THINKING LIKE AN ENGINEER

Studies in the Ethics of a Profession

Michael Davis

Center for the Study of Ethics in the Professions

Illinois Institute of Technology

Chicago, Illinois 606l6

 For Jeffrey, who was an engineer, sort of;

for all my former students who are now; and

for Alexander, who may be, some day.

 Table of Contents

PREFACE iv

Part One: Introduction to Engineering 3

1. SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, AND VALUES 4

2. ENGINEERING IN THE UNITED STATES 44

3. IS "SOFTWARE ENGINEERING" ENGINEERING? 89

Part Two: Engineers in Context 117

4. CODES OF ETHICS AND THE CHALLENGER 119

5. EXPLAINING WRONGDOING 159

6. AVOIDING THE TRAGEDY OF WHISTLEBLOWING 189

Part Three: Protecting Engineering Judgment 213

7. CONFLICT OF INTEREST IN ENGINEERING: Hydrolevel 215

8. CODES OF ETHICS, PROFESSIONS, AND CONFLICT OF

INTEREST 267

Part Four: Empirical Research 291

9. ORDINARY TECHNICAL DECISION-MAKING: AN

EMPIRICAL INVESTIGATION 292

10. PROFESSIONAL AUTONOMY: A PREFACE TO FURTHER

RESEARCH 379

EPILOGUE: FOUR QUESTIONS FOR THE SOCIAL SCIENCES 409

BIBLIOGRAPHY 426

INDEX [to be added] 442

 PREFACE

This book is a contribution both to engineering ethics and to the philosophy of a

profession, engineering. Teachers of courses in engineering ethics, the philosophy of

any profession, or even philosophy of technology should find much in the book useful,

but its proper audience is anyone, engineer or not, scholar or not, who has ever

wondered, "What is an engineer?"

What is engineering ethics? The word "ethics" can be used in at least three

senses. In one, it is a mere synonym for ordinary morality. In another, it names a field

of philosophy (moral theory, the attempt to understand morality as a rational

undertaking). In a third, it refers to those special standards of conduct that apply to

members of a group just because of that membership. When I describe this book as a

contribution to engineering ethics, "ethics" has both the second and third sense. The

ethics in this book is ethics in the second sense, philosophy; but insofar as

understanding standards makes both following them and improving them easier, what

I do should contribute to engineering ethics in the third sense of "ethics" as well, that is,

to the interpretation, application, and revision of engineering's special standards of

conduct.

As a work in ethics, this book resembles philosophical textbooks like Harris,

Pritchard, and Rabins, Engineering Ethics: Cases and Concepts. It nonetheless differs

from them in at least two ways. First, it is not a survey but a series of essays, a

supplement to textbooks rather than their competitor. The book concentrates on a few

particularly important points, corresponding to the book's four Parts. Part One, the first

three chapters, puts engineering in historical perspective, making clear both how new

engineering is and in what that newness consists. Part Two is an extended meditation

on the Challenger disaster. Each of its three chapters considers one aspect of the
 vi

complex relationship between engineering ideals and engineering practice today. Here

we see in detail how social organization and technical requirements combine to define

how engineers should (and presumably do) think. Part Three's two chapters both

clarify the importance of protecting engineering judgment and identify the chief means

of doing it. These three parts together give considerable content to the notion of

"thinking like an engineer". Part Four's three chapters are concerned with testing this

philosophical construction empirically. Chapter 9 reports results of a study of how

engineers and managers work together in ten different companies. Chapter 10 attempts

to clarify the concept of professional autonomy in such a way that social scientists

should be able to tell us how much professional autonomy engineers have. The final

chapter, the epilogue, draws from the book's argument four questions concerning

engineering that the social sciences, including history, could answer in a way helpful to

engineering ethics. The epilogue is an invitation to those working in the social sciences

to contribute to engineering ethics.

That is one difference between this book and textbooks in engineering ethics, a

difference in intensity. The other difference is one of extension. This book is as

concerned with the "engineering" in "engineering ethics" as with the "ethics". It is a

contribution to the philosophy of engineering.

What is the philosophy of engineering? Like the philosophy of science, of law, or

of art, the philosophy of engineering tries to understand its subject as a rational

undertaking. It does not offer a philosophy of engineering, that is, a (controversial)

conception of how engineering should be done. It attempts to say what engineering is--

without becoming a mere subtopic in the philosophy (or sociology) of technology.

While the philosophy of technology focuses on what engineers (and others) help make,

the philosophy of engineering focuses on engineers themselves, on what they try to do

 vii

and why.

I have learned much from Walter Vincenti's What Engineers Know and How

They Know It, but that book and this differ substantially. First, Vincenti is both an

engineer and a historian. I am neither. He has a grasp of technical principle and

historical documents I never will. Second, while Vincenti's work has contributed to

mine, his has a narrower focus. He has tried to understand engineering as a developing

body of technical knowledge, a dsicipline; I, on the other hand, have tried to

understand engineering as a profession. Knowledge, though of course a part of what

makes an engineer, is only a part. At least as important is the way the knower moves

(or, at least, is supposed to move) from knowledge to action. That movement from

knowledge to action is the thinking of my title. The thesis of this book, if it has only

one, is that this thinking is fundamentally ethical (in both my first and third sense).

The philosophy of engineering may seem too technical a field for philosophers:

Who could know better than engineers how engineers think? The question answers

itself. Of course engineers know better than anyone else how they think. That, however,

does not decide who should do philosophy of engineering. Generally, scientists know

science better than philosophers of science; lawyers know the law better than

philosophers of law; and artists know art better than most philosophers of art.

Philosophers still do philosophy of science, law, and art, doing something that

scientists, lawyers, and artists cannot do for themselves. While some of these

philosophers are amphibians, philosopher-scientists, philosopher-lawyers, or

philosopher-artists, even some of the best are not. That is a fact, but it raises the

question: How is it possible for those who know less to teach those who know more?

Answering that question requires a little "philosophy of philosophy".

Philosophy (at its best) puts our tacit knowledge into words. It makes the
 viii

obvious obvious. The first philosopher, Socrates, distinguished himself from the "wise

men" of ancient Greece by asking rather than telling. He asked the pious what piety is,

politicians what politics is, and so on. Those he asked had great trouble putting what

they knew into words; indeed, much they said turned out, on Socrates' examination, to

be false.

How have engineers done compared to the experts Socrates questioned?

Certainly, many engineers feel that non-engineers generally do not understand what
engineers do, that the achievements of engineers are appreciated less than they should

be, and that engineering does not do as well as it should recruiting the next generation.

Scientists, architects, lawyers, and even MBAs generally seem to carry off the prizes.

Yet, when engineers try to make their own case, what happens? Even Samuel Florman,

as literate a polemicist as any profession can claim, is surprisingly unhelpful. The

Existential Pleasures of Engineering is a powerful defense of technology, but one from

which engineers are largely absent. Change a few words and the book could be a

defense of scientists, industrialists, or even mere inventors rather than engineers. The

Civilized Engineer fails in another way, pleasing engineers rather than informing non-

engineers.

The power of philosophers is not in their (initial) knowledge of a field but--as

Socrates stressed--in their (initial) ignorance of it. That ignorance is not ordinary

ignorance, the unassuming or presuming of the benighted; it is, instead, experienced,

open, systematic, cooperative, and dogged. Such ignorance can help those who know a

field to put their knowledge into words even those who do not know the field can

understand. The result is paradoxical. Even the expert seems to learn from having what

she said put into a philosopher's words--as one learns something when seeing for the

first time the pattern in a mosaic known by heart. The expert may then conclude that
 ix

the philosopher "really" knows more about the expert's field than the expert herself,

forgetting that the philosopher could only reveal what he revealed by drawing it out of

her. While philosophers often seem generators of knowledge, they are, as Socrates put

it, merely its midwives.

This book is the product of more than a decade working with engineers, trying

to understand what so absorbed them and about which they could say so little. I began

by thinking that engineering was primarily about things, a complex but fundamentally
unimaginative application of science, mere "problem solving" (as even engineers will

describe it, if you let them). I have come to understand engineering quite differently: as

the practical study of how to make people and things work together better, an

undertaking as creative as art, as political as law, and no more a mere application of

science than art or law is. That is the understanding I have tried to put into words here.

I will consider myself successful if engineers reading this book say, "Yes, of course,

exactly" and non-engineers add, "So, that's what they do: I had no idea!"

I publish this book without apology for the mistakes it must contain. The only

way to write without mistakes is to write nothing--or, at least, nothing interesting. I

have done my best to be interesting, taking controversial positions (if I believed them

right) and defending them (as best I could), hoping thereby to incite others to add their

views, explained and justified, whether they agree with mine or not. Only through

critical discussion, rational and informed, can either engineering ethics or the

philosophy of engineering grow as a field of study. If, in the process, I am shown to

have erred, I will not complain.

Though I publish this book without apology, I do not publish it without

trembling. For his efforts, Socrates was put to death. Apparently, some experts do not

take well to philosophical ignorance. If I fare better than that master of philosophy, it
 x

will be because of those engineers (practitioners, academics, and students) who pulled

me aside, explained what I got wrong, and then patiently answered one question after

another until I got it right. My notes thank those I remembered, but my memory for

names is not good. I hope those I have forgotten will forgive the forgetting.

I owe special thanks to two colleagues: to Vivian Weil, for helping me, more

than a decade ago, to see that engineers might be at least as philosophically interesting

as lawyers; and to Robert Ladenson, for convincing me to join a small band of

philosophers following their calling among IIT's engineers. Though I accepted the

invitation more because I trusted him than because I believed what he said, I now

doubt that any other course of action could have had as good an outcome. I had taught

at three other universities with engineering schools; IIT was the first where the

philosophers and engineers had much to say to each other.

Chapters 1, 3, and 5-10 have appeared in print before much as they do here.

Chapter 4 is a much enlarged version of a paper previously published. Chapter 2 and

the epilogue see print for the first time. Though acknowledgement of prior publication

is made at the appropriate place, I should like to thank the editors of the journals in

which those chapters initially appeared, as well Alan Wertheimer, the editor of this

Oxford series, and two of his reviewers, Deborah Johnson and Michael Pritchard, for

suggesting many of those improvements now incorporated in the text.

 PART ONE

This work of philosophy begins with a long foray into the history of engineering.

Foraging in another's field is always risky. One can easily get lost, fall into traps the

owners long ago learned to skirt, or find oneself suddenly outnumbered and

outgunned. I am taking the risk for four reasons. First, I believe that reading history can

lead to philosophical insights. The past gives the present context. Second, I believe that

some historians, those I have been reading, sometimes miss the obvious--or, at least, get

the emphasis wrong--and therefore tend to mislead those trying to understand

engineering. I believe I can do better. Third, though I will be trespassing, I have

precedent on my side. Philosophers have long made themselves useful by pointing out

the obvious in fields not their own--which is all I intend to do. Fourth, and most

important, I believe that my trespass will pay-off. Understanding the history of

engineering better, we shall understand engineering better.

This foray will have two important outcomes. First, it will work out (something

like) a definition of engineering as an occupation, a way to distinguish engineers from

non-engineers. It will, in other words, define the field this book is to study. Second, it

will make a case for distinguishing between engineering as an occupation from

engineering as a profession. It will make clear the importance of understanding

engineering as a profession rather than as mere intellectual discipline or occupation of

"knowledge workers". To understand engineering as a profession is, I shall argue, to

make ethics central to what engineers do.

 Chapter 1

SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, AND VALUES

Is engineering just applied science, a field as free of values as science itself? Is

engineering, instead, just technology, a field already well studied by those who study

technology? Are the values of engineering, if there are any, just the values of

technology, whatever those are? Or does engineering contribute something more?

What? Why?

These are important questions, ones we must answer as soon as possible. But

before we can, we must clarify the terms. "Science", "technology", and "values", like

"engineering" and "ethics", have been used in enough different ways to be dangerous.

Clarifying these five terms (and others related to them) requires a foray into history.

History will explain some of the confusion about these terms and help us choose

meanings useful to the work ahead.

I. Techne and Sophia: Twins Ancient but Unequal

I begin with etymology. "Technology" is a compound of two words from ancient

Greek, "techne" and "logos". "Techne" means manual art. So, for example, a "tekton"

was a carpenter or builder; an "architect", a master builder. The suffix form of "logos", "-

ology", means a putting into words, an explanation or study. So, when our word

"technology" still meant what Greek tells us it means, technology was the explanation

or study of manual art, just as biology is the explanation or study of bios, life. It was a

field in which gentlemen entered the workshop to record the artisan's secrets for later

publication.i

That, of course, is not what "technology" means now. Despite its Greek root,
 5

"technology" is really a new word, re-coined in the middle of the last century for a new

idea.ii What idea?

Ancient Greece was a slave-owning society and, like other slave-owners, Greeks

tended to associate manual labor with slaves. Since no free man would want to be

mistaken for a slave, the ancient Greeks generally avoided doing what slaves do. For

example, because slaves tended to rush about on their master's business, free men were

supposed to walk slowly.iii Greeks had such a low opinion of manual labor that they

even rated sculpture less noble than painting because the sculptor, unlike the painter,

had to sweat over his work like a slave. iv

There were a few exceptions to this low opinion of manual labor. One was

athletics. Athletics, however sweaty, was not something slaves did. War was another

exception. Hacking one another with swords, though hard and dirty work, was a job

for free men.

The Greeks contrasted teche with sophia. Though often translated as "intellectual

knowledge" or even "science", "sophia" is probably better translated as "wisdom". From

"sophia" comes our word "philosophy" (the love, that is, the pursuit of wisdom). For the

Greeks, philosophy included mathematics, physics, economics, and similar sciences.

Because philosophy was primarily a matter of thought, not manual art, philosophy was

appropriate to free men.

The Greeks of Greece's Golden Age loved sophia; and she rewarded them

accordingly. The Greeks of that period can claim credit for beginning the tradition of

philosophy now dominant over most of the world, the one to which I belong. They can

also claim credit for beginning a number of the sciences, including geometry, biology,

and political science.

Their achievements in poetry, architecture, and history are no less impressive.

Not so their contributions to techne. Of course, there were some contributions, for
 6

example, improved design of war galleys. But you must hunt for them. Europe's Dark

Ages seem to have given us many more useful devices than did Greece's Golden Age. v

By now, perhaps, you can see two reasons to distrust that ugly word,

"technology":

First, there is the implicit opposition between sophia and teche. Today we think of

science and technology as related, not opposed. So, for example, one reason politicians

give for funding scientific research is that it will pay off in new technologies. vi

Second, there is the word's meaning in Greek. For us, technology is not--as its

Greek parts suggest--a study of manual art but, primarily, our way of referring to all

those inventions that make manual labor easier, more productive, or unnecessary. In

this sense, technology began with the first tool someone made; the new technologies we

hear about are new technologies in this sense, new tools someone has made.

Of course, there is yet another sense of "technology", one derived from this

second but referring to a study--as in, for example, the title "institute of technology" (or

"technological university"). An institute of technology is not, as the Greek suggests, a

place to study manual arts (carpentry, machining, and so on), a mere technical school.

An institute of technology is, instead, a place to study practical inventions, how to

make them and how to organize them (and those who use them) to make other useful

things. The Greeks, who had a word for almost everything, seem not to have had a

word for that.

What does this history have to do with us? Consider, for example, how we dress

for work: Some of us dress in "white collars", that is, fine shirts, ties, good slacks,

dresses, sport coats, or the like. Others wear "blue collars", that is, coarse shirts, denim

pants, coveralls. Generally, those in white collars have higher status than those in blue.

Salary is secondary (as is social usefulness). A carpenter has less status than an

accountant earning half as much. Why? Though carpentry requires a trained mind, it
 7

requires as well, like other blue-collar work, much sweaty labor surrounded by dust

and debris. Because such labor would quickly ruin good clothing, the white collar

guarantees some distance between its wearer and such "slavish labor". And, because it

does that, the white collar confers status.

No matter the origin of our parents, we are, in this respect at least, all more or

less descendants of the ancient Greeks. Even if we ourselves like manual labor, we do

not respect it as much as mental labor. vii I doubt that this is good, especially for

engineers. But it does seem to be a stubborn fact about us. We are prejudiced against

blue collars, not only those who work in them but even those who associate with those

who work in them.viii

That prejudice shows up even in a phrase seemingly having nothing to do with

it--"science and technology". Why does "technology" always come second? The

explanation cannot be historical. If "technology" refers to inventions making manual

labor easier, technology is older than science by thousands of years. And, even if the

"technology" in "science and technology" refers instead to the systematic study of

practical invention, technology would be no younger than science in the corresponding

sense, the systematic study of nature. For, until quite recently, "science" included all

systematic knowledge, whether of nature or invention, including even jurisprudence

and theology.

Nor can the explanation of the inevitable priority of "science" be alphabetical

order. Substitute "engineering" for "technology" and the order remains the same:

"science and engineering", not "engineering and science" (as in the journal Science and

Engineering Ethics). Nor can the explanation be practical importance. Technology bakes

our bread; science only helps us to understand how. Nor can the explanation be mere

accident. Accident would produce more variation. The order seems fixed: science and

technology. Why?
 8

The answer, I think, is that the order indicates relative status. Science has higher

status than technology; hence, it gets first mention.

Well, shouldn't science have higher status? After all, isn't technology just applied

science? Doesn't science come first in the order of development? Doesn't science lay

down the law, like a master, while technology merely applies it, like a slave? Even

engineers may be tempted to answer yes to these questions. But the answer is: No,

technology is not merely applied science.

II. Science, Technology, and Engineering

One can understand the words "science" and "technology" so that they refer to

comparable concepts. Science is explicit, systematic knowledge of how "nature" works;

technology, explicit, systematic knowledge of how to make useful things.

Unfortunately, usage today is not so neat. Though the term "science" did once refer

(primarily) to explicit, systematic knowledge of nature, its meaning has now shifted

somewhat so that, today, it refers as much, or instead, to a social undertaking, "a

voyage of discovery" (as scientists like to say), rather than merely to what they

discover. In this sense, science consists of certain communities engaged in trying to

understand how nature works.ix

Since "technology" refers only to our practical inventions, or to the study of how

to make more, we lack a term comparable to this new sense of "science". What do we

call communities that invent useful things or, at least, add to our knowledge of how to

do it? "Technician" is wrong; a technician is an assistant, one who carries out routine

work under direction of a scientist, engineer, architect, physician, or the like.

"Technologist", though a natural choice, has not caught on; "applied scientist", though

once popular with sociologists, natural scientists, and even engineers, is now fading.
 9

Why? I think the reason is that the great majority of people who would have to

be called "technologist" or "applied scientist" already have a satisfactory name,

"engineer".

I said "great majority". I meant it. The United States today has well over

2,000,000 engineers. That is more than all other "technologists" together. Most other

"technologists" are either architects, chemists, physicists, biologists, physicians,

computer scientists, or mere inventors. The US has only about 135,000 architects,

388,000 natural scientists (including chemists, physicists, and biologists), 450,000

computer scientists, and 600,000 physicians. x I have no figure for "mere inventors"; but,

since most inventors seem to be engineers, there can't be many "mere inventors". The

number of physicians contributing to technology also cannot be large. Most physicians

are not in research or development, but simply provide health care. So, even assuming

that most scientists are in technology, not pure research, engineers must outnumber all

other technologists combined by at least two to one.

These numbers suggest an obvious solution to the problem of what to call all

those who make technology: call them "engineers". But that would, I think, be a terrible

mistake. Chemists, architects, physicians, biologists, and the like are not engineers.

Understanding why they are not will help us to understand both the values inherent in

most technology, the technology engineers develop, and the place of ethics in any

technology. It will also bring us to the heart of our subject. But it will require more

history, though (mostly) history less ancient than before.

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III. The Beginnings of Engineering

Professions, aping aristocracy, like to trace their origins back to ancient times. So,

for example, the American Medical Association's Principles of Medical Ethics cites certain

provisions of Hammurabi's Code (about 2000 BC) as the earliest known code of medical

ethics.xi There is, of course, some truth in such going-back. The healers of ancient

Babylonia resemble today's physicians in many ways. For example, like modern

physicians, they tried to cure the sick. There are, however, many differences as well;

and, for our purposes, the differences are more important. For example, they do not

seem to have been organized as a profession or even as a guild. We will understand

professions better if we start their history with the rise of modern markets about two

centuries ago, the accompanying dissolution of the old distinction between trades and

"liberal professions", and the slow emergence of something new. Even an old

occupation can be a new profession.

By 1850, especially in England, we begin to see the modern pattern. The

professions are connected both with a formal curriculum, ending with an examination

and certification of some sort, and explicit standards of practice, a code of ethics. xii

Admittedly, those creating this new pattern seem unaware of doing something new.

But there can be little doubt that they misunderstood their own actions. Even some of

the terms they used were new. For example, the term "medical ethics" seems to have

been coined in 1803 by a physician, Thomas Percival, for a book he thought was on an

old topic.xiii

What is true of most professions is true of engineering. False pedigrees abound.

Some histories of engineering begin with the Stone Age, with the first tools. They

confuse engineering with mere technology. xiv Other histories begin more sensibly,

recognizing that engineers generally do not do manual labor but prepare instructions
 11

for others to carry out. Since the first tool almost certainly pre-dates such a division of

tasks, these histories begin much later, with the first projects large enough to have some

people laying out a plan and others implementing it. They begin with the building of

Stonehenge, the Pyramids, or some other wonder of ancient civilization. xv

Though better than the first, this second way of beginning the history of

engineering still has at least two embarrassing consequences. One embarrassment is

that it makes architects (or "master builders") the first engineers. This is embarrassing

because engineers generally agree that architects today are definitely not engineers.

Another embarrassment is that this way of telling the story makes a mystery of why

our word for engineer comes from French, rather than Greek, like "architect", and why

the French have had the word for barely four hundred years. Generally, we have a

word for anything important to us almost as soon as we have the thing. There are no

significant whatchemacallits.

So, when I tell the story of engineering, I start four hundred years ago in France.

Back then there were things called "engines"--but "engine" then simply meant a

complex device for some useful purpose, a contraption showing intelligence in design,

in short, a machine. The first people to be called "engineers" were soldiers associated

with catapults, siege towers, artillery, and other "engines of war". They were not yet

engineers in the sense that conerns us. They were, rather, engineers in the sense that,

even today, the driver of a locomotive is an engineer. They were engineers only in the

sense that they operated (or otherwise worked with) engines.

Some soldiers are still engineers in something like this sense: they belong to an

engineering corps. Though they do not know what engineers know, they are directly

involved in works of engineering, though not precisely with engines of war, a term no

longer in common use.

Four hundred years ago the armies of France were led by nobles, men on horse
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back, who learned war from their fathers or on the battlefield, or died in the attempt.

The foot soldiers came with the nobles. Most were peasants or artisans who knew little

of war until trained in camp. When the war ended, the army dissolved, each noble

leading his own people home. In such an army, an "engineer" was usually a carpenter,

stone mason, or other artisan bringing civilian skills to war.

When Louis XIV ended the regency in 1661, France still made war in this way.

But, within two decades, France had a standing army of 300,000, the largest, best

trained, and best equipped European fighting force since the Roman legions. This

achievement was widely copied. To this day, most of our military words--from "army"

itself to "reveille", from "bayonet" to "maneuver", from "private" to "general"--are

French. "Engineer" is just one of these military terms.

Until 1676, French engineers were part of the infantry. But, in that year, the

"engineers" were organized into special units, the corps du génie.xvi This reorganization

had important consequences. A permanent corps can keep much better records than

isolated individuals, can accumulate knowledge, skills, and routines more efficiently,

and can pass them on. A corps can become a distinct institution with its own style and

reputation. More than a group of proto-engineers, the corps du génie were, potentially,

both a center of research in engineering and a training ground for engineers (in

something like our sense), officieurs du génie.

The corps du génie did not take long to realize this potential. Within two decades,

it was known all over Europe for unusual achievements in military construction. When

another country borrowed the French word "engineering" for use in its own army, it

was for the sort of activity the corps du génie engaged in.xvii That was something for

which other European languages lacked a word.

The corps du génie was not, as of 1700, a school of engineering in our sense; it was

more like an organization of masters and apprentices. Indeed, strange as this may seem
 13

now, at that time neither France nor any other European state had a permanent military

academy (in anything like our sense), much less a school of engineering. There was no

settled curriculum for training officers generally or engineers in particular, or even a

very clear idea that that was necessary. Only during the 1700s did the French slowly

come to understand what they wanted from an engineering education and how to get

it. But, by the end of the 1700s, they had a curriculum from which today's engineering

curriculum differs only in detail; they had also invented engineering. xviii

An army needs fortifications for protection, mines under enemy fortifications,

roads to march on, and bridges to cross. Civilians either need the same things or other

things requiring similar skills to build. So, in 1716, the French established another corps

of engineers, the corps des ponts et chaussées, to build and maintain the nation's bridges,

roads, and canals (as important to the army as to commerce). This corps set up a school

for training its officers, the first engineering school to survive long enough to matter.

Like the military engineers, these civil engineers were admired all over Europe. Those

who copied their method copied their name as well. xix

What was their method? Engineers, military as well as civil, resembled architects

in being able to make drawings for construction projects, develop detailed instructions

from those drawings, and oversee the execution of those instructions. They nonetheless

seem to have differed from architects in at least three ways.

First, engineers were much better trained in (what was then) the new

mathematics and physics than the architects. They had the ability to consider

systematically questions most architects could only deal with intuitively or ignore. xx

Second, because the strategies of engineering had their roots in the necessities of

war, engineers paid more attention to reliability, speed, and other practicalities. So, for

example, the systematic testing of materials and procedures in advance of construction

was early recognized as a characteristic of engineers. xxi At least in comparison, the

 14

architect seemed an artist, one for whom beauty claimed much of the attention an

engineer would devote to making things work.

Third, to be an engineer was to have been trained as an army officer, to have

been disciplined to bear significant responsibility within one of world's largest

organizations. Engineers were therefore likely to be better at directing large civilian

projects than architects, most of whom would have had experience only of much

smaller undertakings.

These three advantages tend to reenforce one another. For example, large

projects not only require more planning in advance and more discipline in execution,

they are also more likely to require better mathematical analysis and to justify extensive

testing of materials and procedures. For this, and perhaps other reasons, civil engineers

slowly took over much of the work that once would have been the domain of architects.

They were a new power in the world.

Early experiments in engineering education culminated in the École

Polytechnique. Begun in 1794 as the École des Travaux Publics (the school of public

works), it changed its name the following year, for the first time connecting

engineering and "techne". I don't know why the French changed the school's name. The

school never trained architects, much less artisans or mechanics. It was a school of

engineering, deserving the "poly" only for offering preparation for many fields of

engineering, military and naval engineering as well as civil. xxii

The École Polytechnique's curriculum had a common core of three years. The first

year's courses were geometry, trigonometry, physics, and the fundamentals of

chemistry with practical applications in structural and mechanical engineering. There

was a good deal of drawing, some laboratory and workshop, and recitations after each

lecture. The second and third year continued the same subjects, with increasingly more

application to the building of roads, canals, and fortifications and the making of
 15

munitions. For their last year, students were sent to one of the special schools: the

school of artillery, the school of military engineering, the school of mines, the school of

bridges and roads, the school of geographical engineers (cartographers), or the school

of ships.xxiii

Engineers will immediately recognize this curriculum, especially, the four years,

the progression from theory (or analysis) to application (or design), and the heavy

emphasis on mathematics, physics, and chemistry.

The École Polytechnique was the model for engineering education for much of the

nineteenth century.xxiv The United States began using it very early. Our first engineering

school was the military academy at West Point. By 1817, it had adopted much of the

École's curriculum, its methods of instruction, and even some textbooks. xxv I shall have

more to say about West Point in the next chapter.

IV. Values in Engineering

What values does engineering incorporate? A decade ago, Eugene Ferguson, an

engineer turned historian, drew up a list of what he called "imperatives of

engineering".xxvi The list is neither complete nor fundamental--nor, indeed, even

entirely fair. It will nevertheless help us understand engineering.

Engineers, Ferguson claimed, (1) strive for efficiency, (2) design labor-saving

systems, (3) design control into the system, (4) favor the very large, the very powerful,

or (in electronics) the very small, and (5) tend to treat engineering as an end in itself

rather than as a means to satisfying human need. These "imperatives" are, according to

Ferguson, instincts engineers bring to their work. While an engineer can resist them,

just as I can resist drinking water even if I am thirsty, they are, in effect, the engineer's

default setting, what engineers will do unless they consciously try to do something else.
 16

Ferguson intended this list to be a criticism of the way engineers work. It is, I

think, both less and more than that. The list is less than a criticism because the first four

imperatives seem, on reflection, at least as much virtues as vices. The list is also more

than a criticism because it highlights certain enduring features of engineering,

permitting us to connect engineering's history with today's practice. Let's take a closer

look at Ferguson's list.

"Efficiency" is the first imperative Ferguson identifies. Ferguson points out,

rightly, that "efficiency" is a slippery term, meaning "most powerful" here, "lowest cost"

there, and something else elsewhere. What he overlooks is the concept's utility.

Engineers generally define "efficiency" so that they can measure it (or its

components), assign numbers, and thereafter seek to control it. That is not surprising.

Like other professions, engineering tends to analyze a situation so that its distinctive

skills can be applied. One distinctive skill of engineers is giving mathematical structure

to practical problems. The concept of efficiency allows them to exercise that skill.

Engineers have, no doubt, sometimes paid too much attention to efficiency,

especially forms of efficiency that turned out not to matter. Indeed, the history of

engineering is in part the history of measurable properties used for a time as proxy for

something that could not be measured and then discarded when the proxy proved not

to have enough of a relation to what the engineers actually cared about. xxvii Because

engineering is a practical undertaking, it must learn from practice. It cannot learn from

practice without making mistakes. Some of engineering's mistakes have concerned

efficiency.

Engineers can be quite slow about giving up one of these proxy measures. But,

even this slowness is understandable. Engineers are used to working in large

organizations, organizations where change is difficult and the consequences are often

hard to predict. They therefore have a tendency to follow practices they would no
 17

longer adopt. (Consider, for example, how American engineers still specify non-metric

bolts or screws.) The world is a tough laboratory. Many things better in theory are

worse in practice. How daring do we want engineers to be with our lives?

The second imperative on Ferguson's list is a preference for labor-saving devices.

Engineers will, Ferguson thinks, design to save labor even when labor is cheap and the

end result will be higher production costs and more unemployment.

The engineer's preference for labor-saving is understandable as a product of

engineering's military origin. Since engineering began, the primary labor pool of most

armies has been their own soldiers. Since no general wants his soldiers doing

construction when they could be fighting, military engineers have always had an

incentive to look for means of saving labor even though the labor saved was, in one

sense, cheap (indeed, free).

As military engineering became civil engineering, this tendency might have put

engineers at a disadvantage in their competition with other "technologists". Their

designs might have proved too costly. Those who hired engineers would, however,

soon have learned this. They would then have compensated, either by calling in an

engineer less often or by making sure that the engineer called in defined the desired

outcome taking cost into account.

If, as Ferguson's criticism suggests, such compensation seldom occurs, the most

likely reason is that the engineer's preference for labor-saving devices generally serves

those who employ engineers. The reason that preference might serve their employers is

not hard to see. Labor has a tendency to become scarce, and so costly, where it is not

routinely saved.

Of course, that is only a tendency. Many of those thrown out of work by a

particular innovation may live out their lives on the dole. Many engineers would, no

doubt, like to take such effects into account; and perhaps many of their employers
 18

would let them. But, if engineers are to take such considerations into account, they will

need both the relevant information and a routine for using it.

Gathering such information belongs to the social sciences, not to engineering as

it is or as it is likely to become. Any curriculum that could give engineers the skills to

develop significant social statistics would probably be too long to attract many

students. Engineers should not be blamed for failing to take into account social

consequences about which they can only guess.

Where, however, such information exists, developing ways to incorporate it into

engineering work is certainly something engineers can, and should, do. Indeed, they

have long done this with the employer's share of the cost of production. And, over the

last two decades, thanks to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), engineers

have become adept at incorporating environmental costs into their designs (for

example, by designing for disposal as well as for manufacture and use). They could do

the same for social impact if they had numerical standards for assessing impact and

sources of information from which the relevant numbers could be taken.

Engineers can help to develop such standards, just as they helped to write EPA

standards. But, just as with environmental standards, standards for permissible social

impact are probably not what most people would want engineers alone to decide--or

even engineers with the help of lawyers, accountants, corporate executives, and other

specialists. Social impact raises political issues, that is, issues everyone wants a part in

deciding. If engineers decline to develop such standards unilaterally, should we blame

them?xxviii

Ferguson's third imperative is designing controls into the system. Engineers

generally try to separate planning and execution. Intelligence is designed into the

system, requiring as little intelligence as possible of the system's operators. The

assembly line is the typical example of this imperative. Engineers have generally tried
 19

to design an assembly line so that the work is so simple that only a few minutes

training is necessary to learn the job. The job is therefore likely to be repetitive and

boring; those doing the job, reduced to little more than organic robots.

Engineering's military past certainly explains the origin of this imperative.

Soldiers sent over to help on an engineering project, whether digging trenches or

putting a bridge over a river, will not have much time to learn the job. The military

engineer must design the work so that anybody can do it. (Architects, in contrast, seem,

if anything, to have a bias in favor of designs requiring craftsmen.)

But its military past alone does not explain why this imperative persists in

civilian engineering (or, at least, why engineers who do such things should be so much

in demand). The explanation of that, like the persistence of engineering's second

imperative, must be that this tendency has proved useful in civilian engineering as

well. One recent example will suggest why that might be.

McDonald's restaurants now have cash-register buttons with pictures of the

various items on the menu. The cashier need not know the price of anything, or even be

able to read, only be able to recognize the pictures and push buttons accordingly. In a

business where employee turnover is high and education low, where prices change

frequently and training is expensive, this dumbing-down of the cashier's job both saves

money for McDonald and opens employment to many who might not otherwise

qualify. Whoever thought of that device, engineer or not, was undoubtedly a hero to

McDonald's.xxix

The fourth imperative of engineering Ferguson lists is a tendency to disregard

human scale, preferring the very large or the very small. The reason for this imperative

is that engineering was, and remains, a creature of large organizations. Louis XIV's

army, one of the largest organizations of its day, created engineering to do what

civilian artisans could not do (or could not do well enough). Even today, most
 20

engineers work in large organizations. You do not need an engineer to construct a

single family house. A carpenter or architect will do, as they always have. If, however,

you want to construct a thirty-story building, you will need engineers.

The problem, I think, is not so much that engineers disregard human scale as

that they are seldom needed for things on a human scale. Generally, asking engineers

to work on a human scale is like asking lawyers to prepare a partnership agreement for

two children opening a lemonade stand. They can do it, but either they will do what

anyone else could do or they will do something out of all proportion to the job.

In this respect, the very small can be like the very large. For example, to make

today's tiny electronic circuits requires productive forces and controls of which a single

human being is incapable. Hence, there is work for engineers.

Ferguson's last imperative, putting technical brilliance ahead of human need, is

unlike the others. It is a failing common to all professions.--We all know the joke about

the surgeon who says, "The operation was a success, though the patient died."--But this

last "imperative of engineering" is worse than a failing common to all professions; it is a

failing inconsistent with one of engineering's fundamental values.

I have stressed the military origins of engineering. xxx I have not pointed out that

most of the period we have been talking about, roughly the 1700s, is known as the Age

of Enlightenment. This was the time when many Europeans first came to believe that

enlightenment, that is, scientific learning, would bring peace, prosperity, and

continuous improvement. For countless ages, the best hope of the wise was that the

world would not get much worse. With the Age of Enlightenment, people began to act

on the belief that the world could be made much better. Engineering has this belief

built into it. So, for example, early graduates of the École Polytechnique were noted for

"scientific and democratic idealism and a desire to work for human progress". xxxi The

same attitude was evident in England at about the same time. When, in 1828, the British
 21

Institution of Civil Engineers, then nine years old, asked one of its members, Thomas

Tredgold, to define the term "civil engineering", he gave an answer engineers still

quote: "Civil Engineering is the art of directing the great sources of power in Nature for

the use and convenience of man....The most important object of Civil Engineering is to

improve the means of production and of traffic in states, both for external and internal

trade."xxxii

For Tredgold, engineering was committed to making things "for the use and

convenience of man". But, for Tredgold, this was not simply a matter of maintaining

things as they are. Engineering was supposed to "improve means of production and

traffic". Engineering was, by definition, an instrument of material progress.

But what about engineering today? Most engineers would, no doubt, want to

tinker with Tredgold's definition, for example, by substituting "people" for "man". But

few, if any, would want to change its core. Engineering remains an undertaking

committed to human progress. So, for example, the most widely adopted of America's

codes of engineering ethics, begins: "[Engineers uphold and advance the integrity,

honor, and dignity of the engineering profession by] using their knowledge and skill

for the enhancement of human welfare." xxxiii

V. Why Engineers are not Scientists

That is enough about engineering. We are ready to see how engineers differ

from other technologists. I have already pointed out some of the ways engineers differ

from architects. I shall now explain how they differ from applied scientists.

I once did a workshop at the research lab of a large petroleum company. The

audience was about half chemists and half chemical engineers. I first asked the

chemists, "If you had a choice between inventing something useful and discovering
 22

new knowledge, which would you prefer?" The chemists thought this a hard question:

"After all," they reasoned, "it's hard to imagine an interesting discovery in chemistry

that would not have a practical pay-off." Eventually, I asked for a show of hands.

About half the chemists voted for "something useful" and about half for "new

knowledge". The engineers, on the other hand, all voted for usefulness. For them, new

knowledge was just a means to improving human life. xxxiv

Unlike the chemists, the engineers had no commitment to science as such. They

used science, much as they used other sources of insight. They also contributed to

science much as they contributed to lawyering and other social practices, for example,

by helping to reduce the cost of chemicals used in the manufacture of computers. But

they did this as non-scientists, as participants in a voyage of invention rather than

discovery.

This difference between engineers and chemists came as a surprise to these

researchers. Many had worked side by side for decades. They thought that they shared

the same values. But we do not wear our values on our clothing like an identity badge--

except, of course, by declaring ourselves to be of this profession rather than of that.

These researchers had not taken the difference in profession seriously. That is why they

were surprised.

This difference between scientists and engineers is not a mere idiosycracy of one

industrial laboratory. I have asked the same question at other industrial laboratories

since, with much the same result. Nor is this difference between scientists and

engineers restricted to industrial laboratories. I have asked my question at university

workshops attended by both engineering and science faculty. The results were even

sharper. The only thing rarer than a university scientist who voted for "something

useful" was an engineer who voted for "new knowledge". xxxv In this respect at least,

engineers are not scientists, not even applied scientists. The primary commitment of
 23

engineers is not to knowledge, theoretical or applied, as one would expect of scientists,

but to human welfare. xxxvi

VI. Ethics and Engineering

Earlier, I described engineering as a "new power in the world". Power, though

neither good nor bad in itself, is always dangerous. Because of the scale on which

engineers generally work, engineering is particularly dangerous. Engineers long ago

realized this and set about to assure, as much as possible, that engineering would be

used for good rather than evil. They organized as a profession, adopted codes of ethics,

and tried to put the codes into practice.

"Ethics" (as noted in the Preface) has at least three common uses. It can refer not

only to ordinary morality or the systematic study of ordinary morality but also to those

special morally-permissible standards of conduct every member of a group wants

every other member to follow even if that would mean having to follow the standards

too. It is in this third special-standard sense, I think, that members of a profession talk

of their "profession's ethics".xxxvii In this sense, engineers did not have a code of ethics

until they adopted one. In the United States, that was not until early in this century. xxxviii

In this sense too, their code of ethics is what they make it--so long as the

standards they lay down are consistent with ordinary morality. xxxix That means that

engineering ethics can change over time and even differ from country to country or

field to field.

There is, then, an important difference between (moral) values, such as the

engineers' commitment to improving human life, and ethics (special standards of

conduct). While engineers generally seem to have valued human welfare since early in

the history of engineering, failing to treat the public welfare as paramount in their work
 24

could not be unethical (in my third sense of "ethical") until engineers adopted a

standard of conduct requiring them to treat the public welfare as paramount. Nor could

failing to treat the public welfare as paramount as such then be immoral. Morality

imposes no such duty, though it does require us to avoid doing certain kinds of harm

and perhaps to render certain kinds of aid. xl The history of engineering ethics reminds

us that ethical standards, like other engineering standards, are not discoveries but

useful inventions.

Values such as honesty, safety, or efficiency are reasons for acting, and so

reasons for adopting standards of conduct, but values as such, even moral or

professional values, do not tell us how we should act. A value as such can only demand

consideration, that is, a certain weight in deliberations. Values such as efficiency,

safety, and even honesty are considerations to be taken into account in deciding what to

do. They cannot, as such, be obeyed or disobeyed. In contrast, standards of practice,

including a code of ethics, do tell us how we should act. They do not lend themselves to

weighing. They are imperatives we can only obey or disobey. And, as well shall see

later, they deserve special attention in any discussion of engineering ethics.

 25

NOTES

This chapter began as a GTE Lecture at the University of Wisconsin Center/Fond du

Lac, 13 October 1992. I should like to thank those present, as well as my colleagues,

Wilbur Applebaum (History) and Sid Guralnick (Civil Engineering), and my friend,

Mike Rabins (Texas A & M), for help in sorting through the issues discussed here. It

appeared, in a somewhat longer version and under the title "A Historical Preface to

Engineering Ethics", in the Science and Engineering Ethics 1 (January 1995): 33-48.
 Chapter 2

REFLECTIONS ON THE HISTORY OF ENGINEERING IN THE UNITED STATES

This chapter continues our foray into the history of engineering, showing: a) that

engineering (in the United States at least) is (in part) a fusion of several older activities

(managing, craft work, science, and invention): b) that conceptions of engineering have

changed substantially over the last two hundred years and also varied somewhat from

industry to industry (with now one activity, now another, seemingly central); and c)

that there are nonetheless real limits to what can be engineering, limits demonstrated

especially by attempts to train engineers that apparently failed because they

overemphasized one or another activity. Though engineering is undoubtedly a "social

construct" in some sense or other, an engineer is not an engineer simply because society

gives the title. The work engineers do has a discipline of its own. Any adequate

understanding of engineering must acknowledge that discipline. Central to that

discipline is a certain way of educating engineers (a certain curriculum) and a certain

way of using what engineers know (a code of ethics).

I. In the Beginning

The first engineers in the United States, or at least the first to bear the title, were

officers in the Revolutionary War; the first school of engineering here was a military

academy, West Point.xli This connection between engineering and the military was no

accident, of course. As explained in Chapter 1, engineering began with the great army

Louis XIV built after 1661. Though engineers were soon called upon for civilian

projects--to build roads, bridges, and canals, to construct mines and oversee their

operation, or to construct ships--, most of the training of these "civil engineers" was
 27

identical to that of military engineers. So, for example, when the French reorganized

engineering education in 1794, creating the École Polytechnique, they put students of

military and civilian engineering side by side for three years, separating them only in

their fourth (and final) year of training, when they were sent to one or another school of

"application" (the school of military engineering, the school of bridges and roads, and

so on). After 1797, all students at the École Polytechnique wore uniforms and lived under

military discipline. xlii

Establishing an engineering school in the United States in the first years of the

republic was not easy. The first attempt occurred when George Washington was still

only a general. Other attempts followed. Even with an Act of Congress in 1802, more

than a decade passed before West Point had examinations, grades, or even a settled

curriculum. The curriculum settled on, four years in length, was derived from the École

Polytechnique. Along with the curriculum came a small library, recitations,

examinations, one French officer, several textbooks, and even the use of blackboards. xliii

Though another two decades would pass before anyone successfully copied

West Point, the first attempt came soon. Alden Partridge had graduated from West

Point in 1805, taught mathematics there for the next fourteen years, and briefly served

as superintendent, leaving under a cloud. In 1820, he opened his own school--the

American Literary, Scientific, and Military Academy--in his home town, Norwich,

Vermont (just across the Conneticut River from Dartmouth), to train officers for the

army and engineers for public works. xliv In 1824, he moved the academy to Connecticut;

and in 1829, back to Norwich. In 1834, the academy became Norwich University,

apparently without any change of purpose, and so remains to this day, an experiment

complete and forgotten (though it moved once more, in 1865, to Northfield, Vermont).

Though Captain Partridge's school seems to have enrolled almost as many

students as West Point for the period between 1820 and 1840, it did not do nearly so
 28

well as an engineering school. Of West Point graduates through 1837, 231 became civil

engineers; of Norwich graduates during the same period, only about 30 did (and these

seem generally to have held less responsible positions). xlv

The 1830s were more hospitable to copies of West Point than the 1820s; the next

decade, even more so. The Virginia Military Institute was founded in 1839; the Citadel,

South Carolina's military college, in 1842; and the Naval Academy at Annapolis, in

1845.xlvi What was true of engineering education in general was certainly true of civil

engineering. The late 1830s mark the real beginning of civil engineering education in

the United States.

The age of Rensselear Polytechnic Institute, our oldest school of civil

engineering, may seem to refute this claim. But Rensselear, founded in 1823, is in fact

evidence for the claim, not evidence against it.

Rensselear was founded without either "Polytechnic" or "Institute" in its name.

Like Norwich, it went through several changes, though it never moved. Stephen Van

Rensselear, a gentleman farmer with a Harvard degree, gave the school both his name

and money in order to train teachers of agriculture and mechanical arts for the grammar

schools of his locale. The original curriculum was a single year (as one would expect of

a normal school of the day).

But by the 1830s, Rensselear had become a kind of scientific finishing school for

graduates of colleges of liberal arts like Harvard or Dartmouth. It may, in fact,

rightfully claim to be the first American graduate school. Many of the graduates of this

period became important in American geology, botany, and geography. xlvii

But Rensselear was not yet an engineering school. It did not award a degree in

civil engineering until 1835 and did not have a distinct engineering curriculum until

the late 1840s.xlviii That curriculum, three years in length, along with the school's present

name, seems to owe much to an 1847 trip to Europe by the school's director, young
 29

Benjamin Franklin Greene (who had himself graduated from Rensselaer in 1842 with

one of its first degrees in engineering). xlix Yet, the addition of "polytechnic" to

Rensselear's name may not signal any direct connection with the École Polytechnique. By

then, Europe had other polytechnics (all modeled, more or less, on the French original). l

What the new name certainly did signal was that thereafter Rensselear would focus on

training engineers rather than scientists and that French schools, rather than American

or English, had (directly or indirectly) provided the model. li

Why did the first engineering schools in the United States use French models?

The answer is simple: the French then provided the only practical models. The English,

though already leading Europe in manufacture in 1800, would not have a respected

school of engineering until well after mid-century lii; and, whether we even say the

English had civilian engineers in 1800 depends on how close we judge the analogy

between the skills of the mostly self-taught mechanics, industrialists, and builders of

England and the French engineers whom they admired and studied. liii The English did

well with what was, in effect, training through apprenticeship in a craft. In 1800, the

United States was almost without engineers (or proto-engineers) to whom apprentices

could be sent.liv So, like most of Europe, the United States copied France.

All our early engineering schools shared a focus on mathematics, physics,

chemistry, and drawing. There was also a good deal of bookkeeping, surveying,

measurement, and other practical subjects. There was little of the Latin, Greek, or

Hebrew, classical literature, or rhetoric characteristic of the liberal arts college of the

day, though there might be enough French (or German) to read untranslated texts.

The difference between these early engineering schools and the liberal arts

colleges of the day was not, however, that the engineering schools taught science while

the liberal arts colleges did not. By 1800 Harvard, Brown, William and Mary, North

Carolina, and the other important colleges already had professors of mathematics and
 30

natural science.lv The early engineering schools differed from the liberal arts colleges

primarily in offering an education that was explicitly practical in a way that the college

education of the day was not. But practical for what? The historian Charles O'Connell

tells a story suggesting an answer:

In 1825, James Shiver led a team of civilians to survey the route for an extension

of the National Road in Ohio. Since the Road was a project of the Army Corps of

Engineers, Shiver reported to Colonel Macomb, the Army's chief engineer, in

Washington. Shiver was soon reporting that his team found it impossible to use the

Army's standard forms. Macomb wrote back that the forms "were conceived to be

more full and distinct, and consequently better adapted to the fulfillment of the

purposes for which they were intended" than what Shiver proposed instead. But,

because Macomb had dealt with civilians before, he made allowances. The "civilian

brigade" could use Shiver's simpler forms for now, but should switch to the Army's

forms "as soon as they shall be understood". lvi

Shiver was a competent civilian used to working the way civilians then did.

Macomb spoke for an organization more complex than any other in the United States.

In truth, the Army's ways made sense only in the Army. The United States was then

largely rural, with most citizens living in towns under 2500. Its industry, though

already inventive, still consisted almost entirely of small companies. Such companies

did not need, or even understand, the standardization the Army took for granted. lvii

Even a major project like a canal could still be undertaken without engineers.

Indeed, the greatest of them all, the Erie Canal, was begun about the time West Point

settled on a curriculum (1817) and completed about the time Rensselear was founded

(1825). Though often called "America's first engineering school", the Erie was mostly a

school of hard-knocks. Those in responsible charge were surveyors, lawyers, or

gentleman farmers. They learned as they went, sometimes from visits to other canals or
 31

from books, and sometimes from experience. lviii Whether these "canal engineers" are

properly engineers at all is, like the analogous question about the British "engineers" of

the same period, one that can be answered either way, depending on whether one

chooses to emphasize the analogies with today's engineers (what they built) or the

disanalogies (their training and methods). They are marginal cases. Treating them as

clear cases of engineers will bring into engineering many who clearly do not belong.

What was true of the early canals was not true of the early railroads. Even the

Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, often compared to the Erie Canal and called "America's

first school of railroad engineering", employed school-trained, especially West-Point-

trained, engineers from the time work began in 1824. lix

What explains this difference between the canals and the railroads? At least four

factors seem relevant: First, while canals were an old technology, railroads were not.

Insofar as railroads were a new technology, experience counted for less and a

knowledge of fundamental principles for more. Second, railroads required more

centralized planning than did canals. The chief economic advantage railroads had over

canals was speed. Speed was possible only if lines were clear, water and wood were

available at set distances, repair crews could be sent out quickly, and so on. Third, by

1824, West Point had been in existence long enough for its graduates to prove

themselves likely to be useful to railroads. Fourth, West Point graduates brought with

them styles of organization that suited engineers. So, for example, in 1829, Lieutenant

Colonel Long, having worked on the B&O for five years, published the first Rail Road

Manual, a book upon which later railroad engineers, schooled or not, would rely. lx

There are many striking similarities between this manual and the Army's. lxi

Even so, the railroads of the 1820s or 1830s were not the domain of engineers

they would become. The true achievements of American engineers of this period are of

a different order. For example, between 1825 and 1840, the Army's Arsenal in
 32

Springfield, Massachusetts developed procedures eventually much admired in Europe

as "the American System". This system made weapons parts interchangeable to a

degree never before achieved; it also subjected skilled workers to a new discipline,

including the substitution of an hourly wage for the traditional piece rate. The Arsenal

was a model for later mass production. lxii

In 1850, the first year the census counted engineers, only about two thousand

Americans identified themselves as non-military engineers, two thousand in a

population of about twenty-three million (that is, about one in 10,000). lxiii Today, in a

population barely ten times larger, we have a thousand times that number of engineers

(that is, about one in 100).

Engineering is sometimes described as a "captive profession" because most

engineers work in large organizations (General Motors, Westinghouse, Dow Chemical,

IBM, and so on).lxiv Engineering is contrasted with "free professions" like law and

medicine, where most members practice as individuals or in small groups (or, at least,

did so until recently). Unfortunately, the term "captive" gives the wrong emphasis to an

important insight. While we do need engineers for the vast undertakings typical of

large organizations, engineering is no more a captive of those organizations than the

heart is a captive of the body. The relation between engineering and certain large

organizations, like that between the heart and the body, is symbiotic. Work in large

organizations is not a nightmare from which engineers will some day wake; it is their

natural habitat. We don't need the skills of engineers to do what machinists, draftsmen,

architects, carpenters, millwrights, and the like can do alone or in small groups.

Engineers are numerous only where there are large organizations to employ them in

large undertakings. In 1850, the United States still had few such organizations.
 33

II. Middle Period: The "Fragmenting" of Engineering

In the United States of 1850, civil engineers still thought of engineering as a

single occupation. In 1867, when a few hundred of them established the first national

engineering society, the American Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE), any civilian

engineer could join.lxv But, even then, engineering had begun the branching into

specialties that would, by 1920, produce five major societies (for civil, mining,

mechanical, electrical, and chemical engineering), and many smaller organizations,

each with membership requirements excluding most other engineers. lxvi

The history of the half century from 1870 to 1920 can be read as tragedy, the loss

of the primal unity of engineering under the impact of industrialization. One history of

mechanical engineering even titles its chapter on this period "Engineering: The

Fragmented Profession".lxvii There are at least four reasons not to read history this way.

First, much of the history of engineering, not just of this period, is a history of

such branching. The first branching separated French civil from French military

engineering in the middle of the 1700s. lxviii

A second reason not to read the history of this period as tragedy is that the

primal unity of engineering is itself dubious. The period could equally well be

portrayed as the one in which engineering became a single identifiable occupation of

which "civil engineering" was but a part. In the United States of 1870, it was, I think,

still not clear what relation "civil engineering" had to the "mechanic arts", bridge-

building, mining, or metallurgy. Were they all engineering? Even in 1896 when

Columbia finally admitted that its school of mining, founded in 1863, had long since

become what we would call "a school of engineering", the name became "the School of

Mining, Engineering, and Chemistry". Apparently, even in the 1890s, "engineering" still

did not include everything we now mean by that term. lxix

 34

A third reason not to read the history of the half century from 1870 to 1920 as

tragedy is that it was a period of great success for engineering. In 1880, the United

States, with a population of 40 million, counted 7000 "civil engineers"--more than triple

the number in 1850 (while the general population barely doubled). Yet, this impressive

increase gave no indication of what would happen during the next four decades. The

1920 census reported 136,000 engineers, twenty times the number in 1880 (in a

population that had again barely doubled). lxx

A fourth reason not to read the history of engineering after the Civil War as

tragedy is that the enormous branching of engineering is inevitable given the enormous

growth of industries that rely on engineers.

Engineering has an important connection with mathematics and natural science,

as the similarity between early engineering curricula and today's suggests. But

engineering is more than mathematics and natural science. Much of what engineers

know are ways of organizing work, giving instructions, and checking outcomes. These

vary from industry to industry. So, for example, a civil engineer designing pipes that

ordinary plumbers are to install should not use tolerances an aerospace engineer could

use without a second's thought.lxxi

This field-specific knowledge is largely the result of experience, originally the

experience of individual engineers, "field experience" as well as the results of tests in a

laboratory or pilot plant. Because engineers routinely record and report their

experience in the same way, this individual knowledge gets passed on to other

engineers with whom they work. Eventually, much of it ends up in the tables and

formulas that fill the manuals written for those in the field. From there, it works its way

into customer specifications, government regulations, and courses taught those entering

the field. Though this knowledge generally takes the form of graphs, equations,

mathematical formulas, and drawings of things, it has little to do with natural science.
 35

It is congealed experience of how humans and things work together. lxxii

Engineers often complain that when new technology works--think, for example,

of the space shuttle--scientists get the credit; but, when it fails, engineers get the

blame.lxxiii While engineers are, I think, right about how praise and blame are often

distributed, I don't think they should complain. That distribution is a compliment to

engineers--though one given with the back of the hand. It implies that scientists only

experiment and experiments generally fail, while engineers engineer and engineering

generally succeeds. An engineer's failure is noteworthy for the same reason a scientist's

success is--it is unexpected. lxxiv

What makes engineers so likely to succeed is not their knowledge of

mathematics and natural science. That they share with scientists. What makes them so

likely to succeed is their knowledge of particular industries, what works and what does

not work there, what engineers call "engineering science". Consider, for example, the

safety factor for steel struts supporting a bridge. Setting a reasonable margin of safety

for such a structural component requires taking into account (among other matters)

past failures to catch flaws in materials, likely errors in maintenance, and unpredicted

changes in use of a structure which, properly maintained, can last for centuries. Such

knowledge is not the domain of any natural science. It is sociological knowledge, a

knowledge of how people and tools work together; but it is nonetheless engineering

knowledge. Only engineers know much about such matters.

Here we reach another insight into engineering. Though engineers often describe

themselves as applying natural science to practical problems, they could just as easily,

and more accurately, describe themselves as applying knowledge of how people work

in a certain industry. Engineering is at least as much management as it is natural

science. All engineers share the ability to give mathematical structure to the problems

they encounter, the ability to draw on the natural sciences for help in developing
 36

solutions, and the ability to state each solution as "a design" or set of useful

specifications or directions. But these designs, specification, or directions are, in effect,

rules governing someone's work. lxxv Engineering is, and always has been, technical

management.lxxvi

Technical management requires detailed knowledge of particular techniques.

When such knowledge becomes so great that no one can learn it all, knowledge of

techniques in one industry will exclude similar knowledge of techniques in other

industries. Engineers will have to specialize and that specialization will tend to break

along industry lines.

But (it will be said) other occupations--law and medicine, for example--have

specialized without fragmenting in the way engineering has. Lawyers have the

American Bar Association; physicians, the American Medical Association. Why then

should engineers not have an American Engineering Association rather than so many

interlinking societies, boards, councils, joint committees, and institutes that no engineer

knows more than a part? The branching of engineering probably was inevitable; not so

this fragmentation. While I agree that the fragmentation of engineering may not have

been inevitable, I think comparison with law and medicine will help to explain why it

was nonetheless likely.

Until recently, a majority of lawyers and physicians worked alone. Their

employers, the client or patient, might come in with any sort of problem. An

unspecialized practice maintained a common body of experience in law and medicine

for which engineering has had no counterpart since well before 1900.

Today, of course, that common experience has largely disappeared. Both lawyers

and physicians now commonly specialize and their professional societies, once

relatively homogeneous and unified, have now divided into hundreds of "sections" as

diverse and almost as independent as engineering's separate societies. Still, few lawyers
 37

or physicians work the way engineers long have. Though both lawyers and physicians

now commonly work in groups just as engineers do, they seldom work in the same

kind of group. Few lawyers, and even fewer physicians, work on projects requiring

coordination among even a hundred other lawyers or physicians. Few work on projects

in which everyone else has the same specialty. Engineers, in constrast, generally work

with engineers in their own field: civils, with civils; mechanicals, with mechanicals; and

so on.lxxvii Often engineers must work with hundreds or thousands of other engineers.

(For example, a single nuclear power plant will need several hundred engineers on site

just to operate.) The names of specialties in law and medicine derive from problems

any client or patient can have. The client or patient still provides a common experience

for lawyers or physicians. That is not true of engineering. In engineering, the specialties

generally take their name from a kind of an employer or client, the industry in which

engineers of that kind predominate. Engineering could remain a single occupation only

where engineers had so little to do that they had little reason to specialize.

III. Who is an Engineer?

Almost from the beginning of engineering, engineers have disagreed about the

relative importance of the scientific (especially, mathematical) knowledge engineers

share and the specific practical knowledge that tends to divide them. Those

emphasizing practice have tended to take an interest in professional ethics; those

emphasizing science have not.lxxviii We shall learn a good deal about what engineering

is--or at least what it has become--by taking a look at how this disagreement has

affected the education of engineers.

The practical emphasis in engineering education has long appealed to

practitioners, especially those who began as apprentices rather than students: Teach
 38

engineers what they need to know to do the job they are going to do (the extremist

would say). Forget theory. Get the engineer into the shop as soon as possible. lxxix

At this extreme, the practical approach would exclude not only courses in the

humanities, social sciences, and other typical elements of a liberal education but also

much engineering science. It would, in effect, substitute vocational training for the

university education that has long been the norm for training engineers. lxxx

The early history of engineering in the United States includes many experiments

with practical education in a college or other academic institution, all more or less

short-lived. For example, Amos Eaton, who taught civil engineering at Rensselear in

the 1830's, described its program in this way: "The cloister begins to give way to the

field, where things, not words, are studied." Eaton claimed that no mathematics more

advanced than arithmetic was necessary to teach engineering, that the most important

part of engineering could not be learned from any book, and that the civil engineering

text used at West Point was good only for "closet reading". lxxxi Yet, during Amos' tenure,

Rennselear was no more successful at training engineers than was Norwich. lxxxii And,

when Greene replaced Amos, Rensselear moved much closer to the scientific extreme

which, by the standard of the times, West Point represented. lxxxiii

Beginning with the Erie Canal, many large undertakings in the United States

tried the practical approach as a way of supplying technical skill not obtainable in any

other way. Whether these count as attempts to train engineers in the shop is an open

question. I will give just one (late) example.

During the 1890s, General Electric offered a course in "practical engineering" for

$100. To be eligible, one had to be a "young man" at least 21 years old and have either a

degree in civil, mechanical, or electrical engineering or two years experience in practical

electrical work or two years in a machine shop. The course of study, a year long,

consisted of rotating through various departments of GE's Lynn Works: four weeks in
 39

the Shop Plant doing wiring, two weeks in the Arc Department assembling arc lamps,

and so on. There was no formal instruction. lxxxiv

What are we to make of this shop training? Notice that, for this course in

"practical engineering", two years of work experience was considered equal to a college

degree in engineering. By the 1890s, a first degree in engineering would have required

four years, just as it does today. So, at GE, practice was not only a substitute for formal

education, it was, it seems, considered, year for year, twice as good. This is a striking

attitude, especially in a company which, like GE, was then among the technologically

most advanced. What explains GE's attitude?

We must, I think, recognize that the meaning of "engineer" (and of

"engineering") has changed over time. The term "engineer" was vague in 1890 and,

though less vague than it used to be, is still pretty vague today. But it is not confused.

A term is confused when any case to which it is thought to apply is disputable.

A confused term, such as "round square", has inconsistent criteria of application.

"Engineer" is not like that. There are clear cases. On the one hand, someone with a

degree in civil or mechanical engineering and several years of successful practice, is

certainly an engineer. On the other hand, a train operator or boiler tender, though

usage allows them to be called "engineer", clearly is not an engineer in the sense

relevant here. Such "technicians" are engineers only in a sense belonging to an earlier

age.

Though not confused, "engineer", like other terms, is still vague. In addition to

the clear cases, there are disputed cases. One contemporary dispute concerns whether

one can, by getting the right experience, become an engineer without a degree in

engineering (for example, with only a degree in physics or chemistry). Complicating

this dispute is a subsidiary dispute concerning which experiences are of the right kind.

Is supervising engineering work for a decade or so the right kind? Or must one actually
 40

do some engineering oneself? And what constitutes "doing engineering"? Why isn't

supervising engineers "doing engineering"?

Back in the 1890s, the boundaries were vaguer. Then mechanical engineers were

still at pains to distinguish themselves from "mere mechanics" who were, in turn,

something more than today's mechanics. Mechanics then were still expected not only to

repair machines but to make improvements as necessary. They were still regularly

allowed to invent.lxxxv Electrical engineers had a similar problem distinguishing

themselves from "mere electricians" who were, in turn, something more than today's

electricians.lxxxvi And so on. Perhaps what GE then meant by "practical engineering"

might today be identified by a two- or four-year degree in "technology" rather than

"engineering" (or even by an advanced degree in technological management). But, back

in the 1890s, such distinguishing degrees were not an option. Engineers had to find

other ways to explain how they differed from mechanics, electricians, and other

craftsmen with whom they shared some tasks and much technical knowledge.

Engineers found only two ways to explain the difference.

One way to distinguish engineers from craftsmen was to understand

engineering as a kind of management. lxxxvii Engineers issue orders; those with technical

skills merely carry them out. Engineers are officers in the army of production.

Though it has strong roots in the history of engineering, this way of

distinguishing engineers from craftsmen is plainly inadequate. It fails to explain why

engineers should be in charge. The explanation cannot simply be that the employer so

ordains. If being put in charge of engineering work is all that distinguishes engineers

from other employees, anyone put in charge of engineering work would be an

engineer. Engineers have generally supposed that engineering requires more than that

(as, indeed, their employers have as well). lxxxviii

Engineers seem, then, pushed to claim that engineering requires knowledge

 41

craftsmen do not have: Engineers can give orders to craftsmen because engineers know

things that mere craftsmen do not. This claim, though plausible, is plausible only if the

knowledge in question depends, at least in part, on training outside the shop.

Knowledge of natural science and advanced mathematics certainly is such knowledge.

Hardly anyone would suppose much of those subjects could be learned in the shop.

That is one advantage of understanding engineering as fundamentally

"scientific" (rather than "practical"). There are at least three others. First, if engineering

was to be a profession (like law or medicine), not just a job title like "manager",

engineers could not let being an engineer depend on how an employer happened to

define the engineer's job. Credentials, not employment, had to define the engineer.

Second, a common academic training is generally considered one crucial mark of a

profession. Insofar as engineers considered engineering a profession, or wanted

engineering to be one, they would tend to emphasize academic training. Third,

engineering's unity, insofar as it exists, depends heavily on all engineers having an

education that they share with each other (a basis for the "engineering method"

engineers believe all engineers share). Emphasis on what goes on in the shop stresses

just those features of engineering that threaten to divide engineering into many

mutually incomprehensible occupations. In contrast, engineering-as-science seems to

confirm the sense most engineers have that, for all the immense differences between

fields, virtually all engineers share something that distinguishes them both from

ordinary workers and from ordinary managers. lxxxix

The question "Who is an engineer?" sounds like a philosopher's question--and it

is. But it is also a practical question: Every engineering society that decides, as most do,

to limit membership (or a certain category of membership) to "engineers" will have to

define "engineer" with more or less precision. The historian Edwin Layton has taught

us much about the consequences of adopting various definitions. Definitions close to

 42

the practical pole tend to turn engineering societies into trade associations; definitions

close to the scientific, to exclude many who shape the projects engineers carry out and

do much to maintain discipline among engineers. xc

Layton has, however, taught us that while failing to make clear how hard it is to

say what an engineer is. In particular, he has failed to notice that, at its extreme,

engineering-as-science can be as disastrous for engineering as engineering-as-practice.

Training engineers as scientists, if only as "applied scientists", tends to turn out

scientists rather than engineers. xci Consider, for example, the Lawrence Scientific

School, founded in 1847 as part of Harvard, to teach: "1st, Engineering; 2d, Mining, in

its extended sense, including metallurgy; 3d, the invention and manufacture of

machinery."xcii Plainly, Lawrence was supposed to be an engineering school. By 1866,

Lawrence had graduated 147 students: 94 of these became professors or teachers; 5

became college presidents; but only 41 actually became engineers (as against 126 from

Rensselaer during the same twenty years). xciii The Massachusetts Institute of Technology

opened in Boston in 1865 in large part because Lawrence had failed as a school of

engineering.xciv

Nonetheless, during much of this century, especially after World War II,

engineering education moved ever closer to the scientific extreme. Programs in

specialized fields of engineering--everything from agricultural engineering to

telephone engineering--disappeared from the undergraduate curriculum, leaving only

the larger divisions--civil, chemical, electrical, and the like. And even courses in these

fields tended more and more to emphasize general principles, calculations, and

laboratory work. Students were left to learn the art of engineering after graduation, if at

all.xcv

Only recently have engineering schools begun to move back toward practice.

