in which you read and discuss these articles and
of course you are welcome to debate certain issues with your supervisor.

Please study:

• Friedman, K., 2000. Creating design knowledge: from research into practice. IDATER
2000, Loughborough University

• Friedman, Ken. 2008. Theory Construction in Design Research. Criteria, Approaches,

and Methods. Originally in Common Ground. Proceedings of the Design Research
Society International Conference, Brunel University, September 5-7, 2002. David
Durling and John Shackleton, Editors. Stoke on Trent, UK: Staffordshire University
Press, 388-413.

Kind regards

Søren Bolvig Poulsen

sbpo@create.aau.dk
! Academy of Management Executive, 2005, Vol. 19, No. 4 Reprinted from 2001, Vol. 15, No. 4

........................................................................................................................................................................

Are you sure you have a

strategy?
Donald C. Hambrick and James W. Fredrickson

Executive Overview
After more than 30 years of hard thinking about strategy, consultants and scholars have
provided an abundance of frameworks for analyzing strategic situations. Missing,
however, has been any guidance as to what the product of these tools should be— or
what actually constitutes a strategy. Strategy has become a catchall term used to mean
whatever one wants it to mean. Executives now talk about their “service strategy,” their
“branding strategy,” their “acquisition strategy,” or whatever kind of strategy that is on
their mind at a particular moment. But strategists—whether they are CEOs of established
firms, division presidents, or entrepreneurs—must have a strategy, an integrated,
overarching concept of how the business will achieve its objectives. If a business must
have a single, unified strategy, then it must necessarily have parts. What are those parts?
We present a framework for strategy design, arguing that a strategy has five elements,
providing answers to five questions—arenas: where will we be active? vehicles: how will
we get there? differentiators: how will we win in the marketplace? staging: what will be
our speed and sequence of moves? economic logic: how will we obtain our returns? Our
article develops and illustrates these domains of choice, particularly emphasizing how
essential it is that they form a unified whole.
........................................................................................................................................................................

Consider these statements of strategy drawn from
actual documents and announcements of several
companies:
“Our strategy is to be the low-cost provider.”
“We’re pursuing a global strategy.”
“The company’s strategy is to integrate a set of
regional acquisitions.”
“Our strategy is to provide unrivaled customer
service.”
“Our strategic intent is to always be the first-
mover.”
“Our strategy is to move from defense to in-
dustrial applications.”
What do these grand declarations have in com-
mon? Only that none of them is a strategy. They
are strategic threads, mere elements of strategies.
But they are no more strategies than Dell Comput-
er’s strategy can be summed up as selling direct to
customers, or than Hannibal’s strategy was to use
elephants to cross the Alps. And their use reflects
an increasingly common syndrome—the catchall
fragmentation of strategy.
After more than 30 years of hard thinking about
51
strategy, consultants and scholars have provided
executives with an abundance of frameworks for
analyzing strategic situations. We now have five-
forces analysis, core competencies, hypercompeti-
tion, the resource-based view of the firm, value
chains, and a host of other helpful, often powerful,
analytic tools.1 Missing, however, has been any
guidance as to what the product of these tools
should be— or what actually constitutes a strategy.
Indeed, the use of specific strategic tools tends to
draw the strategist toward narrow, piecemeal con-
ceptions of strategy that match the narrow scope of
the tools themselves. For example, strategists who
are drawn to Porter’s five-forces analysis tend to
think of strategy as a matter of selecting industries
and segments within them. Executives who dwell
on “co-opetition” or other game-theoretic frame-
works see their world as a set of choices about
dealing with adversaries and allies.
This problem of strategic fragmentation has
worsened in recent years, as narrowly specialized
academics and consultants have started plying
their tools in the name of strategy. But strategy is
not pricing. It is not capacity decisions. It is not
52 Academy of Management Executive
setting R&D budgets. These are pieces of strate-
gies, and they cannot be decided— or even consid-
ered—in isolation.
Imagine an aspiring painter who has been
taught that colors and hues determine the beauty
of a picture. But what can really be done with such
advice? After all, magnificent pictures require far
more than choosing colors: attention to shapes and
figures, brush technique, and finishing processes.
Most importantly, great paintings depend on artful
combinations of all these elements. Some combi-
nations are classic, tried-and-true; some are inven-
tive and fresh; and many combinations— even for
avant-garde art—spell trouble.
Strategy has become a catchall term used to
mean whatever one wants it to mean. Business
magazines now have regular sections devoted to
strategy, typically discussing how featured firms
are dealing with distinct issues, such as customer
service, joint ventures, branding, or e-commerce. In
turn, executives talk about their “service strategy,”
their “joint venture strategy,” their “branding strat-
egy,” or whatever kind of strategy is on their minds
at a particular moment.
Executives then communicate these strategic
threads to their organizations in the mistaken be-
lief that doing so will help managers make tough
choices. But how does knowing that their firm is
pursuing an “acquisition strategy” or a “first-
mover strategy” help the vast majority of manag-
ers do their jobs or set priorities? How helpful is it
to have new initiatives announced periodically
with the word strategy tacked on? When execu-
tives call everything strategy, and end up with a
collection of strategies, they create confusion and
undermine their own credibility. They especially
reveal that they don’t really have an integrated
conception of the business.
When executives call everything
strategy, and end up with a collection of
strategies, they create confusion and
undermine their own credibility.
Many readers of works on the topic know that
strategy is derived from the Greek strategos, or
“the art of the general.” But few have thought much
about this important origin. For example, what is
special about the general’s job, compared with
that of a field commander? The general is respon-
sible for multiple units on multiple fronts and mul-
tiple battles over time. The general’s challenge—
and the value-added of generalship—is in
orchestration and comprehensiveness. Great gen-
November
erals think about the whole. They have a strategy;
it has pieces, or elements, but they form a coherent
whole. Business generals, whether they are CEOs
of established firms, division presidents, or entre-
preneurs, must also have a strategy—a central,
integrated, externally oriented concept of how the
business will achieve its objectives. Without a
strategy, time and resources are easily wasted on
piecemeal, disparate activities; mid-level manag-
ers will fill the void with their own, often parochial,
interpretations of what the business should be do-
ing; and the result will be a potpourri of disjointed,
feeble initiatives.
Examples abound of firms that have suffered
because they lacked a coherent strategy. Once a
towering force in retailing, Sears spent 10 sad
years vacillating between an emphasis on hard
goods and soft goods, venturing in and out of ill-
chosen businesses, failing to differentiate itself in
any of them, and never building a compelling eco-
nomic logic. Similarly, the once-unassailable Xe-
rox is engaged in an attempt to revive itself, amid
criticism from its own executives that the company
lacks a strategy. Says one: “I hear about asset
sales, about refinancing, but I don’t hear anyone
saying convincingly, ‘Here is your future.’”2
A strategy consists of an integrated set of
choices, but it isn’t a catchall for every important
choice an executive faces. As Figure 1 portrays, the
company’s mission and objectives, for example,
stand apart from, and guide, strategy. Thus we
would not speak of the commitment of the New
York Times to be America’s newspaper of record as
part of its strategy. GE’s objective of being number
one or number two in all its markets drives its
strategy, but is not strategy itself. Nor would an
objective of reaching a particular revenue or earn-
ings target be part of a strategy.
Similarly, because strategy addresses how the
business intends to engage its environment,
choices about internal organizational arrange-
ments are not part of strategy. So we should not
speak of compensation policies, information sys-
tems, or training programs as being strategy.
These are critically important choices, which
should reinforce and support strategy; but they do
not make up the strategy itself.3 If everything im-
portant is thrown into the strategy bucket, then this
essential concept quickly comes to mean nothing.
We do not mean to portray strategy development
as a simple, linear process. Figure 1 leaves out
feedback arrows and other indications that great
strategists are iterative, loop thinkers.4 The key is
not in following a sequential process, but rather in
achieving a robust, reinforced consistency among
the elements of the strategy itself.
2005 Hambrick and Fredrickson
FIGURE 1
Putting Strategy in Its Place
The Elements of Strategy
If a business must have a strategy, then the strat-
egy must necessarily have parts. What are those
parts? As Figure 2 portrays, a strategy has five
elements, providing answers to five questions:
• Arenas: where will we be active?
• Vehicles: how will we get there?
• Differentiators: how will we win in the market-
place?
• Staging: what will be our speed and sequence of
moves?
• Economic logic: how will we obtain our returns?
This article develops and illustrates these do-
mains of choice, emphasizing how essential it is
that they form a unified whole. Where others focus
on the inputs to strategic thinking (the top box in
Figure 1), we focus on the output—the composition
and design of the strategy itself.
Arenas
The most fundamental choices strategists make
are those of where, or in what arenas, the business
will be active. This is akin to the question Peter
Drucker posed decades ago: “What business will
we be in?”5 The answer, however, should not be
53
one of broad generalities. For instance, “We will be
the leader in information technology consulting” is
more a vision or objective than part of a strategy. In
articulating arenas, it is important to be as specific
as possible about the product categories, market
segments, geographic areas, and core technolo-
gies, as well as the value-adding stages (e.g., prod-
uct design, manufacturing, selling, servicing, dis-
tribution) the business intends to take on.
For example, as a result of an in-depth analysis,
a biotechnology company specified its arenas: the
company intended to use T-cell receptor technol-
ogy to develop both diagnostic and therapeutic
products for battling a certain class of cancers; it
chose to keep control of all research and product
development activity, but to outsource manufactur-
ing and a major part of the clinical testing process
required for regulatory approvals. The company
targeted the U.S. and major European markets as
its geographic scope. The company’s chosen are-
nas were highly specific, with products and mar-
kets even targeted by name. In other instances,
especially in businesses with a wider array of
products, market segments, or geographic scope,
the strategy may instead reasonably specify the
classes of, or criteria for, selected arenas— e.g.,
women’s high-end fashion accessories, or coun-
54 Academy of Management Executive
FIGURE 2
The Five Major Elements of Strategy
tries with per-capita GDP over $5,000. But in all
cases, the challenge is to be as specific as possible.
In choosing arenas, the strategist needs to indicate
not only where the business will be active, but also
how much emphasis will be placed on each. Some
market segments, for instance, might be identified as
centrally important, while others are deemed sec-
ondary. A strategy might reasonably be centered on
one product category, with others—while necessary
for defensive purposes or for offering customers a
full line— being of distinctly less importance.
Vehicles
Beyond deciding on the arenas in which the busi-
ness will be active, the strategist also needs to
decide how to get there. Specifically, the means for
attaining the needed presence in a particular prod-
uct category, market segment, geographic area, or
value-creation stage should be the result of delib-
erate strategic choice. If we have decided to ex-
pand our product range, are we going to accom-
plish that by relying on organic, internal product
development, or are there other vehicles—such as
joint ventures or acquisitions—that offer a better
means for achieving our broadened scope? If we
are committed to international expansion, what
should be our primary modes, or vehicles— green-
November
field startups, local acquisitions, licensing, or joint
ventures? The executives of the biotechnology
company noted earlier decided to rely on joint ven-
tures to achieve their new presence in Europe,
while committing to a series of tactical acquisitions
for adding certain therapeutic products to comple-
ment their existing line of diagnostic products.
The means by which arenas are entered matters
greatly. Therefore, selection of vehicles should not
be an afterthought or viewed as a mere implemen-
tation detail. A decision to enter new product cat-
egories is rife with uncertainty. But that uncer-
tainty may vary immensely depending on whether
the entry is attempted by licensing other compa-
nies’ technologies, where perhaps the firm has
prior experience, or by acquisitions, where the
company is a novice. Failure to explicitly consider
and articulate the intended expansion vehicles
can result in the hoped-for entry’s being seriously
delayed, unnecessarily costly, or totally stalled.
Failure to explicitly consider and
articulate the intended expansion
vehicles can result in the hoped-for
entry’s being seriously delayed,
unnecessarily costly, or totally stalled.
2005 Hambrick and Fredrickson
There are steep learning curves associated with
the use of alternative expansion modes. Research
has found, for instance, that companies can de-
velop highly advantageous, well-honed capabili-
ties in making acquisitions or in managing joint
ventures.6 The company that uses various vehicles
on an ad hoc or patchwork basis, without an over-
arching logic and programmatic approach, will be
at a severe disadvantage compared with compa-
nies that have such coherence.
Differentiators
A strategy should specify not only where a firm
will be active (arenas) and how it will get there
(vehicles), but also how the firm will win in the
marketplace— how it will get customers to come its
way. In a competitive world, winning is the result
of differentiators, and such edges don’t just hap-
pen. Rather, they require executives to make up-
front, conscious choices about which weapons will
be assembled, honed, and deployed to beat com-
petitors in the fight for customers, revenues, and
profits. For example, Gillette uses its proprietary
product and process technology to develop supe-
rior razor products, which the company further dif-
ferentiates through a distinctive, aggressively ad-
vertised brand image. Goldman Sachs, the
investment bank, provides customers unparalleled
service by maintaining close relationships with
client executives and coordinating the array of ser-
vices it offers to each client. Southwest Airlines
attracts and retains customers by offering the
lowest possible fares and extraordinary on-time
reliability.
Achieving a compelling marketplace advantage
does not necessarily mean that the company has to
be at the extreme on one differentiating dimen-
sion; rather, sometimes having the best combina-
tion of differentiators confers a tremendous mar-
ketplace advantage. This is the philosophy of
Honda in automobiles. There are better cars than
Hondas, and there are less expensive cars than
Hondas; but many car buyers believe that there is
no better value— quality for the price—than a
Honda, a strategic position the company has
worked hard to establish and reinforce.
Regardless of the intended differentiators—im-
age, customization, price, product styling, after-
sale services, or others—the critical issue for strat-
egists is to make up-front, deliberate choices.
Without that, two unfortunate outcomes loom. One
is that, if top management doesn’t attempt to cre-
ate unique differentiation, none will occur. Again,
differentiators don’t just materialize; they are very
hard to achieve. And firms without them lose.
55
The other negative outcome is that, without up-
front, careful choices about differentiators, top
management may seek to offer customers across-
the-board superiority, trying simultaneously to
outdistance competitors on too broad an array of
differentiators—lower price, better service, supe-
rior styling, and so on. Such attempts are doomed,
however, because of their inherent inconsistencies
and extraordinary resource demands. In selecting
differentiators, strategists should give explicit
preference to those few forms of superiority that
are mutually reinforcing (e.g., image and product
styling), consistent with the firm’s resources and
capabilities, and, of course, highly valued in the
arenas the company has targeted.
Staging
Choices of arenas, vehicles, and differentiators
constitute what might be called the substance of a
strategy—what executives plan to do. But this sub-
stance cries out for decisions on a fourth element—
staging, or the speed and sequence of major moves
to take in order to heighten the likelihood of suc-
cess.7 Most strategies do not call for equal, bal-
anced initiatives on all fronts at all times. Instead,
usually some initiatives must come first, followed
only then by others, and then still others. In erect-
ing a great building, foundations must be laid,
followed by walls, and only then the roof.
Of course, in business strategy there is no uni-
versally superior sequence. Rather the strategist’s
judgment is required. Consider a printing equip-
ment company that committed itself to broadening
its product line and expanding internationally.
The executives decided that the new products
should be added first, in stage one, because the
elite sales agents they planned to use for interna-
tional expansion would not be able or willing to
represent a narrow product line effectively. Even
though the executives were anxious to expand
geographically, if they had tried to do so without
the more complete line in place, they would have
wasted a great deal of time and money. The left
half of Figure 3 shows their two-stage logic.
The executives of a regional title insurance com-
pany, as part of their new strategy, were commit-
ted to becoming national in scope through a series
of acquisitions. For their differentiators, they
planned to establish a prestigious brand backed
by aggressive advertising and superb customer
service. But the executives faced a chicken-and-
egg problem: they couldn’t make the acquisitions
on favorable terms without the brand image in
place; but with only their current limited geo-
graphic scope, they couldn’t afford the quantity or
56 Academy of Management Executive
FIGURE 3
Examples of Strategic Staging
quality of advertising needed to establish the
brand. They decided on a three-stage plan (shown
in the right half of Figure 3): 1) make selected
acquisitions in adjacent regions, hence becoming
a super-regional in size and scale; 2) invest mod-
erately heavily in advertising and brand-building;
3) make acquisitions in additional regions on more
favorable terms (because of the enhanced brand, a
record of growth, and, they hoped, an appreciated
stock price) while simultaneously continuing to
push further in building the brand.
Decisions about staging can be driven by a num-
ber of factors. One, of course, is resources. Funding
and staffing every envisioned initiative, at the
needed levels, is generally not possible at the out-
set of a new strategic campaign. Urgency is a sec-
ond factor affecting staging; some elements of a
strategy may face brief windows of opportunity,
requiring that they be pursued first and aggres-
sively. A third factor is the achievement of credi-
bility. Attaining certain thresholds—in specific
arenas, differentiators, or vehicles— can be criti-
cally valuable for attracting resources and stake-
holders that are needed for other parts of the strat-
egy. A fourth factor is the pursuit of early wins. It
may be far wiser to successfully tackle a part of the
strategy that is relatively doable before attempting
more challenging or unfamiliar initiatives. These
are only some of the factors that might go into
decisions about the speed and sequence of strate-
gic initiatives. However, since the concept of stag-
ing has gone largely unexplored in the strategy
literature, it is often given far too little attention by
strategists themselves.
Economic Logic
At the heart of a business strategy must be a clear
idea of how profits will be generated—not just
November
some profits, but profits above the firm’s cost of
capital.8 It is not enough to vaguely count on hav-
ing revenues that are above costs. Unless there’s a
compelling basis for it, customers and competitors
won’t let that happen. And it’s not enough to gen-
erate a long list of reasons why customers will be
eager to pay high prices for your products, along
with a long list of reasons why your costs will be
lower than your competitors’. That’s a sure-fire
route to strategic schizophrenia and mediocrity.
It is not enough to vaguely count on
having revenues that are above costs.
Unless there’s a compelling basis for it,
customers and competitors won’t let that
happen.
The most successful strategies have a central
economic logic that serves as the fulcrum for profit
creation. In some cases, the economic key may be
to obtain premium prices by offering customers a
difficult-to-match product. For instance, the New
York Times is able to charge readers a very high
price (and strike highly favorable licensing ar-
rangements with on-line information distributors)
because of its exceptional journalistic quality; in
addition, the Times is able to charge advertisers
high prices because it delivers a large number of
dedicated, affluent readers. ARAMARK, the highly
profitable international food-service company, is
able to obtain premium prices from corporate and
institutional clients by offering a level of custom-
ized service and responsiveness that competitors
cannot match. The company seeks out only those
clients that want superior food service and are
willing to pay for it. For example, once domestic
airlines became less interested in distinguishing
2005 Hambrick and Fredrickson
themselves through their in-flight meals, ARAMARK
dropped that segment.
In some instances, the economic logic might reside
on the cost side of the profit equation. ARAMARK—
adding to its pricing leverage— uses its huge scale
of operations and presence in multiple market seg-
ments (business, educational, healthcare, and cor-
rectional-system food service) to achieve a sizeable
cost advantage in food purchases—an advantage
that competitors cannot duplicate. GKN Sinter Met-
als, which has grown by acquisition to become the
world’s major powdered-metals company, benefits
greatly from its scale in obtaining raw materials and
in exploiting, in country after country, its leading-
edge capabilities in metal-forming processes.
In these examples the economic logics are not
fleeting or transitory. They are rooted in the firms’
fundamental and relatively enduring capabilities.
ARAMARK and the New York Times can charge
premium prices because their offerings are supe-
rior in the eyes of their targeted customers, custom-
ers highly value that superiority, and competitors
can’t readily imitate the offerings. ARAMARK and
GKN Sinter Metals have lower costs than their
competitors because of systemic advantages of
scale, experience, and know-how sharing. Granted,
these leads may not last forever or be completely
unassailable, but the economic logics that are at
work at these companies account for their abilities to
deliver strong year-in, year-out profits.
The Imperative of Strategic Comprehensiveness
By this point, it should be clear why a strategy
needs to encompass all five elements—arenas, ve-
hicles, differentiators, staging, and economic logic.
First, all five are important enough to require in-
tentionality. Surprisingly, most strategic plans em-
phasize one or two of the elements without giving
any consideration to the others. Yet to develop a
strategy without attention to all five leaves critical
omissions.
Surprisingly, most strategic plans
emphasize one or two of the elements
without giving any consideration to the
others.
Second, the five elements call not only for choice,
but also for preparation and investment. All five
require certain capabilities that cannot be gener-
ated spontaneously.
Third, all five elements must align with and sup-
port each other. When executives and academics
57
think about alignment, they typically have in mind
that internal organizational arrangements need to
align with strategy (in tribute to the maxim that
“structure follows strategy”9), but few pay much
attention to the consistencies required among the
elements of the strategy itself.
Finally, it is only after the specification of all five
strategic elements that the strategist is in the best
position to turn to designing all the other support-
ing activities—functional policies, organizational
arrangements, operating programs, and process-
es—that are needed to reinforce the strategy. The
five elements of the strategy diamond can be con-
sidered the hub or central nodes for designing a
comprehensive, integrated activity system.10
Comprehensive Strategies at IKEA and Brake
Products International
IKEA: Revolutionizing an Industry
So far we have identified and discussed the five
elements that make up a strategy and form our
strategy diamond. But a strategy is more than sim-
ply choices on these five fronts: it is an integrated,
mutually reinforcing set of choices— choices that
form a coherent whole. To illustrate the importance
of this coherence we will now discuss two exam-
ples of fully elaborated strategy diamonds. As a
first illustration, consider the strategic intent of
IKEA, the remarkably successful global furniture
retailer. IKEA’s strategy over the past 25 years has
been highly coherent, with all five elements rein-
forcing each other.
The arenas in which IKEA operates are well de-
fined: the company sells relatively inexpensive,
contemporary, Scandinavian-style furniture and
home furnishings. IKEA’s target market is young,
primarily white-collar customers. The geographic
scope is worldwide, or at least all countries where
socioeconomic and infrastructure conditions sup-
port the concept. IKEA is not only a retailer, but
also maintains control of product design to ensure
the integrity of its unique image and to accumulate
unrivaled expertise in designing for efficient man-
ufacturing. The company, however, does not man-
ufacture, relying instead on a host of long-term
suppliers who ensure efficient, geographically dis-
persed production.
IKEA is not only a retailer, but also
maintains control of product design to
ensure the integrity of its unique image
and to accumulate unrivaled expertise in
designing for efficient manufacturing.
58 Academy of Management Executive
As its primary vehicle for getting to its chosen
arenas, IKEA engages in organic expansion, build-
ing its own wholly owned stores. IKEA has chosen
not to make acquisitions of existing retailers, and
it engages in very few joint ventures. This reflects
top management’s belief that the company needs
to fully control local execution of its highly inno-
vative retailing concept.
IKEA attracts customers and beats competitors
by offering several important differentiators. First,
its products are of very reliable quality but are low
in price (generally 20 to 30 percent below the com-
petition for comparable quality goods). Second, in
contrast to the stressful, intimidating feeling that
shoppers often encounter in conventional furniture
stores, IKEA customers are treated to a fun, non-
threatening experience, where they are allowed to
wander through a visually exciting store with only
the help they request. And third, the company
strives to make customer fulfillment immediate.
Specifically, IKEA carries an extensive inventory
at each store, which allows a customer to take the
item home or have it delivered the same day. In
contrast, conventional furniture retailers show
floor models, but then require a 6- to 10-week wait
for the delivery of each special-order item.
As for staging, or IKEA’s speed and sequence of
moves, once management realized that its ap-
proach would work in a variety of countries and
cultures, the company committed itself to rapid
international expansion, but only one region at a
FIGURE 4
IKEA’s Strategy
November
time. In general, the company’s approach has been
to use its limited resources to establish an early
foothold by opening a single store in each targeted
country. Each such entry is supported with aggres-
sive public relations and advertising, in order to
lay claim to the radically new retailing concept in
that market. Later, IKEA comes back into each
country and fills in with more stores.
The economic logic of IKEA rests primarily on
scale economies and efficiencies of replication. Al-
though the company doesn’t sell absolutely iden-
tical products in all its geographic markets, IKEA
has enough standardization that it can take great
advantage of being the world’s largest furniture
retailer. Its costs from long-term suppliers are ex-
ceedingly low, and made even lower by IKEA’s
proprietary, easy-to-manufacture product designs.
In each region, IKEA has enough scale to achieve
substantial distribution and promotional efficien-
cies. And each individual store is set up as a high-
volume operation, allowing further economies in
inventories, advertising, and staffing. IKEA’s
phased international expansion has allowed exec-
utives to benefit, in country after country, from
what they have learned about site selection, store
design, store openings, and ongoing operations.
They are vigilant, astute learners, and they put
that learning to great economic use.
Note how all of IKEA’s actions (shown in Figure
4) fit together. For example, consider the strong
alignment between its targeted arenas and its
2005 Hambrick and Fredrickson
competitive differentiators. An emphasis on low
price, fun, contemporary styling, and instant fulfill-
ment is well suited to the company’s focus on
young, first-time furniture buyers. Or consider the
logical fit between the company’s differentiators
and vehicles—providing a fun shopping experi-
ence and instant fulfillment requires very intricate
local execution, which can be achieved far better
through wholly owned stores than by using acqui-
sitions, joint ventures, or franchises. These align-
ments, along with others, help account for IKEA’s
long string of years with double-digit sales growth,
and current revenues of $8 billion.
The IKEA example allows us to illustrate the
strategy diamond with a widely familiar business
story. That example, however, is admittedly retro-
spective, looking backward to interpret the compa-
ny’s strategy according to the framework. But the
real power and role of strategy, of course, is in
looking forward. Based on a careful and complete
analysis of a company’s environment, market-
place, competitors, and internal capabilities, se-
nior managers need to craft a strategic intent for
their firm. The diamond is a useful framework for
doing just that, as we will now illustrate with a
business whose top executives set out to develop a
new strategy that would allow them to break free
from a spiral of mediocre profits and stagnant
sales.
Brake Products International: Charting a New
Direction
The strategy diamond proved very useful when it
was applied by the new executive team of Brake
Products International (BPI), a disguised manufac-
turer of components used in braking and suspen-
sion systems for passenger cars and light trucks. In
recent years, BPI had struggled as the worldwide
auto industry consolidated. Its reaction had been a
combination of disparate, half-hearted diversifica-
tion initiatives, alternating with across-the-board
expense cuts. The net result, predictably, was not
good, and a new management team was brought
in to try to revive performance. As part of this
turnaround effort, BPI’s new executives developed
a new strategic intent by making critical decisions
for each of the five elements—arenas, vehicles,
differentiators, staging, and economic logic. We
will not attempt to convey the analysis that gave
rise to their choices, but rather (as with the IKEA
example) will use BPI to illustrate the articulation
of a comprehensive strategy.
For their targeted arenas, BPI executives com-
mitted to expanding beyond their current market
scope of North American and European car plants
59
by adding Asia, where global carmakers were rap-
idly expanding. They considered widening their
product range to include additional auto compo-
nents, but concluded that their unique design and
manufacturing expertise was limited to brake and
suspension components. They did decide, how-
ever, that they should apply their advanced capa-
bility in antilock-braking and electronic traction-
control systems to develop braking products for
off-road vehicles, including construction and farm
equipment. As an additional commitment, execu-
tives decided to add a new service, systems inte-
gration, that would involve bundling BPI products
with other related components, from other manu-
facturers, that form a complete suspension system,
and then providing the carmakers with easy-to-
handle, preassembled systems modules. This ini-
tiative would allow the carmakers to reduce as-
sembly costs significantly, as well as to deal with
a single suspension-system supplier, with sub-
stantial logistics and inventory savings.
The management team identified three major
vehicles for achieving BPI’s presence in their se-
lected arenas. First, they were committed to or-
ganic internal development of new generations of
leading-edge braking systems, including those for
off-road vehicles. To become the preferred suspen-
sion-system integrator for the major auto manufac-
turers, executives decided to enter into strategic
alliances with the leading producers of other key
suspension components. Finally, to serve carmak-
ers that were expanding their operations in Asia,
BPI planned to initiate equity joint ventures with
brake companies in China, Korea, and Singapore.
BPI would provide the technology and oversee the
manufacturing of leading-edge, high-quality anti-
lock brakes; the Asian partners would take the
lead in marketing and government relations.
BPI’s executives also committed to achieving
and exploiting a small set of differentiators. The
company was already a technology leader, partic-
ularly in antilock-braking systems and electronic
traction-control systems. These proprietary tech-
nologies were seen as centrally important and
would be further nurtured. Executives also be-
lieved they could establish a preeminent position
as a systems integrator of entire suspension as-
semblies. However, achieving this advantage
would require new types of manufacturing and
logistics capabilities, as well as new skills in man-
aging relationships with other component compa-
nies. This would include an extensive e-business
capability that linked BPI with its suppliers and
customers. And finally, as one of the few brakes/
suspension companies with a manufacturing pres-
ence in North America and Europe—and now in
60 Academy of Management Executive November

