During the Renaissance, the desire people had to explore classical learning, art, and literature from Rome and Greece exploded. Advancements like the printing press helped spread the concept of humanism, a core tenant of which was that it was necessary to reclaim a “lost human spirit and wisdom.” To pursue knowledge in a bunch of different fields was seen positively because it offered well-rounded understanding that supported creativity, innovation, and individual/social advancement.
Because the Renaissance period emphasized multidisciplinary learning, today, if someone participates in a lot of different areas, we call them a “Renaissance man,” even though there have been notable people with extensive knowledge and application throughout history. The idea that being a polymath is beneficial persists today, with people tossing laurels toward the likes of Elon Musk. There’s some merit to the notion that the more polymaths a society has, the better that society will fare.
But not everyone has to be a polymath, and those who are not still hold immense value in the service of God.
The problem of time
I’m a big picture thinker, so to a large degree, I do follow the Renaissance mentality. I don’t want to make bad decisions or do poor work because I don’t understand something or have missed pieces of the puzzle. I don’t like being told to limit what I’m doing, and I constantly am driven to get answers and problem-solve to achieve new things.
But as I’ve worked on multiple projects and tried to juggle different endeavors, I’ve learned that no matter how well-rounded I want to be, there are only so many hours in the day. I will never have the time to learn everything I ought to learn. And by trying to dive into many different things, I often have to sacrifice the deep knowledge that would come from focusing on just one area. It’s exceptionally difficult to achieve true expertise as a polymath simply because the minutes necessary to acquire knowledge and practice are finite. In fact, in an article for LinkedIn, Franscisco Sagastume asserts that
A generalist or polymath is an individual with a broad range of knowledge and skills across multiple domains, rather than specializing deeply in one single area.
That’s part of why people like Leonardo Da Vinci stand out — they possess a genius that enables them to go beyond generalist and rise to the level of expert in multiple disciplines at a significantly faster pace than the rest of us.
One genius polymath overseer, many experts
When we look at the building of the Tabernacle, in Exodus 31:1-6, we are told of Bezalel from the tribe of Judah:
Then the Lord said to Moses, “See, I have chosen Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills— to make artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, to cut and set stones, to work in wood, and to engage in all kinds of crafts. Moreover, I have appointed Oholiab son of Ahisamak, of the tribe of Dan, to help him. Also I have given ability to all the skilled workers to make everything I have commanded you…”
Bezalel was not a generalized polymath who simply strove to know a lot in many subjects. He was a genius polymath of the Da Vinci variety, and he was that type of polymath as a gift from God, who gave him the wisdom and understanding he needed. The fact he was a true expert in so many areas qualified him to lead all the other skilled workers, and the gift was not solely for Bezalel’s gain — the appointment of a polymath not only reflected who God is and how He operates, but also ensured that the goal God aimed for could be met.
The workers Bezalel oversaw are not described as having skills and knowledge for many things, the way Bezalel is. We are simply told that they have been given ability. I believe this distinction is intentional. It helps us understand why Bezalel deserves appointment while others don’t. God’s gift of ability to other workers likely wasn’t the genius polymathy of Bezalel, instead providing specific expertise so that Bezalel could delegate to and trust certain workers with distinct types of tasks — there’s a beautiful organization and pragmatism to that.
Concentrated participation still matters
We all ideally want to be like Bezalel, a true genius who could do well in anything. If we cannot be like that, we strive for the consolation prize of general polymathy and tell ourselves it still ups the odds of winning.
But God only needed one overseer. And although that kind of position is nice, it is not our place to decide whether He will offer us that type of role or not. And if the Tabernacle was built with many area experts, perhaps it is not necessary to be ashamed of a lack of multidisciplinary genius — many people, all doing what they were specifically blessed to do, still achieved something glorious together because of their willingness to cooperate toward a shared goal. Maybe the modern quest to understand a little of everything is too much in the limelight, and we instead ought to give thanks for the ability to participate in a concentrated way.