They have done so largely under pressure from industry and the board that accredits
 43

engineering schools. This counter-movement has, however, not meant a return to the

shop. Engineering schools have, instead, begun to think of engineering in a new way,

that is, as fundamentally concerned with design. xcvi Some results of this new thinking

are already in place, for example, senior courses in engineering design. Other results

are only now showing up, for example, as design elements in junior or even sophomore

courses in engineering science. And some results are only at the stage of talk or

experiment, for example, as attempts to include in design courses everything from the

ethical issues a design might raise to the practical problems of getting colleagues and

superiors to adopt one's design. xcvii

In retrospect, these recent developments seem both sound and overdue. The

stereotype of engineering as the logical or, rather, mechanical, solution of practical

problems by deduction from scientific principles misses the creative side of much

engineering, something that should have been obvious from the striking newness of so

many works of engineering, whether the bridges of the early railroad engineers or the

bewildering variety of today's computers.

Of course, engineering is not only inventiveness, just as it is not only science or

only management. We have come to want engineering rather than mere invention in

many departments of life in part because engineers work within constraints other

inventors--whether architects, applied scientists, industrial designers, or mere

handymen--do not. Engineers have distinctive routines for assuring safety, economy,

reliability, durability, manufacturability, and so on. These routines, and the

engineering science behind them, are subordinate to engineering design. But, though

subordinate, they are fundamental to engineering, much as a certain pattern of rhyme

and meter is to making a sonnet.

Who then is an engineer? Today we must answer: anyone who can design as

engineers do.xcviii Unfortunately, we have only the roughest idea of what engineering
 44

design is. Today, the philosophy of engineering is where the philosophy of science was

a hundred years ago. We have barely begun to understand that there is a question. xcix

IV. Ethics and the Profession of Engineering

So far in this chapter, I have spoken of engineering primarily as an "occupation",

not a "profession". I had a reason. While the old expression, "liberal profession",

referred to any occupation suitable for gentlemen, the modern use of "profession"

requires more--organization, with standards of admission, including both training and

character, and standards of conduct beyond the merely technical. c In 1850, engineering

was still not a profession in this sense; nor was it so in the United States even in 1900.

Today, it is. What explains the change?

Until this century, engineering societies in the US were primarily scientific (or

technical) associations. So, for example, the American Society of Civil Engineers was

established with the purpose of "advancing knowledge, science and practical

experience among its members, by an exchange of thoughts, studies, and experience." ci

There was no suggestion either of improving the formal education of engineers or of

setting standards of conduct.

Indeed, the first efforts to set minimum standards for engineering education

came from the engineering schools, not from practicing engineers. In 1893, at the

Columbian Exposition in Chicago, seventy engineering teachers organized the Society

for the Promotion of Engineering Education (SPEE), later to become the American

Society of Engineering Education (ASEE). cii While SPEE undertook a number of

valuable studies of engineering education, making many influential recommendations,

not until 1932 did the major engineering societies establish the Engineers' Council for

Professional Development (ECPD) to accredit engineering curricula. ciii

 45

The adoption of standards of conduct began earlier. Indeed, in one sense, it

began when engineers first distinguished themselves from those unable to work the

way engineers do. Engineering can be defined (in part) by standards of competence

(and standards of competence are, in a sense, standards of conduct). But every skilled

occupation has standards of conduct in this sense; and some, like trade associations or

scientific societies, may be organized to maintain them. Ethical standards, not

standards of competence or organizations, seem to distinguish professions from other

skilled occupations.civ

Engineers in the United States lacked distinctive ethical standards until the

second decade of this century. Why did they not adopt such standards earlier? Why

did they adopt them then? I will venture a guess. Engineers did not adopt ethical

standards earlier for the same reason that most of today's professions, including law

and teaching, did not. They did not see the need. cv

Until this century, engineering was a clubby affair. There were relatively few

engineers and those few worked in a small world in which gossip maintained what

discipline was necessary. But, by 1900, that time had passed. Cities had grown up

where small towns had been. The big cities of 1850 or 1870 had tripled, quadrupled, or

quintupled in size. The same thing had happened to the companies for which most

engineers worked. cvi And engineering itself had grown enormously. The few thousand

engineers of 1870 had become more than a hundred thousand and seemed likely to

continue to increase rapidly. By 1900, most engineers were young. Old systems of

apprenticeship were being swamped. College or technical school was, or at least soon

would be, the primary route to a career in engineering.

The old men of the profession naturally sought new means to do what they

could no longer do by the old. A formal code of ethics must have seemed one way to

help the young understand what was expected of them. So, early in this century, each
 46

of the major engineering societies set up a committee to draft a code of engineering

ethics. The drafting proved harder than expected. The committees found that they

agreed on less than they had supposed. Even determining what that little was took

much effort.cvii The societies were not only writing down what they agreed on, they

were also hammering out new agreements. What began as an attempt to preserve the

past ended in a new profession--in two senses. First, engineers began professing

something new; they committed themselves to a specific code of ethics. Second, their

organizations were no longer mere technical societies. They constituted an occupation

organized to carry on certain work in accordance with standards beyond what law,

market, and morality demanded, a profession (strictly so called).

After World War I, there was a smaller round of code writing; after World War

II, another; and then, starting in the 1970s, the largest round yet. All this code writing

has produced much coordination among major engineering societies and substantial

agreement on what a code of ethics should contain. Today, engineers have relatively

clear standards of conduct they can look to for guidance and can cite when offering

advice to one another, when criticizing one another's work, or when seeking to prevent

certain conduct. Chapters 4 and 8 will provide examples of those standards. What

engineers still lack is a systematic way to protect members of their profession who act

ethically when an employer or client wants something else. As with other professions,

so with engineering: ethics is unfinished business.

 47

V. Concluding Remarks

We all have a tendency to see institutions, professions, and even people as more

or less complete, as Platonic Ideas dropped into history. This is plainly a mistake when

trying to understand people. We all know that, however smooth the surface we show

the world, we are all beings ever changing or, at least, ever capable of change. cviii

Since I believe this to be true of professions as well, I have tried to describe

engineering as an evolving institution, one that people much like us have made, not

always intending what they achieved, imperfect, as all human works are, and therefore

capable of improvement. I believe that thinking of engineering in this way will help

engineers both to understand and to resolve the ethical problems they face. I also

believe that thinking of engineering in this way will help the rest of us understand

engineering. In the chapters to follow, we shall see whether that is so.

NOTES

This chapter began as the first annual Engineering Ethics Lecture, funded by GTE, at

Wayne State University, Detroit, Michigan, 19 November 1992. I should like to thank

those present for a useful discussion. I should also like to thank Mike Rabins

(Michanical Engineering, Texas A&M), and my colleagues, Tom Misa (History) and Sid

Guralnick (Civil Engineering), for many helpful comments on an earlier draft, and Bill

Pardue for helping to track down many of the references given here.
48
 Chapter 3

ARE "SOFTWARE ENGINEERS" ENGINEERS?

"Today, the field has emerged as a true engineering discipline."

--John J. Marciniak, "Preface", Encyclopedia of

Software Engineering (1994)

"If you are a 'software engineer', you could be breaking the law. It is

illegal in 45 states to use that title, warns Computerworld newspaper.

People who aren't educated and licensed in 36 recognized engineering

disciplines can't call themselves 'engineers', and computer professionals

often don't qualify."

--Wall Street Journal, June 7, 1994, p. 1.

For those interested in professions, the emergence of (what may be) a new

profession should have much the same status that discovering a new class of objects in

the sky has for astronomers. Not only is it exciting to see, it is a chance to put theory to

work in unexpected ways, a chance to separate the charming from the true. This

chapter begins with recent events in what may or may not be the history of

engineering, the emergence of "software engineering" as a distinct discipline,

occupation, and (may-be) profession.

The term "software engineering" seems to have come into currency after a 1967

NATO conference on software design and testing used that term in its title. cix Today,

many thousands of people are called "software engineers", do something called

 50

"software engineering", and have sophisticated employers willing to pay them to do

it.cx Yet, "software engineering" is no ordinary engineering discipline. Few "software

engineers" have a degree in engineering. Some are graduates of a program in computer

science having a single course in "software engineering". (Typically, that course is

taught by someone with a degree in computer science rather than engineering.) Most

"software engineers" are programmers with no formal training in engineering. cxi Are

"software engineers" nonetheless engineers? What, if anything, makes this question

worth answering?

Let me answer the last question first: Defining a field is more than semantics.

How we define a field can affect how it develops. "Software engineering" may be a

field whose progress the analogy with engineering threatens, a field pushed toward an

unnecessarily rigid curriculum. cxii That is one reason our questions about "software

engineering" are worth answering. Another is that trying to answer them will help us

understand engineering. What are the boundaries of engineering? What is at stake

when such boundaries are drawn? A third reason our questions about software

engineering are worth answering is that trying to answer them will test the utility of

our history of engineering. What insight can it give us into such practical questions?

The insight may disappoint. What I shall try to show is that we can't tell whether

"software engineering" is engineering. Only the future can tell. The best we can take

from engineering's history is insight into why that is so. Getting that insight will lead

me to defend two theses: first, that "software engineers" are not engineers merely

because they do much that engineers do or know much that engineers know; and,

second, that whether "software engineering" can or should be a field of engineering

depends on whether "software engineers" can or should be educated in the way

engineers are. These two theses rest on a third: Engineering is (or, at least, should be)

defined primarily by its curriculum (rather than, as we might expect, by what

 51

engineers in fact do or know). Since the defense of the other two theses rests on the

third, it is with this one that we must begin.

I. The Standard Definition of "Engineer"

The standard definition of "engineer" looks something like this: An engineer is a

person having at least one of the following qualifications: a) a college or university B.S.

from an accredited engineering program or an advanced degree from such a program;

b) membership in a recognized engineering society at a professional level; c)

registration or licensure as an engineer by a government agency; or d) current or recent

employment in a job classification requiring engineering work at a professional level. cxiii

The striking feature of this definition is that it presupposes an understanding of

"engineering". Three of the four alternatives actually use the term "engineering" to

define "engineer"; and the other, alternative c), avoids doing the same only by using "as

an engineer" instead of "to practice engineering". cxiv

This definition, and those like it, are important. They determine who is eligible

for admission to engineering's professional societies, who may be licensed to practice

engineering, and who may hold certain jobs. Such definitions are also eminently useful.

For example, they do in fact help the Census Bureau exclude from the category of

engineer drivers of railway engines, janitors who tend boilers in apartment buildings,

and soldiers wielding shovels in the Army's Corps of Engineers. These, though still

called "engineer", clearly are not engineers in the relevant sense. They are engineers

only in a sense now obsolete.

The standard definitions do not, however, suit our purpose. They will not tell us

whether a "software engineer" is an engineer--or even how to go about finding out. A

"software engineer" may, for example, work at a job classified as requiring "software
 52

engineering [at a professional level]". That will not settle whether a "software engineer"

is an engineer: what an employer classifies as "engineering" (for lack of a better word)

may or may not be engineering (in the relevant sense). cxv

What will settle the question? In practice, the decision of engineers. An

organization of engineers accredits baccalaureate and advanced programs in

"engineering". Other organizations of engineers determine which societies with

"engineer" in the title are "engineering societies" and which--like the Brotherhood of

Railway Engineers--are not. Engineers also determine which members of their societies

practice engineering ("at a professional level") and which do not. Government agencies

overseeing registration or licensure of engineers, though technically arms of the state

rather than of engineering, generally consist entirely of engineers. And, even when they

do not, they generally apply standards (education, experience, proficiency, and so on)

that engineers have developed. Engineers even determine which job classifications

require engineering work ("at a professional level") and which do not.

The standard definition settles many practical questions, but not ours. Since

engineers divide concerning whether "software engineering" is engineering (in the

appropriate sense), to say that "software engineers" are engineers if, in the opinion of

engineers, they engage in engineering (at the professional level) is--for engineers and

those who rely on their judgment in such matters--merely to restate the question. cxvi

That is a practical objection. There is a related theoretical objection. A definition

of "engineer" that amounts to "an engineer is anyone who does what engineers count as

engineering" violates the first rule of definition: "Never use in a definition the term

being defined". That rule rests on an important insight. Though a circular definition can

be useful for some purposes, it generally carries much less information than a non-

circular definition. So, for example, a dictionary that defines "ethics" as "morality" and

then defines "morality" as "ethics" will help only those who understand one of the
 53

terms but not the other. The smaller the circle, the less helpful a circular definition is.

How might we avoid the standard definition's circularity? The obvious way may

seem to be to define "engineering" without reference to "engineer" and then define

"engineer" in terms of "engineering". The National Research Council (NRC) in fact tried

that approach, coupling its definition of "engineer" with this definition of

"engineering":

Business, government, academic, or individual efforts in which knowledge of

mathematics and/or natural science is employed in research,

development, design, manufacturing, systems engineering, or technical

operations with the objective of creating and/or delivering systems,

products, processes, and/or services of a technical nature and content

intended for use.cxvii

This definition is certainly informative insofar as it suggests the wide range of

activities which today constitute engineering. It is nonetheless a dangerous jumble. Like

the standard definition of "engineer", it is circular: "Systems engineering" should not

appear in a definition of "engineering". The same is true of "technical" if used as a

synonym for "engineering". (If not a synonym, "technical" is even more in need of

definition than "engineering" is and should be avoided for that reason.) The NRC's

definition also substitutes uncertain lists--note the "and\or"--where there should be

analysis. Worst of all, the definition is fatally over-inclusive. While "software engineers"

are engineers according to the definition, so are many whom no one supposes to be

engineers. Not only do applied chemists, applied mathematicians, architects, and

patent attorneys clearly satisfy the definition, but--thanks to the "and/or" between

"mathematics" and "natural science"--arguably so do actuaries, accountants, financial

 54

analysts, and others who use mathematics to create financial instruments, tracking

systems, investment reports, and other technical objects for use.

Though much too inclusive, this definition of "engineering" shares with most

others three characteristic elements: First, it makes mathematics and natural science

central to what engineers do.cxviii Second, it emphasizes physical objects or physical

systems. Whatever engineering is, its principal concern is the physical world rather

than rules (as in law), money (as in accounting), or even people (as in management).

Third, the definition makes it clear that, unlike science, engineering does not seek to

understand the world but to remake it. Engineers do, of course, produce knowledge

(for example, tables of tolerances or equations describing complex physical processes),

but (as we have seen) such knowledge is merely (or, at least, primarily) a means to

making something useful. cxix

Those three elements, though characteristic of engineering, do not define it. If

they did, deciding whether "software engineers" are engineers would be far easier than

it has proved to be. We could, for example, show that "software engineers" are not

engineers simply by showing that they generally do not use the "natural sciences" in

their work. That many people, including some engineers, believe "software engineers"

to be engineers is comprehensible only on the assumption that these three

characteristics do not define engineering (except in some rough way). But if they do not

define engineering, what does?

Before I answer, I shall describe three common mistakes about engineering to be

avoided in any answer. While these mistakes seem far from "software engineering",

they will bring us to the best point for understanding the relation between "software

engineering" and engineering proper.

 55

II. Three Mistakes about Engineering

The NRC's definition of "engineering" uses "technical" twice, once as a catch-all

("or technical operations") and once to limit the domain of engineering ("of a technical

nature and content"). It is the second use of "technical" that concerns us now. It seems to

be an instance of a common mistake about engineering, one even engineers make. We

might summarize it this way: Engineering equals technology. Anyone who makes this

mistake will find it obvious that engineers, whatever they may have been called, have

been around since the first technology (whether that was the Neanderthal's club, a

small irrigation system, or a large public work). Engineering will seem the second

oldest profession.cxx

There are at least three objections to this way of understanding engineering.

First, engineering can equal technology only if we so dilute what we mean by

"engineering" that any tinkerer would be an engineer (or, at least, be someone engaged

in engineering). Once we have so diluted engineering, we are left to wonder why

anyone might want an "engineer" rather than some other "technologist" who could do

the same job.cxxi Why demand a "software engineer" rather than a "programmer",

"software designer", or the like to do software design or development? What was the

point of inventing the term "software engineering"?cxxii

The second objection to "engineering equals technology" is that the proposition

makes writing a history of engineering (as distinct from a history of technology)

impossible. The history of engineering just is, according to this proposition, the history

of technology. Every (successful) inventor is an engineer; every (successful) manager of

industry is an engineer; and so on. We are left to wonder why our term for engineer--

unlike our term for architect, mathematician, or artisan--is so recent. Why does

"engineering" have a history distinct from "technology" when engineering just is

 56

technology?cxxiii Why do engineering organizations devote any effort to defining

"engineering"? Why not just define "technology" and "technologist" and then say "Ditto

'engineer'"?

The third objection to "engineering equals technology" is that it transforms talk

of engineering ethics into talk of the ethics of technology. It turns professional ethics

into public policy. Whatever engineering ethics is, it is, in part at least, the ethics of a

profession--not merely standards governing the development, use, and disposal of

technology but standards governing a certain group of technologists.

That reference to "profession" suggests a second mistake commonly made about

engineering, one we might summarize it this way: engineering is, by nature, a

profession. What makes this mistake attractive is the idea that a professional just is a

"knowledge-worker", that special knowledge defines each profession (as well as the

underlying occupation). Any occupation that requires a lot of training just is a

profession.cxxiv Engineering requires a lot of training; hence, it must be a profession.

Connecting profession with knowledge helps to exclude from the profession of

engineering those who, though they may function as engineers (or, rather, as "mere

technicians"), lack the requisite knowledge to be engineers strictly so called ("engineers

at the professional level"). Claiming that engineering is, by nature, a profession

provides an antidote to the first mistake, but only by making another.

What is this second mistake? Thinking of engineering as, by nature, a profession

suggests that organization has nothing in particular to do with profession. As soon as

you have enough knowledge, you have a profession. There could be a profession of

one.

Thinking this way makes much of the history of engineering mysterious. Why,

for example, did engineers devote so much time to setting minimum standards of

competence for anyone to claim to be "an engineer"? Why did they set these standards
 57

rather than others? Why did they suppose setting such standards relevant to being a

profession? Like other professions, engineering has a corporate history that such non-

professions as shoe repair, inventing, and politics lack. Any definition of engineering

must leave room for that history. What is striking about the history of engineering--

indeed, of all professions--is the close connection between organization, special

standards, and claims of profession.

A third mistake may help to explain the appeal of the second. We might

summarize it this way: the engineering profession has always recognized the same high

standards. There are at least two ways this mistake has been defended. One appeals to

the "nature" (or "essence") of engineering. Any occupational group that did not

recognize certain standards would not be engineers--or, at least, not be engaged in

engineering. Engineers (it is said) have organized to set standards to avoid being

confused with those who were not "really" engineers. The standards simply record

what every good engineer knows; they codify rather than legislate.

The other argument for this mistake appeals to the moral nature of the engineer.

In every time, it is said, engineers have generally been conscientious. To be

conscientious is to be careful, to pay attention to detail, to seek to do the best one can.

To do this is to be ethical. Professional ethics is just being conscientiousness in one's

work. To be a conscientious engineer is, then, to be (by nature) an ethical engineer. cxxv

Engineering societies adopt standards to help society know what it should expect of

engineers, not to tell a conscientious and technically adept engineer what to do.

Informing society is, according to this view, enough to explain the effort engineers put

into codes of ethics.

What is wrong with the proposition that engineering is, by nature, ethical? Like

the other two mistakes, this third makes understanding the history of engineering

harder. Why have engineers changed the text of their codes of ethics so often? Why do
 58

experienced engineers sometimes disagree about what should be in the code of ethics

(as well as about what should be in their technical standards)? Why do these

disagreements seem to be about how engineers should act, not about what to tell

society?

If we examine a typical code of engineering ethics, we find many provisions that

demand more than mere conscientiousness--provisions requiring, for example,

engineers to help engineers in their employ continue their education or that any public

statements they make be both truthful and objective. cxxvi Such codes are less than a

hundred years old.cxxvii Before they were adopted, an engineer had only to be morally

upright and technically proficient to do all that could reasonably be expected. In those

days, engineers had no responsibilities beyond what law, market, and (ordinary)

morality demanded (and so, no need to inform society what to expect). The claim that

engineering has always accepted the same high standards--that, for example, failing to

inform a client of a conflict of interest has always been unprofessional--is contrary to

what we have learned about engineering.

III. Membership in the Profession of Engineering

As we saw in Chapter 2, engineering education in the United States, almost from

its beginning, had two strands: one was a series of unsuccessful experiments with

various alternatives to the West Point curriculum; the other, the evolution of the West

Point curriculum into the standard for engineering education in the United States. The

details of that story do not matter now. cxxviii We need not, for example, be concerned

about how, or when, schools of mining became schools of engineering; or what exactly

came to distinguish a program in chemical engineering from a program in applied

chemistry. What does matter is that the education of engineers came to seem more and
 59

more the province of engineering schools, and these in turn came to be more and more

alike. For engineers, an engineer came to be someone with the appropriate degree from

an engineering school or, absent that, with training or experience that was more or less

equivalent. Hence, the standard definition of "engineer" with which this chapter began.

The point of this story is not that engineering will always have the same

curriculum that it does today. The engineering curriculum has changed much since

West Point was founded in 1802; there is, for example, now more calculus and less

drafting. No doubt, the curriculum will continue to change. Perhaps the second year of

calculus will disappear, with ecology or industrial psychology taking its place. The

point of the story of engineering as I have told is, rather, that just as today's curriculum

grew out of yesterday's, so tomorrow's will grow out of today's. Any new field of

engineering will have to find a place in that curriculum. Finding a place may mean

changing the curriculum; what it cannot mean is starting fresh. Finding a place in a

curriculum is a complex negotiation of social arrangements. It is like joining a family.

You can change your name to "Davis" if you like, make yourself look like a member of

my family (perhaps even genetically), and declare yourself a member of my family, but

that won't make you one. To be a member of my family, you must come in by birth,

marriage, or adoption.

Some fields of engineering (for example, nuclear) seem to have been born

engineering, but others (mining, for example) seem to have come in by (the

occupational equivalent of) marriage or adoption. For any field not born engineering,

the only way to become a field of engineering is by "marriage" (or "adoption"). Failing

that, it cannot be a field of engineering. It can only don scare quotes to avoid confusion,

start another family of the same name--as railway engineering has, but without its

historical justification--, or choose a more suitable name.

 60

The history of a profession tells how a certain occupation organized itself to hold

its members to standards beyond what law, market, and morality would otherwise

demand. The history of a profession is the history of organizations, standards of

competence, and standards of conduct. For engineering in the United States, that

history began after the Civil War. It is a confused story because the profession was

taking shape along with the occupation. Many early members of its professional

societies would not qualify for membership today.

Nonetheless, we can, I think, see that, as engineers became clearer about what

engineers were (or, at least, should be), they tended to shift from granting membership

in their associations ("at a professional level") based on connection with technical

projects, practical invention, or other technical achievements to granting it based on

two more demanding requirements. One--specific knowledge (whatever its connection

with what engineers actually do)--is occupational. This requirement is now typically

identified with a degree in engineering. The other requirement--commitment to use

that knowledge in certain ways (that is, according to engineering's code of ethics)--is

professional. While many professions (law, especially) make a commitment to the

profession's code of ethics a formal requirement for admission, engineering has not

(except for licensed P.E.'s). Instead, the expectation of commitment reveals itself when

an engineer is found to have violated the code of ethics. The defense, "I'm an engineer

but I didn't promise to follow the code and therefore did nothing wrong", is never

accepted. The profession answers, "You committed yourself to the code when you

claimed to be an engineer." cxxix

Attempts to understand "software engineering" as engineering have, I think,

generally missed this complexity in the concept of the profession of engineering.

Consider, for example, Mary Shaw's observation:

 61

Where, then, does current software practice lie on the path to engineering? It is

still in some cases craft and in some cases commercial practice. A science

is beginning to contribute results, and, for isolated examples, you can

argue that professional engineering is taking place. cxxx

Substitute "applied science" for "engineering" in the first sentence in this passage, and

for "professional engineering" in the second, and there is little to argue with. But, as it

stands, its final sentence is simply false. There is nothing in what Shaw describes to

suggest that "professional engineering is taking place".

IV. The Fundamental Problem in "Software Engineering"

The term "software engineering" was coined in the mid-1960's to describe "the

need for software manufacture to be [based] on the types of theoretical foundations and

practical disciplines that are traditional in the established branches of engineering". cxxxi

Thinking about "software engineering" thus began with the assumption that the

established branches of engineering share certain theoretical foundations and practical

disciplines. This is an assumption that engineers generally share, calling the theoretical
foundation "science" or "engineering science" and the practical discipline "engineering

method". Yet, even the history of "software engineering" puts that assumption in doubt.

The early proponents of "software engineering" disagreed concerning what

engineering's theoretical foundations and practical disciplines are. Some understood

engineering as essentially "applied science", with a theoretical foundation in physics,

chemistry, and mathematics. Others understood engineering as primarily a body of

techniques for design. For them, engineering was primarily a way of moving from

conception, through specification, to prototype, testing, and final fine-tuning. For most,
 62

however, engineering was primarily a way of organizing and managing a process of

design, development, and manufacture, of assuring that work would be completed on

time, within budget, and to the customer's satisfaction. cxxxii

In fact, what the established branches of engineering share, perhaps all they

share, is a common core of courses (physics, chemistry, mathematics, and so on), which

may or may not provide a theoretical foundation for engineering. Beyond that, there

are important overlaps between this and that field, many family resemblances and

analogies, but nothing more (or, at least, nothing more of importance). For a long time,

perhaps from its very beginning, engineering has been a protean mix of activities held

together by a common education. While the common education clearly had connections

with what engineers did, the connections were not always clear, even to engineers. cxxxiii

So, if "software engineering" is to be a field of engineering, strictly speaking, it

will have to require of its practitioners a degree in engineering (or its equivalent). cxxxiv

Right now, the "software engineering" curriculum is more flexible than engineering's. It

is, I think, an empirical question, one that remains open, whether students of "software

engineering" would be better "software engineers" if they followed engineering's more

rigid curriculum rather than, say, taking more computer science, psychology, and

management courses than engineering's curriculum allows. How much physics,

calculus, thermodynamics, and the like does one need to design, develop, and maintain

software?

The answer to this question is, I think, not obvious. Indeed, in its present form,

the question is probably unanswerable. How much physics, calculus, thermodynamics,

and the like a "software engineer" needs may well depend on the kind of software in

question (not whether or not it is "life critical" but what sort of knowledge its designer

should have to do it right). While we might worry about having someone who did not

know what engineers know develop software for engineering applications, would we
 63

feel the same about such a person developing a computer game for children or a

diagnostic program for physicians?

"Software engineering" was not born engineering. If it is ever to be part of

engineering ("an engineering discipline"), it must come in by "marriage" (or

"adoption"). That will require substantial changes in "software engineering",

engineering proper, or both. "Software engineering" may have to bring its curriculum

up to standards for engineering accreditation, or engineering may have to change its

curriculum to make room for "software engineering" (for example, by dropping the

required chemistry course), or both engineering and "software engineering" may have

to change. "Software engineering" cannot become engineering simply by adopting the

name, by copying engineering methods, or even by having some authoritative body

like the IEEE declare it engineering. Indeed, "software engineers" will not necessarily

be members of the engineering profession even if they receive an engineering

education.

Education only satisfies the occupational requirement. There is also the

professional requirement, commitment to the engineers' code of ethics. cxxxv So far,

"software engineers" seem to have supposed that they could have a code of their

own.cxxxvi

Like the occupational requirement, the professional requirement leaves some

room for maneuver. "Software engineers" can have their own code in addition to the

engineers' code (that is, a code with obligations beyond those all engineers share).

"Software engineers" can also try to work out a common code with engineers, changing

what engineers require of themselves. What they cannot do is both be engineers ("at the

professional level") and refuse to share engineering's (professional) commitments.

Will "software engineering" ever join engineering's family? That is a question for

prophets. What I have tried to do here is to use "software engineering" to reveal the
 64

complexity in the concept of a profession-of-engineering. I must add here that the

benefits of making "software engineering" a "true engineering discipline" strike me as

less certain than discussion so far has made them seem. Training in engineering as such

will not assure that projects come in on time, within budget, or to the customer's

satisfaction. While engineering education has always had elements of management--

more in the first half of this century than now--engineers have always had problems

delivering on time, within budget, and to the customer's satisfaction, especially in fields

(like computer development) where experience was thin. The obvious ability of

engineers in many fields to keep their promises seems more an indication of the

maturity of the field than of any special knowledge of engineers as such. Aren't

physicians and auditors just as able to deliver on their promises?

Nothing I have said here is meant to raise questions about the status of "software

engineering" as a discipline, an occupation, or even a professsion. My concern has been

how to conceptualize this new (but already respectable) occupation. Perhaps we would

understand it better if we stopped trying to borrow concepts from engineering and

instead borrowed them from architecture or industrial design, areas where chemistry,

physics, and mathematics are less important, pure invention more so, and codes of

ethics are less detailed. Or perhaps we should borrow concepts from "construction

management". "Software engineering" may be more like overseeing the building of a

great public work (a bridge, skyscraper, or power plant) than like doing the

engineering for it. Construction managers are at least as good as engineers at delivering

on time, within budget, and to the customer's satisfaction. cxxxvii Or perhaps "software

engineering" is more like what lawyers do when they create new negotiable

instruments or complex land-use agreements....

The question to be asked, then, is not whether "software engineers" are

engineers. Clearly, while some are, most are not. The question is, rather, whether (or
 65

when) they should be. My conclusion is that there is no fact of the matter here, only a

complex of social decisions in need of attention (decisions about standards of training

and conduct). Like engineering, "software engineering" is a social project, not a natural

species.
 66

NOTES

I should like to thanks Helen Nissenbaum, Ilene Burnstein, and Vivian Weil for helpful

comments on my first draft of this chapter. A short version appeared as "Defining

Engineering: How to Do it and Why it Matters" in Journal of Engineering Education 85

(April 1996): 97-101; a full version (under the present title and, despite the date, a year

later) in Philosophy and the History of Science 4 (October 1995): 1-24.

 PART TWO

Having defined engineering, we are ready to try to understand the place of ethics

in the practice of engineering today. Though this too will require some history, I begin

with a recent event, the Challenger explosion. That event is, of course, itself important to

engineering. The public seems to have found this event the most traumatic engineering

disaster in recent memory, more traumatic even than the two nuclear disasters with

which it must share a decade, Three Mile Island and Chernobyl. More than any other

engineering disaster, it seems to have given us an engineer-hero (Roger Boisjoly).

Engineers seem to have found in it confirmation of much they feared was wrong with

corporate decision-making. Yet, its importance to engineering is not why I shall give it the

attention I do. I have two other reasons for beginning this part with the Challenger, both

more mundane. First, the enormous documentation the disaster produced will allow us to

get closer to decisive events than is possible in most engineering. Here is a drama from

which we can learn much; here too are details to provoke thought about engineering's

"mission" and the place of a code of ethics in accomplishing it; here we may see the

profession in action. Second, however dramatic, the events leading up to the disaster have

many characteristics of ordinary engineering--especially, a large organization, cooperation

and conflict between engineer-managers and ordinary engineers, a mix of technical and

business considerations, the problem of defining what is and what is not a question of

engineering, and even ethical considerations in what may (at first) seem mere technical

decisions. The Challenger disaster is, in many respects, no more than ordinary

engineering writ large. It will (both in this part and in Part Four) help us to understand

what engineers do, what can go wrong ethically, and what can be done to prevent ethical

wrongdoing.
 Chapter 4

CODES OF ETHICS AND THE CHALLENGER

The Public knows that doctors and lawyers are bound to abide by certain

recognized rules of conduct. Not finding the same character of obligations

imposed upon engineers, people have failed to recognize them as members

of a profession.

--A.G. Christie (1922), engineer

With respect to each separate profession we must begin by analyzing the

functions it performs in society. A code of ethics must contain a sense of

mission, some feeling for the peculiar role of the profession it seeks to

regulate.

--Lon Fuller (1955), lawyer

On the evening of January 27, 1986, Robert Lund, vice-president for engineering at

Morton Thiokol, had a problem. The Space Center was counting down for a shuttle

launch the next day.

Lund had earlier presided at a meeting of engineers that unanimously recommended

against the launch. He had concurred and informed his boss, Jerald Mason. Mason

informed the Space Center. Lund had expected the flight to be postponed. The Space

Center had a good safety record. It had gotten it by not allowing a launch unless the

technical people approved.

Lund had not approved because the temperature at the launch site would be close

to freezing at lift-off. The Space Center was worried about the ice already forming here

and there on the boosters, but Lund's worry was the "O-rings" that sealed the boosters'
 69

segments. They had been a good idea, permitting Thiokol to build the huge rocket in Utah

and ship it in pieces to the Space Center two thousand miles away. Building in Utah was

so much more efficient than building on-site that Thiokol had been able to underbid the

competition. The shuttle contract had earned Thiokol a $150 million in profits. cxxxviii But the

O-rings were not perfect. If one failed in flight, the shuttle could explode. Data from

previous flights indicated that the rings tended to erode in flight, with the worst erosion

occurring on the coldest preceding lift-off. Experimental evidence was sketchy but

ominous. Erosion seemed to increase as the rings lost resiliency and resiliency decreased

with temperature. Unfortunately, almost no testing had been done below 40‘F. The

engineers had had to extrapolate. But, with the lives of seven astronauts at stake, the

decision seemed clear enough: safety first.

Well, it had seemed clear earlier that day. Now Lund was not so sure. The Space

Center had been "surprised" and "appalled" by the evidence on which the no-launch

recommendation had been based. They wanted to launch. But they could not launch

without Thiokol's approval. They urged Mason to reconsider. He had re-examined the

evidence and decided the rings should hold at the expected temperature. Joseph

Kilminster, Thiokol's vice president for shuttle programs, was ready to sign a launch

approval, but only if Lund approved. Lund's first response was to repeat his objections.

But then Mason had said something that made him think again. Mason had asked him to

think like a manager rather than an engineer. (The exact words seem to have been, "Take

off your engineering hat and put on your management hat.") Lund did and changed his

mind. Next day the shuttle exploded during lift-off, killing all aboard. An O-ring had

failed.cxxxix

Should Lund have reversed himself and approved the launch? In retrospect, of

course, it seems obvious that he should not have. But most problems concerning what we

should do would hardly be problems at all if we could foresee all the consequences of
 70

what we do. Fairness to Lund requires us to ask whether he should have approved the

launch given only the information actually available. Since Lund seems to have reversed

himself and approved the launch because he began to think like a manager rather than an

engineer, we need to consider whether Lund, an engineer, should have thought like a

manager rather than an engineer. But, before we can consider that, we need to know what

the difference is between thinking like a manager and thinking like an engineer.

One explanation of the difference would stress technical knowledge. Managers are

trained to handle people. Engineers are trained to handle things. To think like a manager

rather than an engineer is to focus on people rather than on things. According to this

explanation, Lund was asked to concern himself primarily with how best to handle his

boss, the Space Center, and his own engineers. He was to draw upon his knowledge of

engineering only as he might his knowledge of a foreign language, for example, to help

him understand what his engineers were saying. He was to act much as he would have

had he never earned a degree in engineering.

That explanation of what Mason was asking of Lund seems implausible, does it

not? (Why have a vice president of engineering for that?) But, if that explanation seems

implausible, what is the alternative? If Mason did not mean that Lund should make his

knowledge of engineering peripheral (as it seems Mason, also an engineer, did not when

he earlier re-examined the evidence himself), what was he asking Lund to do? What is it

to think like an engineer if not simply to use one's technical knowledge of engineering?

That (as we saw in chapter 2) is a question engineers have been asking for at least a

century. Answers have often been expressed as a code of ethics. So, it seems, one way to

begin to answer our question is to learn more about those codes.

I. History of Engineering Codes

 71

The first civilian engineering organization in the United States, the Boston Society

of Civil Engineers, was founded in 1848. Others followed, with the first truly national

organization appearing two decades later. Though leaders of these early organizations

sometimes referred to the "high character and integrity" engineers needed to serve the

interests others committed to them, the history of engineering codes of ethics in the

United States begins much later (as noted in Chapter 2).

In 1906, the American Institute of Electrical Engineers (AIEE) voted to embody in a

code the ideas expressed in an address by its president, Schuyler S. Wheeler. After much

debate and many revisions, the AIEE Board of Directors adopted a code in March, 1912.

The AIEE Code was adopted (with minor amendments) by the American Society of

Mechanical Engineers (ASME) in 1914. Meanwhile, the American Institute of Consulting

Engineering, the American Institute of Chemical Engineers (AIChE), and the American

Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE) each adopted a code of its own. By 1915, every major

engineering organization in the United States had a code of ethics.cxl

These first codes were criticized almost as soon as they were adopted. cxli They were

(it was said) too concerned with duties to employers and fellow engineers. Among the

provisions so criticized were these. The AIEE Code (sec. B.3) required the engineer to

"consider the protection of a client's or employer's interest his first professional obligation,

and [to]...avoid every act contrary to this duty." An engineer's duties to the public were

merely "to assist the public to a fair and correct general understanding of engineering

matters, to extend generally knowledge of engineering,...to discourage the appearance of

untrue, unfair or exaggerated statements on engineering subjects," and otherwise to be

careful what one said in public (sec. D.16-19). Though they often speak of "employers" as

well as of "clients," the early codes seemed designed primarily for the engineer who

contracts with many clients and is not dependent on any one of them. "Bench engineers",

employeed engineers without significant management responsibilities, always the

 72

majority, seemed almost forgotten.cxlii But perhaps most serious, occasionally one code

permitted conduct others forbad. For example, the ASCE Code (sec. 1) forbad an engineer

to "accept any remuneration other than his stated charges for services rendered his client",

while the AIEE Code (sec. B.4) permitted payments to the engineer from suppliers or

other third parties if the client consented. (These inconsistencies were important, of

course, only if all engineers belonged to one profession--only if, for example, civil

engineers and electrical engineers should be held to the same standard.)

Attempts to respond to such criticism began almost immediately. Among the first

responses was the code of the American Association of Engineers (AAE), adopted in

1927.--The AAE, though intended to include all engineers and briefly influential, was

almost dead by then.--None of the early attempts to respond to these criticism came to

much. But, on the eve of World War II, the American Engineering Council (AEC) began a

process that almost achieved agreement among engineers on a single code of ethics. The

AEC organized a committee to develop a code for all engineers. Each major engineering

society was represented. When the AEC dissolved, the Engineers Council for Professional

Development (ECPD) took over sponsorship. The resulting code was a conscious effort to

synthesize the major provisions of earlier codes.

The ECPD Code was enormously successful at creating at least the appearance of

unity among engineers. All eight major engineering organizations either "adopted or

assented" to it in 1947. By 1955, it was accepted, at least in large part, by 82 national, state,

or local engineering organizations. That was, as one commentator put it, "probably the

greatest progress to be made ever before or since toward the realization of a single set of

ethical standards for all engineers."cxliii

But the ECPD Code was not as successful as it at first seemed. Some organizations,

while "assenting" to the code, retained their own as well to preserve certain detailed

provisions that seemed to suit their circumstances better than the corresponding
 73

provisions of the ECPD Code. As time went on, these organizations tended to rely more

and more on their own code. The ECPD Code slowly lost influence.

The ECPD revised its code in 1963, 1974, and 1977 in an attempt to reverse this

trend. Though many of the revisions were substantive, perhaps the most important were

structural. Four "Fundamental Principles" replaced the "Forword"; twenty-eight "Canons"

were reduced to seven "Fundamental Canon"; and a set of "Guidelines" was added. These

structural changes were intended to allow an organization to adopt the Principles and

Canons without the Guidelines, if it did not want to accept the whole package. Though

the Guidelines are supposed to be read in the light of the Principles and Canons, they are

in fact an independent code.

The Accreditation Board for Engineering Technology (ABET) replaced the ECPD

soon after these revisions were made. The revisions nevertheless gave the ECPD Code

new life (though under the new name). The revised code (that is, the fundamental

principles and canons) has been adopted, at least in part, by most major engineering

organizations in place of their own code. There are, however, two important exceptions.

The National Society of Professional Engineers (NSPE) initially adopted the 1947

version of the ECPD Code but substituted its own code in 1964 and has since revised it

several times. Though still having much in common with the original ECPD Code, the

NSPE's Code differs somewhat both in structure and content. The NSPE Code is

important for two reasons.

First, the NSPE has a "Board of Ethical Review" (BER) which answers ethics

questions members of the society submit. While some other engineering societies have

similar advisory committees, the NSPE's is by far the most active in publishing the advice.

BER "opinions" are printed several times a year in the NSPE's magazine, Professional

Engineer. About 250 opinions have been collected and published in six volumes, the last

covering the period 1981-89. These opinions constitute a valuable resource on many
 74

questions of engineering ethics. So, for example, an engineer represented by a union who

wondered whether he could properly go out on strike when his union did, could turn to

BER Opinion 74-3, which ruled that an engineer should not participate in a strike

(supporting this ruling wiht relevant code provisions and offering several paragraphs of

argument).

Second, because professional engineers are licensed by states, the NSPE--through

its state societies--has a role in the regulation of professional engineers much like that state

medical societies have in the regulation of physicians. The NSPE Code is at least

potentially enforceable (though only against registered engineers) in a way other codes of

engineering ethics are not.

The other independent code, that of the Institute of Electrical and Electronic

Engineers (IEEE), is important for different reason. The IEEE, with over 300,000 members,

is the largest engineering organization in the United States. Its 1979 code represented an

alternative to the others. Much briefer than the NSPE's (though significantly longer than

the ABET Code without the Guidelines), it applied only to "members" of IEEE. Some of its

provisions were unusual as well. For example, "Article II" enjoined engineers "to treat

fairly all colleagues and co-workers regardless of race, religion, sex, age, or national

origin"--engineering codes generally protect other engineers from unfair treatment but not

all co-workers--, while "Article III" expressly limited what engineers owe employer and

client to what was consistent with "other parts of this Code" but did not (as other

engineering codes now do) declare the public health, safety, and welfare "paramount". In

1991, the IEEE abandoned that code for a much shorter one hardly distinguishable in

content from the ABET code (without the Guidelines). Unfortunately, historians have yet

to tell us how the 1979 failed or why the IEEE continues to insist on a code of its own

rather than just adopting (the virtually equivalent) ABET Code.

These four codes--NSPE Code, ABET Code, IEEE Code (1991), and ABET
 75

Guidelines--today serve as ethical benchmarks for engineers generally. No doubt, others

will follow.

II. Codes of Ethics Today

Most professions regularly amend their codes of ethics. Many have undertaken

drastic revisions more than once. But engineering seems to be unique in the number of

competing codes proposed and adopted over the years. Why has the history of codes been

different for engineering? Is engineering, or engineering ethics, itself unique?

Chief among the explanations often advanced for the number of codes is that

engineering is simply too diverse for one code of ethics to apply to all. Some engineers are

independent practitioners. Some are employees of large organizations. Some are

managers. Many are closely supervised. Some, whether in large organizations or on their

own, are more or less their own boss. Engineers (it is said) just do too many different

things for the same standards to apply to all. In sum, engineering is not a single

profession but a family of historically related professions.

Though much rings true in this explanation of the number of codes of ethics,

something rings false as well. If the divisions in engineering were like that, say, between

medicine and dentistry, why would engineers establish "umbrella" organizations and

devote so much time to trying to achieve one code for all engineers? Physicians and

dentists have not made similar efforts to write a single code of ethics for their two

professions. The three-quarters of a century engineers have tried to write a code for all

engineers is--like the existence of schools of engineering--itself evidence that engineers all

belong to one profession, however divided and diverse its membership. Indeed, we might

think of the effort to write a single code as an attempt to preserve the unity of the

profession. On this view, the number of codes proposed and adopted is an instance of
 76

(what engineers call) the "NIH" (Not Invented Here) phenomenon. The number of

independent professional organizations, not the existence of several engineering

professions, explains the number of competing codes.cxliv

The NIH phenomenon is likely to be strongest when each side has good reasons

for its view. Perhaps this is such a case. One side is certainly right to point out that a short

code, like the Ten Commandments, is easy to remember or consult. It can be

conspicuously posted to remind engineers of their obligations. A short code is also easier

to get approved because its necessary generality automatically obscures disagreement

over details of conduct. But the other side can also point out that a long code can provide

much more information. It can take into account special circumstances, make exceptions

explicit, and otherwise provide more guidance, at least for those willing to take the time

to read it through. It can make it less likely that engineers who think they agree on

standards will suddenly discover that they do not--at a moment when the discovery is

costly. Some professionals, for example, lawyers and accountants, long ago opted for a

long code like the NSPE's or ABET's Guidelines. Others, for example, dental hygienists

and social workers, have opted for a short code like the IEEE's or ABET's Fundamental

Principles and Canons.

Though the various engineering codes differ in length, they differ in content as

well (as we shall soon see). Since these latter differences seem to involve more than pride

of authorship, the NIH phenomenon only partly explains why engineers have not been

able to agree on a single code. History too doubtless has a part. The NSPE cannot give up

its code now without reducing substantially the value of its hoard of BER opinions. Other

considerations may also be relevant. For example, the NSPE's code is designed for use in

state disciplinary committees; neither ABET's code nor the IEEE's is. They are designed

primarily for self-discipline.

Whatever the explanation of the number of codes, there is no doubt that their
 77

variety could make it hard for an engineer to know what to do. An engineer--for example,

an IEEE member licensed as a P.E.--might be subject to several codes (the IEEE's, NSPE's,

and ABET's). Which should she consult? If the codes differ on some point, which (if any)

should she consider binding. What should other engineers think of her if she chooses to

do what one code allows even though another forbids it? What should they do?

These difficulties are not as serious as they may seem. In general, the various codes

are not enforced by the organizations adopting them. Though the language often

resembles that of statute, codes of ethics are in fact more like guides to conscience or

public judgment, that is to say, moral rules. An engineer who violates the code of one of

the organizations to which she belongs is not likely to be expelled (or even formally

censured). She is even less likely to have her "license to practice" revoked (since most

engineers are not licensed at all). Apart from pangs of conscience, the only repercussion

she is likely to suffer is the bad opinion of those who know her well enough to know what

she has done. Her primary concern should be one of justifying her conduct to those

concerned, herself included. (We shall return to the problem of resolving conflicts

between codes in chapter 8.)

But thinking of codes of ethics as moral rules rather than legal rules seems to

suggest new difficulties. If codes of ethics are merely moral rules, why worry about them

at all? Why should each engineer not let his private conscience be his guide? Why should

he have to consider what some organization of engineers has to say about what he should

do? What expertise can engineering societies have in morals? Aren't the experts in morals,

if there are any, philosophers or clergy rather than engineers? To answer these questions,

we shall have to look more deeply into the relationship between professions and codes of

ethics.

III. Professions and Codes

 78

A code of ethics generally appears when an occupation organizes itself into a

profession. Why this connection between codes of ethics and professions? We may

distinguish three common explanations.

One explanation, what we might call "definition by paradigm," has would-be

professions imitating the forms of widely recognized professions. To be a profession is to

be like the most respected professions, the paradigms. Since the paradigms--especially

law and medicine--require long training, special skills, licensing, and so on, so should any

other group that wants to be considered a profession. Since both law and medicine have a

code of ethics, engineering would naturally suppose it needed one too if it were to be a

"true profession".

Much may be said for this first explanation of why engineering has a code of

ethics. For example, the American Bar Association (ABA) adopted its first code of ethics in

1908, that is, four years before the first American engineering society did. Engineers

certainly did not ignore the ABA's action.cxlv

Though much may be said for this explanation, it seems inadequate for our

purposes. The emphasis on imitation does not explain why the "paradigm professions"

adopted codes or why engineers copied the ABA in adopting a code of ethics but not the

ABA's code, enforcement procedures, or licensing requirement. The emphasis on

imitation also makes it hard to understand why engineers think what the code says

important. After all, if a profession only needs a code so it can be like other professions,

why should it matter much what the code says? Does what the code says matter only

because the paradigm profession thinks what the code says matters? Why should the

paradigm profession think that? But perhaps most significant, the emphasis on other

professions does not explain why some early American codes of engineering ethics were

modeled on the code of the British Institute of Civil Engineers rather than on some
 79

American paradigm like the ABA's--or why, in England, the first professions to adopt

codes were the relatively low-status apothecaries and solicitors (rather than the high-

status physicians or barristers).cxlvi

One attempt to make up for these inadequacies of definition by paradigm yields

(what we may call) "the contract with society" approach to understanding the relation

between professions and codes of ethics. According to this approach, a code of ethics is

one of those things a group must have before society will recognize it as a profession. The

code's content is settled by considering what society would accept in exchange for such

benefits of professionalism as high income, prestige, and trust. A code is a way to win the

advantages society grants only to those imposing certain restraints on themselves. A

profession has no other interest in having a code of ethics.

While this second explanation may seem a significant advance over the first, it is

still far from adequate. In particular, it gives us little help in answering such questions as

the following: Why should engineers be so concerned about the details of their code

when, it seems, society recognizes engineering as a profession and does not much care

which of the various codes engineers adopt? Why did the original engineering codes take

so much space laying down rules about how engineers should treat one another when it

seems society is likely not to care about such things or (as in the prohibition of

supplanting another engineer) to be positively adverse? The inability of the second

explanation to help us answer such questions suggests that we should look for a better

one.

A third explanation of the relation of profession and codes of ethics seems better

than the other two. This explanation views a code as primarily a "contract between

professionals." According to this explanation, a profession is a group of persons wanting

to cooperate in serving the same ideal better than they could if they did not cooperate.

Engineers, for example, might be thought to serve the ideal of efficient design,
 80

construction, and maintenance of safe and useful physical systems. cxlvii A code of ethics

would then prescribe how professionals are to pursue their common ideal so that each

may do the best he can at minimum cost to himself (and to the public--if looking after the

public is part of the ideal). The code is to protect each from certain pressures (for example,

the pressure to cut corners to save money) by making it reasonably likely that most other

members of the profession will not take advantage of his good conduct. A code protects

members of a profession from certain consequences of competition.

According to this explanation, an occupation does not need society's recognition to

be a profession. It needs only a practice among its members of cooperating to serve a

certain ideal. Once an occupation has become a profession, society has a reason to give the

occupation special privileges (for example, the sole right to do certain kinds of work)--if

society wants to support serving the ideal in question in the way the profession serves it.

Otherwise, society may leave the profession unrecognized. So, according to this third

explanation, what is wrong with the first two is that they confuse the trappings of

profession with the thing itself.cxlviii

If we understand a code of ethics as the way a profession defines relations between

those who want to serve a common ideal, we may construe the number of different codes

of ethics as showing that engineers are not yet fully agreed on how they want to pursue

their common ideal. Engineering would, in this respect, still be a profession-in-the-

making. Thinking of engineering in this way is, under the circumstances, nonetheless

consistent with thinking of engineering as a profession. The substantive differences

between codes is not great. The differences in structure and language are more obvious

than important in the choice of conduct. Engineers seem to have agreed on all essential

terms of their "contract."

Understanding a code of ethics as a contract between professionals, we can explain

why engineers should not depend on mere private conscience when choosing how to
 81

practice their profession, and why they should take into account what an organization of

engineers has to say about what engineers should do. What others expect of us is part of

what we should take into account in choosing what to do, especially if the expectation is

reasonable. A code provides a guide to what engineers may reasonably expect of one

another, what (more or less) "the rules of the game" are. Just as we must know the rules of

baseball to know what to do with the ball, so we must know engineering ethics to know,

for example, whether--as engineers--we should merely weigh safety against the wishes of

our employer or instead give safety preference over those wishes. A code of ethics should

also provide a guide to what we may expect other members of our profession to help us

do. If, for example, part of being an engineer is putting safety first, then Lund's engineers

had a right to expect his support. When Lund's boss asked him to think like a manager

rather than an engineer, he should, as an engineer, have responded, "Sorry, if you wanted

a vice president who would think like a manager rather than an engineer, you should not

have hired an engineer."cxlix

If Lund had so responded, he would have responded as the "rules of the

engineering game" require. But would he have done the right thing, not simply according

to those rules but really (that is, all things considered)? This is not an empty question.

Even games can be irrational or immoral. (Think, for example, of a game in which you

score points by cutting off your fingers or by shooting people who happen to pass in the

street below.) People are not merely members of this or that profession. They are also

individuals (moral agents) with responsibilities beyond their profession, individuals who

cannot escape conscience, criticism, blame, or punishment just by showing that they did

what they did because their profession told them to. While we have now explained why

an engineer should, as engineer, take account of her profession's code of ethics, we have

not explained why anyone should be an engineer in the relevant sense.

We may put this point more dramatically. Suppose Lund's boss had responded in
 82

this way to what we just imagined Lund to have told him: "Yes, we hired an engineer,

but--we supposed--an engineer with common sense, one who understood just how much

weight a rational person gives a code of ethics in decisions of this kind. Be reasonable.

Your job and mine are on the line. The future of Thiokol is also on the line. Safety counts a

lot. But other things do too. If we block this launch, the Space Center will start looking for

someone more agreeable to supply boosters. We all could be out of a job." If doing as

one's professional code says is really justified (that is, justified all things considered), we

should be able to explain to Lund (and his boss) why, as a rational person, Lund should

support his profession's code as a guide for all engineers and why, under the

circumstances, he could not rationally expect others to treat him as an exception.

IV. Why Engineers Should Obey their Profession's Code?

We might begin our explanation by dismissing two alternatives some people find

plausible. One is that Lund should do as his profession requires because he "promised,"

for example, by joining an engineering society having a code of ethics. We must dismiss

this explanation because Lund may never have done anything we could plausibly call

promising to follow a code. Lund could, for example, have refused to join any

professional association having a code (as perhaps half of all American engineers do).

Would we excuse him from conducting himself as an engineer should? No. The

obligations of an engineer do not seem to rest on anything so contingent as a promise,

oath, or vow. The "contract" between professionals of which we spoke cannot literally be a

contract. It seems more like (what lawyers call) a "quasi-contract" or "contract implied in

law," that is, an obligation resting on what is fair to require of someone given that she has

benefitted in a certain way by some action of hers (for example, by claiming to be an

engineer).
 83

Another plausible answer we may quickly dismiss is that Lund should do as his

profession requires because "society" says he should. We may dismiss this answer in part

because it is not clear that society does say that. One way society has of saying things is

through law. No law binds all engineers to abide by their profession's code of ethics (as

the law does bind all lawyers). Of course, society has another way of saying things than

by law, that is, by public opinion. But it seems doubtful that the public knows enough

about engineering ethics to have a distinct opinion on the questions we are considering.

More important, it is not clear why public opinion or law should decide what it is rational

or moral to do. Certainly there have been both irrational laws (for example, those

requiring use of outmoded techniques) and immoral laws (for example, those enforcing

slavery). The public opinion supporting those laws could not have been much less

irrational or immoral than the laws themselves.

The two answers we have now dismissed share one notable feature. Either would,

if defensible, provide a reason to do as one's profession says independent of what in

particular the profession happens to say. The answers do not take account of the contents

of the code of ethics. They are "formal." The answer we shall now give is not formal. We

shall show that supporting a code of ethics having a certain content is rational by showing

that supporting codes having a content of that sort is rational.

Consider the ABET Code. It is divided into Fundamental Principles and

Fundamental Canons. The Fundamental Principles simply describe in general terms an

ideal of service. Engineers

uphold and advance the integrity, honor and dignity of the engineering profession

by: I. using their knowledge and skill for the enhancement of human

welfare, II. being honest and impartial, and serving with fidelity the public,

their employers and clients [and so on.]

 84

What rational person could object to other people with her skills trying to achieve that

ideal? (Or at least, what rational person could object so long as their doing so did not

interfere with what she was doing?) Surely every engineer, indeed, every member of

society, is likely to be better off overall if engineers uphold and advance the integrity,

honor, and dignity of engineering in this way.

If the Fundamental Principles lay down goals, the Fundamental Canons lay down

general duties. For example, engineers are required to "hold paramount the safety, health

and welfare of the public," to "issue public statements only in an objective and truthful

manner," to "act in professional matters for each employer or client as faithful agents and

trustees," and to "avoid all conflicts of interest." Each engineer stands to benefit from these

requirements both as ordinary person and as engineer. As ordinary person, an engineer is

likely to be safer, healthier, and otherwise better off if engineers only make truthful public

statements, and so on. But how could engineers benefit as engineers from such

requirements? To explain that, we shall have to try a thought experiment.

Imagine what engineering would be like if engineers did not generally act as the

Canons require (while statisfying the requirements of law, market, and ordinary

morality). If, for example, engineers did not generally hold paramount the safety, health,

and welfare of the public, what would it be like to be an engineer? The day-to-day work

would, of course, be much the same. But every now and then an engineer might be asked

to do something which, though profitable to her employer or client and legal, would put

other people at risk, some perhaps about whom she cared a great deal. Without a

professional code, an engineer could not object as an engineer. An engineer could, of

course, still object "personally" and refuse to do the job. But, if she did, she would risk

being replaced by an engineer who would not object. An employer or client might rightly

treat an engineer's personal qualms as a disability much like a tendency to make errors.
 85

The engineer would be under tremendous pressure to keep her "personal opinions" to

herself and get on with the job. Her interests as an engineer would conflict with her

interests as a person; her conscience, with her self-interest.

That, then, is why each engineer can generally expect to benefit from other

engineers' acting as their common code requires. The benefits are, I think, clearly

substantial enough to explain how an individual could rationally enter into a convention

that would equally limit what he himself can do. I have not, however, shown that every

engineer must benefit overall from such a convention, or even that any engineer will

consider these benefits sufficient to justify the burdens required to achieve them.

Professions, like governments, are not always worth the trouble of maintaining. Whether

a particular profession is worth the trouble is an empirical question. Professions

nonetheless differ from governments in at least one way relevant here. Professions are

voluntary in a way that government is not. No one is born into a profession. One must

claim professional status to have it (by taking a degree, for example, or by accepting a job

for which professional status is required). We therefore have good reason to suppose that

people are engineers because, on balance, they prefer to have the benefits of being an

engineer, even given what is required of them in exchange.cl

If, as we shall now assume, the only way to obtain the benefits in question is to

make it part of being an engineer that the public safety, health, and welfare come first,

every engineer, including Lund, has good reason to want engineers generally to adhere to

(something like) the ABET Code. No one wants to be forced to choose between conscience

and self-interest. But why should an engineer adhere to the Code himself when, as in

Lund's case, he may seem likely to benefit by departing from it? The answer should be

obvious.

Lund would have to justify his departure from the Code by appeal to such

considerations as the welfare of Thiokol and his own self-interest. Appeal to such
 86

considerations is just what Lund could not incorporate into a code of ethics for engineers

or generally allow other engineers to use in defense of what they did. Lund could not let

such an exception be incorporated into the code because its incorporation would defeat

the purpose of the Code. A code is necessary in large part because, without it, the self-

interest of individual engineers would lead them to do what would harm everyone

overall. Lund could not allow other engineers to defend what they did by appeal to their

own interests or that of their employer for much the same reason. To allow such appeals

would contribute to the breakdown of a practice Lund has good reason to support.

I take this argument to explain why, all things considered, Lund should have done as

his profession's code requires, not why he should have done so in some premoral sense. I

am answering the question "Why be ethical?" not "Why be moral?" I therefore have the

luxury of falling back on ordinary morality to determine what is right, all things

considered, that is, taking into account the fact of profession. The moral rule on which this

argument primarily relies is "the principle of fairness" ("Don't cheat"). Since Lund

voluntarily accepts the benefits of being an engineer (by claiming to be an engineer), he is

morally obliged to follow the (morally permissible) convention that helps to make those

benefits possible.cli What I have been at pains to show is how that convention helps to

make those benefits possible, and why, even now, he has good reason to endorse the

convention generally.

I have, of course, been assuming that engineers do in fact generally act in

accordance with the ABET Code (whether or not they know it exists). If that assumption

were mistaken, Lund would have no professional reason to do as the Code says. The

Code would be a dead letter, not a living practice. It would have much the same status as

a "model statute" no government ever adopted, or the rules of a cooperative game no one

was playing. Lund would have to rely on private judgment. But relying on private

judgment is not necessary here. Lund's engineers seem to have recommended as they did
 87

because they thought the safety of the public, including the astronauts, paramount. They

did what (according to the ABET Code) engineers are supposed to do. Their

recommendation is itself evidence that the Code corresponds to a living practice.clii

So, when Lund's boss asked him to think like a manager rather than an engineer,

what he was in effect asking Lund to do is to think in a way that Lund must consider

unjustified for engineers generally and for which Lund can provide no rationally

defensible principle making himself an exception. When Lund did as his boss asked

(supposing he did), he in effect let down all those engineers who helped to build the

practice that today allows engineers to say "no" in such circumstances with reasonable

hope that their client or employer will defer to "professional judgment" and that other

members of their profession will aid them if the client or employer does not defer.

Lund could, of course, explain how his action served his own interests and those of

Thiokol (or, rather, how they seemed to at the time).cliii He could also thumb his nose at all

talk of engineering ethics (though that might lead to the government barring him from

work on any project it funds, to fellow engineers refusing to have anything to do with

him, and to his employer coming to view him as an embarrassment). What he cannot do--

assuming we have identified all relevant considerations--is show that what he did was

right, all things considered.

But have we identified all relevant considerations? I certainly think so. But, for our

purposes, it does not matter. I have not examined Lund's decision in order to condemn

him but in order to understand the place of a code of ethics in engineering. There is more

to understand.

V. Using a Code of Ethics

So far, we have assumed that Lund did as his boss asked, that is, that he thought
 88

like a manager rather than an engineer. Assuming that allowed us to provide a relatively

clear explanation of what was wrong with what Lund did. What was wrong was that

Lund acted like a manager when he was an engineer and should have acted like one.

We must, however, now put that assumption aside and consider whether

engineering ethics actually forbids Lund to do what it seems he did, that is, weigh his

own interests, his employer's, and his client's against the safety of the seven astronauts.

Ordinary morality seems to allow such weighing. For example, no one would think you

did something morally wrong if you drove your child to school, rather than letting him

take the bus, even though your being on the road increases somewhat the risk that

someone will be killed in a traffic accident. Morality allows us to give special weight to

the interests of those close to us. If engineering ethics allows it too, then--whatever Lund

may have thought he was doing--he would not actually have acted unprofessionally. Let

us imagine Lund reading in turn our four "benchmark" codes. What would they tell him?

What could he infer?

Of the seven fundamental canons of the current ABET Code, only two seem

relevant: 1) "[holding] paramount the safety, health and welfare of the public" and 4)

"[acting] in professional matters for each employer or client as faithful agents or trustees."

What do these provisions tell Lund to do? The answer is not obvious. Does "public"

include the seven astronauts? They are, after all, employees of Thiokol's client, the Space

Center, not part of the public as, say, those ordinary citizens are who watch launches from

the beach opposite the Space Center. And what is it to be a "faithful agent or trustee" of

one's client or employer? Is it to do as instructed or to do what is in the client's or

employer's interests? And how exactly is one to determine those interests? After all, the

actual result of Lund's decision was a disaster for both employer and client--but a disaster

Lund, his employer, and his client (or, at least, their representatives) thought themselves

justified in risking. And what is Lund to do if the public welfare requires what no faithful
 89

agent could do? What is it to "hold paramount" the public welfare?

The IEEE Code of 1979-1990, for all its innovations, would not have helped Lund

much (even assuming Lund to be a member of the IEEE). Article III.1 more or less repeats

the faithful-agent requirement of ABET canon 4. Article IV.1 more or less repeats the

requirement of the ABET canon 1 (though without formally declaring the public interest

"paramount"). Members of the IEEE are supposed to "protect the safety, health and

welfare of the public and speak out against abuses in these areas affecting the public

interest." The duties of a faithful agent are, however, limited by other provisions of the

code while the duty to protect the public is not. The public welfare takes precedence

whenever it conflicts with the duties of a faithful agent. The old IEEE Code thus provides

a plausible interpretation of "hold paramount." This would be helpful if we knew what

was included in the public safety, health, and welfare. Unfortunately, the IEEE Code (like

ABET's) tells us nothing about that. The only relevant provision of the new IEEE Code is

the first: "to accept responsibility in making engineering decisions consistent with the

safety, health, and welfare of the public, and to disclose promptly facts that might

endanger the public or the environment." While the new code does not declare the public

safety, health, and welfare paramount (in just those words), it achieves the the same effect

by combing omission if all (explicit) reference to employer or client with a requirement

that IEEE members take responsibility for the public health, safety, and welfare.

Though the NSPE Code is much more detailed than the other two, its details are

only somewhat more helpful here. The first "rule of practice" simply repeats the language

of ABET canon 1, while the fourth rule does the same for canon 4. Rule 1a follows the

IEEE code in giving priority to the public safety, health, and welfare over all other

considerations but gives more content to how one should "disclose" any danger. If

overruling Lund's judgment were to endanger the public "safety, health, property, or

welfare," then, according to NSPE Rule 1a, Lund would have a positive duty to bring the
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matter to the attention of "the appropriate authority." The appropriate authority might, it

seems, be someone other than the client or employer. Rule 1b partially defines "safe for

public health, property, and welfare" in terms of conformity to "accepted standards." That

would be helpful if the problem that concerned Lund were conventional enough for

certain standards to have won acceptance. Unfortunately, the use of O-rings in question

here was so new that the engineers had no manual of "safety specs" to which to turn. That

was part of Lund's problem.

The NSPE Code illustrates the advantage of detailed provisions. The more detailed

a code, the more guidance it is likely to provide on just the question an engineer is

worried about. The current NSPE code could, for example, have contained a provision

like canon 11 of the NSPE Code of 1954: "[The engineer] will guard against conditions that

are dangerous or threatening to life, limb or property on work for which he is

responsible..." That would have made Lund's duty clear. Unfortunately, the NSPE Code

no longer contains that provision. Why? One possibility is that the drafters of the current

code thought the provision redundant given the duty to hold the public safety

paramount. Another possibility is that the NSPE Code--and ABET Guidelines--now

require engineers to be concerned only for the public safety, health, and welfare rather

than, as canon 11 seems to be, everyone's. Perhaps, after due consideration, the drafters of

the various codes decided it was too much to ask engineers to worry about the safety of

their client's or employer's employees as well as the safety of the public. How is an

engineer to understand a code of ethics if (as often happens) it does not clearly address a

problem?

That question will be surprisingly easy to answer if we keep in mind the

connection between professions and codes of ethics. The language of any document must

be interpreted in light of what it is reasonable to suppose its authors to intend. For

example, if "bachelor" appears undefined in a marriage statute, we interpret it as referring

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to single males, but if the same word appears undefined in directions for a college's

graduation ceremony, we instead interpret it as referring to all students getting their

baccalaureate, whether male or female, single or married. That is the reasonable

interpretation because we know that marriages usually involve single males (as well as

single females) rather than people with baccalaureates while just the reverse is true of

graduation ceremonies. So, once we figure out what it is reasonable to suppose engineers

to intend by declaring the public safety, health, and welfare paramount, we should be able

to decide whether interpreting "public" so that it includes employees is what they intend

(or, at least, what, as rational persons, they should intend).

The "authors" of a code of engineering ethics (both those who originally drafted or

approved it and those who now give it their support) are all more or less rational agents.

They differ from most other rational agents only in knowing what engineers must know

to be engineers and in performing duties they could not perform (or could not perform as

well) but for that knowledge. It is therefore reasonable to suppose that their code of ethics

would not require them to risk their own safety, health, or welfare, or that of anyone for

whom they care, except for some substantial good (for example, high pay, easy

application of the code, or service to some ideal to which they are committed). It also

seems reasonable to suppose no code they "authored" would include anything people

generally consider immoral. Engineers being generally much like the rest of us, we have,

all else equal, no reason to suppose engineers as a group to be bent on immoral conduct.