Asia—BPI executives concluded that they had a
potential advantage—what they referred to as
“global reach”—that was well suited to the global
consolidation of the automobile industry. If BPI did
a better job of coordinating activities among its
geographically dispersed operations, it could pro-
vide the one-stop, low-cost global purchasing that
the industry giants increasingly sought.
If BPI did a better job of coordinating
activities among its geographically
dispersed operations, it could provide the
one-stop, low-cost global purchasing that
the industry giants increasingly sought.
BPI’s executives approached decisions about
staging very deliberately. They felt urgency on
various fronts, but also realized that, after several
years of lackluster performance, the firm lacked
the resources and credibility to do everything all at
once. As is often the case, decisions about staging
were most important for those initiatives where the
gaps between the status quo and the strategic
intent were the greatest. For example, executives
decided that, in order to provide a clear, early sign
of continued commitment to the major global auto
manufacturers, a critical first step was to establish
the joint ventures with brake manufacturers in
Asia. They felt just as much urgency to gain a
first-mover advantage as a suspension-system in-
tegrator. Therefore, management committed to
promptly establish alliances with a select group of
manufacturers of other suspension components,
and to experiment with one pilot customer. These
two sets of initiatives constituted stage one of BPI’s
strategic intent. For stage two, the executives
planned to launch the full versions of the systems-
integration and global-reach concepts, complete
with aggressive marketing. Also in this second
stage, expansion into the off-road vehicle market
would commence.
BPI’s economic logic hinged on securing pre-
mium prices from its customers, by offering them
at least three valuable, difficult-to-imitate bene-
fits. First, BPI was the worldwide technology
leader in braking systems; car companies would
pay to get access to these products for their new

FIGURE 5
BPI’s Strategy
2005 Hambrick and Fredrickson
high-end models. Second, BPI would allow global
customers an economical single source for braking
products; this would save customers considerable
contract administration and quality-assurance
costs—savings that they would be willing to share.
And third, through its alliances with major suspen-
sion-component manufacturers, BPI would be able
to deliver integrated-suspension-system kits to
customers—again saving customers in purchasing
costs, inventory costs, and even assembly costs, for
which they would pay a premium.
BPI’s turnaround was highly successful. The sub-
stance of the company’s strategy (shown in Figure
5) was critically important in the turnaround, as
was the concise strategy statement that was com-
municated throughout the firm. As the CEO stated:
We’ve finally identified what we want to be,
and what’s important to us. Just as impor-
tantly, we’ve decided what we don’t want to
be, and have stopped wasting time and effort.
Since we started talking about BPI in terms of
arenas, vehicles, differentiators, staging, and
economic logic, we have been able to get our
top team on the same page. A whole host of
decisions have logically fallen into place in
support of our comprehensive strategic
agenda.
Of Strategy, Better Strategy, and No Strategy
Our purpose in this article has been elemental—to
identify what constitutes a strategy. This basic
agenda is worthwhile because executives and
scholars have lost track of what it means to engage
in the art of the general. We particularly hope to
counter the recent catchall fragmentation of the
strategy concept, and to remind strategists that
orchestrated holism is their charge.
But we do not want to be mistaken. We don’t
believe that it is sufficient to simply make these
five sets of choices. No—a business needs not just
a strategy, but a sound strategy. Some strategies
are clearly far better than others. Fortunately, this
is where the wealth of strategic-analysis tools that
have been developed in the last 30 years becomes
valuable. Such tools as industry analysis, technol-
ogy cycles, value chains, and core competencies,
among others, are very helpful for improving the
soundness of strategies. When we compare these
tools and extract their most powerful central mes-
sages, several key criteria emerge to help execu-
tives test the quality of a proposed strategy. These
criteria are presented in Table 1.11 We strongly
encourage executives to apply these tests through-
out the strategy-design process and especially
when a proposed strategy emerges.
61
Table 1
Testing the Quality of Your Strategy
Key Evaluation Criteria
1. Does your strategy fit with what’s going on in the
environment?
Is there healthy profit potential where you’re headed? Does
your strategy align with the key success factors of your
chosen environment?
2. Does your strategy exploit your key resources?
With your particular mix of resources, does this strategy
give you a good head start on competitors? Can you pursue
this strategy more economically than competitors?
3. Will your envisioned differentiators be sustainable?
Will competitors have difficulty matching you? If not, does
your strategy explicitly include a ceaseless regimen of
innovation and opportunity creation?
4. Are the elements of your strategy internally consistent?
Have you made choices of arenas, vehicles, differentiators,
and staging, and economic logic? Do they all fit and
mutually reinforce each other?
5. Do you have enough resources to pursue this strategy?
Do you have the money, managerial time and talent, and
other capabilities to do all you envision? Are you sure
you’re not spreading your resources too thinly, only to be
left with a collection of feeble positions?
6. Is your strategy implementable?
Will your key constituencies allow you to pursue this
strategy? Can your organization make it through the
transition? Are you and your management team able and
willing to lead the required changes?
There might be those who wonder whether strat-
egy isn’t a concept of yesteryear, whose time has
come and gone. In an era of rapid, discontinuous
environmental shifts, isn’t the company that at-
tempts to specify its future just flirting with disas-
ter? Isn’t it better to be flexible, fast-on-the-feet,
ready to grab opportunities when the right ones
come along?
Some of the skepticism about strategy stems
from basic misconceptions. First, a strategy need
not be static: it can evolve and be adjusted on an
ongoing basis. Unexpected opportunities need not
be ignored because they are outside the strategy.
Second, a strategy doesn’t require a business to
become rigid. Some of the best strategies for to-
day’s turbulent environment keep multiple options
open and build in desirable flexibility—through
alliances, outsourcing, leased assets, toehold in-
vestments in promising technologies, and numer-
ous other means. A strategy can help to intention-
ally build in many forms of flexibility—if that’s
what is called for. Third, a strategy doesn’t deal
only with an unknowable, distant future. The ap-
propriate lifespans of business strategies have be-
come shorter in recent years. Strategy used to be
equated with 5- or 10-year horizons, but today a
horizon of two to three years is often more fitting. In
any event, strategy does not deal as much with
62 Academy of Management Executive
preordaining the future as it does with assessing
current conditions and future likelihoods, then
making the best decisions possible today.
Strategy is not primarily about planning. It is
about intentional, informed, and integrated
choices. The noted strategic thinkers Gary Hamel
and C. K. Prahalad said: “[A company’s] leadership
cannot be planned for, but neither can it happen
without a grand and well-considered aspiration.”12
We offer the strategy diamond as a way to craft
and articulate a business aspiration.
Acknowledgments
We thank the following people for helpful suggestions: Ralph
Biggadike, Warren Boeker, Kathy Harrigan, Paul Ingram, Xavier
Martin, Atul Nerkar, and Jaeyong Song.
Endnotes
1
Porter, M. E. 1980. Competitive strategy. New York: The Free
Press, provides an in-depth discussion of the five-forces model.
Hypercompetition is addressed in D’Aveni, R. A. 1994. Hyper-
competition. New York: The Free Press. The resource-based
view of the firm is discussed in Barney, J. 1991. Firm resources
and sustained competitive advantage. Journal of Management,
17: 99 –120. See Brandenburger, M., & Nalebuff, R. J. 1995. The
right game: Use game theory to shape strategy. Harvard Busi-
ness Review, July–August: 57–71, for a discussion of co-opetition.
2
Bianco, A., & Moore, P. L. 2001. Downfall: The inside story of
the management fiasco at Xerox. BusinessWeek, 5 March 2001.
3
A widely applicable framework for strategy implementa-
tion is discussed in Galbraith, J. R., & Kazanjian, R. K. 1986.
Strategy implementation: Structure, systems and process, 2nd
ed. St. Paul: West Publishing. A similar tool is offered in Ham-
brick, D. C., & Cannella, A. 1989. Strategy implementation as
substance and selling. The Academy of Management Executive,
3(4): 278 –285.
4
This observation has been made for years by many contrib-
utors, including Quinn, J. B. 1980. Strategies for change: Logical
November
incrementalism. Homewood, IL: Richard D. Irwin Publishing;
and Mintzberg, H. 1973. Strategy making in three modes. Cali-
fornia Management Review, 15: 44 –53.
5
Drucker, P. 1954. The practice of management. New York:
Harper & Row.
6
Haleblian, J., & Finkelstein, S. 1999. The influence of orga-
nizational acquisition experience on acquisition performance:
A behavioral learning perspective. Administrative Science
Quarterly, 44: 29 –56.
7
Eisenhardt, K. M., & Brown, S. L. 1998. Time pacing: Com-
peting in markets that won’t stand still. Harvard Business Re-
view, March–April: 59 – 69, discusses “time pacing” as a compo-
nent of a process of contending with rapidly changing
environments.
8
The collapse of stock market valuations for Internet compa-
nies lacking in profits— or any prospect of profits—marked a
return to economic reality. Profits above the firm’s cost of cap-
ital are required in order to yield sustained or longer-term
shareholder returns.
9
Galbraith & Kazanjian, op. cit., and Hambrick & Cannella,
op. cit.
10
Porter, M. E. 1996. What is strategy? Harvard Business Re-
view, November–December: 61–78.
11
See Tilles, S. 1963. How to evaluate strategy. Harvard Busi-
ness Review, July–August: 112–121, for a classic, but more lim-
ited, set of evaluative tests.
12
See Hamel, G., & Prahalad, C. K. 1993. Strategy as stretch
and leverage. Harvard Business Review, March–April: 84 –91.
Donald C. Hambrick is the Samuel Bronfman Professor of Dem-
ocratic Business Enterprise at the Graduate School of Business,
Columbia University. He holds degrees from the University of
Colorado (B.S.), Harvard University (MBA), and the Pennsylva-
nia State University (Ph.D.). An active consultant and executive
education instructor, he also served as president of the Acad-
emy of Management. Contact: dch2@columbia.edu.
James W. Fredrickson is a professor of strategic management
and Chevron Oil Centennial Foundation Fellow in the Mc-
Combs School of Business of the University of Texas at Austin.
He was previously on the Faculties of Columbia University and
the University of Pittsburgh, and holds a Ph.D. from the Univer-
sity of Washington. Contact: james.fredrickson@bus.utexas.edu.
Creating Imaginable Futures: Using
Human-Centered Design Strategies
as a Foresight Tool
Silvia Gabrielli
Abstract
Researcher
Corporations as well as private or public institutions all
Interaction Design Institute Ivrea
need to plan for the future, but the difficulty of
Via Montenavale, 1
anticipating the long-term effects of current decisions is
10015 Ivrea (TO), Italy
well known.
s.gabrielli@interaction-ivrea.it

This paper explores how design research methods and

Jan-Christoph Zoels
strategic design can strengthen a foresight and
Senior Associate Professor
innovation process by enhancing scenarios of the future
Interaction Design Institute Ivrea
with the visual, the spatial, and the experiential.
Via Montenavale, 1
10015 Ivrea (TO), Italy
The case study is based on two recent design foresight
jc.zoels@interaction-ivrea.it
initiatives, Macrowave and Project F, that Whirlpool
Europe, a leading manufacturer and marketer of major
domestic appliances, carried out as a multidisciplinary
effort to use design strategy and user experience
research in shaping its business policy for the next ten
years.

Results from these projects show that by using design

to create tangible representations of future product
solutions, the company was able to stimulate interest,
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Keywords
Prototyping, Contextual Design, Product Concepts,
Concept Visualisation, Design Planning, Design
Research, Innovation.
Industry/category
Home appliances manufacturing, domestic appliances
design, and manufacturing
Project Statement
“Design predicts the future when it anticipates
experience…” Augusto Morello [4].
In the past, information about how corporations used
design was usually limited to inspiring stories about
design’s role in creating better products. Design was
thought of as a creative work that companies use to
make products and communications desirable,
marketable, and differentiated as brands. Even today
only a few companies use design to strategically inform
their vision of themselves, the marketplace to come,
and to enhance their agility to act and innovate.
Over the last two decades, however, design has proven
to be much more, a discipline that offers a range of
processes for dealing with complex subjects. Design
research methods can uncover rich information about
people’s behaviours, needs, and cultural patterns. As a
synthesizing discipline, design can help planners spot
and map opportunities for future product or service
development. Design offers techniques for depicting
future scenarios with the visual, the spatial, and the
experiential. In addition, strategic design can be used
to get deeper levels of understanding and buy-in from
various stakeholders. All these activities can greatly
augment and improve the quality of foresight studies
2
and sustain innovation [2]. According to Jean
Schneider, foresight “starts when the project time-scale
is over the average product/service life-cycle in the
given industry. … The value of long-term projects is
that they are often visionary and inspiring, rather then
predictive [5].”
This case study of Whirlpool Europe’s recent foresight
projects shows how a corporation has used strategic
design as part of a multidisciplinary effort to shape its
business policy for the next ten years. We highlight the
approaches Whirlpool Europe used and outline how
they could become useful tools for decision-makers
setting strategy in corporations or public office.
Design methods (particularly strategic design,
visualisation, prototyping, user experience assessment,
and feedback) can elicit tacit information that is
invaluable to planning and yet difficult to gather any
other way. Although these methods cannot predict the
future, they can be used to gather better information
about it.
Our paper explores how design helps to create an
imaginable future—one leading to a richer response
from customers and other stakeholders, feeding more
relevant information to decision-makers.
Visualisation methods ranging from sketches and
renderings, to computer modelling, can help make
ideas seem real in earlier stages of planning.
Convincing physical prototypes can embody ideas for
products, environments, and systems. Scenarios of use
(through storyboards, videos, or demonstrations) can
model ideas into seemingly real situations so that
audiences have much more to respond to, prodding
them into a fuller reaction. Thus by giving more

information through designed models and materials,
and eliciting more in return, planners can gather
information, gain insights, and affect the direction of
projects much earlier in the process.
The Case of Project F
Project F: fabric care futures was an advanced design
research initiative of the Global Consumer Design
(GCD) group of Whirlpool Europe (Cassinetta, Italy),
led by design manager Richard Eisermann. Project F
explored what the future of fabric care could be in the
next ten years and how this might affect the
manufacturing of major domestic appliances for
Whirlpool, one of the leaders in that marketplace
sector.
In the past, household appliances were viewed as
functional, seldom emotionally laden. Any
improvements to the appliances were generally
incremental: simply adding the next engineering
feature to the traditional white box appliance, with little
awareness of changes of attitude on the part of
consumers. The design-ethnographic research of
Project F revealed a great deal of information about the
complexity of current domestic life and uncovered
attitudes about consumers’ images of self, home,
family, and friends, as well as design and product
preferences. This information led not only to new
concept products, which guided the strategic planning
process, but also informed the current product
development. Moreover, the user-centered and
contextual design approach fostered a change in
strategy and communication for the company.
This is the second such design research project for
Whirlpool Europe. Two years before Project F, the
3
Macrowave project had invited designers to envision
how microwave technology could be used in products
quite unlike those we see on the market today.
The Macrowave and Project F initiatives signalled a
departure for Whirlpool Europe’s design
activity—integrating contextual user experience
research into the strategic design and product
development process, with the intent of provoking a
change within the company and creating a climate open
to innovation. In attending first to products
(microwaves), then to processes (like fabric care),
Whirlpool Europe is positioning itself beyond the “White
Box” approach of the traditional appliance market as an
innovative, foresight-oriented company. In creating
prototypes of imaginable futures, the design team is
using the power of experience as a catalyst to shape
visions of the company’s future.
Project participants
Project F involved multidisciplinary teams: external and
internal designers, researchers like a cultural
anthropologist and a usability specialist, engineers,
marketing and communication experts, and support by
top decision-makers. Differently from the Macrowave
project, for which Whirlpool Europe had involved a
number of young, brand-name designers to come up
with innovative ideas and concept products, for
Project F, design manager Richard Eisermann invited
three external design teams (designkoop, based in
Hannover/Berlin/Milan, deepdesign from Milan, and
design RAW from San Francisco, USA) and the internal
designers of GCD Whirlpool Europe to develop future
product solutions. A conscious decision was made to
avoid well-known individual designers who might opt
for an expected visual language or a signature style;

instead, the selected groups of product designers were
chosen for their ability to bring new ideas to the mix.
The aim was to provoke thinking, dialogue, and future
decision-making about what type of innovations to the
laundry process would best fit customers’ needs and
preferences in the future. The conceptual work was
based on the contextual research performed by the
Whirlpool Usability Group, led by Gigliana Orlandi, and
Future Concept Lab, led by sociologist Francesco
Morace.
For Project F, the Whirlpool Usability Group, which
includes a cultural anthropologist, a usability specialist,
and 2 or 3 support staff, organised both a qualitative
in-home study in three European Union countries (Italy,
France, and the United Kingdom) and a study using
focus groups. In-home studies have the great
advantage over focus-group studies in that researchers
not only hear how people present themselves doing
tasks (how they think they perform it, their idealized
mental model), but also observe people’s actual
patterns and routines in a real context. Field research
methods included in-home video ethnography,
researchers shadowing subject’s activities and tasks,
and in-depth interviews and visual self-documentation
by users, etc. The researchers observed user
behaviours while doing laundry: what people need done
and what tasks they perform. The insights helped the
company to better understand users’ needs within the
whole laundry process and to possibly rethink the
design of clothing care overall, not just customers’
interaction with washing machines.
In addition, an external consultancy, FutureConceptLab
(FCL), Milan, conducted a parallel quantitative survey
about the concept of domesticity. Conducted with 2000
4
households in six European countries (Italy, Spain,
France, Germany, Poland, and the UK), the outcome of
this research resulted in a study called New Domesticity
[8].
Design research cannot be effective unless its results
are communicated and acted upon. GCD Whirlpool
Europe partnered with the company’s communication
department, led by Sarah Brady, to position “design
research as a cornerstone of exiting corporate
communications opportunities” (private
correspondence). Communication activities included
design exhibits, trade events, and press relations.
Project dates and duration
Whirlpool Europe started its first design foresight
project, Macrowave, in 1999. The project was carried
out for a duration of nine months. Innovative product
concepts “short-circuited” the traditional development
process and resulted in a new product in the 2002 line-
up (a microwave named Maximo).
Project F initiated in spring 2001, and the company
spent about nine months on research, design
development, and prototyping phases, dedicating year
2002 to the internal and external project
communication.
Process
Steps in using design as a foresight activity:
1. Synthesize ideas, technology, and user behaviours.
2. Create an understandable language (visual, visceral,
verbal).
3. Model ideas (visualisation and prototyping).

During a first workshop in summer 2001, designers
were introduced to the user-focussed research insights
as well as to new technological developments in the
field of fabric care. The research findings enabled
designers to go beyond a short-term horizon, and gain
a deeper understanding about domestic behaviour
related to washing and the diversity of such behaviour
within the different EU countries studied.
Researchers had observed, for example, differences
having to do with where consumers located their
washing machines. In Italy, machines were usually put
in the bathroom; in the UK, in the kitchen or utility
room. The location suggested what kinds of activities
might be related to the process of doing laundry and
what associations consumers might have about them.
This data became a valuable source of ideas for the
designers’ brainstorming activities and creativity
workshops, helping them to keep in mind a
representation of users’ perspective at their encounter
with home technology.
One subject that clearly emerged from the study was
the psychology of “things being clean.” Across cultures,
consumers shared a positive feeling about being able to
put on clean garments. There was a satisfaction in
being able to do a load of laundry and have freshly
scented clothes; this satisfaction was linked to a feeling
of control and, in some cases, even to pride (e.g., a
mother’s pride at being able to offer a clean school
uniform to her child). The concept of cleanliness went
beyond the notion of hygiene or eliminating dirt,
however. What “clean” has come to mean for many is a
sensorial experience of purity and transparency, linked
to a feeling of well-being. Another finding was that
design preferences are increasingly guided by a
5
person’s sense of self and a desire for products that
reflect the articulated self-image.
Before the researchers and designers studied users,
they had thought the goal would be to reduce washing
time by a third. They were surprised to discover that
people thought about laundry as a two-day process:
planning, sorting, washing, drying, and putting things
away. Merely cutting down the time of a washing cycle
wouldn’t matter as much to the user. Observing users
and their mental models helped the designers to spot
new opportunities and led to the design of “BioLogic.”
During the workshops, the designers used outcomes of
the user research study in developing various visual
techniques to envision the experience of users
interacting with alternative systems for domestic
laundry.
The designers mapped the research findings visually to
establish the relationships between different concepts.
They then sketched their ideas and discussed the
various scenarios for projects, until they charted five
themes around which to develop the concept products.
These were:
1. An awareness of the senses
2. Space and how to address the choice of location of an
appliance
3. Ritual, social interaction
4. Fabrics of the future
5. Environmental concerns
After the workshop, each design group went back to its
own studio and worked separately from the others for
about a month, gradually developing ideas and refining

them through sketching and making two-dimensional
models. Two of the design teams produced computer
animations, showing how people would use the
imagined products and in what setting.
This study shows how the act of designing is not simply
a process of combining all the research information or
blending all the possible solutions. Designers used their
own tacit knowledge and their experience to synthesize
a solution from multiple sources and ideas.
Innovation processes, whether in a company designing
products or in many other endeavours, need to be
rooted both in analytical skills and in more intuitive,
synthetic ones. Designers seem to be one of the kinds
of specialists that are particularly well-equipped for
synthesizing alternative solutions to meet human needs
[1] [3] [4].
The designers for Project F explored innovative
technologies such as nanotechnologies and waterless
washing for cleaning future types of fabrics, such as
those equipped with electronics. They also examined
environmental and ecological concerns, especially
regarding energy consumption and water conservation.
The internal GCD designers (among which were Ruben
Castano and Monica Dalla Riva) had easy access to
their research and engineering colleagues at Whirlpool,
where considerable informal discussions took place
about the user-research findings beyond the formal
information given in the initial workshop. This
interdisciplinary exchange informed their solutions, and
suggests why it is best not to keep design teams too
separate from user-research or implementation groups.
(The converse is also true, however: it is best not to let
6
implementation concerns prevent the imagination of
future alternatives.)
In a follow-up workshop about a month later, each
team used visualization techniques, such as sketches,
storyboards, animations, and rough prototypes, to
present their respective design proposals to the other
teams. Together, they selected the strongest ideas to
be refined in further iterations during the design
process.
One problem that arose during the initial workshop was
that the research results were almost too suggestive of
possibilities, yet were not immediately meaningful or
actionable for the design teams. Even when the design-
ethnographic research material seems clear, the act of
designing involves a considerably larger step than
simply taking available data and deriving
straightforward conclusions from them.
The difficulty of readily translating research insights
into design solutions is common in foresight activities.
One possible way to overcome this problem is to take
advantage of the fact that design is an iterative and
participatory process, in which designs are created and
refined incrementally in each successive version with
input by different stakeholders. Going back and forth
between the research problem and the design solution,
during each successive iteration, allows for the true
development of design concepts informed by research.
During Project F the intermediate solutions produced by
the GCD group engaged actively in this iterative
process, using the advantages of co-location for
immediate discussion between GCD designers and
different internal constituents of the company (design
 7

management, usability group, engineering and What follows are brief descriptions of the five concept
marketing units) in the context of their daily contacts. prototypes.

Research details Body Box, the concept developed by designkoop, is a

Design embodiments can elicit: piece of technological furniture that brings together
 Responses to help evaluate alternative concepts and both body care and fabric care [Fig. 1].
scenarios
 Feedback to assist in assessment of alternatives to
inform decision-making
 Information for thinking ahead

The designs created by the teams were translated into

three-dimensional prototypes during the fall of 2001.

The prototypes were intended to function as artefacts

to be used, discussed and exhibited both internally and
externally to the company to gather information useful
for its future strategic planning.

