In defense of the jack of all trades

Whenever people defend specialists, they often repeat the age-old adage that “a jack of all trades is a master of none” — a quote often attributed to William Shakespeare. What they always conveniently forget, though, is the second fragment of this saying. In full, Shakespeare claimed that “a jack of all trades is a master of none … but is oftentimes better than a master of one.”

Though variations exist as to the exact wording of that second portion, its meaning is unmistakable: generalists win — with rare exceptions. Are there those minds like Srinivasa Ramanujan and Stephen Hawking that furthered the cause of a branch of mathematics or physics by mastering its material? Yes, there are. But there are orders of magnitude more inventors, writers, leaders, and scientists who were generalists.

Take Albert Einstein; you probably know him for the theory of mass-energy equivalence, or relativity. He revolutionized 20th century astrophysics — his theories of relativity made technologies like GPS possible. But that begs the question: how was he able to come up with these theories in the first place? The answer: through his famous gedankenexperiments — or thought experiments. In these, he would start with one rule to follow and dream up fanciful scenarios in which he would apply those rules — a process more similar to philosophy or law than to today’s math or physics.

Or consider the 2024 Nobel Prizes. In physics, John Hopfield used quantum mechanical principles from his PhD thesis and later work to develop machine learning and neural network frameworks. In chemistry, AlphaFold required integrating knowledge about artificial intelligence and protein structures. In economics, the winners needed to conduct a mathematical analysis while considering historical and geopolitical factors.

But the benefits of generalism extend far beyond scientists. Unsurprisingly, leaders are usually generalists too. The newly appointed Pope Leo XVI holds a bachelor’s in mathematics — and I imagine that foundation in logic helped him ascend the ranks of the Catholic Church. Margaret Thatcher studied Chemistry — of all subjects — at Oxford. Donald Trump too is a generalist — regardless of your political leanings. His experience in showbusiness, management, and arguably even public speaking helped him to secure the upset of a century in 2016.

Even those irreplaceable researchers, doctors, and surveyors that are “specialists” are really generalists in disguise. A doctor, after all, must be able to determine a diagnosis from symptoms, but they also have to be able to tell when a patient is lying — or when a procedure is too “risky” from both ethical and legal perspectives.

Fundamentally, being a specialist is a tempting ideal — but to invest all of one’s time and resources into a singular pursuit will inevitably lead to a lack of abilities in other disciplines, and therefore a lack of ability to synthesize across varied topics.

But before we ask ourselves that, let’s take a step back. That way of thinking might be catchy, but unfortunately, it’s wrong.

We are told that the future belongs to the agile and the broad-minded, so the specialist — the one who dives deep into a single, niche discipline — often comes across as a relic of a rigid past where information was much more difficult to access. But this is a misreading of both the world we live in, and the one we’re building. If anything, the accessibility of information and the rise of AI make expertise more necessary, not less.

This is because specialists hold the line between assumptions and understanding. Their job isn’t glamorous — their work demands complete accuracy and exact results, and is slow and often invisible to the public. But without them, the world stops working, and more importantly, no idea ever comes to fruition. This isn’t to say that generalists are the only creative ones, rather the contrary. Walt and Roy Disney are a perfect example that differentiates generalism and specialism. Roy understood the vast and distant worlds of finance, operations, and business. Walt, on the other hand, focused obsessively on storyboarding, character design, and animation. Roy kept the company running, sure, but Walt — who was in the very real sense, a specialist — made it legendary.

The claim that generalists are better positioned for the modern world now because “anyone can access knowledge” feels comforting, until something goes wrong. Accessible information isn’t useful if you can’t tell the difference between signal from noise.1 Copying someone’s code off a Reddit post isn’t going to help you invent a new algorithm in quantum computing. When an AI spits out a hallucinated cancer diagnosis, you don’t need a connector of ideas, but you need someone who’s spent ten years reading scans, treating patients, and knowing the difference between a death sentence and an actual treatment.

Let’s talk about Einstein, the generalist mascot of the modern day. He did, in fact, use thought experiments combining multiple fields. He wasn’t, however, riffing on Latin terms from pre-law combined with quotes from Plato’s “The Republic” in Philosophy 101. No, he was building on years of formal training in mathematics and physics, hours buried in equations and lectures. His mental leaps were not the musings of a dilettante, which is defined by the Oxford Dictionary as “[one] who cultivates an area of interest, such as the arts, without real commitment or knowledge.”  Nope, they were the byproducts of a mind rigorously trained in disciplinary scientific rigor.

Even in today’s AI age, specialization is not obsolete, as many generalists would like to say. It’s instead an infrastructure that specialists then develop upon. AlphaFold didn’t come from a casual “fusion” of biology and computer science. It came from experts with decades of experience in protein folding mechanics who partnered with AI researchers fluent in the newest architectures and functions. It was a hard-won collaboration between specialists, not a victory lap for a generalist leader.

Speaking of which, leaders too are often more grounded than the myth suggests. In order to lead, one must understand their followers. To lead a group of specialists, one must have been a specialist themselves. Bill Gates took to programming like a fish to water before he was out of the doors of Bliss. Pope Francis trained as a chemist before leading a billion Catholics. Angela Merkel had a Ph.D. in quantum chemistry before leading Germany. Their leadership was not built despite their specialization, but rather on top of it. After all, the most successful Presidents, regardless of their Cabinet, were those who understood the machinery of government as thinkers in their own right — not visionary figureheads.

So yeah, generalists sketch the landscape. But it’s specialists who accurately map the terrain, who build the bridges, and who carry the tools. It’s fine to celebrate the jack of all trades, but don’t forget: oftentimes isn’t always. A specialist is needed when the stakes are high.