But what if that were not true? What if most engineers were moral monsters or just

self-serving opportunists? What then? Interpretation of their code would certainly be

different, and probably harder. We could not understand it as a professional code (a system

of morally permissible rules). We would have to switch to principles of interpretation we

reserve for mere folkways, Nazi statutes, or the like. We would have to leave the

presuppositions of ethics behind.

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But, given those presuppositions, we can easily explain why a code of engineering

ethics would make holding the public safety paramount a duty taking precedence over all

others, including the duty to act as a faithful agent or trustee of one's employer. Rational

engineers would want to avoid situations in which only their private qualms stood

between them and a use of professional knowledge they considered wrong or otherwise

undesirable. Each would (as we saw) want to be reasonably sure the others' knowledge

would serve the public even when the interests of the public conflicted with those of

employer or client. Given this purpose, what must "public" mean?

We might interpret "public" as equivalent to "everyone" (in the society, locale, or

whatever). On this interpretation, the "public safety" would mean the safety of everyone

more or less equally. A danger that struck only children, or only those with bad lungs, or

the like, would not endanger "the public." This interpretation must be rejected. Since few

dangers are likely to fall upon everyone more or less equally, interpreting "public" to

mean "everyone" would yield a duty to the public too weak to protect most engineers

from having to do things that would make life for them (and those for whom they care)

worse than it would otherwise be.

We might also interpret "public" as referring to "anyone" (in the society, locale, or

whatever). On this interpretation, the "public safety" would be equivalent to the safety of

some or all. Holding the public safety paramount would mean never putting anyone in

danger. If our first interpretation of "public" made provisions protecting the public too

weak, this second would make such provisions too strong. For example, it is hard to

imagine how we could have airplanes, mountain tunnels, or chemical plants without

some risk to someone. No rational engineer could endorse a code of ethics that virtually

made engineering impossible.

We seem, then, to need an interpretation of "public" invoking some relevant

feature of people (rather than, as we have so far, just their number). We might, for
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example, think that what makes people members of a public is their relative innocence,

helplessness, or passivity. On this interpretation, "public" would refer to those persons

whose lack of information, technical knowledge, or time for deliberation renders them

more or less vulnerable to the powers an engineer wields on behalf of his client or

employer. An engineer should hold paramount the public safety, health, and welfare to

assure that engineers will not be forced to give less regard to the welfare of these

"innocents" than they would like.

On this interpretation, someone might be part of the public in one respect but not

in another. For example, the astronauts would be part of the public in respect of the O-

rings because, not knowing of that danger, they could not abort the launch because of it.

The astronauts would, in contrast, not be part of the public in respect of the ice forming on

the boosters because, having been fully informed of that danger, they could abort the

launch if they were unwilling to risk the effects of the ice. On this third interpretation,

"public" seems to create none of the difficulties it did on the two preceding

interpretations. We now seem to have a sense of "holding the public safety paramount"

we may reasonably suppose rational engineers to endorse.

On this interpretation, all four codes of ethics would require Lund either to refuse

to authorize the launch or to insist instead that the astronauts be briefed to get their

informed consent to the risk. Refusing authorization would protect the "public" by

holding the safety of the astronauts paramount. Insisting that the astronauts be briefed

and decide for themselves would hold the safety of the "public" paramount by

transferring the astronauts from the category of member-of-the-public to that of informed-

participant-in-the-decision. Either way, Lund would not, under the circumstances, have

had to treat his own interests, those of his employer Thiokol, or those of his client, the

Space Center, as comparable to those of the public.

Is this the right answer? It is if we have taken every relevant consideration into
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account. Have we? How are we to know we have? We can, of course, go through a check

list. But how are we to know that the list is complete? Past experience is an indication, but

now and then something unprecedented occurs. So, what are we to do? In engineering

ethics, as in the rest of engineering, it is often easier to demonstrate the fault of

alternatives than to demonstrate that this or that answer must be right. This is such a case.

While we cannot demonstrate that our third interpretation is the right one, we can

demonstrate that the only obvious alternative is wrong.

That alternative is that "public" refers to all "innocents" except employees of the

client or employer in question. Employees are to be excluded because (it might be said)

they are paid to take the risks associated with their work. On this interpretation, Lund

would not have to hold the safety of the astronauts paramount. They would not be part of

the public.

What is wrong with this fourth alternative? Consider how we understood

"innocents." These are persons whose lack of information, training, or time for

deliberations renders them vulnerable to the powers an engineer wields on behalf of his

client or employer. An employee who takes a job knowing the risks (and being able to

avoid them) might be able to insist on being paid enough to compensate for them. She

might then be said to be paid to take those risks. But she would, on our third

interpretation, also not be part of the public to which an engineer owed a paramount

duty. She would have given informed consent to the risk in question. On the other hand,

if the employee lacked information to evaluate the risk, she would be in no position to

insist on compensation. She would, in other words, be as innocent of, as vulnerable to,

and as unpaid for, the risks in question as anyone in the public. Nothing prevents an

engineer, or someone for whom an engineer cares, from being the employee unknowingly

at risk. So, rational engineers have as much reason to want to protect such employees as to

protect the public in general. "Public" should be interpreted accordingly.cliv

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VI. Lesson

One notable feature of engineering disasters is that they seldom have just one

cause, whether bad design, natural catastrophe, operator error, or even conscious

wrongdoing. Engineering creates systems relatively immune to disaster, systems that

require many failures before anything big can happen.

Like most engineering disasters, the Challenger explosion could not have occurred

without many things going wrong. Disputes about "the" cause are therefore "academic"

(in the bad sense of that otherwise honorable word). The Challenger's design was

certainly imperfect (but what engineering design is not?). The O-rings were just one of

many troubles. Thiokol's (and NASA's) decision procedure seems to have been imperfect,

too. Redesign of the O-rings should have had top priority at least a year before the

explosion. There were budget problems, too, as Congress came to take the Space Program

for granted. Morton's purchase of Thiokol may have changed Thiokol's decision-making

in subtle ways, making it less engineering-oriented. And so on.clv Had any of these factors

been otherwise, Lund might have had an easy decision to make on January 27, 1986 (or

none at all).

Any engineer who has had an important part in some large project will find much

in the Challenger story familiar. The complex causal chain that led from the early 1960s to

the Challenger's explosion is not alien to engineering. Quite the contrary. Engineering is

inseparable from budgets, problems of coordinating work, choice of design on practical

(as well as purely technical) grounds, and so on. Such "political" considerations help to

explain why one night Lund became the last barrier to disaster, but they do not explain

away his decision or render it irrelevant. Among the many lessons the Challenger's story

has to teach is that, in practice, the ethics of engineers is as important to the success of
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engineering as good design or testing is.

VII. Professional Responsibility

Given the argument developed so far, engineers clearly are responsible for acting

as their profession's code of ethics requires. Do their professional responsibilities go

beyond the code? That depends on what we mean by "responsibilities" here. If we mean

(special) "obligations" or "duties", that is, acts required, then the answer is no; it takes a

convention, the code of ethics itself, to create those. If, however, we mean less, (something

like) "tasks they have good reason to take on or assign", then engineers certainly do have

professional responsibilities beyond the code. clvi Engineers should not only do as their

profession's code requires; they should also support it less directly by encouraging others

to do as the code requires and by criticizing, ostracizing, or otherwise calling to account

those who do not. They should support their profession's code in these auxiliary ways for

at least four reasons. First, supporting the code will help protect engineers and those they

care about from being injured by what other engineers do. Second, supporting the code

will help assure each engineer a working environment where resisting pressure to do

what the engineer would rather not do will be easier than it would otherwise be. Third,

engineers should support their profession's code because supporting it helps make their

profession a practice about which they need feel no morally justified embarrassment,

shame, or guilt. And fourth, considerations of fairness call upon an engineer to take on his

share of these additional responsibilities insofar as other engineers do the same and he (by

claiming to be an engineer) benefits from their doing so.

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NOTES

This chapter began as the first third of Engineering Codes of Ethics: Analysis and

Applications, a "module" prepared (with Heinz Luegenbiehl) in 1986 for a series

published by IIT's Center for the Study of Ethics in the Professions under a grant from the

Exxon Education Foundation (the same series in which Chapter 7 appeared). Though this

module never made its way to the press, a shorter (and substantially different) version

appeared as "Thinking Like an Engineer: The Place of a Code of Ethics in the Practice of a

Profession", Philosophy and Public Affairs 20 (Spring 1991): 150-167. I should like to the

series' Advisory Panel, Heinz Luegenbiehl, the editors of Philosophy and Public Affairs,

and those who listened patiently to one version or another for much useful advice.
 Chapter 5

EXPLAINING WRONGDOING

How often is a man, looking back at his past actions, astonished at

finding himself dishonest!

--Cesare Beccaria, On Crimes and Punishments, Ch. 39

What first interested me in professional ethics were the social questions: the

problems faced by those trying to act as members of a profession, the options available,

the reasons relevant to deciding between those options, and the methods of assessing

those reasons. I thought of myself as advising decision-makers within a complex

institution. I could, it seemed, contribute to right action in the professions simply by

applying skills developed in political and legal philosophy to this new domain. But, like

many others who began to do applied ethics in this way, I soon learned that matters are

not that simple.

Part of studying professional ethics is reading the newspaper accounts,

congressional testimony, and court cases that wrongdoing in the professions generates. I

read such documents to identify new problems. But, in the course of reading so much

about wrongdoing, I began to wonder how much use my advice could be. Though the

wrongdoers were usually well-educated and otherwise decent (like the characters of

Chapter 4), much of what they did seemed obviously wrong. Surely, they did not need a

philosopher to tell them so. I also began to wonder at how little the wrongdoers

themselves had to say about why they did what they did. They seemed far less articulate

about that than many an illiterate criminal.clvii

Having begun to wonder about the motivation of the wrongdoers I was studying, I
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turned to the philosophical literature explaining wrongdoing. I was surprised at how little

there was--and at how unhelpful. My wrongdoers did not seem to have done what they

did simply because they were weak-willed, self-deceiving, evil-willed, ignorant, or

morally immature--or even because they combined several of those failings. At most,

those failings seemed to have played a subsidiary part in what my wrongdoers did. Yet

the philosophical literature offered no sustained discussion of anything else. Only when I

turned to the more practical literature of organization analysis did I find more. And, even

there, I did not find enough. I still did not have a satisfactory explanation of the

wrongdoing I was studying. I concluded that we lack an adequate psychology of

wrongdoing.

This lack is unfortunate for both a practical and a theoretical reason. The practical

reaon is that the less well we understand wrongdoing, the less able we are to devise

strategies likely to reduce wrongdoing. The theoretical reason is that, insofar as we cannot

explain wrongdoing, there is a substantial hole in our understanding of engineering

ethics.

This chapter has three objectives: first, to provide some evidence for the claim that

evil will, weakness of will, self-deception, ignorance, and moral immaturity, even

together, will not explain much wrongdoing of concern to students of engineering ethics;

second, to add one interesting alternative to the explanations now available; and third, to

suggest the practical importance of that alternative. Ultimately, though, this chapter has

only one objective: to invite others to pick up where I leave off. Those interested in

professional ethics, including engineering ethics, need to think more about the

psychology of wrongdoing.

I. Three Examples of Wrongdoing

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Let's begin with the testimony of a minor figure in the General Electric price-fixing

scandal of the 1950s. No longer facing criminal or civil charges, he described how he got

into trouble in this way: "I got into it...when I was young. I probably was impressed by

the manager of marketing asking me to go to a meeting with him [where price-fixing

discussions took place]. I probably was naive."clviii

This explanation of our price fixer's wrongdoing is more interesting for what is

missing than for what is actually there. We hear nothing about greed, temptation, fooling

oneself, or anything else we tend to associate with those destined to do wrong. What we

do hear about is ordinary socialization. Having worked nine years at GE as an engineer,

our price fixer (at age 32) was promoted to "trainee in sales." His superior then showed

him how things were done. Yet, something is wrong. Our witness twice indicates that this

is only "probably" what happened. Though the acts in question are his, he talks about

them like a scholar analyzing someone else's acts. A screen has come down between him

and the person he was only a few years before.

An inability to understand their own past wrongdoing is, I think, not uncommon

in wrongdoers like our witness. But I can give only one more example here, just enough

to show that he is not unique. In 1987, The Wall Street Journal carried a follow-up on the

fifty people by then convicted of inside trading during the 1980s. Here is a part of what

we learn from one of them, a civil engineer: "When it started, I didn't even know what

inside information was." But around 1979, he says, he began reading about people being

arrested for inside trading--yet he continued trading even though he knew it was illegal.

It's a decision he wouldn't repeat. "In the long run," he says, "you are going to get

caught."clix

This testimony comes from a small investor, not a broker, analyst, arbitrageur, or

the like. Unlike our price fixer, this inside trader was never really inside the relevant

organization. He simply received information from inside that he had no right to. Yet, for
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our purposes, that doesn't matter. What matters is that he knew early on that he was

doing something illegal and stood a fair chance of being arrested. He went on trading

nonetheless. Why? He doesn't say and, more important, he doesn't seem to know. He

does not object to the law (as many economists do). He does not claim that what he was

doing was "really" all right. Nor does he report himself overcome by greed, temptation, or

evil will. All that he says is that he would not have done it if he had known then what he

knows now. What has changed? What does he know now that he did not know then? It

cannot be what he says, that is, "In the long run, you are going to get caught." He has no

way to know that every inside trader will get caught in the long run. Statistics on the

occurrence of illegal inside trading do not exist; but, if inside trading is like other crimes, a

substantial percentage of those engaged in it will never be caught.clx

Our witness's overstatement of the risks of being caught is, I think, better

understood as a way of calling attention to what he risked and would not risk again. He

now regrets doing what he did because he now appreciates what was at stake in a way he

did not at the time. He does not so much have new information as a new perspective on

the information he had all along. It is this new perspective that makes it hard for him to

understand how he could have done what he did. The person we are listening to differs

in an important way from the person who engaged in insider trading a few years before,

even if he does not know anything he did not know before. It is as if he sees the world

with new eyes.

II. Explaining Lund's Decision

These two wrongdoers are minor figures in major scandals. One may therefore

wonder whether the major figures need differ in some significant way. I don't think they

do. Recall the events the night before the Challenger exploded (described in Chapter 4).
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The story of the Challenger resembles many cases discussed in professional (and

business) ethics. While no one broke the law, as many did in the General Electric price-

fixing scandal, there was wrongdoing. And, in retrospect, everyone recognized that--or at

least sensed it. Mason quickly took early retirement. Kilminster and Lund were moved to

new offices, told they would be "reassigned," and left to read the handwriting on the wall.

Morton Thiokol didn't treat them as if their errors were merely technical; nor did it

defend their decision the way it would a decision it believed in. Thiokol's defense

consisted largely of lame excuses, attempts to suppress embarrassing information, and

similar self-convicting maneuvers.

What had gone wrong? Well, from the perspective of engineering ethics, it should

now be obvious. Lund, an engineer who held his position in part because he was an

engineer, had a professional duty to act like an engineer. He was not free to take off his

engineering hat (though he could wear other hats in addition). For an engineer, public

safety is the paramount consideration. The engineers could not say the launch would be

safe. So, Lund should have delayed the launch. Seven people died, in part at least,

because he did not do what, as an engineer, he was supposed to do.clxi

One of the features of the Challenger disaster that made it an instant classic is that

it has what seems to be a clear clash of legitimate perspectives. Lund was not just an

engineer. He was also a manager. Managers are not, by definition, evil doers in the way

that even price fixers or inside traders are. Government openly supports institutions to

train managers. Most of us want people to wear "management hats" now and then. Very

few would want to forbid managers to practice their trade. As a vice president of Morton

Thiokol, part of Lund's job was to wear a management hat. What then was wrong with

his giving approval after putting on that hat?

The answer must be that, in the decision procedure he was part of, his job was to

stand up for engineering. He was supposed to represent engineering judgment in

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management decision. He was vice president for engineering. When he took off his

engineering hat, he simply became another manager. He ceased to perform the job he was

needed for. That, in retrospect, is why, even from management's perspective, he had done

something wrong.

Why then did he take off his engineering hat that night? Lund's explanation for

deciding as he did was, and remains, that he had "no choice" given the Space Center's

demand. Self-interest will not explain what he means by "no choice." To approve the

launch was in effect to bet his career that the Challenger would not explode, to bet it

against the best technical advice he could get. Had he refused to approve the launch, he

would at worst have been eased out of his position to make way for someone less risk

averse. He would have had no disaster on his record and a good chance for another good

job either within Thiokol or outside. Self-interest would seem to support Lund's decision

not to launch.

What about moral immaturity?clxii This is a possibility, but only that. The records

we have tell nothing about anyone's moral development. Participants said nothing about

social pressure, law, ordinary morality, or professional ethics. They spoke entirely in the

bland technical language engineers and managers use to communicate with one another.

Whatever we say about Lund's moral development as of that night would be mere

speculation. Something similar is true of the hypothesis that Lund acted with evil intent.

By all reports, Lund was too decent a person for that.

What about carelessness, ignorance, or incompetence?clxiii I think none of these

explanations will do. Too much time went into the decision to dismiss it as simply

careless. Since Lund had the same training as his engineers and all the information they

had, we can hardly suppose him to be ignorant in any obvious sense. Nor can we declare

him to be incompetent. Too many experienced people--both at Thiokol and at NASA--

concurred in Lund's decision for it to be incompetent. Lund may well have been
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operating at the limit of his ability or beyond. But that is not necessarily incompetence.

We generally speak of "incompetence" only when we have competent alternatives. Here

we have no reason to believe that anyone who could have occupied Lund's place that

night would have done better.

Can we then explain Lund's decision by weakness of will?clxiv Did he know better

but yield to temptation, give in to pressure, or otherwise knowingly do what he

considered wrong because he lacked the will to do better? The evidence seems against

this explanation too. Mason's advice, "Take off [your] engineering hat and put on [your]

management hat," does not sound like tempting Lund to act against his better judgment.

It sounds much more like an appeal to his better judgment, an appeal from engineering

instinct to management rationality.

Lund did, of course, give in to pressure. But to say that is not to explain his

decision, only to describe it on the model of a physical process (for example, the collapse

of a beer can when we stamp on it). We still need to explain why the appeal to

management rationality was so convincing when nothing else was. (We need something

like the physical theory that allows us to understand why the beer can collapses under

our weight but not under the weight of, say, a cat.) Well, you will say, that's easy enough.

The appeal to management rationality allowed Lund to fool himself into thinking he was

doing the right thing.

Explaining Lund's decision in this way, that is, as a result of self-deception, is, I

think, much closer to the mark. Mike Martin, co-author of a good text in engineering

ethics, recently published a book on self-deception. Among his many examples of self-

deceivers are participants in the GE price-fixing scandal. I have no doubt that he could

find some self-deception in Lund as well.clxv

Yet, if we can, we should avoid explaining what Lund did by self-deception. Self-

deception, though common, is an abnormal process. It is something you do, not simply
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something that happens to you. You must knowingly fail to think about a question in the

way you believe most likely to give the right answer. You must then not think about the

unreliability of the answer you get even, or especially, when you must act on it. In its

extreme form, self-deception may involve believing something while being aware that the

evidence decisively supports the opposite belief. Self-deception is, as such, a conscious

flight from reality.clxvi

We should, I think, not explain the conduct of responsible people in this way

unless the evidence requires it. The evidence hardly requires it in Lund's case. We can

explain why Lund did what he did by a process which, though similar to self-deception,

is normal, familiar, and at least as probable on the evidence we have as any of the

explanations we have considered so far. For lack of a better name, let's call the process

"microscopic vision."clxvii

III. Microscopic Vision Examined

What is microscopic vision? Perhaps the first thing to say about it is that it is not

"tunnel vision." Tunnel vision is a narrowing of one's field of vision without any

compensating advantage. Tunnel vision is literally a defect in vision and figuratively a

defect in our ability to use the information we have available, a radical single-

mindedness, a monomania. Tunnel vision is often associated with self-deception. Any

advantage it might yield would be accidental.

Microscopic vision resembles tunnel vision only insofar as both involve a

narrowing of our field of vision. But, whereas tunnel vision reduces the information we

have available below what we could effectively use, microscopic vision does not.

Microscopic vision narrows our field of vision only because that is necessary to increase

what we can see in what remains. Microscopic vision is enhanced vision, a giving up of
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information not likely to be useful under the circumstances for information more likely to

be useful. If tunnel vision is like looking through a long tunnel to a point of light at the

other end, microscopic vision is like looking into a microscope at things otherwise too

small to see. Hence, my name for this mental process.

Microscopic vision is also not nearsightedness or myopia. A nearsighted person

has lost the ability to see things far off. His acuity close up is what it always was. But

when he looks into the distance, he sees only a blur. Like tunnel vision, myopia is partial

blindness; microscopic vision is, in contrast, a kind of insight. The nearsighted person

needs glasses or some other aid to regain normal vision. A person with microscopic vision

need only cease using his special powers to see what others see. He need only look up

from the microscope.

Every skill involves microscopic vision of some sort. A shoemaker, for example,

can tell more about a shoe in a few seconds than I could tell if I had a week to examine it.

He can see that the shoe is well or poorly made, that the materials are good or bad, that

the wearer walks in such-and-such a way, and so on. I can't see any of that. But the

shoemaker's insight has its price. While he is paying attention to people's shoes, he may

be missing what the people in them are saying or doing. Microscopic vision is a power,

not a handicap, but even power has its price. You cannot both look into the microscope

and see what you would see if you did not.

Though every skill involves what I am calling microscopic vision, the professions

provide the most dramatic examples. In part, the professions provide these because the

insight they give is relatively general. The microscopic vision of a lawyer, engineer,

doctor, minister, or accountant concerns central features of social life as the microscopic

vision of a shoemaker does not. In part, though, professions provide the most dramatic

examples of microscopic vision because both the long training required to become a

professional and the long hours characteristic of professional work make the
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professional's microscopic vision more central to his life. A profession is a way of life in a

way shoemaking is not (or, at least, is not anymore).

Consider, for example, the stereotypes we have of professionals--the pushy lawyer,

the comforting doctor, the quiet accountant, and so on. We do not, I think, have similar

stereotypes of the shoemaker, the carpenter, or the personnel director. These skills don't

seem to shape character as much. We joke about professional myopia--for example, the

engineer who, about to be excused from a death sentence because the guillotine's blade

jammed during the preceding execution, volunteers to "fix the problem." Behind the joke

is an appreciation of the power a profession has to shape, and therefore, to misshape, the

consciousness of its members. Real professional myopia is probably rare. Few

professionals seem to lose altogether the ability to see the world as ordinary people do.

Common, however, is a tendency not to look up from the microscope, a tendency

unthinkingly to extend the profession's perspective to every aspect of life.

Managers are not professionals in the strict sense. Though managing now has

schools like those of the professions, managers lack two features essential to professionals

strictly so called: first, a formal commitment to a moral ideal; and second, a common code

of ethics. Indeed, managers seem to me to lack even a clear sense of themselves as

managers, that is, as custodians of other people's wealth, organization, and reputation. I am

surprised by the number of managers who think of themselves as entrepreneurs or

capitalists, that is to say, business people who risk their own money, not someone else's.

Nonetheless, managing does today have many of the characteristics of a

profession, including distinctive skills and a corresponding perspective, but--most

important--a way of life that can make their microscopic vision seem all that matters. We

have the stereotype of the manager who can't see the toxic wastes beyond the end of his

budget. Behind that stereotype is a certain reality. Managers, especially senior managers,

work almost entirely with other managers. Their days are spent "in the office" doing the
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things that managers do. Often, those days are quite long, not 9 to 5 but 8 to 7 or even 7 to

8. They read management magazines and go to management meetings. They come to see

the world from the perspective of a manager.

There is a natural process by which people are made into managers. But most

companies are not satisfied with "normal acculturation." They have special programs to

train managers in a certain style of management. Roger Boisjoly, one of the engineers who

tried to get Lund to stick to his no-launch recommendation, was himself briefly a

manager. He went back to being an engineer because he wanted to be closer to work on

the shuttle. Though he has mocked the programs Thiokol had for managers as "charm

schools," he has also pointed out that they helped to make the managers at Thiokol a

cohesive team. They helped to give the engineer-turned-manager a clear sense of the

priority of the manager's way of looking at things.clxviii

What is the difference between the way an engineer might look at a decision and

the way a manager might? For our purposes now, what is important is the way engineers

and managers approach risk. clxix I think engineers and managers differ in at least two

ways:

First, engineers would not normally include in their calculations certain risks, for

example, the risk of losing the shuttle contract if the launch schedule was not kept. Such

risks are not their professional concern. But such risks are properly a manager's concern.

Second, engineers are trained to be conservative in their assessment of permissible

risk. Often they work from tables approved by the appropriate professional association or

other standard-setting agency. When they do not have such tables, they try not to go

substantially beyond what experience has shown to be safe. Engineers do not, in general,

balance risk against benefit. They reduce risk to permissible levels and only then proceed.

Managers, on the other hand, generally do balance risk against benefit. That is one of the

things they are trained to do.

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We have then two perspectives that might be brought to the same problem, the

engineer's and the manager's. Which is better? The answer is: Neither. The engineer's

perspective is generally better for making engineering decisions while the manager's

perspective is generally better for making management decisions. Either perspective has a

tendency to yield a bad result if applied to the wrong kind of decision. Indeed, that is

nearly a tautology. If, for example, we thought a certain decision better made by

managers than engineers, we would describe it as (properly) a management, rather than

an engineering, decision.clxx

If that is so, it's not too hard to understand why Lund changed his mind the night

before the Challenger exploded (and why he might still claim that he had "no choice").

Once he began thinking about the launch as an ordinary management decision, he could

rationally conclude that the risk of explosion was small enough to tolerate given the

demands of NASA and how much was at stake for Morton Thiokol. But why would Lund

think about the launch like a manager rather than an engineer?

As I described the difference between the engineer's perspective and the

manager's, the two approaches to risk are inconsistent. Lund had to choose. In a way,

Mason's plea to Lund to take off his engineering hat and put on his management hat

accurately stated the choice Lund faced. In another way, however, it did not. Mason's plea

assumed that Lund's decision to launch was an ordinary management decision. This

would be just what any manager would normally assume (unless trained to think

otherwise), especially a manager who had himself been an engineer. For an engineer to be

made a manager is generally considered a promotion, an opening of new horizons.

Managers are in charge of engineers. They regularly receive engineering

recommendations and then act on them, taking into account (it is supposed) more than

the engineers did. Engineers generally defer to managers. And so on.clxxi

Anyone who thought of relations between engineers and managers in this way
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would, I think, have succumbed to Mason's plea--unless he had a clear understanding of

what made him different from other managers. Lund seems to have had no such

understanding. Indeed, Mason's plea probably shows that no one in the senior

management at Morton Thiokol did. Mason could hardly have urged Lund to take off his

engineering hat in front of so many managers if it had been common knowledge that

Lund had a duty to keep his engineering hat on. Perhaps those who originally organized

the decision procedure at Thiokol understood things better. If so, they failed to

institutionalize their understanding. Without some way to preserve that understanding,

ordinary management understanding would eventually take over. The Challenger

explosion was the natural outcome of ordinary management.

My purpose here is not to defend Lund's decision but simply to understand how

he might have made it without being careless, ignorant, incompetent, evil-willed, weak-

willed, morally immature, or self-deceiving. I have explained his decision as rational from

a particular perspective, that of an ordinary manager, and then explained why that

perspective might seem the right one at the decisive moment. Earlier, I pointed out that, in

retrospect, everyone seemed to see not only that Lund made an unfortunate decision but

that the decision he made was wrong. I have now explained why. Lund was not an

ordinary manager; he was supposed to be an engineer among managers.

I should now like to generalize what we have learned from Lund: We have a

tendency to suppose that doing the right thing is normal, that doing the wrong thing is

abnormal, and that when something goes wrong the cause must be something abnormal,

usually a moral failing in the wrongdoer. What the analysis so far suggests is that

sometimes at least the wrong may be the result of normal processes.clxxii

The analysis also suggests something more: Managers sometimes say of obeying

the law, of doing what's morally right, or of maintaining professional standards, "That

should go without saying"--or, in other words, that the importance of such things is so
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obvious that pointing the importance out is unnecessary. The truth, I think, is almost the

reverse. I shall come back to this point in a few papges.

IV. Price Fixing and Inside Trading

Lund may be taken to represent one category of wrongdoer, those whose conduct

is merely unprofessional. There is another, those whose wrongdoing is illegal. Could

what I said of Lund apply to this other category as well? Let's try to answer that question

by briefly examining the two lawbreakers with whom we began. We are, I think, now

ready to understand how they might have done what they did.

First, the price fixer at General Electric. Arriving at his new job eager to learn, he

found that much he had learned as an engineer did not quite fit. Everyday was a struggle

to "get up to speed," as they say. One day his superior invited him to go to a meeting. He

went. The meeting consisted of sales managers from the other two major turbine

manufacturers, clearly respectable people and clearly engaged in fixing market prices.

There was no question that the meeting was secret. But what conclusion should he have

drawn from that? A company like GE has many secrets. The meeting did not take long

and soon our future price fixer was doing other things. After a few more meetings like

this, he was allowed to go without his superior. Soon the meetings were routine.

He may initially have had qualms about the meetings. We often have qualms

about a practice with which we are unfamiliar. But we have learned to suspend judgment

for a decent interval. Often the qualms disappear as understanding increases. Of course,

our price fixer may have had more than the usual reasons for qualms. He may have

received in the mail a copy of a GE policy that forbad what he was doing ("policy 20.5").

But the policy would have come from the law department, not from anyone in his chain

of command. Nothing would have made that mailing seem more important than other
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mailings from law or other non-line departments managers routinely ignore. What filled

our price fixer's time, his field of vision, as we might say, was learning to be a manager.

He had little time to think about matters that seemed to matter to no one with whom he

dealt. Eventually, he would stop thinking about the price-fixing as price-fixing.clxxiii

I have now told the price fixer's story in terms appropriate to microscopic vision. I

have described him as developing in a normal way a sense for what matters and what

does not matter in a certain environment. The process is similar to the "desensitizing" that

a surgeon must undergo before she can calmly cut off a human limb or put a knife into a

still-beating heart. Though the process I have described does not require learning to block

anything out, only failing to use some information because one is busy using other

information, it does share at least one important feature with self-deception (something

ordinary desensitizing does not): The price fixer was misled. The process nonetheless

differs from self-deception in at least two ways:

First, while self-deception presupposes in the self-deceiver some sense for the

unreliability of the procedure he is using to learn about the world, the process I have

described presupposes no such thing. Our price fixer might well have believed his

procedure would yield an accurate, albeit incomplete, picture of the world in which he

worked.

Second, while self-deception presupposes that the procedure used is in fact

generally unreliable, we need not presuppose that here. The procedure I have described

might well be generally reliable. The problem is that the price-fixer's procedure was not

"designed" to distinguish legal from illegal management. That procedure may well have

made sense in the 1950s. Who then would have thought that the managers of a company

like GE would have engaged in extensive illegal conduct? The discovery must have

astonished many people, including our price fixer.

Now consider our inside trader. He did get warnings of a sort our price fixer did
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not. He actually read about indictments of people for inside trading. Yet, he continued to

trade on inside information. Why? Perhaps he deceived himself about the chances of

being caught. A more interesting possibility, though, is that he never thought about being

caught. Consider: He began inside trading with a clear conscience. He read of its illegality

only after he had grown used to inside trading. Perhaps those with whom he cooperated

showed no fear. Busy with many things beside inside trading, normal prudence would

have told him that, if he feared everything the newspapers invited him to fear, he would

live with numberless terrors. We must use the judgment developed in daily life to put

newspaper stories in perspective. His immediate environment seemed as safe as ever. So,

why should he worry about what he read in the newspaper? Again, we have a normal

process leading to an abnormal result.

I do not, of course, claim that this is how it was. What is important here is not that I

have the story of these two right, but that what I say about them seems a plausible

description of many of those who engage in wrongdoing of the sort that concerns us, even

if it happens not to be true of these two. I am suggesting a hypothesis, not demonstrating

it.

Though that is all I claim for these two stories, I should, I think, point out one piece

of evidence suggesting that I have got both at least partly right. Remember that neither of

these wrongdoers seemed to understand how he came to do what he did. That is what we

should expect if my version of their stories is more or less right. As I have told their

stories, each did wrong in part at least because he did not use certain facts--policy 20.5 in

one case, arrests of inside traders in the other--in a way that would have led him to a true

understanding of what he was doing or to the conduct such an understanding would

normally lead to. The facts did not trigger the fear of punishment or concern about having

done wrong that seems normal outside the environment in which they were working. The

facts seemed to have been pushed from consciousness by other facts, as most of the world
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is pushed aside when we look into a microscope.

Once our two wrongdoers were pulled from the microscope, they would cease to

see the world as they had. They would not, however, have that sense of having "known it

all along" so characteristic of coming out of self-deception (since they could not have

known it until they looked at the world somewhat differently). They would instead be

aware of seeing something that--on the evidence now before them--must have been there

all along. Microscopic vision is a metaphor for a mental process, a "mind set" or "cognitive

map." Because the mechanics of such mental processes are no more visible to the person

whose mind it is than it is to an outside observer, our two wrongdoers need not have been

aware of what made them attend to other things until now. They could honestly be

perplexed about how they could have missed for so long what is now as plain as day.

V. Some Practical Lessons

What I have so far tried to do in this chapter is describe wrongdoing as the

outcome of a social process the literature on wrongdoing seems to have overlooked. I

have tried to avoid assuming such serious moral failings as weakness of will or self-

deception. I have, of course, not described my wrongdoers as paragons of rationality or

virtue. The price fixer and inside trader were certainly naive, that is, lacking enough

insight into the way the world works to recognize signs of trouble a reasonably

experienced person would have. Lund, however, seems no more naive than the rest of us.

I can imagine myself doing what he did. I assume many of you can too.

If the process I have described in fact explains much wrongdoing in large

organizations, we may draw some interesting conclusions about how to prevent

wrongdoing. The most obvious, perhaps, is that screening out potential wrongdoers of the

sort we have been discussing is probably impractical. Who would be let in by a procedure
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that would screen out the wrongdoers we have been discussing? We must instead

consider how to prevent wrongdoing by the relatively decent people an organization

must employ.

The problem as I have described it is that normal processes can lead to important

information going unused at a decisive moment. Lund's training as a manager would not

prepare him to see how special his role was. The future price-fixer's way of learning his

job would not alert him to the risks of illegality, much less to any moral objections to

fixing prices. The inside-trader's experience would make him discount the warning signs

in the newspaper. Though microscopic vision is not a flight from reality, it does involve a

sacrifice of one part of reality to another. Usually, the sacrifice is worth it. Sometimes it is

not. When it is not, we need to change the microscopic vision of those working in the

environment in question or change the environment. Sometimes we need to change both.

Often, changing one changes the other too.

How might we change the environment? One way is simply to talk openly and

often about what we want to have people notice. Lund would, for example, probably

have refused to do as Mason suggested if the people back at Morton Thiokol's

headquarters in Chicago had regularly reminded him that he was no ordinary manager:

"We are counting on you to stand up for engineering considerations whatever anyone else

does." Indeed, had Mason heard headquarters say that to Lund even a few times, he could

hardly have said what he did say. He might well have deferred to Lund's judgment, even

though NASA was pressuring him. "Sorry," he could have said, "my hands are tied."

Business professors especially, but ordinary managers as well, often decline to talk

about what they call "ethics" because, as they say, they do not want to "sermonize."

Sermons, they say, cannot lead people to do the right thing. If adults haven't learned to be

ethical by now, or don't want to, what can a sermon do?

These professors and managers seem to use the word "ethics" as a catch-all for
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whatever "value" considerations seem so obvious that they would be embarrassed to raise

them. I must admit to some doubts about their consistency here. These same people

regularly sermonize about profit. They do not seem to find mention of "profit"

embarrassing though we might suppose that, for them, profit would be the most obvious

value consideration of all.

Still, whatever doubts I have about their consistency, I can easily respond to their

concern about the ineffectiveness of sermonizing. However obvious the sermon's content,

the sermon itself can help to keep legal, moral, and professional considerations in an

organization's collective field of vision. That, I think, is why both business professors and

ordinary managers talk so much about profit. That is how they keep profit a primary

concern. So, doing the same for ethical considerations should, by itself, be a significant

contribution to getting decent people to do the right thing.

Sermons are, of course, hardly the best way to do that. Better than sermons are

such familiar devices as a code of ethics, ethics audit, ethics seminar for managers,

discussion of ethics in the course of ordinary decision-making, and reward of those who

go out of their way to do the right thing ("reward" including not only praise but also the

other valuables that normally go to those who serve their employer well, especially,

money and promotion). But, whatever the merits of these particular devices in

themselves, they all have this important characteristic in common. They help to keep

employees alert to wrongdoing. They help to maintain a certain way of seeing the world.

Now, about teaching. Part of teaching is getting people used to thinking in a

certain way. What academics call "disciplines" are in fact forms of "microscopic vision."

We should, therefore, pay as much attention to what we don't teach as to what we do

teach. If we limit ourselves to teaching technical aspects of a discipline, those we teach

will tend to develop a perspective including only those technical aspects. They will not

automatically include what we don't teach. Indeed, they would have to be quite unusual
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students even to see how to include such extras. If, then, we teach engineering without

teaching engineering ethics, our graduates will begin work thinking about the technical

aspects of engineering without thinking of the ethical aspects. They will not dismiss the

ethical aspects. They will not even see them.clxxiv

Of course, we can teach what we should and still do little good. Good conduct in

business or a profession presupposes a suitable social context. If a morally sensitive

graduate goes to work in a company where ethics is ignored, he will, if he stays, slowly

lose his sense of the ethical dimension of what he does. His field of vision will narrow.

Eventually, he may be as blind as if we had taught him nothing. This is--I should stress--

not a claim about moral development (as that term is now commonly understood). Our

graduate may well score no worse on a Kohlberg test than he did before. clxxv He will

simply have ceased to think of a certain range of decisions as raising questions to which

moral categories are important. The questions will seem "merely technical," "an ordinary

business decision," or in some other respect "merely routine."

To develop such "moral blindness" is, of course, a misfortune. Insofar as it results

from circumstances over which one has little or no control--for example, ignorance of

what a company is really like--it is a misfortune for which (in some sense) one cannot be

held responsible. Even so, the resulting moral blindness will not provide an excuse for

wrongdoing. Moral blindness is itself a character flaw. That an act arose from a flaw in

character (rather than from good character) adds to the grounds for condemnation rather

than reducing them.

That organizations can make the teaching of ethics ineffective by blinding its

employees to moral concerns is, I think, no reason not to teach ethics. But it is good reason

to conceive ethics teaching as part of a larger process; and good reason too, to try to

transmit that conception to our students. Caroline Whitbeck of MIT has, I think, provided

a good example of what can be done. As part of a course in Engineering Design, she has
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her students contact companies in the Boston area to find out how an engineer in the

company could raise an issue of professional ethics related to design. Her students thus

learn to think of their future employers as in part "ethics environments." But that is not all

her students do. Their inquiries make it more likely that their future employers will think

about how an engineer could raise an ethics issue. So, Whitbeck may also be helping to

improve the ethics environment in which her students will some day work.clxxvi
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Notes

An early version of this chapter was read at the Center for the Study of Ethics in Society,

Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo, 27 October 1988, under the title "Keeping Good

Apples from Going Bad." A later version, under the present title, was read at the

Philosophy Colloquium, Illinois Institute of Technology, 30 March 1989 and, somewhat

revised, published in the Journal of Social Philosophy 20 (Spring/Fall 1989): 74-90. I should

like to thank those present at these two events for their encouragement and criticism. I

should also like to thank Paul Gomberg for his careful reading of the penultimate draft

and Fay Sawyier for helping me to see microscopic vision for the first time.
 Chapter 6

AVOIDING THE TRAGEDY OF WHISTLEBLOWING

[T]he strength of the pack is the Wolf,

and the strength of the Wolf is the pack.

--Rudyard Kipling, "The Law of the Jungle"

We have so far focused on the decision to launch the Challenger, using it to

understand some of the complex interrelations between technical and organizational

factors so characteristic of much engineers do. Yet what the Challenger disaster is

remembered for today, if there is only one, is an engineer, Roger Boisjoly, who stepped

forward after the event, against the wish of employer and at the risk of career, to tell the

truth about what happened. He was not the first engineer to "blow the whistle" on an

employer, nor is he likely to be the last. Engineering's history confirms, if confirmation

were necessary, the emphasis in both the literature of engineering ethics and the teaching

of it on the subject of whistleblowing. Whistleblowing is one way engineers have to show

that the public health, safety, and welfare means more to them than employer, career, and

even their own material welfare. Whistleblowing also reminds us of the political side of

engineering, the importance of what engineers say and how they say it.

Most discussions of whistleblowing seek to justify whistleblowing or to distinguish

justified from unjustified whistleblowing; or they report who blows the whistle, how, and

why; or they advise on how to blow the whistle or how to respond to an employee about

to blow the whistle or what to do once she has; or they make recommendations for new

laws to protect whistleblowers. In one way or another, they treat whistleblowing as

inevitable. I shall not do that. Instead, I shall try to help avoid whistleblowing.

That purpose may suggest that I oppose whistleblowing. I do not. I think

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whistleblowing is, on balance, at least a necessary evil (and sometimes even a positive

good). I certainly think justified whistleblowers should have legal protection. clxxvii They

should not be fired for their good deed or punished for it in any other way. But I doubt

that much can be done to protect them. I shall use much of this chapter to explain why.

That explanation will bring out the destructive side of whistleblowing, making it

easier for most of us to see ourselves in the role of those who mistreat whistleblowers.

Insofar as it does that, it will give the organization's case for mistreatment. The

explanation will, however, also show the importance of avoiding whistleblowing. We

should try to get the benefits of whistleblowing without making people and organizations

pay the enormous price whistleblowing typically exacts.clxxviii

This chapter is addressed both to those who have a substantial say in how some

organization runs and to those who could some day have to blow the whistle on their own

organization. These groups overlap more than most discussions of whistleblowing

suggest.clxxix That, however, is not why I have chosen to address both here. My reason runs

deeper. I believe that, even if those two groups did not overlap, they would still share an

interest in making whistleblowing unnecessary; that both groups can do much to make

whistleblowing unnecessary; and that each will be better able to do its part if it

understands better what the other group can do.

I. The Informal Organization Within the Formal

Let us begin with the obvious. No matter how large or small, every formal

organization includes one or more informal groups. An academic department, for

example, is a network of poker buddies, movie buffs, cooks, and so on. Departmental

conversation is not limited to what must be said to carry on departmental business.

Ordinary life, ordinary attitudes, permeate the formal structure. Much of what makes the
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formal organization succeed or fail goes on within and between these informal groups.

Who likes you is at least as important in most organizations as what you do. Success is not

simply a matter of technical skill or accomplishment. You must also have enough friends

properly placed--and not too many enemies. Perhaps only at hiring time do academics

talk much about personality, but every academic knows of a department that fell apart

because certain members did not get along and others that survived financial troubles,

campus disorders, and tempting offers to individual members in part at least because the

faculty got along so well together.clxxx

Though my example is an academic department, nonacademics will, I think,

confirm that much the same is true of industrial plants, research laboratories, and even

government bureaus. Most of what makes such organizations work, or fail to work, can't

be learned from the table of organization, formal job descriptions, or even personnel

evaluations. Thinking realistically about whistleblowing means thinking about the

informal aspects of formal organization as well as the formal. I shall focus on those

informal aspects here.

II. Blaming the Messenger

"Whistleblower" is a capacious term. Whistleblowers can, it seems, be anonymous

or open, internal or external, well-intentioned or not so well-intentioned, accurate or

inaccurate, justified or unjustified. Perhaps strictly speaking, some of these are not

whistleblowers at all.clxxxi But I have no reason to speak strictly here. For my purposes,

"whistleblower" may refer to any member of a formal organization who takes information

out of channels to try to stop the organization from doing something he believes morally

wrong (or to force it to do something he believes morally required).clxxxii

Almost any organization will fire a whistleblower if it can, whether she was right
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or not; will ruin her job prospects if it can; and, if it can do neither, will still do what it can

to make her life miserable. An otherwise humane organization can treat a whistleblower

savagely.clxxxiii Why?

The most common answer is that those who mistreat whistleblowers do so because

they expect to benefit from having fewer whistleblowers. The self-interest of individuals

or their organization explains the mistreatment.

Though no doubt part of the truth, this explanation is, I think, only a small part.

We are in general far from perfect judges of self-interest. Our judgment does not improve

simply because we assume an organizational role. We can still be quite irrational. Recall

how Shakespeare's Cleopatra responds to her messenger's report that Antony has married

Octavia:

...Hence

Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes

Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head;

Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire and stew'd in brine...

...let ill tidings tell

Themselves when they be felt.clxxxiv

Though Cleopatra had ordered him to spy on Antony, the messenger will hear more

harsh words, receive several hard blows, and have a knife angrily put to his throat before

he is allowed to leave with a small reward.

Today's formal organizations can treat the bringer of bad news much as

Shakespeare's love-sick Cleopatra did. So, for example, in a recent book on corporate life,

Robert Jackall grimly recounts what happened to several executives with bad news to tell

their respective organizations. Though each discovered wrongdoing it was his duty to
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discover, reported it through channels, and saw the wrongdoer punished, though none of

them was responsible for the wrong reported, and though the organization was better off

for the report, the lucky among Jackall's executives had their part in the affair forgotten.

Some paid with their careers.clxxxv

We generally think of information as power--and it is. But thinking of information

that way is no small achievement when the information wrecks our plans. Even

experienced managers can find themselves telling subordinates, "I don't want to hear any

more bad news."

The rationality of formal organization is an ideal never more than partially

achieved. We must keep that in mind if we are to understand what happens to so many

whistleblowers. An organization that would "whip with wire and stew in brine" the

simple bringer of bad news is not likely to respond well to the whistleblower--even if, as

often happens, the whistleblower serves the organization's long-term interests. The

whistleblower is, after all, not only a bearer of bad news; he is bad news.

III. Whistleblowing as Bad News All Around

Discussions of whistleblowing tend to emphasize the undeniable good the accurate

whistleblower does (both directly, by revealing wrongdoing, and indirectly, by deterring

further wrongdoing). The incidental harm tends to be overshadowed, perhaps because so

much of it seems deserved. The harm done by inaccurate whistleblowing has received

much less attention.clxxxvi

Whatever the reasons for ignoring the bad news about whistleblowing, the fact

remains that much of it is ignored and, for our purposes, the bad news is crucial. So, let us

recall how much bad news there is:

Whistleblowing is always proof of organizational trouble. Employees do not go out

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of channels unless the channels at least seem inadequate.

Whistleblowing is also proof of management failure. Usually several managers

directly above the whistleblower will have heard his complaint, tried to deal with it in

some way, and failed to satisfy him. However managers view the whistleblower's

complaint, they are bound to view their own failure to "keep control" as a blot on their

record.

Whistleblowing is also bad news for those on whom the whistle is blown. What

they were peacefully doing in obscurity is suddenly in the spotlight. They will have to

participate in "damage control" meetings, investigations, and the like that would not

otherwise demand their scarce time. They will have to write unusual reports, worry about

the effect of publicity on their own career, and face the pointed questions of spouse,

children, and friends. And they may have to go on doing such things for months--or even

years.

Insofar as whistleblowing has such effects, no one within the organization will be

able to hear the whistleblower's name without thinking unpleasant thoughts. No manager

will be able to make a decision about the whistleblower without having bad associations

color her judgment. The whistleblower not only makes conscious enemies within his

organization, he can also create enormous biases against himself, biases very hard to

cancel by any formal procedure.

And that is not all the bad news. What must the whistleblower have become to

blow the whistle? At the very least, he must have lost faith in the formal organization. If

he had kept faith, he would have accepted whatever decision came through formal

channels--at least once he had exhausted all formal means of appeal.

For anyone who has been a loyal employee for many years, losing faith in the

organization is likely to be quite painful--rather like the disintegration of a marriage. My

impression is that few whistleblowers take their job thinking that they might some day
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have to blow the whistle. They seem to start out as loyal employees--perhaps more loyal

than most. One day something happens to shake their loyalty. Further shocks follow until

loyalty collapses, leaving behind a great emptiness. While managers tend to think of

whistleblowers as traitors to the organization, most whistleblowers seem to feel that, on

the contrary, it is the organization that has betrayed them.clxxxvii

This bad news implies more. Before the whistleblower was forced to blow the

whistle, she trusted the formal organization. She took its good sense for granted. That is

no longer possible. Faith has become suspicion. Since what we call "organizational

authority" is precisely the ability of the organization to have its commands taken more or

less on faith, the "powers that be" now have as much reason to distrust the whistleblower

as she has to distrust them. clxxxviii She no longer recognizes their authority. She is much

more likely to blow the whistle than before. She is now an enemy within.

Something equally bad has happened to relations between the whistleblower and

her coworkers. Whistleblowing tends to bring out the worst in people. Some friends will

have become implacable enemies. Others will hide, fearing "guilt by association." Most,

perhaps, simply lose interest, looking on the whistleblower as they would someone dying

of cancer. These desertions can leave deep scars. And even when they do not, they leave

the whistleblower an outsider, a loner in an organization in which isolation for any reason

makes one vulnerable.

All this bad news suggests some hard questions: How can a whistleblower work as

before with people whose loyalty he no longer shares? How can coworkers treat him as

they did before when he is no longer quite one of them? How can he hope for promotion,

or even retention, in an organization in which he can put no trust, in which he has no

friends, and for which he is likely to make further trouble? These, I think, are plainly

questions a law cannot answer.

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IV. Helping the Whistleblower and the Organization

What then can be done for the whistleblower? One option is to find her another

job. That is not easy. Potential employers generally shun known whistleblowers. That

alone makes finding a new job hard. Then too, the whistleblower may not be as good an

interviewee as before. Many whistleblowers seem to signal the bad news even when they

do their best to conceal it. They may, for example, sound emotionally exhausted, ask

questions that suggest distrust, or just seem prickly. They are like people going through a

bad divorce.

Since few potential employers want someone else's troubles, we must draw this

paradoxical conclusion: the whistleblower's best hope for continuing her career may be

her old employer. That the old employer may be her best hope is the chief reason to

support laws protecting whistleblowers. Though a law can offer the whistleblower little

direct protection, it can prod the organization to think about making peace with the

whistleblower. This, however, is still a small hope. The organization can make peace with

the whistleblower only if it can reestablish her loyalty to the organization and her trust in

those with whom she must work. That is not easy.

Clearly, the formal organization itself must change enough for the whistleblower

to have good reason to believe that she will not have to go out of channels again. The

changes will probably have to be substantial. Most organizations automatically resist

substantial change. But formal changes alone will not be enough to reestablish the

whistleblower's informal relations with superiors, subordinates, and coworkers. What is

needed in addition is something like marriage counseling, group therapy to expose and

resolve all the feelings of betrayal, distrust, and rejection whistleblowing inevitably

generates. The whistleblower will not be safe until she is reintegrated into the informal

organization.
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Some government agencies have required employees involved in a whistleblowing

case to participate in such group therapy. The results so far have not been good.

Managers, especially, seem to view such therapy as just one more hoop to jump through

on the way to the inevitable. clxxxix To work, the therapy probably needs to be voluntarily

undertaken by all participants, something not easily legislated.

That is why even this best hope for the whistleblower, reconciliation with the

organization, is so small. We need to find better ways to protect whistleblowers. In the

long run at least, peace between the whistleblower and the organization is as good for the

organization as for the whistleblower. The whistleblower is not really an enemy. An

organization that has whistleblowers needs them. The whistleblower is like the knock at

the door that wakes one in a house on fire--unwelcome, but better than sleeping till the

fire reaches the bed. An organization that punishes its whistleblowers blinds itself to

troubles better faced. So, for example, when the Bay Area Transit Authority (BART) fired

three electrical engineers for reporting to its Board trouble with the program that was to

run its new operatorless trains, it merely turned a technical problem into scandal waiting

to happen. When a train jumped the tracks after rushing through a station at which it was

supposed to stop, BART had to face the technical problem the engineers had identified, to

deal with public concern over the operator-less trains, and to explain why it had ignored

the problem until then.

To say that whistleblowers generally tell an organization what it needs to know is

not to deny the disadvantages of whistleblowing described earlier but to explain why we

should try to make whistleblowing unnecessary rather than try to prevent whistleblowing

in other ways. It is to the chief means of making whistleblowing unnecessary that I now

turn.

V. How Organizations Can Avoid Whistleblowing

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If whistleblowing means that an organization has trouble using bad news, one way

for an organization to avoid whistleblowing is to improve its ability to use bad news. We

may distinguish three approaches: procedural, educational, and structural.

One approach, what we might call the "procedural," builds invitations to report

bad news into the ordinary ways of doing business. These procedures can be quite

simple, for example, a space on a form for "disadvantages" or "risks." Such a blank almost

forces the person filling out the form to say something negative. Those above him are also

more likely to treat bad news reported in this way as part of "doing the job" than they

would the same bad news reported without that specific invitation.cxc

The first approach also includes more complicated procedures, for example,

"review meetings" the purpose of which is to identify problems. The review meeting

works like a blank space. Where the emphasis is on revealing bad news, more bad news is

likely to come out. Revealing bad news is more likely to seem part of the job.

Of course, how things will seem is in part a matter of the mental set that the people

involved bring to the procedure. That set will be determined in large part by what has

happened in the organization before. Organizational atmosphere can turn any procedure

into a mere formality. If, for example, people who fill in the disadvantage blank or speak

up at a review meeting are commonly treated like Cleopatra's messenger, the procedures

will bring in little bad news. Part of making procedures work is making sure those

involved think about them in the right way. That is especially important when the

procedures are new and patterns of response have not yet developed.cxci

In a way, then, my first approach, the procedural, presupposes the two others.

Those participating in various procedures need to understand how important bad news

can be. They also need regular reminders because everyday experience tends to teach

them how much bad news hurts. Education can provide one reminder; a structure of
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formal incentives can provide another.

I intend "education" to be understood broadly (so broadly in fact that the line

between education and formal incentives all but disappears). Training sessions in which

superiors or special trainers stress the importance of hearing the worst is only part of what

I have in mind. Everyday experience is also part of education. Subordinates are more

likely to take the formal training to heart if they are regularly thanked for giving superiors

bad news, if they see that bringing bad news is treated much as bringing good news is,

and so on.

Superiors are, of course, more likely to treat well subordinates who bring bad news

if the organization makes it rational to do so. But treating such subordinates well will

generally be rational only if the organization routinely uses bad news in ways that

encourage reporting it--or, at least, do not discourage reporting it. An organization's

ability to do this routinely depends on its structure.

For example: Suppose that an organization holds a manager responsible only for

what gets reported "on her watch." Suppose too that her subordinate informs her that her

predecessor improved the division's profits by skipping routine maintenance and now

much of the machinery is in poor condition. The manager will not want to report this to

her superiors. She would be bringing news that will threaten everyone who must pass it

on. She will therefore not want to hear the bad news herself. She will have good reason to

tell her subordinate, "Let sleeping dogs lie." Perhaps the dogs will not howl until her

successor takes over.

Now, suppose instead that the organization has routine ways of assigning

responsibility to a manager for what she does while in a position even if the bad

consequences only become apparent later. In such an organization, a manager has good

reason to want subordinates to report the bad news about her predecessor's work as soon

as they learn of it. She need not fear such "sleeping dogs." They will not wake to howl for
 131

her blood. And, if she lets them lie, she may later have to explain how she could have

missed them.

Most organizations tend to treat the person in charge as responsible for whatever

bad news he must report. Few have any routine for assigning responsibility to anyone

else (perhaps because such a routine would be quite expensive). cxcii Hence, in that respect

at least, most organizations have structures tending to discourage bad news. Leaving

managers in charge for long terms, say, ten or twenty years, would probably compensate

for this tendency. Few problems lie dormant that long. Today, however, managers

seldom stay in one position for even five years. If they do not rise quickly within an

organization, they are likely to move to another. This mobility means that most

organizations must rely on other means of giving managers reason to welcome bad news.

The most common approach these days is to create alternative channels for bad

news so that no one in an organization is in position to block its flow upward. The oldest

of these alternative channels is probably the regular outside audit. Another is an "open

door" policy allowing subordinates to go directly to a senior official, bypassing several

layers of management. Another is changing the traditional chain of command into

something much more like a lattice, so that subordinates have less to fear from any

particular superior and have routine access to more than one. (I shall have more to say

about such arrangements in the next chapter.) Such arrangements give a manager reason

to be thankful that he has heard the bad news from a subordinate rather than from a

superior and reason to try to respond in a way likely to satisfy the subordinate. The

subordinate has saved the manager from being "blindsided." Such arrangements tend to

make whistleblowing unnecessary.

That, I think, is enough for now about how organizations can make

whistleblowing unnecessary. We are ready to consider how individuals can avoid

becoming whistleblowers.
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VI. How to Avoid Having to Blow the Whistle

The simplest way to avoid having to blow the whistle may seem to be joining an

organization in which whistleblowing will never be necessary. Unfortunately, things are

not that simple. Organizations are human contrivances; none is perfect.

Still, organizations do differ quite a bit. By choosing the right organization, one can

reduce substantially the chance that one will have to blow the whistle (much as, it is said,

one can reduce substantially the chance of repenting "at leisure" by not "marrying in

haste"). The question is how the organization handles bad news. The answer will be

found in the organization's procedures, educational programs, and structure, not the ones

"on paper", of course, but the ones actually in effect. The difference can be crucial. For

example, if the organization has an open door policy, is the door ever used? Since

organizations always work imperfectly, an open door that is never used is probably a

channel no one dare use, not an unnecessary channel. Using such a channel will probably

be treated as whistleblowing.

Any organization described as "one happy family" should be examined with

special care. Organizations, like families, generally have arguments, tensions, and the like.

That is how they grow. The organization that recalls only good times is not the one that

had no bad times but the one that has no use for bad news. It is exactly the kind of

organization in which whistleblowing is most likely to be necessary. Personally, I prefer

an organization in which old battles are recalled blow by blow and the general happiness

must be inferred from the fact that all participants survived to work together again.cxciii

Having chosen the right organization, can one do anything more to reduce the

chance that he will some day have to blow the whistle? Certainly. But he will have to

think in strikingly political terms.

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He will, first of all, want to develop his own informal channels to augment formal

channels. So, for example, suppose a new engineer W officially reports to A, but B carries

more weight with their common superior. W might want to get to know B. Perhaps they

share an interest in chess. Once W is friends with B, W is in position to pass information

around A should A try to suppress it. A can hardly object to W playing chess with B. Yet,

once A knows W and B are chess buddies, A will be less likely to suppress information W

wants passed up. A knows W has a channel around him.

Second, one should form alliances with colleagues and subordinates, people who

share one's responsibilities. One should not have to stand alone against a superior.

Whenever possible, the superior should have to respond to a common recommendation.

Managers are likely to treat a group concern much more seriously than a single

individual's. One should try to work through groups as much as possible.

But, third, not any group will do. The group should be sensitive to the moral

concerns likely to force one to blow the whistle. The organizations most in need of

whistleblowers are also most likely to be so organized that employees become morally

less sensitive the longer they work for the organization. cxciv So, one will probably need to

cultivate the moral sensitivity of potential allies. There are many ways to do this. The

simplest is to bring in items from the newspaper raising problems similar to those the

organization could face and pass them around at lunch, asking how "we" could handle

them. If potential allies share the same profession, one might try getting the local

professional society to host discussions dealing with the ethical problems that come up in

work they do.cxcv

Last, but not least, one needs to cultivate one's own ability to present bad news in a

way most likely to get a favorable response. Part of doing this, of course, is presenting the

information clearly, with enough technical detail and supporting evidence. But there is

more to it than that. Some people have, I think, become whistleblowers for lack of a
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pungent phrase.cxcvi A master of words is less likely to have to blow the whistle than

someone who, though understanding a peril, has trouble communicating it.

And that is not all. Presenting bad news in a way likely to get a favorable response

also includes what used to be called "rhetoric." A little sugar helps the medicine go down.

Is there a good side to the bad news? If so, why not present that first? If there is no good

side, how about presenting the bad news in a way likely to bring out the personal stake

the decision-maker has in responding favorably? Such tactics are usually not mentioned

in a discussion of whistleblowing. Yet, it seems to me, many people end up as

whistleblowers because they did not pay enough attention to the feelings of their

audience.

Those who have substantial say in how an organization runs might, then, want to

consider some educational programs our earlier discussion of education may not have

suggested. In particular, they might want to consider training employees in such political

skills as how to present bad news effectively and how to maneuver it through channels.

They also might want to review their hiring practices. For example, will the personnel

office reject an applicant who asks whether the company has an open door policy, treat

such a question with indifference, or consider it as a plus? Any organization that does not

treat such questions as a plus will not select for people with skills needed to make

whistleblowing unnecessary.
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VII. Concluding Remarks

The world can be a hard place. One can do everything in her power and still end

up having to choose between blowing the whistle on her organization and sitting by

while innocent people suffer injustice she can prevent. The whistleblower is a tragic

character. Her decency pushes her to bring great suffering on herself and those about

whom she cares most. Her only alternative, sitting by, would save from harm those about

whom she cares most--but at an incalculable cost (failing to do what she has a duty to do).

Her organization will probably be better off in the long run--if it survives. But, in the short

run, it too will suffer.

When events leave only this choice, most of us--at least when we are not directly

involved--would hope the individual upon whom that choice is forced will find the

strength to blow the whistle. Heroism is the best we can hope for then. But, looking up

from this chain of unhappy events, we can see how much better off everyone would have

been had heroism been unnecessary. That is why I have focused on making

whistleblowing unnecessary.
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Notes

Early versions of this chapter were presented at the Neil Staebler Conference, Institute of

Public Policy Studies, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, February 17, 1988; at Aquinas

College, Grand Rapids, Michigan, September 21, 1989; and at the Mechanical Engineering

Bi-Weekly Seminar Series, Western Michigan University, Kalamazoo, Michigan, October

3, 1989. I should like to thank those present, as well as my colleague, Vivian Weil, for

helping me to see the many sides of whistleblowing. I should also like to thank the editor

of Business and Professional Ethics Journal for his helpful comments and some useful

references. Originally published in Business and Professional Ethics Journal 8 (Winter

1989): 3-19.
 PART THREE

Until recently, no texts concerned with the engineering profession devoted

significant space to conflict of interest. Perhaps that was because the topic struck most text

writers as foreign to engineering, that is, as a subject belonging to business ethics rather

than to the ethics of a profession concerned with shaping the material world. Yet, conflicts

of interest turn up in engineering far more often than one might expect. All engineers

must exercise professional judgment on behalf of a client or employer; indeed, there is

very little to engineering beside the exercise of engineering judgment. Insofar as conflicts

of interest (those tugs, whether of desire or duty, that tend to bias professional judgment)

undermine the reliability of engineering judgment, conflicts of interest threaten the utility

of engineering. Unnoticed, conflicts of interest can interfere in ways both subtle and gross

with the ability of engineers to do what they should.

This part's two chapters approach the subject of conflict of interest in quite

different ways. Chapter 7 examines an important case of conflict of interest in detail,

bringing out the relevant principles and discussing their importance for engineers as

professionals and as moral agents. The case is an absorbing cautionary tale. It is, however,

given pride of place for two other reasons. First, we know more about it than we know, or

are likely to know, about most other instances of conflict of interest in engineering.

Second, it reveals something of the role professional societies have in both the practice of

engineering and the control of technology. Along the way, it offers occasion to say more

about the relation between professional ethics and ordinary morality.

Chapter 8 reaches many of the same issues from another perspective, that of a

profession "born" engineering (as we would say after chapter 3) which, owing to

circumstances, may or may not want to separate from engineering. We are invited to

consider what its code of ethics should say about conflict of interest. Taking that
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invitation, we have an opportunity to think further about the rationale for controlling

conflict of interest in engineering. We also have an opportunity to think about how much

freedom a profession has when writing a code of ethics, about what considerations are

relevant to writing a code, and about the function of the code in a profession.
 Chapter 7

CONFLICTS OF INTEREST IN ENGINEERING

On May 17, 1982, the United States Supreme Court upheld a civil judgment against

the American Society of Mechanical Engineers (ASME) for violating the Sherman Anti-

Trust Act.cxcvii Hydrolevel (as the case is commonly called) may be to engineering ethics

what Watergate was to legal ethics. Most of the individuals involved were engineers,

persons holding high office in industry and in ASME. Some may in fact have engaged in

conduct they knew to be unlawful. Certainly it was widely believed that they did. But the

special interest of Hydrolevel here is that there was something seriously wrong with the

way the principals conducted themselves, supposing (as all claimed) that each acted with

the best motives and without realizing that what he was doing was wrong. Whatever else

Hydrolevel is, it is a case of conflict of interest in engineering. To understand what the

principals did wrong (even supposing them to have acted with the best motives) is to

understand much about conflict of interest. So, let us begin our study of conflict of interest

by looking at Hydrolevel in detail.

I. Hydrolevel: The Facts

On April 12, 1971, ASME received an inquiry concerning a 43-word paragraph

in its 18,000 page "Boiler and Pressure Vessel Code." The Code is one of about 400

model standards ASME maintains. While only advisory, these standards have a

powerful influence. Federal regulations have incorporated many of them by reference,

as have many cities, states, and Canadian provinces. Because of the influence and

complexity of the codes, there is often need to have them interpreted. ASME responds
 140
to at least 10,000 requests for interpretation each year. Like the codes themselves, these

interpretations are only advisory. cxcviii

The inquiry concerned paragraph HG-605a which provides in part: "Each

automatically fired steam or vapor system boiler shall have an automatic low-water fuel

cutoff, so located as to automatically cut off the fuel supply when the surface of the water

falls to the lowest visible part of the water-gauge glass." cxcix The purpose of the paragraph

is to prevent the "dry firing" that can damage (or even cause an explosion of) a boiler with

too little water in it. The inquiry came from McDonnell and Miller, Inc. of Chicago

(M&M), which had for decades dominated the market for low-water fuel cutoffs. The

inquiry simply asked, "Is it permissible to incorporate a time-delay feature in the cutoff so

that it will operate after the boiler water level reaches some point below the visible range

of the gauge glass?"cc

The inquiry was signed by Eugene Mitchell, M&M vice president for sales.

Mitchell made the inquiry because a competing firm, Hydrolevel Corporation of

Farmington, New York (Hydrolevel), had entered the low-water cutoff market a few

years before with a cutoff that included a time delay and early in 1971 had won a contract

from the Brooklyn Gas Company, an important M&M customer. If ordinary use of

Hydrolevel's time-delay cutoff were consistent with ASME safety standards (and were

commonly believed to be consistent), M&M might well have lost its predominance in the

market. If, however, there were even a little doubt about the safety of Hydrolevel's cutoff,

M&M sales staff could easily protect M&M's share of the market. Mitchell knew that

Hydrolevel's cutoff could be installed safely. But he also thought the cutoff could not be

installed so as to cut off before the water level fell below the visible range of the gauge
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glass without being positioned much higher than other cutoffs. cci The unusual position

would itself introduce unattractive complexity into Hydrolevel's marketing (since

installers would put a new gauge exactly where the old gauge was unless carefully

instructed to put it someplace else). If Mitchell could get ASME to say that HG-605a

meant that the water level in the gauge could not drop from sight without immediately

triggering a fuel cutoff, M&M sale staff could argue that the Hydrolevel cutoff would

violate ASME standards if positioned in the ordinary way. They might also argue that it

would violate ASME standards wherever positioned. The same sixty-second delay that

could prevent unnecessary cutoffs could, it seemed to Mitchell, also allow a hot and

suddenly almost waterless boiler to crack or explode.