Some of the mock-ups fared better than others in the

translation to 3-D; it was important, however, that all
be modelled at the same level in order to be
convincing. (Whirlpool built all the prototypes except
for one, which was built in Milan.) The design manager
acted as producer to oversee the prototyping process
and ensure consistency of design quality and
innovation.
The resulting prototypes represented a range not just
of typologies of product, but different potential points
on the timeline of product development. One or two of
the concepts (e.g., designkoop’s Body Box) could be
realised with current technology; several others were
dependent on the development of future technologies.
Figure 1: The Body Box prototype
It houses a normal washer and dryer, along with
different bins and containers—where tagged fabrics can
be collected, sorted and washed automatically with the
appropriate care cycle by using data stored in their
label. Body Box is also designed to provide room for
relaxing body-care activities, like chromo-therapy.
Deepdesign’s concept for Pulse made the process inside
the washing appliance more transparent and visible.
They designed a new type of wash cycle based on

centripetal (inward) force, typical of traditional hand
wash, instead of centrifugal (outward) force. The
rhythm of air and water flowing in and out of the
machine was designed to give the sensation of a heart
pulsing as the machine massages the load of laundry
[Fig. 2].
Figure 2: The Pulse prototype
Cleanscape, the proposal by design RAW, builds on the
social aspects of laundry as a domestic activity
accomplished in the public realm. This concept is based
not only on the memory of villagers washing clothes at
a river bank, but also on the contemporary trend
toward the development of “third places,” here a public
laundry where social interaction is combined with other
activities, tasks, or services [Fig. 3].
8
Figure 3: The Cleanscape prototype
The GCD internal group developed a project called OM,
the design of a waterless washing appliance utilising
nanotechnology, for better care of different kinds of
fabrics in the future, such as those that would be
electronically enhanced. Mounted on the wall, this
system suggested how fabric technology would evolve
and be cared for in ways no longer dependent on
conventional household plumbing [Fig. 4].
The aesthetic beauty of this artefact, as well as the
other proposed system, suggests a concept of a
washing appliance that consumers would no longer
need to hide somewhere in the house, but instead
would proudly exhibit at home. Also, the prototype
takes the form of a bulb divided into four different
chambers, dedicated to store four different types of
garments separately; this design choice was intended
to enhance users' experience by precluding the
traditional need to sort fabrics from the laundry pile as
was observed during the initial user research.
 9

low unit containing hydroponic plants (plants which

grow in a nutrient liquid without gravel, earth, or
another supporting medium), which, if feasible, would
purify grey water used in washing [Fig. 5]. Power for
the unit would come from fuel cell technology,
producing only water and heat as by-products. BioLogic
would capture and retain these as part of its resource
conservation approach.

Figure 5: The BioLogic prototype

Finished prototypes, like the ones produced for

Project F, are not the only option for embodying design
ideas; by contrast, often their completion requires a
considerable investment in terms of funding and time.
Figure 4: The OM prototype
In order to promote awareness of the user/products
possibilities, an effort was made at Whirlpool to
The prototype that has stirred the greatest interest
produce convincing physical models that were expected
among audiences so far is called BioLogic, also
to better stimulate users' senses so that audiences
designed by Whirlpool GCD. BioLogic uses a “slow
could have much more to respond to when they were
wash” approach based on cyclical, natural processes of
exhibited, prodding them into a fuller reaction.
regeneration. Instead of a single wash drum, the
laundry is distributed to a number of washing pods in a

Unfortunately, less attention was given to present these
prototypes to the public, in the context of specific
scenarios of use (through storyboards, videos or
demonstrations). This would have largely enhanced the
communication of the embedded ideas, making it easier
to appreciate the many implications connected to their
subsequent development.
Results
In complex, real-world projects, foresight activities are
aimed at producing orientations rather than predictions.
To do so they need to be informed by different
perspectives, people, and disciplines, which present and
assess alternative options for decision-makers to
choose. According to Richard Eisermann, the main
reason to do a research initiative such as Project F is
not to put a specific concept prototype into production,
but rather to get feedback about which possible
direction to pursue in the future. In this sense, the
design concepts were intended to function as artefacts
within the strategic planning process.
An interesting side-effect of the three-dimensional
modelling and prototyping phase carried out at
Whirlpool Europe was that it fostered informal
communication between the designers and the
company’s engineers about technical feasibility of the
concept products, something that was activated by the
tangible and engaging properties of the prototypes.
Design created a shared space [6] for a constructive
act of probe-and-learn by which development teams
gained a visual and tactile experience of what they
might later develop into a product. In this way design
and prototyping helped to illuminate experimentation
as well as implementation of possible innovative
solutions.
10
Although the Project F prototypes were not developed
to be directly translated into actual products, the idea
of user-focus and social change, as well as the kind of
technology embedded in each of them, were intended
to provide the company with experience design space
worth exploring for the next several years.
Whirlpool Europe displayed the concept prototypes at
some of the main design exhibits and trade events in
Europe (such as HomeTech, Berlin; Salone del Mobile,
Milan), and gained extensive press coverage from
them, which enhanced the company’s reputation for
innovation and consumer-focussed design.
Exhibiting concept products is not unusual, however.
One of the noteworthy aspects of this project is that
not only the products, but also the research itself
piqued the interest of the European press. The
combination of the research from Project F and the New
Domesticity study provided European media with a
wealth of material that stimulated commentary and
debate around design, consumer trends, and societal
behaviour. This helped Whirlpool to present and
communicate the relevance and foresight value of the
Project F concept prototypes to a general audience.
Part of the purpose of this project was to reach the
decision-makers who specify Whirlpool products in
domestic or institutional environments; another aim
was to reach opinion makers and influencers. Press
coverage of the project helped achieve those goals. The
business, style, and design press all covered Project F
extensively, enhancing the image of Whirlpool Europe
as an innovative and design-oriented company. Before
Project F, the company had not experienced such a
significant quantity of material published about

Whirlpool, especially in magazines dealing with the
leading edge in technology, trends, and style.
Externally, Project F has established a unique position
for Whirlpool within its industry; there are very few
other competitors who are yet acting in the arena of
user-focused design research.
In terms of economic benefit to the company, the value
of the media coverage and space in publications at
least matches the original budget allocated to the
project’s development. Whirlpool is currently
assembling a regional analysis and measurement of the
media coverage achieved by Project F in terms of
monetary value and space in publications as a return
on investment. The percentage increase in unsolicited
media calls will also be measured.
By now, Whirlpool Europe has collected positive
(although anecdotal) user reactions and appreciation.
The prototype attracting most attention from the
audience is BioLogic. Why are audiences drawn to this
particular object over the others? Because of its
sculptural form? Because it incorporates plants? The
GCD team wants to understand the reason for the
positive reactions to the project, to get a better sense
of the level of acceptance for such a dramatically
different solution.
Of course, examples like BioLogic are concepts. The
realities of technical standards and environmental
requirements are very exacting and will change the
concepts into something far different. More engineering
simulations will make these projects more plausible and
closer to product, although other innovative solutions
might come out of that phase.
11
At the beginning of 2003, the company plans to bring
the Project F prototypes back to the usability studio to
make a rigorous evaluation of consumer preferences.
Whirlpool will then decide which ideas to develop and
implement. The findings are intended to inform the
strategic planning for their product line in 2004–05.
The impact of the Macrowave project and Project F
inside the company was perhaps more dramatic than
their effect outside. Whirlpool’s GCD initiated the
Macrowave project on its own, in part to create an
innovation-friendly climate within Whirlpool Europe.
The quality of ideas embodied in the prototypes
stimulated internal interest, buy-in, and support. This
opened up a dialogue between all the stakeholders
involved: design, marketing, engineering, and
executive decision makers. Project F suggested a
“softer” value of design research in also being a
motivational experience for many employees of
Whirlpool Europe.
By demonstrating its ideas through tangible means and
gaining much outside recognition, GCD earned a great
deal of credibility from the project, so much so that
divisions within Whirlpool Europe began to vie for its
strategic foresight services. GCD gained a voice in
discussions about corporate strategy. After the
Macrowave project, insights from their concept
prototyping bypassed the traditional development
process and actually influenced the product planning for
2002, resulting in a new product, the microwave
Maximo. The ability to demonstrate ideas so clearly and
tangibly gave Global Consumer Design a new position
on the team of those devising strategy for Whirlpool.

Private or public institutions, as well as corporations
like Whirlpool, need to gather considerable resources to
do large projects, for this they need extensive buy-in
from many stakeholders.
Not only did the project open up dialogue and generate
excitement, according to Richard Eisermann, the
project also helped create integration among different
tiers within the company. It brought together design
research, design practice, communication, and, to a
certain extent, engineering (horizontal integration). It
also gained credibility and trust for the GCD with key
decision-makers within the company (vertical
integration).
The company is committed to a follow-up project in
2003, demonstrating its desire to continue innovation
in the field of design.
In pursuing its policy of strategic design and
innovation, GCD is currently re-thinking and planning
how to continue the design foresight activities like
those in Project F—but more readily producible within
strategic and tactical timeframes.
Whirlpool Europe is also aware that strategic design can
become key to shaping its future production by
exploring how new configurations of products (or
services) could best meet users’ expectations in the
years to come. This would be more important than
looking at how new aesthetic forms may differentiate
future products from those of the competition.
To make its next foresight initiatives even more
effective, Whirlpool Europe could add several elements
to its process.
12
First, when prototypes are displayed for communication
purposes they should be accompanied by scenarios
showing their use, thus creating a more vivid context
for the products being modelled. When the Macrowave
prototypes were exhibited, Whirlpool showed them in
small environments that were evocative. Unfortunately,
the Project F prototypes were displayed as sculptural
objects on pedestals. Despite a video loop
accompanying them at the exhibitions, the overall
impression was of beautiful but isolated, formal objects.
Ideally, the company should have done more to
contextualize them, so that audiences would have a
greater ability to decode the futuristic design solutions
and make judgments based on more than simple likes
and dislikes.
Secondly, strengthening the activity of designing with
users (participatory design) could encourage people to
provide valuable contributions throughout the various
phases of the project. Participatory design methods
have proved to be a powerful means for turning users
into the broader role of committed actors within a
project. This change of attitude and role is often vital
for reaching deeper into people’s desires, needs and
orientations, which are projected very far in the future.
The company’s decision-makers, at the same time,
might find design projects of this kind to be more
reliable test beds for measuring the strength and
general acceptance of each concept proposal.
Thirdly, better integrating GCD’s usability team into the
evaluation of proposed user experiences could establish
a feedback loop from imaginable futures into strategies
the company could act upon.

Finally, the main point to be stressed is, how foresight
activities such as those being done by corporations like
Whirlpool Europe can be useful to decision-makers and
policy-makers in other situations and organisations.
Whirlpool used foresight-oriented design to:
 Create dialogue between internal stakeholders (design,
marketing, engineering, and executive decision-
makers)
 Synthesize ideas about new technology and user
behaviours
 Visualize ideas (abstract complicated ideas and
communicate them to the public)
 Create alternative models
 Spark internal/external communication
 Create openness to multiple alternatives
 Affect strategic decision-making
 Communicate internally and externally to get buy-in
 Develop a vision of its own future
Design offers the possibility for enhancing future
scenarios with the visual, spatial, and experiential.
Design research methods can support the process of
getting more meaningful information about people’s
thoughts, desires, and behaviours. Design
embodiments can invite rich response from audiences.
In addition, strategic design can be used to get buy-in
and understanding from various stakeholders, thus
becoming a living way of doing business and a dynamic
cultural force. The design projects here presented
played an important role not only in stimulating
innovation, but also in helping to rearrange and express
the company’s resources, competencies and activities
more effectively.
13
Methods learned from the design professions—such as
strategic design, visualization, prototyping, user
experience assessment and feedback—cannot predict
the future. However, they can help reveal
opportunities, motivate action, and improve the basis
on which to make decisions.
In comparing the whole story of Project F with an ideal
foresight process, some room for improvement can be
envisaged. A more direct involvement of users or
consumers in the design process might have increased
the potential for a cross-fertilization not only among the
different professions and competences that usually
contribute to a foresight activity, but also among the
principal stakeholders that are affected by the ideas
and decisions there developed. Design projects like
Project F have the potential for becoming symbolic
processes able to engage people in constructing their
own context and “point[ing] to something meaningful”
they have constructed [7].
In the case of Project F, the adoption of such an
enhanced user-centric approach might have produced a
more dynamic feedback loop, helping to develop and
shape research questions, as well as design proposals,
in a more flexible and representative way.
Notwithstanding these indications for improvement, we
believe the case study presented here points to design
methods and activities that offer a qualitative
enhancement to current ways of planning for the
future.
 14

Acknowledgements [8] Zoels J.C. & Gabrielli S. (2003). Creating Imaginable

The development of this case study has been partially
funded by the STRATA-Design for Future Needs (DFFN)
European research project.
Futures: Using Design Strategy as a Foresight Tool.
Design for Future Needs – European Union Project
Report, http://www.dffn.org.

The authors would like to thank Richard Eisermann,

Sarah Brady, Gigliana Orlandi, and Monica Dalla Riva of
Whirlpool and Francesco Morace of Future Concept Lab
for their openness and continued support of the DFFN
case study. We are indebted to Gillian Crampton Smith,
Linda Norlen, Mark Vanderbeeken, and Marguerite
Kahrl for the support provided during this work.

References
[1] Dykstra-Erickson E., Mackay W. & Arnowitz J. (2001).
Trialogue on Design (of). Interactions, Vol. 8(2), 109-
117.
[2] Keeley L. (2001). A Look at the Modern Dynamics of
Brands. DMI Journal, Vol. 12, No. 1, Winter 2001.
[3] Margolin V., Buchanan R. (1995). Design History or
Design Studies: Subject Matter and Methods. Design
Issues, 11(1), 4-15.
[4] Morello, A. (2000). Design Predicts the Future When It
Anticipates Experience. Design Issues, 16(3), 35-44.
[5] Schneider, J. (2003). Commonalities and Differences in
Design and Foresight. Design for Future Needs –
European Union Project Report, http://www.dffn.org.
26
[6] Schrage, M. (2000). Serious Play: How the World’s Best
Companies Simulate to Innovate. Boston, MA: Harvard
Business School Press.
[7] Stacey R.D., Griffin D. & Shaw, P. (2000). Complexity
and Management: Fad or Radical Challenge to Systems
Thinking? London and New York: Routledge.
Second International Seville Seminar on Future-Oriented Technology Analysis: Impact of FTA Approaches on Policy
and Decision-Making – SEVILLE 28-29 SEPTEMBER 2006

BOTTOM-UP STRATEGIES IN CONSUMER-LED MARKETS

Authors
Max Munnecke, Technical University of Denmark, Denmark, max@ma3x.com
Remko van der Lugt, Technical University of Delft, The Netherlands, R.vanderLugt@tudelft.nl

Abstract
Future studies are traditionally based on a top-down approach, but in consumer-led markets -
where it is subtle innovation features that make the difference between success and failure -
managers experience that the approach is counter-productive. The managers are expected to
define a strategy to frame the innovation efforts, but in practice it is the emerging insights and
innovations from those efforts that set the base for the development of a strategy.
Managers need to fully acknowledge the power of emerging innovations that transcend the
strategic framework and proactively pursue them. Future emerging innovations can be
fermented and investigated using a bottom-up approach which is similar to the top-down
scenario process used for strategic planning. However, the nature of the bottom-up approach is
different and needs to be relevant to explore future innovations opportunities, rather than
oriented towards decision and policy making.
An analysis of future trends suggest that the bottom-up approach is in a favourable position to
serve the future needs of companies in consumer-led markets and a model is presented which
integrates the top-down and the bottom-up approach into one innovation focused framework.
A new toolbox is needed for the framework and future-oriented technology analysis FTA is in a
strong position to take the lead in collaboration with other research areas, such as ethnology,
socio-technical analysis and design studies. However, other agencies are already active in the
field and FTA need to act soon, if they want to be a player in the future business context.

Keywords:

Bottom-up, user value, market paradigm, innovation opportunities, experience economy,

heuristic experimentation, future-oriented technology analysis, innovation map.

1 Introduction
For many decades the top-down strategic planning process has been the dominant logic in a
business context, but an emerging market paradigm is changing the balance. The new paradigm
favours a consumer-led bottom-up process and it is gaining ground in the circles of innovative
companies and consultancies.
Future studies continues to focus on services that fit the old top-down logic, but will soon have to
rethink its position, if it wants to remain a relevant actor in a modern business context.

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2 The New Market Paradigm

Traditionally the role of future studies in business context is to support business managers in
decision and policy-making. The standard procedure is to conduct a future-oriented macro-level
analysis, which by means of a reductionistic process leads to a limited amount of scenarios,
which define the strategic choices of the company's top management. Once a strategy is
formulated it is passed down the organisational hierarchy and gradually broken into operational
goals. Within this framework of top-down planning the R&D department's main purpose is to
develop products that fit the strategic framework.

Figure 1: The traditional top-down process.

This business model assumes that “industry structure is relatively stable” [Porter 1985:7,
“competitive advantage”] and a company's main challenge is to select a strategic position that
fits the organization and competitive situation in the industry.
In the last decade free trade agreements and information technology has intensified competition
dramatically and changed the dynamics of the markets profoundly.
The company strategy is no longer the structure that shapes the companies. A long term
strategy which focuses on only one possible trajectory is rigid and limiting, not to say naïve
considering the complexity and ambiguity of the market.
Today's core assumption is that markets are in rapid and unpredictable change. Change is
pervasive and ”the challenge is to react quickly, anticipate when possible, and lead change
where appropriate” [Brown 1998, p.243]. Companies need to gain the “edges” and improvise,
making ad-hoc strategies and follow emerging opportunities.
To match the external diversity and complexity the companies need to be agile and alert, so they
can continuously reinvent themselves and produce a continuous flow of advantages in
collaboration with their network of innovation partners [Nordstrom 2000, Brown 1998].

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The new paradigm is not just some new business hype. Consultancies are reporting that their
client projects are increasingly “fuzzy” and they need to work and navigate in new ways because
the paths are not known in advance [Friis 2005]. “Instead of asking the consultant to 'design this
new widget for me,' where the widget is already identified, a client might ask, 'Should we be
designing a new widget, a new widget and service bundle, or something else altogether?'"
[Weiss 2002]
The times of the war and sports game metaphors are over. The world is no longer predictable in
the way it used to be and metaphors about improvisation and navigation describe more
adequately the situation of modern companies.

3 Innovation Opportunities
The new market paradigm assumes that companies face a saturated marketplace with
commoditised products, where innovation is the only sustainable way to differentiate your
business and save yourself from the painful competition on cost and price.
All “purposeful innovation begins with the analysis of opportunities" [Drucker 1985], so your
future success depends on your capability to understand innovation opportunities across all
horizons [Tsoukas 2004, p.66].
It is not enough to look within your existing business area. “The key to growth is to evaluate
opportunities with an open mind,” [Bagai 1999] and to look for opportunities outside their
company in partnership with other companies, -so called “open innovation” [Chesbrough 2003].
Especially radical innovations can secure a long-term competitive advantage, so the capacity of
a business to consistently deliver radical innovation is a key factor for its success. Incremental
improvement, which only add and not create new value, will clearly not be enough to survive in
emerging and shifting markets. When facing disruptive innovation by markets and technologies,
incremental improvement is like the famous re-arranging of the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.
The new business mantra – which demand a continuous flow of radical innovation – is a tough
nut to crack for many companies. In the following we will have a brief look into some of the
initiatives that have been undertaken to generate radical innovation.

4 Future Labs and Strategic Design

In the last decade many innovative market leaders have set up future labs, concept labs, vision
labs etc. to provide radical innovations. The future labs are detached from the main organization
to create an environment that is optimal for innovations.
The main problem with the traditional organizational hierarchy is that internal cultures and
pressures often push efforts toward more low risk, immediate reward, and incremental projects.
The hierarchy impose a top-down decision process which suppresses emerging radical
innovation which originates with the front-line workers.
The idea of a Future Lab is inspired by the insight that radical innovation often emerge from the
front-line workers tacit contextual knowledge and daily experimentation. Such experimentation
investigates parts in detail with out knowing the overall system, and allow for out-of-the-box
insights to emerge that can led to radical innovation and a redefinition of previously established
frameworks and strategies.

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The labs are effectively short-cutting the middle layers of the main organization, so top
managers can interact directly and learn from front-line workers. “The reason is that amongst all
of the decisions, those which appear secondary at the moment they are made may later
transpire to be as crucial as those thought to be strategic” [Akrich 2002, p.193].
The future labs are therefore a practical solution to the dilemma of on the one hand having a
disciplined and focused core organisation and on the other hand leaving space for an open mind
and creative exploration of innovation opportunities. "In order to bring about frame-breaking
change they have to remain outside existing paradigms and resist corruption by established
interests" [Rieple 2005, p.51].

4.1 Future Labs Characteristics

The three fundamental principles in future labs' innovation process is a grounding in contextual
observation, an objective of human-centred frameworks, and a bias toward rapid prototyping
[Coughlan 2004, p.188].
The future labs are characterized by their focus on micro-level qualitative insights with the user-
context at the very centre. Especially the lifestyle, behaviour and values of the user are of
interest. Sometimes these factors are related to or co-evolve with new technologies and
changing markets the scope is widened accordingly.
People typically work in multi-disciplinary teams to share and transform their tacit knowledge into
contextual insights. Much tacit knowledge about the user-context and how the artefact and
technology interact with the user context is embedded with the front-line workers, - the marketing
people, the developers, the engineers etc. [Nonaka 1995]. So-called “boundary-spanners”
facilitate the process by translating the requirements of each into language and behaviour that is
understandable by the other [Rieple 2005, p.49].
Heuristic experimentation is an integral part of the process in future labs and a key activity is to
leave room for ideas to emerge. In a sense, they build to think and the spiral of knowledge
creation is speeded up by prototyping and simulation instead of learning by doing in real life.

4.2 Bottom-Up Versus Top-Down

The characteristics mentioned above associate easily with the term “bottom-up”. The micro-level
is at the bottom, insights emerge from the bottom, front-line workers are at the bottom of the
organisational hierarchy etc. The approach will therefore in the following be named the “bottom-
up” approach. It stands in contrast to the “top-down” approach which is already an established
term, and refer to the deductive approach where an overview of a system is formulated and
subsequently the sub-systems.

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Table 1: Comparison of the bottom-up and top-down innovation approaches.

BOTTOM-UP TOP-DOWN
LEVEL OF ANALYSIS Micro-level Macro-level

FACTORS User-context, lifestyle, Political, environmental,

behaviour, values and social, technological,
enabling technologies. economic and
demographical.

TYPE OF KNOWLEDGE Tacit and emerging Eksplicit and Quantitative

ANALYSIS Context-based Trend-based
TYPE OF INNOVATION Radical Incremental
ORIENTATION Solution- and action- Decision- and policy-
oriented oriented
MAIN ACTORS Front-line workers Top managers

4.3 Alternative Constructions

Even though the bottom-up approach has primarily been developed in future labs and design
consultancies, it is useful in other constructions where the main goal is to develop radical
innovations. For example could the partners in an innovation networks form a hybrid
organization, so that a larger company manages current customers and operations, while a
smaller company offers breakthrough ideas [Rieple 2005].
However, the biggest challenge is to integrate the top-down and bottom-up approach in one and
the same organization. It is not because the two approaches are incompatible. On the contrary
they are two sides of the same coin, and the natural process is to oscillate between the two.
Interestingly, the reputable Design Management Institute is this year hosting a conference on
design leadership and focusing work on strategic design. Behind the two terms is not only a
recognition of the bottom-up approach as a potential frame-breaker, but they also say that
bottom-up approach should be the one that defines frames. The initiative shows how far
management has come to recognize the bottom-up approach as an worthy opponent to the top-
down approach, or even the dominate one of the two.

4.4 The Future of Bottom-Up

As it is now the bottom-up approach is making good progress in the world. It is being adopted by
companies in future labs, hybrid organisations and as an integral part of the innovation process
in the main organisation.
The success may be contributed to any one or all the characteristics of the process, but at the
end of the day it is being measured on the ability to deliver radical innovation. However, radical
innovation will only provide a sustainable competitive advantage if you target those values that
have extra-ordinary impact.

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There is little doubt the key value today is user value. Prahalad (2005) says that “companies
must create innovations that are "value-oriented" from the consumer's perspective”, or in the
words of Cagan (2002, p.54); “Breakthrough products are driven by a complex combination of
value attributes that connect with people's lifestyles”.
The popularity of the bottom-up approach coincides with emergence of user values as the main
driver of innovation, so its ability to deal with user context may have been an important argument
for organisations to embrace the bottom-up approach. In consequence the future of the bottom-
up approach is directly influenced by the characteristics of the future key value.

5 Emerging Value
Currently the epoch of service economy is running out, basically due to its own success. Goods
and services are now ubiquitous and commoditised, so customers seek differentiation on a
higher level.
According to Pine and Gilmore (1999) products can be placed on a continuum from
undifferentiated (commoditised) to highly differentiated. Consumers who are facing fairly similar
offerings will differentiate the offerings at higher levels. Proceeding to the next stage more or
less requires business to give away products at the more commodified level.
Just as services build on goods which in turn build on the commodities, so experiences build on
services. In the hierarchy of value – which share many commonalities with Maslow's “Pyramid of
Needs”– experiences are a superior offering because it not only offer the advantages of
services, but also are memorable and personal.
The impact of the collective orientation for value is so omnipotent in the society, that it shapes
the economy, and Pine and Gilmore (1999) argue the affluent countries are entering the
experience economy, because services has been commoditised.

5.1 The Experience Economy

In the long view the economy is making a shift from material industrial production to immaterial
cultural production. More and more cutting-edge commerce in the future will involve the
marketing of a vast array of cultural experiences rather than of just traditional industrial-based
goods and services. “Concepts, ideas, and images – not things – are the real items of value in
the new economy,” [Rifkin 2000, p.5]
Decisions are made on the grounds of emotional and not rational thinking and future product will
have to appeal to our hearts, not to our heads. Jensen (1999, p.vii) calls it the “dream society”.
“Your competitive advantages does not weigh more than a butterflies dreams” [Nordstrom 2000,
p.31], so the best test of your competitive advantages is to drop them on your toes. If it hurts,
you are doing something wrong!
To excel in the experience economy you need to let go of the belief that there is an underlying
logic structure and shift from old time's left-brain linear and analytical thinking to right-brain
associative and emotional thinking. It is the rise of the creative class as Florida (2004) has
predicted.
Pink (2006) further elaborates the skills needed in the “New World”. He calls the skills “High
Concept” and “High Touch”:

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“High Concept involves the capacity to detect patterns and opportunities, create artistic and
emotional beauty, craft a satisfying narrative, and combine seemingly unrelated ideas into
something new.
High Touch involves the ability to empathize with others, understand the subtleties of human
interaction, find joy in one’s self and to elicit in others, stretch beyond the quotidian in pursuit of
purpose and meaning” [Pink 2006, p.9].
Many companies have already entered the era of the experience economy. They aspire to the
values of the consumers by making simple, sense-making or open standards. They revitalize
long forgotten brands and capture out imagination with stories about the good old days or claim
to meet the highest standards of social and environmental responsibility to honour the noble
values of their customers and employees.
There are other models for interpretation of modern Western society of which the “Knowledge
Society” paradigm is the most popular. Like the experience economy, it constitutes “a value shift
from the material towards the immaterial” [Drucker 1993]. The essential difference lays with their
view on which kind of knowledge that will add value in the future. The knowledge society
descent from the information society and has a bias towards hard facts, intellectual properties
etc. In contrast the experience economy deals with soft human side of knowledge, the emotional
intelligence. With regard to innovation, knowledge is not an end in itself and we therefore think
that the experience economy is the most relevant proposition for the future of the consumer
market.
Anyway, the transition from one economy to the other is a slow process which filters through
different sectors with different speeds in the coming decades. Just as when the service economy
emerged from the industrial economy. The economies of services, experiences - and the
following economy of “transformations” [Pine and Gilmore 1999] – will co-exist for a long time to
come, but the balance is surely changing.

