Hungarian-British philosopher Michael Polanyi is known for the concept of tacit knowledge, which refers to the data we gather by being “there.” It is the knowledge we acquire through life and learning experiences; it is often hard to document and explain. Even when we are not consciously and actively learning, we are still learning. Another term for tacit knowledge might be implicit knowledge. Even in a blunt refusal of learning, we are learning. The fact that we are in environments in which information (any information) is constantly shared or exchanged, we learn. We are blissfully unaware of this continuous learning process and even fight it. A very effective method to assess how much we really know is to try to teach it. Teaching others can reveal gaps in what we think we know, but it can also reveal knowledge we have picked up without realizing it.
For instance, a cultural group will share any number of identifiers. These identifiers are second nature to the group and might go unnoticed. We might be chronically and perpetually late for every activity as a cultural marker and blissfully unaware of how annoying that can be for others. That is until a member of the cultural group steps out and tries to be part of another cultural group. In this process, they will become aware of the previously annoying practice and identify newer and contrasting cultural identifiers. Thus, our tacit knowledge becomes a realization of what is known thus far.
Some Sundays ago, Billy Oppenheimer’s newsletter discussed whether we can know everything there is to know about everything. Most of us would agree that we can’t learn everything there is to know about everything. When I think of knowledge and every single thing there is to know, I think of an ocean of unreachable depth—no matter what tools and skills we acquire, the bottom will always remain out of reach. But we keep trying to reach the bottom because we must try. Education, to me, is that ocean. I love the ocean.
Academia and higher education are also like the ocean to me. Sadly, they are often the target of criticism (tuition costs, facilities, textbooks, food, recreation, and so on). Currently, colleges are experiencing unprecedented closures at an alarming speed. A simple Google search will return a healthy list of news reports. Several sources cite academia’s golden era from the 1940s to the 1970s and mark the beginning of its decline right after. Yet, despite this storm, academia is the ideal place to learn, discuss, and analyze. Students have an entire engine comprised of professors, tutors, recreational and sports outlets, social activities, and libraries committed to one thing: student learning.
Tuition costs soar; that is a reality. When I went to college in the 80s, a credit was $15.00. There were riots the year I started college because the tuition was too high compared to the $5.00 per credit the previous year. It seems laughable today. While it is true that education, especially in the US, is expensive (too expensive for many), I contend that part of the reason for academia’s decline is that we have lost our love for knowledge.
Yet, as a generation, our access to knowledge is unparalleled. Libraries and universities are no longer the only gateways to knowledge. Online learning platforms include YouTube, Domestika, Skillshare, Masterclass, and more, not to mention the independently owned platforms through Teachable. Many charge a hefty amount for lessons. And there is also social media. Social media is another place where professionals share their expertise and knowledge in byte-sized quantities, often as a hook for a more comprehensive catalog of knowledge.
But, as with many areas of knowledge, our increasing reliance on technology has quenched our curious thirst for knowledge and understanding. Our love of owning knowledge has dissipated despite all the above-mentioned outlets and our ability to thumb-type a search on any browser. We want knowledge to come to us already digested, interpreted, and applied. What we now understand as knowledge is actually its application by another person and a demo that minimizes our experiential learning. In short, we do not want friction.
Yet, the entire spectrum of the learning process allows us to own knowledge to make it implicit— tacit, second nature. Learning requires partnership and collaboration. It needs a teacher, tools in the form of reading, writing, and drawing (yes, old-fashioned simple drawing), and application so that we assimilate the lessons into our intellectual processes and they become part of us.
A recurring question in my design classes is: What is the most important skill for a designer (usually related to hiring)? I often offer two replies: your mind and your sketches, which relate to each other. Usually, students expect an answer in the form of “master x program” or “how to do y and z.” But that is not it. At the risk of sounding like an absolutist, software and how-tos have never been it. In my book Sketching as Design Thinking, I talk about how vital it is for a designer to sketch. Debbie Millman, former AIGA president, founder of SVA, designer, writer, and podcaster, answered the same question for students when we met her in September 2014. Ms. Millman replied without a second thought: sketching. I wrote about this experience in the article “Sketching and the Mindful Designer.”
The type of learning we acquire through hand movements while sketching becomes part of our tacit and intuitive knowledge. We grow in it as we continue to practice it. At this point in my career, I can predict how shapes will interact with each other in a visual exploration. But I was not born with that knowledge. While it is now intuitive and second nature to me, I acquired it through practice; this kind of knowledge translates to that unique edge each of us brings to our work.
How else do we differentiate ourselves from others? Take doctors in the same specialty, for instance. Two surgeons may perform a particular surgery very differently from each other because each one has unique perspectives based on their intuition and implicit and tacit knowledge.
There is value in the practice. The practice, however, needs to be informed with guiding principles. Otherwise, our day-to-day will become repetitive, monotonous, and mundane. Our minds feel compelled to create by combining the pieces we know, the how-tos, and what we feed our minds with in new ways to make something.
During the study abroad trip, one of our students was highly curious. His mind constantly led him to ask questions and engage in profound conversations. At first, we just followed along with his curiosity. After all, he seemed to nurture his love of learning actively. While on the trip, he visited almost every church, not only because of his faith but also because of the architecture. When we went to Venice, we engaged in a rich conversation while looking at the abstract work of William De Kooning. He wanted to understand its value. His desire to know about abstraction exemplified the love of learning and the love of knowledge. He wasn’t a De Kooning fan, yet he wanted to acquire tools to understand it. His love of learning led him, and his experiences will now be part of his implicit knowledge.
There will never be enough years in our lives to learn everything that there is to learn about everything. And it is challenging to learn everything about everything. These last weeks, I have been struggling intellectually with a particular method of watercolor painting. I understand it. Its application always betrays me. Yet, I want to keep trying until it becomes my tacit knowledge.
Alma Hoffmann is a freelance designer, design educator, author of Sketching as Design Thinking, and editor at Smashing Magazine. This is an edited version of a post originally published on Temperamental amusing shenanigans, Alma’s Substack dedicated to design, life, and everything in between.
Imagery © Alma Hoffmann.