Mitchell discussed this sales strategy several times with John W. James, M&M's

vice president for research. James had been a member of the ASME subcommittee

responsible for heating boilers (the "Heating Boiler Subcommittee of the Boiler and

Pressure Vessel Committee") since 1950 and had also had a leading part a few years

before in rewriting the Code of which HG-605a was part. James suggested a meeting with

T. R. Hardin, chair of the Heating Boiler Subcommittee. The meeting occurred in late

March 1971. Hardin (in town for other business) came by the M&M office and the three

(along with M&M's president) went to dinner. During dinner, Mitchell asked Hardin

about HG-605a. Hardin answered that he believed it meant what it said: the water level

should not drop from sight without triggering the cutoff immediately. Soon after that

meeting James drafted a letter of inquiry to ASME, sending a copy to Hardin, who made

some suggestions which were incorporated into the final draft.

The inquiry was addressed to W. Bradford Hoyt, secretary of the Boiler and

Pressure Vessel Committee. Hoyt treated it as a routine inquiry, directing it to the

appropriate subcommittee's chair, T. R. Hardin. Hardin then prepared a response without

referring his action to the whole subcommittee for approval. He was entitled to do this
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provided the response was treated as an "unofficial communication." Hoyt signed the

unofficial communication Hardin drafted and sent it out on ASME stationery. That letter,

dated April 29, 1971, advised that a low water cutoff must "operate immediately" when

the water level falls below the lowest visible point of the gauge glass and that a cutoff

with a time delay gave "no positive assurance that the boiler water level would not fall to

a dangerous point during a time delay period." ccii While the response did not say that

Hydrolevel's time delay was dangerous, that was a plausible inference. M&M used the

ASME letter to discourage potential customers from buying Hydrolevel's cutoff. The

strategy seemed to work.

Hydrolevel learned of the ASME letter early in 1972 through a former customer

and immediately requested a copy from ASME. This was duly sent on February 8, 1972,

the name of the inquirer (Mitchell) being omitted as ASME policy required (to preserve

confidentiality).

Hydrolevel was, of course, not happy with the interpretation. On March 23,

Hydrolevel wrote Hoyt a nine-page letter explaining why ASME should change its ruling.

Hoyt sent Hydrolevel's request to the Heating Boiler Subcommittee. On May 4, the

subcommittee voted to confirm the intent of the original response. James, who had by

then replaced Hardin as chair of the subcommittee, abstained from participation in the

subcommittee deliberations on that question but reported the vote to the Boiler and

Pressure Vessel Committee. The full committee voted to send Hydrolevel an "official

communication." Dated June 9, 1972, it "confirmed the intent" of the letter of April 29,

1971, but advised Hydrolevel that, while cutoffs with time delay were not expressly

forbidden, they had to be positioned to cut off before the water level fell from sight. cciii

While James took no part when his committee decided how to respond to Hydrolevel, he

did (at the drafting committee's request) help to draft a critical sentence of that

response.cciv
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Hydrolevel seems to have found the response insufficient to permit it to compete

successfully with M&M. There still seemed to be doubt about the safety of Hydrolevel's

low-water cutoff.

That is where events stood for two years. Then, on July 9, 1974, the Wall Street

Journal published an article describing Hydrolevel's difficulty trying to sell a fuel cutoff

many in the industry thought to be in violation of ASME's Code. The article suggested

"close ties between a dominant company in an industry and the professional society that

serves as its watch dog." The only "close tie" the article noted was that James, an M&M

vice president, had been vice chair of the appropriate ASME subcommittee when M&M

made its original inquiry and chief drafter of the Code involved.ccv

The article produced an uproar within ASME. For example, the vice president of

ASME's Region 11 wrote: "If the facts are as stated in the article, it would seem that Mr.

James should not only be relieved of his duties on the Board of Codes Committee but he

should also be kicked out of ASME for unethical conduct." ccvi ASME's Professional

Practices Committee then investigated, found nothing improper or unethical in James'

conduct, and commended him for conducting himself in a forthright manner as chair of

his subcommittee. But the Professional Practices Committee did not have all the facts.

James had not informed the Committee of his meeting in Chicago with Hardin, of his (or

Hardin's) part in drafting the original inquiry, or of his part in drafting the June 9

response to Hydrolevel. None of this came out until March 1975 during hearings before

the Senate's Subcommittee on Antitrust and Monopoly. ccvii Hydrolevel filed suite a few

months after those hearings, charging M&M, ASME, and Hardin's employer, Hartford

Boiler Inspection and Insurance Company, with unlawful restraint of trade.

[Insert Table: Names to Remember]

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Names to Remember

Hardin...................................chair of Heating Boiler Subcommittee (of ASME Boiler and

............................................................Pressure Vessel Committee and vice president of

Hartford Boiler Inspection and Insurance Company.

Hoyt .................................secretary of ASME Boiler and Pressure Vessel Committee,

in charge of correspondence for that committee and its

subcommittees.

Hydrolevel.........................Hydrolevel Corporation of Farmington, New York, the

company M&M wanted to put out of business, the plaintiff in

Hydrolevel, the legal case.

James. .................................M&M vice president for research, a drafter of relevant

sections of the Boiler and Pressure Vessel Code, vice chair of Heating

Boiler Subcommittee when Hardin was chair, and chair

of that subcommittee after Hardin retired.

M&M ......................McDonnell and Miller, Inc. of Chicago, makers of the low-

water cutoff dominating the market before the entry of

Hydrolevel's time-delay cutoff.

Mitchell..............................M&M vice president for sales.

 145

II. What Did They Do Wrong?

Assuming that Hardin and James acted from honest motives,ccviii what (if anything)

was wrong with what they did? There are at least three ways we might try to answer that

question.

One way would point to the consequences of what Hardin and James did, for

example, that they may have driven Hydrolevel out of business or prevented an

improvement in boiler safety. Let us call this way of explaining what makes an act wrong

"consequentialist."

A second way to explain what makes an act wrong would be to point to a violation

of some social rule, for example, to the violation of an ASME procedure or federal law.

We might call this way of explaining what makes an act wrong "moral relativism"

(because it makes the act's moral rightness or wrongness entirely relative to how social

roles happen to be defined).

A third way to explain what makes an act wrong is to point to something about the

act itself (given the context in question) which makes the act objectionable whatever its

actual or probable consequences and whether this or that social rule permits it. For

example, an act might be morally wrong simply because it is an instance of lying or a

betrayal of trust. This way of answering our question is sometimes called "moral

absolutism" because the answer is not relative to this or that social rule. But it is probably

less misleading to call it "duty-based" (or "deontological") because it relies on

considerations of duty directly (even thought the duties may themselves be defended in

part at least by appeal to the overall consequences of having such duties). These duties are

sometimes called "natural" (or "absolute") to distinguish them from the "conventional" (or

"relative") duties imposed by law or other merely social rules.ccix

Which of these three ways of explaining why an act is wrong should we employ to
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determine what, if anything, Hardin and James did wrong? Let us consider these ways

one at a time.

A. Consequences

What Hardin and James did certainly had consequences. For example, M&M

printed ASME's April 29 response in a booklet entitled "The Opposition--Who They Are,

How to Beat Them." The booklet, distributed to sales staff late in 1971, included a message

from Mitchell describing Hydrolevel's time-delay cutoff and stating that such a device

"would defeat the intent of the ASME Code and this should definitely be brought to the

attention of anyone considering a device which included a time delay in the low water

cutoff circuitry." ccx The ASME letter gave legitimacy to Mitchell's opinion and seems to

have had much to do with driving Hydrolevel out of business.ccxi

So, on the one hand, what Hardin and James did had some bad consequences.

Their acts helped to drive Hydrolevel out of business and that was bad for Hydrolevel.

On the other hand, what they did helped M&M keep its share of the cutoff market and

that was certainly good for M&M. But the evaluation of consequences cannot end with

that. The consequences of what Hardin and James did went on. Hydrolevel sued. M&M

settled out of court for $750,000. Hartford also settled. It paid Hydrolevel $75,000. ASME

went to trial and lost. The judgment against ASME--$7,500,000--was equal to three-fourths

of its annual budget. That litigation was bad for M&M, Hartford, and ASME but good for

Hydrolevel. ASME appealed, lost on the decision but won rehearing on the damages. The

case was settled when ASME agreed to $4,750,000 in damages. ccxii In the end, Hydrolevel

(or rather its owners) may have gained more than it lost (ignoring what must be very

substantial attorneys' fees). Its winnings in court amounted to far more than its profits

over a decade. But how should we balance all these good and bad consequences to decide
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whether what Hardin and James did was right? Do they merely balance out (since one

side's loss seems to be another's gain)? Or do they total up to a bad outcome overall? Or to

a good one? Consequentialism requires some method of balancing consequences one

against another to reach an overall evaluation. What method should we use?

Might there have been some further consequences? Certainly. For example, driving

Hydrolevel out of business might have suppressed a new boiler cutoff which, if widely

used, would have reduced boiler explosions and otherwise improved boiler operation

(for example, by reducing unnecessary boiler shut-offs). Driving Hydrolevel out of

business would then have had consequences so bad that few people would think they

could be outweighed by any advantage to M&M or Hydrolevel.

Was Hydrolevel's cutoff that much better than M&M's? If that is the sort of

question we must answer before we can say what (if anything) was wrong with what

Hardin and James did, we cannot say what was wrong with what they did. We do not

have the answer and we are not likely to get it. Laboratory tests are only suggestive and

we are not likely to get a good "field test" now.

So, any decision we make based on the consequences of Hydrolevel's demise must

rely either on educated opinion or on something less reliable. Educated opinion is the

judgment of those whose experience and learning have made them relatively reliable

guides in answering questions of the sort posed. Educated opinion seems to be divided.

Both Hydrolevel and ASME had outside experts at trial, some testifying to the superiority

of Hydrolevel's cutoff, others testifying to the possible dangers of its use. ccxiii When outside

experts disagree, we naturally turn to some body of experts capable of sorting out the

opinions of individuals and arriving in that way at some authoritative consensus. Because

our concern here is boiler safety, the natural place for us to turn for such an authoritative

statement on boiler safety would, of course, ordinarily be ASME's boiler code and the

committee with authority to interpret it. Unfortunately, that code and committee are part
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of our problem.

But there is one more alternative to consider. The market itself is a possible source

of the information we need. Victory in a free market is good evidence that the victorious

product is better than its competitors (and victory in a perfect market, decisive evidence).

M&M's victory over Hydrolevel is, however, not good evidence that M&M's cutoff was

safer than Hydrolevel's. There are two reasons why not. First, the market measures

overall value, not safety as a distinct factor. One product might be less safe than another

but sell better for other reasons, for example, because its low cost more than pays for the

higher insurance premiums its use entails. Second, Hydrolevel in effect charged that

M&M used unfair means to win its victory. If M&M did rig the market, the market cannot

tell us even whether M&M's cutoff was better than Hydrolevel's overall. The verdict of

this market may not have been the verdict of a free market. Did M&M rig the market? We

don't know. If ASME's letter of April 29 was a sensible reading of the code and the code

itself was correct, then M&M's use of that letter to discredit Hydrolevel would not have

been unfair (unless there was something wrong with the way M&M obtained the letter).

All else equal, information should not distort the market.ccxiv

So, it seems, we cannot make a reliable judgment that Hydrolevel's demise served

or dis-served the public good. If we cannot do that, we cannot make a reliable judgment

that overall the consequences of ASME's response of April 29, 1971 and June 9, 1972 were

bad (or good). Without such a judgment, we cannot provide an appealing

consequentialist explanation of what was wrong with what Hardin and James did. So, if

we are to explain what was wrong with what Hardin and James did, we must, it seems,

do it by showing that they violated a social rule or that they failed to act in accordance

with some natural duty.

B. Social Rules and Individual Conscience

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"Rule" (as used here) includes standards of conduct evident from practice (that is,

so-called "unwritten rules") as well as those standards expressly adopted. A "social rule"

is a rule that may vary from one society to another just because one society chooses one

rule while another society chooses another rule. (We shall reserve the term "moral rule"

for rules that do not vary in this way.) We can distinguish at least three sorts of social rule

Hardin or James might be thought to have violated: 1) ASME rules, 2) rules governing all

engineers (in the United States), or 3) federal law. Let us consider these three possibilities

one at a time.

1. ASME Rules. Did Hardin or James violate any ASME rule? Hardin did meet with

M&M executives to discuss a question likely to come before him as chair of the Heating

Boiler Subcommittee. Indeed, he expressed his opinion on the question and helped draft

an inquiry so as to obtain that opinion from ASME. The Senate subcommittee

investigating the Hydrolevel case found that objectionable. But ASME officials did not.

For example, Melvin R. Green, Managing Director, Research Codes and Standards Section

of ASME, defended what Hardin did in this way:

I think you must recognize that you are trying to get words in a letter, so

that you clarify a provision in the code. And to get the proper words, I do

not really see that there was anything wrong with that, because I, when I

was secretary of the Boiler and Pressure Vessel Committee, had people who

would telephone inquiries to me and they would say--I would give an

answer on the telephone and then they would say, "Well, how can I get this

in writing?" I would suggest the wording for the inquiry, so that they could

get the response to clarify that particular part of the code.ccxv

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So, Hardin's meeting with M&M executives and his help in drafting the inquiry to his

own committee may not have violated an express or tacit ASME rule. Indeed, they seem

to fit in with ASME's ordinary procedures.

Hardin's other acts also seem to be consistent with ASME rules. As noted earlier,

Hardin was entitled to answer M&M's inquiry if he thought it sufficiently routine

(provided his response was treated as an "unofficial communication"). He apparently

thought the inquiry was sufficiently routine, a case of the code meaning just what it

said.ccxvi And it is not clear even now that he was wrong to think so. The Heating Boiler

Subcommittee and the whole Boiler and Pressure Vessel Committee later "confirmed the

intent" of his original response. Hardin treated the response as an unofficial

communication just as ASME rules required.

Hardin did not, it is true, reveal to the Professional Practices Committee his

meeting with M&M executives or his part in drafting the inquiry. We do not know why

he did not. The most favorable explanation is that he was not asked directly and did not

see why he should raise the matter himself. If ordinary ASME procedure was as Green

indicates, the Professional Practices Committee would not have cared what part Hardin

had in drafting the original inquiry (and so, they probably would not have found that

revelation worth the trouble of a hearing). Indeed, Green told the Senate subcommittee

that he considered Hardin's conduct perfectly ethical, even taking into account what the

subcommittee had uncovered.ccxvii

ASME rules seem to be equally kind to what James did. Green defended James'

self-effacing part in drafting the April 12 inquiry in this way:

Well, here again, I think you must understand the voluntary standard system.

Many people, who serve a great deal of their time in a code activity, try to
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identify themselves with the code activity. And there is another part [of

their life] where they would be in the Government or employed by

industry. If they have [to make] an inquiry from the Government agency or

that company, they will have an associate within the [agency or] company,

who will sign the inquiry and send it to us...[It] is just a matter of trying to

keep their house in order.ccxviii

In other words, having someone else sign the letter was James' way of keeping his work

on the Heating Boiler Subcommittee distinct from his work at M&M. That he wrote the

inquiry should be irrelevant to the response it received. If signed by Mitchell, the inquiry

would not have an authority that might come from having the name of the

subcommittee's vice chair subscribed to it. Should James have signed the inquiry? Nothing

in ASME rules required him to. Indeed, Green makes it sound as if ASME practice would

have condemned James for signing the inquiry had he done so. James would not have

"kept his house in order." So, even according to ASME practice, there was no reason for

James to inform ASME's Professional Practices Committee of his part in drafting the

original letter.

What about James' part in drafting the official ASME communication of June 9,

1972? Again, James seems to have done as ASME rules allowed. A subcommittee chair

would not normally have stepped down even though he helped to draft the inquiry the

response to which was under review (and, it seems, even though he worked for a

company that had an interest in the outcome). According to Hoyt, James stepped down

only because Hydrolevel's letter to ASME had complained that ASME seemed to be out to

destroy a new product. That James should help draft the June 9 response to Hydrolevel

was, Hoyt said, "perfectly normal because the chairman is in the best position, on the

basis of experience, to know what the intent of his subcommittee is." ccxix James was
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"merely trying to be helpful in selecting words that would be appropriate to clarify the

subject."ccxx Green concurred. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing in what

James did contrary to ASME practice.ccxxi

2. NSPE Code of Ethics. That Hardin and James did not violate any ASME rule does

not mean that they did what was professionally proper. As engineers, their conduct is

also subject to evaluation under the Code of Ethics of the National Society of Professional

Engineers (NSPE)--at least insofar as the code itself expresses a well articulated standard

of conduct for engineers. (ASME, like many other engineering societies, also has a code of

ethics of its own, basically, the ABET code, but at the time that code also lacked a general

provision concerning conflict of interest and its interpretation of the provisions it had did

not differ from NSPE's.) A cursory reading of the NSPE code may seem to provide several

provisions Hardin or James violated.ccxxii But a closer reading makes everything much less

clear. Let us consider those potentially relevant provisions one at a time beginning with

the most specific.

a. "Faithful Agent." The Senate subcommittee investigating the Hydrolevel

complaint suggested that Hardin and James each did something wrong because each had

a conflict of interest that should have stopped him from doing what he did. A federal

court of appeals made the same point.ccxxiii Section III.5 of the NSPE Code of Ethics

specifically discusses "conflicting interests." "Engineers shall not," it says, "be influenced in

their professional duties by conflicting interests." This seems clear enough, but the only

examples the code gives of such conflicting interests are a) accepting "financial or other

considerations, including free engineering designs, from material or equipment suppliers

for specifying their products," and b) accepting "commissions or allowances, directly or

indirectly, from contractors or other parties dealing with clients or employers of the

Engineer in connection with work for which the Engineer is responsible." So, if this is all
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NSPE means by "conflicting interests," neither Hardin nor James had a conflict of interest.

They accepted no consideration from material or equipment suppliers for specifying their

product. They also accepted no commission in connection with work for which they were

responsible. Is there any reason to limit the term "conflicting interest" (or "conflict of

interest") to cases like those expressly listed in Section III.5? Well, that depends on

considerations beyond the mere letter of this section, doesn't it? We shall have to look

further.

Section II.4 also deals with matters most people would think involve conflicts of

interest. "Engineers shall," it says, "act in professional matters for each employer or client

as faithful agents or trustees." Would a "faithful" agent or trustee allow himself to act as

Hardin or James did? There are really three questions here. First, can one be a faithful

agent or trustee and yet have a conflict of interest of the sort Hardin or James had? (Of

course, we haven't yet concluded that Hardin or James had any conflict of interest as the

Code of Ethics defines that term.) Second, how would a faithful agent or trustee act if he

had such a conflict? And, third, did Hardin or James act differently?

Section II.4(a) provides at least a partial answer to the first two of these three

questions. "Engineers shall," it says, "disclose all known or potential conflicts of interest to

their employees or clients by promptly informing them of any business association,

interest, or other circumstance which would influence or appear to influence their

judgment or the quality of their services." Section II.4(a) thus understands the term

"conflict of interest" to include more than the two examples of conflicting interests

mentioned under Section III.5. A conflict of interest can, it seems, be any business

association, interest, or other circumstance that could influence or even just appear to

influence an engineer's judgment or the quality of his service. Both Hardin and James had

conflicts of interest in this sense. That Hardin had given his opinion on the cutoff inquiry

informally (and perhaps without due consideration) could reasonably be supposed to

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have influenced his judgment when he later actually undertook to respond more formally

(and, because that can reasonably be supposed, there is at least an appearance of such

influence). Similarly, James could not be certain that his contribution to the ASME letter of

June 9, 1972, was not influenced in part by how the exact wording seemed to affect his

company's prosperity.ccxxiv

Section II.4(a) does not, however, rule out conflicts of interest. All it requires is that

a faithful agent or trustee disclose any conflict he has to his employer or client. A faithful

agent or trustee may have a conflict of interest and still be faithful, but only if he discloses

the conflict to his employer or client.

What then can we conclude from the rules? Neither Hardin nor James seems to

have concealed any conflict of interest from their respective employers (M&M and

Hartford). Both, it is true, concealed conflicts from ASME (or, at least, failed to disclose

them to anyone at ASME). So, Section II.4(a)--and Section II.4 itself--would condemn both

Hardin and James if, but only if, serving as a volunteer on an ASME committee

constituted "acting in professional matters" and ASME was their "employer" or "client." Is

it proper to interpret "professional matters" to include working as an unpaid volunteer for

an engineering society? (Must not a professional be paid if he is to act as a professional?)

Is it proper to interpret "employer" or (more likely) "client" to include ASME?

The code provides little help with these questions. Among the other examples of

being a "faithful agent and trustee" listed under Section II.4 only two seem worth noting.

Section II.4(d) provides that "Engineers in public service as members, advisors, or

employees of a governmental body or department shall not participate in decisions with

respect to services solicited or provided by them or their organizations in private or public

engineering practice." Section II.4(e) adds that "Engineers shall not solicit or accept a

professional contract from a governmental body on which a principal officer of their

organization serves as member." There is nothing under Section II.4 about professional
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societies or other nongovernmental bodies.

Only one conclusion of interest to us seems to follow from these two examples of

being a faithful agent or trustee. There may be enough of a distinction between "employer"

and "client" so that ASME could reasonably be thought Hardin's or James' "client" (even

though ASME could not be the employer of either in any but the most strained sense).

Though Section III.4 itself only refers to "employer or client," (d) refers to "service" as a

"member" of a governmental body or as an "advisor" (as well as of "service" as a

governmental "employee"). So, it seems that if an engineer is a member of a governmental

body (or even an unpaid advisor of one), the body might be his "client" (in the

appropriate sense) even though he is not being employed--that is, paid--as an engineer.

On the other hand, the section can also be read so that "client" is just another word for

"employer" or at most for someone whom an engineer is paid to serve in some professional

capacity (for example, when serving the customer of his employer).

Section III.4(e) does not help clarify which interpretation is intended. According to

(e) an engineer does something wrong if he solicits or accepts a professional contract from

a governmental body on which he serves. But the section does not tell us why that would

be wrong. There are at least two reasons why soliciting or accepting such contracts might

be wrong. The reasons point to different interpretations of "client." One reason soliciting

or accepting such contracts might be wrong is that the engineer would have failed to be a

faithful agent or trustee of the government in question. He would have taken advantage of

someone, the government, that is already his client (because he is serving on one of its

bodies). The other reason soliciting or accepting such contracts on behalf of a client might

be wrong is that an engineer cannot be a faithful agent or trustee of a private client he is

working for if he risks getting that client into trouble by obtaining governmental contracts

for the client through misuse of his public trust. Section III.4(e) does not help us to

understand whether just any service on a governmental body--and so, by analogy, on an

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ASME committee--is acting in a "professional matter" (so that the duty to act as a faithful

agent or trustee applies at all). For example, is helping your committee draft a letter a case

of acting in a professional matter?

b. Miscellaneous Provisions. Three other seemingly promising provisions of the code

turn out to be even less helpful. Section II.3(c) provides that "Engineers shall issue no

statements, criticisms or arguments on technical matters which are inspired or paid for by

interested parties, unless they have prefaced their comments by explicitly identifying the

interested parties on whose behalf they are speaking, and by revealing the existence of

any interest the engineers may have in the matters." This section would certainly

condemn what Hardin and James did if, for example, Hardin responded as he did in part

because he hoped to benefit his employer (or because he hoped to postpone his own

overdue retirement from M&M by proving himself especially useful). The statements

Hardin and James made would then have been "inspired" (if not exactly "paid for") by

interested parties they had not explicitly identified. We are, however, assuming that both

Hardin and James acted from the best motives, that is, that the acts in question were not

paid for by an interested party or inspired by anything but concern for the public safety

and welfare. So, Section II.3(c) cannot help us decide what was wrong with what Hardin

or James did.

Section III.1 may, in contrast, seem likely to be more helpful just because it is more

general. "Engineers shall," it says, "be guided in all their professional relations by the

highest standards of integrity." Section III.1(f) gives as an example of being so guided that

"Engineers shall avoid any act tending to promote their own interests at the expense of the

dignity and integrity of the profession." These two sections seem promising because, if

Hardin and James improperly misled others about their intentions, their interest in M&M's

inquiry, or their part in ASME's response, they could not have been guided by the

"highest standards of integrity." If, in addition, they did all that to endear themselves to
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their respective employers, they would also have promoted their own interests at the

expense of ASME and so at the expense of the profession as a whole. If, however, what

Hardin and James did was not "improper," their acts could still be consistent with the

"highest standards of integrity" and so not something the Code of Ethics condemns. So,

were their acts proper or improper? That depends on what the "highest standards of

integrity" are. We must look elsewhere in the code for guidance concerning that.

Section III.3(a) may seem to provide such guidance. This section provides that

"Engineers shall avoid the use of statements containing a material misrepresentation of

fact or omitting a material fact necessary to keep statements from being misleading..."

Hardin and James both omitted statements of fact necessary to keep others (for example,

the Professional Practices Committee) from drawing false conclusions (for example, that

Hardin had no part in drafting the original inquiry or that James had no part in drafting

the response of June 9, 1972). But were these facts "material," that is, were they facts that

should have been revealed to keep others from drawing conclusions they had a right to be

protected against (for example, the conclusion that Hardin or James had acted properly

when in fact they had not)? Well, that depends on what the ultimate conclusion should

have been, does it not? If, for example, Hardin and James would have been judged to

have acted just as properly had all the facts they failed to reveal been revealed, would we

consider those unrevealed facts "material"? It seems not. So, it seems we cannot know that

their conduct fell below "the highest standards of integrity" until we know whether what

they did was proper. Appeal to the NSPE Code thus seems to have led us to a dead end

just as appeal to actual or probable consequences did.

But that is not quite true. There remains one turn we have yet to take. Written rules

are seldom self-interpreting. We must bring to the "letter" of a rule an understanding of

the "spirit," that is, the underlying purposes, policies, and principles that provide a

context we can use to understand what the rule is supposed to do. For example, to
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understand what is ruled out by a general prohibition of "conflicting interests," we need

to know what the community that prohibited such interests means by the term. We also

need to know what reasons it had for such a prohibition and how the rule would have to

be interpreted to do what the community wants done.

c. BER as Authority. Where then should we go for help with interpreting the NSPE

Code of Ethics? One place is NSPE's Board of Ethical Review (BER). That brings us to the

most difficult problem generated by trying to provide a relativist explanation of what

makes an act wrong. What if we do not find the BER's interpretation convincing? What if

we think engineers should not do as the BER says they should? Are we necessarily wrong

either about what the code says or about what engineers should do? The relativist answer

is plain. If what makes an act right is that it is permitted or required by the appropriate

social rule, and if the appropriate social rule means what those with authority to interpret

it say it means, then of course, we must be wrong if we disagree with the BER's

interpretation of the code. ccxxv The BER has authority to interpret the code (because the

NSPE gave the BER that authority). We are disagreeing with those who speak for the

society in question.

So, here is the problem with moral relativism. Certainly it seems that the BER (or

even the NSPE as a whole) can be wrong. The BER might, for example, issue an opinion

interpreting the code in a certain way. Everyone might agree that this is in fact how the

code should be interpreted if, say, "read strictly." Yet a majority of the society might think

that the code should not be read strictly in cases of this sort. The BER itself might

eventually change its mind about how the code should be interpreted (or undergo a

change of membership leading to a changed interpretation). And even if the BER did not

change its interpretation, the NSPE might itself change the code to prevent such "strict"

interpretation. Now, if the BER (or NSPE) can be wrong about what engineers should do,

there must be a standard of what engineers should do beyond what the BER (or NSPE)
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says, some standard of right action for engineers beyond what this or that engineering

society happens to say. What might that standard be?

d. Conscience as Authority. One answer often given is "individual conscience." We

have (it is said) an inborn sense of right and wrong. We need only be "true to ourselves"

to do right. We must do what we "feel" to be right whatever anyone else thinks. That is all

we can require of ourselves and all we should require of one another. The right act is (it is

said) simply that act the individual feels to be right.

Though this appeal to individual conscience may appear the very opposite of

appeal to social rules, it really is similar. If the appeal to social rules for a standard of

rightness can accurately be described as "group-centered moral relativism," this appeal to

individual conscience might, with equal accuracy, be called "individual-centered moral

relativism."

Individual-centered moral relativism (or "subjectivism") is not without attractions.

We all recognize that individuals are beings not to be operated entirely from the outside.

Each must do what she chooses, and each should choose by her own standards. What

right have we to ask a person to do other than she thinks right? We often go out of our

way to respect each other's moral integrity. We sometimes let others do what we think

wrong because each "has a right" (as we say) to act on her own conception of the good.

We sometimes even excuse wrong acts (in part at least) because the person who did them

"meant well." Nevertheless, there are at least two reasons to reject individual conscience as

the ultimate standard of (moral) right and wrong.

One reason for rejecting individual-centered moral relativism is that such

relativism makes it impossible for an individual to do wrong so long as he feels that what

he is doing is right. The distinction between an act appearing right (to the actor) and its

being right dissolves if the ultimate standard of right and wrong becomes how the act

appears to the actor, how he "feels" about it. That someone feels no horror at the prospect
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of committing murder, no remorse or regret afterward, would (according to individual-

centered relativism) be enough to show that he did not do wrong. A person's moral

insensitivity would be a guarantee of the propriety of what he did. That certainly seems

inconsistent with our understanding of (moral) right and wrong.

The other reason for rejecting individual-centered relativism is related to this first

one. We began this chapter by assuming that all the engineers involved in Hydrolevel acted

from honest motives, that all of them felt that what they were doing was right. There is no

evidence that any of them had a pang of conscience beforehand or experienced any

remorse afterward. If we accepted individual-centered moral relativism, we would have

to agree that Melvin Green's concluding remarks to the Senate subcommittee constituted

the last word on the professional propriety of what Hardin and James did. "Every

professional works by a canon of ethics," he explained, "and I think it is up to the

professional who is serving in that position at that time to make this kind of

judgment."ccxxvi Hardin and James made their judgment and (according to Green) that is

all we can require of them. Case closed.

Individual-centered relativism thus cuts off ethical discussion as soon as it has

begun. So long as Hardin and James acted in a way they judged best, there is nothing to

criticize in what they did. Indeed, even if they had asked in advance what to do, the best

advice anyone could have given them would have been to do what they felt proper,

whatever that might be. Telling them any more would have been telling them what we

should do were we in their place, not what they should do. Individual-centered moral

relativism makes most reasoning about (moral) right and wrong a lonely and pointless

activity. The work of the BER, indeed, the work of all those who advise others what to do,

could be helpful only insofar as it helped the individual to reach some judgment,

whatever it might be. One might as well throw dice as ask the BER. That too seems

inconsistent with our understanding of right and wrong.

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3. Laws. It may seem that these problems of group-centered moral relativism could

be resolved simply by appealing from the rules of the NSPE to those of some more

inclusive society, for example, the laws of the United States. But that is not so. All the

problems simply follow along. The law in question here, the Sherman Anti-Trust Act,

prohibits "[unreasonable] restraint of trade." "Unreasonable" is a word leaving plenty of

room for the interpretative problems we have already encountered in the NSPE's Code of

Ethics. Courts do, of course, have authority to interpret laws (just as the BER has authority

to interpret the code). But, though they have such authority, their interpretation is not

necessarily right (no more so than the BER's is). Not only do courts sometimes change

their mind and "overturn" precedent, they may also find the rules they laid down

repudiated by the legislature. There is nothing unreasonable about telling a court that it

made a mistake and should decide differently next time. Nor is there anything

unreasonable about telling Congress that it was wrong to pass a certain law. There appear

to be standards of right and wrong independent of the particular rules of this or that

society, even if the society is a whole nation. If we are to explain what (if anything)

Hardin and James did wrong, we must, it seems, eventually appeal to such an

independent standard.

C. Natural Standards

What standard of right and wrong could there be beside social rules? The

traditional answer is "rules of reason" (or "natural laws"). What is a rule of reason? That is

not an easy question to answer if the answer must be a definition everyone would agree

to in every detail. But, for our purposes, the following rough definition will do: A rule of

reason is a statement of how one should act that all rational persons support, advocate,
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endorse, or recognize as somehow binding (or, at least, would recognize as binding if

they were to consider the statement in a certain way, for example, impartially, in a "cool

hour", or at their rational best). There are many such rules. The rules of arithmetic, for

example, are rules of reason (as defined here). They state standards every rational person

recognizes (or, at least, would recognize if she gave them much thought) as the way to

add, subtract, multiply, and divide if she wants to get answers other rational persons can

accept as accurate. Rules of prudence, though different from rules of arithmetic, are also

rules of reason. Prudence is choosing actions most likely to serve one's overall (long-term)

interests. All rational persons recognize their own interests as relevant to determining

what to do (relevant but, of course, not necessarily decisive).ccxxvii

Rational persons (as rational persons) support, advocate, endorse, or recognize

rules of reason only because (and only insofar as) there is good reason for so doing.

(Acting for good reason is a large part of what it means to be rational.) So, another way to

understand what a rule of reason is is to understand it as a rule that, all things considered,

is better supported by good reasons than any alternative. Rational persons support,

advocate, endorse, or recognize certain rules as rules of reason (at least in part) because

the weight of evidence and argument support treating them (rather than any alternative)

as binding.

Among rules of reason, the most important for our purposes are moral rules. What

is a "moral rule?" A moral rule is (let us say) any rule instructing rational persons how to

act, which each rational person would want all others to follow even if their following it

meant that he would have to follow it too.ccxxviii Moral rules (so defined) do not necessarily

state what people in fact do (except insofar as they are good people). Moral rules tell us

only what rational persons have good reason to want each other to do, what it would be

in a rational person's overall interest to have others do (whether he followed the rules

himself or not). Unlike the rules of arithmetic or prudence, moral rules presuppose that
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rational persons are able to help or harm one another if they choose. Moral rules lay down

requirements for the treatment of others, acts due others as persons, our "natural"

duties.ccxxix

We must, however, be careful to distinguish between the reasons for supporting,

advocating, endorsing, or recognizing moral rules in general (their justification) and what

may lead us as individuals to follow (or ignore) this or that rule in a certain case (our

reason or motive for acting as we do). What justifies moral rules is that having them is in

everyone's interest. But people may in fact do what morality requires (when they do) for

any number of reasons. Some may act as morality requires because they were brought up

to do so and doing wrong has no appeal. They act morally because they are of (morally)

good character. Some may act morally because they wish others well. Such persons act

morally because they possess the special virtue of altruism or benevolence. Others may do

what morality requires because, though tempted to do wrong, they try to do what they

believe right (and succeed). Such persons act morally in order to preserve their moral

integrity. Others may do what morality requires because they fear criticism, prison, or

divine wrath. Such persons act morally because they are prudent.

Most people probably act morally from a combination of these or other motives. So

long as they do what is required (with the appropriate intention), what they do is right

and their motive will be relevant only in assessing their character or moral worth. If,

however, they do something wrong, their motive may be relevant in another way. "He

meant well" cannot justify an act (that is, show it to have been right), but it may provide a

reason for not blaming someone as much as would otherwise be appropriate. For

example, the man who steals bread to feed his family is still a thief, but he does not

deserve as much blame (or punishment) as the man who steals the same amount to

gamble or because he enjoys the thrill of crime. The man who steals bread to feed his

family clearly means well in a way the gambler or thrill-seeker does not.
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Moral rules are, in one sense, absolute, that is, they take precedence over any

consideration conflicting with them. But they take precedence only in a sense. They do not

take precedence in the sense that they in fact always win out in the deliberations of a

rational person. They may not. Winning out in the deliberations of even the most rational

person involves considerations other than those that justify moral rules. (I may, for

example, benefit from breaking my promise to you even though I would suffer were there

no general practice of keeping promises. It would then be in my interests both to support

promise-keeping in general and to break my promise in this case.) Moral rules also do not

take precedence in the sense that reason requires me to do what morality says, whatever

other interests are at stake. Reason does not require that. (For example, breaking a

morally-binding promise--at great cost to others--is not necessarily irrational wrong even

if my only reason for breaking it is that I would suffer somewhat more if I kept it than if I

broke it.) Moral rules take precedence over other considerations only in the sense that we

want them to win out in general, that we want everyone else to be taught that they should

win out all the time, that we would help make them win out by condemning those who

do not give them precedence, and so on. Moral rules are, in this sense, absolute almost by

definition.

There are, however, also two senses in which moral rules are not absolute. They

are, first, not absolute in the sense that would be caught by saying that "reason requires"

them to take precedence. Reason does not require that much. Moral rules are those rules

everyone wants everyone else to follow. They are not necessarily the rules any rational

person, merely because he is rational, wants to follow himself. His following them is not

itself necessarily desirable (unless he is a person of good character). For example, when I

keep an expensive promise I wish I had not made, I (ordinarily) do it not because it is

rational to "want to" but because I "must." Reason requires moral rules to take precedence

over other considerations (and so, to be "absolute") only from "the moral point of view."
 165

(The moral point of view is the way rational persons must look at things when laying

down rules to guide all rational persons in their relations with one another.) The merely

prudent person (the person not moved by benevolence or his own moral dignity) may

break her promise without being irrational--if she can get away with it--though a person

of good character or high purpose may not. Good character or high purpose can change

what it is rational to do.ccxxx

That brings us to the second sense in which moral rules are not absolute. They are

not exceptionless.ccxxxi The rule "Don't kill" might, for example, better be written "Don't kill

except...." While all rational persons can agree that killing should in general be prohibited,

few, if any, would agree that all killing should be prohibited. Perhaps the easiest

exception to justify is that for killing in self-defense. If the reason we support a general

prohibition against killing is that we fear involuntary death at the hands of others, the

exception for self-defense might be justified by reasons much like those justifying the

general prohibition: an exception for self-defense would in general be invoked only

against those breaking the rule against killing, would tend to discourage rule-breaking by

making rule-breaking more risky than it would be if people of good character or moral

integrity could not in good conscience kill in self-defense, and would otherwise serve our

rational interest in a safe life. Exceptions to moral rules help make it easier to do what is

right, heading off possible conflicts between morality and prudence.

Our quest for a standard of right and wrong by which to evaluate what Hardin

and James did has, it seems, led us to ask whether Hardin or James did anything morally

wrong. The answer we must now consider is that they did do something morally wrong

because each had a conflict of interest making it morally wrong to do what he did. Since the

NSPE Code includes a general prohibition of conflicts of interest, justifying that answer

will in effect provide a moral justification for a certain reading of the code. ccxxxii And

because moral considerations take precedence over all others (in the sense explained
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earlier), that answer would take precedence over those already considered even if they

had not proved inconclusive.

III. What is Morally Wrong with a Conflict of Interest?

Section II.4(a) of the NSPE Code of Ethics assumes a certain understanding of

conflict of interest. Let us begin by trying to make that understanding explicit. The section

assumes, on the one hand, that an engineer will be acting for an "employer" or "client"

and, on the other, that he will be exercising "judgment" (or providing a "service") of a

certain sort the quality of which might be influenced (for the worse) by certain

associations, interests, or circumstances. The sort of "judgment" (or "service") of concern to

the code is that judgment (or service) an engineer provides when "acting in a professional

matter," that is, when exercising the special skills, powers, or authority he has because he is

an engineer rather than, say, a mere citizen, business person, or employee. Though

competent to provide the judgment (or other service), his ability to do so is nevertheless

compromised because he has a conflict of interest. His judgment (or other ability to serve)

is subject to "influences" by improper considerations or, at least, appears to be. There is

reason to believe he may not do what a "faithful agent or trustee" with his skills, powers,

and authority (as engineer) would ordinarily do for the person in whose interests he is

supposed to be acting.

The NSPE Code limits its concern to "professional matters." That very limitation

suggests that an engineer might have a conflict of interest even when not acting as an

engineer. The code seems to apply an analysis of conflict of interest more general than

engineering ethics. The notion of conflict of interest the code assumes is, it seems, one any

rational person should be able to understand, engineer or not. So, let us try to state that

general analysis of conflict of interest first, see how it works in a case with which we are
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all familiar (and about which we have relatively settled opinions), assure ourselves that

the analysis implicit in the code is one we can accept (if indeed it is), and only then try to

understand what it tells us about Hardin and James.

A. General Analysis of Conflict of Interest

We might generalize the code's analysis of conflict of interest in this way: A conflict

of interest is any situation in which a) you (for example, an engineer) are in a relationship with

another person (for example, a client or employer) requiring you to exercise judgment on behalf of

that other person and b) there is good reason to believe that, though competent to provide that

judgmentccxxxiii, you may not do it as you should (for example, as an equally competent agent or

trustee of that client would) because of some special interest, obligation, or other concern of

yoursccxxxiv. Does this analysis fit our settled opinions about conflict of interest in general?

Can we provide a moral justification for those opinions? Let us consider a relatively clear

case of conflict of interest having nothing to do with engineering.

Suppose that a judge is to hear a case between two large corporations, that she is

known to be a good judge in general and an expert in the law affecting this case. But

suppose, too, that she has substantial holdings in one of the two corporations. Such a

judge certainly has a conflict of interest. Does she have a conflict of interest according to

the analysis we derived from the code? The answer seems to be: yes. She is in a

relationship with another requiring her to exercise judgment. Her role as judge puts her in

the position of having to decide the case before her according to her judgment of what the

law requires. She is supposed to provide both the parties to the case with impartial

judgment. And that is exactly what there is reason to believe she may not do. The

circumstances are such that, though she is exceptionally competent to judge cases of this

kind, she may nevertheless be unable to judge this one as she should. Her interest in one
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of the corporations may bias her judgment in favor of that corporation. Money talks.

Of course, there is no guarantee that she will listen. This judge might, for example,

be able to allow for her natural bias when deciding the case. She may be able to "bend

over backwards" to cancel its effect. But, even if she can in fact cancel the effect of her bias,

there remains the question how she or anyone else is to know that she has succeeded. This

is not the sort of bias judges routinely cancel out. Canceling the effect of pecuniary interest

is not part of ordinary judicial training or skill. We cannot then rely on our judge's

judgment that she has canceled the effect of that interest because her judgment of that

may itself be affected by the same influences. It is also unlikely that she will be able to

show in some other way that she has succeeded in canceling the effect of that interest.

Judging is (in part) a matter of forming an informed opinion about controversial

questions. There is no mechanical way to check such judgments for the effect of interest.

(If there were, we could replace judges with clerks.) We can, of course, bring in other

judges to examine the same evidence our judge examined and form opinions of their own.

But beside being impractical (why not just replace her instead?), such double checking

would simply produce other opinions. We would learn that other judges would agree or

disagree with our judge, but not whether she succeeded in canceling the effect her interest

had on her judgment. There would remain the question of whether she would have

decided differently had she not had that conflict of interest. So, her ownership of the stock

cannot be shown not to have affected her judgment. Since the inability to prove absence of

actual bias is itself a good reason to doubt her judgment, she will have a conflict of

interest even if she decides the case "correctly" and for all the right reasons.

This conflict of interest would not be "an apparent conflict of interest", a mere

appearance. A conflict of interest is "merely apparent" if the relevant parties have

available information capable of showing that the interest in question has, under the

circumstances, no tendency to bias judgment. So, in our example, we could dispel the
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appearance of conflict by showing that the judge no longer owns the stock or, while

owning it, cannot know that she does because her holdings are in a blind trust.

B. Responding to Conflict of Interest

A conflict of interest is like dirt in a sensitive gauge. For the same reason rational

persons want reliable gauges, they want those upon whose judgment they rely to avoid

conflict of interest (insofar as practical). We would, for example, ordinarily want our

judge to decline to hear the case (or to sell her stock before hearing it). We do not want her

"bending over backwards" to compensate for possible bias because we have no way to

know how such bending will turn out. Will she bend over far enough? Will she bend over

too far?

So, if that is what conflict of interest is, what can we do about it? Most conflicts of

interest can be avoided. We can take care not to put ourselves in a position where contrary

influences or divided interests might undermine our ability to do what we are supposed

to do. But, however much care we take, we shall not always succeed in that. Our relations

with one another are too many, and too varied, for us to keep track of them all. We cannot

always foresee how they will effect one another and so cannot take the precautions

necessary to prevent all conflicts of interest. Still, though conflicts of interest cannot

always be avoided, they can always be escaped. We can end the association, divest

ourselves of the interest, or otherwise get beyond the influence that might otherwise

compromise our judgment.

But is it always practical to do that? Do we really want people never to act for us

just because they have an interest that makes their judgment somewhat less reliable than

it would otherwise be? Should there be an absolute prohibition on acting with a conflict of

interest? These are not hard questions. Consider our judge again. Suppose she retires.
 170

Some time later the two corporations have a similar dispute but this time agree to

arbitrate rather than endure the expense of another trial. They come to our judge because

of her reputation and the integrity she displayed in withdrawing during their previous

dispute. She has not sold the stock. Would we want her either to refuse to arbitrate or to

sell off the potentially biasing stock?

One might suppose that the answer is clearly: yes, she should refuse or sell. After

all, the ownership of the stock is still a consideration that could influence her judgment

and an arbitrator--like a judge--is expected to provide unbiased judgment. On the other

hand, the two corporations may be willing to run the risk of that influence in order to

benefit from the judge's special insight into their problem (just as we might prefer to use a

sensitive but slightly unreliable gauge rather than one which, though fully reliable, is too

crude for the measurements we want to make). The general rule against conflict of interest

protects the person who properly relies on the judgment of another. If such protection

were sometimes to make people worse off and there were some other way to provide

much the same protection without making the people involved worse off, would it not be

reasonable to make an exception to the general prohibition? Would this not be like

treating self-defense as an exception to the general prohibition of killing?

Consider our retired judge once more. Suppose she reasons in this way: "I could not

have agreed to such an arrangement when I was a judge because the public as well as

these two parties were relying on my judgment. My decision in the case would have been

a precedent for others. Here there is no question of precedent; no one will rely on my

judgment but these two corporations. They have come to me because they trust me and

because they want to save money. They have not asked me whether I still own the stock.

Obviously, they don't care. If I were to sell off the stock now, I would lose a lot of money,

much more than they are willing to pay for this job. So, I must keep the stock. I can,

however, do the job fairly even if I own the stock. I'm quite sure of that. So, there's no
 171

reason why I should not accept the arbitration without further ado."

Is there anything troubling about the judge reasoning in this way? Certainly there

is. The judge seems to be taking too much upon herself. She has decided that the reason

the corporations did not ask about the stock is that they did not care about it rather than,

say, that they forgot about it or expected the judge to inform them if she still owned it. She

has also decided that she can arbitrate the case fairly even if she has a conflict of interest,

rather than leaving that decision to those whose agent or trustee she is to be. She has

decided what they will risk (and, however "sure" she is, there remains a reasonable chance

that she is wrong). Her reasoning is, in a word, "paternalistic." She has assumed that it is

morally permissible for one rational person (without the other's informed consent) to

decide significant aspects of the other's life because she believes herself at least as able to

judge such things as the other is.

It is easy to see what is wrong with our judge's reasoning. Each rational person

wants to live according to his own conception of the good (his own judgment of what his

interests are and how they should be balanced), not according to someone else's. We do

not want people deciding what is better for us simply because they believe they know

better. That is true even when they may in fact know better and their decision does not

impose any significant risk of harm. How much more true when, as usually happens, they

lack the information about us that we ourselves have and the decision would impose

significant risks on us! Since it is something all rational persons would generally oppose,

imposing risks on another rational person for that other's good but without the other's

informed consent must in general be morally wrong.

It seems, then, that before our retired judge agrees to arbitrate the case, she should

disclose her conflict of interest. Indeed, she should disclose any information that might

cast doubt upon her ability to perform as the two parties would otherwise reasonably

expect. She may advise them that she believes she can overcome the conflict (since she
 172

does believe that). But she must be sure that they are fully informed of what the conflict is

and fully appreciate the risks of putting their case to an arbitrator laboring under such a

disability. Only then can she be reasonably sure that, if they go ahead with the arbitration,

the decision to go ahead will be "theirs, not hers," that is, the result of their informed

judgment, not in part the result of her not revealing information they would have found

relevant. Disclosure has another benefit as well. It allows our judge to discuss with the

two corporations ways to compensate for any tendency toward bias she might have.

To sum up: You have a conflict of interest if a) you are in a relationship with

another justifying that other's reliance upon the proper exercise of your judgment in that

other's interest and b) you have an interest tending to interfere with the proper exercise of

that judgment. In general, conflicts of interest should be avoided or, if unavoidable, ended

as soon as possible. In special cases, however, a conflict may be tolerated if tolerating it

will benefit the person who is relying on the judgment in question, but then only if there

is full disclosure to that person and that person intelligently consents to the relationship

nonetheless. Disclosure does not end a conflict of interest. What it ends is the passive

deception of allowing one's judgment to appear more reliable than it in fact is.ccxxxv

C. Judges, Hardin, and James

If all this makes sense, it should not be hard now to see what was wrong with what

Hardin and James did. Let us begin with Hardin. Hardin initially gave his opinion on the

interpretation of HG-605a in the friendly atmosphere of dinner with M&M executives.

Such an atmosphere does not invite hard thought. We cannot know whether Hardin

would have given a different opinion under other circumstances. Indeed, even he cannot

know that. We can, however, reasonably conclude that his opinion might well have been
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different if, say, Hydrolevel executives had taken him to dinner first or had been present

at the dinner with M&M executives. Having "gone on record" as accepting a certain

interpretation of the code, Hardin would have found it embarrassing to change his mind

once the inquiry had been officially submitted in writing. His first response thus tended

to undermine his ability to consider the written inquiry with the open mind he might

otherwise have had. He had, in other words, a conflict of interest from the moment he

first gave his opinion at dinner on a question likely to come before his committee.

(Because giving one's opinion on a question tends to prejudice one's judgment thereafter,

judges generally refuse to discuss any case that might come before them.) Hardin's

helping to draft the inquiry may have strengthened further his feeling of owing M&M the

opinion he gave at dinner. But, had he not given his opinion in advance, his part in

drafting the inquiry would hardly have seemed important.

What should Hardin have done about the conflict of interest once it developed? He

could have declined to respond to the inquiry when Hoyt referred it to him, passing it on

to his subcommittee (minus James) and leaving it to them to decide what to do with it

without his participation. Or he could have informed Hoyt that he had already committed

himself on the question informally (and helped to draft the inquiry), leaving to Hoyt the

decision whether Hardin should participate. Had Hardin done either, no one would have

had reason to doubt his integrity (and his employer might have been saved $75,000).

Of these two alternatives, however, declining to participate seems much the better.

Declining to participate resolves the problem altogether, while disclosing the problem to

Hoyt simply makes it Hoyt's problem rather than Hardin's. Whenever there is a conflict of

interest, there is someone ("the client") entitled to rely on the judgment in question.

Conflict-of-interest problems cannot be resolved by disclosure unless the disclosure is

made to the "client". Sometimes it takes some thought to determine who the "client" is (or,

more often, who all the "clients" are). This is such a case. Who is Hardin's "client" here?
 174

The answer is not ASME--or, at least, not only ASME. ASME holds itself out as an

authority on boiler safety. It invites the general public to rely on its safety codes and on

the interpretations its committees make of them. And the public does rely on them.

ASME, though not a governmental body, is still a "public agency," that is, an agency that

purports to serve the public interest. So, Hardin's "client" (or at least one of them) is

ultimately the general public. Had Hardin made full disclosure to Hoyt and Hoyt told

him to go ahead, Hardin would still not have made full disclosure to the public. He

would have allowed Hoyt to act for his (and Hoyt's) "client". He would have treated Hoyt

as trustee or guardian of the public interest. That may sometimes be necessary, for

example, when revealing information to one client would do serious harm to another and

withdrawing would do similar harm. (Not all paternalism is morally wrong.) But, given

the ease with which Hardin could have escaped the conflict altogether (without any risk

of harm to the public interest), it does not seem necessary or even desirable for him to

have, in effect, allowed Hoyt to act for the public without the public's informed consent.

Identifying Hardin's (ultimate) client as the general public, not ASME (or M&M),

also helps to explain why Hardin should have revealed more to the Professional Practices

Committee than he did. The Professional Practices Committee, like Hardin's own Heating

Boiler Subcommittee, was acting as trustee of the public, not simply as an agent of ASME.

(That is so because ASME implicitly guarantees the integrity of its procedures when it

invites the public to rely on its codes and committees.) The standard of disclosure was,

then, not what was customary within ASME but what the public might reasonably think

relevant (or what it was in the interests of the public to know) should it wish to evaluate

the reliability of the ASME interpretation in question. Hardin should have revealed his

meeting with M&M executives because the meeting might reasonably have looked

suspicious to members of the public. He should not have kept that information to himself

just because he--correctly--believed ASME officers would agree there was nothing
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inappropriate about it. The decision whether to trust his judgment was the public's, not

his, because he invited their trust by answering the M&M inquiry in his capacity as chair

of the Heating Boiler Subcommittee. For the same reason, he should have revealed his

part in helping to prepare the original inquiry.

I leave evaluation of James' conduct as an exercise for the reader. Consider in

particular the following questions: What (if anything) was wrong with not signing the

original inquiry? What (if anything) was wrong with reporting to the full Heating and

Pressure Vessel Committee the recommendation of his subcommittee concerning the

Hydrolevel objection to Hardin's original response? What (if anything) was wrong with

helping to draft the letter of June 9, 1972? What (if anything) was wrong with failing to

reveal those acts to the Professional Practices Committee? What part does mere

appearance play in answering these questions? If there was anything wrong with any of

these acts, what should James have done instead (while remaining a faithful employee of

M&M)? Why?
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Notes

This chapter began as pp. 1-26 of Paula Wells, Hardy Jones, and Michael Davis, Conflicts

of Interest in Engineering (Kendall/Hunt Publishing Company: Dubuque, Iowa, 1986), a

Module in the Series in Applied Ethics funded by the Exxon Education Foundation. I

should like to thank the staff of IIT's Center for the Study of Ethics in the Professions, the

Advisory Panel of the Series for help both in formulating the original project and in

carrying it to completion, and Michael Pritchard for several perceptive comments on the

published version.
 Chapter 8

CODES OF ETHICS, PROFESSIONS, AND CONFLICT OF INTEREST

Chapter 7 used moral arguments to interpret provisions of the NSPE's Code of

Ethics. This may suggest that morality somehow determines what a profession should

require of its members. This chapter uses an emerging field of engineering, clinical

engineering, to show that--at least for conflict of interest--morality leaves professions a

substantial range of choice concerning what should or should not be required of

members. Morality, while limiting what professional ethics can be, does not determine

what it is. This chapter will also provide an opportunity to respond to some criticism of

the book's general approach to engineering ethics.

I. What is Clinical Engineering?

Clinical engineering is part of another relatively new field, biomechanical

engineering (barely twenty-five years old). Besides clinical engineering, biomechanical

engineering includes rehabilitation engineering (the engineering that goes into, for

example, the choice, attachment, and maintenance of artificial limbs) and biomechanical

research (the engineering that goes into, for example, the design, building, and testing of

those limbs). As in "bioethics," the "bio" in "biomechanical" signals a relation with

medicine (rather than with "life" as such); the "mechanical," an origin in mechanical

engineering. (Electrical engineers, especially, seem to prefer to call the field by the more

informative "medical [or biomedical] engineering".)

Clinical engineers share with other biomechanical engineers a working relation

with medicine. They differ from other biomechanical engineers in the relation they have.
 178

Working in hospitals (or other medical enterprises), clinical engineers oversee the vast

technological structure that makes modern medicine possible. Because that technological

structure is a complex mix of conventional mechanical systems and the newest in

electronics, the typical clinical engineer may have a degree in either electrical or

mechanical engineering.ccxxxvi

Clinical engineers are engineers. They have degrees in engineering, employ much

the same method, skills, and knowledge other engineers employ, and like other

engineers, are concerned with designing, developing, and operating safe and useful

physicial systems. Clinical engineers are, nonetheless, not ordinary engineers. Most

engineers work in an organization where engineering is a central concern. Even in a

finance-oriented company like General Motors, engineering is the mother tongue, the

language of most of those with whom most engineers must deal. That is not true of a

hospital. Medicine is the mother tongue there. A clinical engineer may be the only

engineer the hospital employs. And even when (as often happens) he has a few

colleagues, they will together form only a small part of the organization. Most of their

dealings will be with physicians, nurses, medical administrators, and others to whom

engineering is alien.

This alone suggests that the hospital may be an environment where ordinary

engineering ethics is not appropriate. There are other reasons to think so. I will point out

only one here. Engineers generally agree that the safety, health, and welfare of the public--

rather than that of the client (or employer)--comes first. Yet, for physicians, nurses, and

other health care professionals, the safety, health, and welfare of the patient comes first.

The public interest, like the interests of colleagues or other third-parties, is secondary.

Such differences in environment suggest questions like these: How, if at all, should

the obligations of clinical engineers differ from those of other engineers? What should be

the paramount obligation of clinical engineers?

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Such questions are not easy to answer. That is reason enough not to try to answer

them here. But there is another reason. I am not a clinical engineer. Deciding what one

should profess is part of the profession in which one claims membership. Others can only

advise. As a philosopher, I can best advise by clarifying the questions I have put so that

clinical engineers, the members of the profession in question, find them easier to answer. I

can, of course, give all sorts of other advice too, but why do it? I lack the experience on

which such advice should rest. And my theory of engineering will pass an important test

even if it only helps to clarify the questions I have put.

But how can clinical engineers answer those questions, however clarified? Are not

the questions ultimately philosophical? They are not (though they certainly can generate

philosophical puzzles). They are, rather, much like other questions engineers routinely

face, for example, questions of safety or reliability. They can be resolved in much the same

way. Engineers will have to make educated guesses, test them, share results with peers,

reassess their guesses based on the tests and peer response, make such modifications as

seem appropriate, test again, and so on.ccxxxvii

At this point, some readers will have begun to formulate objections. I have, after

all, suggested both that there is no Archimedean point from which to deduce a code of

ethics for a profession and that the members of a profession have a privileged position

with respect to determining what their code of ethics is (and should be). I have even

suggested that writing a code of ethics for engineers is much like other engineering tasks.

Clearly, I have gone well beyond the claims of chapter 4. I have much to explain--and

explain I will. But, before I do, I want to examine an ethical problem typical of those

facing clininical engineering. That examination will provide evidence crucial for the

explanation I will give.

II. A Problem of Professional Ethics

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Consider this relatively simple problem: You are an engineer in charge of clinical

engineering at Big Bill Hospital. Your work there has introduced you to the products of

Hi-Tec., mostly very expensive diagnostic equipment. Hi-Tec is a relatively big company,

with good service as well as good equipment. You have been impressed by everything of

theirs you have seen. Indeed, after some bad experiences with Hi-Tec's competitors, you

have recommended some purchases from Hi-Tec even when the competitor's price was

significantly lower. When your stockbroker lists Hi-Tec's stock as a good buy, you

consider buying a few hundred shares at $14 each. Should you?

Some things are obvious. Big Bill's purchases are not large enough to affect the

overall profitability of Hi-Tec. You will not be able to make money by giving business to

Hi-Tec rather than to its competitors. You will not have what most people would think of

as a clear conflict of interest. On the other hand, you will have a connection with Hi-Tec

that could affect your professional judgment.ccxxxviii Hi-Tec will, as it were, be a member of

your financial family. While you may be sure that the connection will not influence you,

you recognize that others cannot be so sure. ccxxxix If they knew you owned Hi-Tec stock,

they might wonder about your impartiality when you recommended a Hi-Tec product

over some other. Your recommendation might carry less weight than it would otherwise.

Let us suppose that (like many employers) Big Bill does not require you to reveal

ownership of publicly traded stock. So, you are not, as an employee, required to tell Big

Bill if you buy the stock. Your employer has left you free to choose between at least these

three options: (1) passing up the stock, (2) buying the stock and saying nothing, and (3)

buying the stock and informing your employer. Which should you choose?

A physician faced with such a question might profitably turn to sec. 8.06(1) of the

Principles of Medical Ethics of the American Medical Association (AMA): "A physician

should not be influenced in the prescribing of drugs, devices or appliances by a direct or

 181

indirect financial interest in a pharmaceutical firm or other supplier." Physicians are, it

seems, not forbidden to have financial interests that could influence their judgment in

ways not in the best interest of their patient. They are only forbidden to be influenced by

such interests. So, since you believe that owning the stock will not influence your

judgment, you could, it seems, if you were a doctor rather than a clinical engineer,

properly buy the stock.ccxl

But (as we are supposing) you are a clinical engineer, not a physician. Where then

can you go for guidance when your field has no code of ethics of its own? If you were a

member of the Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers (IEEE), you might turn to its

code of ethics. Clause 2 would tell you to "avoid real or perceived conflicts of interest

whenever possible, and to disclose them to affected parties when they do exist." ccxli For an

electrical engineer, the crucial question is not whether the interest will influence her, but

whether she has such an interest ("real" or "perceived").

If, instead, you had been trained as a mechanical engineer, you might turn to the

Ethical Guidelines (4.a) of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers (ASME). You

would get much the same answer: "Engineers...shall promptly inform their employers or

clients of any business association, interests, or circumstances which could influence their

judgment or the quality of their services." (ABET's code would answer in the same way.)

The American Association of Engineering Societies (AAES) sets an even higher

standard. According to its Model Guide for Professional Conduct, "Engineers disclose to

affected parties all known or potential conflicts of interest or circumstances which might

influence--or appear to influence--judgment or impair fairness or quality of performance."

Even if you were sure owning the stock could not affect your judgment, you would,

according to the AAES, be obliged to inform the hospital because owning the stock might

appear to influence it (if ever anyone there came to know of it).

The similarity between the IEEE, ASME, and AAES codes suggests that engineers
 182

generally agree that they must be held to a higher standard than physicians. ccxlii No such

agreement exists. If you were a licensed professional engineer, you might instead have

turned to the Code of Ethics of the National Society of Professional Engineers (NSPE). You

would then have found that Art. III, Sec. 5 reads much like the AMA's code: "Engineers

should not be influenced in their professional duties by conflicting interests." There is

nothing about disclosure of what merely "could" influence your judgment.ccxliii

So, what are you, an ordinary clinical engineer, to do? You could, of course, hold

yourself to the highest standard possible. But why do that if other engineers would not do

the same and your doing so burdens you without benefit to your employer? Why should

you not make a little extra money if you can do so properly?

III. Analyzing the Problem

Of course, the question is what exactly is proper here. Ordinarily, no matter what

stock you bought, you would not want to notify your employer. Your investments are

your own business. You have even more reason to keep any purchase of Hi-Tec from your

employer. You want to avoid unjustified undermining of your professional authority.

According to the NSPE, you (an engineer) can properly keep that information

confidential, so long as you don't allow ownership of Hi-Tec stock to influence your

professional judgment. But, according to the IEEE, ASME, and AAES, if you own any Hi-

Tec stock, you have a professional obligation to tell your employer. So what should you

do?

You might call up other clinical engineers in the area and ask them what they

would do. Engineers in specialized fields sometimes develop a consensus about certain

ethical questions just as they do about the reliability of certain instruments. If the question

comes up enough, you may get a relatively clear answer. If, however, the question does
 183

not come up enough, you are likely to get a range of half-thought-through opinions

leaving you more or less where you began. Let us suppose you find no consensus. What

then?

The way I have set up the problem, the best you (the clinical engineer) can do is

muddle through. Without a standard governing clinical engineers as such, there are

several morally permissible options. The choice among these is a personal, rather than a

professional, matter (at least until you decide whether you are a professional engineer

subject to the NSPE code, a mechanical engineer subject to the ASME code, or a member

of IEEE subject to its code). You can't know what you should do as a clinical engineer.

This problem, though real enough for a practicing engineer, is, I admit, not

"philosophically interesting" in the way those problems are that hold the attention of

philosophers for generations. The problem is, however, philosophically interesting in a

more humble way. Not being a hard problem, it is just the sort that any plausible theory

of professional ethics should be able to handle easily. It is philosophically interesting as a

test case, revealing something important about codes, something most theories of

professional ethics miss.

If, as I hope, you (as clinical engineer) find "muddling through" an unsatisfying

way to resolve the problem, you have at least one reason to want clinical engineering to

have its own code of ethics. A code can turn a morally indeterminate question like this

into a question of professional ethics with a relatively determinate answer. A code of

ethics does that by creating a convention for all members of the profession to follow. If

generally following the convention gives all clinical engineers something they all want--

whether freedom to make money on the side, the greater trust of employers, or some

combination of these or other goods--each clinical engineer will have reason to want all

others to follow the convention even if their following it means she must do the same. If

the others generally do follow the convention, realizing it in practice, each clinical
 184

engineer will be morally obliged to do the same. Claiming to be a clinical engineer is a

voluntary act. No engineer can fairly take the benefits flowing from that claim without

doing her share to maintain the practice creating the benefits. A (morally permissible)

code of professional ethics itself defines each member's fair share in helping to make

possible the benefits the code generates.ccxliv

So, a code of ethics is, as such, not merely good advice or a statement of aspiration.

It is a standard of conduct which, if generally realized in the practice of a profession,

imposes a moral obligation on each member of the profession to act accordingly. A

profession's code of ethics necessarily sets a standard below which no member of the

profession can properly fall. Any document not intended to have that effect is not, strictly

speaking, a code of ethics, whatever it may be called.ccxlv

A code of ethics will set a minimum standard, no matter how high the standard if,

but only if, the standard set is generally realized in the practice of the profession. For that

reason, a profession should not set its standard very high. If, for example, the code set its

standard so high that few could hope to survive in the profession if they generally

adhered to its code, either all but a few saints would avoid the profession, or most of

those in the profession would ignore the standard. The code would either define a dying

(or dead) profession or serve as a mere statement of aspiration in a profession defined in

other terms. A living code of ethics is always a compromise between ideal and reality.

So, one reason clinical engineers might want to have a code of ethics of their own is

to make it possible for them to tailor their professional obligations to the special realities

of hospitals. This may mean setting their standards higher or lower than those of other

engineers (or just setting different standards). But, what it must mean is setting their

standards higher than their employer's. A code is pointless where morality--including the

morally permissible promise contained in the employment contract--leaves only one

option. In this respect, living by a professional code is necessarily "public service," that is,
 185

benefiting the public, those served, by giving them more than they would be entitled to

but for the code.

IV. Codes at Work

Adopting a realistic code is part of making an occupation a distinct profession. But

it is only part. Let me now briefly describe some other aspects of professionalism, making

clear how central a code is to them.

A code of ethics cannot actually guide conduct unless those to be guided know the

code. Since a code necessarily sets a standard higher than ordinary morality, even a

morally decent person is not likely to do what the code requires unless she knows what in

particular it requires. The code must be learned in just the way other engineering

standards are. The code can be taught as part of the profession's basic curriculum or its

continuing education.ccxlvi It can also be taught in less formal ways, for example, by

publishing articles on particular questions of ethics in the profession's journals.

Education is probably the primary means by which a profession puts its code into

practice. But every profession needs something more, some means of enforcement. The

minimum is the informal enforcement that comes from one member of a profession

saying to another, "But that would be unethical." Such a rebuke is barely distinguishable

from education. Beyond this minimum are group pressure, peer review, reputation in the

profession, formal certification of various sorts, disciplinary committees with the power to

censure, suspend, or expel from the profession, and state licensing with the power to bar

from employment.