5.2 The Nature of Experience

Experience is a very dynamic, complex and subjective phenomenon. It can mean the “look and
feel” of an artefact, how it is useful in a user's life or the emotions that it evokes [Buchenau
2000].
Cagan and Vogel (2002) have developed a value opportunity analysis that breaks down user
value opportunities into seven categories: emotions, aesthetics, identity, ergonomics, impact,
core technology and quality [Kim 2006]. The category “emotions” is exemplified by sense of
adventure, feeling of independence, sensuality, confidence, power etc.
The elusive nature of an experience is problematic to deal with in a logically minded business
culture, because it may be subtle innovation features that make the difference between one
experience and the other, success or failure.
Furthermore, experiences are highly contextual so the complexity increases manifold, when we
include the contextual factors. However, context cannot be ignored. Cagan and Vogel (2002)
say that, context - “The time and place for value opportunities” - is key. “Water is life to the
dehydrated, yet death to the drowning”.
The contextual and elusive user values are not only difficult to design into an offering, but also
prompt a question whether it really is possible to inscribe meaning and design experiences.
Even with strong empathy and conceptualization skills you cannot be sure that the collective will

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receive it the way it was intended. It is important to take into account that users have the creative
freedom to “make culture” in the practice of consumption, as well as their dependence on
industries because they provide the means and the conditions of cultural creativity. In effect
consumers are “cultural experts” who appropriate consumer goods to perform identities, which
may transgress established social divisions [du Gay et al. 1997, p.104].
Although a multiplicity of expected uses and meanings are posited during the development of an
offering, it is not until a product has been experienced that the use (and abuse) or alternative
patterns of use that was not anticipated, can be comprehensively analysed. “Consumers
participate in shaping, adoption, adaptation, and modification of the products and services that
they consume” [Cooper 2006, p.73].
However, once you get a grip on the user values you will find that they are durable over time.
“The one thing that seems to remain relatively stable even in times of great change – human
behaviour” [Coughlan 2004, p.188]. Cooper (2006, p.72) confirms that “while technologies often
change at breathtaking speeds, people's needs change much more slowly”. More importantly
user values do not evolve in a linear and progressive manner like technology, but jump from
stage to stage, so understanding user needs, context and experiences can ensure that offerings
will resonate with consumers in the future.

5.3 Business
In the experience economy businesses need to ”... understand what qualities matter to the
people we are designing for and the ways that design can enhance their experiences. Designers
need to be more broadly aware of people's goals, aspirations, rituals and values; personal,
social, cultural and ecological contexts; the processes and interrelationships between different
features, elements and objects within these contexts” [Suri 2003, p.41].
{Figure 2: People and their experiences are at the centre of attention for radical innovation in the
experience economy [Suri 2003].}
Empathy, storytelling and cultural understanding are the skills most needed by business as they
try to create products and brands that have meaning – functional, cultural, mythical, symbolic,
and ethical meaning – around the world” [Pink 2003; Gagliardi 2001, p.38].
It does not necessarily mean that companies can forget about commodities, goods and services.
The point is that the radical innovations will take place in the domain of experiences, but in order
to implement the offering, the other levels have to support it. You might not be able to make
money on a service, but you need that service as an integral part of the experience.
It is also important to understand that different paradigms co-exist in the same market and that
user value is not the only influential factor. A sound principle to keep in mind is that “it takes
desirability, viability and feasibility to make a successful innovation” [Weiss 2004] and the new
inspiration for innovation can come from both the social, economical and technical domains.
However, we cannot ignore the strong evidence that user values - and in particular user
experiences - will be the dominant key values in future markets. Those key values should be at
the very centre of the innovation process and the organisation must create an environment that
supports innovation in these values. That will require that business have to embrace the bottom-
up approach and integrate it into the innovation process, on its own conditions.

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6 An Innovation Map
The top-down and the bottom-up approaches aim at supporting a company with innovation, but
they are based on very different levels of analysis. The top-down approach aims for analysing
trends and predicting the future developments at a macro-level in society, markets, industries
etc., while the bottom-up approach starts with the user-context.
My proposal is to acknowledge both approaches as valuable in mapping future innovation
opportunities and should be integrated into one framework.
The connecting point for the framework could be a knowledge platform, an “Innovation Map”,
which integrates insights about innovation opportunities over all horizons. The map should
integrate thought provoking analyses, a comprehensive set of scenarios and compelling visions
that capture the imagination of customers and partners in innovation.

Figure 2: The Innovation Map and the framework around it.

The future-oriented top-down and bottom-up approach may run in parallel and be integrated in
knowledge platform. The mixture of strategic market insights and visionary solutions will surely
complement and inspire both approaches, so ideally the two processes should have several
touch point during the process, so the innovation map could be the point of reference for all
strategic decisions and operational activities in the company.
As mentioned earlier companies need to be alert and agile, follow ad-hoc strategies and adapt
to emerging opportunities, so the innovation map could be the platform which enable the
company to master the complexity of the environment without loosing its way.
The framework is meant to ensure full flexibility, so emerging solutions and strategic insights are
crossing all ways in the strategic/solution and the future/present domains.
It would serve as navigational map, which provide a point of reference in stormy waters and an
understanding of the patterns and significance below the chaotic surface of information. Visions

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- or lighthouses - would guide the companies toward strong visions with enduring relevance and
competitive advantage to win the competitive edge.
To fill this role as the overall framework for the innovation process, it must be comprehensive,
visionary and relevant in its scope, so it can build synergies internally and with the partners in
the innovation network. Furthermore it is important that it is transparent so people can gain a
deeper understanding of the dynamics and that it can adapt to new insights in a fluid manner, so
it always provide an updated overview.
Ideally, it integrates various key areas of innovation on all horizons, because it has to “be multi-
period, multi-level, multi-context, multi-actor and multi-disciplinary; if it has to catch reality that is
in flight.” [Chakravarthy 2003, p.xv].
Much of these intentions are already integrated into existing tools and methods, so the main
point is that the exploration and management of innovation opportunities is the main reference
for all company activities on all levels.

7 FTA Challenges
Future-oriented Technology Analysis (FTA) faces two main challenges. First of all, the current
macro-level output has to be made directly relevant to the innovation process in business
context. The strategy-oriented foresight methods must be reframed and refocused so it delivers
innovation relevant information. It is important that it represents an inclusive and contextual
picture of the macro-level information that can easily be integrated with other approaches - such
as the bottom-up approach - and be shared with non-specialists.
Secondly, FTA has to face the potential threat posed by specialists in the bottom-up approach
who might broaden their scope of action to the macro-level future-oriented analysis that is the
bread and butter of FTA.
The international design consultancy IDEO, which is a dedicated follower of the bottom-up
philosophy, is already heading for the market of FTA. In a recent job advertisement it read: “You
bring... a holistic approach to process: Formulating cultural and user insights, mapping
opportunity spaces through strategic frameworks, and expressing compelling solutions.”
The lines between bottom-up design consultancies and top-down strategic consultancies are
blurring, because their clients ask for the same product: an overview of innovation opportunities.
Chances are that these consultancies will develop an integrated micro- and macro-level
methodology to map future innovation opportunities.
In that case FTA will have great trouble defending its current role in business context. A
proactive attitude has to be taken. Not only should the importance of the micro-level bottom-up
approach be recognised. FTA also need to enter the domain, either by seeking a partner, who is
a specialist bottom-up approach or by developing the skills and tools themselves. Alternatively
FTA will gradually be marginalized as the bottom-up approach gain momentum in the
experience economy.
However, FTA's impressive toolbox [Porter 2004] and many years of experience working with
industry put them in a unique position to develop an integrated micro- and macro-level approach
to map future innovation opportunities.

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7.1 Outline of Theory for Bottom-up Approach

From a FTA point of view the bottom-up approach may seem like a very different place, then the
world they usually deal with. However, a re-focused scenario process could very well be the
underlying framework that drives the overall process and pulls in a variety of tools from a
toolbox, whenever they are needed.
Designers and ethnologists are currently experimenting with new tools to analyse user context
and explore future innovation opportunities in a practical and efficient way, but there is no overall
framework.
Tools from ethnology, future-oriented technology analysis (FTA), socio-technical analysis and
design studies may all be relevant to include in a new toolbox, but they will have to combined,
modified and integrated before they will work in practice.
In relation to the bottom-up approach it must also be understood that there are no cookie-cutter
recipes for getting results. “Innovation by definition is created by instability, by unpredictability
which no method, however refined, will manage to master entirely.” [Akrich 2002, p.195] An
open and flexible framework and toolbox is an essential requirement, because one cannot plan
the “deliverable” before it happens; this is the work of discovery.

8 Conclusion
The markets are undergoing a fundamental change of paradigm; focus goes from strategy to
innovation opportunities. User values and experiences are becoming the centre of value
creation, while technology is only considered an enablers that can not sustain competitive
advantage in the long run. The coming years will most likely lead to a further commoditation of
the basic aspect of user value and companies has to excel on a even more advanced levels of
user value; such as experiences.
Companies are changing structure, process and skills to adapt to the new paradigm. Ironically
the FTA is ill prepared for the future business context and continues to see strategy making as
the focal point of their interaction with industry. The design and strategic consultancies are
quickly adjusting their services to fill the new needs of companies. Their close contact with the
business needs will put them in a favorable position as intermediaries between FTA and
companies, - or simply take over the role of FTA. The prospects are bleak for FTA in business
context, if not action is taken to meet the challenge.
The FTA has a strong position from many years of experience in collaboration with industries,
and a rich toolbox which can be a good starting point for developing new tools an services that
fit the new market paradigm. However, it will also require an positive attitude towards the
bottom-up approach, a preparedness to enter the shoes of the customers and appetite for a
world full of emotions and experiences.

9 References
AKRICH, M., CALLON, M. & LATOUR, B. (2002) The Key to Success in Innovation Part I: The
Art of Interessement. International Journal of Innovation Management, 6, 187-206.
BAGHAI, M., COLEY, S. & WHITE, D. (1999) The alchemy of growth : practical insights for
building the enduring enterprise, Reading, Mass., Perseus Books.

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BROWN, S. L. & EISENHARDT, K. M. (1998) Competing on the Edge: Strategy as Structured

Chaos, Cambridge, MA, Harvard Business School Press.
BUCHENAU, M. & SURI, J. F. (2000) Experience prototyping. Proceedings of the Conference
on Designing Interactive Systems: Processes, Practices, Methods, and Techniques, DIS,
424-433.
CAGAN, J. & VOGEL, C. (2002) Creating Breakthrough Products, New Jersey, Prentice Hall.
CHAKRAVARTHY, B. (2003) Strategy Process: shaping the contours of the field., Oxford,
Blackwell.
CHESBROUGH, H. (2003) Open Innovation: The New Imperative for Creating and Profiting from
Technology, Boston, MA, Harvard Business School Press.
COOPER, R. & EVANS, M. (2006) Breaking from Tradition: Market Research, Consumer
Needs, and Design Futures. Design Management Review, 17, 68-76.
COUGHLAN, P. & PROKOPOFF, I. (2004) Managing Change, by Design. IN BOLAND, R. &
COLLOPY, F. (Eds.) Managing as Designing. Stanford Business Books.
DRUCKER, P. F. (1985) Innovation and entrepreneurship practice and principles, London,
Heinemann.
DRUCKER, P. F. (1993) Post Capitalist Society, New York, Harper.
DU GAY, P., HALL, S., JANES, L., MAKAY, H. & NEGUS, K. (1997) Doing cultural studies. The
story of the Sony walkman, London, Sage.
FLORIDA, R. (2002) The Rise of the Creative Class: And How Its Transforming Work, Leisure,
Community and Everyday Life, New York, Basic Books.
FRIIS, S. K. (2005) The innovation toolbox. Mandag Morgen.
GAGLIARDI, M. (2001) Strategy - Alchemy of cultures: From adaptation to transcendence in
design and branding. Design Management Journal, 12, 32-39.
KIM, T. (2006) Bringing the Future into Global Brands. Design Management Review, 17, 66-73.
NONAKA, I. & TAKEUCHI, H. (1995) The knowledge-creating company how Japanese
companies create the dynamics of innovation, New York, Oxford University Press.
NORDSTROM, K. & RIDDERSTRALE, J. (2000) Funky Business, Pearson 2000, Y
PINE, J. B. & GILMORE, J. H. (1999) The Experience Economy, Boston, Harvard.
PINK, D. H. (2005) A whole new mind: moving from the information age to the conceptual age,
Crows Nest, NSW, Allen and Unwin.
PORTER, M. E. (1985) Competitive advantage; creating and sustaining superior performance,
New York, Free Press.
PORTER, A. (2004) Technology futures analysis: Toward integration of the field and new
methods. Technological Forecasting and Social Change, 71, 287-303.
PRAHALAD, C. K. (2005) The fortune at the bottom of the Pyramide eradicating poverty through
profits, Upper Saddle River, Pearson Education/Wharton School Publishing.

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RIEPLE, A., HABERBERG, A. & GANDER, J. (2005) Hybrid Organizations as a Strategy for
Supporting New Product Development. Design Management Review, 16, 48-55.
SCAPOLO, F. (2005) New horizons and challenges for future-oriented technology analysis-The
2004 EU-US seminar. Technological Forecasting & Social Change, 72, 1059-1063.
SURI, J. F. (2003) The Experience Evolution: Developments in Design Practice. The Design
Journal, 6.
TSOUKAS, H. & SHEPHERD, J. (2004) Managing the future: foresight in the knowledge
economy, Malden, Mass, Blackwell.
WEISS, L. (2002) Strategy - Developing tangible strategies. Design Management Journal, 13,
33-38.

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 Friedman

Creating design knowledge: from research into

practice

Ken Friedman
Department of Knowledge Management, Norwegian School of Management

Abstract
This paper considers how we create design knowledge. It examines the ways that research
contributes to design knowledge in theory and in practice.

The paper will ask seven important questions:

What is the nature of design?

How does the nature of design involve knowledge of certain kinds?
What are the sources of knowledge?
How does research function as a source of knowledge?
How does research relate to other sources of knowledge?
How do we create design knowledge through research?
How does new knowledge move from research into practice?

The paper will outline answers to these questions. It will also provide information and resources
for those who want to explore further.

1. Introduction further. The main paper is followed by two

Design knowledge involves many questions.
What is the nature of design? How does the
nature of design involve knowledge of certain
kinds? What are the sources of knowledge?
Knowledge has many sources. Research is one
of them. Research also involves questions.
How does research function as a source of
knowledge? How does research relate to other
sources of knowledge? How do we create
design knowledge through research? Finally,
how does new knowledge move from research
into practice?
In this presentation, I will consider all these
questions. I promise not to answer them,
though! Answering these question is far more
than an hour’s work. My promise is both a
reality check and guarantee that we will be
done on schedule.
Along with this guarantee, however, I do
promise to unfold a range of rich ideas. I’ll
outline issues and answers, I’ll offer a few
conceptual maps, and I’ll present some
valuable sources for those who want to go
endnotes that contain condensed literature
reviews. The first covers the subject of
knowledge. The second deals with innovation.
Now, let’s start with a few basic definitions.
2. A prehistoric prelude on design and
evolution
As professions go, design is relatively young.
The practice of design as a thing that people
do predates professions. In fact, the practice
of design – making things with a useful goal
in mind – actually predates the human race.
Making things is one of the attributes that
made us human in the first place.
It’s fair to say that design began over two and
a half million years ago when homo habilis
manufactured the first tools. Human beings
were designing well before we began to walk
upright or attend conferences. Four hundred
thousand years ago, we began the
manufacture of spears. By forty thousand years
ago, we had moved up to specialized tools.
Urban design and architecture came along ten

IDATER 2000 Loughborough University 5

Friedman
thousand years ago in Mesopotamia. Interior
architecture and furniture design probably
emerged with them. It was another five
thousand years before graphic design and
typography got their start in Sumeria with the
development of cuneiform. Since then, things
have picked up speed.
Today, many of us have replaced cuneiform
with ASCII characters. Instead of chipping
rock, we download it with Napster or Gnutella.
While we haven’t yet replaced our spears with
pruning hooks or our swords with
ploughshares, we do provide a far wider range
of goods and services than the world has
known before.
All these goods and services are designed. The
urge to design, to take a situation, imagine a
better situation, and act to create that situation
goes back to those first, pre-human ancestors.
Design, in short, helped to make us human.
It did so in several ways. Among the frequent
misunderstandings of evolution theory is the
notion that evolution somehow programmed
us to become something or to behave in a
certain way. This is not quite so, and the subtle
distinctions are significant to how we can
develop further.
The initial stimuli of evolution were random.
Biological life on our planet has existed for
billions of years. The many forms of life over
those years shaped a rich enough
environment to permit hundreds billions of
different events, manifestations, behaviours,
evolutionary streams. Some of those
manifestations gave the creatures manifesting
them competitive advantage in local
environments. These creatures survived to
pass their genes on. When those genes
possessed the same traits, they sometimes
survived to pass the genes further. When a
large enough population pool existed to
permit the gene-carrying population to
spread, these traits sometimes spread further
still into larger environments.
In earlier forms of biological evolution, all
stimuli were random. Genetic endowment
changed through chance. Chance arose
through mutation caused by radioactive
6 IDATER 2000 Loughborough University
change to the genetic structure, through other
forms of mutation or through some form of
biological breakdown to a prior genetic
structure. In the infinitely vast majority of
cases, these mutations were not successful,
and the creatures went extinct. Over the
billions of years of life on the planet, most life
forms have died out.
In some few, rare case, mutations conferred
advantage on a specific life form in a specific
environment. These advantages were
preserved and passed on.
The environment forms the context within
which initially random adaptations create
successful species. Success, in the sense of
evolutionary development, is not purposeful.
It simply means that a species is selected for
survival by the environment based on its
physical and behavioural characteristics. When
a mutation proved well suited to the
environment, the species survived. The
descendants of creatures whose
characteristics were defined by beneficial
mutations inherited what had once been new
genetic matter. The human species and its
predecessor species emerged in and adapted
to a specific physical world. The physical world
to which we adapted defined us.
Complexity theory (Aida et al 1985; Casti 1995;
Waldrop 1992) offers a rich series of
explanations of how adaptation takes place.
One of the salient paradigms of complexity
theory is the notion of the way that complex
adaptive systems shape their behaviour within
what is known as a “fitness landscape.” As
complex adaptive systems fit themselves to the
landscape, the context itself takes on different
shapes and meanings. Complex adaptive
systems include all biological creatures: plants,
animals, individual humans. They also include
the communities or societies that these
creatures create. Their evolutionary paths
move through time and history. Some vanish,
others appear. Either way, there is no going
back.
At some point, life forms became sufficiently
advanced to capture behavioural adaptation
as well as genetic adaptation. Those creatures
that adapted their behaviour in a way that

conferred evolutionary advantage did better
than other creatures. The interaction between
behaviour and biology, nature and nurture is
complex. A creature survives better because
it possesses a larger brain with a richer brain
structure. The continually improving brain
enables the creature’s offspring to do better
still. New behaviours make survival more
secure. Secure survival preserves the gene
pool. And so on.
This is how tool making helped us to become
what we are. Tool-making probably preceded
language behaviour. Tool making therefore
preceded conscious imagination, the ability to
imagine and to plan. Animals other than
humans make tools. At the start, our ancestors
– homo habilis – weren’t humans. They were
among the advanced animals that made tools.
In evolutionary terms, we developed the
modern brain in the relatively recent past. The
physical potential of this brain gave rise to our
current habits of mind, the habits that support
our mental world. The forces that give rise to
the modern mind go back over two and a half
million years to the unknown moment when
homo habilis manufactured the first tools
(Friedman 1997: 54-55; Ochoa and Corey
1995: 1-8).
Our tools and our tool-making behaviour
helped to make us human. As tool-making and
tool use became the conscious subject of
willed imagination, our tools and tool-making
behaviour helped us to survive and prosper
as humans. There is no way to know when or
exactly how we began to create conscious
mental symbols, and there is no way to know
exactly when symbols became our preeminent
tool.
If we don’t know when we began to use
language, we do know when we created the
first external documentation and information
systems. This took place some 20,000 years
ago (Burke and Ornstein 1997: pp. 29-30).
The externalized representation of knowledge
through documentation and information
created a new kind of human being. The first,
rudimentary information tools took the form
of what archeologists call the baton, a carved
IDATER 2000 Loughborough University
Friedman
bone or antler. Even in this primitive form,
information tools began to “reshape the way
we think” (Burke and Ornstein 1997: 29-31).
This was “the first deliberate use of a device
which would serve to extend the memory,
because with it, knowledge could be held in
recorded form outside the brain or the
sequence of a ritual.” The relationship
between these tools and the human mind is
significant, in that “the cognitive facilities
needed to make the batons required a brain
capable of a complex series of visual and
temporal concepts, demanding both recall
and recognition. These are exactly the same
mental abilities which are involved in modern
reading and writing.”
At this point, and many points like it, the
random workings of natural selection were
taken over by the complex human phenotype
– the properties that are caused by the
interaction of genotype and environment.
In our case, this environment includes the
development of culture and all that it entails.
Tool making relates to the many qualities that
make us human, and they all relate to tool
making. These issues involve a large range of
conceptual tools and symbols.
This may seem like going the long way round
to get to a definition of design, but there is a
reason for it, and this reason has to do with
the nature of the design profession.
If, on the one hand, design helped to make us
human, on the other, the act of designing has
in some way been so closely linked to human
culture that we haven’t always given it the
thought it deserves. From homo habilis to
baton, product design precedes symbolization
by just under two and a half million years. Ten
or twenty thousand years is a sprint in this
grand marathon. However, in exactly this
sense, tool making is more deeply integrated
into our behaviour and our culture than
symbolization.
The Greek philosophers went to work, they
devoted their attention to the relatively new
tools of structured thinking rather than to the
old physical tools that seemed so self-evident
in the world around them. It is the everywhere
7
Friedman
and all-the-time nature of tools, so obviously
self-evident, that has obscured the importance
of design rather than making it clearer.
This self-evident and everywhere, all-the-time
quality of design has buried design in
everything that humans think and do. For that
very reason, design – a conscious profession
focused on the design process – has been a
long time in development.
Many of the acts of design, especially the
physical acts, have been embodied in craft
practice and guild tradition (Friedman 1997).
These slowly evolved into a distinct practice
of design only in the aftermath of the industrial
revolution. The move from a practice to a
profession has been more recent still. The
notion of a design profession is an innovation
of the twentieth century.
The idea of a design discipline is more recent
still. We are still debating whether the arena
of design knowledge constitutes a discipline,
a field, or a science. My view is that it is, in
some measure, all of these. What can’s be
debated is that this debate is current for a
relatively clear reason. Design entered the
university curriculum in most places only
during the past half century.
This development has taken different courses
in different nations. In North America, for
example, design courses began to enter the
colleges and universities with art programmes.
Most of these began in the late 1940s and
since. Many – perhaps most – university-level
programmes with a specific focus on design
are innovations of the past two decades, as
contrasted to the occasional design courses
available in larger and somewhat older art
programmes. In other nations, design
programmes grew within and then grew out
from architecture schools or technical
colleges. In the United Kingdom, design
entered the university when the colleges of
art and design that had become polytechnics
were merged into the new universities.
All these many changes were rooted in many
kinds of transformation. The new location of
design education in the university clarified the
nature of design as a professional practice
8 IDATER 2000 Loughborough University
rather than a vocation or a trade. Placing
design in the university also rendered visible
the importance of the design profession as an
important service profession in the post-
industrial knowledge economy.
It is significant that design entered the
university in a time of economic transition.
The years between 1950 and 2000 were the
years in which the economy shifted from an
industrial economy to a post-industrial
economy to an information society and a
knowledge economy [See endnote 1].
Contemporary design takes place in this new
economy – including the process of shaping
artifacts through industrial design and product
design.
At the same time that the development of
university-level design programmes clarified
the importance of the design profession, it
began to make clear the gaps in our
understanding of design knowledge. The
emergence of a new professional training was
not accompanied by the deeper
understandings of ontology and epistemology
that serve as the foundation of other fields.
The first professional schools located in
universities were medicine, law, and theology.
Admission to these schools presumed a
foundation of knowledge developed in the
general faculty. The professional faculties were
sometimes called the higher faculties, and they
were contrasted with the lower faculties in an
important sense. The higher faculties trained
professionals for the services of medicine,
church, and state. The lower faculties provided
the basis of understanding and interpretation,
reason and knowledge on which society itself
was established.
When art and design came into the university,
they often came in as art and craft schools or
professional schools. The educational
foundation they offered was not the basic
philosophical foundation offered for
admission to the other professional schools.
It was often a combination of vocational
training and pre-professional education. Even
colleges and universities with general
education requirements sometimes cut
corners in training students for art and design.

