The other day I
received a copy of a book written by a retired engineering professor and
academic administrator named Lyle Feisel.
Prof. Feisel has found plenty of good works to do in his retirement, one
of which was to write a column for The
Bent, the magazine of the Tau Beta Pi engineering honor society. He has collected these columns in a
book with the title Lyle's Laws: Reflections on Ethics, Engineering, and
Everything Else. University administrators as a group are not noted for
their literary brilliance or scintillating wit, and I will admit I opened the
book with some trepidation. But
even after I had read (and enjoyed) it, it took me a while to figure out what
category of literature it was.
It's not an ethics
textbook, by any means. There are
no homework problems, and each of its forty or so chapters is only a few pages
long, dealing with a separate topic introduced by the "law" in
question: a single word or phrase
followed by a brief aphorism. Even
though the chapters are independent, a particular view of the world emerges
from the whole as you read. That
doesn't mean it's a work of philosophy, either—Prof. Feisel uses no fancy
philosophical vocabulary, and makes no pretense of adhering to any particular
philosophical or religious system.
Finally it struck
me what the book was: it's a work
of wisdom literature for 21st-century engineers.
Wisdom literature
is what scholars call the literary genre represented by the books of Proverbs
and Ecclesiastes in the Hebrew Bible.
These books are collections of short, informal words of advice, without
much in the way of overall organization or pattern, but rich with anecdotes,
stories with a moral, and observations on human nature. So is Lyle's Laws.
Wisdom is not a
word that gets a lot of use these days.
I once heard it defined as the ability to apply knowledge effectively,
and that covers not only what engineers should do but what anyone with
specialized knowledge has an obligation to do. Many, if not most, of Lyle's Laws are not original. For instance, No. 25,
"Possibility: If it can
happen, it will happen" derives from that principle known to all working
engineers, Murphy's Law ("If anything can go wrong, it will."). But Feisel's form of the law allows for
unexpected good things to happen as well, though you shouldn't count on them
happening as a part of your design!
I heard a version of another law—"Discoverability: Don't record anything you don't want
the whole world to see"—from an older engineering professor in the 1990s,
who told me he always warned his students not to write down anything that you
wouldn't mind seeing reprinted on the front page of the New York Times. But
that's what wisdom consists of:
basic truths about human nature and human relations that are often learned
by experience and passed on from generation to generation. As C. S. Lewis pointed out in The Abolition of Man, it's as hard to devise
a truly original moral principle as it is to come up with a new primary color
besides red, blue, and green.
But if there is
moral medicine in Lyle's Laws, it is
covered with a pleasant and engaging outer coating of war stories (some of them
literally that: the author is a
Navy veteran), professional and personal tales that introduce many of the
chapters, and a tone that is never preachy or didactic. Sometimes you read a book and wish you could
meet the author afterwards, and this is that kind of a book.
This is true
despite the fact that I found myself mentally squirming after reading a few of
the chapters, notably the one entitled "Comfort: Beware the cozy comfort zone." Somewhere in the book I came across the
question, "What do you know how to do now that you didn't know how to do a
year ago?" That prompted me
to think about how much of what I do is simply more of the same, and how much
is something I don't know how to do, but want to learn, even at the cost of
some mental anguish and frustration.
This is an especially good question for tenured professors, who
sometimes appear to the outside world to be entitled to coast for the rest of their
lives. Fortunately, I was able to
come up with a few things I've learned in the past year, anyway, and I hope to
add to the list as time goes on.
Who should read
this book? I think there's a
difference between who should read it
and who will read it. I would like every undergraduate engineering
student in the English-speaking world to read the book (and so would Prof.
Feisel, obviously). If they did,
and if they took the advice in the book to heart, they could avoid a lot of the
errors, screwups, and cases of bad judgment that sometimes make the lives of
young engineers as interesting as they are. But that is a dream impossible of realization, short of some
rich guy taking the notion to send free copies to all engineering schools. I suspect that many of the people who will read the book are those of us in
the late summer and fall of our careers, who can relate to the historical
situations that Prof. Feisel alludes to and resonate with the truths he
elucidates from his stories and experiences. But the book would also serve as a good recommended read for
engineering ethics courses, and I hope it will be used that way.
In my technical
lectures, I occasionally mention a historical anecdote in connection with my
technical topic of the day, and I have learned that a little of such material
goes a long way. Most young
people, at least most young engineering students, are not that interested in
history. The spirit of our age is
inherently forward-looking and views history as something to be overcome and
surpassed, not something to learn from.
And for the most part, that is a good thing. Too much regard for the past keeps you from moving into the
future as fast as the next guy, as I have learned from my own experience. But the human side of engineering is a
function of human nature, which doesn't change. And Lyle's Laws is
one of the most easily read, and yet rewarding, works on human nature and
engineering that I have come across in years.
Sources: Lyle's Laws: Reflections
on Ethics, Engineering, and Everything Else, by Lyle D. Feisel, was
published in 2013 by Brooklyn River Press, New York.
No comments:
Post a Comment