Educational and enforcement activities almost define profession in the public

mind. Without them a learned occupation is only a field of study and endeavor, a

discipline, not a profession (strictly so called). These educational and enforcement

 186

activities all presuppose a code of ethics of some sort, that is, a minimum standard

common to all members of the profession making improper what would otherwise be

proper. The code need not be written, but the more that is in writing the easier it will be to

teach the code, especially in a young profession. So, clinical engineering, though no longer

a new discipline, is still only potentially a profession distinct from engineering. What it

lacks is its own code of ethics.

V. Objections Answered

We come, then, to the objections. John Ladd represents the chief objection to my

approach. For him, talk of "a code of ethics" rests on a confusion of morality and law:

Ethics, sometimes called ‘critical morality,’ is logically prior to all

these institutions and mechanisms of social control [like law or

the ‘value system’ of some group]....The principles of ethics (or

morals) are not the kind of thing that can be arbitrarily

created, changed, or rescinded....[T]hey are ‘discovered’ rather

than created by fiat. They are established through argument

and persuasion, not by imposition of external social

authority.ccxlvii

On my view, however, "ethics" as used in "code of professional ethics" does refer to a

"value system of a group," the profession itself. It is a mechanism of social control, a way

of coordinating the conduct of people engaged in a common occupation. Unlike morality,

a code of professional ethics cannot be logically prior to all institutions of social control. A

code of professional ethics is an institution of social control. A code of professional ethics

 187

can, however, still be distinguished from law (and other forms of merely external

authority). On my view, a code of professional ethics cannot, as such, be the work of

external authority. To be a code of professional ethics, a code must be a (morally

permissible) standard of conduct each member of the profession wants all others to follow

even if their following it would mean he must do the same. Professional ethics thus

resembles morality in having an "internal" aspect (being something each wants).

Argument and persuasion are essential to developing and maintaining a code as a living

practice.ccxlviii Professional ethics is "social" because it involves coordinating the conduct of

a group, the profession. But it is "control" not by external authority but (in part at least) by

the conviction of those subject to it that claiming membership in the profession is

voluntary, that the profession prescribes certain ways of acting for its members, that

acting in the prescribed ways will, on balance, serve the interests of all members of the

profession, and that therefore none can fairly claim membership while failing to act as

prescribed.

Though ethics resembles morality in this internal aspect, it is not just ordinary

morality, something that is (or should be) common to all rational persons, to all rational

persons in this society, or even to all rational persons in a particular occupation. Groups

like clinical engineers actually "create" their ethics; they do not simply "discover" them in

the larger society. Or, at least, they do not discover them in the larger society in a sense

different from the way a legislature "discovers" the law.

We must make a distinction Ladd does not. There is a sense in which law, like

ethics, must be discovered. We do not make law arbitrarily. That would (ordinarily) be

irrational. We look for reasons. We try to choose wisely. Still, what the law is is

determined in part by what we actually decide. It cannot be deduced from any

(interesting) general principles (even combined with a description of circumstances). So,

for example, no (interesting) principles settle which side of the road Japanese law will
 188

require vehicles to drive on in the year 2101, or how much I should pay in taxes next year,

or even how much sulfur dioxide steel plants along Lake Michigan's Indiana shore should

put into the air tomorrow. Legislators must make law to decide such questions. And the

laws they make will be the law even if they do not in fact choose wisely (so long as they

satisfy procedural requirements, substantive constitutional restraints, and the minimum

requirements of ordinary morality).

Members of a profession make professional ethics in the same way. Clinical

engineers need have no special rules about conflict of interest. They can continue to allow

those practicing in their field to follow ordinary moral standards, the standards set by

their employers, or the standards of their respective professions. They are free to

"legislate" or not, as they choose. They do, however, have reason to "legislate." If they

want clinical engineers to be known as people who handle conflict of interest in a specific

way, they will have to determine what way that is. If they want clinical engineers to be

respected for the way they handle conflict of interest, they will have to set a standard

higher than would otherwise prevail. Such reasons certainly do not leave clinical

engineers free to set any standard whatever. They do, however, leave them free to choose

among a fair number. Each clinical engineer will have to balance individual convenience

in complying with this or that standard against the benefit to everyone of a common

standard. Reasonable people may disagree about where the balance is to be struck. For

example, the choice between the AAES and the ASME treatment of conflict of interest is

neither a choice between right and wrong nor a choice without a difference. Clinical

engineers cannot "discover" what their profession's ethics are; they will have to decide

what they will be.

By now it should be obvious that writing a code of ethics is like other engineering

tasks in one way: writing a code of ethics has (as Caroline Whitbeck might say) the

structure of a design problem. ccxlix Ordinary morality, licensing laws, the interests of
 189

clinical engineers, and the like correspond to the specifications with which engineers

usually begin a project. Specifications constrain outcome but seldom determine it. The

engineer is free to invent new options or cull old ones from current or past practice.

Having developed a list of options, he will try to choose the best one. There will often be

no standard decision-procedure yielding a unique answer. Consideration may weigh

against consideration. Different engineers may initially choose differently. The engineers

involved will then discuss the problem until a consensus emerges (perhaps doing

additional tests or drawing on other sources for relevant information). ccl Perhaps no one

will get his first choice, but each will get a choice he considers better than stalemate.

That is one way in which writing a code of ethics for clinical engineering is like

other engineering work. There is another. The history of engineering is, in part, a history

of standardization, that is, a history of constructing tables, formulas, or procedures

defining safety, reliability, convenience, or other elements of good practice. These

standards cover everything from strength of beams to be used in highrise buildings to the

distance between threads on a screw. The boiler codes described in chapter 7 constitute

just one example. Every such standard lays down a rule of conduct for engineers.

Engineers develop these standards because all engineers doing things the same good way

is better than each engineer choosing a way he considers best. Coordinating conduct pays

in such cases.

The standards so defined are not, however, likely to freeze in the way pure

conventions tend to. Most change from time to time as experience generates new options

or shifts the weight of evidence favoring this or that old one. But change cannot be

justified simply by the fact that a new standard would beat the old one in a "fair fight."

"Ideally best," "best in the original position," or best in some other timeless way is not

good enough. The proposed standard must be so much better than the present one that

the benefits of changing to the new one will at least pay the costs of changing over.
 190

Engineers must give history its due.

Indeed, history has much to do with maintaining consensus on engineering

standards, ethical as well as technical. Individual engineers may have strong views about

which standard would be best--for example, the best layout for keys on a typewriter or

computer (almost anything but the present one). Yet, for most standards, there will also be

agreement that the present standard, whatever its faults, is better than none at all. And,

for most standards, there will be no consensus on which alternative is better. Where

standardization is important, that will be enough to justify following the present standard

until a new consensus emerges. Like the rest of the world's work, the work of engineers

cannot wait for perfection.

Engineering standards are, of course, not necessarily what any engineer or set of

them intends them to be. They are public facts, usually words, numbers, or symbols on

paper. They will always be vague or incomplete to some degree. ccli They will require

"interpretation" (or, as engineers might say, "interpolation"). A code of ethics is no

different from other engineering standards in this respect either. Just as ASME has a

committee to interpret its boiler code, so the NSPE has a committee to interpret its code of

ethics. Each profession is a continuing discussion, fundamentally political in the good

sense the ancient Athenians used to distinguish government by persuasion from tyranny.

To join a profession is, in part, to enter that discussion, gaining some control over a

common enterprise by giving up the right to act as a mere individual (what the Athenians

called an "idiot"). To claim to be an engineer is not simply to claim to know what

engineers know; it is to claim to act as engineers act. To claim to be a mechanical engineer,

for example, is to claim a share in a specific historical enterprise carried on according to

certain standards of conduct from technical codes like ASME's boiler code to ASME's

Ethical Guidelines. Anyone who wants to be a mechanical engineer but not to act according

to those standards has some explaining to do, especially to his employer and those who
 191

might otherwise rely on him for engineering judgment.

Indeed, insofar as the distinction between "ethical standard" and "technical

standard" suggests that technical standards have nothing to do with ethics, the distinction

is misleading. For any profession, part of acting ethically is satisfying technical standards.

What we call a "code of ethics" can equally well be thought of as the most general of

technical standards, the framework into which the more detailed ones may be sorted. So,

clinical engineering is a mere field of engineering insofar as clinical engineers are not

"standardized" in the way mechanical or electrical engineers are. They are an emerging

profession in part because they have already developed some technical standards. But

they will not achieve full status as a distinct profession until they have their own code of

ethics. And nothing requires them to do that. They may instead (properly) choose to

remain a part of the engineering profession.

 192

NOTES

The first version of this chapter was presented to a session of the First World Congress of

Biomechanics, La Jolla, California, 31 August 1990; a much enlarged version was

published as "Codes of Ethics, Professions, and Conflict of Interest: A Case Study of an

Emerging Profession, Clinical Engineering," Professional Ethics Journal 1 (Spring/Summer

1992): 179-195. I should like to thank those few present at La Jolla, especially one of my co-

panelists, Caroline Whitbeck, for asking the right questions. I should also like to thank the

three reviewers at PEJ for extensive comments on the second version. They are, of course,

not responsible for a number of minor revisions I have made since.

 PART FOUR

The first three parts of this book drew irregularly but often on history for insight

into engineering. Though this part again begins with history, including an example

already familiar, the Challenger disaster, its focus is on the social sciences (rather than

history). Chapter 9, the report of empirical research, reveals something of the day-to-day

work of engineers, their place in business, their relationship to management. It is also, like

Chapter 5, an attempt to use what we learn about engineers to protect them from some

hard ethical choices. Chapter 10 tries to convert the abstract claim that most engineers

cannot be professionals because, as employees, they lack autonomy, into a set of concrete

claims capable of empirical testing, but leaves the testing to social scientists. Chapter 10

suggests the useful cooperation possible between philosophers and social scientists

interested in professions. The last chapter, the book's epilogue, is an invitation to the social

sciences (and history) to contribute more to engineering ethics. It formulates four

questions about engineering the answers to which would be useful to those of us who

work in engineering ethics, four questions the social sciences seem admirably fitted to

answer. The epilogue underscores the preliminary character of the book as a whole, its

attempt to open up a field of study, to suggest hypotheses and lines of research, even to

offer a target for those who think differently.

 Chapter 9

ORDINARY TECHNICAL DECISION-MAKING:

AN EMPIRICAL INVESTIGATION

For Canada's engineers, part of belonging to the profession is wearing a finger

ring, originally a plain band of iron, now generally of steel, in memory of the collapse of a

great "iron" bridge across the St. Lawrence at Quebec in 1907. cclii Remembering that

disaster, in which more than seventy workers died because of an engineer's error, is

supposed to help today's engineers avoid similar errors. No other engineering society I

know of has anything quite like this physical momento, but there is in it something

characteric of engineering. Engineers do not bury their mistakes (as surgeons are said to

do). They record them, study them, and put what they learn from them into practice.

Engineering handbooks, with their tables of tolerances, safety factors, standard methods,

and so on are (in part) the intellectual equivalents of Canada's iron ring, an attempt to use

failure.

This chapter is also attempt to use engineering failure; it differs from most such

attempts in being concerned with ethical rather than technical failure. I begin with the

assumption that whenever an engineer faces an ethical problem, something has gone

wrong. There are at least three possible ways to explain what went wrong: a) the

individual--someone (the engineer or someone else) acted inappropriately; b) the

organizational--the organization lacks a satisfactory policy or procedure to prevent the

problem or at least to make it a "no brainer"; or c) the technical, the absence of some

device that would prevent the problem from arising (for example, a testing device

eliminating the uncertainties that leave a decision to "engineering judgment").

These three ways of explaining an ethical problem are not mutually exclusive.

Indeed, often, each sheds some light. What we identify as "the explanation" of a problem
 195

probably has more to do with the solution we think best than with how the problem

arose. Where we think the problem best handled by an individual, we emphasize

individual conduct. Where we think the problem best handled by changing the

organization, we emphasize the role of practice or policy. Where we think the problem

best handled by bringing in a new machine, changing the physical layout of a building, or

otherwise rearranging things, we emphasize the technical (usually without

acknowledging the ethical dimension in any technical choice). And, where no one

approach seems adequate, we are likely to describe the problem as "complex".

This chapter approaches certain problems of engineering ethics organizationally.

We can, I believe, identify policies or practices that, by improving communication

between engineers and managers, will avoid some of the ethical problems engineers

would otherwise have to resolve as individuals. This is a work in "preventive ethics".

I. The Problem

What engineers do is important. A defect in the design of an airplane, a failure to

maintain quality in the manufacture of a chemical, or even a mistake in operating a power

plant can ruin a company, undermine trust in government, or kill hundreds of innocent

people. Our comfort, prosperity, and safety depend upon feats of engineering which,

because of their scale and complexity, are necessarily feats of management too. Anything

in the relationship between engineers and managers that can threaten the integrity of their

work threatens as well our common well-being. The tendency for technical

communication between managers and engineers to break down is certainly such a threat.

The Challenger disaster provides two stories that will serve to illustrate how serious a

threat--and to suggest the potential significance of what I do in this chapter.

Acting as a member of the Presidential Commission investigating the Challenger

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disaster, Richard Feynman, a Nobel-Prize-winning physicist, interviewed managers and

engineers in the shuttle program. He soon found that managers could differ substantially

from engineers even about what seem readily determinable facts. ccliii For example,

Feynman asked both a middle-level manager and three engineers working for him on the

shuttle's engines "what the probability of failure for a flight is, due to failure in the

engines." The engineers all said about 1 in 200. Feynman's description of the manager's

answer is too good to paraphrase:

[The manager] says, "100 percent." The engineers' jaws

drop. My jaw drops. I look at him, everybody looks at him and he says, "uh..uh, minus

epsilon?"

"OK. Now the only problem left is what is epsilon?"

He says, "1 in 100,000." So I showed [him] the other answers and said, "I see there

is a difference between engineers and management in their information and

knowledge here..."ccliv

The disagreement Feynman thus uncovered had nothing directly to do with the

Challenger disaster. Failure of a booster O-ring, not the shuttle's engines, caused the

disaster. The company responsible for the boosters, Morton Thiokol, had nothing to do

with the shuttle from which the boosters would have detached after the first few minutes

of flight. Neither these shuttle engineers nor their manager was an employee of Morton

Thiokol.

Yet, the disagreement is relevant. Feynman asked his questions of these engineers

and their managers only after finding that the managers and engineers working on the

booster differed substantially in their assessment of the probability of the booster's failure.

The differences there had come as a surprise. The probabilities were easily calculated (or,
 197

at least, everyone agreed on how to do the calculations). Once Feynman realized such

differences existed, he wondered how widespread they were.

He began his interview with the shuttle engineers by asking about any

disagreement between the engineers and their manager. The manager assured him there

were none, explaining why by pointing out that he too had been trained as an engineer. cclv

Feynman did not ask the manager why training as an engineer should guarantee

agreement with the engineers he managed. No doubt the manager assumed that being

able to understand technical information is enough to assure that he would understand it

in the way others with the same technical training did. This assumption certainly seems

plausible. What then explains the disagreement? Feynman suggests that the manager's

misunderstanding was produced by a work environment, "a game, just as in the case of

the solid rocket boosters, of reducing criteria and accepting more and more errors that

weren't designed into the device." cclvi Feynman does not explain how this process could

lead managers to get simple facts wrong or why ordinary engineers were not affected in

the same way. In truth, Feynman's suggestion does not so much answer a difficult

question as identify the difficulty. We may get a better sense of the difficulty by

considering an event crucial to the disastrous decision to launch, one already described in

chapater 4.cclvii

The night before the Challenger blew up one manager advised another to "take off

[his] engineering hat and put on [his] management hat." This advice apparently led the

manager, a vice president at Morton Thiokol, to change his evaluation of the risk of O-

ring failure and approve the launch (knowing that the launch would not occur without

his approval). The manager was himself an engineer who, earlier that day, had decided

against the launch after receiving the unanimous recommendation of his engineering

staff. The night-time reversal occurred under pressure from NASA but without any new

information about the risks involved. "Putting on [his] management hat" seems to have
 198

changed the way he thought about the data before him. Here the gap between engineers

and managers seems to have existed within one individual, an engineer-manager.

Feynman did not find this gap between engineers and managers everywhere in the

shuttle program. For example, in avionics, "everything was good: the engineers and

managers communicated well with each other..." cclviii So, the gap is not inherent in

relations between engineers and managers. It must open as a result of specific practices.

Once it opens, management may (like Feynman's NASA manager) make decisions on the

basis of something less than all information readily available. Insofar as full information

tends to make decisions better (better by almost any reasonable criterion), management

will have reduced its chances of making a good decision.

Good managers will, of course, want to avoid making decisions on less than the

best information available. The research reported here is intended to contribute to that

end. Our research group began with four related questions:

1. Can the communications gap Feynman discovered occur in other organizations

employing engineers and managers?

2. Is there a readily usable procedure for identifying the communications gap

before disaster strikes?

3. What can be done by engineers or managers in an organization to help prevent

the communications gap from opening or help close it once it has opened?

4. What can be done by colleges and universities training future engineers or

managers to help prevent the gap from opening or to help close it once it has opened?
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II. Relevant Literature

Descriptions of the manager's life in large organizations are common. Many touch

on ethical problems a manager may face. Few do more than touch on them. An important

exception is Robert Jackall's Moral Mazes, a particularly grim evocation of corporate life.

His managers work in a largely amoral environment where technical knowledge seems

largely irrelevant and satisfying the boss is the only criterion of success. Jackall discusses

engineers only in the context of whistleblowing and without giving any indication that

engineers might differ in any significant way from managers or other employees. cclix Still,

if the managers he describes are even a rough approximation of the managers with whom

engineers work, the communications gap between managers and engineers would be

both common and difficult to eliminate.

Engineering is a profession. What does the literature explicitly discussing relations

between managers and professionals have to offer? That literature is surprisingly small.

Most of it seems designed for the personnel department (or, perhaps, for a generic MBA

program). Albert Shapero's Managing Professional People is typical. Much is said about

how to recruit creative professionals, how to keep them creative, and how to evaluate

them. Shapero is especially good on such personnel questions as whether to keep salaries

confidential and how to break in a new hire. There is even some useful advice about

encouraging communications between professionals. But virtually nothing is said about

what happens to the information, designs, and recommendations professionals generate.

Shapero gives no hint that professionals and managers might disagree in the way those

working on the Challenger did.cclx

The one significant exception I have found to this personnel-department

orientation in the literature concerned with managing professionals is the work of Joseph

Raelin, especially The Clash of Cultures: Managers and Professionals. The title itself
 200

suggests the important difference between Raelin's work and that of others writing about

relations between professionals and managers. For Raelin, there can indeed be a "clash"

between managers and professionals. Raelin explains this clash by the difference in

culture between professionals and managers. Professionals have a code of ethics setting

standards they must satisfy whatever their employer may think. Professionals, as such,

always have loyalties beyond their employer. Managers, on the other hand, have no such

divided loyalty. They are therefore much more susceptible to organizational pressures.

Raelin therefore urges managers to rely upon their professionals for guidance in decisions

with an important ethical component.cclxi

Yet, even Raelin's work does not help us see very far into the gap between

managers and engineers. Raelin's own discussion of the Challenger disaster ignores the

fact that virtually all the managers involved in the Challenger disaster were engineers.cclxii

His emphasis on the ethical also seems misplaced. The disagreement between managers

and engineers on the night before the shuttle exploded was not explicitly ethical. And the

disagreement Feynman reports is over an easily calculable fact, the probability of failure.

Chapter 5 takes a different tack, one closer to Feynman's.cclxiii It stresses the close

relation between the work we do and the way we think. Since the work engineers do is

different from that of managers, engineers may be expected to think somewhat

differently. The exact differences will, however, depend on the specific working

environment. "Explaining Wrongdoing" suggests that the working environment at

Morton Thiokol (Feynman's "game") would have made a certain "tunnel vision" part of

how managers normally thought about risk. Thinking like a manager rather than an

engineer there would, then, have meant giving less weight to engineering considerations

than an outsider would think justified. The managers had, in effect, gone blind.

"Explaining Wrongdoing" (like Raelin's work) is a contribution to the literature on

the relation between organizational structure and ethics. James Waters makes another
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suggestive contribution to this literature. Though Waters' chief example, GE's price fixing

in the 1950's, does not involve a breakdown of technical communications, there was a

communications breakdown. Waters argues that seemingly unproblematic aspects of the

organization blocked the normal tendency of people to oppose conduct they judged

illegal, unethical, or unwise.cclxiv

Technical communications seem far from ethics. Why then are we drawn to the

ethics literature? The answer is that technical communications is often the vehicle for

making ethics practical. Consider:

The cases commonly used to teach business ethics include a surprising number that

seem to involve a breakdown in communications between managers and engineers of just

the sort that concerns us. Among these cases are the Ford Pinto's exploding gas tank, the

DC-10's cargo door, Three Mile Island, and BART. Though Waters' 1978 paper focuses on

GE's price-fixing, he briefly discusses another workhorse of business ethics, the scandal

over brakes Goodrich developed for the Air Force's A-7D project. Waters notes what is a

common feature of the other scandals as well, the great difference between the way senior

managers and the engineers directly involved interpreted crucial events, an apparent

failure of middle managers to pass along important information, a failure in principle

avoidable because arising predictably from procedure or organizational structure rather

than accident.cclxv Engineers saw serious problems where, apparently, management,

especially upper management, saw nothing significant.

Our problem is connected with engineering ethics in the same way. Most of the

scandals cited above can (and frequently do) appear in a course in engineering ethics. Our

problem is, however, more than a problem for business and engineering. There is

evidence of a similar gap between government managers and their engineers. cclxvi There

also seem to be analogous communications breakdowns where no engineers are involved,

for example, between army generals and their technical staff and between airline
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mechanics and their managers.cclxvii

Our problem's connection with business ethics is nonetheless important. Unlike the

literature on professional ethics, the literature on business ethics is relatively rich in

suggestions for preventing or eliminating the sort of communications gap that concerns

us. For example, Waters makes five suggestions:cclxviii

1) remove ambiguity concerning organizational priorities

(e.g. by a corporate code of ethics);

2) include concrete examples in directives concerning

what is permitted or forbidden;

3) provide concrete steps for internal whistleblowers

(e.g. ombudsman);

4) develop an appropriate organizational vocabulary

(e.g. by organization-wide ethics training that includes discussion of specific

cases likely to arise in the organization); and

5) launch regular ethical investigations similar to the

annual audit.

Waters also remarks that the problems that concern him seem to arise in relatively

hierarchical organizations, that is, highly compartmentalized organizations with a strict

chain of command making it difficult for information to flow "horizontally" (from

department to department) or "vertically" (around a particular manager).

Raelin's recommendations are similar to Waters'. The only important additions are:

6) mentorship to help socialize new engineers

professionally; and

7) rewards for those who bring in bad news the organization is

better off having (as well as the usual rewards

that go to those who bring in good news).cclxix

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Similar recommendations abound.cclxx But virtually missing from the literature is

the suggestion that the organization should explicitly encourage professionals to adhere

to their profession's code of ethics, provide in-house training in that code, or otherwise

encourage loyalty to one's profession.cclxxi Even studies of professional diversity in the

workplace are rare.cclxxii

We have so far omitted mention of two more categories of literature relevant here.

One is the literature on managing innovation, especially the classic study by Burns and

Stalker.cclxxiii That literature seems to confirm the connection already suggested, between

good ethics and good management, while offering another perspective on it.

The other category of relevant literature so far omitted should have been obvious

to us from the beginning. The Challenger explosion was a man-made disaster. It was,

however, very late when we discovered Barry Turner's classic work on man-made

distasters. Much of his analysis focuses on breakdowns of communication, some quite

subtle. Unfortunately, he has little to say about prevention.cclxxiv

III. Hypotheses

We began our research with the assumption that business (and government) tend
to treat engineering as a "staff function" and management as a "line function." That

seemed safe. The staff-line distinction has been a relatively stable feature of American

business ever since the middle of the last century when America's first big businesses, the

railroads, organized on the model of the U.S. Army, America's first big organization.cclxxv

In its pure form, the division between staff and line works like this: Engineers (and

other professionals) are thought of as having special knowledge of how to do certain

work (drafting, designing, checking, evaluating safety, and so on). They answer to a

manager, but no matter how high they stand in the organization, no one (except perhaps a
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few assistants) answers directly to them. The engineers are not "in the chain of command."

Managers, on the other hand, whether having technical knowledge or not, are thought of

as having special responsibility for deciding what to do and how to do it. Managers

answer to those "above" and command those "below." Engineers on the staff of a

particular manager provide information, advice, and technical assistance. cclxxvi Engineers

are concerned with facts; manager, with decisions. A historian of technology recently

summed up this "military model" of engineer-manager relations rather nicely (while

assuming it to be an accurate description of engineer-manager relations today): "The

organizational structure of engineering today does not encourage practitioners to ask

questions beyond narrowly technical ones--much less to raise objections."cclxxvii

While recognizing that practice is seldom pure, we assumed that the staff-line

distinction would nonetheless produce a division of labor in which engineers tended to

think about questions one way while managers tended to think about them another. In

particular, we expected engineers generally to defer to managers, to present options and

let the managers decide. We also assumed that engineers and managers would bring

somewhat different standards of evaluation to their work. For example: Engineers,

adhering to professional standards of success, would want to "do things right," even if the

added expense or time required was substantial. The managers would instead adhere to

company standards of success; they would want to "get things done"--in time and within

budget--even if that meant cutting corners or taking substantial risks. We expected this

difference in perspective to make the perspective of managers at least partially opaque to

engineers and the perspective of engineers partially opaque to managers.

Last, we began with the assumption that the current literature on improving

communications between managers and engineers was probably inadequate. The shuttle

program had a complex system of consultation to assure engineering "input" at every step

in making any important decision. That system included much of what the literature
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recommended. Information (or, at least, the paper it was printed on) moved upward

relatively freely, with no one in a position to block it. Communications between engineers

and managers still broke down on a grand scale. The result was a disaster no one wanted.

Since the shuttle program did not seem to differ in any fundamental way from other

undertakings employing large numbers of engineers, we assumed that the same thing

could happen in any other undertaking of that sort. Clearly, then, something more than

NASA's complex system of consultation was needed.

These assumptions lead naturally to the following hypotheses:

1. That the boundary between engineer and manager would be relatively clear in

most organizations--so that, for example, an engineer would know whether or not she

had become a manager.

2. That engineers would be primarily concerned with safety and quality while

managers would be primarily concerned with costs and customer satisfaction.

3. That engineers would tend to defer to management judgment, since

management had ultimate responsibility for decisions (so that, for example, one way to

improve communications between managers and engineers would be to find ways to

encourage engineers to be more assertive in their dealings with managers).

4. That the more hierarchical an organization, the more difficult communications

between managers and engineers would be and the more likely that a communications

gap would open.

5. That we could develop a procedure for identifying a gap between engineers and

managers if one existed.

6. That we could add to the stock of procedures to prevent a gap from appearing or

to help close it once it appeared.

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IV. Method

We early recognized that the empirical literature was inadequate for our purposes

in three respects:

First, little of the literature specifically discussed engineers. Most of what did

discuss engineers was too abstract to give any feel for how managers and engineers deal

with each other day to day.

Second, the only works that did give such a feel were the congressional hearings,

court cases, and investigative reporting that scandals generate. Engineers were, we

assumed, likely to err on the side of safety and quality. Such errors may hurt corporate

profits or even ruin a company, but they will not produce a public scandal. Managers, on

the other hand, seemed likely to err on the side of profit or consumer satisfaction. Since

such errors tend to threaten safety or quality, they are likely to create just the sort of

disaster the public would be interested in. Thus the scandal literature, standing alone,

seemed likely to be skewed against managers.

Third, engineers are seldom in a position to produce an interesting disaster by

themselves. Managers have to be involved. When managers are involved, they will have

to take the blame, whether they relied on their engineers or not. It would be their

decision, however poorly they were advised. Engineering advice thus tends to be

invisible--with one exception. When the disaster happens because the manager did not

take the engineers' advice, the engineers' advice suddenly becomes visible. Why,

everyone wants to know, did the manager not take that advice? It is, then, not surprising

that the scandals getting the most attention are those where communications between

managers and engineers broke down. When a manager correctly overrules an engineer,

nothing newsworthy happens.

So, we could not rely solely on the scandals literature for an understanding of how
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managers and engineers normally work together. We needed to investigate directly how

engineers and managers work together under more or less normal conditions (that is,

without the selective hindsight disaster gives). This we did.

We developed one questionnaire for engineers and another for managers. (See

Appendices I and II). We then tested the questionnaires at one company and made minor

revisions, mostly clarifications in wording so that, for example, it was clear that we were

interested in disagreements on "technical" rather than "personnel" matters. We then

interviewed at three more companies. Only then did we add the starred questions,

preserving the original numbering to make reference easier.

The questionnaire had four functions: 1) to tell us what the engineer or manager

did, her daily routine and place in the organization's work; 2) to tell us what her relations

were with management (if she was an engineer) or with engineers (if she was a manager);

3) to help us identify those practices that contributed to good communications and those

that did not; and 4) to see whether we could identify a breakdown in communications of

the sort Feynman found in the shuttle program. The questionnaire was designed to

structure an open-ended interview lasting about ninety minutes.

Having developed the questionnaire, we contacted companies employing

engineers. The smallest employed four engineers (two without degrees); the largest, more

than ten thousand. Except for one construction company, all were engaged in

manufacture. They ranged from companies with relatively benign technologies like

electronics to a company with a relatively dangerous technology (manufacture of

petroleum-based chemicals), from companies that are primarily parts suppliers to

companies that produce primarily for end markets, from a company with one location to

several large multinationals (one of which was closely held).

These companies were not chosen by chance. Our original budget kept

interviewing within the Chicago metropolitan area. Even after the budget was revised to
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allow interviews at two locations beyond an hour's drive of Chicago, we were selective.

We assumed that few companies would be willing to let just anyone interview their

employees on company time. We therefore limited our contacts to companies where one

of us had an "in."cclxxviii The result of this mode of selection may have been a bias in favor of

"good companies."

Perhaps for this reason, one sort of bias we expected did not occur. We expected

some self-selection (even though we promised that our report would name the company

only to acknowledge its help or to recommend one of its procedures). Agreeing to

participate meant that the company had to think what we were doing was important

enough to be worth the time we would take out of the working day of its managers and

engineers. The company also had to feel comfortable having outsiders probe into day-to-

day operations. Every company we asked to participate wanted to know what we were

going to do before they agreed. It got to see our project proposal and both versions of the

questionnaire. We made no effort to conceal our interest in ethics. Any company without

a sense of social responsibility or without a clear conscience would, we thought, refuse. To

our surprise, not one of the ten companies we contacted refused, insisted on control over

what we published, or even suggested that it be allowed to comment before we

published. All did, however, ask for a copy of the final report. (We in fact did give them

all a chance to comment on a draft--to see whether our sense of their technical decision-

making fit theirs.)

Once a company agreed to cooperate, we indicated that we were not interested in

interviewing just any manager or engineer. We were interested in the "interface between

management and engineering functions." We wanted engineers who dealt with managers

and managers who dealt with engineers. We left it to the company to choose the

managers and engineers to be interviewed. Their choice seemed determined primarily by

who, among those who would be appropriate, could be available on the day we were to
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interview. Generally, we got to interview a manager and one or more engineers who

worked together rather than two unconnected individuals. In a significant number of

cases, there were last minute substitutions because "something had come up" (for

example, an emergency at a distant plant or meeting date changed). Often, it seems, a

company simply asked for volunteers from among those in the appropriate category. We

never had a sense that we were interviewing from a "stacked deck."

Small companies had no trouble understanding what we meant by "manager" and

"engineer." But, to our initial surprise, companies with large numbers of engineers did. In

these companies, there was no single interface between the engineering and management

functions. Two, three, or even four levels of organization might stand between employees

regarded as "just engineers" and others regarded as "just managers." In such companies,

we said we wanted to interview some from each level, beginning with "bench engineers"

and ending with the first level of "just managers." For this reason, we conducted more

interviews in large companies than in small.

All interviews were conducted at the company on company time and usually

within a few feet of where the engineer or manager worked, either in a conference room

or private office. The only people present during an interview were the interviewers and

the interviewee. We did not use a tape recorder. Generally, we had two interviewers, one

to ask questions and one to take notes. cclxxix Occasionally, the note taker would ask a

clarifying question. The interviews began with introductions, an explanation of the

interview's purpose, an assurance of anonymity for the interviewee, and a promise to

identify the company only to thank it for its cooperation or to point out a procedure others

might want to copy.

The interviewer then asked, "Manager or engineer?" This often occasioned a brief

discussion useful in understanding how the organization thought about engineering. We

abided by the individual's decision. This had one troubling consequence. Some "group
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leaders" (those who look after the work of 4 to 6 bench engineers) are treated as engineers

while others with the same responsibilities in the same company are treated as managers.

This is less troubling than it may seem. We were, after all, concerned with understanding

our interviewees' work from their perspective. We have, however, taken one precaution

against any bias this method might introduce. Whenever we quote a group leader while

contrasting the perspective of manager with that of engineer, we indicate that the person

quoted is not only an engineer or manager but also a group leader.

Once the interviewee decided that he was a manager or an engineer, the

interviewers would work from the appropriate questionnaire (adding a spontaneous

question now and then). Though we tried to get a copy of the questionnaire to each

interviewee at least a week before the interview, about half the interviewees did not see

the questionnaire in advance. Those receiving a copy in advance indicated that they had

read it and given it some thought. A few had even made notes. Our impression is that

those who had the questionnaire in advance tended to give fuller answers. Otherwise, the

answers given by those who had the questionnaire in advance did not seem to differ from

those who did not. No interviewee gave any indication that he had discussed his answers

with a superior.

We interviewed a total of sixty engineers and managers. All but one were male

(indicating, we think, how few women these companies employ in engineering work).

These sixty represented all the major fields of engineering: mechanical, electrical,

chemical, civil, and metallurgical. They included engineers in design, testing, and

operations (both manufacture and construction). Not all were US-trained. At least one had

been trained in each of the following countries: Canada, Netherlands, (what was then)

West Germany, (what was then) East Germany, Poland, India, and Japan. Most of these

had worked as engineers before coming to the US. In the large companies, the most senior

managers interviewed were middle-level; in the smaller companies, they were very close
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to the top of the company.

We had initially expected that engineers would have engineering degrees and

managers would have management degrees. While most engineers in most companies

were in fact "degreed," we occasionally came across an older "engineer" who had been

"promoted from the shop floor." In one company, however, promotion from the floor was

still common. That was also the one company in which we interviewed three managers

who had neither been trained as an engineer nor worked as one. We sought out that

company when we realized our initial sample of managers consisted entirely of former

engineers (most with a baccalaureate in engineering whether or not they held an MBA or

other management degree). Because the common wisdom is that "business schools, not

engineering staffs, are [now] the favored sources of managerial expertise" cclxxx, we were

surprised at how hard it was to find a company with a significant number of managers of

engineers who were not themselves engineers. We now doubt the common wisdom on

this matter--at least for the management of engineers.

Our interviews cannot provide a complete picture of the way managers and

engineers work together. What they provide is a part of the picture different from that

given by the scandals or the existing management literature. Ours is a study of technical

decision-making under normal conditions (or, at least, without the benefit of hindsight

that a disaster brings).

The picture is somewhat fuller than our method of selecting companies and their

absolute number would suggest. Just over a third of our interviewees (ten managers and

eleven engineers) had worked for at least one other employer first. Several others had

worked for another branch of the same corporate family (in Germany, Japan, or India).

We encouraged these interviewees to compare their present employer with their previous

one or their employer's practices here with its practices abroad. This gave us some insight

into a kind of company not officially represented.

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Some of the interviewees had worked for their present employer for several

decades, long enough to see important changes in relations between managers and

engineers. We encouraged those interviewees to compare past and present. These

comparisons imparted some sense of history to what would otherwise have been a snap

shot of the present.cclxxxi

V. Evidence

Our discussion of evidence has five parts. Part A compares the perspectives of

engineers and their managers. Part B distinguishes three kinds of company according to

the criteria emphasized in engineering decisions. Part C describes how engineering

decisions are normally made, noting differences related to kind of company. Part D

considers the effect an open-door policy, code of ethics, and other devices (including some

not in the literature) have on how engineering decisions are made. Part E describes a

breakdown in the normal process of decision that our questionnaire uncovered, an

undramatic form of what led to the Challenger disaster.

A. Engineers and Managers: Some Differences

Question 11 on the manager's questionnaire ("Are engineers good management

material?") and the identical question 12 on the engineer's were designed to encourage

interviewees to compare and contrast managers' and engineers' ways of doing things. We

also expected answers to question 5 on both questionnaires ("Is the company's

management trained or versed in the company's technology?"), question 12* on the

manager's questionnaire ("What questions should an engineer ask you to get the
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information he needs...?") and question 13* on the engineer's ("What questions should a

manager ask you to get the information he needs...?") to provide useful information about

differences between engineers and managers.

What we found was that the engineers and managers interviewed were virtually

unanimous in the way they distinguished the engineer's perspective from the manager's.

While both engineers and managers agreed that some engineers could be good managers,

they also believed that engineers had to change (and that those who could not would not

make good managers). Three sorts of change seemed to be involved (apart from learning

how to do budgets, fill out personnel reports, and the like).

First, an engineer must pay less attention to engineering to be a good manager.

"Letting go of the hands-on-the-bench engineering was," for one manager, "the most

difficult part for me." Another (in a different company) made the same point: "An

engineer [when he becomes a manager] must look at the picture differently and detach

himself from the details of the job." An engineer (in the same company) made the same

point: "Engineers that can't wean themselves from the engineering work make bad

managers...You have to learn to let engineers do the engineering." The most negative

comment about engineer-managers came from an engineer (in another company): "No,

engineers aren't good management material--unless given specific training. Engineers

have trouble giving up control over every detail."

The second way engineers must change to become good managers is related to the

first. Not only must engineers give up control of engineering details, they must (as one

manager put it) "develop a broader horizon and look at the big picture." For another

manager (at another company), that broader horizon included learning "to think forward,

think about others, think in terms of human resources." Connecting the first change to the

second, another manager put it this way: "We have to move from reaching the conclusions

to guiding the process which reaches the conclusions."

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The engineers could not have agreed more. One suggested, "The engineer turned

manager needs to appreciate what it takes to implement his project..., to take cost into

account and...to track performance on a weekly basis." Another (in a different company)

made the same point: "He must learn to handle responsibility and learn to get things done

through his people. He can't do it all himself."

The third way the engineer turned manager must change is more fundamental

than the other two. The manager must not only widen his horizon, he must change the

character of what he does. "Engineers like to work with things," as one engineer noted,

"[but] managing is more a matter of people than things." Or, as another engineer

expressed it, "Socially adept engineers make good managers. Others should stay away

from management." Managers made the same point. One recalled, "I had to become

much more people sensitive." Another observed, "You have to build effective working

relations with your people."

We did not (unfortunately) ask in what ways an engineer turned manager should

not change. Nonetheless, we did receive some relevant responses, most from managers.

Here again, there seemed to be a consensus. "[The manager] shouldn't lose his technical

touch," said one manager. If he does (observed another in a different company), he will

become "too superficial" and "no engineer goes to this type of manager for help."

"Technical understanding," according to one engineer, "is crucial at times. What's needed

is a fine balance [between technical understanding and holding on to one's engineering

loves], and it is seldom found."

While most companies at which we interviewed provide some formal training for

an engineer turned manager, either in-house or (more often) by paying tuition, the

general opinion was that the training was not much help (except in handling personnel

and technical business matters). A surprising number of both engineers and managers

answered question 11a (for managers) or 12a (for engineers), "None" or "None, really,"
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while others in the same company (often in the same department) reported such training.

One engineer answered in a way that may explain this apparent disagreement. Having

answered, "None to my knowledge," he added, "We have a management training

program; but it seems pretty hokey, so I don't go to it." A manager in the same company

gave an answer that at once suggests the vast scale of the company's efforts and the great

difficulty of the undertaking. Having answered: "No transition training," he went on,

"Well, we do have some supervisor development courses. And an MBA program. Role

models. But that's about it. Nothing that really prepares an engineer for the transition."

Perhaps an engineer (in another company) best expressed the underlying difficulty:

"Engineers know their products but management is a trait."

For most managers we interviewed, the most helpful preparation for managing

was early experience at the edge of management, for example, as group leader, together

with a certain amount of informal coaching. Most managers seem to be trained "on the

job." Those engineers who can't change enough (or don't want to)--what one manager

called "the scholar type"--never get beyond group leader. The rest get more and more

management responsibility (and less time for engineering) until they become full-fledged

managers.

The transition from engineer to manager is, then, not primarily thought of as the

acquisition of technical knowledge an engineer can't expect to understand. cclxxxii A

manager may indeed know about matters an engineer does not because the manager

gives his attention to matters an engineer does not (just as the engineer gives his attention

to matters the manager does not). But the manager's knowledge is in principle as easy for

the engineer to understand as it is for the (technically trained) manager to understand

what the engineer knows. The good engineering manager differs from the bench engineer

primarily in being able to do his engineering through other engineers. So, according to

this common understanding of management, an engineer and an engineer-turned-

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manager should have no more trouble communicating their respective (technical)

concerns to each other than one engineer or manager has communicating them to another.

This common understanding may explain both why we found so few non-

engineers managing engineers and why those few were concentrated in production.

Production is (according to our interviewees) that part of engineering where experience,

rather than technical training, is most likely to be the decisive factor. Even so, we noticed

unusual friction between production engineers and their non-engineer managers. At the

one company that did have non-engineers managing engineers, one (college-trained)

engineer told us, "I have to explain to my own manager in ‘baby talk’ since he is not an

engineer. This is frustrating. I pull my hair out when he repeats my recommendation to

his manager since he presents the recommendation incorrectly." One (college-trained)

non-engineer manager confirmed this description (while giving the manager's side):

"Sometimes engineers will spoon feed me. Then I'll tell them to hurry up. Or they'll water

the information down--you know, talk about apples and buckets--then I'll tell them to talk

about engines. Engineers often don't know how to talk to non-engineers."

What we derived from these interviews was not so much an impression of a

breakdown of communications between engineers and their non-engineer managers as of

an inauspicious thinning out of communication. A lot of important information seemed to

be "lost in translation." We found something similar in the one company where many of

the managers were foreigners struggling to perfect their English. Thus, one American

engineer gave us this example (after making clear he thought his manager was a good

engineer): "Let's say we discover a design change is needed on a local part. I might make

the change myself and put it into operation and then tell my manager. This is just a

simpler way to go. If I had an American manager, it would be easier to explain the fine

details and involve him." Good technical communications is surprisingly fragile.

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B. Three Kinds of Company

The companies at which we interviewed seem to be of two kinds: "engineer

oriented" and "customer oriented." To these two kinds must be added a third, "finance

oriented." While none of the companies at which we interviewed was finance oriented,

we did hear about finance-oriented companies from several interviewees when they

contrasted their present employer with a previous employer or the way their employer

does things now with the way it used to do them. Finance-oriented companies seem to be

different enough from engineer- and customer-oriented companies to be treated

separately.cclxxxiii

An engineer-oriented company is distinguished by general agreement that quality

is the primary consideration (or, rather, the primary consideration after safety). So, for

example, in one such company, an engineer volunteered, "It is company religion to seek

perfection." A manager in the same company was equally definite: "We have over-

designed our products and would rather lose money than diminish our reputation."

Such companies do not ignore cost, but (as one engineer put it), "Cost comes in

only after quality standards are met." They also do not ignore their customers, but they

are likely to take pride in how often they say "no" to them. So, for example, one manager

at such a company told us, "If a customer wants to take a chance, we won't go along." An

engineer at the same company told us: "We do actually say no to customers...We refuse

customer applications to exceed our ratings in spite of these often being big ticket items

where money losses can be significant. We will negotiate with customers to move them

within our specifications. We very rarely budge from this posture."

Such a company is not likely to maximize return on investment--in the short term

at least. It can, however, be successful by another measure. Each of the four companies we

identified as engineer-oriented had (they told us) a large and growing share of the
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markets in which it competed. Two were closely held; three (including one of the closely

held) were large multinationals.

We do not call a company "engineer oriented" because engineers in fact run it. Like

Morton Thiokol, all the companies at which we interviewed had engineers (or "former

engineers") at all levels up to (and sometimes including) executive officers. Rather, what

led us to call some companies engineer oriented is that their way of doing business closely

fit the stereotype of engineers as concerned primarily with safety and quality (and of

managers as differing from engineers in their greater concern with customer satisfaction

and finance). The companies we call engineer oriented were therefore ones in which the

engineers felt at home. What was surprising was that the managers in these companies

seemed to feel exactly the same way.

Still, even in such a company, the expression "take off your engineering hat and

put on your management hat" would not have been meaningless (even ignoring

personnel matters). The engineers were likely to think the managers "more cost-oriented."

Managers, on the other hand, could still contrast the engineer's tendency "to go into too

much detail" with the manager's tendency to be "too superficial--[to] want only a ‘go or no

go’ decision."

The contrast with customer-oriented companies is nonetheless substantial. For

customer-oriented companies, customer satisfaction is the primary consideration (or,

rather, the primary consideration after safety). "The main objective," as one engineer in

such a company put it, "is meeting the customer's requirements." A manager in the same

company gave this example: "If a particular batch can't meet specs, we might call the

customer, tell him what we have and ask whether we should ship anyway." In place of

the engineer-oriented company's internal standard of quality is the external standard of

what the customer wants or is willing to accept.

In such a company, the engineer's concern with quality regularly comes into
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conflict with management's concern to satisfy the customer. Consider, for example, the

question: Should we substitute a cheaper material for a more expensive one, making a

part significantly less durable, if the part's probable life is still significantly longer than

that of the machine into which it will be put? Both engineer-oriented and customer-

oriented companies will have to answer such questions. In an engineer-oriented company,

it will probably be understood as an engineering question, that is, as a question about

how to define quality. In a customer-oriented company, however, it will probably be

understood as a choice between engineering standards and management standards, that

is, as a choice between quality ("lowering standards") and giving the customer what he

wants ("a cost-effective solution" to his problem). So, even if the decision is ultimately the

same, the dynamics of deciding will be different (in this respect at least).

The finance-oriented company resembles the engineer-oriented in having an

internal standard of success, but resembles the customer-oriented company insofar as that

standard is distinct from quality. For a finance-oriented company, certain business

numbers (for example, gross profit or return on investment) are the primary

considerations. Customer satisfaction and quality are relevant only as means of

maximizing those numbers. As one former employee of a finance-oriented company put

it, "[The] attitude [there] was ‘we get by with what the customer cannot detect.’"

Finance-oriented companies tend to measure success in tons produced, units out

the door, or other quantities rather than in ways explicitly acknowledging quality or

customer satisfaction. While one might expect engineers to prefer such hard measures to

quality or customer satisfaction, all references to finance-oriented companies were

negative or at best neutral. One manager recalled that "the production process [there] was

driven by a ‘units out the door’ mentality which often inhibits quality and cost-

effectiveness." Another manager recalled with obvious pain being asked to make small

adjustments in test results (that is, as he saw it, falsifying the data) so that a product could
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be said to meet customer specifications and be shipped. The standard of success in a

finance-oriented company seems to be much more foreign to engineers than that of a

customer-oriented company.

Being a finance-, customer-, or engineer-oriented company is not, like being male

or female in humans, a matter of being more or less permanently one or the other. We

interviewed at one customer-oriented company that seemed to be consciously trying to

become engineer-oriented. (The engineers reported these efforts with a tone of "at last,"

while the managers were plainly having difficulty adjusting to the new demand for

quality.) We also interviewed at several companies that seemed to have gone from finance

oriented to customer oriented within the last decade or so. We even interviewed at two

companies which we assigned to the customer-oriented (rather than to the engineer-

oriented) category only after considerable discussion. What made these companies

difficult to classify was that one of their largest customers was pressing them so hard for

quality that they themselves seemed to be uncertain whether they thought quality a mere

means to satisfy a major customer or something good in itself.

The distinction between engineer-, customer-, and finance-oriented company is

probably best thought of as a rough topology useful for organizing the data presented

here or as specifying "ideal types" actual companies only approximate to varying degrees

(with perhaps some departments or divisions in the same company belonging to one type

while others belong to others). The distinction has no obvious connection with that other

ideal type, "the technology-driven company." Most of the companies in our sample

probably qualify as technology-driven.

C. Normal Decisions

Questions 3, 4, and 7 on the manager's questionnaire and questions 3, 4, and 6 on

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the engineer's questionnaire were designed to tell us who made the decisions and how

they were made. Question 8 on the manager's questionnaire and question 10 on the

engineer's questionnaire were designed to tell us whether the interviewee approved of

existing practice. In fact, questions 8 and 10 (about how decisions should be made) often

led interviewees to modify their description of how decisions were made. Occasionally,

questions 12 and 12* (for managers) and 13 and 13* (for engineers) also led to such

modifications.

ENGINEER-ORIENTED COMPANIES. Some of our interviewees initially

described what sounded like a modern version of the staff-line division between

managers and engineers. For example, one manager told us, "Managers nearly always

make the decisions;" another, "Managers have the most weight." One engineer put it this

way: "[The engineer] gives the best advice he can but it's their money." Another told us

that, in case of disagreement, "The boss typically wins."

Such comments were, however, largely contradicted by what even these

interviewees went on to tell us about decision-making in their company. For example, the

same manager who told us managers nearly always make the decision also told us: "If an

engineer has a good case, a manager seldom, if ever, would overrule--that is, if the
engineer really feels it won't work. However, a manager might step in regarding costs,

customer preferences, or some life cycle strategy--that is, something that is not absolutely

engineering in nature." In the same vein, the engineer who told us the boss typically wins

added, "I haven't experienced this."

What in fact emerged from our interviews was a process of "negotiation" (as one

manager called it) much more reminiscent of an academic department than an army

barracks. Engineers' "recommendations" were often indistinguishable from decisions.

Managers generally "overruled" engineers' recommendations only when non-engineering

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reasons (such as cost or schedule) seemed to outweigh engineering considerations.

Managers generally let the engineer do the engineering. And even when they "overruled"

an engineering recommendation for non-engineering reasons, they did not literally

overrule it. Instead, they presented the additional reasons to the engineer and sought the

engineer's concurrence, either by winning him over with the new information or by

seeking some compromise. Consensus seemed to be the mark of a good decision; outright

overruling, something to be avoided at almost any cost.

This process of seeking consensus (a better term than "negotiation") seemed to rest

on three assumptions: 1) that disagreement about any engineering or related management

question is ultimately factual; 2) that where reasonable technically-trained people with the

same information cannot reach consensus on a factual question, there is not enough

information for a good decision; and 3) that, except in an emergency, putting off the

decision until there is enough information (or a better understanding of the information

available) is better than making a bad decision. Our interviews suggest that these

assumptions are shared by engineers (and engineer-managers) at whatever kind of

company they work. These assumptions are, however, likely to be more potent in an

engineer-oriented company. There the priority given quality gives engineering

considerations a force they cannot have where customer satisfaction or "the numbers"

carry more weight than quality.

Whether such considerations as quality or customer satisfaction are literally factual

is a philosophical question we may ignore here. What we mean by calling such

considerations "factual" is simply that experience has taught those disagreeing about such

matters to expect to settle their disagreements by further testing, other new information,

or reconsidering information already available. For our purposes, what is important is

that engineers and managers do expect to agree on questions of safety, quality, customer

satisfaction, and cost even if they do not expect agreement on anything else.
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The power of these assumptions can be seen in comments like the following.

Asked whether he and his engineers always see eye to eye, one manager, having

answered "no," went on to explain: "There are different ways to approach a problem.

Young engineers are often inexperienced and need to learn from their mistakes. There are

no real differences, though, on matters of safety and quality--these are pretty much black

and white." Asked how much weight an engineer's recommendation should have, he

responded 100% and added, "I've always reached agreement with my engineers."

Another manager informed us that if a manager and engineer disagree over a major

technical decision "engineers and managers go to a boss together...The boss then decides.

But we haven't had major problems here."

Engineers sketched a similar picture. Asked how engineering decisions were made

in his company, one engineer responded, "I'm handed a design and asked, ‘How do we

produce this?’ Eventually I make a recommendation. My boss, a supervising engineer,

says yes or no. If he says no, he gives reasons. If I'm not convinced, there's no stand-off;

we just go out and test." The "boss" seems to have no more weight in the decision than the

engineer. The ultimate arbiter is another "test." Another engineer, the one who said he

gave the best advice he could "but it's their money," nonetheless reported that he and

management "always see eye to eye in the end." He had in fact never been overruled.

This process of reaching consensus seems to presuppose that engineers and

managers have the same information. Since openness about technical and related business

matters would seem to be crucial to reaching such a consensus, what engineers and

managers at these companies report about technical communications is important.

Questions 9 and 10 (on the manager's questionnaire) and question 8 (on the engineer's

questionnaire) were intended to tell us how open communication of technical information

was.

Managers at engineer-oriented companies were unanimous that they never

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withheld technical information from their engineers. Though evenly divided about

whether their engineers ever withheld information from them, managers never indicated

they thought their engineers' conduct a problem. One manager's answer may explain

why. Having said his engineers do sometimes withhold information "to cover up a

mistake," he added: "Sometimes I need to ask questions to determine who made a

mistake." Another manager put the point more gently: "I believe that engineers never

intentionally withhold information [, but every] person tries to put his best foot forward."

In an engineer-oriented company, the natural tendency of engineers to withhold

embarrassing information seems a small impediment an experienced manager can

overcome with a few probing questions, not anything likely to affect significantly the free

flow of information.

The engineers saw things a bit differently. They generally agreed that their

managers were open with them. Only one thought there "have been cases when the boss

had information and did not give it--but never knowingly." On the other hand, none

reported knowingly withholding information--except, significantly, in the company with

foreign managers and American engineers. For one engineer, the problem was "the other

way": "Usually...I provide too much detail to my superiors. I have had to learn brevity.

But there is a fine line between too much and too little. I believe in open communications,

and for that reason I don't hold back." Another engineer, while denying that he ever

withheld information, did admit that "lots gets lost in translation."

In any organization, the ultimate test of openness is bad news. Our interviews at

one engineer-oriented company provided an example of how bad news was handled. The

example gives some insight into how such a company remains engineer oriented even

under the market's constant pressure to pay more attention to customers:

A manufacturer of motors for pleasure boats asked the company to make a part for

the manufacturer's engine that would outlast the engine under normal operating
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conditions but would quickly wear out if the engine operated at full power for very long.

A part adequate for extended operation at full power would have been much more

expensive. Company policy was to make parts so that they would outlast the engine,

however it was used. So, the engineer in charge recommended against making the part.

After much back and forth along the chain of command, the engineer's superior decided

to go ahead, explaining the decision in something like this way: "There is no safety issue

even if the motor fails. There is no real quality issue either. Pleasure boats are never run at

full power long enough for the part to fail. Hence, the part will be cost-effective for the

use it will serve. I do, however, agree there is at least the possibility of legal liability here

should the engine be misused. So, we must take care to inform the customer of our

concerns in writing and require him to take full legal responsibility for the part."

A few years later, the customer sold out to someone who made towboats as well as

pleasure boats. The new owner promptly put the engine on its towboats. The part would

fail after only a few hundred hours of towing. Legally, the company was in the clear. But,

since its name was on the part, it received some complaints.

We heard this story from both managers and engineers. We heard it not only in the

department involved but in other departments as well. Each person who told the story

treated it as a cautionary tale. The company had taken a risk it should not have. No one

wondered whether the profit from the deal might have justified the risk or argued that

satisfying the original customer excused it. The bottom line was that the decision had

harmed the company's reputation. What could be worse than that? Here was an

experience to learn from, not a skeleton to be locked away in a closet and forgotten. As

one engineer predicted with evident pride, "We probably won't do anything like that

again."

CUSTOMER-ORIENTED COMPANIES. Decision-making in customer-oriented

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companies is similar to decision-making in engineer-oriented companies. Once again we

heard echoes of the staff-line division in interviews that eventually revealed a quite

different process. For example, a manager who first told us "Engineers lay out options;

managers choose" immediately corrected himself: "Well, managers choose when the

decision involves risks or resources. Other decisions, purely technical ones, are really for

engineers." Similarly, the same engineer who initially told us, "The manager decides" later

told us, "If I don't like a decision, I would go to my boss. I could go to my boss's boss, too,

but I never had to...Technical questions are talked out."

The search for consensus was again central to decision-making. One engineer at a

small company described decision-making quite simply: "We operate by consensus." A

manager in a large company described the process in greater detail: "Engineers have high

weight on technical issues. The problem is integrating technical recommendations into

company interest. Cost. Marketing strategy. Change in technology. Etc. It's important that

the engineer's recommendation get out beyond the immediate group. When he sees how

his decision does not fit into the large picture, he's likely to rethink it."

Despite the basic similarity between decision-making in engineer-oriented and

customer-oriented companies, we did notice four significant differences. Customer-

oriented companies seemed, first, to assign greater importance to the engineer's role as

advocate; second, to place more emphasis on non-engineering considerations in decision-

making; third, to be more explicitly concerned with safety (even though the technology

seemed no riskier); and fourth, to have more difficulty maintaining open

communications. Let's consider these in order.

In most of the customer-oriented companies at which we interviewed, relations

between individual engineers and managers seemed as good as at the engineer-oriented

companies. Yet, the managers repeatedly stressed the need for engineers to "hammer" on
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their recommendations. One manager at a small company thought that "an engineer

should be willing to go to the mat if he feels strongly that quality is violated." A manager

at a large company agreed: "Engineers should never be content to see their professional

judgment superseded. If there's a good reason for the manager's decision, the engineer

should agree. If the engineer doesn't agree, something must be wrong. Everyone should

keep talking."

The managers clearly thought of their engineers as advocates of a point of view

which, though different from their own, had to be weighed against their own--or rather,

integrated with it. There was no mystery about how the two points of view differed.

According to one manager, "[satisfying] the customer's needs [involves] three factors...:

quality (which is a technical matter, timing (which is a concern of sales); and specs/cost."

The engineers spoke for the "technical". A manager at another company contrasted his

role with the engineers' this way: "It has to be decided where the line is on a specification.

For example, how ‘perfect’ does something have to be. I occasionally have to explain,

‘Hey guys! It doesn't have to be absolutely perfect.’...The customer's needs are the most

basic consideration." Another manager at this company gave the same picture but in a

phrase familiar from the Challenger disaster: "The most important factors in company

decisions are business issues: What does the customer want? What are his expectations?

What can we do to optimize given time and quality requirements? Often, it's time versus

quality. And then you have to decide which hat to wear--engineer's or manager's."

Engineers in most customer-oriented companies seemed to accept--or at least be

resigned to--the conflict between technical and business considerations. As one engineer

put it, "Cost issues are constraints I can understand." There was, however, one company

in which the engineers showed no such resignation. This was the customer-oriented

company that seemed to be trying to become engineer-oriented. Here, for example, one
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engineer told us: "Technical questions get short-changed to make schedule. ‘We can do it

better,’ I say, but my manager says, ‘No time.’" Another engineer said with evident

disgust, "They'll sacrifice quality to get it out the door," adding, "Why not do it right the

first time rather than taking a lot of time later to patch up a system?"

In engineer-oriented companies, "safety" and "quality" were mentioned in the same

breath (when "safety" was mentioned at all). That, however, was not true in customer-

oriented companies. In customer-oriented companies, safety had the same absolute

priority as in engineer-oriented companies, but it was mentioned much more often. So, for

example, the same engineer who said quality was sacrificed to get products "out the

door," stressed that he "never felt safety was being sacrificed." Many engineers also told

us that they should have the "last word" on safety (even though they did not claim the last

word on anything else). Managers agreed, "It's okay to overrule an engineer's

recommendation on a business issue. But on safety, exposure to dangerous materials, etc.,

the engineer should have the last word."

Given the importance assigned consensus in customer-oriented companies, open

communications should be as important in such companies as in engineer-oriented ones.

Many of the managers seemed to believe so. Indeed, generally, they were more emphatic

about being open with engineers than the managers at the engineer-oriented companies.

Thus, one manager observed (in response to question 9), "I never withhold technical

information. That's dumb." Another (at another company), "Never. That's dangerous." A

third, "There's no need...We've got strict rules on use of information."

Yet, in each customer-oriented company where some managers answered in this

way, others reported withholding information relevant to technical decisions. For

example, one manager admitted: "I have withheld proprietary information, for example,
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relating to preparations for a joint venture that might mean using a different technology."

Others, while denying that they had withheld information, reported superiors

withholding information from them: "I should add," said one, "that engineers are often in

the dark and are subject to last minute surprises. Our department last year was working

on existing products, things that were familiar. We were not told about any new

possibilities or any new product challenges. We were provided only with vague clues. I

don't know why."

These managers also seemed more concerned about engineers withholding

information from them than were their counterparts at engineer-oriented companies.

Thus, one manager reported, "Engineers tend to give me a rosier picture than is factual

just to continue getting my support. I try to counteract that by MBWA [Management By

Wandering Around]. This is a lot more effective than formal performance reviews."

Another manager at the same company stressed the dark side of such withholding: "Yes,

but it only happens when they don't know enough to know what to tell. For example,

now and then, a guy gets into trouble and thinks he can fix it himself. The result is I find

out when it's too late to help--and I get burned too. That's happened a couple of times in

my career." A manager at another company put it more succinctly: "Do they withhold

information from me? When they screw up, yes."

Yet, other managers at these same companies denied that their engineers had ever

withheld technical information from them. One manager was more cautious: "This is the

toughest question on the list. I've occasionally had the feeling there was more there than I

could see in the engineer's report."

Engineers gave an equally mixed report on communications. For example, one

engineer told us of a "recent survey" that indicated that "people believe upper

management holds back information from the company," adding, "My current manager

does not withhold information from me." An engineer at another company admitted to
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the "feeling" his superior was withholding technical information. Yet, most engineers

reported that they did not think their managers withheld technical information from

them.

Interestingly, unlike engineers at engineer-oriented companies, engineers in some

customer-oriented companies did report withholding information from managers. One

observed, "I have, but I'm not sure it was necessary. I have withheld a theory or

brainstorm until it was tested to verify it positively. I have delayed bad news in order to

retest first." A group leader at another company admitted, "I sometimes don't tell my

manager about a decision, if I am already quite comfortable with it."

Technical communication in customer-oriented companies thus seems to be

somewhat less open than in engineer-oriented companies. Given how much these

companies differed, the cause of that tendency is probably complex. Still, two factors are

obviously relevant. First, the relatively greater importance of business information in

decisions of customer-oriented companies, seems likely to change the nature of

withholding such information. Even if the same amount of business information were

withheld in a customer-oriented as in an engineer-oriented company, its withholding

would be more likely to threaten consensus in a customer-oriented company (where it

would be a more important part of the big picture). Second, the greater emphasis on the

engineer as advocate in customer-oriented companies may itself tempt engineers to

engage in lawyerly tactics. But, whatever the cause, a customer-oriented company that

wants to decide by consensus will, it seems, have to take more care to keep information

flowing than an otherwise similar engineer-oriented one.

Perhaps this is the place to note that we found little in relations between managers

and engineers resembling the ruthless gang culture reported in Jackall. What explains

that? At least two factors may help to explain the apparent difference between what

Jackall reports and what we report. One factor is that Jackall's description may be true
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only of companies that our method of selection was biased against. Our method of

obtaining interviews seems to have selected in favor of "good companies." Jackall's

method probably did not. A second factor helping to explain the difference between

Jackall and us may be that what Jackall describes begins above the engineering

departments in the companies at which we interviewed. Interestingly, we did find one

(and only one) manager supporting this explanation (but without any example from his

experience). A group leader responded to question 12* (in part): "Higher managers often

become involved in company politics, however, and may compromise our engineering

values. As managers go higher up [here], their engineering values become corrupted, in

my opinion. No, I cannot think of any precise example, I am a blank right now. But,

managers can become selfish. They want to be promoted and will enhance this prospect

by focusing on high visibility projects that look good."

FINANCE-ORIENTED COMPANIES. We do not have enough information in our

interviews to conclude anything about the normal decision-making process in finance-

oriented companies. We do, however, have enough to offer four (related) hypotheses: 1)

Because finance-related information tends to be centralized in a way customer-related

information is not, engineers in a finance-oriented company will normally receive less

information crucial to company decisions than in a customer-oriented company. 2)

Because engineers receive less crucial information, their recommendations will carry less

weight in finance-oriented than in customer-oriented companies. 3) Because their

recommendations carry less weight in finance-oriented companies than in customer-

oriented companies, finance-oriented companies will be less likely to try to reach

consensus with their engineers. And 4) because finance-oriented companies are less likely

to try to reach consensus with their engineers than customer-oriented companies are, they

are more likely both to compartmentalize decision-making and to treat engineering as a

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staff function. As one manager remembered: "[At his old finance-oriented employer], a

report couldn't leave the department without the co-signature of a manager....The

engineering function can be muzzled by a heavy-handed management....Management's

pressure on engineers sometimes results in low quality."

D. The Effect of Various Devices

The literature surveyed in Sec. II recommended a number of devices to improve

communications within an organization in order to reduce the chance that the

organization would do something wrong. What do our interviews tell us about those

devices? We found nothing like Waters' "ethical audit" or Raelin's awards for bringing

bad news. Though one company had a mentoring program for engineers of the sort

Raelin suggests, no interviewee mentioned it. Our interviewees did, however, mention

the following devices: a code of ethics, ethics training, open-door policy, ombudsman,

and reduced compartmentalization (including such things as a technical promotion

ladder paralleling the management ladder). Except for reduced compartmentalization,

none of these devices was common to more than a few companies. Some occurred at only

one. In general, the large companies were more likely to have adopted some of these

devices than the small were; the customer-oriented companies more likely to have done

so than the engineer-oriented. We shall briefly survey the evidence under three headings:

1) codes and related training; 2) appeals procedures; and 3) reduced

compartmentalization. Our conclusion is that, except for reduced compartmentalization,

none of these devices seems to have had much effect on technical decision-making. We

also came across one informal procedure, "bringing others in", and one formal procedure,

"independent technical review", neither of which was mentioned in the literature. We

shall discuss them as well.

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CODES. At four of the six customer-oriented companies we interviewed, some of

our interviewees answered yes to question 4.b on both questionnaires: "Does your

company have a code of ethics?") Most of those so answering were managers. Their

answers were often qualified. And they often disagreed in important details. Consider,

for example, these two answers from managers in the same company. "We have a

business code of ethics--no gifts, etc." one told us, "but we have nothing called a ‘code of

ethics’ for engineers, nothing that would, for example, provide guidance if someone

orders an engineer to change test results." Yet, another manager at the same company

thought not: "Well, there are policies on... e.g. entertainment. But no formal code--except

[the CEO's] letters. Nothing written, for example, on how a technical rep should act in a

customer's plant." In another company, one manager informed us, "Yes, we have a code of

ethics. We're even going to get a lecture on it from the legal department tomorrow. But it

doesn't affect engineering work. What matters is the ‘spec book.’" Yet, another manager

there (a group leader) answered, "I think we have one, but I'm not sure. I vaguely

remember being given a pamphlet when I was hired that said something about all this."

If that is how managers described their company's code of ethics, what did the

engineers say? Most either told us that their company had no code or responded in some

such way as this: "No real corporate code, just individual standards. Maybe there's a code

of ethics somewhere...but I don't know of it."

Since the corporate codes apparently have little to say about engineering decisions,

any training in those codes could have little effect on those decisions. We are then in no

position to judge the effect of appropriate ethics training on the way engineers and their

managers make technical decisions. As far as we could tell, no company has a code

appropriate for engineers.