In university systems that administer
professional training from first admission up,
there were no corners to cut.
We find ourselves, therefore, in strange
territory. On the one hand, design is anchored
in a range of trades or vocations or crafts.
These have never been defined in
philosophical terms because they have had no
basis in the work of definition. Instead, they
are rooted in unspoken assumptions
anchored in the inarticulate nature of a
practice going back, not simply to prehistory,
but rooted in our prehuman development.
On the other hand, the design profession is a
contemporary field growing within the
university. Having few historical roots in the
philosophical tradition deeper than the last
few decades, we have yet to shape a clear
understanding of the nature of design. We do
not agree, therefore, on whether design
knowledge constitutes a discipline, a field, or
a science, one of these, two or even all three.
As I develop my presentation, I will explain
why I see design knowledge as all three. At
this point, I will simply point to the
disagreement as evidence of a growing,
healthy debate.
3. Defining design
The rich and growing literature in the
philosophy of design makes clear that there
is no longer an apparently tacit consensus on
the undefined nature design that once seemed
to obtain. Instead, this literature has begun to
develop a deep concept of design.
This concept is being rendered explicit.
Explicit conceptualization permits fruitful
inquiry and reflection.
To understand the nature of design
knowledge, we must define what we mean by
the term design. Since there is no common
and well understood definition for design, I
will offer some definitions and parameters. A
clear definition is vital to the issues I will
address in this paper.
Design is first of all a process. The verb design
describes a process of thought and planning.
This verb takes precedence over all other
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Friedman
meanings. The word “design” had a place in
the English language by the 1500s. The first
written citation of the verb “design” dates from
the year 1548. Merriam-Webster (1993: 343)
defines the verb design as “to conceive and
plan out in the mind; to have as a specific
purpose; to devise for a specific function or
end.” Related to these is the act of drawing,
with an emphasis on the nature of the drawing
as a plan or map, as well as “to draw plans for;
to create, fashion, execute or construct
according to plan.”
Half a century later, the word began to be used
as a noun. The first cited use of the noun
“design” occurs in 1588. Merriam-Webster
(1993: 343) defines the noun, as “a particular
purpose held in view by an individual or
group; deliberate, purposive planning; a
mental project or scheme in which means to
an end are laid down.” Here, too, purpose and
planning toward desired outcomes are central.
Among these are “a preliminary sketch or
outline showing the main features of
something to be executed; an underlying
scheme that governs functioning, developing
or unfolding; a plan or protocol for carrying
out or accomplishing something; the
arrangement of elements or details in a
product or work of art.” Only at the very end
do we find “a decorative pattern.” The
definitions end with a noun describing a
process: “the creative art of executing
aesthetic or functional designs.”
Although the word design refers to process
rather than product, it has become popular
shorthand for designed artifacts. This
shorthand covers meaningful artifacts as well
as the merely fashionable or trendy. I will not
use the word design to designate the outcome
of the design process. The outcome of the
design process may be a product or a service,
it may be an artifact or a structure, but the
outcome of the design process is not “design.”
Using the term design as a verb or a process
description noun frames design as a dynamic
process (Friedman 1993). This makes clear the
ontological status of design as a subject of
philosophical inquiry.
Before asking how design can be the subject
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Friedman
of inquiry, it is useful to identify some of the
salient features of the design process.
Fuller (1969: 319) describes the process in a
model of the design science event flow. He
divides the process into two steps. The first is
a subjective process of search and research.
The second is a generalizable process that
moves from prototype to practice.
The subjective process of search and research,
Fuller outlines a series of steps:
teleology -> intuition-> conception ->
apprehension -> comprehension ->
experiment -> feedback ->
Under generalization and objective
development leading to practices, he lists:
prototyping #1-> prototyping #2 ->
prototyping #3 -> production design ->
production modification -> tooling ->
production -> distribution ->
installation -> maintenance -> service ->
reinstallation -> replacement ->
removal -> scrapping -> recirculation
For Fuller, the design process is a
comprehensive sequence leading from
teleology to practice and finally to
regeneration. This last step, regeneration,
creates a new stock of raw material on which
the designer may again act. While the specific
terms may change for process design or
services design, the essential concept remain
the same.
A designer is a thinker whose job it is to move
from thought to action. A taxonomy of design
knowledge domains (Friedman 1992, 2000)
describes the frames within which a designer
must act. Each domain requires a broad range
of skills, knowledge, and awareness. Design
involves more skill and knowledge than one
designer can provide. Most successful design
solutions require several kinds of expertise. It
is necessary to use expertise without being
expert in each field.
Understanding the issues these domains
involve and the relationships between and
among them offers a useful framework for
10
considering design knowledge (Figure 1).
To work consciously with the relationships
among the several domains and areas of
design knowledge requires systemic thinking.
The designer is one member of a team or
network that generally involves several
elements described by the matrices implicit
in the taxonomy. Here arises a difficulty.
When we speak of manufacturing complex
industrial products or shaping complex
services, we necessarily involve a large
network of interacting systems. When the
process works well, nearly every part of the
system in some way affects every other part
of the system. When parts of the system affect
each other adversely, the entire system suffers.
Again, this emphasizes the role of designer as
thinker and planner. Organization theory
suggests building teams or networks to engage
the talent for each problem. In today’s
complex social and industrial environments,
the designer works in teams or heads teams.
Systemic thinking gives perspective to the
models of design offered here. The designer
is neither the entry-point nor pivot of the
design process. Each designer is the
psychological centre of his own perceptual
process, not the centre of the design process
itself. The design process has no centre. It is a
network of linked events. Systemic thinking
makes the nature of networked events clear.
No designer succeeds unless an entire team
succeeds in meeting its goals.
Herbert Simon defines design in terms of
goals. To design, he writes, is to “[devise]
courses of action aimed at changing existing
situations into preferred ones” (Simon 1982:
129). Design, properly defined, is the entire
process across the full range of domains
required for any given outcome.
The nature of design as an integrative
discipline places it at the intersection of several
large fields (See Figure 2). In one regard,
design is a field of thinking and pure research.
In another, it is a field of practice and applied
research. When applications are used to solve
specific problems in a specific setting, it is a
field of clinical research.
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 Friedman

Domains of Design Knowledge: a Taxonomy

Domain 1: Domain 2: Domain 3: Domain 4:
Skills for Learning The Human World The Artifact The Environment
and Leading

Problem Solving The Human Being Product Development Natural Environment

Interaction Method Human behavior Methodology Ecology
Coaching Information semantics Market research Evolution
Mind mapping Environment
Knowledge creation Innovation research
Research Skills
Physiology & ergonomics Problematics Impact
Analysis
Research & methodology Product generation Built Environment
Rhetoric
The Company Creating new products Cityscape
Logic
Organizational Transforming old Economy
Mathematics
management & behavior products Social web
Language
Business economics Product regeneration Infrastructure
Editing
Company culture Correcting problems Traffic
Writing
Presentation Skills Leadership Improving products Telecommunication
Public speaking Administration Positioning Airports
Small group Future planning Re-engineering Food distribution
Information graphics Process management (lean production) Human ecology
Change management Design
Architecture
Process skills Product design
Informated buildings
Company functions Ergonomics Usage
Governance Product semantics Architecture as idea
Logistics Product graphics Architecture as corporate
Production Functionality identity
Marketing Graphic design Profile architecture
Finance Visual ergonomics Interior
Society Typography Furniture
Trends Corporate design Interior as corporate
Behavioral design identity
Legal issues
Information design Psychology
Media
Knowledge design Function
Social economics
Process design Social structure
Communication
Manufacturing The shape of work
The World
World trade Technology The shape of play
European Union Operations The shape of private life
USA Statistical quality control Installation
Logistics Philosophy of space
Asia
Process management Culture theory
Cross-culture Issues
Art ideas
Political economics
Inquiry
Theory Basics
Culture theory
Sociology of
knowledge
Reception theory
History of design
Sociology of taste
Content analysis
World history
Paradigm analysis
Models

Figure 1 Domains of design knowledge

One model for the field of design is a circle of

six fields. A horizon bisects the circle into fields
of theoretical study and fields of practice and
application.

The triangles represent six general domains

of design. Moving clockwise from the left-most
triangle, these domains are (1) natural
sciences, (2) humanities and liberal arts, (3)
social and behavioural sciences, (4) human
professions and services, (5) creative and
applied arts, and (6) technology and
Figure 2 Model of the field engineering.
of design

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Friedman
Design may involve any or all of these
domains, in differing aspect and proportion
depending on the nature of the project at
hand or the problem to be solved.
The taxonomy of design knowledge and the
generic model of design raise implications for
design research. These also involve
understanding the kinds of knowledge that
form a foundation for the research act. This,
in turn, will reveal how knowledge moves from
research into practice.
Before we focus on design research, I will
consider the subject of knowledge itself.
4. What is knowledge?
Merriam-Webster defines knowledge as “2 a
(1) : the fact or condition of knowing
something with familiarity gained through
experience or association (2) : acquaintance
with or understanding of a science, art or
technique b (1) : the fact or condition of being
aware of something (2) : the range of one’s
information or understanding <answered to
the best of my knowledge> c : the
circumstance or condition of apprehending
truth or fact through reasoning : cognition d :
the fact or condition of having information or
being learned <a man of unusual
knowledge> 4 a : the sum of what is known :
the body of truth, information and principles
acquired by mankind b (archaic) : a branch of
learning
“Synonyms: knowledge, learning, erudition,
scholarship mean what is or can be known by
an individual or by mankind. Knowledge
applies to facts or ideas acquired by study,
investigation, observation or experience <rich
in the knowledge of human nature>. Learning
applies to knowledge acquired especially
through formal, often advanced, schooling <a
book that demonstrated vast learning>.
Erudition strongly implies the acquiring of
profound, recondite or bookish learning <an
erudition unusual even in a scholar> .
Scholarship implies the possession of learning
characteristic of the advanced scholar in a
specialized field of study or investigation <a
work of first-rate literary scholarship>”
(Merriam-Webster 1993: 647).
12
Gregory Bateson (1984: 41) once said that
“information is any difference that makes a
difference.” In reality, the power to make a
difference defines the difference between
information and knowledge. Roger Bacon, the
16th century scholar and a founder of the
scientific method, noted this difference in his
Religious Meditations, Of Heresies, where he
wrote that, “knowledge itself is power” (in
Mackay, 1991: 21). Peter Drucker respects that
difference, too, and describes the
transformation of information into
knowledge: “Knowledge is information that
changes something or somebody — either by
becoming grounds for action, or by making
an individual (or an institution) capable of
different and more effective action.” (Drucker,
1990: 242)
Knowledge embodies agency and purpose. In
this, it differs from information (Friedman and
Olaisen 1999). Information may be stored in
information systems. Knowledge is embodied
in human beings. Knowledge creation is an
intensely human act.
To understand the role of research in
knowledge creation, it is ultimately necessary
to reflect on what philosophers call “the
problem of knowledge.” Mario Bunge (1996:
104) states that the problem of knowledge is
“actually an entire system of problems. Some
of the components of this system are: What is
knowledge? What can know: minds, brains,
computers, or social groups? Can we know
everything, something, or nothing? How does
one get to know: from experience, reason,
action, a combination of two, or all three, or
none of them? What kind of knowledge is best
– that is, truest, most comprehensive, deepest,
and most reliable and fertile? These five
problems constitute the core problematics of
epistemology, or the ‘theory’ if knowledge –
which is still to become a theory proper.”
These issues are the cores of an entire
discipline. In a short presentation, it is not
possible to do more than acknowledge the fact
that a problematics of knowledge exists. This
series of problems has much to do with
understanding what knowledge is and how
knowledge is created. This is a central field of
IDATER 2000 Loughborough University

inquiry for a relatively new research field such
as design. Bunge (1996) and Alvin I. Goldman
(1999) have addressed the problem of
knowledge in ways that can be extraordinarily
valuable to us. Here, I will simply state that it
is vital for us to recognize the importance to
our field of the problem of knowledge. Our
understanding of design has grown and
developed in recent years. Our understanding
of knowledge much become richer still if we
are to apply the problem of knowledge to
design. It is through this work that we will
develop a proper understanding of what will
be required to generate design knowledge.
The definitions of knowledge and design offer
a basis for definitional reflections on design
knowledge that form the foundation of what
follows.
5. Experiential and reflective knowledge
Design is a process. The design process is
rooted in and involves both theoretical
disciplines and fields of practice. As all fields
of practice do, design knowledge involves
explicit knowledge and tacit knowledge.
Disciplines are also practices, and they, too,
involve explicit knowledge and tacit
knowledge both. The challenge of any
evolving field is to bring tacit knowledge into
articulate focus. This creates the ground of
shared understanding that builds the field. The
continual and conscious struggle for
articulation is what distinguishes the work of
a research field from the practical work of a
profession.
Professional excellence requires articulation.
This means rendering tacit knowledge explicit.
This is the foundation of what Nonaka and
Takeuchi (1995) describe as the knowledge
creation cycle. This is also the basis of Schon’s
concept of reflective practice. Reflective
practice is not a form of silent meditation on
work. In reflective practice, reflection takes the
form of bringing unconscious patterns and
tacit understandings to conscious
understanding through articulation. This is
related to the therapeutic process. It is related
to the way that therapists work with
supervisors and to the way that teachers work
with master teachers. It is related to the
dialogue between professionals in training and
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Friedman
their mentors.
Schon (1983, 1990), Argryis and Schon (1992),
and Argyris (1961, 1968, 1982) address these
issues in their books and articles on
professional development through reflective
practice and rich learning cycles. This is also
the basis of discussion teaching (Christensen,
Garvin and Sweet 1991) and case method
teaching (Barnes, Christensen and Hansen
1987).
These issues are subtle and require care. All
domains of human knowledge embody some
form of tacit knowledge. Even the most
articulate fields involve assumptions, shared
experience, and personal development. All
these create a background of tacit knowledge
that can never be fully stated.
In many ways, this tacit knowledge forms a
central basis for any kind of work.
As Bunge (1996: 104-107) suggests,
knowledge arises through the interaction of
many forms of learning. Thinking, experience
and action all play a role. Although the process
of learning and the nature of knowledge are
not completely understood, there is wide
agreement that knowledge creation requires
experience. Kolb’s (1984: 38) definition of
learning as “the process whereby knowledge
is created through the transformation of
experience” offers a useful perspective.
Any kind of experience may, in principle, be
transformed into knowledge. Kolb emphasizes
the relationship between experience and
knowledge as a dynamic process of
continuous reproduction and regeneration. It
contradicts the static model of learning as
acquiring knowledge external to and
independent of the learner. Information and
facts are external to and independent of the
learner. Knowledge inheres in human beings
and the specific form of knowledge is often
contingent on the learning process.
Because knowledge is human, developing
knowledge requires thinking and practice,
mind and body both. Mindless recording will
not transform experience into knowledge.
Learning requires human agency, a concept
synonymous with Heidegger’s concept of
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Friedman
care, the human tendency for each person to
care about his own existence (Heidegger 1993:
238). For Heidegger, both practical knowledge
and theoretical knowledge express of human
care in an intimate relationship between action
and knowledge.
Human knowledge is not only the product of
past experience, but also the product of
anticipating the future. Knowing things
involves feedforward as well as feedback,
anticipating how things may be used,
manipulated or acted on in the future. As
children, we all discover that anticipatory
knowledge – prediction – is not always
accurate. Politicians and scientists know this,
too. It is part of the knowledge cycle
nonetheless.
Kolb’s definition of learning fits together with
Heidegger’s concept of care to suggest a
model of individual learning that shifts the
focus of learning from the adaptation of
external behaviour to the internal process of
knowledge creation. The model outlines the
ways in which human beings monitor and
control knowledge through three human
capacities. These capacities are 1) the ability
to act, 2) the ability to apprehend action and
the environment within which action takes
place, 3) critical comprehension.
Kolb (1984: 107) writes that, “Comprehension
... guides our choices of experience and directs
our attention to those aspects of apprehended
experience to be considered relevant.
Comprehension is more than a secondary
process of representing selected aspects of
apprehended reality. The process of critical
comprehension is capable of selecting and
reshaping apprehended experience in ways
that are more powerful and profound. The
power of comprehension has led to the
discovery of ever new ways of seeing the
world, the very connection between mind and
physical reality.” Critical comprehension is the
pivotal force in learning.
This process integrates experience into
knowledge through cycles of action and
feedback. Knowledge, in turn, supports the
human capacity to understand present
situations and shape future action. Experience
14
is transformed into knowledge in several ways.
One is reflection on the past. The other is the
strategic judgment that human agents make
as they design the future. These judgments
link human beings to the environment by
projecting future possibilities in a complex
network of cause and effect. Things are
understood through their perceived positions
in these networks.
The interaction between experience,
anticipation, critical comprehension, and
knowledge is only part of the story. Situated
knowledge also relies on generalized
knowledge distinct from – and abstracted from
– immediate situations and intentions.
Generalized knowledge guides perception
and thus it guides action. It is common
knowledge shared among groups of actors.
Community among actors depends, in part,
on shared common knowledge and the shared
nature of general knowledge implies a social
process. This social process plays a major role
in knowledge creation. While individual actors
also create generalized knowledge, every
creator of new knowledge builds in part on
what has come before. Even the greatest
individual creators see farther because they
stand, as Newton famously put it, “on the
shoulders of giants.” Even individual
knowledge creation is thus a social process.
Two more aspects of human agency drive
knowledge creation, habit, and tacit
knowledge. Garfinkel’s (1967) experiments
demonstrate that a general store of knowledge
is essential even to the most mundane activity.
This general store of knowledge depends on
many factors. These include habituation, tacit
knowledge, and the larger social stock of
generalized knowledge, together with learning
based on experience, anticipation, and critical
comprehension.
One fascinating aspect of habitualization is the
fact that it plays a role in many different
theories of knowledge creation. Berger and
Luckman (1971: 70-71) write that, “All human
activity is subject to habitualization. Any action
that is repeated frequently becomes cast into
a pattern, which can then be reproduced with
an economy of effort and which ipso facto, is
IDATER 2000 Loughborough University

apprehended by its performer as that pattern
... In terms of the meanings bestowed by man
upon his activity, habitualization makes it
unnecessary for each situation to be defined
anew, step by step. A large variety of situations
may be subsumed under its predefinitions.”
Habitualization need not prohibit critical
comprehension. The two processes work
together in dialectical relationship. They are
distinct yet related dimensions of learning that
depend intimately on each other. One form
of habitualization results from repeated acts
of critical comprehension that transform
experience into knowledge. Critical
comprehension depends on a generalized
store of knowledge generated by
habitualization. The knowledge spiral
describes the relationships between these
aspects of knowledge.
The knowledge management framework
posits knowledge creation as a spiral moving
through epistemological and ontological
dimensions (Nonaka and Takeuchi 1995: 70-
73). The epistemological dimension can be
portrayed as a spectrum running from explicit
knowledge to tacit knowledge. The
ontological dimension describes levels of
knowledge moving from individual knowledge
through group knowledge, organizational
knowledge, and inter-organizational
knowledge. One can extend the scale to social
and cultural knowledge.
Human beings shift knowledge from one
frame to another. As they do so, they embrace
knowledge, enlarging it, internalizing it,
transmitting it, shifting it, recontextualizing
and transforming it. Humans create new
knowledge by acting on and working with
knowledge. Knowledge creation requires
social context and individual contribution.
This involves an effort to render tacit or
unknown explicit and known.
6. Theory and research
The difficulty of fitting research into the field
of design is not rooted in the nature of design.
Neither is it rooted in the nature of design
knowledge. The great difficulty arises from a
field of practice with a huge population of
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Friedman
practitioners who were trained in the old
vocational and trade traditions of design. This
is, in part, to be expected in a profession so
new to the university.
This situation is visible in many simple
demographic facts. It is reflected in the fact
that few university design teachers have had
a broad university background. It is reflected
in the fact that doctoral programs in design
are developing at a pace that far surpasses the
availability of trained research faculty – and it
is reflected in the shortage of design
professors and doctoral supervisors who have,
themselves, earned a Ph.D. The demographics
of design programs reveal many similar
problems and challenges. The fact that we are
coming to recognize these challenges as
problems is, in itself, an important step
forward. Diagnosis precedes cure.
These problems are not, however, the fault of
craft practice. Quite the contrary. Craft practice
is eminently suited to reflective practice. Craft
practice is also well suited to theory
development and research.
We are now seeing an increasing number of
craft practitioners who also generate
significant research. Some of the work
emerging from this field is so significant that
it is helping to revolutionize research methods
training in other fields. An important example
is seen in the work of Pirkko Anttila.
Pirkko Anttila, a professor in craft research,
has become central in defining the challenges
of research methodology in design. Anttila’s
(1996) book promises to revolutionize the
learning and use of research methods by
designers. The book is rooted in a rich,
structural approach that assesses design
methods in terms of challenges, needs, and
desired outcomes. The book enables the
individual reader to locate and begin to
explore a variety of research concepts through
a pedagogically sophisticated program of
accessible self-learning. At the same time, the
comprehensive overview makes this book a
helpful guide to experienced researchers.
Researchers in social science, management,
and economics as well as in art, craft, and
15
Friedman
design are using the Finnish edition.
The problems that arise in a population of craft
practitioners (Friedman 1997) have to do with
educational traditions rather than subject
matter. This involves the failure of educators
and practices in the arts and crafts – including
design – to keep up with the knowledge
revolution.
This is a sad paradox. Artisans and shop-floor
engineers were leading actors in the industrial
revolution. Artisans and artisan engineers
helped to develop the foundations of
industrial practice. Some played important
roles in the birth of new approaches to
education and learning. A few — such as
bookbinder Michael Faraday or printer
Benjamin Franklin — even played a role in the
birth of modern science.
The problem we face today is that arts and
crafts training – and design training in the art
schools – is rooted neither in the rich craft
tradition nor in the research tradition of the
universities. This gives rise to a culture of
people who mistake silence for tacit
knowledge and confuses unreflective
assertion with reflective practice.
The immature state of the academic discipline
and the immature state of the profession in a
knowledge economy are two causes of failure
in design practice.
Successful design practice requires a rich
foundation in experience. Successful design
also requires explanatory principles, models,
and paradigms. The design profession has
developed few of these. Achieving desired
change requires a foundation in theory. This
demands a conception of preferred situations
in comparison with other possible situations
and an understanding of the actions that lead
from a current situation to a preferred one.
General principles are required to predict and
measure the outcome of decisions. This is
what W. Edwards Deming (1993: 94-118) terms
profound knowledge, comprised of “four
parts, all related to each other: appreciation
for a system; knowledge about variation;
theory of knowledge; psychology” (Deming
1993: 96).
16
The fact that design is young poses challenges
to the development of a rich theoretical
framework. In order to develop this
framework, a community of researchers must
identify themselves and enter dialogue. This
process has only recently begun. In the
development of a professional research
community, “...discussion about the scope and
content of a young field of research helps to
form the identity of its scientific community.
Internal organization and boundary
definitions are central means for the social
institutionalization of a specialty. The
exchange of opinions and even disputes
concerning the nature and limits of a field help
to construct identity and thus become bases
for social cohesion” (Vakkari 1996: 169).
In this context, “conceptions of the structure
and scope of a discipline are social constructs
that include certain objects within that domain
and exclude others. Depending on the level
of articulation, the outline of a discipline
dictates what the central objects of inquiry are,
how they should be conceptualized, what the
most important problems are and how they
should be studied. It also suggests what kinds
of solutions are fruitful. Although articulation
is usually general, it shapes the solutions to
specific research projects. This general frame
is the toolbox from which researchers pick
solutions without necessarily knowing they are
doing so” (Vakkari 1996: 169).
The concept of profound knowledge
establishes prerequisites for a toolbox of
design knowledge that will permit broad
understanding linked to predictable results.
Some kinds of design function within well-
defined domains such as industrial design,
graphic design, textile design or furniture
design. Other forms of design involve several
design disciplines and several professions.
These include information design, process
design, product design, interface design,
transportation design, urban design, design
leadership and design management.
No single factor determines the location of any
given design practice in a specific domain. In
today’s knowledge economy, therefore,
designers must maintain a broad general
IDATER 2000 Loughborough University

