Specialization Is For Insects.

In honor of Robert Heinlein, the “dean of science fiction writers” who was born 104 years ago today, the title of this entry is from one of his books, Time Enough For Love, and was spoken by the book’s protagonist, Lazarus Long.  Expanded to its full glory:

“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.”

Long (and Heinlein, I trust – Long has the flavor of an alter ego) believed that anyone who could not master the items on this list is essentially less than a fully functional human. 

 

Truth be told, I haven’t yet butchered a hog, nor do I relish the thought.  Nor, happily, have I died gallantly.  And my sonnets leave something to be desired.  But Heinlein clearly has a point.  Although my personal list may be different than his, (and the “ship” he refers to is a starship, this being science fiction), I’ve long been a believer in self-sufficiency and in the versatility that is our race’s strength and birthright.

Specialization is mostly a good thing. It promotes efficient use of resources, targets tasks to those best qualified to carry them out, and in general fosters excellence in many things.  Coordinating specialists to complete tasks is one of the things that we do best in the US, and a certain driver of our economy and our standard of living.

Over-reliance on specialization, however, is something to be avoided.  I believe that in these United States - and to a lesser extent elsewhere in the world - we have come to devalue the generalist, the broadly talented and skilled individual who is pretty darn good at a lot of things, but perhaps not supremely excellent at one.  Instead, we celebrate the specialist; the person who has, sometimes at the exclusion of all else, become the absolute best they can be at something.  You all probably know at least one PhD who can’t change a flat tire.  What’s more, that person may be proud of the fact.  It’s fashionable and self-affirming today to claim that you don’t bother with the mundane.  Someone else pitches your manure, while you focus on the one thing that you do so well, generating your income, status, and (may we all hope) glory.  Our schools are hell-bent on preparing us for secondary education as lawyers, accountants and engineers and no longer devote much attention to what they quaintly refer to as “life skills”. 

Much of our technological progress also seems geared towards enabling our increased specialization.  We now have technology to render unnecessary any skill in reading maps (GPS), spelling properly (spell check), keeping our calendars (Facebook and Google), balancing our checkbooks (on-line banking) and effecting quick road repairs (cell phone and AAA).  We even have a tech substitute for retaining general knowledge itself (Wikipedia).  Cheap transportation and containerized shipping from foreign producers has replaced making the items ourselves that were once too costly to purchase.  When faced with life’s challenges, we buy.  We hire.  We increasingly do not think things through and come up with our own solutions.

Here lies the very crux of the problem that Heinlein identified.  Outside of our increasingly narrow occupations, we have technology, shipping and purchasing power as a substitute for thinking, exploring, learning and doing new things.  Curiosity and craftsmanship can be replaced by a phone call or a quick purchase.  And it is just this kind of learning and doing new and interesting things that make us interesting and functional members of society – “human beings” in Heinlein’s jargon.

On a more practical note, technology and other modern fixes work well until you are in a pinch and need to change a tire, fix a broken drawer, stop a dripping faucet, diagnose an electrical problem, find your way home, or grow fresh herbs.  Sure, you can call someone.  But that takes money, eats time, and leaves you with less lasting benefit – and no pride in having mastered (or at least attempted) a skill.  When our support system of specialists is for some reason not available, or our technology fails us, life becomes considerably less happy – in a hurry.

I’m not advocating that everyone needs to become a polymath in order to be considered “functional”.  But I have the beginnings of a prescription for our society, lest we become as specialized as insects and as prone to disaster (or at least gross discomfort) if some small thing interrupts our carefully ordered system.  In line with my thesis, we need to do this as individuals and take responsibility for our development into the “human beings” that Lazarus Long would admire.  A few simple things to start:

• Default to doing it yourself.  This can’t be universal – there simply isn’t time for everything.  But start by taking on a few things that can free you from the grasp of specialization.  If you own a residence and don’t have a basic set of hand tools, you may want to consider making the small investment.
• Leverage technology for learning, rather than for quick answers and seeking out other specialists.  There is an enormous volume of knowledge on the web and social media on how to do stuff.  Tap into it.
• Practice life without technological crutches – even if just for fun.  Read a map.  Navigate by dead reckoning.  Change your own oil.  Grow tomatoes.  Write a love poem to your spouse. If you are really curious about something, read a book on it and not just Wikipedia.  Think about what you can do creatively during the next power outage.
• Reward craftspersons with your business.  If you have the choice of buying the cheap imported thing, or something made by a real person local to you, consider spending a few dollars more for the latter.  You and the craftsperson will both be rewarded; they with work and you with lasting value.  As a bonus, you might even get to talk with them about their craft.
• Teach something useful that you know.  There are numerous opportunities to do this for local organizations, trade groups, community colleges and the like.  Becoming a good teacher is also a great skill that will serve you all of your life.
• Cross-train within your organization – obsessively.  The smaller your organization is, the more important this becomes.  Many a small business collapses because of lack of generalization, contingency planning, or succession planning.  These are all closely interrelated.
• Above all, don’t be afraid to make mistakes.  In the future, you’ll most regret the things you haven’t tried, not the things you’ve done.  And you will find that a slightly flawed creation that is the product of your own hands, mind and heart has immensely more value than a perfect one stamped out in a factory in China.

My father, a contemporary of Heinlein, grew up in Oklahoma during the Great Depression.  In an environment characterized by resource scarcity, they did it themselves or they did without – so he learned a lot of life skills.  In my childhood, we learned from his experience and emulated his mind-set and did the same thing.  When something broke in our house, we didn’t call the repairman – we repaired.  When something needed building, we built.  What we didn’t know, we learned.  This may not sound very romantic, but some of my fondest boyhood memories revolve around broken washing machines and automobiles, and I learned skills that have served me well ever since.

I’m not sure if my Dad ever butchered a hog either; I’ll have to ask him.  But regardless, he’s a hell of an interesting person; Heinlein would call him a hell of a human being.

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