No one at any company at which we interviewed mentioned a professional code as

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a guide to decisions; and, as far as we can tell, no company at which we interviewed had

ever circulated or endorsed the code of any professional society. Our interviews gave us

no insight into why that was. Our interviews did, however, suggest that one explanation

should be ruled out. Engineers, it might be thought, did not mention professional codes

because they had no sense of themselves as professionals. Yet, some of the engineers we

interviewed clearly did think of themselves as professionals. For example, one engineer (a

group leader at a customer-oriented company) answered question 12 (in part): "Managers

of engineers should provide support, not control. Engineers work on their own. They like

their work. They're professionals. Look at the engineers here. They work 45 hours a week,

even though they are paid a 40 hour salary. They'll sacrifice to get the job done right.

Where they work is too cramped, overcrowded, and dingy."

We may, it seems, be left with a mystery. If the corporate code of ethics has little to

say to engineers about their technical decisions, and few seem aware of their profession's

code of ethics, why do engineers so uniformly become advocates for safety and quality?

The traditional answer of sociology has been "socialization" (in professional school or on

the job). Our interviews tend to confirm this answer. For example, one engineer at an

engineer-oriented company explained his commitment to safety and quality (in part) this

way, "I learned that attitude as part of my professional training." He then added, "But...it

is [the company's] attitude too." In fact, most interviewees who had an explanation for the

emphasis on safety and quality referred only to company "norms," "spec book," or other

detailed engineering standards developed within the company. And this was true even of

engineers who made it clear that they had to contend with managers who routinely

wanted to put customer satisfaction ahead of quality.

Our impression is that the engineers' concern with safety and quality is too

ingrained for most of them to have a good sense of its origin. What they do have a good

sense of is how pervasive such concern is in the company in which they work. This does
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not mean that, for example, managers are not more concerned with other things, but that

even managers recognize safety and quality as central considerations. The company

demonstrates this concern not so much through general pronouncements as through

relatively strict adherence to thousands of minute specifications.

APPEALS. The small companies were so informal that recourse to the "top"

seemed routine. As one engineer (in an engineer-oriented company) put it, "What would

be the point of such a policy [an open-door policy]? I walk into the office of the president

and vice president every day." But even this engineer thought it important to tell his

immediate supervisor first: "A manager doesn't like to hear bad news from outside. So, I

first tell him and get advice." Yet, even in the small companies, our interviewees could not

recall taking a technical question directly to the top.

Given their informality, it is not surprising that the small companies seemed to

have no formal appeals procedure of the sort discussed in the literature. The informality

was enough. The formal procedures were available only in larger companies (and not

always there). The most common of these formal appeals was "the open door policy." A

subordinate dissatisfied with his superior's decision could take it to his superior's

immediate superior who would hear him out, might make subtle inquiries, and might

even change the decision if that seemed justified, all things considered.

Though this procedure could in principle be used for any problem, it was in fact

much more likely to be used for "personnel" than "engineering" problems. One manager

in a customer-oriented company described his company's open door policy in this way:

"Engineers can go to my boss and complain. This happens sometimes, on personnel

matters, primarily. It's never happened on an engineering question." An engineer gave a

strikingly similar description of the appeal procedure at another customer-oriented

company: "You can go to his superior. I've only done this once or twice, but more on
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personnel than on technical matters."

Only one company had something like a formal ombudsman. A group leader

explained the procedure: "There is a formal path to use in such cases...It is a strong way to

express your disagreement. It has not been used very often in my recollection. I can think

of just one case in which an engineer used it. This was a case where a product was being

tested. The engineer thought that the performance problem was due to a screw that was

not tightened all the way to ground contact. I hadn't responded quickly enough to his

recommendation, he thought. So, he used [this procedure] and I had to respond." The

procedure involved filling out a form and placing it in a special box emptied once a day.

The form is (he thought) delivered directly to someone in the general manager's office.

The person against whom the complaint is made is then notified and has a certain number

of days to respond.

Few engineers or managers at this company mentioned this procedure as a way to

appeal engineering decisions (just as few engineers or managers made much use of any

other formal appeal procedure). Why? Fear of reprisal may seem the most likely

explanation. As one manager put it: "Most managers don't mind. But there are some

around here who would do a guy in for going over his head." There are, however, two

reasons to doubt this explanation. First, personnel appeals are less rare even though they

seem at least as likely to lead to reprisals. Second, few engineers we interviewed

expressed any fear of reprisals. As one group leader at the same company explained, "Yes,

this can ruffle some feathers. But a manager who indulges in reprisals doesn't last long."

Perhaps, then, a better explanation for the relative rarity of appeals is simply that

both engineers and managers work harder to reach agreement on engineering questions

than on personnel questions. They work harder because they expect to reach agreement.

Engineering questions are (as explained earlier) supposed to be "factual" in a way

personnel questions often are not. As one manager explained why his engineer-oriented
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company did not need a formal procedure for technical appeals: "There's no appeal

process. I can't imagine an engineer and manager not being able to come away with a

solution." Given such expectations, going over a manager's head is likely to suggest a

criticism of the manager's technical judgment, something much more likely to ruffle the

feathers of an engineer-manager than a disagreement over a personnel matter.

There is other evidence for this explanation. Some interviewees reported an

informal procedure easily mistaken for an open-door policy. The procedure had no name

(and may in fact be no more than a natural byproduct of reduced compartmentalization).

One engineer (at an engineer-oriented company) described it this way: "Policy is to

discuss the [technical] problem with your boss. If you can't agree, the two go up to the

next level or bring in more people who know about the problem. There's no written

policy as far as I know. That's just how we do it." We found this procedure of "bringing in

more people" in customer-oriented companies as well. For example, one engineer in such

a company told us, "If I had a [technical] concern I didn't think was properly resolved, I

would write a note to my boss restating it--with copies to lots of people, including [his

boss's equivalent in the next department over]. Writing such notes is not all that

uncommon."

This procedure of "bringing others in" seems to differ from an open-door policy in

at least three important ways. First, it does not seem to be a formal policy in any company

at which we interviewed. No one knew its origin. It was, as one engineer said, "just how

we do it." Second, no interviewee suggested that bringing others in would "ruffle

feathers" (while several suggested using an open door would). No one, it seemed,

doubted the benefits of another perspective. Third, and perhaps most interesting,

bringing others in seems to be a procedure even managers can use, for example, when

their own arguments cannot budge an engineer from a recommendation they don't like.

Asked when an engineer should have the last word, one manager (a group leader)
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responded, "Last word? You can always get a second opinion."

REDUCED COMPARTMENTALIZATION. For a century at least, one

characteristic of engineering has been the large number of engineers involved in any

significant project. The traditional way to approach an engineering project was for a

senior engineer, the project manager, to divide the project into small parts, assign each

part to a particular engineer (or engineering group), send them off, and then assemble the

results as they became available. The engineers would not be encouraged to coordinate

their work with one another. Coordination would be the manager's job. Engineers might

not even know who else was working on their project. They might in fact have little idea

how their little project fit into the overall work. Especially in a large company, very little

information could flow directly between engineers. The project manager alone would

know more than a small part of the overall work. Engineers would have no choice but to

defer to his judgment.

Burns and Stalker called this form of organizing work "mechanical." They found

many instances of it in the British companies they studied in the late fifties and early

sixties. That highly compartmentalized way of managing engineering has also been

practiced in the United States. One engineer we interviewed recalled work at a previous
employer (more than ten years before): "There I would often be assigned a job by a P.E. I

never saw and sent him a written report. Occasionally the report came back with written

comments. Usually I had no idea what happened to it." Though this way of managing

engineering may continue in the U.S., we found little evidence of it in our interviews.

We may distinguish two aspects of compartmentalization: vertical and horizontal.

Vertical compartmentalization produces a strict hierarchy, with one manager having a

certain number of subordinates, each of whom answers only to her. They cannot go over

her head without her consent. Horizontal compartmentalization puts up barriers between
 239

individuals, groups, and departments on the same level. One engineer might, for

example, have to ask his manager's permission before talking to an engineer in another

department about a technical matter; or he might simply have no way to know who else is

doing work he should know about.

As our discussion of appeals suggests, we found relatively little vertical

compartmentalization. We did, however, find significant horizontal

compartmentalization between major functions such as sales and design or development

and manufacture (especially in the large companies). So, for example, one engineer in

manufacturing complained that the engineers in development still "throw things over the

wall to us"--that is, develop a product without consulting the manufacturing people about

how it is to be manufactured. Sometimes the technically neat solution causes trouble in

manufacture.

We found significant horizontal compartmentalization, but we also found that

every company at which we interviewed was trying to reduce it. Answers to question 12*

(for managers) and 13* (for engineers) suggest that managers, rather than engineers, are

generally leading this effort. For example, one manager complained: "I want my

engineers to see their job as involving more than technology. How should mills relate?

Where does what we're doing fit into the [company's] future? They need to ask more

integrative questions, e.g. ‘Who reports to whom?’ or ‘Who can hold their feet to the

fire?’" A manager at another company gave a different list in the same spirit: "What don't

engineers ask that they should? Cost? Quality? Time? Cycle time? Design for assembly?

They are ready to run as soon as they see the specs."

The engineers, in contrast, tended to think their managers more likely to fail to

look into the engineer's own compartment. For example, one engineer wanted his

manager to ask, "How thoroughly did you analyze the problem? Did you shoot from the

hip? How much data and factual evidence did you collect? Is it repeatable? If you had
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more time, what would you do differently? If you're wrong, what are the ramifications?

What's your second best answer?" An engineer at another company gave a similar list:

"Managers need to ask, How did you reach that decision? What information did you use?

Did you cover all the bases? Substantiate. The question managers are least likely to ask is,

Is this date realistic? Usually, I'm told a date to be done by, not asked when I can be done.

Often the date isn't realistic. But no one seems to know that--until the deadline is close."

Overall, what we found was a highly fluid decision-process depending heavily on

meetings and less formal exchange of information across even department boundaries.

Managers seemed to have little control over what information would reach their

engineers. Indeed, they seemed anxious to get their engineers to hook up with others on

their own. Their only complaints were about remaining compartmentalization, especially

the parochialism of their own engineers.

While we heard many complaints about remaining compartmentalization, we also

heard a few arising from attempts to reduce compartmentalization. One example will be

enough. An engineer (at an engineer-oriented company) answered question 13 ("If you

had full control..., what would you do differently"): "I wouldn't show up at a field

meeting with so many engineers we outnumber the customer." Such outnumbering was,

it seemed, a common consequence of sending one engineer from each department likely

to be involved in a particular project. The most common complaint of this sort was simply

"too many meetings."

INDEPENDENT REVIEW. Several companies at which we interviewed had a

"technical review" in which a project group, section, or department had to defend its

proposal to a committee of experienced engineers (and managers) from elsewhere in the

organization. These reviews seemed to vary considerably in formality (as well as in other

respects). The most elaborate we found was the "HAZOP" (hazard and operability) study
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used by Amoco Chemical. Designed for a particularly unforgiving technology, HAZOP is

probably too elaborate for most engineering undertakings. Even so, it provides a standard

against which other companies can measure their own review procedures.

Amoco uses HAZOP to evaluate both proposed and existing installations. Since

these two uses differ significantly, we shall discuss them separately, beginning with

proposed installations. For a proposed installation, a department works out a complete

plan (which, for Amoco, routinely includes having it reviewed by operations,

maintenance, and installation who are supposed to work as carefully as they would if

they, not the HAZOP study, were the last step before construction of the installation

would begin).

Once a department has done all it can, including receiving approval (and funding)

through the ordinary process, a HAZOP team will be appointed, including a leader and a

secretary. The team should consist of engineers experienced enough to "look at paper and

know what that implies [about how a plant will run]." (One manager set the required

experience level rather high, at "20-30 years," but we interviewed one engineer with eight

years experience who had already served as a HAZOP leader.) No one involved in the

original design will be on the HAZOP team. Following a "formalized procedure," the

team examines every aspect of the proposal, identifies possible flaws in the design, and

makes recommendations as it sees fit. The secretary takes down all recommendations,

ultimately sending one copy to those who developed the proposal and filing the other

"downtown" (that is, at Amoco's corporate offices). This usually takes "1-4 months."

Once the HAZOP team has completed its work, a response team is appointed,

including one (and only one) member of the original HAZOP team. Apparently, for some

projects at least, the response team may consist entirely of managers. It is supposed to

respond to each HAZOP recommendation. (There may be several hundred.) Its response

will also be filed "downtown." Ordinarily all, or almost all, the HAZOP recommendations
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will be incorporated into the original plan. Any rejections must be justified in the written

response. Once the review is complete, the project will proceed. (We received no

indication what would happen if a recommended change put a project over budget.)

That is the procedure for HAZOP review of a proposed installation. HAZOP can

also be used to review an existing installation. The chief difference is that the result of

such a HAZOP review will be recommendations piled on one or another engineer's desk

beside ordinary work orders with which they will have to compete. This seems to be

HAZOP's Achilles heel. Several managers told us that, had Union Carbide used a HAZOP

procedure to design its plant in Bhopal, "Bhopal" would not now be a household word.

They could well be right. But, had HAZOP come into use only after the Bhopal plant had

been built, the HAZOP study might only have produced a series of recommendations

which, though accepted by everyone, would, at the time of the disaster, still have been

sitting on the desk of an engineer too busy "putting out fires."

We nonetheless recommend something like a HAZOP review even for existing

operations. While it cannot guarantee that everything recommended will be done, it

seems likely at least to call attention to important flaws in existing installations. It can set

an agenda. For most companies, perhaps, identifying serious problems in some such

constructive way as this is at least half of assuring that the problems will be resolved

relatively quickly.

E. A Breakdown in the Normal Communications

Company B (as we shall call it) is a large customer-oriented manufacturer. As at

the other companies at which we interviewed, engineers and managers at Company B

generally worked by consensus. Company B had no open-door policy, ombudsman, or

other formal appeals procedure. While going over the boss's head was generally
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considered a bad idea, the company did have frequent "review meetings" at which

technical disagreements could be aired. These seemed to provide an important forum for

(what we have called) "bringing others in." Bringing others in was also done more

informally. Like other large companies at which we interviewed, Company B was

working hard to improve communications between engineering functions, especially

between development and manufacture. And, like our other customer-oriented

companies, Company B had a code of ethics with little relevance to engineering. Over all,

then, Company B would seem to differ in no fundamental way from other companies at

which we interviewed.

Yet, Company B clearly did differ. It seemed to have a communications problem

much like that Feynman reported at NASA. The evidence for this claim may be divided

into four categories. Company B seemed to differ from other companies we interviewed

in: (1) the way managers and engineers felt about each other, (2) the amount of

information managers withheld, (3) the prominence of "top-down engineering," and (4)

the way management chose to encourage an important development project.

MANAGERS VERSUS ENGINEERS. Unlike most of our interviewees, those at

Company B had little doubt about whether they were engineers or managers. Thus, one

manager told us, "I was an engineer until a few weeks ago. [Then] I was promoted to

Chief Engineer." Though his former job as Supervising Engineer also involved a good

deal of managing, he did not then consider himself a manager. Another interviewee

spoke with equal assurance even though his demotion had not changed his job at all: "I

was a manager before a recent reorganization flattened the organization a bit. Now, I'm

not, though I was a group leader before and after reorganization--with the same

responsibilities as before."

Why were interviewees at Company B so much clearer than our other interviewees
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about whether they were engineers or managers? The answer is that Company B had

made the distinction sharp and important. As one engineer explained, "[Company B]

gives better benefits to managers than engineers." Another engineer made the same point,

while suggesting one disadvantage of making the distinction so sharp: "Around here

many things, including fringe benefits and office space, treat engineers one way and

managers another. The differences between engineers and managers are emphasized.

They are in separate camps." This engineer also referred to engineers-turned-manager as

"former peers." We heard nothing like this at any other company.

WITHHOLDING INFORMATION. Engineers and managers at Company B

seemed agreed that engineers did not withhold technical information at all or only did so

for just long enough to double-check it. Their answers were similar to those at other

companies--except that there was no mention of engineers trying to cover up mistakes.

Managers at Company B were also like managers at other companies in being unanimous

that they did not withhold technical information from their engineers. Where Company B

really differed from other companies was in the answers engineers gave to that question.

The engineers were virtually unanimous in reporting that their managers did

withhold technical information from them. For example, one engineer told us that he "had

frequently felt that they didn't tell me the whole story." When we asked, "When?" he

responded: "Whenever I couldn't reach their conclusion on the same facts." Another

engineer gave this list of technical information managers were withholding:

"[Information] about cost. Proprietary information too. That is, either information that's

not directly relevant to what I must do or is too sensitive to risk leaking." Another

engineer added this example: "We are reasonably sure that there is a potential big

overseas buyer for the [new technology we are working on], but no one is leveling with us

about it. We are in the dark on this and I don't like it." Yet another engineer described a
 245

different sort of withholding: "Sometimes they want us to be under-informed, maybe so

as not to prejudice us or they don't think we need to know how bad a problem it is--e.g.

that we had the same complaint before and thought we fixed it. More often, it's not

deliberate. They just don't see the relevance of the information, e.g., they have divided a

problem into parts that are too small."

What explains this difference in the way engineers and managers answered the

question about whether managers withheld information? It is worth recalling that at other

companies we interviewed, the managers stressed how important it was for engineers to

include business considerations in their engineering decisions. At Company B, managers

never made this point. Instead, the engineers did. Indeed, the engineers at Company B

seemed to accept the broad conception of engineering managers at other companies were

encouraging their engineers to adopt. But, at Company B, the managers did not seem to

share that conception. They therefore withheld information managers at other companies

did not withhold. They withheld it simply because they did not think it relevant to

technical engineering decisions and seemingly without realizing that their engineers did

not share their conception of what engineers need to know.

TOP-DOWN ENGINEERING. By "top-down engineering," we do not mean typical

management functions like setting a general development strategy, standard of quality, or

even the timetable for a particular project. We refer to something much more specific,

management's involvement in the details of engineering. At other companies at which we

interviewed, both engineers and managers thought that managers should leave the

engineering to the engineers. We heard that thought expressed at Company B too but

with this difference: The target was not (as at other companies) primarily the low-level

manager clinging to his "former love." The target was management generally, especially

upper management.
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Company B apparently has a history of "engineering from the top down." An

engineer employed there for almost a decade recalled, "It used to be that engineers didn't

count for much. The manager ruled or overruled. This happened too often in the past. We

would be told, ‘The data must be wrong.’ Some management guys don't have an open

mind, but this happens a small percentage of the time now. Engineers are being more

encouraged. We've become more involved. There has been more delegation and that's

good."

While that engineer stressed how much worse things used to be, others stressed

how bad they still were. One told us, "If my recommendations fit a pet theory, then they

are acknowledged. If not, I have to make one hell of an argument....There was this case

with the seal...My manager said, ‘If you think about it, this seal should really work.’ But it

didn't work. Then the idea was changed from let's see if it works to how much leakage is

O.K. in using the seal. This adds to the costs and the risks, but we're going ahead with it

anyway." Another engineer told a similar story: "[Recently,] we were looking at two

nozzles for spraying fuel into a cylinder. We could get a 10% improvement with almost

no cost one way; or a possible 20% improvement doing it another way, but at

considerable cost in redesign and no guarantee it would work. [I recommended the 10%

improvement.] Management, not my boss, but someone higher up, decided to go for the

20%."

The engineers at Company B were virtually unanimous, "Managers here still try to

do too much of the engineering." We heard the same thing from two newly promoted

managers. One described decision-making in his company this way: "Managers provide

proper manpower and tools and work with engineers--except sometimes, when there is a

management-driven decision. Then the manager gets into the engineering itself. That's

bad." The other new manager described the appeal process this way: "There is no formal

process. After all, technical disagreements are hardly ever dramatic. If I'm unhappy, I just
 247

keep trying to change my boss's mind. I try to wear him down. [But] sometimes the heat

comes from on top. We are told, ‘Consider this design. Look at it. Tell us in detail what

you think.’ Then the process feeds back up. These top-down things give us the most

trouble."

What he meant by "trouble" became clear when he answered our question about

what he would do differently if he had full control of engineering: "[There] are too many

projects initiated by top management, from the vice president on down. I would prefer

this changed. It creates tension at lower levels because of the mode of introduction. People

are told to do this, to do that, that this is what we need. This creates bad feelings and

destroys creativity. These top-down actions can be very specific and detailed. They can

take the form of designs and actual sketches. ‘This is what we want.’ All this is out of

control, in my opinion."

Though the new managers complained about top-down engineering as much as

the engineers did, the more experienced managers did not. They did, however, answer

question 3 (about how decisions are made) in a way confirming what the engineers told

us (and suggesting the managers were on the engineers' side). "Decisions are made top-

down," one manager began, "[but] we would like to push decisions down the

organization." Another made the same point: "[Engineers] play as big a role as we think

they can handle. This is easier said than done. I try to push decisions as low as possible.

But you can't delegate then not stay in touch. I like to have engineering decisions or firm

recommendations made at the project manager, group leader, or bench engineer level."

UNINTENTIONALLY DISCOURAGING BAD NEWS. Company B has

undertaken a major technological initiative upon the success of which its future may

depend. The initiative is not simply a research and development project. The assembly

line is being prepared simultaneously. Because the project involves a major leap in
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technology, many parts of the project are crucial to its success. Should any of these prove

impossible to develop, or impossible to develop in time or economically, Company B

would have nothing marketable for its large investment.

Both the engineers and managers we interviewed were involved in work on one or

another part of this new technology (as well as on other projects of more immediate

concern). The engineers (and new managers) mentioned work on this new technology

frequently, especially when asked whether Company B took large risks. The experienced

managers never mentioned the new technology. One even denied that Company B ever

took risks, even after we restated the question to include financial risks. We seem, then, to

have uncovered a disagreement between managers and engineers at Company B similar

to that Feynman reported at NASA. The engineers recognized risks the (seasoned)

managers did not.

Of course, the similarity is not perfect. The risk at Company B concerned its

financial safety, not anyone's life or health. Engineers differed from managers on what

would seem to be a question of business rather than engineering. And, unlike the

engineers at NASA, the engineers at Company B could still be proved wrong.

Such differences are, however, irrelevant now. Even if the engineers are wrong,

Company B would still have a communications problem. As one engineer noted, "[There

is] too much rumor around here....I wish the managers here would just admit the

problems we're having with [the new technological initiative] and tell us how they hope

to respond." Clearly, management's message was not getting through.

There are, however, at least two reasons to think the engineers are right. The first is

obvious. Whether a new technology can work is itself a technical question about which

engineers are likely to be better informed than anyone else. Or, as one group leader at

Company B put it, "Guys at my level know all the problems. But there's a filtering process

upward. Lots of things we don't tell unless asked." Insofar as the financial risk the
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company is taking is itself a function of that technical risk, the engineers would be likely

to have good information even about the business risk involved.

The second reason to think the engineers are right that Company B is taking a big

risk with its new initiative is that management itself took strong action to move the project

along. Unfortunately, as we shall see, the action it took seems likely to have the opposite

effect. The action also suggests how large a gap divides engineers and senior

management.

Company B has called in a management consultant, whom we shall call "Doctor

Feel-Good" ("DFG" for short). DFG has tried to spur creativity through a motivation

program for managers and senior engineers. The engineers who told us of DFG's program

made it sound like a series of pep rallies. Whatever the program was in fact, the engineers

tended to think it silly--or an admission of management's desperation. DFG clearly was

hurting engineering morale (just the opposite of what management must have intended).

But, perhaps more serious, DFG also seemed to be damaging communications between

engineers and managers, the very communications upon which any technological

breakthrough would depend. "[The] effect of [DFG]," said one engineer, "has been to

make engineers feel out of step when they report that something won't work."

The flow of bad news upward has at least been slowed. Senior management may

well be the last to know how bad things are; they may not find out until it is too late to do

anything about it. Perhaps our interviews already show the filtering process at work.

Though the engineers talked openly about the technical bottlenecks, shortage of staff, and

the business risks, experienced managers did not. They were (it seemed) positive about

what they were doing. If they were no more open with their engineers and fellow

managers than they were with us, it is easy to see how they might be helping to create,

however unintentionally, an environment in which even engineers would feel pressured

to tone down bad news. As time went on, these managers, and those above them, would
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be more and more cut off from what the ordinary engineer knew.

Here is Feynman's "game"--with this difference. The disaster is yet to come and

may never happen. The company may yet "luck out." But, even if disaster strikes, it will

not produce a public scandal, only a lot of red ink or, at worst, the ruin of a good

company.cclxxxiv

VI. Conclusions

Our first hypothesis was that the boundary between engineer and manager would

be relatively clear in most companies because the staff-line mode of organization would

force the distinction to be made clear. In fact, we found almost no trace of the staff-line

distinction. What we found in its place was something much more like the distinction

made in universities between faculty and administrators.

In most universities, senior administrators (president, vice-presidents, and deans)

hold faculty appointments. Many still do some teaching. Ordinary faculty, on the other

hand, do considerable administrative work, whether as department chair or through

various departmental, college, or university committees. Faculty differ from senior

administrators only in degree (though "administrative staff" are more like what engineers

call "technicians"). Some ordinary faculty may be paid more than any administrator, even

the university president.

In most companies at which we interviewed, the distinction between engineers and

managers was similarly one of degree. A (bench) engineer was an engineer who spent

most of his time at his bench (like an "ordinary faculty member"). A (pure) manager was

an engineer who no longer did any engineering himself. Especially in large companies,

there might be several grades of engineer-manager. In general, the distinction between

engineer and manager did not seem to determine pay, benefits, or weight in technical
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decisions.

The one company that seemed to make the distinction between engineer and

manager as sharply as we originally expected did not seem to have any more of a staff-

line organization than the other companies at which we interviewed. Yet, though only for

accounting purposes, the sharpness of the distinction seemed to hurt relations between its

engineers and managers, making engineers feel as if they and managers belonged to

"separate camps." This bad feeling may have contributed to the poor communications we

found there.

Our second hypothesis was that engineers would be primarily concerned with

safety and quality while managers would be primarily concerned with costs and

customer satisfaction. This hypothesis was generally confirmed but in a way suggesting

the concerns overlap more than commonly thought. Managers in most companies usually

took more account of costs and customer satisfaction in their initial response to an

engineer's recommendation than engineers initially did. In all companies at which we

interviewed, however, decision was generally by consensus, not by management fiat.

Decision by consensus required managers to inform engineers about considerations of

costs and customer satisfaction they may have overlooked. No doubt as a result of that,

most engineers we interviewed had a much better appreciation of such business matters

than we expected. Even allowing for the fact that most managers we interviewed were

trained as engineers, decision by consensus seemed to have a corresponding effect on

managers. They seemed to have a better appreciation of engineering considerations than

we expected. Decision by consensus itself appears to be an important means of

maintaining good communications between engineers and managers.

Our third hypothesis was that engineers would tend to defer to management

judgment, since management had ultimate responsibility for decisions. This hypothesis

derived from our assumption that engineering would be treated as a staff function (with
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no responsibility for decision) while management would be a line function. Yet, the

hypothesis was in fact independent of that assumption. It could have been confirmed

even if (as it turned out) engineering was a line function. Engineers could still have

routinely deferred to management.

Our findings here are therefore significant in their own right. Deference to

management was not what was expected of engineers. Quite the contrary. Engineers were

expected to "go to the mat" on any question of safety or quality they considered

important. Even managers who expressly reserved the right to overrule an engineering

recommendation emphasized the need for engineers to "hammer" at them anyway.

Engineers themselves expressed no deference to management on questions of safety.

There they expected their recommendation to be "final." Only on questions of quality,

customer satisfaction, or cost were they willing to let management have the last word--

and even then, they were willing to give management an "ear full" first. Here again the

analogy with decision-making in a university (where faculty "advise" but expect to have

administrators take their advice) seems much closer than decision-making in the military

(where--we are told--officers "command" and "subordinates" are expected to "obey").

Our fourth hypothesis was that the more hierarchical organizations were more

likely to suffer a communications breakdown than the less hierarchical. This hypothesis,

like the previous one, had been derived from the assumption that the companies at which

we interviewed would have a traditional (quasi-military) hierarchy. Though their tables

of organization made them look as hierarchical as we assumed they would be, none of the

companies at which we interviewed was in fact organized in that way. The small

companies were too personal for formal hierarchy to matter much. Even in the large

companies, the use of consensus and bringing other people in meant that individual

managers could not control information or access in the way they would have in a

traditional hierarchical organization. (And, in addition, the managers generally did not
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want to.) Even the communications gap we found in Company B did not result from

hierarchical organization but from a combination of other factors, including too narrow a

definition of engineering considerations, too much interference from the top in the details

of engineering, a failure to consult directly with those most likely to know, and the use of

motivational techniques likely to discourage the reporting of bad news. The absence or

presence of a code of ethics or formal appeal procedure seemed to have little part in

technical communications between managers and engineers.

Our fifth hypothesis was that we could develop a procedure for identifying a

communications gap between engineers and managers if one existed. We now have some

support for this hypothesis. Our open-ended interview identified what seemed to be a

serious communications gap at one company ("Company B"). The interviews also

provided us much useful information about how engineers and managers generally work

together.

Our sixth hypothesis was that we could add to the stock of procedures for

preventing a communications gap or at least to procedures for helping to eliminate such a

gap once it has appeared. We came across two, the informal "bringing others in" and the

formal technical review.

VII. Recommendations

We believe our research justifies the following recommendations:

1. Companies should try to soften the distinction between engineer and

manager as much as possible. Too sharp a distinction (as in Company B) seems to create

resentment that can interfere with communication. Providing for a promotional ladder for

bench engineers parallel to management's may help to reduce the feeling that managers

are "above" engineers. Managers, especially, seem to welcome the possibility of bringing
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in a senior engineer (that is, a "technical person" with rank equivalent to "manager") when

they disagree with an engineer's recommendation. Companies should also look for other

ways to treat engineers and managers as professional employees, differing only in specific

function and responsibilities (for example, by avoiding differences in benefits based on

classification as "manager" or "engineer").

2. Engineers should be encouraged to report bad news. Communication is

most likely to breakdown between engineers and managers when procedures or other

aspects of the work environment discourage engineers from reporting bad news (for

example, design problems). Top-down engineering may be justified at times, but it

should be accompanied by on-site visits with the bench engineers doing the work

("management by walking around"). Senior management needs to remember how much

bad news is likely to get filtered out by several layers of management. Senior managers

should also be wary of motivational techniques that discourage bad news or otherwise

inhibit the give-and-take that is a precondition of decision by consensus working well.

While on-site visits, especially informal surprise visits with bench engineers, can

undercut the authority of mid-level managers, that is not a necessary consequence.

Undercutting can be avoided by open discussion of the rationale for the visit, emphasis on

the helping (rather than the controlling) role of managers, and (when a problem is

discovered) a focus on solving the problem rather than finding someone to blame.

3. Companies should check now and then for signs of trouble in relations

between managers and engineers. Such trouble may not be obvious to managers inside

the company even if it is obvious to the engineers there. How many subordinates will tell

a superior more bad news than he asks for? One way for senior management to discover

trouble is to meet informally with small groups of bench engineers and ask. Another way

is to have outsiders interview engineers and managers in the way we have.

4. Companies should encourage both engineers and managers to settle

 255

technical disagreements by informally bringing other experts in.cclxxxv Companies should

also consider adopting an open-door policy, ombudsman, or other formal appeals

procedure. Though such formal procedures will seldom be used to settle technical

disagreements between managers and engineers, they nonetheless seem to help establish

an environment in which even technical information flows more freely.

5. Companies should look for formal procedures that will bring out bad news

that might otherwise be missed. The most effective procedure of this sort we came across

was Amoco Chemical's Hazard and Operability (HAZOP) study. cclxxxvi Though this

procedure is probably too elaborate for most companies (that is, those with a less

dangerous technology), it may provide a useful ideal against which any company can

measure its own technical review procedures. Of particular value, we think is: a) that the

reviewing body consists entirely of engineers who, though having the appropriate

experience, have had no part in developing the plans (or process) they evaluate (and so,

no built-in conflict of interest); b) that the plans have to stand on their own (the drafters

not being there to defend them); and c) that all recommendations are put in writing, that

rejecting a recommendation requires a written justification, and that both

recommendation and rejection are kept on file (thus assuring later accountability). Such

an independent review gives everyone directly involved in a project considerably more

incentive than they would otherwise have not to play down bad news in the early stages

of a project. At a minimum, however, we think companies should encourage engineers to

put their doubts in writing and circulate them among all those concerned.

6. Companies should not expect a general code of ethics to have much impact

on engineering decisions. Any company wishing to make safety or quality more central in

its engineering decisions will probably have to do so through specific technical

specifications. It may also find training engineers in their profession's code helpful, since

these codes are generally more specific about problems engineers face than is a general
 256

business code. Such training may also confirm engineers in the belief that their employer

wants them to be advocates for engineering standards.

7. Companies should try to improve the way they use bad news. Companies

cannot learn from their mistakes if they do not remember them. In particular, companies

should consider including information about how parts have failed in technical manuals

(or data bases) engineers use or, at least, bring engineers together from time to time to

discuss failures they have learned from.

8. Technical engineering courses should include more about the place of cost,

manufacturability, and other business considerations in engineering. One manager in fact

told us that, except for the graduates of co-op programs, engineers fresh out of college

were poorly prepared to think about the range of considerations routinely part of good

engineering. There seemed to be general agreement that engineering education is now too

narrow.

9. Engineers should be trained to make a case for their recommendations.

Ability to present data clearly, orally or in writing, and the ability to make arguments

from the data, seem to be essential to participating effectively in decision by consensus.

Right now, engineers seem to have to learn these skills on the job. They are, however,

skills any school of engineering can teach.

 257

NOTES AND REFERENCES

This chapter began as a project funded by a grant from the Hitachi Foundation of

America and carried out under the direction of a seven-member panel of academics and

practitioners in the Chicago area (the chapter's "we"). The panel included: Thomas Calero

(Business, IIT), Michael Davis (Center for the Study of Ethics in the Professions, IIT),

Robert Growney (Corporate Vice President, Motorola), David Krueger (Director, Center

for Ethics and Corporate Policy), Elliot Lehman (Chairman, Fel-Pro), and Lawrence

Lavengood (Business, Northwestern University). Vivian Weil (Center for the Study of

Ethics in the Professions, IIT) chaired the panel. Calero, Davis, and Krueger conducted

interviews at the following companies: Fel-Pro Incorporated, Omni Circuits, Bosch

Corporation, W. E. O'Neil Construction Company, Motorola, Inland Steel Company,

Navistar, Amoco Chemical Company (two sites), Hitachi Automotive Products (USA),

and Cummins Engine. We should like to thank these companies for their help, both in

setting up the interviews and in making sure they went smoothly. We should also like to

thank the following people for providing comments on the first draft of this report: Diana

Stork (Business, University of Hartford), Deborah Johnson (Department of Science and

Technology Studies, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute), Peter Whalley (History, Loyola

University of Chicago), and Steven Shortell (Business, Northwestern University). One or

another summary of this article was presented at the National Society of Professional

Engineers Annual Meeting (Industry Practices Division), Charleston, South Carolina, 21

January 1992; at the National Conference on Ethics and the Professions, University of

Florida, Gainesville, 1 February 1992; and at a seminar sponsored by the Department of

Mechanical Engineering, Texas A & M University, 12 March 1992. The discussions that

followed provided welcome confirmation of our results. A very short version of this

chapter was published as "Technical Decisions: Time to Rethink the Engineer's

 258

Responsibilities?", Business and Professional Ethics Journal 11 (Spring/Summer 1992): 41-55;

a longer version as "Ordinary Technical Decision-Making: An Empirical Investigation", in

Responsible Communications: Ethical Issues in Business, Industry, and the Professions, ed. James

A. Jaska and Michael S. Pritchard (Hampton Press: Cresskill, New Jersey, 1996), pp. 75-

106; and a complete version as "Better Communication Between Engineers and Managers:

Some Ways to Prevent Many Ethically Hard Choices", Science and Research Ethics 3 (April

1997): __________.
 259

APPENDIX I: QUESTIONNAIRE FOR ENGINEERS

0.Explain project. Assure anonymity. Then ask: Are you an engineer or a manager?

1. What is your professional background?

a. How did you come to work here?

b. What does your company do? Example?

2. What do you do here?

3.How does your company make engineering decisions? Can you give an example?

a.What part do engineers play in important design and operation decisions here?

b.What part do managers play in important design and operation decisions here?

4.What are the most important factors determining company decisions on matters of

engineering?

a.Does your company take large risks in its technical decisions? Why?

b.Does your company have a code of ethics?

5.Is the management of the company trained or versed in the company's technology? How

current do you feel they are?

6.Are your engineering recommendations being acknowledged in such a way that you

receive assurance that they have been received and will be acted upon in

accordance with your statements? Explain.

 260

a.What review process is in place for an engineer's concern?

b.Do you have, and participate in, a process of technical design review with your

peers? With management on critical design specifications?

7.Do you think there are any communications problems between your supervisor and his

supervisors? Examples?

a.Do you ever find it necessary to withhold information from your superiors? If so,

explain?

b.Have you ever felt that your superiors were not telling you the hole truth? If so,

explain.

9.Have you ever felt that safety or quality were being sacrificed for reasons with which

you did not agree? If so, explain.

a.What would you do if you thought safety or quality were being sacrificed?

10.On what issues do you think professional engineers should be content to see their

judgment superseded? On what issues should the engineer's judgment be the last

word?

11.If you don't like what your immediate superior is doing, what can you do about it?

a.Does your firm have a formal open door policy? Is it used to appeal technical

decisions? How does it work?

12.Are engineers good management material? Why or why not?

a.What transition training or coaching is provided for an engineer promoted into

management?
 261

b.In what important ways must a promoted engineer change?

13.If you had full control over the engineering work in your company, what would you

do differently? Why?

a.Are your engineering recommendations being affected by considerations or

pressures that deny you the opportunity to provide the optimum solution to

some problem?

13*What questions should a manager ask you to get the information he needs to make the

right decision? Which, if any, of these questions is a manager least likely to ask?

14.Are there any questions we didn't ask that we should have? Anything you want to add

to what you have already said?

 262

APPENDIX II: QUESTIONNAIRE FOR MANAGERS

0.Explain project. Assure anonymity. Then ask: Are you an engineer or a manager?

1.What is your professional background?

a.How did you come to work here?

b.What does your company do?

2.What do you do here?

3.How does your company make engineering decisions?

a.What part do engineers play in important design and operation decisions here?

b.What part do managers play in important design and operation decisions here?

4.What are the most important factors determining company decisions on matters of

engineering?

a.Does your company take large risks in its technical decisions? Why?

b.Does your company have a code of ethics? What part does it play in your

decisions?

5.Is the company's management trained or versed in the company's technology?

a.How current do you feel they are?

b.Should managers have a technical background?

6.Do you and your engineers always see eye to eye on technical questions? If not, when
 263

not? What happens?

7.How much weight does an engineer's recommendation have?

a.Does an engineer's technical expertise weigh as heavily as management

considerations in making decisions?

b.What review process is in place for an engineer's concerns?

8.On what issues should professional engineers (on staff) be content to see their

professional judgment superseded? On what issues, if any, should the engineer's

judgment be the last word?

9.Do you ever find it necessary to withhold technical information from your engineers? If

so, explain?

10.Have you ever felt that your engineers were not telling you the whole truth? If so,

explain.

11.Are engineers good management material? Why or why not?

a.What transition training or coaching is provided for an engineer promoted into

management?

b.In what important ways must a promoted engineer change?

12.If you had full control over the engineering work in your company, what, if anything,

would you do differently? Why?

a.Are your recommendations now being affected or colored by considerations or

pressures that deny you the opportunity to provide the optimum solution to
 264

some problem?

12*What questions should an engineer ask you to get the information he needs to make

the right decision? Which, if any, of these questions is an engineer least likely to

ask?

13.Are there any questions we didn't ask that we should have? Anything you want to add

to what you have already said?

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APPENDIX III: INTERVIEWEE CHARACTERISTICS

TABLE 1: TOTAL INTERVIEWED

Customer-Oriented Companies (6)

Engineers Managers Total

3 1 4

3 2 5

2 6 8

3 3 6

5 4 9

3 4 7

Engineer-Oriented Companies (4)

Engineers Managers Total

0 1 1

3 4 7

3 4 7

4 2 6

______________________________________________________________

29 31 60

(This table does not include three background interviews with managers not directly

involved with engineers. The company listed with 0 engineers had a dozen or so

engineers; but we only interviewed their manager in the first trial of the questionnaire.)
 266

TABLE 2: EMPLOYMENT HISTORY

One Employer Two or More Employers

--------------Engineers-----------------------------------

18 11

--------------Managers------------------------------------

21 10

Years with Present Employer

-----------------------Engineers-------------------------

0-3 yrs. 3-9 yrs. 10-19 yrs. 20+ yrs. unknown

5 11 8 0 5

-----------------------Managers-----------------------------

0-3 yrs. 3-9 yrs. 10-19 yrs. 20+ yrs. unknown

3 8 4 10 6

(The range for engineers was from 1-18 years; for managers, 6 months to 39 years.)
 267

TABLE 3: FIELDS OF ENGINEERING

(determined by degree or, in its absence, by work experience)

Civil Chem. Elec. Mech. Meta. Unspecified

2 4 12 20 6 7

(In addition: One engineer (not counted above) claimed degrees in both mechanical and

electrical; and two others (also not counted above) claimed a B.S. in Construction

Engineering, a close relative of Civil. Of the remaining six interviewees, two had degrees

in chemistry (and were working as chemical engineers) and one had an associate degree

in quality assurance. The three non-engineer managers would bring the total to 60.)
 Chapter 10

PROFESSIONAL AUTONOMY: A FRAMEWORK FOR EMPIRICAL RESEARCH

Employed engineers sometimes claim that their status as employees denies them

the autonomy necessary to be "true professionals". Such claims also appear in important

scholarly work. For example, in The Revolt of the Engineers, Edwin Layton observed:

"Employers have been unwilling to grant autonomy to their employees, even in principle.

They have assumed that the engineer, like any other employee, should take orders...[But]

the very essence of professionalism lies in not taking orders from an employer." cclxxxvii

What are we to make of the claim that professionalism is inconsistent with being an

employee (or, at least, with taking orders from an employer)? Is it a conceptual truth (a

deduction from definitions) or an empirical one? How might it be proved--or disproved?

The purpose of this chapter is to answer these questions by developing a

conception of professional autonomy. We have no such conception now (though some

claim otherwise). What we have instead are conceptions of personal (or moral) autonomy

applied to the workplace. These help us understand neither the specific contribution of

professional constraints to personal autonomy nor the ways corporate organization and

professional responsibility might be consistent.

The literature on autonomy may be divided into three categories: 1) a general

philosophical literature on "personal" autonomy; 2) a philosophical literature explicitly

concerned with "professional autonomy"; and 3) a sociological literature concerned with

autonomy in the workplace. These three literatures, though in principle related, seem in

practice to have grown up largely independent of one another. Let us consider them in

order. Having seen what they have to offer, we should be in position to develop our own

conception of professional autonomy and see what research, if any, it suggests.

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I. Personal Autonomy

Over the last thirty years, philosophers have developed a substantial literature on

"personal autonomy" (in part at least) because traditional conceptions of liberty or

freedom seemed not to do justice to concerns about the effect that brainwashing, hypnotic

suggestion, advertising, and other mind-altering techniques might have on the moral

authority of agents. Brainwashing, for example, leaves us at liberty to do what we want--

but, by distorting what we want, seems to deprive the resulting decisions of something

necessary for them to be accorded the respect to which they would otherwise be entitled.

The locus of most of this work has been political philosophy (the autonomy of

citizens given the state's control of education, information, and public discussion),

medical ethics (the autonomy of patients), and business ethics (the autonomy of customers

subject to advertising). This work has gone on under the title "personal autonomy" to

distinguish it from two older subjects: "political autonomy", which is concerned with

what makes a state or nation self-governing; and "moral autonomy", which is concerned

with the conditions for moral responsibility (or moral goodness). The reason for

distinguishing personal autonomy from political autonomy is self-evident: individual

persons are neither states nor nations. The reason for distinguishing personal autonomy

from moral autonomy is not self-evident.

On many conceptions of moral responsibility, indeed, on most, the conditions

necessary for moral autonomy (for example, rationality) are also conditions necessary for

personal autonomy. The term "personal autonomy" must, I think, be treated not as

signaling a subject different from moral autonomy but as signaling a different emphasis

within the same subject. Those concerned with "personal autonomy" are to be understood

as concerned (primarily) with protecting agents (whether in political philosophy, medical

ethics, or business ethics) from certain undesirable influences, or with reasons for

respecting their decisions, not with evaluating their conduct morally. Those concerned
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with "moral autonomy" are, on the other hand, to be understood as concerned with such

evaluation rather than with protecting moral agents against certain undesirable

influences. For our purposes, this difference in emphasis does not matter. I shall therefore

generally use "personal autonomy" for both.

Conceptions of personal (or moral) autonomy resemble each other in treating the

autonomy of an act as dependent on some feature of the agent. They differ only in what

that feature is. For some, an act is autonomous only if the agent is autonomous (at the

moment of the act). We may call these "agent-centered conceptions". For other

conceptions, an act is autonomous only if the desire leading to the act is. We may call

these conceptions "desire-centered".

Agent-centered conceptions may say little (indeed, nothing) about "autonomous

desires." For example, on Gerald Dworkin's recent account, a person is autonomous

insofar as (and only insofar as) she has certain capacities ("the capacity...to reflect on [her]

first-order preferences, desires, wishes, and so forth, and the capacity to accept or to

attempt to change these in light of higher-order preferences and values"). cclxxxviii Desires as

such are neither autonomous nor non-autonomous; autonomy is a function of the way the

person decides. An act (or choice) is autonomous only insofar as it results from the

exercise of these capacities of the agent.cclxxxix

Desire-centered conceptions, in contrast, consider a person to be autonomous (or to

have personal autonomy) only if (or only insofar as) his acts (or other choices) are

autonomous; and to consider his acts to be autonomous only if (or only insofar as) they

derive in the appropriate way from desires, motives, or the like that are themselves

autonomous. Autonomy is primarily a characteristic of desires and only derivatively of

acts or persons. So, for example, a person might be autonomous under such a conception

only insofar as his desires are.

All desire-centered conceptions of autonomy now available are, I think, either

historical, hypothetical, or structural. In historical conceptions, a desire is autonomous if it

 271

results from a certain process (or is not the result of certain processes). For example, my

present desire to eat chocolate chip cookies would (on this conception) be autonomous if it

actually originated in an appropriately reflective process, but not if it originated in

hypnotic suggestion or early socialization into a "chocoholic" family. ccxc

Hypothetical conceptions of autonomy differ from historical conceptions in focusing

on a possible future rather than on the actual past. For example, on the hypothetical

conception I have defended elsewhere, my desire for chocolate chip cookies is

autonomous if it would survive repeated and vivid exposure to all the relevant facts (such

as the weight I am likely to put on and the unpleasantness of eventually having to choose

between a crash diet and a heart attack). If the desire would not survive exposure to such

facts, it is not autonomous.ccxci

For structural conceptions, a desire is autonomous if it stands in a certain

relationship to other current desires of the person (whatever the desire's actual history or

possible future). For example, according to Harry Frankfurt's account, a person's (first-

order) desire is autonomous if it is one with which that person actually identifies (that is,

with which his other desires mesh in a certain way). ccxcii The history of the desire is

relevant, if at all, only insofar as it affects a person's willingness to identify with the

desire. According to another structural conception, a desire is autonomous if, and only if,

it fits the person's actual life plan.ccxciii

Though these conceptions of autonomy--both agent-centered and desire-centered--

differ in many ways, they share one striking feature relevant here. On none is the

employer-employee relation necessarily inconsistent with autonomy. On agent-centered

conceptions, the crucial question is: Does the employer leave the employee with the

relevant capacities to reflect on his desires and to accept or change them based on

higher-order desires? While some hierarchical organizations may so regiment employees

that independent thought is impossible, that does not seem to be true of all or even most

organizations employing engineers. Certainly, it was not true of the organizations studied
 272

in Chapter 9. On desire-centered conceptions, the crucial question is (something like):

Does the employer instill desires in an inappropriate way, or instill desires that could

not survive exposure to the facts, or instill desires with which the employee cannot

identify? Again, while the answer may be yes for some employers, it seems to be no for

others--perhaps most. Few organizations seem to turn their employees into automatons.

If the employees of a certain organization are not automatons, they should be able

to act autonomously in their workplace (just as they can outside). That they are obeying

orders is not enough to show that they are not acting autonomously. If, for example, they

did as they were told because (upon reflection) they had concluded that the employer

knew what she was doing (or that coordination among many employees was more

important than getting any one decision right), they might well be both autonomous and

scrupulously obedient under any of the conceptions of personal autonomy identified

here.

That it might lead to this conclusion may explain why those concerned with

professional autonomy have generally ignored the literature on personal autonomy. That

literature seems to settle where it should elucidate. That it seems to settle too much does

not, however, explain why those concerned with professional autonomy have used the

term "autonomy" (much less justify its use). Why talk of "autonomy" rather than

"freedom", "control", or even just "responsibility"? To answer that question, we must

examine the literature of professional autonomy.

 273

II. Professional Autonomy

The literature on professional autonomy seems to distinguish two (related) senses

of "professional autonomy". In both, acts are more central than in conceptions of personal

autonomy. In one sense of professional autonomy, "the organizational", autonomy is

regulation by one's own profession (rather than regulation by the "laity"). In the other

sense, "the individual", autonomy is control of one's own work (rather than control by

client, patient, employer, or the like).ccxciv

Organizational autonomy is primarily a property of the profession as a whole. A

profession is autonomous insofar as it has control over its own code of ethics, standards

for admission to the profession (including licensure or certification), and disciplinary

procedures: "In practice, autonomy [in this sense] exists when the leaders of a profession

define or regulate the nature of the services offered in the following ways: they control

recruitment and certification of members, and set the standards of adequate practice." ccxcv

Organizational autonomy is a close relative of political autonomy.

In the United States, no profession is fully autonomous in this sense. Lawyers, for

example, are licensed by a state agency (usually, the state supreme court) and (at least) the

final stages of discipline are in that agency's hands. While the American Bar Association

does prepare a "model" code of ethics, the states do not have to adopt it (and those that do

adopt it are free to make changes--and sometimes do). Lawyers are, of course, much

involved in the state's regulation of lawyers, but that involvement is at the state's pleasure,

not the profession's.

Engineers differ from lawyers in this respect in the United States. The state does

not make licensing a precondition for the practice of engineering within its jurisdiction.

Generally, the states require licensing only for those engineers who work as lawyers

traditionally have, offering technical advice to an unsophisticated public or preparing

documents for a public record. Those engineers who work as employees of a

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manufacturer, or other organization capable of judging credentials, need not be licensed,

since they do not serve the public directly (but only through an employer). This difference

between lawyers and engineers seems unrelated to the sense of professional autonomy

that interests us. Our questions would remain even if the United States licensed all

engineers (as Canada and Mexico do)ccxcvi; a licensed engineer can be an employee and, as

an employee, have much the same problems of autonomy as an unlicensed engineer.

That brings us to the second sense of professional autonomy, the individual. We

may distinguish at least three analyses of this sort of autonomy in the literature.

One is clearly connected with personal autonomy. For example, K. R. Pavlovic

defines the individual autonomy of engineers as "relative absence of restrictions on

action...[and] of coercion [when] the actor is the initiator of action rather than simply the

medium".ccxcvii This definition has three undesirable features. First, it is largely negative

("an absence"), while professional autonomy seems to be something positive (a capacity

for a certain sort of action). Second, since liberty is often thought of as the absence of

restrictions on action, Pavlovic's definition seems to confuse autonomy with liberty. Third,

insofar as "the initiator" requirement adds anything to liberty, the addition is

unexplained. The definition thus seems to assume an analysis of professional autonomy

rather than to offer one.

A second analysis is related to organizational autonomy. For Paul Camenisch, for

example, individual professional autonomy means "[ultimate] assessment only by one's

professional peers, not by laypersons, even when the latter is the professional's

employer".ccxcviii Though this analysis rings true, it also rings hollow. Everything depends

on how we understand "ultimate assessment". We have already seen that, on at least one

understanding of "ultimate assessment", no profession has individual autonomy (or, at

least, none has that the state licenses).

Camenisch did not explicitly discuss the ultimate assessment of engineers. He

might have learned something from doing so. Whatever might be true of licensed
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professions, unlicensed professions like engineering seem to lack a noncontroversial way

to understand "ultimate assessment". Of course, like a lawyer (or physician), an engineer

cannot practice her profession without a client (or employer). There is, then, a clear sense

in which the market provides the ultimate assessment of an engineer (as it does for

lawyers and physicians). If an engineer cannot find a client or employer, she cannot

practice her profession.

There is, however, also clearly a sense in which the "ultimate assessment" belongs

not to the employer but to other engineers. An engineer can have an employer and still

not practice her profession. Even if she has a degree in engineering and a job with

"engineer" in the title, she might, for example, still only be the building's janitor. To

practice engineering, she must actually be engaged in what is engineering in more than

name. What that is is (as argued in chpater 3) something for engineers to decide, however

informally, rather than for those who know little or nothing about engineering. Here,

then, is an "ultimate assessment" that engineers must make (an assessment which, though

present in law and medicine, tends to be concealed by state-operated licensing).

The law courts provide yet another possible venue for "ultimate assessment".

Whatever engineers say, the courts can find an engineer's work to fall below the standard

of reasonable care, impose huge damages, and so force the engineer from the field. Courts

can even force standards of care on the profession as a whole (and so decide what shall,

and what shall not, be engineering practice). The engineering profession, the employers of

engineers, and the clients of engineers may be powerless to undo what a judge or jury has

done. A court's finding of malpractice seems as ultimate an assessment of an engineer's

work as any. (Law and medicine are, of course, also subject to this sort of ultimate

assessment.)

So, great care will be required to work out an understanding of "ultimate

assessment" that is both defensible and relevant to engineers (and, indeed, relevant to

most professions as they are in fact practiced in the United States). My own intuition is
 276

that nothing of value will come from the attempt. We cannot understand what makes a

certain assessment "ultimate", if any is, until we understand individual (professional)

autonomy. Once we understand individual autonomy, we need not worry about whether

any assessment is ultimate.

A third conception mirrors the sociological literature discussed below. For Kenneth

Kipnis, professional autonomy is "control over the conditions or content of work". ccxcix This

is an extremely demanding conception of professional autonomy. Professional autonomy

(in this sense) seems to be inconsistent both with the normal authority of employers and

with the cooperation and division of labor necessary to make any large organization

work. Yet, only one philosopher, Mike Martin, has noted how demanding this analysis is;

and only three writers--Adina Schwartz and Heinz Luegenbiehl as well as Martin--have

sought to provide a conception of managerial control (and organizational cooperation)

consistent with leaving to professionals enough control over the conditions or content of

work to preserve the professional's autonomy.ccc While Martin's piece is especially

suggestive, even it does not deal directly with our subject, professional autonomy (though

it uses the word). Martin argues, in effect, that ordinary morality, not anything distinctly

professional, determines what the employer can demand without threatening autonomy.

This is, in essence, the position of Schwartz and Luegenbiehl as well. They therefore

provide an answer to the question, "How can an employer's authority be consistent with

an engineer's personal autonomy?" They never reach our question, "How can an

employer's authority be consistent with an engineers's professional autonomy?" They do

not even see that this might be a different question.

III. Sociological Literature

In 1939, Vannevar Bush, MIT engineer and soon-to-be mobilizer of American

scientific talent during World War II, suggested: "We may as well resign ourselves to a
 277

general absorption as controlled employees, and to the disappearance of our

independence. We may as well conclude that we are merely one more group of the

population...forced in this direction and that by conflict between the great forces of a

civilized community, with no higher ideals than to serve as directed." ccci This pessimistic

suggestion rests on three controversial assumptions:

First, there is the assumption that working in large organizations is new to

engineers (Bush's "we"). In fact (as we have seen), most engineers have always worked in

large organizations, beginning with the military, going on to the railways, and then into

manufacture. Most engineers have always been "controlled employees". cccii Like the

military, the clergy, and the professoriate, engineering has never been independent in the

sense a profession of independent practitioners can be. ccciii Bush's statement seems much

more appropriate to physicians or lawyers today than to engineers at any time in their

history: physicians and lawyers, after almost two centuries during which they practiced

primarily as "free professions", are now becoming primarily employees of large

organizations, some headed by members of their own profession and some not.ccciv

Second, there is Bush's assumption that this "loss of independence" is something

engineers must "resign" themselves to, that it is plainly an evil. We have long known that

few engineers, especially those with only a BS, feel that being free of supervision is

important.cccv Generally, engineers have accepted supervision as part of what it is to be an

engineer (or, at least, an engineer engaged in important work). The problem seems to be

to find the right kind of supervision.cccvi

The question of control over what is done with the engineer's work is, of course, a

distinct question. But here again engineers are often thought to be at a disadvantage when

compared with such "true professionals" as lawyers or physicians. The engineer's

employer decides whether to do what the engineer recommends while (it is said) the

lawyer or physician can just do it. This supposition seems even more of a mistake than the

supposition that lawyers and physicians have complete control over what they do. Like
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engineers, lawyers and physicians are primarily advisors. Under ordinary conditions,

they can say what they like, insist on it as much as they like, but if the client or employer

says no, they can do nothing. A will is only a draft until the client decides it is good

enough to sign. A physician who forces a competent patient to submit to treatment is

guilty of criminal battery. Whatever professional autonomy is, it cannot be control over

one's client or employer.

Third, Bush assumes that being "controlled employees" means that "we" can have

"no higher ideals than to serve as directed"--in other words, that the status of employee is

inconsistent with professionalism. This, of course, is the assumption this chapter is to help

evaluate. The empirical literature does not address it. Instead, it addresses autonomy

defined in some such way as this: "a condition in which the performer, rather than

someone else, determines the sequencing of tasks which comprise the job and how long

one performs a given task before switching to another". cccvii While this sort of control is (to

some degree) a precondition of professional autonomy, it is clearly different. Every

profession must, at times, adjust to the schedule of others. Even the physician may have to

drop everything and come to the hospital when the baby is ready to be born. No one

supposes such emergencies to threaten his professional autonomy even if he has such

emergencies several times a day. cccviii Hence, most empirical work on the autonomy of

engineers is not directly relevant to their individual professional autonomy.

One (near) exception seems to be the work reported in chapter 9. My colleagues

and I interviewed sixty engineers and managers (in ten companies). While we found few

engineers (or managers) with absolute control over any significant decisions, we did find

considerable room for discussion and a strong tendency to seek consensus. We certainly

had the impression that engineers were free to exercise their professional judgment (one

obvious interpretation of professional autonomy); indeed, some managers seemed to go

out of their way to stress the importance of engineers "sticking to their guns".

Unfortunately, we were not then concerned with professional autonomy; so, our
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observations are no more than suggestive. cccix What more we should have done depends

on what (individual) professional autonomy is. We must now work out a useful

conception.

IV. A Conception of (Individual) Professional Autonomy

The preceding examination of the autonomy literature suggests three criteria of

adequacy for any conception of (individual) professional autonomy. First, any adequate

conception should explain the relation between professional autonomy and personal

autonomy or, failing that, explain the importance of professional autonomy in some other

way. Second, any adequate conception of professional autonomy should make the

professional autonomy of an individual employee an empirical question or, failing that,

explain why many people have considered it to be empirical. Third, any adequate

conception of professional autonomy should suggest ways to test the empirical content, if

any, of claims concerning professional autonomy; it should yield a practical research

program or, failing that, explain why none is possible. A conception meeting these three

conditions would bring together, as much as possible, the philosophical, professional, and

sociological literature concerned with workplace autonomy.

How to proceed? First, I shall sketch (what I hope will be) a relatively

uncontroversial conception of acting-as-a-member-of-a-profession. Second, I shall identify

a conception of (personal) autonomy suitable for our purposes. Third, I shall show that

one can act autonomously (in this sense) while acting as a member of a profession.

Professional autonomy is a special kind of personal autonomy (acting-autonomously-as-a-

member-of-a-profession). Fourth, I shall show that one can act autonomously as an

employed member of a profession, that employment and professional autonomy are not

in principle inconsistent.

Having done all that in this section, I shall, in the next section, suggest some
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relatively easily conducted research to tell us how much professional autonomy

employed engineers actually have.

Profession. There are no professions of one. To act as a member of a profession is to

act as a member of a group. What kind of group? For our purposes, a profession is a

number of individuals sharing an occupation voluntarily organized to earn a living by

serving some moral ideal in a (morally-permissible) way beyond what law, market,

and (ordinary) morality require. cccx This definition is important enough to deserve

amplification.

Professions are voluntary. You must claim membership--whether by seeking a

license to practice the profession, by applying for a job calling for a member of that

profession (for example, "engineer"), or just by declaring oneself a member of that

profession (for example, "I am an engineer"). You can always leave a profession by giving

up the license (if there is one), withdrawing from practice, and ceasing to claim

membership.

Professions are organizations. You are not a member just because you claim to be.

You must also meet certain minimum standards of competence and conduct that the

group treats as a condition of membership. Professions vary in degree of organization.

Some have formal tests for admission, licensing bodies, disciplinary committees, and the

like. Most have schools from which would-be practitioners should graduate, a written

code of ethics, and various associations speaking for the profession in certain contexts. All

recognize a distinction between those who, in virtue of competence and conduct, belong

to the profession and those who, falling short in some way, do not belong though they

claim to ("quacks", "charlatans", "impostors", and so on). A professions is more than an

occupation; it is a discipline.

All professions have special, morally permissible standards for conducting the

business of members. Typically, the primary purpose of these standards is to offer non-
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members (the client, employer, or public) some benefit or protection beyond what law,

market, or (ordinary, pre-profession) morality require. cccxi These standards differ from

profession to profession. So, for example, while engineers have undertaken to use their

distinctive knowledge, skill, and judgment in ways that hold the public health, safety, and

welfare paramount, lawyers have not. Professional standards are always morally

permissible; a "profession of thieves" is no more a profession than play-money is money.

Not every discipline can be a profession (in this sense).cccxii

Professions differ from charities, mutual assistance societies, and other altruistic

organizations in being concerned with how members earn their living. There is no

profession of amateurs. A profession is nonetheless not an ordinary business or

occupational organization. A profession differs from an ordinary business in being for

persons in a single occupation or, at least, in a family of occupations sharing a common

body of knowledge, skill, and judgment. A profession differs from a trade association,

union, or other occupational organization in having as its (primary) purpose something

beyond benefiting its members. A profession differs from both businesses and

occupational organizations in being designed (primarily) to serve a certain moral ideal in

a certain way. Physicians have organized to serve health; lawyers, justice within the law;

and so on.

The "moral" in "moral ideal" is meant to exclude non-moral ideals (the ideal of

prudence, for example). A moral ideal is moral both in the (minimal) sense of being

morally permissible (as , for example, stealing competently is not) and in the (stronger)

sense of being morally good (that is, tending to support morally right conduct). But a

moral ideal is also moral in a much stronger sense. A moral ideal is a state of affairs

which, though not morally required, is one that everyone (that is, every rational person)

wants others to approach when possible, wanting that so much as to be willing to reward,

assist, or at least praise such conduct if that were the price for others to do the same.

Moral ideals have a claim on us non-moral ideals do not. Professions are, by definition,
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praiseworthy (in the way voluntarily undertaking any laudable responsibility is) because

each profession, by definition, undertakes to serve a moral ideal.cccxiii

To be a member of a profession is, then, to be subject to a special set of standards.

To act as a member of a profession is openly to carry on one's business according to those

standards--for example, to declare in word and deed, "I work as an engineer [that is, as

engineers are supposed to work]". Can one be subject to such standards and still be

autonomous? Before we can answer that question, we must decide what to mean by

"autonomous".

Autonomy. An act's voluntariness creates a presumption in favor of its autonomy

(on any plausible conception of personal autonomy). If (as it seems) we can (voluntarily)

make a promise without compromising our (personal) autonomy, we should be able to

join a profession without compromising our autonomy--even if membership involves, as

promising does, commitment to acts we would not otherwise do. So, because professions

are voluntary organizations, the presumption must be that anyone acting as a member of

a profession acts autonomously.cccxiv

But that is only a presumption. Voluntariness does not guarantee autonomy. Even

the content of a commitment can undercut the presumption of autonomy. So, for example,

however voluntary, the promise to subject yourself forever and in all respects to the

arbitrary will of an immoral person does not seem autonomous. While the promise

renounces (personal) autonomy forever, its effect is only a symptom of the problem with

its autonomy. The problem is that the promise does not seem to be either the act of an

autonomous person or an act that an autonomous desire would motivate. We find it hard

to imagine how an autonomous agent could voluntarily make such a commitment (and

mean it). We doubt autonomy of such a commitment until we hear an unusual (and

convincing) explanation of why, appearances to the contrary notwithstanding, the

promise is autonomous. So, we need to explain why voluntary membership in a

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profession is not like making such a promise. We need some way to distinguish those

(voluntary) commitments that are autonomous from those that are not.cccxv What help can

the conceptions of personal autonomy we have identified provide?

Agent-centered conceptions have nothing to say about what you can do

autonomously. A promise to subject yourself forever and in all respects to the arbitrary

will of an immoral person would be autonomous, according to agent-centered

conceptions, if you are autonomous; and all you need to be autonomous is the capacity to

reflect on your desires, to change them in light of higher order desires, and to act

accordingly. This result points up two weaknesses in agent-centered conceptions. First,

agent-centered conceptions do not require a tight connection between the act (in this case,

a promise) and the agent's capacities to reflect (whatever they may be). A commitment is

autonomous if the person making it is autonomous, however careless or ill-informed she

was at the time. Second, agent-centered conceptions seem to rely on a weak (procedural)

notion of rationality. Rationality consists in having some capacity for self-criticism and

correction. There is no limitation on the content of the process--hence, no way to

guarantee that you cannot autonomously make even such an outrageous promise as we

are now imagining. Agent-centered conceptions of autonomy seem unsuited to our

purposes.cccxvi

What about desire-centered conceptions? All desire-centered conceptions of

personal autonomy avoid this first weakness. Indeed, they seem designed to do just that.

All require a tight connection between the autonomous desire and the act. For an act to be

autonomous, the motivating desire must itself be autonomous.

Desire-centered conceptions differ from one another both in how they determine

which desires are autonomous and in the relation they require between desire and act.

Historical conceptions require a certain history (for example, one avoiding hypnotic

suggestion) for a desire to be autonomous; structural conceptions require a certain

peaceful relation between the desire in question and others the person has; and
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hypothetical conceptions require that the desire be able to survive certain tests. Historical

and structural conceptions are alike in requiring only that the desire motivating the act be

autonomous for the act to be. Hypothetical conceptions may require more, for example,

that the choice of the act (as well as the desire) be able to survive certain tests (for

example, that the choice be able to survive vivid and repeated exposure to all relevant

facts). Nonetheless, all desire-centered conceptions might share with agent-centered

conceptions their second weakness, too weak a notion of rationality. Whether they do

depends on how the crucial notion of autonomous desire is filled in.

All desire-centered conceptions are alike in having certain "internal constraints" on

what counts as an autonomous desire (for example, "fitting the agent's life plan"). These

internal constraints (differing from conception to conception) may, or may not, amount to

"procedural rationality". Most desire-centered conceptions of personal autonomy are also

alike in lacking any provision for "substantive rationality". So, for example, most cannot

declare non-autonomous the desire to have one's arm removed just to have it removed;

some contingent fact about the person will determine whether that desire is (or is not)

autonomous. Only my hypothetical conception is different in this respect. Unlike all other

conceptions (agent-centered as well as desire-centered), mine requires some

correspondence between the desire and the external world. The desire in question must,

on my hypothetical conception, not be such as to weaken when exposed to the relevant

facts.cccxvii It must, in this sense at least, be rational.