perspective linked to a range of specific skills
in leadership, learning, analysis, knowledge
acquisition, research, and problem solving.
[See figure 1] The demands of the knowledge
economy distinguish design professionals
from the design assistants who execute
specific applications required by the design
process.
Intelligent designers are moving beyond craft
skill and vocational knowledge to professional
knowledge. They do this by integrating
specific design knowledge with a larger range
of understandings. This includes
understanding the human beings whose
needs the design act serves. This includes
understanding the social, industrial and
economic circumstances in which the act of
design takes place. This includes
understanding the human context in which
designed artifacts and processes are used.
Intelligent designers also develop general
knowledge of industry and business. A broad
platform enables designers to focus on
problems in a rich, systemic way to achieve
desired change.
Research is one source of the knowledge that
designers require.
7. What is research?
Britannica Webster’s defines research with
elegant simplicity. The first definition dates
from 1577:
“re·search noun Etymology: Middle French
recerche, from recerchier to investigate
thoroughly, from Old French, from re- +
cerchier to search — more at SEARCH
Date: 1577 1 : careful or diligent search 2 :
studious inquiry or examination; especially
: investigation or experimentation aimed
at the discovery and interpretation of facts,
revision of accepted theories or laws in the
light of new facts, or practical application
of such new or revised theories or laws 3 :
the collecting of information about a
particular subject” (Britannica Webster’s
1999: unpaged).
The second appears only a few years later:
“2 research Date: 1593 transitive senses 1
: to search or investigate exhaustively
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<research a problem> 2 : to do research
for <research a book> intransitive senses
: to engage in research” (Britannica
Webster’s 1999: unpaged).
The discussions of research in design that label
research as a purely retrospective practice
have been misleading. Statements that
conflate research with positivism are equally
misleading. So, too, are essays that proclaim
systematic, rigorous research to be inflexible
or uncreative. One recent note asked
plaintively, “where’s the search in research?”
as though rigorous research involves little
more than tedious cataloguing of established
facts. Many aspects of creative research are
tedious, but that’s also true of painting, music,
and dance.
Without developing a comprehensive
linguistic analysis of the word research, I will
simply note that the prefix “re” came to this
word from origins outside English. The prefix
doesn’t seem to modify the core word in the
direction of past or retroactive conditions, but
it seems, rather, to emphasize or strengthen
it in some way.
As the dictionaries note (Merriam-Webster’s
1990, 1993: 1002; Britannica Webster’s 1999:
unpaged), the meanings of research are
closely linked to the senses of search in
general, “Middle English cerchen, from Middle
French cerchier to go about, survey, search,
from Late Latin circare to go about, from Latin
circum round about — more at CIRCUM-
Date: 14th century transitive senses 1 : to look
into or over carefully or thoroughly in an effort
to find or discover something: as a : to examine
in seeking something <searched the north
field> b : to look through or explore by
inspecting possible places of concealment or
investigating suspicious circumstances c : to
read thoroughly : CHECK; especially : to
examine a public record or register for
information about <search land titles> d : to
examine for articles concealed on the person
e : to look at as if to discover or penetrate
intention or nature 2 : to uncover, find, or
come to know by inquiry or scrutiny — usually
used with out intransitive senses 1 : to look or
inquire carefully <searched for the papers>
2 : to make painstaking investigation or
17
Friedman
examination” (Britannica Webster’s 1999:
unpaged).”
One can say that many aspects of design
involve search and research both. Here, I will
draw on Richard Buchanan’s distinction
between basic research, applied research and
clinical research.
Basic research involves a search for general
principles. These principles are abstracted and
generalized to cover a variety of situations and
cases. Basic research generates theory on
several levels. This may involve macrolevel
theories covering wide areas or fields, midlevel
theories covering specific ranges of issues or
microlevel theories focused on narrow
questions. Truly general principles often have
broad application beyond their field of
original, and they may have surprising
predictive power arising from their generative
nature.
Applied research adapts the findings of basic
research to classes of problems. It may also
involve developing and testing theories for
these classes of problems. Applied research
tends to be midlevel or microlevel research.
At the same time, applied research may
develop or generate questions that become
the subject of basic research.
Clinical research involves specific cases.
Clinical research applies the findings of basic
research and applied research to specific
situations. It may also generate and test new
questions, and it may test the findings of basic
and applied research in a clinical situation.
Clinical research may also develop or generate
questions that become the subject of basic
research or applied research. In fact, any of
the three frame of research may generate
questions for the other fields, and each may
test theories and findings from the other kinds
of research. It is important, however, to note
that clinical research generally involves specific
forms of professional engagement..
In the rough and tumble of daily practice, most
design practice is restricted to clinical
research. There simply isn’t time for anything
else.
18
In today’s complex environment, a designer
must identify problems, select appropriate
goals, and realize solutions. A designer may
also assemble and lead a team to realize goals
and solutions. Today’s designer works on
several levels. The designer is an analyst who
discovers problems. The designer is a
synthesist who helps to solve problems and a
generalist who understands the range of
talents that must be engaged to realize
solutions. The designer is a leader who
organizes teams when one range of talents is
not enough. Moreover, the designer is a critic
whose post-solution analysis ensures that the
right problem has been solved.
A designer is a thinker whose job it is to move
from thought to action. The designer uses the
capacities of mind in an appropriate and
empathic way to solve problems for clients.
Then, the designer works to meet customer
needs, to test the outcomes and to follow
through on solutions.
Here, we see the first value of research training
for the professional designer. Given the
location of design practice in a specific, clinical
situation, a broader understanding of general
principles gives the practising designer a
background of principle and theory on which
to draw. This comprehensive background will
never arise in any immediate situation.
Developing this background in the field of
practice takes years. In contrast, a solid
foundation of design knowledge anchored in
broad research traditions gives each
practitioner the access to the cumulative
results of many other minds and the overall
experience of a far larger field.
I will consider this issue later in discussing how
we move from research into practice.
Before asking what value research offers to
practice, it might be valuable to attempt a
summary definition of research.
In the shortest form, research is a way of
asking questions. All forms of research ask
questions, basic, applied and clinical. The
different forms and levels of research ask
questions in different ways.
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What distinguishes research from reflection?
Both involve thinking. Both seek to render the
unknown explicit. Reflection, however,
develops engaged knowledge from individual
and group experience. It is a personal act or a
community act, and it is an existential act.
Research, in contrast, addresses the question
itself, as distinct from the personal or
communal. The issues and articulations of
reflective practice may become the subject of
research, for example. This includes forms of
participant research or action research by the
same people who engaged in the reflection
that became the data. Research may also
address questions beyond or outside the
researcher.
Research asks questions in a systematic way.
The systems vary by field and purpose. There
are many kinds of research: hermeneutic,
naturalistic inquiry, statistical, analytical,
mathematical, physical, historical, sociological,
ethnographic, ethnological, biological,
medical, chemical and many more. The
methods and traditions on which they draw
are many and several. Each has its own
foundations and values. Nevertheless, all
involve some form of systematic inquiry, and
all involve a formal level of theorizing and
inquiry beyond the specific research at hand.
This systemic approach offers a level of robust
understanding that becomes one foundation
of effective practice. To reach from knowing
to doing requires practice. To reach from
doing to knowing, one requires the
articulation and critical inquiry that allows a
practitioner to gain reflective insight. W.
Edwards Deming’s experience in the applied
industrial setting and the direct clinical setting
confirms the value of theory to practice.
“Experience alone, without theory, teaches
management nothing about what to do to
improve quality and competitive position, nor
how to do it” writes Deming (1986: 19). “If
experience alone would be a teacher, then one
may well ask why are we in this predicament?
Experience will answer a question, and a
question comes from theory.”
It is not experience, but our interpretation and
understanding of experience that leads to
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knowledge. Knowledge, therefore, emerges
from critical inquiry. Systematic or scientific
knowledge arises from the theories that allow
us to question and learn from the world
around us. One of the attributes that
distinguish the practice of a profession from
the practice of an art is systematic knowledge.
As artists, we serve ourselves or we serve an
internalized vision that is, for all practical
purposes, a form of the self. In the professions,
we serve others than ourselves. In exploring
the dimensions of design as service, Nelson
and Stolterman (2000) distinguish it from art
and science both. My view is that art and
science each contributes to design. The
paradigm of service unites them.
To serve successfully demands an ability to
cause change toward desired goals. This, in
turn, involves the ability to discern desirable
goals and to create predictable – or reasonably
predicable – changes to reach them. Science
is a tool for this aspect of design, and research
is the collection of methods that enable us to
use the tool.
8. Reasons for research
There are many reasons for research, basic,
applied, and clinical. These include: curiosity;
the desire to know something; the desire to
know why something is; the desire to know
how something works; the need to solve a
problem; the desire to serve a client. There
are also practical reasons for research. For
university faculty, this includes the
requirement that we publish. On the surface,
this is simply a career requirement. At a deeper
level, the research requirement is based on a
simple fact. Those who create knowledge
through research have a different and richer
relationship to their subject field than those
who simply teach the knowledge that others
create.
Research has always been closely linked with
science. Simon’s (1982: 129) definition of the
goal of science in general is understanding
“things: how they are and how they work.”
This is the goal of science in its larger sense of
systematic knowledge. This is why some
cultures use the term “science” to cover many
disciplines or field of inquiry other than natural
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Friedman
or social science. In the sense of
understanding how things are and how they
work, literature, history or theology can also
be seen as sciences.
Campbell, Daft, and Hulin (1982: 97-103)
outline the basis for successful research.
Successful research requires active research
practice and lively involvement with
colleagues. Successful research is frequently
marked by convergence. Ideas, methods,
interests, problems and techniques interact in
the work of a researcher. Good research is
often intuitive, based on a sense that the time
is right for an idea. (This criterion, of course,
is more easily seen in hindsight, since research
ideas for which the time is not right tend to
vanish.) Successful research arises from
concepts and leads to theorization and
theoretical understanding.
Robson (1993: 26) emphasizes the real world
value of successful research, with problems
“arising from the field and leading to tangible
and useful ideas.”
Here, I will assert the value of free inquiry and
basic research, research that is not always
concerned with immediate results identified
in terms of the “real world.”
Free inquiry and science have their uses, even
in service professions such as design. They are
especially useful as a foundation for
improvements to practice.
Science – vetenskap, wissenchaft – is
systematic, organized inquiry and all the
domain of theory-based thinking on design
constitute some form of science in this larger
sense. Scientific method in the restricted sense
used for natural science has its uses, too. In
the sense that scientific inquiry can contribute
to design, it can, indeed match some of the
goals of the design discipline. No one has
suggested scientific inquiry can meet all the
goals of design. Where science in the large
sense or scientific method in the narrow sense
can be used, however, they should be used.
Design is both a making discipline and an
integrated frame of reflection and inquiry. This
means, that design inquiry seeks explanations
20
as well as immediate results.
One way to build better artifacts or cause
change in a desired direction is to understand
larger principles. This requires philosophy and
theory of design linked to general explanation.
I don’t demand that everyone pursue this kind
of research. If design research is to be
restricted to narrow, immediately practical
goals deemed acceptable to practitioners and
judged only by practitioners, there’s no
evident purpose to much of the most
interesting work in design research today.
But, then, if design research is to be restricted
to narrow, immediately practical goals deemed
acceptable to practitioners, there would have
been no purpose to much of the work of
several significant scholars in design, in
engineering or industrial practice. Some of the
figures of whom this is true are W. Edwards
Deming, Donald Schon, Buckminster Fuller,
Victor Papanek, Henry Petroski and Edward
Tufte.
There are powerful theoretical arguments for
research and explanation. The evidence of
design research and design practice also
supports these ideas.
Explanation is a profound source of better
application. While applications lie in the realm
of practice, explanation lies in the realm of
science. To expand the frame of knowledge
within which better applications emerge, we
require profound explanations and the
freedom to seek them in pure form.
Many design researchers – and some designers
– seek to understand the world to explain it.
Let’s consider why a robust design process
requires understanding to explain. To use
Simon’s (1982: 129) elegant definition, to
design is to “[devise] courses of action aimed
at changing existing situations into preferred
ones.” Why would we require an explanatory
design science for this to happen? To change
existing situation into preferred ones, we must
understand the nature of preferred situations
and the principles through which we achieve
them. This means, in Simon’s (1982: 129)
words, understanding “things: how they are
and how they work.”
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The best argument for the importance of
understanding how things are and how they
work is the frequent failure of design
outcomes. Unintended consequences and
performance failures result most often from a
failure to understand how things are, how they
work, and – more important – a failure to
understand the linkages between designed
processes or artifacts and the larger context
within they are created and found.
Design activity involves goals other than
natural, physical, and social science. It also
involves some of the same goals. What is
different in design is that the framework of
inquiry is both interdisciplinary and
integrative. The larger frame of design involves
issues that are different from the sciences and
it involves issues that are explicitly parallel.
Explanation is not our only goal. It is often
among our goals. In some forms of design
research, it may well be the essential goal of a
specific inquiry.
Explanatory power is also the fuel of better
practice.
Ideas and projects that do not work mark
every growing field of inquiry. Methods,
theories, even historical accounts, and
interpretative frames begin as proposals.
These proposals begin in some form of idea
or inquiry or even in some form of intuition
or inspiration. The professions, technology,
the humanities, social science, and natural
science are all littered with ideas that seemed
promising to someone. Proposing ideas must
always be free: once proposed, the ideas must
be subject to critical inspection, application
and perhaps even testing to see which work.
The logic of idea generation involves intuition
and deduction as well as induction and
abduction. Kepler got to his laws of planetary
motion the long way round, starting with
trying to fit the orbits of the planets to
everything from music scales to a strange
Pythagorean model of nested Platonic solids.
By testing these against observational data, he
eventually developed a series of laws that
explain the model of the solar system we have
used ever since. This, in turn, led to Newton’s
work.
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The earlier predictions of Ptolemaic
astronomy worked perfectly well for the
practitioners of the day. While the Copernican
model of the solar system was essentially
better than the Ptolemaic model, Copernicus
relied on an Aristotelian doctrine that uses
perfect circles to describe celestial orbits.
Since the planetary orbits are not circular, the
original Copernican model was less accurate
than the Ptolemaic model with its rich
catalogue of documented and precise
observations. Practitioners found Ptolemaic
astronomy far more useful and accurate than
Copernican astronomy. The two systems
competed for over a century after the
publication of Copernicus’s Revolutions. Many
argued, correctly, that Ptolemaic astronomy
was the better system. Despite its lack of
mathematical elegance, it was far superior in
predictive power. That made it superior to
practising astronomers and astrologers. (The
largest group of practitioners using
astronomical observations was astrologers.)
For decades, the Copernican model was a
strange theoretical artifact with no practical
value. Although the Copernican solar system
is essentially the correct model, it was deeply
flawed in practical terms.
Einstein’s theorizing began with discrepancies
in the implications of theory. Maxwell’s laws
implied a profound problem regarding the
invariant nature of the speed of light
contrasted against the position of the
observer. This is the same problem made clear
by the Michelson-Morley experiments, though
Einstein began with the theory and not with
the Michelson-Morley observations.
By taking one or two implications of Maxwell’s
equations at face value, Einstein reached a
stunning new kind of proposal. This proposal
took the form of special relativity. Here,
Einstein was clear. Theory and hypotheses
arise from intuition and the free play of the
mind. Theory must then be tested against
empirical data. In Einstein’s case, theory
contradicted what many physics practitioners
believed to be common sense.
No one denies the important of practice. I
merely assert that in many cases, the research
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Friedman
that seems to serve practice in the short term
often fails to serve the long-term needs of a
field. In failing to serve significant long-term
needs, research restricted to that which seems
practical and applicable in today’s terms fails
to serve the best interests of practitioners.
One of the reasons universities exist — and
one of the values of basic research — is
generating vital knowledge outside the
immediate constraints of practice.
9. When practice doesn’t want research
Even so, there are occasions when practice
doesn’t want research. Sometimes, whether
things work or not, it doesn’t matter. Many of
Philippe Starck’s artifacts meet this criterion.
The lemon squeezer where the juice runs off
down the legs and the kettle that burns the
hand in the act of pouring are good examples
of these. I have now heard that Alessi actually
offers a guarantee that some Starck artifacts
won’t work. The guarantee of dysfunction is
supposedly part of the market appeal. I
imagine that the next item out will be a
prefilled water kettle, sealed and guaranteed
to explode, destroying the stove and injuring
the cook in the process.
Practitioners sometimes reject vital streams of
research while seeking solutions that do work.
One of the best known episodes of this
behaviour comes from medicine rather than
design.
in the middle of the 19th century, medical
practitioners believed that research into
antiseptic practice or bacteria had no practical
value.
A brief look at the history of antiseptic
treatments of different kinds makes the case.
Semmelweiss, Lister and Pasteur had rough
going. Semmelweiss, incidentally, got his initial
ideas as an intuition that he tested with a
simply, rule-of-thumb procedures that were
essentially statistical in nature.
Medical research of that era made small
advances. These pioneers made the greatest
advance of the era with work that was bitterly
resisted by practitioners. medical practitioners
thought this stream of inquiry had no value.
22
It is nevertheless possible that the medical
innovations arising from this work was the
most significant advance of the past two
millennia in terms of numbers of lives saved
in medical practice and clinical application.
There have been more astonishing
innovations. Many advances have been more
dramatic. No single advance did more for
health through preventive care than the
introduction of antiseptic procedures and
pasteurization of food.
Effective design research must be an act of free
choice. Each researcher is free to decide what
goals his or her research will serve. Some
design research ought to serve practice. Not
all design research should be required to serve
practice.
When a form of research is tied too closely to
the practice of any specific era, it is — by
definition – often incapable of creating the
new knowledge of the future. It leads to
incremental improvements more often than
breakthrough. Since we do not know what
knowledge may be useful in the future,
demanding that we exclusively serve today’s
perceived needs will not advance a field.
Campbell, Daft, and Hulin (1982: 102) also
outlined the reasons that are often associated
with unsuccessful research. Several of these
reasons involve research done for motives
other than genuine curiosity. Research
undertaken purely for publication, for money
or funding is among these. A research theme
forced on a researcher is generally linked to
one of these motives. Nothing is deadlier to
the spirit of discovery.
Fortunately, the world is filled with curious
people. As I see it, any robust research
pursued with genuine vigour and the spirit of
discovery has value. The immediate values and
the long-term values of any given research
programme change and shift with time.
The research dean at a university once told
me that a study of faculty publishing revealed
that it takes nearly one thousand hours of
work to develop a research article from first
conception to final publication. Clearly, it is
hard to pay for the work this requires. This
IDATER 2000 Loughborough University

leaves curiosity and passion as the most
reliable motives for research.
10. From research into practice
When we began, I promised to address a
number of issues. We have considered the
nature of design and reflected on how the
nature of design involves certain kinds of
knowledge. We have examined the sources of
knowledge. We have considered research as a
source of knowledge, and we have considered
research in relation to other sources of
knowledge. This has taken us a long way.
Developing a sound line of reasoning takes
time. The time it takes can often lead to
surprisingly swift conclusions. To fit these
thoughts in an hour, with time for dialogue,
I’m going to consider the last two questions
in summary form. The first involves how we
create design knowledge through research.
The second asks how new knowledge move
from research into practice.
Creating design knowledge rests open all the
sources we’ve considered here. Practical
experience is only one of these. Practice alone
cannot create new knowledge. Not even
reflective practice will generate new
knowledge in significant measure. The
interplay of experience and reflection, inquiry
and theorizing generates knowledge. One task
of research is examining the ideas that arise
from the interplay of these different forms of
knowledge. Research then helps to establish
those forms of knowledge that offer the
greatest potential for further development.
This new knowledge moves into practice in
hundreds of ways. The field of innovation
studies examines the ways that new ideas are
adopted in practice. [See endnote 2].
Here, I’m going to cheat a little and offer a
very brief account of how this knowledge
moves from research into practice.
Fortunately, I also promise not to answer all
these questions, so ending with a summation
will keep my promise and meet my guarantee
to be done on time.
In a new field, the greatest need is to build a
body of research – and to train a rich network
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of researchers and research-oriented
practitioners able to use the knowledge won
in research as a foundation for practice.
Research becomes the foundation of practice
in many ways. One is the foundation of
concrete results. The other, perhaps even
more important, is in the development of
critical thinking and good mental habits. These
are the reasons that argue for the design
science approach to design education
(Friedman 1997).
Concrete research results become visible to
practitioners in a myriad of ways. Journal
results, conferences, corridor talk among
colleagues, knowledge transfer in shared
projects, Internet discussion groups. The
important issue is that a field must grow large
enough and rich enough to shape results and
circulate them. As this happens, the
disciplinary basis of the larger field also grows
richer. This leads to a virtuous cycle of basic
results that flow up toward applied research
and to clinical applications. At every stage,
knowledge, experience and questions move
in both directions.
The goal is a full knowledge creation cycle that
builds the field and all that practise in it.
Practice tends to embody knowledge.
Research tends to articulate knowledge. The
knowledge creation cycle generates new
knowledge through theorizing and reflection
both.
I’m going to end by proposing the kinds of
research that we need to build our field and
the kinds of research that we must undertake
to build the discipline that supports the field
we build.
Not long ago, Tore Kristensen (1999: unpaged)
raised an issue of stunning importance for
design research in addressing the notion of a
progressive research programme. The minute
I heard him propose the idea, I realized that
this concept was so evident to those of us who
work in other fields that we had somehow
overlooked the fact that no similar notion had
yet been proposed in the field of design.
What is a progressive research programme?
Drawing on Kristensen (1999: unpaged), I
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Philosophy and theory of Research methods and Design education Design practice
design research practices

Philosophy of design Research methods Philosophy of design Comprehensive practice

Ontology of design Research issues education Profound knowledge
Epistemology of design exploration Education based on Practice linked to solid
Philosophy of design Progressive research research foundations in education
science programs Education oriented to and research
Theory construction Development from practice Professional develop-
research to practice Rethinking undergraduate ment lifelong learning
Knowledge creation
education
Undergraduate focus on
intellectual skills for
knowledge economy
Undergraduate focus on
practice skills for
professional training
Undergraduate focus on
foundations for
professional development
Rethinking professional
degrees
Professional degrees
oriented around
intellectual skills
Professional degrees
oriented around practical
skills
Professional degrees
oriented around
professional development
Research education
Undergraduate and
professional background
for research education
Research master’s
degrees
Doctoral education
Postgraduate training
Continuing education
Lifelong learning
Partnership with design
firms
Partnership with
professional associations
Partnership with industry
Partnership with govt

Figure 3 A progressive research program for design knowledge

have identified eight characteristics of a 1. Philosophy and theory of design

progressive research program. These are:
1. building a body of generalized knowledge,
2. improving problem solving capacity,
3. generalizing knowledge into new areas,
4. identifying value creation and cost effects,
5. explaining differences in design strategies
and their risks or benefits,
6. learning on the individual level,
7. collective learning,
8. meta-learning.
Four areas of design research must be
considered in creating the foundation of
progressive research programmes within and
across the fields of design
2. Research methods and research practices
3. Design education
4. Design practice.
Each field of concern involves a range of
concerns.
In 1900, David Hilbert gave a famous speech
in which he outlined a progressive research
programme for mathematical knowledge. In
the years after Hilbert proposed a progressive
research programme, mathematicians solved
fundamental theoretical and philosophical
problems. They contributed to rich
developments in physics and the natural
sciences. They even shaped applications that

24 IDATER 2000 Loughborough University


make it possible for all of us to live a better
daily life. What I hope for in design research
is many streams of work leading to new and
important kinds of knowledge.
These will serve the field of practice in many
ways. Research serves the field through
generating direct, concrete applications.
Research serves the field by solving problems
that arise from the field itself. Research serves
the field by considering basic questions and
issues that will help to shape disciplinary
inquiry and fields of practice both. Research
serves the field by opening inquiry into basic
questions that we haven’t yet begun to ask.
All of these are part of the knowledge creation
cycle. The important moment has come in
which research joins practice to build a
community of design inquiry suited to the
challenges and demands of a knowledge
economy.
Thank you.
Endnotes
(1)
A consideration of design knowledge is not
the forum for a detailed discussion of these
issues. Nevertheless, design knowledge must
be considered against the background of the
large cultural, social and economic trends
these issues define. Those who wish a richer
picture of my views on the social and cultural
transformations of the past century will find a
deeper discussion elsewhere (Friedman 1998;
Friedman and Olaisen 1999a). Those who wish
to go deeper still will find a massive body of
books and articles. Among these, a few stand
out, framing the issues of the new society in a
comprehensive philosophical, scientific or
socioeconomic frame (f.ex., Bell 1976; Berg
et al. 2000; Borgmann 1984, 1992; Castells
1996a, 1996b, 1996c; Castells and Hall 1994;
Drucker 1990, 1998; Flichy 1991, 1995; Innis
1950, 1951, 1995a, 1995b; Machlup 1962, 1979,
1983; Mitchell 1995; Nye and Owens 1996;
Olaisen et al. 1996; Paik 1974; Sassen 1991,
1996)
(2)
Innovation studies comprise a broad field of
IDATER 2000 Loughborough University
Friedman
inquiry (Damanpour 1991). Authors
distinguish between the “diffusion” and
“adoption” of innovations (Kimberly 1981: 85)
as well as between studies of “innovating” and
“innovativeness” (Van de Ven and Rogers 1988:
636). The primary purpose of most innovation
studies has been to demonstrate the existence
of empirically distinguishable dimensions of
innovation and identify their associated
determinants (Damanpour 1991).
Much of the work on innovation has been in
the context of organization theory. Given the
fact that design is generally an organizational
process, these studies can readily be adapted
to understand how design research can lead
to improved practice in the context of design
firms and the industries they serve. While
some innovation studies examine
organizations well beyond the scope or scale
of most design firms, the ideas they develop
can be fruitfully pursed in the context of
design.
The propensity to innovate is a stable
characteristic of organizations over time (Miles
and Snow 1978; Miller and Friesen 1982;
Mintzberg 1973). It depends on organizational
size, structure and leadership (Burns and
Stalker 1966; Daft 1982; Damanpour 1992;
Damanpour and Evan 1984; Hage and Dewar
1973; Kimberly and Evanisko 1981; Lawrence
and Lorsh 1967; Mohr 1969; Tushman and
Romanelli 1985; Wilson 1966).
There are several kinds of innovation. These
include technological innovation and
administrative innovation (Daft 1978;
Kimberly and Evanisko 1981; Damanpour
1987). Administrative and technical
innovations do not relate to the same
predictor variables (Aiken, Bacharach and
French 1981; Evan and Black 1967; Kimberly
and Evanisko 1981). In the “dual-core-model”
of organizational innovation, low
professionalism, high formalization, and high
centralization facilitate administrative
innovation. Inverse conditions facilitate
technical innovation (Daft 1978: 206). The
“ambidextrous model” of innovation suggests
that high structural complexity, low
formalization, and low centralization facilitate
the initiation of innovations while inverse
25
Friedman
conditions facilitates their implementation
(Duncan 1976: 179).
There are a number of distinctions to be made
concerning the quality and character of
innovation. Innovation can be either radical
or incremental (Dewar and Dutton 1986;
Ettlie, Bridges, and O’Keefe 1984; Nord and
Tucker 1987). In addition, there are important
differences the govern the initiation and
implementation stages of adopting of
innovation (Marino 1982; Zmud 1982). There
are also different organizational levels involved
in innovation (Aiken, Bacharach, and French
1981).
Some investigators have found that
substandard performance causes
dysfunctional behaviour and diminished
innovation (Caldwell and O’Reilly 1982;
Cameron, Kim and Whetten 1987; Hall 1976;
Manns and March 1978; McKinley 1987; Smart
and Vertinsky 1977; Starbuck, Greve and
Hedberg 1978; Staw, Sanadelands and Dutton
1981).
Others argue that poor performance is actually
necessary as a catalyst of the search for new
practices in an organization (Argyris and Schon
1978; Bowman 1982; Chandler 1962; Cyert and
March 1963; Meyer 1982; McKinley 1987;
Singh 1986; Wilson 1966;).
Organizations tend to act inconsistently. They
can lead their industries with innovative
practices in one period, while lagging behind
their peers as late-adopters at other times
(Mansfield 1968).
An alternative view claims that the propensity
to innovate will vary over time, following a
company’s performance level (Bolton 1993;
Mansfield 1968).
A growing body of literature (Tushman and
Romanelli 1985; Tushman and Anderson 1986)
suggests that organizations evolve through
convergent periods punctuated by
reorientation or major innovations which
reconfigure the organization’s path into the
next lengthy period of incremental adaptation
and adjustment (Miller and Friesen 1984).
26
Contingency theorists and strategy
researchers also provide affirmative
theoretical supportive for a positive
relationship between substandard
organizational performance and innovation.
One stream of contingency research asserts
that changing environments may lead to
declining performance if prompt realignment
of the fit between strategy and structure fails
to occur (Burns and Stalker 1966; Chandler
1962; Lawrence and Lorsch 1969). Firms
experiencing declining performance may
therefore change strategies (Miles and
Cameron 1982) and ultimately develop
organizational structures to respond more
effectively to new environmental
contingencies. Indeed, one might argue that
the increase in “hybrid” organizations,
strategic alliances and other novel cooperative
arrangements between firms (Borys and
Jemison 1989; Powell 1987) constitutes
widespread organizational innovation in
response to declining performance stemming
from environmental change.
There is now a growing body of overview
literature in the field, including conceptual
articles and reviews Daft 1982; Damanpour
1988; : Kimberly 1981; Tornatzky and Klein
1982; Van de Ven 1986; Wolfe 1994.
Together with two colleagues (Friedman,
Djupvik and Blindheim 1995) I reviewed these
issues at greater length in relation to
professional education and in relation to the
specific issues involved in innovation as a
research field.
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Theory Construction
in Design Research.
Criteria, Approaches,
and Methods.

Ken Friedman

Reprint

2008
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 2

This article was published as:

Friedman, Ken. 2002. “Theory Construction in Design Research. Criteria, Approaches, and
Methods.” In Common Ground. Proceedings of the Design Research Society International
Conference, Brunel University, September 5-7, 2002. David Durling and John Shackleton,
Editors. Stoke on Trent, UK: Staffordshire University Press, 388-413.

Copyright © Ken Friedman 2002, 2003

This text may be quoted and printed freely with proper acknowledgment.

A shortened version of this article was published in the journal Design Studies as:

Friedman, Ken. 2003. “Theory construction in design research: criteria: approaches, and
methods.” Design Studies, 24 (2003), 507–522.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 3

Abstract

Design involves creating something new or transforming a less desirable situation to a

preferred situation. To do this, designers must know how things work and why.
Understanding how things work and why requires explanation, and it sometimes requires
prediction. To explain and predict, we must construct and test theories.

Theories are propositions or sets of propositions that allow us to analyze or explain subjects.
Some theories are complex and sophisticated. Others are simple.

Theory can be described in many ways. In its most basic form, a theory is a model. It is an
illustration describing how something works by showing its elements in their dynamic
relationship to one another. The dynamic demonstration of working elements in action as part
of a structure distinguishes a theoretical model from a simple taxonomy or catalogue. A
theory predicts what will happen when elements interact.

Understanding design process and design outcomes now implies the kinds of theory
construction common in the natural and social sciences. This paper argues that successful
design is inherently theory-rich.

The paper outlines a framework for understanding theory construction in design. This
framework will clarify the meaning of theory and theorizing. It will explain the nature and
uses of theory as a general concept. It will propose necessary and sufficient conditions for
theory construction in design. Finally, it will outline potential areas for future inquiry in
design theory.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 4

About Ken Friedman

Ken Friedman is dean of the Swinburne University Faculty of Design in Melbourne,

Australia. He also holds a research appointment at Denmark’s Design School in Copenhagen,
and he is Professor of Leadership and Strategic Design at the Norwegian School of
Management. Friedman works with theory construction and comparative research
methodology for design and with knowledge economy issues, culture, and leadership.

Friedman is editor of the journal Artifact. He also serves on the editorial boards of Design
Studies, The Journal of Design Research, The International Journal of Design, The Journal
of Visual Arts Practice, and ARTbibliographies Modern, among others.

