This is probably one of the most ambivalent posts in this collection, and there are many of those, since simple choices/perspectives are not as interesting. It will also be a topic that is a bit difficult at least for Americans to get their minds around.

Imagine you own a vehicle. If someone asks you what type of vehicle it is, you say “1967 Pontiac GTO”. Then you drive it to a country where people that see it from the right side call it a “1967 Pontiac GTO Right Side” and those who see it from the left call it a “1967 Pontiac GTO Left Side”. You can’t figure out why people would call what is essentially the same vehicle two different names. More so, the people in that country insist there are significant differences, even extending to their understanding they are two different vehicles! There may be better analogies but that’s my attempt to draw a parallel between how Americans view engineering career paths, and how some European countries (including Iceland, that I am more familiar with), view them.

Any pretext to show a GTO (Photo: Flickr)

The American Engineer

First and briefly, an almost assuredly unfair stereotype of the average American Engineer; let’s say mechanical. They for some reason have chosen this discipline, perhaps led to it via aptitude in math and physics, some hands-on experience, and some interest in the interworkings of mechanical systems. They plod through their four year degree, working like a badger, drinking beer, and exercising their limited communication and social skills to the extent they are capable. Their employers expect them to be problem solvers with practical wisdom, and probably accept their limited writing skills. They perhaps have hobbies related to their field – home or auto repairs/remodeling, brewing, tinkering. They work hard, make a decent income, and expect calls from their liberal arts friends when something breaks. This was my conventional understanding of an average U.S. mechanical engineer.

Discovering there are actually two different European species

When I moved to Iceland in 2007, I discovered in that country what I would call an ‘engineer’ actually had two different  tracks of study, professional designations, and expectations. First let me try to draw, imperfectly, a stereotype of what each one of these types are. This is difficult because it’s like asking a scientist to describe why there are two subspecies of a certain animal, when the scientist really doesn’t believe it herself. But let’s try.

 Verkfraedi

A Verkfraedi (‘Work Science’) student candidate might be younger, with more aptitude in math, perhaps programming, and perhaps less work/hands on experience. They might be perceived as having a higher upside in terms of understanding complex mathematics and analysis of systems. They would be expected to be geared towards a curriculum that would be heavier in the theoretical underpinnings of engineering, and might reach out and take more cross-discipline courses (electrical or chemical engineering, let’s say). After three years of undergraduate studies they are expected to get their MSc and develop the associated research/thesis work. At work one might perceive them as more of a ‘white-collar’ engineer, where their primary weapon is a keyboard and a mouse.

Taeknifraedi

A Taeknifraedi (‘Technical Science’) student candidate might have more hands-on experience and aptitude. They might be older, in their late 20s or early 30s, having spent years doing things like working in the fishing fleet or being an HVAC technician. The Icelandic versions almost assuredly have some monster glacier-climbing, river-fording jeep in their garage. They feel (rightfully or wrongfully) that they may lack the upside in terms of higher level mathematics (no shame there, I topped out somewhere between ordinary and partial differential equations). In classes they prefer to learn via practical examples and ‘hands-on’ experiments. They have three years of undergraduate education, and then are expected to develop a practical project in a final semester. At work they might be the person that is expected to be sent out to the field, with their hardhat and steel-toed boots, to be a construction supervisor or startup engineer. They might be perceived as more of a ‘blue-collar’ engineer.

Stranger in a Strange Land

Coming from America, I was completely unprepared for these distinctions, which seemed arbitrary. The curricula seemed very similar, and there was a great deal of overlap between the proclivities and talents of the students. There were verkfraedi students that were very practical and terrible at math/theory, and taeknifraedi that were the opposite. Individual variations outweighed the curriculum designations. But over time I could start to see, on average, some general trends as a group. As a professor if I wanted something built I would hope that the practical project class would be seeded with more taeknifradingar, and I’d simply say “build X”. They would scavenge whatever they could from wherever they could, work like beavers, and a couple weeks later, they’d produce a working diesel engine test bench or Rankine cycle with reciprocating steam engine. For a verkfraedi MSc student, I’d simply say “research X” and they would pore through all the literature, develop their theoretical models, carry things to a complexity that not infrequently would surpass my understanding, and perhaps write a papers to advance the scientific/industrial body of works.

Is this division necessary? Arguments Against

My initial reaction to this bifold scheme of education was negative. In my perspective from the U.S., I felt that engineers should be expected to span smoothly across theoretical and practical wisdom. Dividing engineers into multiple classes felt like discrimination to me – why prepare a student with some preconception that they may not be as suited to higher level math/theory, or that they never were, never would be that handy/’hands-on’? Perhaps that antipathy is a holdover from the U.S. reluctance to set expectations regarding ‘race’, which similarly is a classification some people say is arbitrary, others not.

To me it seemed discriminatory and inefficient to set up two parallel educational systems that served these two types of students. 75% of the classes appeared the same. A verkfraedingur had to get a MSc to complete their licensure, whereas a taeknifraedingur could graduate and be licensed without one, but could always go on to get a MSc later, if inclined. Thus, why not just take the taeknifaedi track, take some more math if you had the desire, graduate earlier, and go back for later studies if you felt like it? That’s probably what I would have done, in that system. Why invest a society’s effort in making these distinctions, especially in a small society like Iceland?

Is this division necessary? Arguments For

Let’s say we are a 29 year old worker from the fishing fleet or a mechanic at a car dealership. We have engineering aptitude; we just didn’t have the time or opportunity to pursue a university education in our early 20s. Perhaps we have a family or just never got that sort of prod from our parents to go on for additional studies. Despite our having worked on and understanding the principles of piping systems, engines, refrigeration, electrical distribution, electronics, we have some insecurity regarding going back to school with young pups that know textbook calculus and quantum mechanics. Thus, if a taeknifraedi pathway is available, where your practical expertise is acknowledged and the theory expectations toned down (really, do I use PDEs regularly? No), might it make you more likely to enter studies? If we had such two-track options available in the U.S., would we graduate more candidates? Possibly. Aren’t engineers of whatever sorts they want to designate themselves exactly what we need to solve so many pressing problems in the field of clean energy, aging infrastructure, and innovation? Why not do whatever it takes to welcome more capable engnineers into the fold?

Conclusion

“If I had things my way” – the good news is, not the case, therefore there’s no need to weigh in on how an ideal society might structure itself. Just by my country of origin, I probably innately shade more towards the U.S. perspective, that engineers should be expected and encouraged to have both ‘white-collar’ and ‘blue-collar’ skills. The best do, in my experience. Setting up two separate educational branches seems inefficient. If overtaxing the math skills of students might make them averse to taking up the field, then that’s an issue that might be dealt with on the course curriculum level (more path options), or within a class itself (give students a theoretical and practical mix, or different assignments they can choose). But I’m still open to the thesis that providing more clear, distinct paths offers students and engineers more ‘esprit de corps’, and if that’s successful in producing larger quantities of valued members of society, then who really cares about a distinction that some might find semi-arbitrary: ends justify the means.

Since it’s a topic where I’m still very on the fence, I enjoy talking to verkfraedingar and taeknifraedingar and exploring their perspectives and what shaped their decisions. There are similar systems in some countries in continental Europe, though I don’t have experience with them. Americans overseas may not be aware of this distinction so it’s probably a good conversation to have with your fellow native engineering students in a Rathskeller somewhere.