If we combine my conception with certain minimal assumptions about human

psychology, we can identify certain substantive constraints on what can be autonomous.

For example, suppose that, all else equal, people prefer liberty to subjection. Any desire to

subject oneself to another just to do it--as in the autonomy-renouncing promise we have

imagined--should, upon exposure to the reality of such subjection, disappear (or at least

weaken enough to change the decision). The desire not being rational, any choice

dependent on it would not be autonomous.

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Other conceptions do not give this result even when supplemented in the way

mine was. Common sense--like preferring liberty to subjection--is no guarantee that

people will not sometimes act foolishly, that they will not sometimes develop desires

inconsistent with their own common sense, or that they will not otherwise fail to use all

the information available. Contingency dogs our acts. My hypothetical conception escapes

such contingencies by requiring the act's motivating desire to be capable of passing a test

that depends on more than what the agent's psychology happens to be at a given moment.

The desire must be able to survive (repeated, vivid) exposure to the world beyond the

agent.

Since my hypothetical conception seems the most demanding conception of

personal autonomy available, any argument relying on it to show that one can act

autonomously as a member of a profession should withstand substituting one of the other

(less demanding) conceptions of autonomy. If we can explain how, according to this

conception, (personal) autonomy is consistent with membership in a profession, we

should be able to do the same using any other plausible conception of personal autonomy.

So, in what follows, I shall understand (personal) autonomy to mean autonomy according

to my hypothetical conception.

Autonomy in Professions. If acting as a member of a profession is to be consistent

with acting autonomously (as we are now conceiving autonomy), the profession will have

to be more than voluntary. It will have to be a commitment consistent with all the relevant

facts. What are facts? What makes them relevant?

By "facts" I mean at least: a) common sense, what "everyone" knows (that people

generally prefer life to death, that depriving people of food can kill, that people know

that, and so on); and b) special knowledge actually available to people who inquire (what

lawyers know about the law, what biologists know about genes, what you can look up in

a public record, and so on). A fact is "relevant" to (choice of) an act if, and only if,
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exposure to it would (all else equal) strengthen or weaken the agent's resolve to do the act

(whether by arousing new desires or by strengthening or weakening a desire already

motivating the act). To have all the facts relevant to a decision (vividly and repeatedly)

before one is to be fully informed.

A member of a profession can act autonomously in that capacity if, and only if, his

actual choice accords with what he would have chosen if fully informed and motivated

only by rational desires (that is, desires that have themselves survived exposure to all the

relevant facts). "Full information", a standard generally too costly for practice, is

reasonable here because it applies only to a hypothetical choice. We do not ask anyone

actually to make this choice under these conditions. We ask only what, given full

information and other appropriate conditions, a psychological theory would tell us what

the individual's actual choice would be (or, at least, what options would be open). If we

call such a choice "rational", our question has become: how could anyone rationally

choose to act as a member of a profession?cccxviii This is not a hard question.

To be a member of a profession is to be subject to standards of conduct. These are,

as such, burdens (because, all else equal, liberty is better than subjection to a standard). If

the standards in question were arbitrary, being subject to them would be little different

from being subject to the arbitrary will of an individual. It would be an unredeemed

burden. But all else is not equal for the standards of one's profession. Those standards are

not arbitrary. They must, of course, be morally permissible. They must, in addition, be

designed to serve the moral ideal to which the profession is committed--or they would be,

for that ideal, entirely arbitrary and so, strictly speaking, not the profession's standards at

all. Someone who objects to acting according to a standard she believes inconsistent with,

or just independent of, service to the moral ideal in question does not object to acting as a

member of the profession. Instead, she objects, as a member of the profession, to the claim

that acting as a member of the profession includes that.

Members of a profession may be members because they want to serve the ideal in
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question. They will then have some commitment to whatever is in fact necessary to serve

that ideal. But, even if someone is a member for less noble reasons, for example, just to

earn a living, he will have a commitment to the standards in question. He will have

entered this particular profession because of what it is, hoping for the benefits that come

from claiming (honestly) to belong to it rather than to another or none at all. He should (as

a fully informed rational agent) understand that those benefits depend in part on

maintaining certain standards. Who would claim to be an engineer, for example, if

engineers were generally thought incompetent or dishonest? He should (as a rational

agent) remain in the profession only as long as the benefits exceed the costs by enough to

make membership the best option available for him.

Each profession is a cooperative practice. Each member bears certain burdens

expecting other members to do the same. If most do as they should, the profession should

have a good reputation and each member should be better off acting as a member of the

profession than acting as an individual. If, however, too many shirk, the practice will

produce no (net) benefit and those who bear their share of the burdens will suffer most.

Because each profession is a voluntary cooperative practice, its standards have the same

moral claim on members that the rules of a (morally permissible) game have on

(voluntary) players. Violating a professional standard is a form of cheating. Members of a

profession are therefore morally bound to act as their profession requires. They may

sometimes have a justification or excuse for not doing as they should (just as they might

for breaking a promise), but their profession will (like a valid promise) always burden

their conduct with obligation they would not have but for their profession. The burden is,

however, not onerous because there is always the (morally permissible) alternative of

leaving the profession.

For any individual, membership in a profession may or may not be rational. But,

given what professions are, the voluntariness of membership creates a strong

presumption that membership is rational for those who actually are members. The
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rationality of membership in turn vouches for the autonomy of acting as a member. We

can autonomously submit to the standards of a profession, when we can, because

submitting to them belongs to the very practice generating the benefits that make

membership (rationally) attractive, and taking these benefits without submitting to those

standards is morally wrong. When we can no longer submit, we should (and can) quit.

The autonomy one has as a member of a profession is not merely presumptive.

Employees and Professional Autonomy. An employer either hires a member of a

profession as a member of that profession or hires him as something else. If she hires him

as something else, he will not have to act "in a professional capacity". He will not be

practicing his profession. He will be like the lawyer hired to teach tennis at a country club

or the (former) engineer who ends up as a company's comptroller. Insofar as what he does

is not done in his professional capacity, he may ignore his profession's standards. Any

problem of autonomy he has will not be a problem of professional autonomy.

If, however, he is hired as a member of his profession (for example, as an

engineer), he may have a problem of professional autonomy. He may because, as a

professional, he is supposed to do as his profession says while, as an employee, he is

supposed to do as his employer says. The two commitments create a potential for

conflict--but only a potential. Problems of professional autonomy can actually arise only if

the employer orders the professional to do something his profession forbids. There is

good reason to expect this will not happen often: Why hire someone as, for example, an

engineer, if you do not what him to work as engineers typically do? If you simply want

someone to obey your orders, why not hire someone without a profession (who would

ordinarily be less expensive too)?

While there is good reason to expect the employed professional not to have

problems of professional autonomy often, there is also good reason to expect such

problems sometimes: Just as people sometimes prefer theft to honest labor, so employers
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sometimes want professionals in name but not in deed. For example, an employer, who

wants to ship an order in time, may tell the engineer in quality control to "work the data"

until the tests come out "right". In effect, the employer wants to substitute her judgment

for the professional's, while claiming the professional's authority for it. Obeying such an

order would turn the professional into a marionette. Such an order is inconsistent with

professional autonomy.

But not all orders are like that. For example, the typical specifications for an

engineering project ("under 2000 pounds, under $2000, and under 20 months") simply

state a technical problem. Nothing in them is inconsistent with an engineer's professional

autonomy. The engineer can both act as an engineer should and do what he is told.

Similarly, even when an employer says, "Drop everything and figure out what's wrong

with this windshield wiper", the employer's order need not threaten professional

autonomy. So long as dropping everything is consistent with standards of professional

practice, the employer's control over what is done and when it is done is consistent with

professional autonomy. Whether dropping everything is consistent with professional

standards will, of course, depend on what those standards are.

If we now return to the quotation with which we began this chapter, we can easily

see that it contains a serious mistake. "Employers", Layton says, "have been unwilling to

grant autonomy to their employees, even in principle." cccxix What I have just argued, in

effect, is that employers must, both in principle and in practice, grant employed

professionals professional autonomy. Employers must because otherwise they cannot

have the benefit of employing professionals. "[Employers] have assumed that the

engineer...should take orders," Layton continues, "[but] the very essence of

professionalism lies in not taking orders from an employer." cccxx What I have just argued is

that the essence of professionalism consists in part in taking orders, those consistent with

acting as a professional, and in part of not taking orders, those inconsistent with acting as

a professional. To be a "true professional" is to act as your employer orders insofar as the

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orders are consistent with your profession's standards.cccxxi

V. Possible Research on Professional Autonomy So Conceived

If we look again at the sociological literature supposedly concerned with

workplace autonomy, we can see how small modifications could convert much of it into

research on professional autonomy. The problem with existing research is a relatively

unrefined conception of (professional) autonomy. Professional autonomy (or even

autonomy in general) is not simply a matter of quantity (how many decisions) or of mere

quality (decisions about order, timing, content, or whatever). Some decisions matter more

than others; and professional standards determine which those are. Research on

professional autonomy should, then, begin by using the standards of the profession in

question to identify which decisions matter professionally and which do not. The relevant

decisions may well vary substantially from profession to profession even in the same

workplace. Any research on the professional autonomy of engineers, for example, must

begin by distinguishing those decisions engineers claim for themselves from those they

leave to management. An order to ignore safety might violate an engineer's professional

autonomy while an order to ignore cost might not.

A questionnaire should, therefore, begin by trying to determine the standards the

professional takes herself to be subject to. The questionnaire might ask, for example,

"Which factors are your professional responsibility?" There would then follow a list to

choose from (safety, health, quality, cost, beauty, and so on). The list should be developed

taking the profession's formal standards into account, but the answers may in fact not

mirror what is professionally required. Professionals are not always as well informed as

they should be. How great the difference is between ideal and reality is, for any particular

profession, an empirical question, one about which it would be good to have more

information. Though what the profession requires is crucial for determining whether a
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professional actually has professional autonomy, what the professional supposes her

profession to require is crucial for determining whether the professional feels that she has

such autonomy.

Later questions should ask how often the professional employee is ordered to do

something inconsistent with her professional responsibilities (as well, of course, as how

often she is overruled or ignored, though overruling or ignoring is consistent with

professional autonomy but not with professional control or job satisfaction). The

questionnaire should also ask what the professional can do when she is overruled or

ignored on a question she believes her professional judgment should decide. Can she, for

example, appeal an order to higher authority? What happens if she does? The answers to

such questions should reveal how much tension exists in fact between acting as a member

of the profession and acting as an employee.

We have, it seems, now turned the question of how much professional autonomy

employed engineers have into an empirical question for which ordinary methods of social

research seem adequate. Indeed, researchers can "ask" similar questions of "free

professions". Clients sometimes order even free professionals to do things contrary to

professional standards (or, at least, ask such things in a way that makes saying no

difficult). Data comparing both the frequency of such incidents among "free" and

"captive" professionals and the outcomes might, or might not, show free professions to

have more professional autonomy than employed professions.

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NOTES

An earlier version of this chapter was published in Business Ethics Quarterly 6 (October

1996): 441-460. I should like to thank the National Science Foundation for grant SBR-

9320166 under which that article was written.

 Epilogue

FOUR QUESTIONS FOR THE SOCIAL SCIENCES

This chapter tries to draw some lessons from the ten chapters preceding. In doing

that, it identifies four questions concerning engineering for which it would be good to

have answers. The questions all seem to be of the social sciences in general, if not science

and technology studies (STS) in particular, could, and should, be helping with. The four

share at least two other features as well. First, any of them might arise while teaching

Moral Issues in Engineering, advising engineers on ethical questions, or otherwise

engaging in "engineering ethics". Second, answering them would serve both practical

philosophy and professional practice.

The four questions suggest a paradox. Though the social sciences, should already

be hard at work on them, in fact they have hardly touched the subject. Indeed, when I

asked about engineering, social scientists have generally referred me to books that turn

out to be about science (especially physics, biology, and medicine) or technology (objects

and their consumers, processes, and victims). Consider, for example, Donald Mackenzie's

very interesting Inventing Accuracy: A Historical Sociology of Nuclear Missile Guidance, a

book often presented to me as decisive proof that the social sciences are giving

engineering its due. frequently suggested. This is certainly a book about engineering. Its

subject is an engineering problem, the development of specifications for what constitutes

a direct hit with a long-range missile; its caste of character is also largely engineers). Yet, it

is proof of my thesis, not evidence against it. The word "engineer" and (except for the title

of chapter 3) the word "engineering" are (virtually) absent. For all the reader is told, the

book has nothing to do with engineering. But the index has a substantial number of

listings for "applied science". No attempt is made to distinguish the contribution of

engineers to the debate from the contribution of scientists (if any), politicians, or the

like.cccxxii Here is a classic illustration of the way the profession of engineering, central to
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modern technology, seems to be almost invisible to social scientists, even those who study

technology.

Of course, a few social scientists have done some useful work on engineering,

especially, if we include historians among social scientists. I will give some examples

soon. The trouble is that social scientists have done far too little (especially when

compared to what they could do or what they have done for physical sciences), what they

have done has yet to form a distinct field of study, and little of what they have done has

not been designed to help with engineering ethics. cccxxiii So. this final chapter is (in part) a

plea for an over-due adjustment in focus.

I proceed in this way. First, I briefly explain what I take engineering ethics to be,

summarizing an argument running through the book. Next, I state and discuss my four

questions, making clear what each asks, why the answer might be important for

engineering ethics (as I have interpreted that subject), what would constitute an adequate

answer, and how social scientists might help. Last, I consider what barriers stand in the

way of answering the questions. Everything I say is both sketchy and preliminary, an

invitation to begin a discussion, prologue as much as epilogue.

I. Engineering Ethics

Engineering ethics is a kind of applied (or practical) philosophy. It is concerned

with understanding--and helping to resolve--certain moral problems arising in the

practice of engineering. These problems can be approached in at least five ways (what we

may call): philosophical, casuistic, technical, social, and professional.cccxxiv

The first three approaches--the philosophical, casuistic, and technical--are alike in

assuming that engineers are held only to the same moral standards as non-engineers.

Professional organization, if it matters at all, matters as a mere "expression" of

fundamental moral concerns, as an aid or barrier to doing what should be done anyway,

profession or no.
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The philosophical and casuistic differ from the technical in relying solely on the

facts of a particular situation to transform general standards into specific directives. They

differ from each other in the way they determine those general standards. The

philosophical appeals to some moral theory (utilitarianism, Kantianism, virtue theory, or

the like) to determine (along with the facts) what should be done. cccxxv The casuistic

appeals instead to ordinary moral standards (either explicitly, for example, by citation of a

commonly accepted moral rule like "Don't kill" or "Don't take unnecessary risks", or

implicitly, by comparison of cases, or--most often--by some combination of these). cccxxvi

The technical approach differs from the philosophical and casuistic insofar as it

relies (instead or in addition) on special "principles of [good] engineering" derived from

the "nature" of engineering, principles of competence or skill. Those special principles

(together with ordinary morality and the specific facts of a situation) determine what

should be done in that particular situation. The nature of engineering may be timeless (a

Platonic idea) or a product of history (like the English language); but, at any time, it is a

given, not something subject to change in the way a statute or contract is. cccxxvii These first

three approaches commit one or another of the fallacies identified in chapter 3.

The social approach to engineering ethics resembles the technical in beginning

with something special about engineers (or engineering). It differs from the technical in

understanding this specialness as (at least in part) a product of social decision (the role

society has constructed for engineers). For the social approach, the standards of

engineering ethics derive not from the nature of engineering as such but from a (morally

binding) "contract" with society or from society's (morally binding) dictate. For the social

approach, standards of engineering ethics are more or less arbitrary, that is, dependent on

what society and engineers together happen to agree on or what society happens to

decide.cccxxviii

The professional approach, the last on my list, resembles the social insofar as both

recognize a certain arbitrariness in what may turn out to be "ethical". The professional
 296

approach differs from the social in placing that arbitrariness in the profession of

engineering rather than in the decisions of society as such or in an agreement engineers

make with society. For the professional approach, society (like morality or the nature of

engineering) is (generally) a mere "side constraint", not the primary (or equal) party in

determining the content of engineering ethics. cccxxix I call this approach "professional" to

emphasize the distinctive place it assigns the profession. For this approach, and for this

approach alone, a (morally binding) code of ethics, typically the work of a professional

society, is a central fact.cccxxx This last is, of course, the approach I have taken.

This book noted early that "ethics" is ambiguous. We can use it: a) as a mere

synonym for ordinary morality, b) as the name of a specifically philosophical study (the

attempt to understand morality as a rational undertaking), or c) as special standards of

conduct morally binding on members of a group because they belong to that group

("special" both because the standards do not apply to everyone and because they go

beyond what law, market, and ordinary morality require). All five approaches to

engineering ethics can use "ethics" in the first two senses (though the technical tends to

ignore the second). But only the social and professional approaches can use it in the third

sense; only they recognize engineering ethics as including special (morally binding)

standards of conduct.

I distinguish these five approaches because distinguishing them both allows us to

see important common ground and reveals some important differences. All five recognize

how important understanding what engineers do is to understanding what they should

do. None of the approaches supposes that we can do much of interest in engineering

ethics without knowing a good deal about engineering, especially about what moral

problems actually arise in practice and what resources are available for resolving them.

"Practical philosophy", however approached, requires an understanding of the relevant

practice.

The five approaches nonetheless differ somewhat concerning what understanding

 297

is necessary. For example, the philosophical approach makes an understanding of the

history of professional codes seem beside the point. For the philosophical approach, the

central relation is between some moral theory and the situation of the individual

professional.cccxxxi For the professional approach, however, the history of the profession is

much more important because that history should give insight into how to interpret the

profession's code and that code is central to determining what the professional should do.

This difference concerning what understanding is necessary may well affect the questions

those committed to a particular approach ask about engineering.

Commitment to the professional approach, though evident throughout the book,

should not matter much for what I shall do now. While I do not expect everyone to agree

that I have asked just the right questions, I do hope that everyone will agree that I have

asked the right sort of question. Social scientists who find another approach more to their

liking than the professional can ask somewhat different questions and organize their

research accordingly. They will still serve engineering ethics--in part at least by showing

how empirically fruitful the other approaches can be.

 298

II. What is engineering?

The first question I would like the social sciences to help answer is one with which

this book began: "What is engineering?" My attempt to answer it took me into fields of

history and sociology all but deserted. Why is this question on my list? By now, the

answer should seem familiar. Since I take the professional approach, engineering ethics is,

for me, the ethics of engineers, a special group. I therefore need to know who is in the

group (and so subject to its special standards) and who is out (and so not subject to them).

Determining who is an engineer, and who is not, is not easy, as chapter 3 made clear. We

can, of course, settle many cases intuitively. For example, someone with a B.S. in

mechanical engineering from an ABET-accredited school (say, from IIT in 1975), licensed

to practice nuclear engineering, and with twenty years experience designing nuclear

power plants, certainly is an engineer (for purposes of engineering ethics). And just as

certainly, the operator of a diesel locomotive or the janitor of an apartment building,

though called "engineer", certainly is not. But what about those called "software

engineers" or "genetic engineers"? They generally do not have an ABET-accredited degree

but (unlike diesel operators or janitors) generally have an education similar to that of

engineers and do work similar to engineering. And what about the chemist or physicist

who does work engineers also do (and who, unlike "software engineers" or "genetic

engineers") may well work beside engineers strictly so called?

Anecdotal evidence makes me think that engineers (strictly so called) are pretty

clear about who is an engineer and who is not. Generally, "software engineers" and

"genetic engineers" are not; the chemists or physicists may be "adopted" after

demonstrating certain skills on the job--but, until then, they are outsiders, whatever title

they hold and whatever work they do. Couldn't sociologists tell us as much about this line

drawing as they have about the line drawing between science, non-science, and pseudo-

science?cccxxxii
 299

The question "Who is an engineer?" soon leads a question actually on my list of

four, one of interest to all approaches to engineering ethics: "What is engineering?" Even

those who do not recognize engineers as having a profession different from science or

technology, still need to distinguish, for example, those moral problems properly

belonging in a course in engineering ethics from those properly excluded. Not all moral

problems engineers face, even in the workplace, are problems of engineering ethics. Some

are problems of business ethics or just ordinary moral problems.

Though "What is engineering?" is a philosophical question, historians can help

answer it in at least two ways. Walter Vincenti's What Engineers Know and How They

Know It provides a good example of the first way. By using the techniques of historical

study--especially, the gathering and analysis of documents to reconstruct a sequence of

events--Vincenti was able to help us see engineers at work, to distinguish their work from

that of scientists, and so to help us understand some differences between engineering and

science. We need more work on the difference between engineering and science. cccxxxiii We

also need similar work to help us understand the difference between engineering and

architecture, between engineering and industrial design, between computer engineering

and "software engineering", and even between chemical engineering and industrial

chemistry (especially when, as sometimes happens, engineers and chemists seem to be

doing the same job).

Vincenti's work is a series of (what we might call) historical case studies.

Sociologists can do something similar using participant observation. The Soul of a

Machine is almost an example of what sociologists could do. I say "almost" because Tracy

Kidder, while describing the work of engineers in informative detail, never tries to figure

out what distinguishes what they do from what the people in Software do (or why the

department he studied wanted engineers while Software did not).cccxxxiv

Historians can also contribute to our understanding of engineering in a way

sociologists cannot. Historians can tell us about the historical process of defining
 300

engineering.cccxxxv Layton's Revolt of the Engineers is an important example of what can be

done--but, in my view, one that leaves most of the work undone. Layton's focus is on the

United States before World War I, that is, at a time when the U.S. was still a cultural

backwater. The crucial events in professional development may well have occurred in

France, England, or Germany. After all, engineering came to America from France, with

American engineering schools copying the French at least up to the Civil War;

engineering codes of ethics were adopted in England almost a half century before they

were adopted in the U.S. We need a trans-Atlantic history of engineering's definition.cccxxxvi

Chapters 1-3 argued that what such a history would teach is that we cannot

usefully define engineering by genus and species, as Artistotleans would, or even by what

engineers do or how they do it (their function or method). The useful definitions will treat

an engineer as a member of a certain historical community, the profession of engineering,

and then define that community in terms of certain historically developing criteria

including education, experience, and commitment to certain ways of doing certain things.

Engineering will be what engineers--at the time in question--typically do that members of

other occupational groups don't. Engineering will have ethics built into it insofar as, and

only insofar as, the engineering community has in fact adopted special (morally

permissible) standards beyond what law, market, and ordinary morality require. This, I

believe, is what such a history would show. But, without the right sort of historical

research, research careful to distinguish the profession of engineering from various

competitors, including proto-engineers, the best we can do is what I have done, a

philosopher's reconstruction of what historians have so far discovered.

 301

III. What do engineers do?

If we define engineering in some such way as I have suggested, we can distinguish

engineers from those doing similar work. Engineers will be those whom the engineering

profession recognizes as members (for example, for purposes of membership in

engineering societies--"at the professional level"). That way of identifying engineers

would allow us to ask what, if anything, engineers--at a certain moment--contribute that

others do not (that is, what significance their special standards of conduct have for others).

The answer may well interest many in the history, sociology, and philosophy of

technology--since it provides a way to study what effect, if any, differences in profession

have on the technology members of professions make or use.

While a number of writers have stressed the importance of "engineering" (or,

rather, "technology") to science, I don't think anyone has had much to say about the

importance of engineers in science (engineers strictly so called). Yet, at most "science"

laboratories I have visited, including Argonne, engineers seem to outnumber scientists

(though accurate figures were hard to get). The only exception was a Red Cross lab where

there were no engineers. There physicians (or, at least, M.D.'s) outnumbered the scientists

(Ph.D.'s). What do engineers do in science labs? How much science is the work of

engineers? Why?

The relevance of such questions for engineering ethics was brought home to me by

a Department of Energy report of a whistleblowing incident at Argonne. cccxxxvii The

whistleblower was described as a "metallurgist" but--by training, experience, and (it

seemed) commitments--he was a metallurgical engineer. cccxxxviii The report described an

internal investigation which, while siding with the whistleblower on matters of fact,

clearly had trouble understanding why he was taking the science issues so seriously. I

had less trouble understanding. He was (it seemed to me) doing what a good engineer

should (though he might have done it more politicly). He was giving safety more weight
 302

than law, market, and morality requires, more weight than scientists commonly do; he

was giving it the weight engineering requires.

Here then is one place where empirical work, historical or sociological, might help

to settle a dispute between philosophers. Both the philosophical and casuistic approaches

to engineering ethics assume that engineers are not subject to any special standards, that

their local situation or function is decisive in determining what they should do (and so,

what they are likely to do). Studies of cases like that at Argonne might, if they generally

turned out as I believe they would, provide substantial empirical evidence favoring those

approaches--the technical, social, and especially professional--that identify engineers as

subject to special standards (whether of competence or conduct).

IV. How do engineering decisions get made?

Most engineering goes on in large organizations, governmental or commercial.

Large organizations exist to do large jobs, doing them by dividing them into manageable

parts. If these parts are too small, an engineer assigned one of them could not determine

what effect her work would have on the public health, safety, or welfare or even on her

employer. Her work would be "bureaucratized" (in one of the uglier senses of that ugly

word). If most engineering work is bureaucratized (in this sense), engineering ethics must

either be irrelevant to most engineers or consist of matters tangential to engineering as

such (for example, treatment of other engineers). Engineering ethics--as now constituted--

presupposes a world in which engineers generally know what they do.

Here then is a sense of the question, "What do engineers know?" quite different

from Vincenti's but as worthy of investigation. My own research, reported in chapter 9,

and much anecdotal evidence as well, has convinced me that engineers generally have a

pretty good idea of who will use their work and how; they know what they do. Their

work is not, and generally cannot be, bureaucratized (or, at least, cannot without
 303

prohibitive waste). Yet, while there is a large literature on business organization,

relatively little of it is on technical organization--and very little on engineers in

particular.cccxxxix Worse, virtually no work has been done on decision rules in technical

decision-making. While most of the organizational literature makes it sound like

managers decide and employees, including engineers, either submit, perhaps dragging

their feet, exit, or blow the whistle, the research of chapter 9 suggests something quite

different, a process in which consensus is the rule, engineers generally have the power of

veto over management decisions, and engineers are well informed (in part at least)

because information is necessary to win their consent.

V. What can engineers do?

Most engineers are employees, subject to termination of employment at the

employer's will. Some writers have concluded from this that engineering is a "captive

profession", that engineers have little room for professional autonomy, and that therefore

there is little room for engineering ethics. cccxl I have already suggested one reason to think

this view mistaken--at least in some organizations (those that decide engineering

questions by consensus). But what about an organization where engineers are well-

informed but decision is not by consensus? What room for professional autonomy there?

Here we need philosophical work on the concept of "professional autonomy"

sensitive to the problems of empirical research. Chapter 10 gives an example of what can

be done, but one taking the professional approach to engineering ethics. Those who do

not share my approach may want to develop a (philosophically defensible) alternative.

Alternatives would allow the social sciences to tell us whether different, philosophically

defensible definitions of professional autonomy lead to different answers to empirical

questions about how much professional autonomy engineers actually have (for example,

which organizations, if any, actually eliminate or drastically confine the professional

 304

autonomy of engineers). We would then have a better idea when talking about the

professional responsibility of engineers makes sense (and what philosophical

commitments, if any, underwrite such talk).

VI. Conclusion

In 1994, the philosopher Carl Mitcham published an expansive, thoughtful, and

informative book, Thinking through Technology. In one small corner, he argued that

engineering ethics is part of science and technology studies. cccxli While I agree that

engineering ethics is properly a part of science and technology studies--or, at least, could

be--I think that, as a matter of fact, it is not. I have two reasons for so thinking.

First, engineering ethics has so far developed as a field of professional ethics. The

professions include many non-technical professions, everything from journalism to

accounting, from lawyering to nursing, fields science and engineering studies would have

trouble absorbing. So, at best, engineering ethics would have to divide its citizenship

between two distinct fields. So far, it has not even done that. Even in a field like medical

ethics, where empirical research is much more extensive than in engineering ethics and

where technology is also a major source of ethical issues, the people doing professional

ethics have been different from those doing science and technology studies. Whatever can

be said about science and technology studies and engineering ethics as abstract fields, as

living research communities, they have been, and remain, largely separate. So, for

example, typical journals in science and technology studies (Technology and Culture,

Science Studies, Science, Technology, and Human Values, and so on) would not appear

on most lists of professional ethics journals; nor would typical professional ethics journals

(Business and Professional Ethics Journal, International Journal of Applied Philosophy,

Philosophy and Public Affairs, and so on) appear on most lists of journals in science and

technology studies.cccxlii
 305

My second reason for thinking that engineering ethics is not now part of science

and technology studies is that those working in science and technology studies have

generally been indifferent to professional ethics. Thinking through Technology bears the

subtitle "The Path between Engineering and Philosophy" because Mitcham saw himself as

mediating between two ways of doing philosophy of technology, the "engineering" way

and the "humanities" way. Neither way has paid much attention to engineering as a

profession. The chief concern of both has been "technology" (rather than "engineering").

Rarely does someone on Mitcham's long list of contributors to one way or the other of

doing philosophy of technology get closer to engineering ethics than technology

assessment or public policy. That is not very close.

Will science and technology studies contribute substantially more to engineering

ethics than it has so far? I don't know. But I hope it will. To understand moral problems

we must see them in context. To understand problems of engineering ethics, we must

understand the engineering context. Who among social scientists are better placed than

those working in science and technology studies to describe, interpret, and otherwise

improve our understanding of the context of engineering?

I said "hope", not "expect", because a large barrier seems to stand in the way of

science and technology studies doing the work I am calling for. Science and technology

studies grew up concerned with knowledge (for science) and things (for technology).

Only in the last two decades has science studies come to focus on research communities

rather than on Science. Technology studies still seems focused on things, processes, and

knowledge, on Technology, rather than on specific technological professions. I hope this

book, whatever else it does, will serve as an invitation to social scientists, especially those

in science and technology studies, to consider studying the technological professions as

professions, especially, engineering, the most important technological profession of them

all.
 306

NOTES

I read the first draft of this chapter, under the title "Questions for STS from Engineering

Ethics", at a session of the Society for the Social Study of Science Annual Meeting,

Charlottesville, VA, 22 October 1995. I should like to those present, both audience and

other panelists, but especially Vivian Weil, for many helpful comments.
 307

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INDEX

[to be added]
i
. See, especially, Paolo Rossi, Philosophy, Technology, and the Arts in the Early Modern Era,
trans. S. Attanasio (Harper and Row: New York, 1970. The Oxford English Dictionary gives the first
known use of the word "technology" in English as 1615.
ii
. David Noble suggests that Jacob Bigelow, a Boston physician who helped to found the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology (1865), was "instrumental" in introducing "technology" into
general usage (in its modern sense). To establish this, Noble offers this quotation from Bigelow's
Elements of Technology (1829):

There has probably never been an age in which the practical applications of science have
employed so large a portion of talent and enterprise of the community, as in the present. To
embody...the various topics which belong to such an undertaking, I have adopted the general
name of Technology, a word sufficiently expressive, which is found in some of the older
dictionaries, and is beginning to be revived in the literature of practical men at the present day.
Under this title is attempted to include an account...of the principles, processes, and
nomenclatures of the more conspicuous arts, particularly those which involve the application of
science, and which may be considered useful, by promoting the benefit of society, together with
the emoluments of those who pursue them.--David Noble, America by Design (Alfred A.
Knopf: New York, 1977), pp. 3-4.

My reading of this passage does not agree with Noble's. Bigelow refers to a revival of the term already
beginning; hence, by his own admission, Bigelow probably is not "instrumental" in its revival.
Further, Bigelow's own use of the term is barely distinguishable from that found in the old dictionaries
he refers to. The chief difference is the observation that some of the more "conspicuous arts" he will
describe "involve the application of science". He still seems pretty far from the modern idea of
technology as either inventions or the "science of invention".
iii
. See, for example, Plato's Theaetetus (III: 172-173): "[A] philosopher is a gentleman, but a lawyer
is a servant. The one can have his talk out, and wander at will from one subject to another, as the
fancy takes him...[but] the lawyer is always in a hurry..."
iv
. Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Doubleday: Garden City, New York, 1959), p. 323n.
v
. "If we assume that the Middle Ages ended with the fifteenth century, then a simple count of
inventions made or adopted by Europeans during the period confirms that it was, as regards technics,
more creative than any previous epoch in recorded history." Dictionary of the History of Ideas:
Studies of Selected Pivotal Ideas, edited by Philip P. Weiner (Charles Scribner's Sons, Publisher: New
York, 1973), vol. IV, p. 359 (D.S.L. Cardwell, "Technology"). I am, of course, still comparing
Greece's Golden Age with a similar stretch of time during the Dark Ages. Were I to compare the Dark
Ages with the Hellenistic Period, I would hedge my claim a bit (and begin to worry about how to count
inventions).
vi
. See, for example, Spencer Klaw, "The Faustian Bargain", in The Social Responsibility of the
Scientist, edited by Martin Brown
(Free Press: New York, 1971), pp. 3-18.
vii
. Who is this "we"? Certainly, you and I, but probably, as well, most inhabitants of the planet.
viii
. The modern prejudice against manual labor seems to vary from place to place and time to time.
It is certainly less in the United States today than, say, in France a century ago. So, for example, it is
today hard to imagine the events a French mechanical engineer (or mechanic) of the nineteenth-century
recalled. After church, he struck up a conversation with a young woman (with her mother standing
by). When she found out that he built steam engines for a living, she shuttered:

"What! You work, you are therefore exposed to all the filth that trade includes?" A bit vexed I
 responded, "But yes, miss, and I dare to believe that none is apparent at this moment." The
mother turned her back and the eyes of my beautiful neighbor fell on my well-ground hands,
which did not betray me, and she moved away. For her, I was a plague-stricken person.

Quoted from Eda Kranakis, "Social Determinants of Engineering Practice: A Comparative View of
France and America in the Nineteenth Century", Social Studies of Science 19 (February 1989): 5-70, at
13. The whole paper is well worth reading both for the contrast it draws between French and
American practice and for the cultural explanation it offers.
ix
. Though this description of science is no doubt biased in favor of the natural or physical
sciences, it also applies (with a bit of stretching) to the social sciences. The social sciences can be
practiced as an attempt to understand human society from the outside, that is, as a part of nature. Of
course, many social scientists now consider such value-free science to be impossible and its attempt
likely to mislead.
x
. World Almanac (World Almanac: New York, 1989), p. 158. This number must be taken only
as a rough approximation. The Labor Department (three years later) set the number of engineers at
1,519,000 (Occupational Outlook Handbook, U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Statistics, May
1992, p. 64); while the National Science Foundation put the number at 2,849,800 (U.S. Scientists and
Engineers: 1988 Estimates, Surveys of Science Resources Series, National Science Foundation, NSF
88-322, p.6). Applarently, it is not easy to count engineers. Why?
xi
. "Principles of Medical Ethics", in Codes of Professional Responsibility, edited by Rena A.
Gorlin (Bureau of National Affairs: Washington, DC, 1986), p. 99.
xii
. The first of these modern professions was the apothecaries, a profession now deceased, who
reorganized in 1815. The other liberal professions followed only slowly, beginning with the solicitors
in the 1830s. See, W. J. Reader, Professional Men: The Rise of the Professional Classes in Nineteenth-
Century England (Basic Books: New York, 1966), especially, pp. 51-55.
xiii
. Thomas Percival, Medical Ethics; or A Code of Institutes and Precepts Adapted to the
Professional Conduct of Physicians and Surgeons (1803). The word "institutes" suggests that
Percival's model here is (in part at least) jurisprudence. (Since the emperor Justinian's famous
textbook, "institutes" has signaled that the book so titled was a textbook or summary of the law, the
rest of the title telling the particular jurisdiction, for example, Coke's Institutes of the Laws of
England.) Percival in fact makes this connection in his introduction, indicating that he originally
intended to call his text "medical jurisprudence". About half the text is a summary of English law a
physician should know. Much of the rest consists of "precepts" (that is, advice) rather than of
standards of conduct ("ethics" strictly so called). Medical ethics (in the modern sense) is actually a
small part of that seminal work.
xiv
. See, for example, M. David Burghardt, Introduction to the Engineering Profession
(HarperCollins Publishers: New York, 1991), p. 26: "We shall assume that wherever there was an
invention or innovation, engineering was required." Burghardt does not say the same about engineers.
Can there be engineering without engineers? Or Billy Vaughn Koen, Definition of the Engineering
Method (American Society of Engineering Education: Washington, DC, 1985), p 26: "After 20 or 30
centuries, the engineer learned how to correct this problem by allowing the front axle to pivot on a
king bolt as stage three in the evolution of cart design." Engineers three or four thousand years ago?
xv
. See, for example, Ralph J. Smith, Engineering as a Career, 3rd (McGraw-Hill: New York,
1969), p. 22: "It has been said that the history of civilization is the history of engineering. Certainly it
is true that the highly developed civilizations have all been noted for their accomplishments in
engineering." Substitute "building" for "engineering" and there would be nothing to object to. The
same is true of scholarly works such as Donald Hill, A History of Engineering in Classical and
Medieval Times (Croom Helm: London, 1984). A careful researcher and writer, Hill argues for his
application of "engineer" to ancient builders (rather than, as most writers do, just assuming the
application to be obviously justified). Yet he soon admits that "classical and medieval engineers did
not have a quantified, scientific basis for their designs" (p.5), that they lacked the formal training
characteristic of modern engineers, and that they even lacked a full-time occupation (p. 7). They did
"engineering" (read "building") as a sideline. So, whatever they were, they were not a profession--or
even an occupation.
xvi
. Though we now translate "corps du génie" as "corps of engineers", there is in fact no exact
English equivalent. While "génie" corresponds to the English "gin" (as in "cotton gin") and perhaps
"jenny" (as in "spinning jenny"), the French has less suggestion of "engines". Perhaps the best
translation would be "corps of the contriver"--though this lacks the suggestion of magic (as in the
English "genie"). Unlike the corps du sappeur ("the corps of spaders"), for example, the corps du
génie seems not to have taken its name from the implements it used but to have given those
implements its name. This suggests an inherent novelty in what it did.
xvii
. See, Frederick B. Artz, The Development of Technical Education in France, 1500-1850 (MIT
Press: Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1966), p. 48; or W. H. G. Armytage's history of engineering in
Britain, (misnamed) A Social History of Engineering (Faber and Faber: London, 1961), pp. 96 and 99.
xviii
. There have, of course, been many changes in the engineering curriculum (as well as many
experiments with less demanding curriculum). Whole new subjects, such as thermodynamics or
electricity, have been added, and geometry and trigonometry have given way to a second year of
calculus. For engineers, these may appear more than improvements in detail--and, for many purposes,
they certainly are. Yet, for our purposes, such differences between the French curriculum of 1799 and
today's typical engineering curriculum hardly affect the gap between what engineers learn and what
lawyers, physicians, or even architects learn. Those who wish to understand what distinguishes
engineering from other professions must pay attention to what engineers have in common, especially
over long stretches of time, rather than what divides them.
xix
. Artz, 47-48. I should, perhaps, warn that the members of this corps do not seem to have been
known as "civil engineers" (ingénieurs civils) but as "road and bridge engineers". The French seem to
have reserved "civil engineer" for engineers employed by private persons. All members of a corps,
whether of the corps du génie (militaire) or of the corps des ponts et chaussées were state employees.
The English term "civil engineer" may have derived from a misunderstanding of the French term (since
the English, with a relatively weak state, had no exact counterpart to the corps des ponts et chaussées.
Here is work for historians. Compare Kranakis, especially, pp. 29-30.
xx
. Engineers also had some secret methods (for example, Monge's descriptive geometry). Artz,
106.

.
xxi
Artz, 81-86.
xxii
. But note Peter Michael Molloy's remark in Technical Education and the Young Republic: West
Point as America's École Polytechnique (Brown University, Dissertation, 1975), p. 105: "From a
description of the curriculum, there should be no mystery for the change in the School's name in 1795
from École des Travaux Publics to École Polytechnique." It remains a mystery to me.
xxiii
. Artz, 154-155.
xxiv
. Artz, 160. I should, perhaps, say "this École Polytechnique". By 1830, the École
Polytechnique had become so devoted to mathematics that (by American standards of the day) its
graduates generally did not seem to practice engineering. This later École Polytechnique may, then,
provide an early example of the ability of science education to crowd out engineering. See Molloy,
esp. pp. 119-130. On the other hand, this interpretation may simply be unfair (within the French
context). See Kranakis, esp. pp. 22-29, for reasons to think that the École Polytechnique remained an
engineering school throughout the nineteenth century.
xxv
. Artz, 160-161. I should perhaps add that only practical difficulties seem to have prevented all
this from happening as early as 1802. Malloy is very good on this.
xxvi
. Eugene Ferguson, "The Imperatives of Engineering", in John G. Burke et al., Connections:
Technology and Change (Boyd and Fraser: San Francisco, 1979), 30-31. Ferguson's "imperatives" are,
of course, Koen's "heuristics".
xxvii
. For a detailed study of one of these proxy measures that, in the end, had to be discarded, see
Walter G. Vincenti's discussion of "stability", in What Engineers Know and How They Know It (Johns
Hopkins University Press: Baltimore, 1990), pp.51-108.
xxviii
. In the absence of government action, engineering societies have developed codes, both to
enhance efficiency (by promoting standardization) and to maintain safety. These codes both set
standards for engineers to follow "voluntarily" and provide "model codes" legislatures could adopt.
For more on this, see Chapter 7. Since this activity has been criticized as a usurpation of a
governmental function, Ferguson's complaint that engineers should have done more of it seems unfair--
at least until he offers a theory of which activities belong to government and which to private
organizations or individuals.
xxix
. Not all engineering designs dumb-down a job. Many engineering designs "automate", that is,
eliminate the routine work of many while creating technically sophisticated jobs for a few. These
designs may be regarded as the limiting case of dumbing-down or as an entirely different way of doing
without large numbers of highly skilled workers. I don't think much turns on how it is categorized.
xxx
. For more on the military connections of engineering, together with the connections between the
military and technology, see Barton Hacker's useful summary, "Engineering a New Order: Military
Institutions, Technical Education, and the Rise of the Industrial State", Technology and Culture 34
(April 1993): 1-27.
xxxi
. Artz, 162.
xxxii
. Is this a description or a prescription, a statement of what civil engineering is or a statement of
what it should be? Not a hard question, but one that should give philosophers a reason to pay more
attention to professions than they generally do. Thedgold's definition is (probably) both, descriptive of
civil engineers generally and, for that reason, presciptive for anyone who wants to carry on his
occupation under the title "civil engineer". How can that be? That is a question chapters 4 and 10
address.
xxxiii
. Accreditation Board of Engineering and Technology, Code of Engineering Ethics, first
principle (1985). Italics mine. While tense suggests description, context suggests prescription. Here
again, we see the congruence of description and prescription characteristic of professions.
xxxiv
. Compare Koen, esp. 63-65. Koen (rightly) points out that engineers sometimes go beyond
science (what we now know) and sometimes ignore science (because truth is too expensive) and so at
least part of the time cannot be said to be applying science. This is, I believe, an important point, but
one quite distinct from the one I am making. Perhaps engineering differs from applied science in
enough ways that the interesting question is not how engineering differs from applied science but why
they were ever thought to be the same.
xxxv
. All "exceptions" have been in the electrical engineering department. Whether they are truly
exceptions is a matter about which I remain uncertain. On the one hand, these professors of
engineering were educated as engineers; on the other, they considered their location in an engineering
department to be an accident. They admitted--indeed, declared--they could just as well, or even better,
have been lodged in a physics department. They seem, therefore, to have lost their identity as
engineers along with their interest in helping to make something useful. In that respect at least, they
constitute evidence for, rather than against, my claim.
xxxvi
. Compare Vincenti, 161: "Engineers are after a theory they can use for practical
calculations...To obtain such a theory they are willing, when necessary, to forgo generality and
precision...and to tolerate a considerable phenomenological component. Scientists are more likely to
be out to test a theoretical hypothesis...or infer a theoretical model."
xxxvii
. For some historical background on this use of "ethics", as well as my rationale for preferring it,
see my "The Ethics Boom: What and Why", Centennial Review 34 (Spring 1990): 163-186. For those
who ask why codes of professional ethics must be morally permissible. The short answer is: if not
morally permissible, they cannot be morally binding; and, if not morally binding, they would seem to
be more accurately described as an ethic, mores, ethos, custom, or practice than as ethics (strictly
speaking). Insofar as this book proves how useful my way of understanding professional ethics is, it
provides (something like) a full answer to that question.
xxxviii
. I am, of course, assuming that American engineers did not have an "unwritten code" before
then. That may seem a daring assumption. It is not. Most "unwritten law" is in fact written. So, for
example, the "unwritten constitution" of England is recorded in royal charters, parliamentary debates,
case law, and even newspaper reports. It is unwritten only in the sense that there is no authoritative
document like the United States Constitution. Humans have great trouble coordinating what they do
without putting expectations into words and, in large organizations, without putting those words on
paper. So, the apparent absence of any written codes of engineering ethics in the United States before
1900--even in the unofficial form that Percival produced for English physicians a century earlier or
that Sharswell produced for American lawyers in the 1830s--is, I think, decisive evidence against the
existence of any unwritten code.
xxxix
. Compare Chapter 8.
xl
. Though I make this claim about what morality demands without argument, and in the belief
that it is both true and obvious, I should admit that certain utilitarians, those moral theorists who think
morality consists in maximizing overall happiness or social utility, do not. Their theory makes
morality much more demanding, which has proved a problem for their theory, not a problem for
ordinary moral agents.
xli
. See, for example, Lawrence P. Grayson, "The American Revolution and the 'Want of
Engineers'", Engineering Education 75 (February 1985): 268-276.
xlii
. I defend this claim in Chapter 1.
xliii
. "Sylvanus P. Thayer was appointed director in 1817, by which time enrolment and teaching
staff had increased to 250 cadets and 15 professors covering mathematics, 'engineering', and natural
philosophy, recently joined by Claude Crozet (1790-1864), a graduate of the École Polytechnique, who
introduced the teaching of descriptive geometry to the college, and in 1821 published the first textbook
on the subject...Thayer graduated from Dartmouth in 1807, and from the Military Academy in 1808.
He had studied military engineering developments in France and this influence was evident in his
reorganization of the curriculum and mode of instruction at West Point. He used texts employed at the
École Polytechnique, divided classes into small sections, required weekly class reports, and developed
a grading system." George S. Emmerson, Engineering Education: A Social History (Crane, Russak &
Company: New York, 1973), p. 140-141. While Thayer seemed to dislike the overly theoretical
approach the French took to engineering education, his primary reason for not taking over more of the
curriculum of the École Polytechnique seems to have been the relatively poor preparation of American
students (and the desire, or necessity, not to make admission too difficult).
xliv
. Though Patridge did now and then teach a course in civil engineering at West Point, he was not
a civil engineer (and, apparently, was barely qualified to teach the course). Since he rejected most of
the innovations his successor as Superintendent, Sylvanius Thayer, introduced, the West Point he tried
to reproduce was the pre-1817 version (which may have much to do with the failure of Norwich to
equal Thayer's West Point in either quality or quantity of engineers graduated). For more on this, see
Thomas J. Fleming, West Point: The Men and Times of the United States Military Academy (William
Morrow & Company, Inc.: New York, 1969), esp. pp. 3-14 and 34.
xlv
. Daniel Hovey Calhoun, The American Civil Engineer: Origins and Conflict (Technology Press
(MIT): Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1960), p. 45. Compare James Gregory McGivern, First Hundred
Years of Engineering Education in the United States (1807-1907) (Gonzaga University Press: Spokane,
Washington, 1960), pp. 42-45 and 38; and Emmerson, 141-142. I have not found the corresponding
figures for the number of military engineers (though, given that the army does not seem to have been
able to absorb all West Pointers, few Norwich graduates could have found work as military engineers
during this period).
xlvi
. All the histories of engineering education cited here ignore both the Virginia Military Institute
and the Citadel. Most also ignore both Annapolis and the impact of naval engineers on the
development of mechanical engineering in the land-grant schools after the Civil War. (For one who
does not, see Monte A. Calvert, The Mechanical Engineer in America, 1830-1910 (Johns Hopkins
Press: Baltimore, 1967), esp. pp. 48-51.) A surprising number of engineering schools were--like Texas
A&M--virtually military academies until the 1960s. All this leads me to suspect that the relation
between engineering and military education has, until quite recently, been a lot closer than the histories
of engineering education indicate. That relationship might explain much about the characteristic
attitudes of American engineers in times past--and why some of these may be fading (for example,
engineers' political conservativism).
xlvii
. McGivern, 50-51. See also Ray Palmer Baker, A Chapter in American Education: Rensselear
Polytechnic Institute, 1824-1924 (C. Scribner's Sons: New York, 1924), pp. 48-56.
xlviii
. Baker, 35 and 44-46. But about 25 of Rensselear's graduates from the period before 1840 did
eventually become engineers. Calhoun, 45.
xlix
. "Though Eaton [the school's first director] had insisted that most colleges attempted to teach so
many subjects that they could teach none of them well, and that Rensselaer should limit its activities
primarily to the sciences, progress in them had been so rapid that Greene [the new director in 1847]
concluded that it was again time [for the school] to narrow its field." Baker, p. 39-40. Note that
engineering is here considered part of "the sciences".
l
. Frederick B. Artz, The Development of Technical Education in France, 1500-1850 (MIT Press:
Cambridge, Mass., 1966), p. 267.
li
. Emmerson states (without evidence) that Rensselear's new curriculum was modeled not on that
of the École Polytechnique but on the École Centrale [d'Arts et Metiers] of Paris. Emmerson, pp. 148
and 153-156. McGivern says the same, p. 59. But neither tries to explain Rensselaer's "Polytechnic"
(or what difference Greene would have seen between these institutions).
lii
. The British did, it is true, establish a school of military engineering at Woolwich in 1741. The
school retained a number of notable applied mathematicians who wrote some elementary textbooks
engineers found useful. Emmerson, 33. Yet, unlike West Point, Woolwich seems to have had little
influence on engineering generally, or on engineering education in particular, even in England, until
the second half of the nineteenth-century (if at all), that is, not until after talent replaced patronage as
the primary means of gaining entry (and something like the French curriculum was adopted). Reader,
96-97. Compare Artz, 261.
liii
. W. H. G. Armytage, Social History of Engineering (Faber and Faber: London, 1961), p. 160-
161. Jonathan Williams, the first superintendent of West Point, observed in 1802: "To be merely an
Engineer...is one thing, but to be an Officieur du Génie is another. I do not know how it happened but
I cannot find any full English Idea to what the French give to the profession." Quoted in Peter Michael
Molloy, Technical Education and the Young Republic: West Point as America's École Polytechnique,
1802-1833 (Unpublished Dissertation: Brown University, June 1971), pp. 241-242. The irony, of
course, is that (as explained in Chapter 1) when the term "engineer" was brought into English, it was
brought in to name people who had (something like) the special skills that distinguished the French
officieur du génie from the architects, millwrights, and the like the English already had. Because the
English (and Americans) had not yet been able to copy the French method of educating engineers,
"engineer" in English could not carry the same import as officieur du génie. Perhaps today, the term
Williams so felt the need for would be "professional engineer" (or "degreed engineer"). Molloy is very
good on American backwardness in understanding engineering. See, esp., pp. 425-463.
liv
. For a more or less complete listing of the dozen or so "engineers or quasi-engineers" available
for public works in the United States before 1816, see Calhoun, 7-23. Calhoun is also good on what in
American ways of doing things made it hard for even these few to find employment.
lv
. McGivern, 15-23.
lvi
. Charles F. O'Connell, Jr., "The Corps of Engineers and the Rise of Modern Management, 1827-
1856", in Military Enterprise and Technological Change, edited by Merritt Roe Smith (MIT Press:
Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1985), pp. 95-96.
lvii
. Merritt Roe Smith, "Army Ordnance and the 'American system' of Manufacturing, 1815-1861",
in Military Enterprise, pp. 40-86.
lviii
. James Kip Finch, The Story of Engineering (Doubleday & Company: Garden City, New York,
1960), pp. 262-265. This Erie Canal school is, then, a throwback to the first days of the corps du
genie. See Chapter 1.
lix
. Finch, 267-269.
lx
. Finch, 268-269.
lxi
. O'Connell, in Military Enterprise, pp. 100-106. Note the initial resistence of the civilians to
army-style standardization.
lxii
. Smith, in Military Enterprise, 77-78. See also David A. Hounshell, From the American System
to Mass Production, 1800-1932: The Development of Manufacturing Technology in the United States
Johns Hopkins University Press: Baltimore, 1984).
lxiii
. Edwin T. Layton, Jr., The Revolt of the Engineers (Press of Case Western Reserve University:
Cleveland, 1971), p. 3. The Census used the term "civil engineer". Layton believes that term would,
at that time, probably have included mechanical engineers (and, indeed, all other nonmilitary
engineers). My guess is that "civil engineer" probably excluded most "engineers" (or proto-engineers)
in mining and manufacture, who did not call themselves "engineers" (and certainly would not have
called themselves "civil engineers"). Note, for example, the fields listed for the Lawrence Scientific
School at about this time. This disagreement with Layton is, nonetheless, probably a quibble. Before
the Civil War, the number of these other "engineers" was probably small compared to the number of
civils. Here, though, it would be good to have more information.
lxiv
. The phrase in quotes is Steve Goldman's. See "The Social Captivity of Engineering", in
Critical Perspectives on Nonacademic Science and Engineering, edited by Paul Durbin (Leheigh
University Press: Bethlehem, PA, 1991), pp 121-146. But the sentiment seems to be widespread. See,
for example, David Noble, America by Design (Alfred A. Knopf: New York, 1977). Noble's nostalgia
for the lost shop culture seems to confuse inventing in general which, indeed, can exist in small (and
even isolated) organizations and engineering (a special kind of inventing: centralizing, standardizing,
and so on) which probably cannot. The shop culture, however admirable, seems to lose out to
engineering in certain environments--capitalist or not. (For example, engineers had much the same
role in the Soviet Union as in the United States.) Noble has contributed to our understanding of what
might give engineering an advantage over shop culture (while giving that advantage a cast more
sinister than necessary on the facts even as he presents them).
lxv
. An ASCE was actually founded in 1852, its membership almost entirely in New York City.
But, like other attempts at organizing engineers before the Civil War, that ASCE seems to have died
out within a few years. The connection with the ASCE of 1867 is tenuous, another example of
professions trying to add to their lineage. For a bit more on this, see Layton, 28-29.
lxvi
. For some of this history, see--beside works cited here--Bruce Sinclair, A centennial History of
the American Society of Mechanical Engineers, 1880-1980 (University of Toronto Press: Toronto,
1980); and Terry S. Reynolds, 75 Years of Progress: A History of the American Institute of Chemical
Engineers (American Institute of Chemical Engineers: New York, 1983).
lxvii
. A. Michal McMahan, The Making of a Profession: A Century of Electrical Engineering in
America (Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers: New York, 1984), Chapter 11.
lxviii
. Perhaps the first branching came even earlier, with the split between artillery and military
engineering. The roots of the two words--"engine" (from Latin ingenium for a natural ability or
genius) and "artillery" (from Latin ars for skill or art)--suggests how close their relationship originally
was.
lxix
. James Kip Finch, A History of the School of Engineering, Columbia University (Columbia
University Press: New York, 1954), pp. 65-66. This was also the time when the faculty of the school
was renamed "the Faculty of Applied Science". While French engineering seems to have grown from
a single seed, the American looks much more like three trees that have grown into one (the French
civil and military engineers, the German mining and metallurgical "engineers", and the American and
perhaps English mechanical "engineers"), branching even as they combined.
lxx
. Layton, 3.
lxxi
. Compare Billy Vaughn Koen, "Toward a Definition of the Engineering Method", Engineering
Education 75 (December 1984): 150-155.
lxxii
. Vincenti is very good on this.
lxxiii
. Consider, for example, the expression "rocket scientist". In fact, there are (virtually) no rocket
scientists. Almost everyone associated with the design, development, testing, deployment, and
operation of rockets is an engineer. Whatever success rocketry has had is largely due to engineers.
"Rocket scientists" should not be getting credit for any of it.
lxxiv
. Engineers also have a tendency to claim successes for "engineering" whether or not the person
responsible was in fact an engineer by training. It is this tendency that leads engineers to claim, for
example, that the builder of an Egyptian pyramid or the inventor of the cotton gin was an engineer.
There is, it seems to me, considerable unfairness in claiming the successes for engineering while (as
generally happens) blaming the failures on others, for example, "managers", "tinkerers", "technicians",
or "scientists". I have therefore tried to develop a more even-handed concept of engineering.
lxxv
. The only exception I know of is recent: in some "software engineering", where engineers (or
other programmers) directly--on a computer--construct programs for computers. They do not write
instructions for human beings (even in the indirect way engineers in research and development do),
except insofar as they prepare the necessary documentation. Through their computer, "software
engineers" actually give directions directly to "mechanical workers". Of course, as we shall see in
chapter 3, there are other reasons to wonder whether "software engineering" is engineering at all. For
our purposes now, however, it is enough to point out that even these engineers, if that is what they are,
must, while instructing machines, take into account the human environment in which the machines
operate. Their technical knowledge, like that of most engineers, still includes much about how people
and things work together.
lxxvi
. Compare Calhoun, pp. 77: "the engineer role was specialized out of the executive role". Even
an engineer working in research and development is engaged in developing instructions for production
of some safe and useful physicial system--if she is working as an engineer--however many steps may
stand between the original research and the final product. Koen's otherwise intelligent discussion of
design seems to miss entirely the role of design as instruction to others.
lxxvii
. Several professors of engineering have told me that this is now changing, that engineers are
increasingly working in groups bringing together engineers from different fields. This may be, but my
own interviewing of working engineers did not reveal much integration, even in research. Here we
have an empirical question about which it would be good to have more information. But, whatever
turns up, I am sure that engineers will not for many years achieve the integration of fields
commonplace in law offices or hospitals.
lxxviii
. For example, the most scientific of the major engineering societies, the Institute of Electrical
and Electronic Engineering, has also been the only one to forget that it had a code of ethics
(rediscovering it in the 1970s only after it had written a new one). For a bit more on this, see my "The
Ethics Boom: What and Why", Centennial Review 34 (Spring 1990): 163-186, esp. p. 173-174. The
IEEE's recent efforts in ethics seem to signal an important change. But do they? It would be
interesting to have a detailed analysis of what is really going on.
lxxix
. For example: "Much time is wasted in our colleges and technical schools over higher
mathematics. Every engineer will have to agree with me that the cases where the use of the higher
calculus is indispensable are so few in our practice, that its study is not worth the time expended upon
it, and we have the highest authority for saying unless its use is constantly kept up we become too rusty
to use it at all. Unless the student possesses extraordinary genius for mathematics, I would limit its
study to the ordinary analysis." Thomas C. Clarke, "The Education of Civil Engineers," Transactions
of the American Society of Civil engineers 3 (1875): 557 (quoted in McGivern, 113). Since, even
now, I have heard practicing engineers make this point, I have come to wonder whether teaching
calculus (two years of it now) may not have more to do with shaping the mind (or "weeding out" a
certain sort of mind) than with imparting the calculus itself. It is easy to imagine programs in which
much of calculus is a technical elective and the remainder integrated (in practical form) into
engineering science courses themselves. For a longer discussion of the calculus requirement (one
rather hard on it), see Sally Hacker, Doing it the Hard Way (Unwin: Boston, 1990), pp. 139-154.
lxxx
. For an interesting discussion of this debate, though largely limited to mechanical engineering,
see Calvert, pp. 63-85.
lxxxi
. Calhoun, 45.
lxxxii
. Calhoun, 50-53.
lxxxiii
. The practical success of West Point is easy to underestimate. Consider, then, what was said by
Francis Wayland, President of Brown University, 1827-1855. Near the end of his term, which
included bringing engineering to Brown, he observed enviously that "the single academy at West
Point, graduating annually a smaller number than many of our colleges, has done more toward the
construction of railroads than all our one hundred and twenty colleges united." Quoted in McGivern,
91.
lxxxiv
. McGivern, 152-154.
lxxxv
. Calvert, 203.
lxxxvi
. McMahan, 33-43.
lxxxvii
. Compare: "The Society would have been a small one and of limited influence had its
membership been restricted to the type of consulting or creative engineer alone. The factory engineer
is more and more a manager of men....The engineer must be what he is often called, a businessman."
Frederick R. Hutton (1907), Secretary of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. Quoted from
Layton, 37.
lxxxviii
.Of course, some engineering societies, especially in their early years, admitted into membership
persons who, though not school-trained, had been "in responsible charge" of engineering work for a
number of years. The criterion was, it should be noted, not simply "being in charge" but being in
"responsible charge" for a certain length of time, long enough, presumably, to show that they could do
the job. And, even this criterion looks more like a political compromise than a natural definition.
lxxxix
. Compare Layton, esp. pp. 58-60.
xc
. See, especially, Layton, pp. 25-52. This vagueness may explain why (like the original ASCE)
at least one twentieth-century engineering society, the short-lived American Association of Engineers,
allowed architects to join. See Peter Meiksins, "Professionalism and Conflict: The Case of the
American Association of Engineers", Journal of Social History 19 (Spring 1983): 403-421, esp. p. 406.
The exclusion of rank-and-file workers may indicate a class bias, but I think it indicates more than that.
Many people who called themselves engineers, for example, train drivers or scientific tinkerers, would
have seemed ignorant of much engineers did have in common, even engineers who had come up
through the ranks. What Layton in fact reports is, I think, part of the process by which "engineer"
came to mean in English what it did in French (and what Williams understood by "Officieur du
Génie").
xci
. For a hilarious example of how too much emphasis on "science" can interfere with the practice
of engineering, see Bruce Seely, "The Scientific Mystique in Engineering: Highway Research at the
Bureau of Public Roads, 1918-1940", Technology and Culture 24 (October 1984): 798-831. Note also
Edna Kranakis' description of the decline of French engineering during the nineteenth century, "Social
Determinants of Engineering Practice: A Comparative View of France and America in the Nineteenth
Century", Social Studies of Science 19 (---- 1989): 5-70.
xcii
. McGivern, 65. Note that "engineering" here means (what we now call) civil engineering.
Though grouped with civil engineering, both (what we call) mining (and metallurgical) engineering
and mechanical engineering are not conceived as engineering (properly so called). Here is further
evidence that we should be more cautious about thinking of engineering as "fragmenting" during the
nineteenth century. As I would tell the story, higher education played a crucial part in giving
engineering a unity it did not originally have in the United States (and might never have achieved
otherwise). In this regard, it is worth noting that early civil engineers seem generally to have failed at
both mechanical engineering and mining. Calhoun, pp. 82-87.
xciii
. McGivern, 64-69.
xciv
. McGivern, 79-82. Compare the history of the École Polytechnique after 1804.
xcv
. See Bruce Seely, "Research, Engineering, and Science in American Engineering Colleges:
1900-1960", Technology and Culture 34 (April 1993): 344-386); and Lawrence P. Grayson, "A Brief
History of Engineering Education in the United States", Engineering Education 68 (December 1977):
246-264, esp. p. 257-261.
xcvi
. Engineers were, of course, aware quite early that engineering had a creative aspect. But other
aspects of engineering, especially the drudgery of drafting and calculating, may have meant that few
engineers actually got to be "creative". If so, then computers may have shifted dramatically the
balance between drudgery and creativity; that shift may, in turn, explain (in part) present emphasis on
design. But what explains the decline of "shop training"? (Even would-be employers do not seem to
want engineering schools to prepare students for the shop floor.) Has engineering changed in some
fundamental way in this century (or has industry)?
xcvii
. For more, see Chapter 10.
xcviii
. This is quite clear in, for example, Walter G. Vincenti, What Engineers Know and How They
Know It (Johns Hopkins University Press: Baltimore, 1990).
xcix
. For others who have noted the sad state of our understanding of engineering, see: James K.
Feibleman, "Pure Science, Applied Science, Technology, Engineering: An Attempt at Definitions",
Technology and Culture 2 (Fall 1961): 305-317: M. Asimov, "A Philosophy of Engineering Design",
in Friedrich Rapp, ed., Contributions to a Philosophy of Technology (Reidel: Dortrecht-Holland,
1974), pp. 150-157; George Sinclair, "A Call for a Philosophy of Engineering", Technology and
Culture 18 (October 1977): 685-689; Taft H. Broome, Jr. "Engineering the Philosophy of Science",
Metaphilosophy 16 (January 1985): 47-56; and Paul T. Durbin, "Toward a Philosophy of Engineering
and Science in R & D Settings", in Paul Durbin, ed., Technology and Responsibility (Reidel:
Dortrecht-Holland, 1987), pp. 309-327.
c
. This is, of course, not intended as a definition of "profession", merely as a sketch of one, one
adequate for our purposes now. For more of what I mean by "profession", see chapter 4 and 10, and
some of my other works on the subject: "The Moral Authority of a Professional Code", NOMOS 29
(1987): 302-337; "The Use of Professions", Business Economics 22 (October 1987): 5-10; "Vocational
Teachers, Confidentiality, and Professional Ethics", International Journal of Applied Philosophy 4
(Spring 1988): 11-20; "Professionalism Means Putting Your Profession First", Georgetown Journal of
Legal Ethics (Summer 1988): 352-366; "Do Cops Really Need a Code of Ethics", Criminal Justice
Ethics 10 (Summer/Fall 1991): 14-28; and "Science: After Such Knowledge, What Responsibility?",
Professional Ethics 4 (Spring 1995): 49-74.
ci
. Quoted in McGivern, 106. At the same place, he offers similar examples from the American
Institute of Mining (1873) and the American Society of Mechanical Engineers (1880).
cii
. Grayson, "Brief History", 254.
ciii
. Grayson, "Brief History", 258. Today that organization is the Accreditation Board of
Engineering and Technology (ABET).
civ
. This claim will seem controversial only to those, mostly sociologists and those who defer to
them, who wish to equate "profession" with "skilled occupation" (or with "licensed skilled
occupation"). There are at least two reasons to reject this equation. First, members of a profession are
usually at pains to claim that they belong to a profession, not just a skilled occupation. The equation
makes their claim false by definition, leaving the question why anyone would say such a thing.
Second, as we shall see, ethical standards do seem to give considerable insight into talk about
"profession".
cv
. For more on this, see my "The Ethics Boom".
cvi
. For a good (if somewhat jaundiced) account of this period, with its effects both on industry and
engineering, see Noble, American by Design.
cvii
. The electrical engineers seem to have had the greatest difficulty here (an eight-year process).
See McMahan, pp. 112-117.
cviii
. For enlightening discussion of the ways people change, see Mortimer R. Kadish, The Ophelia
Paradox: An Inquiry into the Conduct of Our Lives (Transaction Publishers: New Brunswick, New
Jersey, 1994).
cix
. Gary A. Ford and James E. Tomayko, "Education and Curricula in Software Engineering",
Encyclopedia of Software Engineering, v. I (John Wiley & Sons: New York, 1994), p. 439.
cx
. "In the 1991 Computer Society [of the Institute for Electrical and Electronic Engineers]
membership survey, over half (54 percent) of the current full members polled indicated that they
consider themselves software engineers, as did 40 percent of the affiliate members." Fletcher J.
Buckley, "Defining software engineering", Computer (August 1993), p. 77.
cxi
. There seem to be no hard numbers for "software engineers" (though I have heard estimates as
high as 3,000,000 world-wide). The claims made here merely constitute my compilation of the
opinions of those who seemed to have the best chance of being right.
cxii
. See, for example, Mary Shaw, "Prospects for an Engineering Discipline of Software", IEEE
Software (November 1990): 15-24. Though she begins this intelligent paper with a definition of
"engineering" and devotes much of its body to the history of engineering, her topic is really the growth
of disciplines generally. She could have written much the same paper, using law, medicine, or even
auditing, rather than engineering, as the paradigm of a discipline--with more clarity about what she
was doing.
cxiii
. This definition, the work of the National Research Council's Committee on the Education and
Utilization of the Engineer, appears in: Samuel Florman, The Civilized Engineer (St. Martin Press:
New York, 1987), pp. 64-65.
cxiv
. Compare the more elegant Canadian definition: "The 'practice of professional engineering'
means any act of planning, designing, composing, evaluating, advising, reporting, directing or
supervising, or managing any of the foregoing that requires the application of engineering principles,
and that concerns the safeguarding of life, health, property, economic interests, the public welfare or
the environment." (Italics mine.) Canadian Engineering Qualifications Board, 1993 Annual Report
(Canadian Council of Professional Engineers: Ottawa, 1993), p. 17. The report contains no definition
of "engineering principles".
cxv
. Similar problems arise for "genetic engineer" and might arise for other "engineers", for
example, "social engineers". (This problem of definition is, of course, not limited to engineers:
lawyers are no more successful defining "the practice of law", or doctors "the practice of medicine".)
cxvi
. The IEEE has defined "software engineering" as "application of a systematic, disciplined,
quantifiable approach to the development, operation and maintenance of software: that is, the
application of engineering to software." Buckley, 77. This definition (or, rather, that "that is") begs
the question whether the systematic, disciplined, and quantifiable approach in question is an
application of engineering to software or the application of a different discipline. Not all systematic,
disciplined, and quantifiable approaches to development, operation, and maintenance are necessarily
engineering. Indeed, that software is primarily not a physical but a mathematical (or linguistic) system
at least suggests that engineering principles have only limited application.
cxvii
. Florman, 65-66.
cxviii
. I have charitably ignored the "or" in "mathematics and/or the natural sciences". There has
never been a time when the training of engineers has not included a good deal of both mathematics and
the physical sciences (at least chemistry and physics). If "software engineers" do not generally have
similar training in the physical sciences, no amount of training in mathematics will fill the gap between
them and the great body of engineers strictly so called.
cxix
. It is perhaps worth noting that engineers do in fact produce beautiful objects, for example, the
Brooklyn Bridge or the typical computer's circuit board. Nonetheless, engineers are not artists (in the
way architects are). For engineering, beauty is not a major factor in evaluating work; utility is.
cxx
. Compare Fletcher J. Buckley, "Background to the Motion [to have the IEEE CS Board of
Governors appoint an ad hoc committee to initiate the actions to establish software engineering as a
profession] (15 April 1993)":

In 483 B.C., Xerxes, King of Persia and Media, as part of his campaign to conquer Greece,
ordered two floating bridges to be constructed across the Hellespont to provide passage for his
army from Asia to Europe. After the bridges were completed, a storm arose and the bridges
were destroyed. Xerxes had the engineers killed and another set of bridges constructed, thus
demonstrating at that time, the existence of standards of personal accountability for
professionals working in their field of competence.