Friedman co-chaired the conference on Doctoral Education in Design in 2000, the conference
of the European Academy of Management in 2006, and the conference of the Design
Research Society in 2006, and the conference on Events and Event Structures in 2007.

Ken Friedman is also a practicing artist and designer active in the international laboratory
known as Fluxus.

In 2007, Loughborough University honored Friedman with the degree of Doctor of Science,
honoris causa, for outstanding contributions to design research.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 5

Theory Construction in Design Research.

Criteria, Approaches, and Methods.

by Ken Friedman

Professor of Leadership and Strategic Design

Department of Communication, Culure, and Language
Norwegian School of Management

Design Research Center

Denmark’s Design School

Definitions: Design, Research, Theory

Before addressing the theme of theory construction in design research, it will help to establish
a few basic definitions and parameters. These definitions are not complete and all-inclusive.
Rather, they establish terms as I use them in this paper. Establishing clear definitions also
encourages reflection on central themes in theoretical inquiry, and each definition is
supported by references to multiple sources.

Clarity is important in understanding theory. Theoretical sensitivity and methodological

sophistication rest on understanding the concepts we use. None of us is obliged to accept any
specific definition of a term such as design, research, or theory. Some of us find that no single
definition suits us, and we are often obliged to restate or reshape definitions to the task.
Precisely because there is no need for adherence to a single definition, we are obliged to make
our usage clear. This does more than help others to understand terms as we use them. It also
helps to ensure that we understand what we are saying.

There seems to be a range of emerging agreements on ways to define design. While there are
differences in approach and the technical use of the term, most definitions converge on a
range of common understandings. Three common understandings involve a goal-oriented
process that is used to solve a problem, meet a need, solve a problem, improve a situation, or
create something new or useful. There is much room for different positions within this broad
and open range of possibilities.

While acknowledging that many definitions of design are possible, this paper uses a
definition built on linguistic research, empirical observation, and the contributions of
Buckminster Fuller (1969, 1981) and Herbert Simon (1982, 1998). (Those familiar with my
work will recognize some of the material in these definitions. I use these definitions to
develop a new inquiry here, and add new material that bears on the topic of theory
construction.)
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 6

Design research is a relatively new field. We have fewer scholars and scientists with research
education and training than other fields do. This means that the term research is often
confused or misused. The problem is made worse by the fact that design is inherently
interdisciplinary. We therefore find ourselves in a situation where terms are often confused.
The current generation of design research specialists comes mostly to research from a
practitioner education. This gives us a corps of researchers with solid practitioner skills and
deep gaps in research skills. This is understandable in people who have devoted their
educational training and most of their professional work to practice. This leads to a common
problem. Those who are new to research adapt terms and definitions from a wide range of
fields in which they have little solid foundation.

The term theory suffers from similar problems. The problem is even greater because of the
fact that relatively few scholars or scientists in established fields specifically study the issues
and topics involved in theory construction. While the knowledge base of most fields provides
a rich array of resources in research methods and methodology studies, few fields offer much
material on theory construction.

There comes a moment in the evolution of every field or discipline when central intellectual
issues come into focus as the field and the discipline on which it rests shift from a rough,
ambiguous territory to an arena of reasoned inquiry. At such a time, scholars, scientists,
researchers, and their students begin to focus articulate attention on such issues as research
methods, methodology (the comparative study of methods), philosophy, philosophy of
science, and related issues in the metanarrative through which a research field takes shape. In
many fields today, this also entails the articulate study of theory construction.

This paper will explore the issue of theory construction in design research. To do so requires
establishing a range of concepts around such terms as research and theory. While defining the
terms research and theory is more difficult in our field than in others, any attempt to develop
the topic of theory construction requires an adequate definition. This paper therefore offers
definitions. While these definitions are robust enough for wider use, I do not explore their
general properties or the many uses to which they may be put. I use them here to establish a
foundation for the consideration of theory construction offered here.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 7

Defining Design

In using the word design, I refer to a process that involves creating something new (or
reshaping something that exists) for a purpose, to meet a need, to solve a problem or to
transform a less desirable situation to a preferred situation.

Herbert Simon (1982: 129, 1998: 112) defines design as the process by which we “[devise]
courses of action aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones.” To the degree
that creating something new (or reshaping something that exists) for a purpose, to meet a
need, to solve a problem are also courses of action toward a preferred situation even though
we may not yet be able to articulate the preferred situation, this definition covers most forms
of design. Without accepting all of Simon’s views on how to design, it is a useful starting
point.

Design is a process. Merriam-Webster’s (1993: 343) defines design as: “1 a : to conceive and
plan out in the mind <he ~ed a perfect crime> b : to have as a purpose : intend <he ~ed to
excel in his studies> c : to devise for a specific function or end <a book ~ed primarily as a
college textbook> 2 archaic : to indicate with a distinctive mark, sign or name 3 a : to make a
drawing, pattern or sketch of b : to draw the plans for c : to create, fashion, execute or
construct according to plan : devise, contrive…” (See also: ARTFL Webster’s 1913: 397-8;
Britannica Webster’s 2002: unpaged; Cambridge 1999: unpaged; Friedman 2001: 36-40; Link
1999: unpaged; OED Online 2002: unpaged; SOED 1993: 645; Wordsmyth 2002: unpaged.)

Buckminster Fuller (1969: 319) describes the design process as an event flow. He divides the
process into two steps. The first is a subjective process of search and research. The second is
a generalizable process that moves from prototype to practice.

The subjective process of search and research, Fuller outlines a series of steps:

teleology -- > intuition -- > conception -- >

apprehension -- > comprehension -- >
experiment -- > feedback -- >

Under generalization and objective development leading to practice, he lists:

prototyping #1 -- > prototyping #2 -- > prototyping #3 -- >

production design -- > production modification -- > tooling -- >
production -- > distribution -- >
installation -- > maintenance -- > service -- >
reinstallation -- > replacement -- >
removal -- > scrapping -- > recirculation
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 8

For Fuller, the design process is a comprehensive sequence leading from teleology – the goal
or purpose toward which the process aims – to practice and finally to regeneration. This last
step, regeneration, creates a new stock of material on which the designer may again act. The
specific terms may change for process design or services design. The essential concept
remains the same. Fuller also used the term design science, though he used it in a different
context than Simon did (Fuller 1969, 1981; see also Fuller 1964, 1965, 1967; and Fuller and
Dil 1983).

A designer is a thinker whose job it is to move from thought to action. A taxonomy of design
knowledge domains (Friedman 1992, 2000, 2001) describes the frames within which a
designer must act. Each domain requires a broad range of skills, knowledge, and awareness.
Design, properly defined, is the entire process across the full range of domains required for
any given outcome.

The field organized around design can be seen as a profession, a discipline, and a field. The
profession of design involves the professional practice of design. The discipline of design
involves inquiry into the several domains of design. The field of design embraces the
profession, the discipline, and a shifting and often ambiguous range of related cognate fields
and areas of inquiry. When we speak of theorizing, we necessarily speak of the discipline.
The foundation of design theory rests on the fact that design is by nature an interdisciplinary,
integrative discipline.

The nature of design as an integrative discipline places it at the intersection of several large
fields. In one dimension, design is a field of thinking and pure research. In another, it is a
field of practice and applied research. When applications are used to solve specific problems
in a specific setting, it is a field of clinical research.

My model for the field of design is a circle of six fields. A horizon bisects the circle into
fields of theoretical study and fields of practice and application.

The triangles represent six general domains of design. Moving clockwise from the left-most
triangle, these domains are (1) natural sciences, (2) humanities and liberal arts, (3) social and
behavioral sciences, (4) human professions and services, (5) creative and applied arts, and (6)
technology and engineering.

Design may involve any or all of these domains, in differing aspect and proportion depending
on the nature of the project at hand or the problem to be solved.

With this as a background, we are prepared to examine how – and why – theory construction
is important to design, the design process, the field of design, the discipline, and the
profession.

Let us return to the definition of design as the process by which we “[devise] courses of
action aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones.” Those who cannot change
existing situations into preferred ones fail in the process of design. There are many causes of
design failure. These include lack of will, ability, or method. Designers also fail due to
context or client, lack of proper training or a failure to understand the design process.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 9

Fuller (1981: 229-231) describes design as the difference between class-one evolution and
class-two evolution. Class-two evolution involves “all those events that seem to be resultant
upon human initiative-taking or political reforms that adjust to the change wrought by the
progressive introduction of environment-altering artifacts” (Fuller 1981: 229).

One argument for the importance of design is the increasing number of areas that are now
subject to human initiative. The vast range of technologies that surround us mediate most of
the human world and influence our daily lives. These include the artifacts of information
technology, mass media, telecommunication, chemistry, pharmacology, chemical
engineering, and mechanical engineering, along with the designed processes of nearly every
service industry and public good now available other than public access to nature. Within the
next few years, these areas will come to include the artifacts of biotechnology,
nanotechnology, and possible hybrid technologies that meet at what Ray Kurzweil calls “the
singularity.”

Kurzweil, a leading authority on artificial intelligence, argues, “We are entering a new era. I
call it ‘the Singularity.’ It’s a merger between human intelligence and machine intelligence
that is going to create something bigger than itself. It’s the cutting edge of evolution on our
planet. One can make a strong case that it’s actually the cutting edge of the evolution of
intelligence in general, because there’s no indication that it’s occurred anywhere else. To me,
that is what human civilization is all about. It is part of our destiny and part of the destiny of
evolution to continue to progress ever faster, and to grow the power of intelligence
exponentially. To contemplate stopping that – to think human beings are fine the way they are
– is a misplaced fond remembrance of what human beings used to be. What human beings are
is a species that has undergone a cultural and technological evolution, and it’s the nature of
evolution that it accelerates, and that its powers grow exponentially, and that’s what we’re
talking about. The next stage of this will be to amplify our own intellectual powers with the
results of our technology” (Kurzweil 2001: unpaged, see also Kurzweil 1990, 1999).

Fuller’s metaphor of the critical path shows a world that can disintegrate as well as grow
better. Whether Kurzweil’s optimism is justified or not, his description of how the artificial
world affects the natural world has immense ramifications that parallel Fuller’s idea of class-
two evolution.

Design plays a role in this evolution, and the design process takes on new meaning, as
designers are required to take on increasingly important tasks. These tasks are important not
because designers are more visible and prestigious, but because design has greater effects and
wider scope than ever before.

Profound design and brilliant concepts are uncommon in design, much as they are in physics,
engineering, poetry, or painting. Even so, the success of evolutionary artifacts and craft
traditions suggests that most human beings are able to do a competent job of design. Design
failures are nevertheless common. The most common reasons include lack of method and
absence of systematic and comprehensive understanding. These, in turn, rest on gaps in
knowledge and preparation.

It is here that research and theory play a role.

Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 10

Defining Research

Webster’s Dictionary defines research with elegant simplicity. The noun dates from 1577:
“re·search noun Pronunciation: ri-’s&rch, ‘rE-”Etymology: Middle French recerche, from
recerchier to investigate thoroughly, from Old French, from re- + cerchier to search -- more at
SEARCH Date: 1577 1 : careful or diligent search 2 : studious inquiry or examination;
especially : investigation or experimentation aimed at the discovery and interpretation of
facts, revision of accepted theories or laws in the light of new facts, or practical application of
such new or revised theories or laws 3 : the collecting of information about a particular
subject. (Merriam-Webster’s 1993: 1002; see also: ARTFL Webster’s 1913: 1224; Britannica
Webster’s 2002: unpaged; Cambridge 1999: unpaged; Link 1999: unpaged; OED Online
2002: unpaged; SOED 1993: 2558; Wordsmyth 2002: unpaged).

The verb follows in 1593. As a transitive verb, it means “to search or investigate
exhaustively” or “to do research for” something, as to research a book. The intransitive verb
means, “to engage in research (Merriam-Webster’s 1993: 1002; see also sources above).

Design research discussions that label research as a purely retrospective practice have been
misleading. Statements that conflate research with positivism are equally misleading. So, too,
are essays that proclaim systematic, rigorous research to be inflexible or uncreative. One
recent note asked plaintively, “where’s the search in research?” as though rigorous research
involves little more than tedious cataloguing of established facts. While some aspects of
creative research involve tedium, so do some aspects of painting, music, and dance.

It does not require a comprehensive linguistic analysis of the word research to understand that
the prefix “re” came to this word from outside English. The prefix does not modify the core
word in the direction of past or retroactive conditions, but it emphasizes or strengthens it.

As the dictionaries note (Merriam-Webster’s 1993: 1002; see others), the word research is, in
fact, closely linked to the word and concept of search in general. Webster’s defines the word
search this way: “Middle English cerchen, from Middle French cerchier to go about, survey,
search, from Late Latin circare to go about, from Latin circum round about -- more at
CIRCUM- Date: 14th century transitive senses 1 : to look into or over carefully or thoroughly
in an effort to find or discover something: as a : to examine in seeking something <searched
the north field> b : to look through or explore by inspecting possible places of concealment or
investigating suspicious circumstances c : to read thoroughly : CHECK; especially : to
examine a public record or register for information about <search land titles> d : to examine
for articles concealed on the person e : to look at as if to discover or penetrate intention or
nature 2 : to uncover, find, or come to know by inquiry or scrutiny -- usually used with out
intransitive senses 1 : to look or inquire carefully <searched for the papers> 2 : to make
painstaking investigation or examination” (Merriam-Webster’s 1993: 1059; see others).”

Many aspects of design involve search and research together. It is helpful to consider this
issue in terms of a triad formed by the concepts of clinical research, basic research, and
applied research. This shapes a dynamic milieu closer to the reality of professional practice
than the common dyadic division between basic research and applied research. While the
dyadic division may suffice for the natural sciences, it is not adequate for understanding
research in the technical and social sciences or the professions they support.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 11

Basic research involves a search for general principles. These principles are abstracted and
generalized to cover a variety of situations and cases. Basic research generates theory on
several levels. This may involve macro level theories covering wide areas or fields, midlevel
theories covering specific ranges of issues or micro level theories focused on narrow
questions. Truly general principles often have broad application beyond their field of original,
and their generative nature sometimes gives them surprising predictive power.

Applied research adapts the findings of basic research to classes of problems. It may also
involve developing and testing theories for these classes of problems. Applied research tends
to be midlevel or micro level research. At the same time, applied research may develop or
generate questions that become the subject of basic research.

Clinical research involves specific cases. Clinical research applies the findings of basic
research and applied research to specific situations. It may also generate and test new
questions, and it may test the findings of basic and applied research in a clinical situation.
Clinical research may also develop or generate questions that become the subject of basic
research or applied research.

Any of the three frames of research may generate questions for the other frames. Each may
test the theories and findings of other kinds of research. It is important to note that clinical
research generally involves specific forms of professional engagement. In the rough and
tumble of daily practice, most design practice is restricted to clinical research. There isn’t
time for anything else.

In today’s complex environment, a designer must identify problems, select appropriate goals,
and realize solutions. Because so much design work takes place in teams, a senior designer
may also be expected to assemble and lead a team to realize goals and solutions. Designers
work on several levels. The designer is an analyst who discovers problems. The designer is a
synthesist who helps to solve problems and a generalist who understands the range of talents
that must be engaged to realize solutions. The designer is a leader who organizes teams when
one range of talents is not enough. Moreover, the designer is a critic whose post-solution
analysis ensures that the right problem has been solved. Each of these tasks may involve
working with research questions. All of them involve interpreting or applying some aspect or
element that research discloses.

Because a designer is a thinker whose job it is to move from thought to action, the designer
uses capacities of mind to solve problems for clients in an appropriate and empathic way. In
cases where the client is not the customer or end-user of the designer’s work, the designer
may also work to meet customer needs, testing design outcomes and following through on
solutions.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 12

This provides the first benefit of research training for the professional designer. Design
practice is inevitably located in a specific, clinical situation. A broad understanding of general
principles based on research gives the practicing designer a background stock of knowledge
on which to draw. This stock of knowledge includes principles, facts, and theories. This stock
forms a theoretically comprehensive background that no one person can master. Rather, this
constitutes the knowledge of the field. This knowledge is embodied in the minds and working
practices of millions of people. These people, their minds, and their practices, are distributed
in the social and organizational memory of tens of thousands of organizations.

Even if one person could in theory master any major fraction of the general stock of
knowledge, there would be little point. The general and comprehensive stock of design
knowledge can never be used completely in any practical context.

Good design solutions are always based on and embedded in specific problems. In Jens
Bernsen’s (1986) memorable phrase, in design, the problem comes first. Each problem
implies partially new solutions located in a specific context. The continual interaction of
design problems and design solutions generates the problematics and knowledge stock of the
field in tandem.

Developing a comprehensive background through practice therefore takes years. In contrast, a

solid foundation of design knowledge anchored in broad research traditions gives each
practitioner the access to the cumulative results of many other minds and the overall
experience of a far larger field.

In addition to those who shape research at the clinical edge of practice, there are other forms
of research that serve the field and other kinds of researchers develop them.

Research is a way of asking questions. All forms of research ask questions, basic, applied,
and clinical. The different forms and levels of research ask questions in different ways.

One of the problems in understanding design research emerges specifically from this
distinction. Design practitioners are always involved in some form of research, but practice
itself is not research. While many designers and design scholars have heard the term
“reflective practice,” reflective practice is also not research, and reflective practice is not a
research method as is sometimes mistakenly suggested.

What distinguishes research from reflection? Both involve thinking. Both seek to render the
unknown explicit. Reflection, however, develops engaged knowledge from individual and
group experience. It is a personal act or a community act, and it is an existential act.
Reflection engages the felt, personal world of the individual. It is intimately linked to the
process of personal learning (Friedman and Olaisen 1999; Kolb 1984). Reflection arises from
and addresses the experience of the individual.

Research, in contrast, addresses the question itself, as distinct from the personal or
communal. The issues and articulations of reflective practice may become the subject of
research, for example. This includes forms of participant research or action research by the
same people who engaged in the reflection that became the data. Research may also address
questions beyond or outside the researcher.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 13

Research asks questions in a systematic way. The systems vary by field and purpose. There
are many kinds of research: hermeneutic, naturalistic inquiry, statistical, analytical,
mathematical, physical, historical, sociological, ethnographic, ethnological, biological,
medical, chemical and many more. They draw on many methods and traditions. Each has its
own foundations and values. All involve some form of systematic inquiry, and all involve a
formal level of theorizing and inquiry beyond the specific research at hand.

Comparing two distinct research streams focused on design practice will shed light on some
of these issues.

In one of the most interesting research programs of the past decade, Henry Petroski (1992,
1994a, 1994b, 1996, 1997) has studied design failures, the role of failure in moving toward
success, and the relationship between the different aspects of the design process. Among the
key elements in success are systemic understanding, together with the ability to render tacit
learning explicit for analysis and improvement. These are the same factors involved in
organizational learning and reflective practice (see Argyris 1977, 1990, 1991, 1992, Argyris
and Schon 1974, 1978, 1996; Schon 1983, 1987; Senge 1990; Senge et al. 1994, 1999).

Petroski is engaged in research on the elements of successful design practice. So are Argyris,
Schon, and Senge. Reflective practice is a technique that builds successful practice. It is not a
form of research into practice. To the contrary, Argyris and others have developed a range of
research techniques linked to reflective practice. This is described in Argyris, Putnam, and
Smith’s (1985) book on action science, a presentation of concepts, methods, and skills for
research and intervention. Argyris and Schon (1990) later contrasted normal science with
action science. More recently, Argyris (1993) wrote on ways to apply the findings of action
science to practicing professional life, closing the circle in a continuous loop between theory
and practice.

What is significant about this, however, is that neither practice nor reflective practice is itself
seen a research method. Instead, reflective practice is one of an array of conceptual tools used
in understanding any practice – including the practice of research.

In short, research is the “methodical search for knowledge. Original research tackles new
problems or checks previous findings. Rigorous research is the mark of science, technology,
and the ‘living’ branches of the humanities” (Bunge 1999: 251). Exploration, investigation,
and inquiry are synonyms for research.

Design knowledge grows in part from practice. Design knowledge and research overlap, but
even though the practice of design is a foundation of design knowledge, it is the action of
systematic and methodical inquiry that constitutes research.

Critical thinking and systemic inquiry form the foundation of theory. Research offers us the
tools that allow critical thinking and systemic inquiry to bring answers out of the field of
action. It is theory and the models that theory provides through which we link what we know
to what we do.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 14

Defining Theory

In its most basic form, a theory is a model. It is an illustration describing how something
works by showing its elements in their dynamic relationship to one another. It is the dynamic
demonstration of working elements in action as part of a structure that distinguishes a model
from a simple taxonomy or catalogue.

The word theory entered the English language in 1597 via Latin from the original Greek.
Merriam-Webster (1990: 1223) defines theory as:

“1 : the analysis of a set of facts in their relation to one another 2 : abstract thought :
speculation 3 : the general or abstract principles of a body of fact, a science or an art <music
~> 4 a : a belief, policy, or procedure proposed or followed as the basis of action <her
method is based on the ~ that all children want to learn> b : an ideal or hypothetical set of
facts, principles or circumstances – often used in the phrase in theory <in ~, we have always
advocated freedom for all> 5 : a plausible or scientifically accepted general principle or body
of principles offered to explain phenomena <wave ~ of light> 6 a : a hypothesis assumed for
the sake of argument or investigation b : an unproved assumption : conjecture c : a body of
theorems presenting a concise systematic view of a subject <~ of equations>.”

The first theorists were the Greek philosophers. They developed a vocabulary of theoretical
distinctions in their effort to explain the world around them. They considered the distinctions
between epistem, the knowledge that can be explained or demonstrated to the satisfaction of
others, either through experimentation or presentation, episteme haplos, unconditional
knowledge of principles which always hold true and hos epi to polu, knowledge which holds
true for the most part. They considered different kinds of practical knowledge and skill:
praxis, doing, performing, accomplishing through practical knowledge or know-how; poiesis,
knowledge needed to put things together, for instance a poem; phronesis, practical knowledge
needed to address political or ethical issues; téchne, now translated as what we would call
skill. To the Greeks, theoria, meditation, speculation, contemplation, involved seeking to
know the highest and eternal principles. Aristotle believed this to be life’s highest function.

In Plato’s Phaedo, Socrates says that, “the superlative thing to know is the explanation of
everything, why it comes to be, why it perishes, why it is.” Explanation makes empirical
demands. Aristotle understood this, and he was a practitioner of empirical observation.
Although limited by human imperfection and available technology, Aristotle was concerned
with apprehending the mortal, physical world in an attempt to explain. Aristotle, as much an
empirical biologist as a speculative philosopher (Morowitz 1993: 160-163), has been ill
served by the work of scholastic philosophers who concentrated on his other work to the
neglect of his research and writing on the life sciences. By the Middle Ages, Aristotle was the
hostage of empty scholasticism. Ignorance of the central role that biology and philosophy of
science held in Aristotle’s Academy continues to this day.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 15

Nevertheless, something was missing, even in the Academy. Of the “three great conceptual
approaches to science – observation, experimentation, and theory – experimentation was
unknown to the classical Greek savants. They worked back and forth between observation
and theory and therefore lacked the powerful weapon of falsification to prune wrong theories”
(Morowitz 1993: 161-2). Plato’s science stood on one leg, Aristotle’s on two. In the great age
of physics, Galileo, Newton, and Bacon developed the concept of robust experiment. This
made scientific progress possible by stabilizing scientific method with its third leg.
Experiment allows us to choose among alternative theories, moving in increasingly better
directions.

The distinction between a science and a craft is systematic thought organized in theory. Craft
involves doing. Some craft involves experimentation. Theory allows us to frame and organize
our observations. Theory permits us to question what we see and do. It helps us to develop
generalizable answers that can be put to use by other human beings in other times and places.

This, in effect, is the central issue in design. To “[devise] courses of action aimed at changing
existing situations into preferred ones” on a predictable basis means understanding “things:
how they are and how they work,” which is Simon’s (1982: 129) explanation of science. One
form of design practice is allied to art and craft. It is intuitive. It sometimes produces desired
results. On occasion, this practice of design produces desirable results that may have been
unpredictable, but results that can nevertheless be seized retrospectively as the useable result
of muddling through.

The other face of design practice involves predictability. It is created by the effective
response to problems, and it has similarities to science, engineering, and technology. The
basis of design science is the idea of applicable theories of how to devise courses of action
aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones. This science is geared to industrial
production, including production in the digital industries of the knowledge economy.

Industry now meets the vast majority of the world’s physical needs, and industrial
productivity is a necessity in a world of billions of people. Industrial production, and
therefore design, touches nearly everything we do, use or consume. It begins with the
morning newspaper that we read while we eat breakfast to the food itself. It moves on as we
drive a car, take a bus or train, and it involves the computers most of us now plug in at work –
if we are not commuting to work from a computer in our home office. Some of the day’s
events will take place on the phone, and therefore, we will be reaching out via switchboards,
long-distance networks or even satellite. From the start of the day until the end, designed
artifacts, industrial artifacts, information artifacts, technical artifacts, and graphic artifacts in
hundreds of combinations and forms will surround us. We will interact with them, and they
will shape our waking experience. The designers who plan and create these artifacts are not
simple artisans. They are involved in the industrial process whether or not they think of
themselves in industrial terms.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 16

Design is of necessity in transition from art and craft practice to a form of technical and social
science focused on how to do things to accomplish goals. To meet the challenges of the
design process requires understanding the actions that lead from existing situations to
preferred ones. This means understanding the principles of predicting and measuring
outcomes based on what W. Edwards Deming (1993: 94-118) terms profound knowledge.
This knowledge is comprised of “four parts, all related to each other: appreciation for a
system; knowledge about variation; theory of knowledge; psychology” (Deming 1993: 96).
According to Deming (1986: 19), “Experience will answer a question, and a question comes
from theory.”

Theory can be described in many ways. Some theories are complex and sophisticated. Others
are simple. Mautner (1996: 426) defines theory as “a set of propositions which provides
principles of analysis or explanation of a subject matter. Even a single proposition can be
called a theory.” This often depends on the nature of the subject.

McNeil (1993: 8) proposes eleven characteristics of any general theory. 1) A theory has a
constitutive core of concepts mutually interrelated with one another. 2) A theory has a
mutually productive, generative connection between central concepts and the peripheral
concepts where theory verges onto practice. 3) The core concepts of a theory are stated in
algorithmic compression, parsimonious statements from which the phenomena in the theory
can be reproduced. 4) A theory has an irreducible core of concepts, a set of concepts in which
no central concept can be removed without altering the scope and productivity of the theory
or perhaps destroying it entirely. 5) Two or more of the core concepts in a theory must be
complementary to each other. 6) The central concepts of a theory must be well defined and
must harmonize as much as possible with similar concepts of enlightened discourse. 7) The
central concepts of a theory must be expressed at a uniform level of discourse. Different
levels of discourse must be distinguished and used consistently. 8) More general theories
(higher-level theories) must relate to less general theories (lower-level theories) and to special
cases through a principle of correspondence. This principle confirms and guarantees the
consistency of the more particular theories and their applications. 9) Explicitly or implicitly, a
theory describes dynamic flows with contours that trace relatively closed loops as well as
relatively open links. 10) A theory states invariant entities in its assumptions or formulas that
provide standards for measurement. 11) Theories describe phenomena in the context of a
conceptual space. This implicitly establishes a relationship between the observer and the
phenomena observed.

