I tried to find a book I had read back in ’04 about specialization but couldn’t remember the author’s name or the title. The book essentially made the case that the day of the true polymath was over: human knowledge had expanded too far for any normal person to be able to be what traditionally was known as a “Renaissance Man”. In the past, a little mechanical knowledge or aptitude went a long ways and, combined with a talent or some practice in the arts, the renaissance person could do as Robert Heinlein said,
"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."
But the modern person would have to do so much more than the above to be competent in most situations they encounter today. Much of the technology we use is based on the idea of converting specialized knowledge and skills into an app that anyone could learn quickly. But does have this access alone make a person “skilled” or a polymath? I’d say no.
On the other hand (from the link):
We live in an age where deep-specialization is highly encouraged — the era of what tech analyst Vinnie Mirchandani calls the "monomath." Doctors specialize, lawyers specialize, academics specialize, mechanics specialize ... just about everyone professionally specializes. The more deeply you specialize, the more money you're likely to make.
And that's fine. Except when it's not. The problem with deep specialization is that specialists tend to get stuck in their own points of view. They've been taught to focus so narrowly that they can't look at a problem from different angles. And in the modern workscape we desperately need people with the ability to see big picture solutions. That's where being a polymath has certain advantages.
The underlined sentence is, to my mind, the definition of narrow-mindedness: being stuck in one's own point of view. Gad's example of the mopologist illustrates this. The Mormon worldview becomes a constraint into which all other knowledge has to be shoe-horned. Examples of pro-Mormon scholars who seem to be broadminded also do not seem inclined to try and force everything into the Mormon box. The world remained a large and beautiful place. Perhaps this explains why so many of us, upon leaving Mormonism, felt like a new world of knowledge and beauty exploded into our view?
I've met people from many professional walks of life for whom I'd say this is also true. The Ph.D. who sees the world merely as a set of systems of varied scales operating under the laws of their discipline is one common example. To attempt an understanding of an aspect of the world that does not fit neatly into their discipline results in dismissal or even contempt.
Perhaps technology allows us to think we are becoming polymaths? But perhaps the test lies in how we approach the world rather than how broad our knowledge base might be?