This passage--like its twin in Buckley, "Defining software engineering", 76--is remarkable for its
misunderstanding of both engineering and professions. Buckley has, of course, no reason to call the
builders of Xerxes bridge "engineers" rather than "bridge builders", no reason even to describe them as
"professionals" rather than "skilled men". He certainly overlooks the question whether the bridge's
failure was due to incompetence or forces beyond any builder's competence to manage at the time.
Like a similar story about having the sea flogged, this one seems to be more about the arbitrariness of
Persian rulers than about the standard of accountability to which anyone in his right mind would want
to be held. Its place in a motion concerned with organizing "software engineering" as a "profession" is
therefore (at best) inauspicious.
cxxi
. Compare, for example, the Roeblings, father and son, both engineers (by today's standard
definition), with the millwrights, industrialists, and other contemporary bridge builders most of whom
would today not be allowed to design or build bridges. Were these other "technologists", self-taught
and relatively slapdash, as much engineers as the Roeblings because much of what they built worked?
cxxii
. Consider, for example, L. A. Belady, in "Foreword", Encyclopedia of Software Engineering, p.
xi: "[The] term software engineering expresses the continued effort to put programming into the ranks
of other engineering disciplines."
cxxiii
. Engineers, especially civil engineers, like to count the Roman builders among their profession.
When asked why, they usually point out how enduring the Roman roads, aqueducts, theaters, and other
constructions have proved to be. In this, they seem to me to have offered evidence against their thesis
as if it were evidence for it. Engineers are fond of the saying, "An engineer is someone who can do for
one dollar what any fool can do for ten"--or, as the Accreditation Board of Engineering and
Technology put it more prosaically, "Engineering is the profession in which a knowledge of the
mathematical and natural sciences gained by study, experience, and practice is applied with judgment
to develop ways to utilize, economically, the materials and forces of nature for the benefit of
mankind."--That the Roman builders built so much that outlasted their empire by more than a thousand
years at least suggests that they spent where an engineer would have saved. When we recall that none
of Rome's great builders made a career of building, but instead oversaw public works one year and a
province's government the next, we must conclude that, though great builders, they could never qualify
for admission to an engineering society at the "professional level". They may have "functioned as
engineers" (however anachronistically) but they were not members of the profession (or even
employed in the underlying occupation).
cxxiv
. For a spirited defense of this mistake, see John T. Sanders, "Honor Among Thieves: Some
Reflections on Professional Codes of Ethics", Professional Ethics 2 (Fall\Winter 1993): 83-103. If the
article's title does not show what is wrong with equating competence with profession, the article's
suggestion that we consider the mafia to be a profession should.
cxxv
. Note that Florman, generally so astute about engineering, endorses this equation of
conscientiousness with ethicalness. Florman, 104.
cxxvi
. Are either of these provisions, or any other, unique to engineering, an expression of its essential
nature? I know of none. A particular professional code seems to me to involve a distinctive reworking
of general moral ideals to fit certain conditions and aspirations, distinctive but not necessarily unique.
cxxvii
. In the US, the codes date from the second decade of this century. In Great Britain, they came
almost a half century earlier. These codes do not seem to have had their counterpart on the continent
of Europe, or in other civil law jurisdictions, until well after the Second World War. Why?
cxxviii
. For more detail, see Lawrence P. Grayson, "A Brief History of Engineering Education in the
United States", Engineering Education 68 (December 1977): 246-264.
cxxix
. See Chapter 4 for a defense of this response. Meanwhile, note that the IEEE's code of ethics
applies only to "IEEE members". It is a code of ethics for members of a technical society, not--like the
ABET or NSPE code--the code of a profession. Indeed, I would attribute its shortening over the years
to the attempt to cover a membership in which the proportion of engineers is declining and both the
number and kinds of non-engineers is increasing. Generally, codes of ethics grow with experience;
shrinkage is therefore a sign of trouble.
cxxx
. Shaw, 22.
cxxxi
. Michael S. Mahoney, "The Roots of Software Engineering", CWI Quarterly 3 (December
1990): 325-334, at 326.
cxxxii
. Mahoney, 327.
cxxxiii
. For example, some practicing engineers have, until recently, encouraged schools of engineering
to reduce the academic requirements for a degree in favor of more "shop experience". Yet, attempts to
take the "shop experience" approach very far seem to have produced foremen rather than engineers.
Apparently, the very abstractness for which the practitioners criticized engineering education
contributed to success as engineers even when (as the practitioners correctly noted) the specific skills
taught (for example, advanced calculus) generally went unused. Why?
cxxxiv
. Some electrical engineering departments offer degrees of this description, for example, in
"computer engineering, software option".
cxxxv
. There is, of course, more than one code of ethics for US engineers. This may suggest that
engineering in the US is not one profession but several. That suggestion should not be taken. Of the
three major codes usually mentioned on occasions such as this, one, the IEEE code, is not a
professional code at all; it applies not to engineers (as a professional code should) but to "IEEE
members" (whether engineers or not). Since it also contains nothing more demanding than the other
codes or inconsistent with them, we may ignore it here. The other two major codes do apply to
engineers as such, differing only in detail (with the NSPE code generally being somewhat less
demanding). Since the NSPE seems to have developed its code with state enforcement in mind, I think
it reasonable to treat the ABET code as the basic professional code (especially since most engineering
societies have endorsed it). So, when I speak of "the engineer's code" here, it is the ABET that I
should be supposed to have in mind.
cxxxvi
. See, for example, John D. Musa, "Software Engineering: The Future of a Profession", IEEE
Software (January 1985): 55-62. Musa presents "software engineering" as a profession independent of
engineering (though his use of the term "engineering" suggests the opposite).
cxxxvii
. Compare Shaw, 21: "Unfortunately, [the term 'software engineering'] is now most often used to
refer to life-cycle models, routine methodologies, cost-estimation techniques, documentation
frameworks...and other techniques for standardizing production. These technologies are characteristic
of the commercial stage of evolution--'software management' would be a much more appropriate
term."
cxxxviii
.David E. Sanger, "How Seeing-No-Evil Doomed the Challenger", New York Times, Sunday,
June 29, 1986, sec. 3, p. 8.
cxxxix
. The Presidential Commission on the Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster (Washington, DC: U.S.
Government Printing Office, 1986). v. I, p. 94. The preceding narrative is based on testimony
contained in that volume (esp. pp. 82-103).
cxl
. William H. Wisely, "The Influence of Engineering Societies on Professionals and Ethics", in
Ethics, Professionals, and Maintaining Competence: ASCE Professional Activities Committee
Specialty Conference, Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio, 1977. American Society of Civil
Engineers, New York, 1977, p. 55-56.
cxli
. See, for example, A. G. Christie, "A Proposed Code of Ethics for All Engineers", Annals of
American Society of Political and Social Science 101 (May 1922), pp. 99-100.
cxlii
. What is the origin of the term "bench engineer"? I have encountered two guesses. One
attributes the term to a bitter analogy with galley slaves, who rowed life away chained to a bench. The
other guess involves a more pleasing analogy with scientists, especially physicists and chemists, who
worked at "benches" with their lab equipment around them. For scientists, a "bench scientist" is a real
scientist; those scientists who devote themselves to supervision, to meetings, and so on are no longer
doing science but administration. Neither of these analogies is all that appropriate for engineering. On
the one hand, except for draftsmen (who did work side by side in large rooms, seldom leaving the
drafting board), few engineers seem to spend even a majority of their day in one place. They have
technicians to supervise, "fires to put out", and meetings to go to. Both movement and administration
are more central to engineering than to science.
cxliii
. William H. Wisely, "The Influence of Engineering Societies on Profesionalism and Ethics", in
Engineering Professionalism and Ethics (Robert E. Kreiger: Malabar, Florida, 1983), p. 33.
cxliv
. Andrew G. Oldenquist and Edward E. Slowter, "Proposed: A Single Code of Ethics for All
Engineers", Professional Engineer 49 (May, 1979): 8-11.
cxlv
. Note, for example, the quotation from A.G. Christie at the beginning of this chapter; or Morris
Llewellyn Cooke, "Ethics and the Engineering Profession", Annals of the Association for Political and
Social Science 101 (May 1922): 68-72, esp. 70.
cxlvi
. See, for example, W. J. Reader, Professional Men: The Rise of the Professional Classes in
Nineteenth-Century England (Basic Books: New York, 1966), especially, pp. 51-55.
cxlvii
. Recall Thredgeld's famous definition (cited in Chapter 1): [The] profession of civil engineer
[is] the art of directing the great sources of power in nature for the use and convenience of man."
cxlviii
. For further defense of this theory of profession, see my "The Moral Authority of a Professional
Code", NOMOS 29 (1987): 302-337; "The Use of Professions", Business Economics 22 (October
1987): 5-10; "Vocational Teachers, Confidentiality, and Professional Ethics", International Journal of
Applied Philosophy 4 (Spring 1988): 11-20; "Professionalism Means Putting Your Profession First",
Georgetown Journal of Legal Ethics (Summer 1988): 352-366; and "Do Cops Really Need a Code of
Ethics", Criminal Justice Ethics 10 (Summer/Fall 1991): 14-28; "Science: After Such Knowledge,
What Responsibility?", Professional Ethics 4 (Spring 1995): 49-74; and "The State's Dr. Death: What's
Unethical about Physicians Helping at Executions?" Social Theory and Practice 21 (Spring 1995): 31-
60.
cxlix
. Compare my "The Special Role of Professionals in Business Ethics", Business and Professional
Ethics Journal 7 (1988): 83-94.
cl
. Devotees of decision theory will instantly recognize the convention in question as the solution
to that coordination problem commonly known as "the prisoner's dilemma". I have avoided the term
here because it seems wholly out of place where there are no prisoners and where the choice posed is
far better than a dilemma. Like many other technical terms of decision theory, "prisoner's dilemma"
seems more likely to mislead those not familiar with it than to grant insight.
cli
. I hope this appeal to fairness will raise no red flags, even though the principle of fairness has
been under a cloud ever since the seemingly devastating criticism it received in Robert Nozick,
Anarchy, State, and Utopia (Basic Books: New York, 1974). I have, it will be noted, limited my use to
obligations generated by voluntarily claiming benefits of a cooperative practice that are otherwise not
available. Most attacks on the principle of fairness have been on the "involuntary benefits" version.
See, for example, A. John Simmons, Moral Principles and Political Obligations (Princeton University
Press: Princeton, N.J., 1979), pp. 118-136. And even those attacks are hardly devastating. One can
either refine the principle, as Richard Arenson has done in "The Principle of Fairness and Free-Rider
Problems," Ethics 92 (--- 1982); or, as in my "Nozick's Argument for the Legitimacy of the Welfare
State", Ethics 97 (----1987): 576-594, show that Nozick's original criticism, and most subsequent
criticism, depends on examples that, upon careful examination, fail to support the criticism.
clii
. I am not claiming that the engineers treated safety as paramount because they knew what the
ABET code said. When you ask a lawyer about a professional code, she is likely to tell you she
studied the ABA code in law school and, claiming to have a copy around, will produce it after only a
few minutes of searching her desk or bookshelves. When you ask an engineer the same question, he is
likely to tell you that his profession has a code while admitting that he never studies it and that he has
none around to refer to. He may even admit to never having seen a copy. Yet, anyone who has spent
much time working with engineers knows that they do not treat safety in the same way managers do
(hence Mason's plea to "take off your engineering hat"). The engineers' code of ethics seems to be
"hard-wired" into them. Interestingly, engineers are not the only professions for whom the written
code seems to play so small a part. For another example, see my "Vocational Teachers,
Confidentiality, and Professional Ethics," International Journal of Applied Philosophy 4 (1988): 74-
90.
cliii
. I do not claim that Lund would explain his decision in this way. Indeed, as I suggest in Chapter
5, I think his explanation would be quite different, though no less troubling.
cliv
. For criticism of this analysis, though one that misunderstands it, see Nigel G. E. Harris,
"Professional codes and Kantian duties", in Ethics and the Professions, edited by Ruth F. Chadwick
(Avebury: Aldershot, England, 1994), pp. 104-115.
clv
. For a good summary of these other contributing causes, see Diane Vaughn, The Challenger
Launch Decision (University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1996).
clvi
. Philosophers will note that this is not one of the four standard senses of responsibility
(capacity-responsibility, liability-responsibility, causal-responsibility, or role-responsibility);
nevertheless, it seems to me to be a legitimate use. I should like to thank Jeff McMahan for pointing it
out to me (in another context).
clvii
. My wrongdoers, for example, are not much like the "hard men" in Jack Katz, Seductions of
Crime: Moral and Sensual Attractions of Doing Evil (New York: Basic Books, 1988). Katz's
criminals do indeed seem to will evil.
clviii
. "Price Fixing and Bid Rigging in the Electrical Manufacturing Industry," Administered Prices,
Hearings Before the Subcommittee on Antitrust and Monopoly of the Committee on the Judiciary,
United States Senate, Part 27, 1961: p. 16652.
clix
. "After the Fall: Fates are Disparate for Those Charged with Inside Trading," Wall Street
Journal 210 (November 18, 1987):22.
clx
. For example, 46% of all aggravated assaults and 52% of all burglaries go unreported. Crime in
the United States (Washington, D.C.: Federal Bureau of Investigation, U.S. Department of Justice,
1980), pp. 20 and 23.
clxi
. See Chapter 3.
clxii
. Compare Lawrence Kohlberg, Essays on Moral Development (San Francisco: Harper and
Row, 1981).
clxiii
. Compare Chester A. Barnes, The Functions of the Executive (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1938), p. 276: "It is apparent that executives frequently fail. This failure may be
ascribed in most cases, I believe, to inadequate abilities as a first cause, usually resulting in the
destruction of responsibility. But in many cases it may be inferred that the conditions impose a moral
complexity and a moral conflict not soluble. Some actions which may within reason appear to be
dictated by the good of the organization as a whole will obviously be counter to nearly all other codes,
personal or official."
clxiv
. See, for example, Jan Elster, Ulysses and the Sirens, Revised Edition (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1984) for a good treatment of weakness of will.
clxv
. Mike W. Martin, Self-Deception and Morality (Lawrence, Kansas: University Press of Kansas,
1986). Martin defines self-deception in a way consistent with modern psychology, producing a
conception of self-deception likely to be useful in practice. In contrast, most work on this subject is,
instead, concerned with logical puzzles created by assuming a unitary self that must then both know
and not know at the same time.
clxvi
. For a convenient survey of the literature on self-deception that brings out the range of mental
states that might be included within that capacious term, see Alfred Mele, "Recent Work on Self-
Deception," American Philosophical Quarterly 24 (January 1987): 1-17. For discussion of the related
phenomenon of shifting responsibility, see Stanley Milgram, Obedience to Authority: An
Experimental View (New York: Harper and Row, 1974). I have not discussed the hypothesis
Milgram's work might suggest because, as far as I can see, no one ever offered to take responsibility
for what Lund did. Lund's claim that he had "no choice" is not an appeal to the authority of others--
though it is something equally troubling. After all, what can be more obvious than that Lund had a
choice? He could simply have said "no" and taken the consequences.
clxvii
. I should like to thank Vivian Weil and Michael Pritchard for very helpful criticism of one or
another early version of the explanation of microscopic vision below. They are, however, not
responsible for any errors that remain.
clxviii
. I derive this information from a video of Boisjoly's appearance before Caroline Whitbeck's
engineering design course, "Company Loyalty and Whistleblowing: Ethical Decisions and the Space
Shuttle Disaster" (7 January 1987), especially his answers to student questions.
clxix
. For a bit more on the differences between the way managers and engineers approach risk, see
chapter 9.
clxx
. Of course, we are here assuming that a well-run organization would divide its decisions into
two categories, engineering decisions and management decisions, with engineers having the last word
in one category and managers having the last word in the other. Another possibility arrangement is to
recognize that the two categories overlap far too much to allow such a division in responsibility and to
require managers and engineers to reach a consensus. For more on this possibility, see chapter 9.
clxxi
. This is the standard view of relations between managers and engineers that chapter 9
challenges. I state it here without endorsement.
clxxii
. Literature on the Challenger disaster generally assumes that management's way of dealing with
risk was clearly wrong. For a rare (and thoughtful) attempt to make management's case, see William
Starbuck and Frances Milliken, "Challenger: Fine-Tuning the Odds Until Something Breaks", Journal
of Management Studies __ (July 1988): 319-340.
clxxiii
. In fact, our price fixer had no memory of ever seeing the policy. "Price Fixing," p. 16152. For
a somewhat different version of this story (including the claim that he must have seen the policy), see
James A. Waters' excellent "Catch 20.5: Corporate Morality as an Organizational Phenomenon,"
Organizational Dynamics 6 (Spring, 1978): 3-19. Waters emphasizes "organizational blocks" to
proper conduct rather than the normal processes that concern me. But I believe nothing I have said is
inconsistent with what he says. Wrongdoing in a complex organization is likely to have many
contributing causes. Waters and I differ only in being interested in different contributing causes. It is,
of course, an empirical question whether either of us is even partly right (though one very hard
decisively to test with the information we have or are likely to get). I would say the same about Saul
W. Gellerman's "Why 'good' managers make bad ethical choices," Harvard Business Review __ (July-
August 1986): 85-90.
clxxiv
. The same is true of business ethics. Business professor who limit themselves to technical
matters do not simply fail to do good. However unintentionally, they actively contribute to the wrong
their students do, if they eventually do wrong. They help to blind their students to something they
might otherwise see.
clxxv
. See, for example, Robert M. Liebert, "What Develops in Moral Development?", and Mordicai
Nisan, "Content and Structure in Moral Development: An Integrative View", both in Morality, Moral
Behavior, and Moral Development, ed. William M. Kurtines and Jacob L. Gewirtz (New York: John
Wiley & sons, 1984), pp. 177-192 and 208-224.
clxxvi
. Caroline Whitbeck, "Teaching Ethics to Scientists and Engineers," Science and Engineering
Ethics 1 (Jully 1995): 299-308.
clxxvii
. For a good summary of what is (or could be) offered, see Martin H. Malin, "Protecting the
Whistleblower from Retaliatory Discharge," Journal of Law Reform 16 (Winter 1983): 277-318. For
some suggestion of how ineffective that protection is, see Thomas M. Devine and Donald G. Aplin,
"Whistleblower Protection--The Gap Between the Law and Reality," Howard Law Journal 31 (1988):
223-239; or Rosemary Chalk, "Making the World Safe for Whistleblowers," Technology Review 91
(January 1988): 48-57.
clxxviii
.The literature describing the suffering of whistleblowers is, of course, large. For a good
scholarly summary, see Myron Peretz Glazer and Penina Migdal Glazer, The Whistleblowers:
Exposing Corruption in Government and Industry (Basic Books: New York, 1989). There is, in
contrast, very little about how the organization suffers (or benefits). Why?
clxxix
. The holder of a "professional position" seems to be much more likely to become a
whistleblower than an ordinary employee is. See, for example, Marcia P. Miceli and Janet P. Near,
"Individual and Situational Correlates of Whistle-Blowing," Personnel Psychology 41 (Summer 1988):
267-281.
clxxx
. Compare Chester A. Barnes, The Function of the Executive (Harvard University Press:
Cambridge, Mass., 1938).
clxxxi
. For a good discussion of the problems of defining "whistleblowing," see Frederick Elliston et
al., Whistleblowing Research: Methodological and Moral Issues (Praeger: New York, 1985), esp. pp.
3-22 and 145-161.
clxxxii
. Even this definition should not be read liberally. In most organizations, there are "ordinary"
channels the use of which gives no offense and "extraordinary" channels the use of which gives
offense. Sometimes one can only determine that a channel is extraordinary by using it. Those using an
extraordinary channel will be treated as whistleblowers (and, indeed, will often be so labeled even
when they are not whistleblowers according to this--or any other standard--definition). Similarly, the
dispute between a whistleblower and her organization may in part be over whether her objection is a
moral rather than a technical one (everyone agreeing that if the objection is moral, she would be
justified). But, since they think the objection is not a moral one, they consider her a "disgruntled
employee," not a whistleblower. I do not intend what I say here to turn on how we resolve such
difficult cases. For a good summary of the recent literature of definition, see Marian V. Heacock and
Gail W. McGee, "Whistleblowing: An Ethical Issue in Organizational and Human Behavior,"
Business & Professional Ethics Journal 6 (Winter 1987): 35-46. See also my "Some Paradoxes of
Whistleblowing", Business & Professional Ethics Journal, forthcoming.
clxxxiii
.I have in mind especially the response to whistleblowers within academic institutions: see, for
example, Bruce W. Hollis, "I Turned in My Mentor," The Scientist 1 (December 14, 1987): 1-13.
clxxxiv
. William Shakespeare, Anthony and Cleopatra Act II: Sc. 5.
clxxxv
. Robert Jackall, Moral Mazes (Oxford University Press: New York, 1988, esp. 105-112 and
119-133.
clxxxvi
. Why this asymetry? One reason may be that inaccurate whistleblowing is less likely to make
news. Newspapers, police departments, and senior managers are constantly receiving "tips" that don't
pan out. These are not news. Another reason inaccurate whistleblowing has received little attention
may be that reliably determining that a particular whistleblower is inaccurate can be quite difficult.
The whistleblower's evidence may establish only a presumptive case against an organization. The
organization may not be able to reply in full without revealing proprietary information or violating the
privacy of other employees, leaving outsiders no way to know that the whistleblower is mistaken. Or
the organization in question may not be able to make a determination without great expense--and may
therefore never bother. Much whistleblowing seems enveloped in the organizational equivalent of
what Clausewitz called "the fog of battle." If we knew more about cases of inaccurate, mistaken, or
otherwise flawed whistleblowing, perhaps our assessment of the overall good effect of whistleblowing
would change. Perhaps whistleblowing, like tyrannicide, is so likely to hit the wrong target that it
cannot in practice be justified. This is a subject about which we need to know more.
clxxxvii
.See, for example, Dick Polman, "Telling the truth, paying the
price," Philadelphia Inquirer Magazine, June 18, 1989, pp. 16ff.
clxxxviii
. For an interesting analysis of this traditional view of organizational authority (and
related issues), see Christopher McMahan, "Managerial Authority," Ethics 100 (October 1989): 33-53.
clxxxix
. I owe this observation to Thomas Devine. I have found no research to confirm (or disconfirm)
it.
cxc
. For a procedure I doubt will do much good, see Theodore T. Herbert and Ralph W. Estes,
"Improving Executive Decisions by Formalizing Dissent: The Corporate Devil's Advocate," Academy
of Management Review 2 (October 1977): 662-667. Dissent is likely to be more effective if the
dissenter is not viewed as "just going through the motions" and likely to be more common if not the
job of just one person.
cxci
. Compare James Waters, "Catch 20.5: Corporate Morality as an Organizational Phenomenon,"
Organizational Dynamics 6 (Spring 1978): 3-19.
cxcii
. Moral Mazes, for example, pp. 105-112.
cxciii
. These are, of course, matters of what is now often called "culture." For a good discussion, see
Charles O'Reilly, "Corporations, Culture, and Commitment: Motivation and Social Control in
Organizations." California Management Review __ (Summer 1989): 9-25.
cxciv
. This claim is defended in Chapter 5. See also M. Cash Matthews, "Ethical Dilemmas and the
Disputing Process: Organizations and Societies," Business & Professional Ethics Journal 8 (Spring
1989): 1-11.
cxcv
. Michael Davis, One Social Responsibility of Engineering Societies: Teaching Managers About
Engineering Ethics, Monograph #88-WA/DE-14 (The American Society of Mechanical Engineers:
New York, 1988).
cxcvi
. Perhaps the best example of such a person is Roger Boisjoly (if we can count his testimony
before Congress as whistleblowing). The warnings Boisjoly gave on the night before the Challenger
exploded were (though technically accurate) in the bloodless language in which engineers generally
communicate. He never said anything like "This decision could kill seven human beings." How might
things have gone had Boisjoly (or anyone else present) said something of that sort when NASA
pressured Thiokol to approve a launch? A hard question, to be sure, but one that at least suggests the
potential power of language at the moment of decision. For details, see The Presidential Commission
on the Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster (Washington, DC: June 6, 1986).
cxcvii
. American Society of Mechanical Engineers v Hydrolevel Corporation 456 U.S. 556, 72 L. Ed.
2d. 330, 102 S.Ct. 1935 (1982).
cxcviii
. ASME v. Hydrolevel, p. 559.
cxcix
. U.S. Senate, Voluntary Industrial Standards: Hearing Before the Subcommittee on Antitrust
and Monopoly of the Committee on the Judiciary, 94th Congress, 1st Session: 153-214 (1975), p. 173.
cc
. Senate, p. 174.
cci
. Senate, pp. 176 and 184-5.
ccii
. ASME v. Hydrolevel, pp. 561-2.
cciii
. ASME v. Hydrolevel, p. 563.
cciv
. The critical sentence reads: "If a means for retarding control action is incorporated in a low-
water fuel cutoff, the termination of the retard function must operate to cutoff the fuel supply before
the boiler level falls below the visible part of the water gauge glass." That sentence replaced: "It
should be carefully noted that regardless of the design of any automatic low water cutoff, the intent of
the first sentence in paragraph HG-605(a) is that such low water fuel cutoff devices function so that the
fuel supply shall be actually stopped when the surface of the water falls to the lowest visible part of the
water gauge glass." Senate, p. 188 and Hydrolevel v. ASME, p. 130). If (as it seems) there is no
important difference (but clarity) between these two sentences, why should anyone be concerned about
James' part in substituting one for the other?
ccv
. Priscilla S. Meyer, "Knocking the Competition: How Rival's Use of 'Industrial Code' Report
Created Problems for a Tiny Company," Wall Street Journal 184 (July 9, 1974): 44.
ccvi
. Senate, p. 213.
ccvii
. ASME v. Hydrolevel, p. 564.
ccviii
. It is perhaps worth pointing out that this is a controversial assumption. The appellate court
described Hardin's conduct as "fraud, a willful and knowing misrepresentation of the Code" (without
offering any additional evidence). Hydrolevel v. ASME, p. 125. And the legal counsel for the
American National Standards Institute lumped James with Hardin as "two renegades" (again, without
any additional evidence). William H. Rockwell, "Hydrolevel Decision as Applied to Antitrust
Violations of Standards Making Organizations," CSEP Perspectives on the Professions 3(3) 1983: 3-5.
On the other hand, in 1975 ASME claimed there was nothing to what Hardin and James did beyond the
mere "appearance of wrongdoing". Nancy Rueth, "A Case Study," Mechanical Engineering 97 (June,
1975): 34-36, at p. 36. That was still ASME's position a decade later. See, for example, Charles W.
Beardsley, "The Hydrolevel Case--A Retrospective," Mechanical Engineering 106 (June, 1984): 66-
73; or Rockwell (1983, p. 5).
ccix
. There are, of course, some respects in which natural duties are not absolute. I will point out
two below.
ccx
. Senate, p. 179.
ccxi
. Hydrolevel v. ASME, p. 123.
ccxii
. ASME v. Hydrolevel, p. 559; and Beardsley, p. 72.
ccxiii
. Tekla S. Perry, "Antitrust Rule Chills Standards Setting," IEEE Spectrum 11 (August, 1982):
52-54.
ccxiv
. Compare Senate, p. 214 where ASME's attorney (Mr. Stanton) makes a similar point.
ccxv
. Senate, p. 205.
ccxvi
. Senate, p. 175.
ccxvii
. Senate, p. 211.
ccxviii
. Senate, p. 206.
ccxix
. Senate, p. 210.
ccxx
. Senate, p 210. Compare James' comment, p. 190.
ccxxi
. Senate, p. 211.
ccxxii
. In what follows, we shall use the current Code of Ethics (1995). The relevant provisions are
similar to those of the Code in force during 1971-2 in most relevant respects (though the format is
much different).
ccxxiii
. Senate, pp. 192 and 211-2; and Hydrolevel v. ASME, p. 126.
ccxxiv
. See ASME v. Hydrolevel, p. 571 n. 8 for evidence that James' employer thought James so
influenced (or, at least, was willing to defend James' unpaid activities within ASME on that basis).
ccxxv
. These are published in batches several times a year in P.E. Professional Engineer, the official
publication of the NSPE. These opinions have also been collected (up till 1990) in six volumes under
the title Opinions of the Board of Ethical Review (Washington, D.C.: National Society of Professional
Engineers).
ccxxvi
. Senate, p. 211.
ccxxvii
. Compare Bernard Gert, Morality: A New Justification of the Moral Rules (Oxford University
Press: New York, 1988).
ccxxviii
.There is a family of consequentialist views called "rule utilitarianism" which holds that one
should generally follow rules ("rules of thumb," "prima facie rules," or the like) rather than always
decide how to act by considering the consequences case by case. The idea is that the rules should be
designed so that generally following them maximizes good consequences in the long run. We may
ignore this refinement because all forms of rule utilitarianism either fit the definition of moral rules
given here or suffer from the same lack of information about consequences as any other attempt to
determine what Hardin and James did wrong solely by considering the consequences of their acts. See
David Lyons, Forms and Limits of Utilitarianism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965).
ccxxix
. For more on my understanding of all this (including my reasons for denying that I am operating
with a form of rule utilitarianism), see "The Moral Legislature: Morality without an Archimedean
Point", Ethics 102 (July 1992): 303-318.
ccxxx
. This is an old point about the self and its interest, but one that may deserve more stress than I
have given in the text. Consider someone so honest that he could not live with himself if he behaved
dishonestly. For him, a dishonest action would be irrational (as well as, and because, it is immoral). It
would, in other words, be contrary to his self-interest, given the kind of self he is. For the virtuous,
virtue really is a reward.
ccxxxi
. Logicians might want to claim that every rule with its exceptions can be rewritten as a rule
without exceptions. For example, "Don't kill, except in self-defense or defense of the innocent" might
just as well be written "Don't non-defensively kill". Whatever the clumsiness of such rewriting, the
logicians are formally right. They are, however, morally wrong. The "Don't___, except___" form of
moral rules captures an underlying logic the exceptionless form does not. All else equal, killing
(people) requires justification, justification that will have to fit the killing under one of the exception
clauses. That is not true of not killing. Those who obey the main clause of a moral rule need no
justification; those who violate the main clause do, even if what they do comes under one of the
exceptions.
ccxxxii
. We are, of course, assuming, that engineers can, as moral agents, only be bound by a code
insofar as the code is itself interpreted in a way consistent with morality. While that assumption
should be uncontroversial, it has not always been. See, for example, Benjamin Freedman, "A Meta-
Ethics of Professional Morality", in Moral Responsibility and the Professions, edited by Bernard
Baumrin and Benjamin Freedman (Haven Publications: New York, 1983), pp, 61-79; or Alan H.
Goldman The Moral Foundations of Professional Ethics (Totawa, New Jersey: Rowman and
Littlefield, 1980) who argues that some professionals (for example, judges) are exempt from certain
moral constraints while acting in their professional capacity. (Note, however, that Goldman does not
argue that engineers are exempted in this way.) For what seems to me a decisive refutaton of this
"separationism", see Alan Gewirth, "Professional Ethics: The Separatist Thesis", Ethics 96 (--- 1996):
282-300.
ccxxxiii
.The original version of this definition, like some engineering codes, included a phrase ("or to
perform some other service for him or her") suggesting that engineers do something beyond offer
professional judgment and that conflict of interest might arise when they are providing that other
service. While I cannot deny that engineers occasionally do work not involving judgment, I have yet
to think of a case in which such work involves a conflict of interest. Understanding conflict of interest
requires recognizing the fundamental importance of judgment in the very concept.
ccxxxiv
. Michael Pritchard, "Conflict of Interest: Conceptual and Normative Issues", Academic
Medicine 71 (December 1996): 1305-1313, suggested that the "interest" in conflicts of interest should
be interpreted as limited to something we might "pursue, act in behalf of, or act for the sake of" (p.
1309). Mere wants, desires, or other circumstances tending to interfere with competent judgment
should not be counted as capable of creating a conflict of interest. Pritchard's suggestion would, I
think, have to be taken if "conflict of interest" were a term in which the parts preserved their meaning
(as they do in "conflicting interests"). But, in fact, it is idiom, carrying a meaning more or less
independent of its parts. Utility, not etymology, may therefore shape what interpretation we give it.
There are, I think, at least two reasons not to allow "interest" to be confined to interests (strictly so
called). First, practice is not so neat. Note, for example, that the NSPE Code II.4(a) recognizes "any
business association, interest, or other circumstance which would influence or appear to influence their
judgment" as requiring disclosure as "known or potential conflicts of interest". Second, it is not clear
what the practical advantage of limiting "interests" to interests strictly so called would have.
Presumably, the "other circumstances" would should be disclosed anyway. Must be have separate (but
otherwise parallel) rules for them?
ccxxxv
. For a more extensive defense of this analysis, see Michael Davis, "Conflict of Interest",
Business and Professional Ethics Journal 1 (Summer 1982): 17-27; and Michael Davis, "Conflict of
Interested Revisited", Business and Professional Ethics Journal 12 (Winter 1993): 21-41.
ccxxxvi
. For more about clinical engineering, see Michael J. Shaffer and Michael D. Shaffer, "The
Professionalization of Clinical Engineering." Biomedical Instrumentation and Technology
(September/October 1989): 370-374; and Pamela Saha and Subrata Saha, "Ethical Responsibilities of
the Clinical Engineer," Journal of Clinical Engineering 11 (January/February 1986): 17-25.
ccxxxvii
.Compare John Kultgen, Ethics and Professions (University of Pennsylvania Press:
Philadelphia, 1988), p. 216. While I agree with Kultgen's experimentalism ("Every code must be
treated as a hypothesis to be tested and adapted while following it"), I emphatically reject his
Cartesianism ("A rational code would contain the results individuals would have reached themselves if
they had reasoned objectively long enough on an adequate base of experience"). As I shall try to show
below, a code of professional ethics necessarily involves certain public conventions (much as do
standards of safety or reliability). What matters most is that members of the profession in question
apply the same standard (not which of several morally permissible standards is applied). This is not to
say that the convention chosen does not matter, only that no amount of "objective reasoning" can
substitute for a coordinated decision. A professional standard need not represent a preexisting
consensus; it may in fact create that consensus (much as a promise can create an agreement where none
existed before). A profession's code of ethics is the solution of a coordination problem, the sort of
practical problem no individual can solve alone.
ccxxxviii
. For more on conflict of interest, see Chapter 7.
ccxxxix

. This "assurance" is, of course, merely a psychological fact. Whether it corresponds to reality,
whether one can govern one's judgment as much as one believes one can, is not easily determined.
Determination cannot be left to the engineer's own judgment, since that is in question. (The ancients
Greeks had a saying relevant here: "Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.") Outsiders,
other engineers or other employees of Big Bill, might well doubt the engineer's ability to govern his
judgment. Indeed, the engineer's problem arises in large part because that is a reasonable judgment on
the evidence available--and he has no way to add evidence that would change that judgment.
ccxl
. Does this provision make sense? Can anyone be "sure" of not being influenced? Certainly,
provided the decisions in question do not involve judgment (for example, because there is only one
drug, device, or appliance that could be prescribed). Financial interest cannot create a conflict of
interest where it cannot affect judgment.
ccxli
. I am here following the new IEEE code (adopted August 1990).
ccxlii
. In what sense is this standard higher and not just different? It is higher in at least two senses.
First, it is higher in the sense of "more demanding." One satisfies the lower standard in satisfying the
higher and then does something more. Second, it is higher in the sense of "morally better." People
who satisfy this higher standard deserve praise they would not deserve for satisfying the lower
standard. These two senses are, though related, not the same. We can at least imagine higher
standards in the first sense ("new heights in torturing") that are not higher in the second.
ccxliii
. The NSPE's code of ethics is, of course, not the NSPE's last word on this (or any other) ethical
question. As explained in Chapter 7, the NSPE has a Board of Ethical Review (BER) that regularly
issues opinions on questions like that posed here. Indeed, it has dealt with questions very close to this
one. See, for example, BER 69-13 and BER 71-6, which seem to explain why the NSPE's code now
sets a standard lower than other engineering societies do. Opinions of the Board of Ethics Review
(National Society of Professional Engineers: Washington, DC), collected in six volumes to date.
ccxliv
. For a fuller statement of this argument (but in the context of lawyering), see my
"Professionalism Means Putting Your Profession First," Georgetown Journal of Legal Ethics 2
(Summer 1988): 341-357.
ccxlv
. If this claim seems to need more defense, recall the argument of chapter 3.
ccxlvi
. For more on this use of codes, see Heinz C. Luegenbiehl, "Code of Ethics and the Moral
Education of Engineers," Business & Professional Ethics Journal 2 (Summer 1983): 41-61. But note
that I do not agree with Luegenbiehl in thinking of a code of professional ethics as mere "guidelines."
See also my "Who Can Teach Workplace Ethics?" Teaching Philosophy 13 (March 1990): 21-36.
ccxlvii
. John Ladd, "Collective and Individual Moral Responsibility in Engineering" Some Questions,"
in Beyond Whistleblowing: Defining Engineers' Responsibilities, ed. Vivian Weil (Center for the
Study of Ethics in the Professions, Illinois Institute of Technology: Chicago, 1983), 102-103.
ccxlviii
.Like ordinary morality, professional ethics does have an external aspect as well. Most
professionals are ethical in part because they do not want suffer the (justified) criticism,
circumspection, or boycott that unprofessional conduct invites. What distinguishes both ethics and
ordinary morality from (mere) law is that this external "sanction" is only one reason; there is an
internal "sanction" as well--and this internal sanction is generally good enough most of the time to
sustain obedience.
ccxlix
. Caroline Whitbeck, "Teaching Ethics to Scientists and Engineers", Science and Engineering
Ethics 1 (July 1995): 299-308.
ccl
. Engineering, even more than medicine, seems to work by consensus. (See chapter 9.) Yet,
unlike medicine, those writing on engineering have seldom noted this tendency (in print at least) and
never considered what significance it might have for understanding engineering. For some idea of the
problems decision by consensus raises for medicine (and may raise for engineering as well), see the
entire August 1991 issue of Journal of Medicine and Philosophy.
ccli
. Codes of ethics are sometimes criticized for (as one of the Professional Ethics Journal's
reviewers put it) "papering over" differences with "vague language." I have four objections to this
criticism: First, the criticism seems to assume that language can be (absolutely) precise. That is
certainly a mistake. Linguistic expressions differ from one another only in degrees of vagueness (or,
what comes to the same thing, degrees of precision). Second, the criticism seems to overlook the
alternative to the "vague language" in question. Given the differences allegedly "papered over," the
alternative to the vague language in question would seem to be no language at all, that is, less precision
than is in fact possible. The alternative to "papering over" differences would thus seem to be
"magnifying" them. That hardly seems preferable. Third, the criticism seems to assume that there is
something wrong with using language of a certain degree of precision when no agreement on anything
more precise is possible. That too seems a mistake. Pushing precision beyond what is now possible
can be expensive. The achievement may not be worth the expense. Given the practical purpose of any
code of ethics, the prudent approach must, it seems to me, be to state what can be stated at the time.
Such a statement does not "paper over" disagreements. The disagreements are not concealed but
simply left as they were. Each member of the profession is free to interpret the language agreed to as
seems right to her, to act accordingly, to answer for what she has done, and so to contribute to a fund
of common experience out of which a more precise statement may in time grow. Fourth, the criticism
seems to understate the essential role of language in all this. Everyone does, or at least should,
understand that any document--whether code of ethics, table of tolerances, or even private letter--
cannot be taken to express any single state of mind in its author (or authors). The document says what
it says, whatever its author actually intended. If the author was foolish, careless, or simply unlucky,
the document may well say more, less, or even something radically different from what she intended.
Like other acts, linguistic acts can misfire. Interpretation is not a
matter of reading off the clear (or unclear) intention of an author. It is, rather, working with a text
according to certain more or less definite procedures. A document is not a mere vessel transmitting
well or poorly the intentions of its author. Interpretation begins where the author stopped.
cclii
. Henry Petroski, "The Iron Ring", American Scientist 83 (May-June 1995): 229-232.
ccliii
. Note the crucial "seem" in this sentence. The issue of probabilities here is more complex than
Feynman (or those he interviewed) indicate. For more on that complexity, see William H. Starbuck
and Frances J. Milliken, "Challenger: Fine-Tuning the Odds Until Something Breaks", Journal of
Management Studies (July 1988): 319-340.
ccliv
. Richard Feynman, "An Outsider's Inside View of the Challenger Inquiry," Physics Today
(February 1988): 26-37, p. 34.
cclv
. Feynman, 34.
cclvi
. Feynman, 34.
cclvii
. For a good technical description of the "game" Feynman refers to, see Trudy E. Bell, "The fatal
flaw in Flight 51-L", IEEE Spectrum (February 1987): 36-51. Compare David A. Bella,
"Organizations and Systematic Distortion of Information", Journal of Professional Issues in
Engineering 113 (October 1987): 360-370.
cclviii
. Feynman, 34.
cclix
. Jackall, Robert, Moral Mazes: The World of Corporate Managers (Oxford University Press:
New York, 1988), p. 112-119.
cclx
. Albert Shapero, Managing Professional People (Free
Press: New York, 1985).
cclxi
. Joseph A. Raelin, The Clash of Cultures: Managers and Professionals (Harvard Business
School Press: Cambridge, MA, 1986; and "The Professional as the Executive's Ethical Aide-de-Camp,"
Academy of Management Executive 1 (August 1987): 171-182.
cclxii
. Raelin, 1987.
cclxiii
. Chapter 5.
cclxiv
. James A. Waters, "Catch 20.5: Corporate Morality as anOrganizational Phenomenon,"
Organizational Dynamics (Spring 1978): 3-19.
cclxv
. Waters, 11.
cclxvi
. Harold Henderson, "McGregor v. the NRC: Why did the Nuclear Regulatory Commission fire
one of its toughest plant inspectors?," Reader (Chicago), Friday, July 22, 1988, pp. 1ff.
cclxvii
. Brian Urquhart, "The Last Disaster of the War," New York Review of Books, September 24,
1987, pp. 27-30; and Thomas Petzinger, "Hangar Anger: Mechanic's Woes Show How Safety Became
a Big Issue for Eastern," Wall Street Journal, Thursday, June 9, 1988, pp. 1ff.
cclxviii
.Waters, 1978; and Waters, "Integrity Management: Learning and Implementing Ethical
Principles in the Workplace," in Executive Integrity, ed. Suresh Srivastva et al. (Jossey-Bass: San
Fransciso, 1988).
cclxix
. Raelin, 1986, 246-263.
cclxx
. See, for example, Chris Argyris and Donald Schön, "Reciprocal Integrity: Creating Conditions
That Encourage Personal and Organizational Integrity," in Executive Integrity, ed. Suresh Srivastva et
al. (Jossey-Bass: San Francisco, 1988), pp. 197-222; and Gerald E. Ottoson, "Essentials of an Ethical
Corporate Climate," in Doing Ethics in Business, ed. Donald G. Jones (Oelgeschlager, Gunn and Hain:
Cambridge, MA, 1982), pp. 155-163.
cclxxi
. The only exception we found is Bruce F. Gordon and Ian C. Ross, "Professionals and the
Corporation," Research Management 5 (November 1962): 493-505.
cclxxii
. Perhaps the most noteworthy exceptions are the very tentative studies by Bart Victor and John
B. Cullen, "The Organizational Bases of Ethics Work Climates," Administrative Science Quarterly 33
(March 1988): 101-125; and Alan L. Wilkins and William G. Ouchi, "Efficient Cultures: Exploring the
Relationship Between Culture and Organizational Performance," Administrative Science Quarterly 28
(September 1983): 468-481.
cclxxiii
.Tom Burns and G. M. Stalker, The Management of Innovation (Tavistock Publications:
London, 1966). I should like to thank Peter Whalley for pointing this book out.
cclxxiv
. Barry A. Turner, Man-Made Disasters (London: Wykeham Publications, Ltd., 1978),
especially, pp. 17-30, 57-67, 120-125, and 189-199.
cclxxv
. Merrit R. Smith, ed. Military Enterprise and Technological Change (MIT Press: Cambridge,
MA., 1985), esp. pp. 11-14 and 87-116.
cclxxvi
. This, of course, is not the only way in which to use the terms "staff" and "line" in business.
Most frequently, perhaps, these terms are today used to distinguish between the historically oldest
functional units of a business (production and sales) and the more recent (personnel, legal, accounting).
On this version of the distinction, engineering might be either a staff or line function (depending on the
history of the company). Often too, the staff-line distinction is used to contrast those functions which
contribute (more or less) directly to the bottom line ("profit centers") with those that contribute only
indirectly ("service functions"). On this version, some engineering functions (for example, operations
and perhaps research) would be line functions while other engineering functions (for example, quality
control or safety) would be staff functions. This diversity in the way the staff-line distinction is today
made may itself signal that the original use no longer fits most American businesses.
cclxxvii
.Rosalind Williams, "Engineering's Image Problem," Issues in Science and Technology 6
(Spring 1990): 84-86.
cclxxviii
. The companies selected had business connections with one of the corporate members of
our panel, with one of our two ethics centers, or with our sponsor (or even with some combination of
these).
cclxxix
. We had one interviewer on only three occasions, one for a whole day when there was no other
way to schedule the interview and twice for part of an afternoon when one interviewer had to leave
early.
cclxxx
. Williams, 84.
cclxxxi
. For more information about the characteristics of those interviewed, see this chapter, Appendix
III.
cclxxxii
.It is perhaps worth noting that no one mentioned a commonplace of academic criticism, the
need for engineers turned managers to learn to live with ambiguity. What explains the silence of our
interviewees on this point? One possibility is that, as practitioners, they have already had to get used
to ambiguity. Another possibility is that the crucial transition is not between engineering and technical
management but between technical and nontechnical management. Here is question inviting further
research.
cclxxxiii
. No member of our working group is altogether satisfied with the names we gave these
three kinds of company. Our only defense for them is that, after far too much discussion, we could not
do better.
cclxxxiv

. For an apparently analogous case ending in a half billion dollar write-off at General Electric,
see Thomas F. O'Boyle, "Chilling Tale: GE Refrigerator Woes Illustrate the Hazards in Changing a
Product--Firm Pushed Development of Compressor Too Fast, Failed to Test Adequately," Wall Street
Journal, Monday, May 7, 1990, p. 1 ff.
cclxxxv
. See this chapter, pp. _____.
cclxxxvi
.See this chapter, pp. ____.
cclxxxvii
. Edwin Layton, The Revolt of the Engineers (Press of Case Western Research
University: Cleveland, 1971), p. 5.
cclxxxviii
. Gerald Dworkin, The Theory and Practice of Autonomy (New York: Cambridge
University press, 1988), p. 22.
cclxxxix
.Thomas Scanlon, "A Theory of Freedom of Expression", Philosophy and Public Affairs 1
(Winter 1972): 204-226; Adina Schwartz, "Autonomy in the Workplace", in Just Business: New
Introductory Essays in Business Ethics, ed. Tom Regan (Random House: New York, 1984), pp. 129-
166; Joseph Raz, "Autonomy, Toleration, and the Harm Principle," in Issues in Contemporary Legal
Philosophy: The Influence of H.L.A. Hart, ed. Ruth Gavison (New York: Oxford University Press,
1987), 313-333; Stanley I. Benn, A Theory of Freedom (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1988), esp. Ch. 8 and 9; and Diana T. Meyers, Self, Society, and Personal Choice (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1989).
ccxc
. John Christman, ed., "Introduction", The Inner Citadel (Oxford University Press: New York,
1989), p. 9.
ccxci
. Michael Davis, "Brandt on Autonomy," in Rationality and Rule- Utilitarianism, ed. Brad
Hooker (Westview Press: Boulder, CO, 1993), pp. 51-65; and Irving Thalberg, "Hierarchical Analyses
of Unfree Action," Canadian Journal of Philosophy 8 (June 1978): 211-226. But the most famous
hypothetical conception of autonomy is probably Kant's. For Kant, autonomy is acting in accordance
with those maxims one can (without contradiction) will to be universal laws. Immanuel Kant,
Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, 2d., edited by Lewis White Beck (New York:
Macmillan/Library of the Liberal Arts, 1990), pp. 63-73) One need not actually will the maxim to be a
universal law. It is enough that one can.
ccxcii
. Gerald Dworkin, "Concept of Autonomy," in Science and Ethics, Rudolph Haller, ed.
(Amsterdam: Rodopi Press, 1981), pp. 203-213. Harry G. Frankfurt, "Freedom of the Will and the
Concept of a Person", Journal of Philosophy 68 (January 1971): 5-20.
ccxciii
. Robert Young, "Autonomy and the Inner Self," American Philosophical Quarterly 17 (January
1980): 35-43.
ccxciv
. Kenneth Kipnis, "Professional Responsibility and the Responsibility of Professions", in Profits
and Professions: Essays in Business and Professional Ethics, ed. by Wade L. Robinson, Michael
Pritchard, and Joseph Ellin (Humana Press: Clifton, NJ, 1983), p. 16.
ccxcv
. Arlene Kaplan Daniels, "How Free Should Professions Be?" in The Professions and Their
Prospects, edited by Eliot Freidson (Sage Publications: Beverly Hills, California, 1971, p. 39.
ccxcvi
. Actually, it would probably be better to say "as Canada and Mexico try to do". I have been told
by officers of engineering societies in both Canada and Mexico that many engineers in both countries
who work in large companies are unlicensed. They will get into trouble if they are publicly identified
as an engineer (for example, in a newspaper article, during a TV interview, or even on company
letterhead), but not otherwise. So, the contrast with U.S. practice is not nearly as sharp as it has
seemed (and will probably become less sharp as the three countries move toward economic union).
ccxcvii
. K.R. Pavlovic, "Autonomy and Obligation: Is there an Engineering Ethics?", in Ethical
Problems in Engineering, 2nd ed., vol. I, ed. by Albert Flores (Center for the Study of the Human
Dimensions of Science and Technology: Troy, NY, 1980), p. 90.
ccxcviii
.Paul F. Camenisch, Grounding Professional Ethics in a Pluralistic Society (Haven: New York,
1983), p. 30.
ccxcix
. Kipnis, p. 16.
ccc
. Mike W. Martin, "Professional Autonomy and Employers' Authority", in Profits and
Professions: Essays in Business and Professional Ethics, ed. by Wade L. Robinson, Michael Pritchard,
and Joseph Ellin (Humana Press: Clifton, NJ, 1983), pp. 265-273; Adina Schwartz, "Autonomy in the
Workplace"; and Heinz C. Luegenbiehl, "Computer Professionals: Moral Autonomy and a Code of
Ethics", Journal of Systems Software 17 (1992): 61-68.
ccci
. Layton, p. 7.
cccii
. See chapters 1-2.
ccciii
. Daniel Hovey Calhoun, The American Civil Engineer (Technology Press-MIT: Cambridge,
Mass., 1960), esp. pp. 182-199.
ccciv
. Cf. Stephen J. O'Connor and Joyce A. Lanning, "The End of autonomy? Reflections on the
postprofessional physician", Health Care Management Review 17 (Winter 1992): 63-72; George J.
Agich, "Rationing Professional Autonomy", Law, Medicine & Health Care 18 (Spring-Summer): 77-
84; and John Child and Janet Fulk, "Maintenance of Occupational Control: The Case of Professions",
Work and Occupations 9 (May 1982): 155-192.
cccv
. Robert Perrucci and Joel E. Gerstl, Professions with Community: Engineers in American
Society (Random House: New York, 1969), p. 119.
cccvi
. J. Daniel Sherman, "Technical Supervision and Turnover Among Engineers and Technicians:
Influencing Factors in the Work Environment", Group and Organization Studies 14 (December 1989):
411-421; Steven P. Feldman, "The Broken Wheel: The Inseparability of Autonomy and Control in
Innovation within Organizations", Journal of Management Studies 26 (March 1989): 83-102; and
Bernard Rosenbaum, "Leading Today's Professionals", Research-Technology Management (March-
April 1991): 30-35.
cccvii
. Gene F. Brady, Ben B. Judd, and Setrak Javian, "The Dimensionality of Work Autonomy
Revisited", Human Relations 43 (1990): 1219-1228, p. 1220; Paul E. Spector, "Perceived Control by
Employees: A Meta-Analysis of Studies Concerning Autonomy and Participation at Work", Human
Relations 39 (November 1986): 1005-1015, p. 1006; Jiing-Lih Farh and W. E. Scott, Jr., "The
Experimental Effects of 'Autonomy' on Performance and Self-Reports of Satisfaction", Organizational
Behavior and Human Performance 31 (1983): 203-222, p. 205; Patrick B. Forsyth and Thomas J.
Danisiewicz, "Toward a Theory of Professionalization", Work and Occupation 12 (February 1985):
59-76, p. 60; Peter Meiksins, "Science in the Labor Process: Engineers as Workers", in Professionals
as Workers: Mental Labor in Advanced Capitalism, ed. Charles Derber (G.K. Hall & Co.: Boston,
Massachusetts, 1982), pp. 121-140, p. 131: and even Layton, p. 5.
cccviii
. Martin, "Professional Autonomy and Employers' Authority", is good on this point.
cccix
. See also Robert Zussman, Mechanics of the Middle Class: Work and Politics Among American
Engineers (University of California Press, Berkeley, 1995), p. 222.
cccx
. That "more" no doubt includes "competence". But I do not think competence the heart of the
matter. For someone who does, see, John T. Sanders, "Honor Among Thieves: Some Reflections on
Professional Codes of Ethics", Professional Ethics 2 (Fall\Winter 1993): 83-103. If the article's title is
not an argument against equating competence with profession, the article's suggestion that we consider
the mafia to be a profession should be.
cccxi
. I say "typically" because a few professions--or quasi-professions--have an impersonal ideal.
For example, science, at least on some conceptions, serves no client, employer, or public but the truth.
What distinguishes professions from other occupations is not service to others as such but a moral
ideal, defensible in part by the way serving it benefits others. The truth of science, though an
impersonal object of service, remains a morally good object of service (just as justice, health, and
safety are) because the truths of science are important to us all, whether practically important (as much
of physics, chemistry, and biology are) or just intellectually important (as much of astronomy,
etymology, and anthropology are).
cccxii
. Must "profession" be used in this way? That depends on what is meant by "must". Both the
dictionary and ordinary usage allow for other ways of using the word. So, if the question asks about
what usage requires, the answer is certainly no. If, however, the question asks how I intend to use the
word, or what usage I consider more helpful in this context, then the answer is yes. I believe this way
of using the word "professional" captures the project of the professions better than any other. (This is,
of course, an empirical claim, one to be tested by asking members of professions, especially those who
have thought most about what their profession means to them, to choose among this definition and the
alternatives.)
cccxiii
. Voluntarily undertaking to serve a moral ideal is, of course, not without its moral risks. Like
promising, it opens one to crititicism to which one would not otherwise be open, the criticism that
comes when one fails to do what one has undertaken. But it also provides a basis for further praise, the
praise due one who has lived up to his commitment.
cccxiv
. We are, of course, assuming that this "anyone" includes only sane adults of at least ordinary
intelligence, in other words, the sort of people professions typically admit to practice.
cccxv
. This question has its counterpart in political philosophy: Can one owe allegiance to law and
still be morally autonomous? For a sample of the arguments against any consistency between legal
obligation and moral autonomy, see Robert Paul Wolff, In Defense of Anarchism (Harper & Row,
Publishers, 1970), esp. pp. 3-19). While our question is easier to deal with than the political--because
membership in a profession is voluntary in a way subjection to law is not--, it is worth noting that one
major approach to making legal obligation and moral autonomy consistent is social contract theory,
which tries to understand subjection to law as if it were as voluntary as membership in a profession.
The real voluntariness of professions does, however, change significantly what is necessary to preserve
autonomy. Compare the solution I offer here with my response to Wolff, Michael Davis, "Avoiding
the Voter's Paradox Democratically", Theory and Decision 5 (October 1974): 295-311.
cccxvi
. Indeed, agent-centered conceptions probably have a different purpose in view, to distinguish
those who have a right to autonomy we are bound to respect from those who have no such right. A
right to autonomy is, typically, a right to have primarily self-regarding decisions respected whatever
their apparent merit. It is not surprising then that agent-centered conceptions do not suit our purposes;
the decisions of professionals are, typically, not primarily self-regarding (and are not supposed to be).
Compare Dworkin, The Theory and Practice of Autonomy, p. 19: "I am not trying to analyze the notion
of autonomous acts."
cccxvii
. Kant scholars may object that I am being unfair to Kant. They might be right. Kant has a
notion of "contradiction with a system of nature", which may provide a substantive test. Kant, p. 39. I
decline to use Kant here because so many have found this notion too obscure to be helpful and because
it seems less demanding than the test I propose.
cccxviii
.For a defense of the equation of rationality with autonomy, see my "Brandt on Autonomy" (and
the work of Richard Brandt there cited).
cccxix
. Layton, p. 5.
.
cccxx
Layton, p. 5.
cccxxi
. We can now offer an analogous analysis of moral autonomy: moral autonomy consists in being
able to do as morality requires (where that ability includes both having the appropriate desires and
having the capacity to act on them). So, one can both submit to law and be morally autonomous, so
long as the law does not require anything morality forbids. This analysis of moral autonomy makes the
relationship between moral and personal autonomy hard to sort out. For example, do I have personal
autonomy whenever I can act as morality requires or must I have other capacities as well (such as, say,
the ability to look after my own interests)?
cccxxii
. Donald Mackenzie, Inventing Accuracy: A Historical Sociology of Nuclear Missile Guidance
(MIT Press: Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1990). Another recent book often offered to me as evidence
that the social sciences are already studying engineering: Robert J. Thomas, What Machines Can't do:
Politics and Technology in the Industrial Enterprise (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1994).
"Engineers" (so described) do now and then have walk-on parts, but there is no attempt to study their
contribution systematically, much less to consider who among the managers is in fact an engineer
(operating as such). Indeed, the focus of this book seems to be the machinists on the shop floor.
cccxxiii
.What Steve Woolgar hailed as "The Turn to Technology in Social Science Studies", Science,
Technology, and Human Values 16 (Winter 1991): 20-50, has so far not reached engineering--except
for those who equate technology with engineering. That equation is quite common. Consider, for
example, James K. Feibleman's early piece, "Pure Science, Applied Science, Technology, Engineering:
An Attempt at Definition", Technology and Culture 2 (1961): 305-317. Engineering actually receives
no definition or, indeed, hardly a mention after the title--and the only extended discussion of
"engineering" concerns "Roman engineers". The Romans called those guys "builders" ("architects").
"Engineer" is (as we learned in chapter 1) a relatively recent coinage; reference to ancient "engineers"
should at least come with a justification (and scare quotes to signal the anachronism). Feibleman's
errors have been repeated for more than thirty years.
cccxxiv
. In the context of medical ethics, I have--for obvious reasons--called the technical "the
therapeutic". Michael Davis, "The State's Dr. Death: What's Unethical about Physicians Helping at
Executions?" Social Theory and Practice 21 (Spring 1995): 31-60.

cccxxv
. For an example of the philosophical approach to engineering ethics, see Nigel G. E. Harris,
"Professional codes and Kantian duties", in Ethics and the Professions, edited by Ruth F. Chadwick
(Avebury: Aldershot, England, 1994), pp.104-115.
cccxxvi
. For a good example of the casuistic approach, see Ken Alpern, "Moral Responsibility for
Engineers", Business and Professional Ethics Journal 2 (Winter 1983): 39-48; or Eugene
Schlossberger, The Ethical Engineer (Temple University Press: Philadelphia, 1993).
cccxxvii
.For a good example of the technical approach, see the use Mike W. Martin and Roland
Schinzinger make of the concept of engineering as social experimentation in Ethics in Engineering,
2nd ed. (McGraw-Hill Book Company: New York, 1989); or Timo Airaksinen, "Service and science
in professional life", in Chadwick, 1-13.
cccxxviii
. I can't think of a clear case of a philosopher using the social approach in engineering
ethics. I list it here because it seems to pop up regularly in discussions with engineers. For a
philosopher who used it in medical ethics, see Robert M. Veatch, "Medical Ethics and the Grounding
of Its Principles", Journal of Medicine and Philosophy 4 (March 1979): 1-19.
cccxxix
. This is not to deny that there are, now and then, moments resembling direct negotiation
between society and engineering; it is merely to acknowledge how rarely society, whether through
government or through newspaper editorials or other non-governmental pressures, takes an active part.
cccxxx
. For a text in engineering ethics that takes the professional approach, see Charles Harris,
Michael Pritchard, and Michael Rabins, Engineering Ethics: Concepts and Cases (Wadsworth
Publishing Company: Belmont, 1995).
cccxxxi
. For an example of how hostile to codes a devotee of the philosophical approach can be, see
John Ladd, "Collective and Individual Responsibility in Engineering: Some Questions", in Beyond
Whistleblowing: Defining Engineers' Responsibilities, edited by Vivian Weil (Center for the Study of
Ethics in the Professions, Illinois Institute of Technology), pp. 90-113.
cccxxxii
.For a rare (but welcome) example of what could be done, see Peter Whalley, "Negotiating the
Boundaries of Engineering: Professionals, Managers, and Manual Work", Research in the Sociology of
Organizations 8 (1991) 191-215.
cccxxxiii
. For another good example of what can be done, see Bruce Seeley, "The Scientific
Mystique in Engineering: Highway Research at the Bureau of Public roads, 1918-1940", Technology
and Culture 25 (October 1984): 798-831.
cccxxxiv
.I would offer the same qualified praise for Kathryn Henderson's work, for example, "Flexible
Sketches and Inflexible Data Bases: Visual Communication, Conscription Devices, and Boundary
Objects in Design Engineering", Science, Technology, and Human Values 16 (Autumn 1991): 448-
473.
cccxxxv
. Interestingly, at least some sociologists, noting this advantage of the historians, have simply
adopted their methods. See, for example, Peter Meikins, "The 'Revolt of the Engineers' Reconsidered",
Technology and Culture 29 (1986):219-246. One of the good features of science and technology
studies is that disciplinary boundaries remain relatively unimportant. So, "historian" must be read here
as "someone functioning as a historian" rather than as "someone of that profession".
cccxxxvi
.For a rare example of what such work might look like, see Eva Kranakis, "Social Determinants
of Engineering Practice: A Comparative View of France and American in the Nineteenth Century",
Social Studies of Science 19 (February 1989): 5-70.
cccxxxvii
. Report of Investigation into Allegations of Retaliation for Raising Safety and Quality of
Work Issues Regarding Argonne National laboratory's Integral Fast Reactor Project (Office of Nuclear
Safety, U.S. Department of Energy: Washington, DC, December 1991).
Report of Investigation into Allegations of Retaliation for Raising Safety and Quality of Work Issues
Regarding Argonne National laboratory's Integral Fast Reactor Project (Office of Nuclear Safety, U.S.
Department of Energy: Washington, DC, December 1991).
cccxxxviii
. While he had a Ph.D. in metallurgy, his bachelor's degree was in metallurgical
engineering (Colorado School of Mines, 1978) and his job description at Argonne was "associate
engineer and experimenter". Report, 19 and 7. The report does not make clear whether his graduate
training and other job experience was in engineering or science (though what it does say is at least
consistent with his graduate training being in an engineering department).
cccxxxix
. Among the most important exceptions are: Robert Perrucci and Joel E. Gerstl, Profession
without Community: Engineers in American Society (Random House: New York, 1969); much of the
work of Edward W. Constant II; and Robert Zussman, Mechanics of the Middle Class: Work and
Politics Among American Engineers (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1995).
cccxl
. See, for example, Richard DeGeorge, "Ethical Responsibilities of Engineers in Large
Organizations", Business and Professional Ethics Journal 1 (1981): 1-14.
cccxli
. Carl Mitcham, Thinking through Technology: The Path between Engineering and Philosophy
(University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1994), pp. 103-105.
cccxlii
. While the editorial boards of many of these journals do mix scholars in professional ethics with
those in science and technology studies, I take that fact to indicate original hopes rather than present
reality. The present separation of the fields is, I think, due not to a failure of the journal's founders to
understand the connection between professional ethics and science and technology studies, but to
failure to realize that vision in daily practice. A choice of editor-and-chief here, the weight of
submissions there, slowly turned journals with a distinct vision into journals much like others in their
discipline--an interesting subject for a monograph or two on the sociology of the social sciences.