The ability to theorize design enables the designer to move from an endless succession of
unique cases to broad explanatory principles that can help to solve many kinds of problems.
Warfield (in Francois 1997:100) describes the generic aspect of design as “that part of the
process of design that is indifferent to what is being designed, being applicable whatever the
target may be.” He contrasts this with the specific aspect of design, “that part of the design
process that is particular to the target class.” Warfield (1990, 1994) identifies thirty-two basic
postulates of the generic design process, which he groups under six categories: the human
being, language, reasoning through relationships, archival representation, the design situation,
and the design process. This generic design process is inevitably theory-rich. But it is not
entirely abstract, any more than science is abstract. Quite the contrary, theory relies on an
engagement with empirical reality.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 17

Brockhampton (1994: 507) defines theory as “a set of ideas, concepts, principles or methods
used to explain a wide set of observed facts.” A designer who fails to observe facts cannot
theorize them. Design requires humility in the face of empirical facts. Design based on the
idea of individual genius or artistic imagination involves the externalization of internalized
images. This involves a priori ideas and images. The designer comes first in this model of the
design process. In contrast, solving problems demands robust engagement with the problem
itself. The problem comes first.

The problem sets the premise by establishing the boundary conditions of a solution. At the
same time, the problem opens a forum for the imagination and expertise of the designer.
Social science depends on what Mills (1967) described as “the sociological imagination.”
Mathematical invention involves a journey of psychological discovery through what
Hadamard (1996) termed “the mathematician’s mind.” Across the many fields of the natural
and social sciences, progress comes when individuals and groups apply their genius to the
understanding of how the world works and why. Understanding why things come to be, why
they perish, and why they are as they are involves discipline and imagination both. Thus,
Weick (1989) describes theory building as “an act of disciplined imagination.”

How Theory Works

Sutherland (1975: 9) describes theory as “an ordered set of assertions about a generic
behavior or structure assumed to hold throughout a significantly broad range of specific
instances.” To understand the nature of a behavior and organize an ordered set of assertions
that describe it in a valid and verifiable way requires the characteristics described by McNeil
(1993: 8).

Weick (1989) addresses the question of shaping a theory that fulfills these criteria – or similar
criteria – while functioning at a sufficiently rich and non-trivial level to be useful. A body of
writings equivalent to the rich literature of inquiry on theory construction in the natural and
social sciences has yet to be developed in design studies. This is understandable in a
discipline that is quite new compared with information science, physics or sociology, let
alone philosophy, mathematics or geometry. This is also understandable in a field where the
graduate programs, doctoral seminars, and research conferences that constitute the forums of
theory development are just now beginning to blossom.

Having defined theory, we must therefore ask the question, “What constitutes a theoretical
contribution?” David A. Whetten (1989) explored this question in an article of the same title.

Whetten (1989) begins by identifying the four elements of any theory. These four elements
answer six questions: 1) “what,” 2) “how,” 3) “why,” and 4) “who-where-when.” The “what”
element articulates the factors that must be considered part of an explanation of the
phenomena under study. Whetten identifies two criteria as central to judging the value of a
“what.” These are comprehensiveness and parsimony. Are all the elements identified? Are
there enough elements to account for all issues without a surplus? Whetten (1989: 490)
describes “sensitivity to the competing virtues of parsimony and comprehensiveness” as the
mark of a good theorist.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 18

The “how” of a theory shows how the factors identified in the “what” are related. Whetten
(1989: 491) describes this as a process of using metaphorical arrows to connect the boxes in a
model. This delineates the patterns that show elements of a phenomenon in their dynamic
relationship to one another (Friedman 1996). This description often reveals causality, and it
builds a foundation for the explanatory power of the model represented by a theory (Friedman
1996).

The “why” element involves the underlying “dynamics that justify the selection of factors and
the proposed causal relationships… (t)his rationale constitutes the theory’s assumptions – the
theoretical glue that welds the model together… What and how describe. Only why explains”
(Whetten 1989: 491).

Finally, the “who, where, and when” of a theory substantiate theory with empirical data while
setting limits on its uses and applications.

According to Whetten, there are several ways to make significant contributions to theory.
Discovering or amending new items in the “what” of an existing theory will generally make
only a marginal improvement, but the ability to identify the ways in which the structural
relationships of a theory change under the influence of new elements is often the beginning of
new perspectives. New explanations – changes in the “why” of a theory – offer the most
fruitful, and most difficult avenue of theory development. As an editor of a leading journal,
Whetten (1989: 494-5) asks seven key questions of theoretical contributions. Of these, three
apply to theory-construction in general: 1) what’s new? 2) so what? 3) why so? Two of the
remaining four questions involve the internal qualities of the contribution as a paper, 4) well
done? and 5) done well? The last two deal with context and the field within which the
contribution is offered. 6) why now?, and 7) who cares?

Sheth, Gardner, and Garrett (1988: 29-33) have developed a matrix of metatheoretical criteria
for evaluating theories. These consist of three categories with two criteria in each. The
categories are syntax criteria, semantics criteria, and pragmatics criteria. Within syntax, they
place the criteria of structure and specification; within semantics, testability, and empirical
support; within pragmatics, richness, and simplicity.

Syntax criteria involve the organization and composition of a theory. Structure involves the
systematic modeling of relationships. Specification involves specifying the relationships
among theoretical concepts in a way that allow the theorist to delimit hypotheses. Semantics
criteria involve reality and evaluate the relationship of a theory to reality. Testability means
that the theory permits operational definition to permit testing and the development of
intersubjective agreement. Empirical support refers to the degree to which empirical evidence
supports the theory. Pragmatics criteria involve relevance. The criterion of richness involves
the degree to which a theory is comprehensive and generalizable. The simplicity criterion is
akin to the standard of parsimony, and it involves the degree to which a theory can be
explained readily while accounting in a powerful manner for the observed phenomena.

Theories in any field develop in a pattern of increasingly sophisticated types.

Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 19

Parsons and Shils (1951: 49-51) describe several levels of theoretical systems. They state that
“in one sense, every carefully defined and logically integrated conceptual scheme constitutes
a ‘system,’ and in the sense, scientific theory of any kind consists of systems” (49). They go
beyond this, to ask three questions about theoretical systems. The first question involves
generality and complexity. The second involves what they call “closure,” the degree to which
a system is self-consistent, and the degree to which the assertions of any one part of the
theory are supported or contradicted by the other parts. The third question involves what they
label “the level of systematization.” This involves the degree to which theory moves toward
general scientific goals.

Parsons and Shils (1951: 50) propose four different levels of systematization for theories,
moving from the most primitive to the most advanced. These are 1) ad hoc classification
systems, 2) systems of categories, 3) theoretical systems, and 4) empirical-theoretical
systems.

This implies a schema of increasingly useful kinds of theories based on the relations among
the parts of a theoretical system. In Parsons’s and Shils’s schema, theoretical development
implies a “hierarchy from ad hoc classification systems (in which categories are used to
summarize empirical observations), to taxonomies (in which the relationships between the
categories can be described), to conceptual frameworks (in which propositions summarize
explanations and predictions), to theoretical systems (in which laws are contained within
axiomatic or formal theories)” (Webster and Watson (2002: xiii).

While it is useful to distinguish between taxonomy and theory, it is fair to say that at some
points, taxonomy is a kind of theory because it offers a model of existing data and
demonstrates the relationships between and among facts.

The importance of taxonomy is often underestimated. An interesting case in point is the

discovery of a new genus of centipede, Nannarup hoffmani (Bjerklie 2002: 39). The decline
in taxonomic skills since the grand era of taxonomy in the nineteenth century means that it
took four years between the time that Richard Hoffman decided that he had found a new kind
of centipede and the final identification, classification, and naming. Hoffman attributes this to
the current preoccupation with molecular biology, but he points out the problem inherent in
the dearth of skilled taxonomists: “We’re coasting on the glamour of biodiversity, but losing
the ability to identify the creatures on this planet” (Quoted in Bjerklie 2002: 39). This, in turn,
renders theory development more difficult in several major fields, including economy,
biology, and environmental studies.

Theories that describe structures offer models without moving parts. In this sense, theories
are models that resemble maps or model houses. Theories that describe processes, activities,
or systems generally require dynamic descriptions. In this sense, theories are models that
resemble model engines or model train sets, and they must move to demonstrate the
properties of the systems they resemble.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 20

Hal Varian (1997) addresses some of these issues in a playfully titled but scientifically astute
article, “How to Build an Economic Model in Your Spare Time.”

“Most of my work in economics involves constructing theoretical models,” writes Varian

(1997: 1). The article discusses the challenges of theory construction and some of the
approaches that Varian himself found helpful. “Over the years, I have developed some ways
of doing this that may be worth describing to those who aspire to practice this art. In reality,
the process is much more haphazard than my description would suggest – the model of
research that I describe is an idealization of reality, much like the economic models that I
create. But there is probably enough connection with reality to make the description useful –
which I hope is also true for my economic models.”

Varian’s key involves representing aspects of reality in robust yet simple ways. Rather than
starting with literature or seeking general features, he advocates seeking useful data on
interesting issues:

“So let’s skip the literature part for now and try to get to the modeling. Lucky for you, all
economics models look pretty much the same. There are some economic agents. They make
choices in order to advance their objectives. The choices have to satisfy various constraints so
there’s something that adjusts to make all these choices consistent. This basic structure
suggests a plan of attack: Who are the people making the choices? What are the constraints
they face? How do they interact? What adjusts if the choices aren’t mutually consistent?

“Asking questions like this can help you to identify the pieces of a model. Once you’ve got a
pretty good idea of what the pieces look like, you can move on to the next stage. Most
students think that the next stage is to prove a theorem or run a regression. No! The next stage
is to work an example. Take the simplest example---one period, 2 goods, 2 people, linear
utility---whatever it takes to get to something simple enough to see what is going on.

“Once you’ve got an example, work another one, then another one. See what is common to
your examples. Is there something interesting happening here? When your examples have
given you an inkling of what is going on, then you can try to write down a model. The critical
advice here is KISS: keep it simple, stupid. Write down the simplest possible model you can
think of, and see if it still exhibits some interesting behavior. If it does, then make it even
simpler.

“Several years ago I gave a seminar about some of my research. I started out with a very
simple example. One of the faculty in the audience interrupted me to say that he had worked
on something like this several years ago, but his model was ‘much more complex.’ I replied
‘My model was complex when I started, too, but I just kept working on it till it got simple!’

“And that’s what you should do: keep at it till it gets simple. The whole point of a model is to
give a simplified representation of reality. Einstein once said ‘Everything should be as simple
as possible but no simpler.’ A model is supposed to reveal the essence of what is going on:
your model should be reduced to just those pieces that are required to make it work.”

The point of modeling – and of theory construction – is showing how things work.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 21

Theory Construction Problems in Design Research

Until recently, the field of design has hitherto been an adjunct to art and craft. With the
transformation of design into an industrial discipline come responsibilities that the field of
design studies has only recently begun to address.

Design is now becoming a generalizable discipline that may as readily be applied to

processes, interfaces between media or information artifacts as to tools, clothing, furniture, or
advertisements. To understand design as a discipline that can function within any of these
frames means developing a general theory of design. This general theory should support
application theories and operational programs. Moving from a general theory of design to the
task of solving problems involves a significantly different mode of conceptualization and
explicit knowledge management than adapting the tacit knowledge of individual design
experience.

So far, most design theories involve clinical situations or micro-level grounded theories
developed through induction. This is necessary, but it is not sufficient for the kinds of
progress we need.

In the social sciences, grounded theory has developed into a robust and sophisticated system
for generating theory across levels. These theories ultimately lead to larger ranges of
understanding, and the literature of grounded theory is rich in discussions of theory
construction and theoretical sensitivity (Glaser 1978, 1992; Glaser and Strauss 1967; Strauss
1991; Strauss and Corbin 1990, 1994)

One of the deep problems in design research is the failure to engage in grounded theory,
developing theory out of practice. Instead, designers often confuse practice with research.
Instead of developing theory from practice through articulation and inductive inquiry, some
designers simply argue that practice is research and practice-based research is, in itself, a
form of theory construction.

Many of the problems in design research arise from category confusions. In recent years,
designers have become acquainted with the term “tacit knowledge” articulated by Michael
Polanyi (1966) in The Tacit Dimension. Proposing tacit knowledge as the primary foundation
of design research reflects a surface acquaintance with the term by people who have not read
Polanyi’s work.

Tacit knowledge is an important knowledge category. All professional practice – including

the practice of research – rests on a rich stock of tacit knowledge. This stock consists of
behavioral patterns and embodied practice embedded in personal action. Some aspects of tacit
knowledge also involve facts and information committed to long-term memory. This includes
ideas and information on which we draw without necessarily realizing that we do so, and it
includes ideas and information that we can easily render explicit with a moment’s thought. It
also includes concepts, issues, ideas, and information that can only be rendered explicit with
deep reflection and serious work.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 22

In social life and professional work, tacit knowledge is also reflected in the larger body of
distributed knowledge embedded in social memory and collective work practice. Our stock of
tacit knowledge enables us to practice. Putting tacit knowledge to use in theory construction
requires rendering tacit knowledge explicit through the process of knowledge conversion
(Friedman 2001: 44; Kriger and Friedman 2002; Nonaka and Takeuchi 1995: 59-73).

Tacit knowledge is necessary for human action. Without tacit knowledge, embodied and
habitual, nothing human beings do would be possible. Each action would require explicit
conceptualization and planning each time. The limits on immediate attention and cognition
means that it would be impossible to store and act on enough knowledge for effective
individual practice in any art or science, let alone accumulate the knowledge on which a field
depends (Friedman 2001: 42-44; Friedman and Olaisen 1999: 16-22). All fields of practice
rest, in part, on tacit knowledge. (See, f.ex., Chaiklin and Lave 1993; Bourdieu 1977, 1990;
Friedman 2001: 42-44).

To say that tacit knowledge is not research and that design theory is not identical with the
tacit knowledge of design practice does not diminish the importance of tacit knowledge. It
merely states that mistaken arguments about tacit knowledge as design knowledge
demonstrate the confusion of the scholars who make such statements. The confusion rests on
a simple failing, the failure to read Polanyi. The notion that tacit knowledge and design
knowledge are identical as sources of theory development is linked with the idea that practice
is a research method. Both rest on category confusions and both arguments are generally
supported by references to Polanyi and Schon by scholars who have not read the works they
cite.

If there is any confusion on Polanyi’s views, however, he settles the matter at the beginning
of another book, Personal Knowledge. Where tacit knowledge is embodied and experiential
knowledge, theory requires more. “It seems to me,” he writes, “that we have sound reason for
. . . considering theoretical knowledge more objective than immediate experience. (a) A
theory is something other than myself. It may be set out on paper as a system, of rules, and it
is the more truly a theory the more completely it can be put down in such terms” (Polanyi
1974: 4).

Polanyi’s (1974: 3-9) discussion of the Copernican Revolution uses different language to
state some of the significant themes that are seen in Varian (1997), Deming (1986, 1993), and
McNeil (1993). These address such concepts as descriptive richness, theory as a guide to
discovery, and modeling. As a guide to theory construction, this is also linked to Herbert
Blumer’s idea of sensitizing concepts (Blumer 1969; see also Baugh 1990, van den Hoonard
1997). All of these possibilities require explicit knowledge, rendered articulate for shared
communication and reflection.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 23

One of the little noted points in many design research debates is the fact that reflective
practice itself rests on explicit knowledge rather than on tacit knowledge. While Schon’s
concept of reflective practice is not a method of theorizing, (1991: 5-11), but it does raise
many questions on the kinds of thinking and reflection that contribute to effective practice in
many fields. Central to most of these is the struggle of rendering tacit knowledge explicit in
some way. While Schon (1994: 9) suggests that there may be more possibilities for reflection
than words alone, he clearly distinguishes between the epistemology of theoretical research
and reflective inquiry.

Much of this confusion is linked to an ambiguous definition of design research proposed by

Frayling in a 1993 paper. Frayling (1993) suggested that there are three models of design
research, research into design, research by design, and research for design. Frayling is unclear
about what “research by design” actually means and he seems never to have defined the term
in an operational way. In a 1997 discussion (UK Council 1997: 21), he notes that it is
“distantly derived from Herbert Read’s famous teaching through art and teaching to art.” This
leads to serious conceptual problems.

Read’s (1944, 1974) distinctions deal with education and with pedagogy, not with research.
The failure to distinguish between pedagogy and research is a significant weak area in the
argument for the concept of research by design. In addition to the difficulties this has caused
in debates on the notion of the practice-based Ph.D., it also creates confusion for those who
have come to believe that practice is research. The confusion rests, again, on a failure to read.

Frayling’s proposal seems to be have been an effort to establish possible new research
categories. As an inquiry or probe, this is a worthy effort. The problem arises among those
who mistake an intellectual probe with a statement of fact. To suggest that such a category is
possible does not mean that it exists in reality. Dragons may exist, but we have no evidence
that they do. Medieval mapmakers created great confusion and limited the growth of
knowledge for many years by filling in the empty edges of their maps with such phrases as
“here there be dragons” rather than admitting, “we know nothing about what lies beyond this
point.”

Beyond this arises the problem of what “research by design” might mean. If such a category
did exist – and it may not – the fact of an existing category would tell us nothing of its
contents. Unlike dragons, we know that the planet Jupiter exists. Like the edges of the map,
however, we know relatively little about conditions on the surface of the planet. Even though
the laws of nature mean that some facts must be known – gravity and pressure, for example –
these facts tell us little about the myriad realities that may play out depending on specific
factors.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 24

As a probe, Frayling’s discussion was intended to open possibilities. Those who mistake it for
a report mistake its potential value.

In one sense, however, Frayling misread Read. In adapting the surface structure of Read’s
terms, he failed to realize a distinction that is implicit in Read’s project. This is the fact that
education can be developed though the direct practice of an art. This is the case in
socialization and modeling, in guild training, and it is the basis of apprenticeship (Friedman
1997: 55, 61-65; Byrne, and Sands 2002). In many situations, education and learning proceed
by practicing an art or craft. One can also learn the art and craft of research by practicing
research. Nevertheless, one does not undertake research simply by practicing the art or craft
to which the research field is linked.

So far, the category of research by design has proven fruitless. Around the time that Frayling
published his 1993 paper, Nigel Cross wrote the first of two editorials in Design Studies on
the theme of research by design.

In his first editorial, Cross (1993: 226-7) points out the distinctions between practice and
research and the value of connecting research to teaching and to practice.

In his second editorial, Cross notes how little progress had been made in research by design
over the two years between 1993 and 1995. He writes that part of the problem involves the
claim that “works of design are also works of research” (Cross 1995: 2).

Cross (1995: 3) states that the best examples of design research are: purposive, inquisitive,
informed, methodical, and communicable. This requires articulation and shared knowledge
within and across the field. This, again, requires articulate communication of explicit
knowledge. In 1999, Cross addressed this issue again in a debate on research methods in
design.

Looking back over the failed efforts of the past decade to produce valid examples of research
by design, Cross (1999: unpaged) wrote, “. . . as I said in my Editorial in 1995, I still haven’t
seen much strong evidence of the output from the ‘research for and through design’ quarters.
Less of the special pleading and more of the valid, demonstrable research output might help.”

While the phrase “research by design” has been widely used by many people, it has not been
defined. I suspect, in fact, that those who use the phrase have not bothered to read either
Frayling’s (1993) paper or Read’s (1944, 1974) book. Instead, they adopt a misunderstood
term for its sound bite quality, linking it to an ill-defined series of notions that equate tacit
knowledge with design knowledge, proposing tacit knowledge and design practice as a new
form of theorizing.

While these problems are relatively inconsequential outside our field, it is important to
understand that they exist if we are to develop a foundation for theory construction in design
research. This is why I have given them so much thought.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 25

Again, I want to be clear on the many values of tacit knowledge. Tacit knowledge is central to
all human activity, and the background of embodied individual and social knowledge
provides offers the existential foundation of all activities, including intellectual inquiry. The
only issue I raise here is that tacit knowledge and reflective practice are not the basis of
research and theorizing. This is not to say, however, that there are no relations between those
different categories of construct.

While ancient science was hypothetical and deductive, it offered no way to select among
theories. While the river civilizations of Mesopotamia, Sumeria, Egypt, and China made great
advances in practical knowledge, administrative routine, and professional practice in many
fields, they had nothing in the way of scientific theory. Explanations were traditional and
practical or mythic (Lloyd 1970: 1-23; Cromer 1993: throughout).

Thales proposed the first scientific theory when he suggested that the earth was once an
ocean. While he could not test his theory, what made it scientific as contrasted with mythic
was the fact that Thales proposed a natural explanation rather than a story of divine action.

Greek mathematics offered another foundation for science, and the Pythagoreans and Euclid
built theories that are still used today. Again, however, there were no tests. Mathematical and
geometrical theories are entirely axiomatic, and they can be tested by deduction and logic.
While empirical inquiry found a few early champions in such medieval scholars as Robert
Grosseteste and Roger Bacon, it was not until Francis Bacon (1999, 2000) published The
New Organon in 1620 that a philosophy of science was articulated requiring a foundation in
empirical observation.

At the same time, observation linked with inventive theorizing accounted for the great
advances of Copernicus, Galileo, Newtown and many more. The tradition of empirical
inquiry lies beneath two great activities in design: design science and reflective practice.
These meet in research traditions of many kinds, including those traditions anchored in social
science and critical inquiry.

Because this paper does not describe a philosophy of science, I will not explain how or why
this is so, and I will not develop an argument for any specific research tradition or the kinds
of theory construction on which a tradition must be established. I merely point to the fact that
explicit and articulate statements are the basis of all theoretical activities, all theorizing, and
all theory construction.

This true of interpretive and hermeneutical traditions, psychological, historical, and

sociological traditions, and it is as true of these as of quantitative research in chemistry,
descriptive biology or research engineering, logistics, and axiomatic mathematics. The
languages are different. However, only explicit articulation permits us to contrast theories and
to share them. Only explicit articulation allows us to test, consider or reflect on the theories
we develop. For this reason, the misguided effort to link the reflective practice of design to
design knowledge, and the misguided effort to propose tacit knowledge or direct making as a
method of theory construction must inevitably be dead ends.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 26

All knowledge, all science, all practice relies on a rich cycle of knowledge management that
moves from tacit knowledge to explicit and back again. So far, design with its craft tradition
has relied far more on tacit knowledge. It is now time to consider the explicit ways in which
design theory can be built – and to recognize that without a body of theory-based knowledge,
the design profession will not be prepared to meet the challenges that face designers in
today’s complex world.

Future Directions

The goal of this paper has been to examine criteria, approaches, and methods for theory
construction in design research. To do this, I began with a foundation of definitions, using
these to build a range of applicable concepts.

There is not enough room in one paper to go beyond the general consideration of methods to
a specific description of how to develop theory and build specific theories. This remains to be
done in a future paper.

Many avenues deserve exploration in the future. These include linking theory building to the
perspectives of design science, proposing models of theory construction from other
perspectives, generating theory from the practice of leading contemporary designers, and
developing such basic tools as a bibliography of resources for theory construction and
developing theoretical imagination and sensitivity.

Theory-rich design can be playful as well as disciplined. Theory-based design can be as

playful and artistic as craft-based design, but only theory-based design is suited to the large-
scale social and economic needs of the industrial age.

This systemic, theory-driven approach offers a level of robust understanding that becomes
one foundation of effective practice. To reach from knowing to doing requires practice. To
reach from doing to knowing requires the articulation and critical inquiry that leads a
practitioner to reflective insight. W. Edwards Deming’s experience in the applied industrial
setting and the direct clinical setting confirms the value of theory to practice.

“Experience alone, without theory, teaches . . . nothing about what to do to improve quality
and competitive position, nor how to do it” writes Deming (1986: 19) in his critique of
contemporary manufacturing. “If experience alone would be a teacher, then one may well ask
why are we in this predicament? Experience will answer a question, and a question comes
from theory.”

It is not experience, but our interpretation and understanding of experience that leads to
knowledge. Knowledge emerges from critical inquiry. Systematic or scientific knowledge
arises from the theories that allow us to question and learn from the world around us. One of
the attributes that distinguish the practice of a profession from the practice of an art is
systematic knowledge.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 27

As artists, we serve ourselves or we serve an internalized vision. This internalized vision is

essentially a facet of the self. In the professions, we serve others. In exploring the dimensions
of design as service, Nelson and Stolterman (2000) distinguish it from art and science both.
My view is that art and science each contributes to design. The paradigm of service unites
them.

To serve successfully demands an ability to cause change toward desired goals. This, in turn,
involves the ability to discern desirable goals and to create predictable – or reasonable –
changes to reach them. Theory is a tool that allows us to conceptualize and realize this aspect
of design. Research is the collection of methods that enable us to use the tool.

Some designers assert that theory-based design, with its emphasis on profound knowledge
and intellectual achievement, robs design of its artistic depth. I disagree. I believe that a study
of design based on profound knowledge embraces the empirical world of people and
problems in a deeper way than purely self-generated artistry can do.

The physicist Richard Feynman once argued for the imaginative power and beauty of science.
He did not argue against the other arts. Rather, he stated that understanding how things work
and why adds another dimension to beauty.

“Poets say science takes away from the beauty of the stars – mere globs of gas atoms. I, too,
can see the stars on a desert night and feel them. But do I see less or more? The vastness of
the heavens stretches my imagination – stuck on this little carousel, my little eye can catch
one-million-year-old light. A vast pattern – of which I am part… What is the pattern, or the
meaning, or the why? It does not do harm to the mystery to know a little about it. For far
more marvelous is the truth than any artists of the past imagined it. Why do poets of the
present not speak of it? What men are poets who can speak of Jupiter if he were a man, but if
he is an immense spinning sphere of methane must be silent?” (quoted in Gleick 1993: 373)
Understanding how things work and why expands the powers of the human mind and soul.

However, I also argue for a theory-rich practice of design for an intensely practical reason.
The world’s population recently exceeded six billion people for the first time. Many people in
today’s world live under such constrained conditions that their needs for food, clothing,
shelter, and material comfort are entirely unmet. For the rest, most needs can only be met by
industrial production. Only when we are able to develop a comprehensive, sustainable
industrial practice at cost-effective scale and scope will we be able to meet their needs.
Beyond art, beyond poetry, beyond science, this is the purpose of design. Design will never
achieve this purpose until it rests on all three legs of science. To do this, design practice – and
design research – requires theory.
Ken Friedman. “Theory Construction in Design Research.” Reprint. Page 28

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