Jack of All Trades, Master of One

“Hezarfen” is a beautiful word. Derived by combining the Persian word hezar (meaning “thousand”) and the Arabic word fen (meaning “science”), it is a Turkish term that refers to individuals who have mastered multiple disciplines—essentially, polymaths. Avicenna, for example, was a hezarfen-polymath, excelling both in medicine and philosophy. In fact, most scholars of the past were polymaths. So, what happened? Why are there no more hezarfens-polymaths in today’s world?

The first answer that comes to mind is: “Well, knowledge was limited in the past, so a single person could grasp multiple disciplines. Today, that’s no longer possible.” However, I believe the issue is not that simple.

One of the fundamental pillars of Western science is reductionism—the strategy of breaking everything down into the smallest possible parts, understanding those parts, and then attempting to comprehend the whole from there. If you are a chemist, you must break all existence down to molecules and atoms and try to understand those tiny particles. If you are a biologist, you must dissect life into genes, study each gene and protein separately, and then attempt to complete the puzzle. This philosophical approach has broad implications. Many thinkers consider it materialistic, and for atheists, it often becomes an ideological necessity. This is because examining complex systems as a whole does not always provide a clear explanation for what makes the whole greater than the sum of its parts. For a materialist, such an unexplained “gray area” is an undesirable problem. Thus, reductionism is not merely a choice but a necessity for them.

Reductionism inevitably leads to specialization. There are so many details to pursue that no single hezarfen-polymath can manage them all. Modern science, medicine, and universities are all built on this paradigm of specialization.

However, excessive specialization has, at some point, led scientists to become mere technicians. This issue is evident in the history of the English word “scientist.” Two centuries ago, English had the word science but not scientist. In a scientific meeting, someone proposed: “We have art and artist, so why not have science and scientist?” Before this, those engaged in science referred to themselves as natural philosophers. Interestingly, Darwin, even fifty years after the word scientist was coined, refused to use it, insisting on calling himself a natural philosopher. As a scientist who played a key role in introducing reductionism to biology, he was also paradoxically resisting—albeit in vain—the linguistic shift that separated scientific inquiry from philosophical contemplation as a result of reductionism.

Indeed, the generation of scholars who engaged in both science and its philosophy, both applied sciences and theoretical inquiry, disappeared by the 20th century. Today, there are hardly any doctors or biologists who can contribute meaningfully to the philosophy of biology. This lack of a broader perspective not only affects scientific discourse but also has practical consequences. A physician who specializes in internal medicine and then sub-specializes in rheumatology may struggle to adopt a holistic approach to patient care. A neurosurgeon, after years of practice, might later pursue a second specialization in physical therapy and admit, “If I had known then what I know now, I would not have performed many of the surgeries I once did.” As scientific discoveries become increasingly fragmented into ever-narrower subfields, these “blinders” can hinder major breakthroughs.

Thomas Kuhn, in his famous book The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, observed that paradigm-shifting discoveries often come from those who switch disciplines because they are less constrained by the prevailing dogmas of a single field. This suggests that reductionism, as a strategy, may be a dead-end, and what we truly need are hezarfens-polymaths once again.

One of the strongest objections to this idea is the risk of diluting focus and wasting time. The concern is that in attempting to become a hezarfen-polymath, one may end up mastering nothing at all—essentially, “Jack of all trades, master of none.” In English, Jack of all trades originally had a positive connotation, implying a well-rounded and knowledgeable person. However, when extended to Jack of all trades, master of none, it loses its positive nuance.

Yet, the goal is not for the new hezarfens-polymaths to be experts in every field, but rather to retain the ability to see the bigger picture. I often explain this to my students using the compass metaphor: “Plant one leg of your compass firmly in your area of expertise, but extend the other as far as possible; absorb knowledge from as many different disciplines as you can.” In other words, Jack of all trades, master of one. This issue, which we also see in the corporate world as the generalist vs. specialist debate, is not merely about dispersing focus but about shifting perspectives. The key is to chase details without losing sight of the whole. Our current academic system is structured in a reductionist way, and unless we actively address this issue, falling into this trap is inevitable.

This topic is being seriously discussed in the West. We also see its impact globally through careers like pursuing PhD after MD, dual PhDs, and multiple undergraduate degrees. The trend is moving not just toward inter-disciplinarity but supra-disciplinarity. Some foundations are awarding multimillion-dollar grants to encourage hezarfen-polymath like thinkers. A look at Nobel laureates reveals that those who draw from multiple disciplines are often at the forefront. Even in corporate leadership, top positions are often occupied not by the best specialists but by the so-called men of big-picture.

To adapt to this reality, we cannot leave the responsibility of this mindset shift solely to individual talents; we must integrate it into university education itself.