Is it better to know a lot about a little or a little about a lot?

This is not a dumb question. Minds have limited storage capacity. Better to fill yours with expertise about a few topics or acquaintance with many?

Many folks don’t consider what they pour into their brains. They turn on the TV and let the fatuities flow, assuming what they see is what is. Garbage in, garbage out.

You are not like that. I know because you’re reading these words, which, with any luck, are feeling their way to fresh conclusions. I’m writing in the same spirit. I’ve no idea where this train of thought is chugging. That’s the fun.

America in the twentieth century evolved from a land of generalists to one of specialists. Harvard in 1900 offered ten types of degree, today two hundred, each a profession with professors, protocols, committees, hotshots, tenure track, politics, and all the proliferating paraphernalia of a communal enterprise. You can become expert in extinct Akkadian or pediatric oncology and still not know all about your discipline. Keeping abreast of one’s peers may preclude exploring much else.

Back in William James’ or Santayana’s Harvard, one could be a scientist, philosopher, author, all-purpose sage, “widely read,” that is, generally cognizant of all intellectual and academic trends. Who’s “widely read” anymore? The concept’s laughable. Something like a thousand books a day are published in English. Good luck keeping up with that!

As specializations ramify, we rely more on accredited specialists to steer us. In 1900 there was one kind of orthopedic surgeon, and he was a newbie on most hospital staffs. Today, one’s referred to experts in sports medicine, trauma, hip replacement, shoulder replacement, orthopedic oncology, depending on diagnosis. Among our rickety set, conversation often veers to the best wrist or ankle guy, if you don’t doze off. Every intellectual focus has its experts. You can even earn an advanced degree in Ethics, as if goodness can be definitely defined.

I specialize in nothing, unless it’s the unruly antics of English words on a page, and even that has me stumped. No -ology would acknowledge me. When I ran publishing companies I knew a little about publishing, but only a little.

Partly this is laziness. Boning up on a subject takes work, which I dislike. I do only what I enjoy – and if I have to do something, I make myself enjoy it. I learned this trick from George Herbert. If you do anything for God, he wrote in his magnificent poem “The Elixir,” it’s delightful, even sweeping a room. I cannot bring myself to study for love or money. If bored, I quit reading, and that’s that.

Partly I’m afflicted with curiosity, which nowadays might be labeled ADD. My mind wanders. Today’s outing got me thinking about the proliferation of degrees at Harvard and Akkadian and William James and George Herbert and who knows what else in my remaining hundred words. Scatterbrained? You bet.

Partly (in self-defense) varied explorations spawn surprising connections. If sagacity is one’s ambition, as it is mine, the dazzling propagation of information stupefies more than enlightens. My pal Montaigne knew pretty much all there was to be known. When he asked, “Que sais-je?” – “What do I know?” – he was thinking about output, not input. My knowledge, compared to the total available, is nugatory, notwithstanding my brain’s busy browsing. I’m only smart enough to know I’m not.

Bless experts! When my rotator cuff insists, I want a shoulder guy who really knows shoulders. As for me, I’m blissful with the bumblebee approach, sipping pollen hither and yon.