Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World

“In the wicked world, with ill-defined challenges and few rigid rules, range can be a life hack.”

Because wicked environments lack clearly defined and preset options or solutions, and because feedback in those environments is rarely direct or immediate, pattern-based responses to problems in those environments often fail. Epstein argues that in those environments, the ability to think creatively, laterally, and even from an amateur perspective and the freedom to explore—otherwise seen as a lack of focus—can be real assets. Epstein uses this technique of turning an ostensibly negative idea into a positive concept elsewhere in Range, as when Chapters 10 and 11 show failure can be a means of growth and positive change. 

“[A] little training in broad thinking strategies, like Fermi-izing, can go a long way, and can be applied across domains.”

Enrico Fermi was an influential scientist who had a knack for utilizing rough estimates leveraging reason instead of large amounts of data. For Epstein, the idea of making approximations and guestimates is a powerful tool in problem solving. In environments where data cannot be attained or applied rigorously or in the conceptualizing stages of problem-solving, such estimations can allow individuals to proceed despite not having clear parameters or sufficient datapoints. 

“The sampling period is not incidental to the development of great performers—something to be excised in the interest of a head start—it is integral.”

The early chapters of Range focus on examples drawn from music and sports: two fields in which specialization is especially pervasive. Elite musicians and athletes—and those wishing to become one—are expected to concentrate on just one instrument (or voice) or sport. Drawing on examples like Roger Federer and the 18th-century Venetian figlie del coro, Epstein argues that those who instead have the opportunity to explore multiple sports or instruments can also achieve success. Moreover, they do so while simultaneously developing assets like flexibility, and lateral thinking. 

“When improvising, musicians do pretty much the opposite of consciously identifying errors and stopping to correct them.”

In Chapter 3, Epstein explores the many ways in which musicians have historically drawn on exploration and creativity not only to develop skills but also to produce their art. He is fascinated by the fact that rote practice can develop individuals into technically proficient musicians but not necessarily talented improvisors, who must embrace exploration and experimentation. Epstein implies that musicians utilize different methods that exemplify not only distinct models of thinking and learning but also varied results. 

“Rather than letting students grapple with some confusion, teachers often responded to their solicitations with hint-giving that morphed a making-connections problem into a using-procedures one.”

Research on classroom teaching has shown what may appear like a thriving learning environment in which students actively participate can actually undermine learning if teachers give students too much assistance. Too many hints mean students are able to give the right answers but are not given the opportunity to draw connections and apply what they have learned to new contexts. For Epstein, this conclusion supplies evidence for his argument that struggling—one form of a non-linear path—is actually a good thing; in the case of education, it can lead to greater chances of long-term learning. 

“Knowledge with enduring utility must be very flexible, composed of mental schemes that can be matched to new problems.”

In Chapter 4, Epstein extends his inquiry to the field of education, analyzing methods educators use to impart knowledge and assess results. He critiques the way that much ostensibly successful learning actually only gives the impression of knowledge and instead consists of relatively rote learning that can only be applied within known contexts and often fades in the long term. When learning involves overcoming difficulties, the results are more resilient and adaptable to new contexts as well as longer lasting, which reflects a deeper level of understanding. 

“In a wicked world, relying upon experience from a single domain is not only limiting, it can be disastrous.”

Throughout Range, Epstein embraces diversity, including diversity in thinking. He promotes the idea of outside-in thinking, or marshaling ideas, from numerous fields to solve problems. He mentions this idea in Chapter 5 as part of his discussion of astronomer Johannes Kepler and the development of the concept of gravity through analogical thinking. However, by noting the “disastrous” implications of one-track thinking, Epstein foreshadows stories he tells later in the book, such as Chapter 11’s discussion of the tragic explosion of the space shuttle Challenger. 

“They all appear to have excelled in spite of their late starts. […] Their late starts were integral to their eventual success.”

Chapters 6 and 7 concentrate on late-bloomers, individuals who found success later in life, with the stories of artist Vincent van Gogh and business leader Frances Hesselbein as exemplars. He argues that the meandering paths that led to them eventually entering the careers they became noted for are integral to the success these individuals then achieved. This implicitly goes against the notion that early starts are critical to success and builds upon Epstein’s critique of the “cult of the headstart” in Chapter 1. 

“Switchers are winners.”

Epstein’s pithy statement about the value of quitting effectively summarizes his argument against the unwavering pursuit of a goal. Sticking to a goal no matter what seems like an obvious point, but for Epstein it only shows how pervasive the mistaken idea of hyperspecialization is. The stories he discusses in Chapter 6 are meant to give evidence to an alternative idea: quitting can actually be an opportunity to move toward a better match or solution. The snappy phrase “switchers are winners” can be seen as a slogan meant to promote this alternative perspective. 

“By that time, she was fine with proceeding in the absence of a clear long-term plan, since she had been figuring everything out as she went along her entire life.”

Frances Hesselbein is a model of success in leadership, having an exemplary record as head of the Girl Scouts, executive at Mutual of America, CEO of the leadership foundation named after her, and in other roles. To many, her success seems all the more remarkable because she did not pursue an intentional, focused career trajectory or prepare herself for it from an early age. However, for Epstein, Hesselbein exemplifies how working incrementally and short-term planning allows one to gather diverse experience and creativity. 

“We learn who we are in practice, not in theory.”

Epstein provides another pithy statement that could be taken as a slogan for the diverse paths of development he advocates for in Range, paths which are more meandering that those suggested by hyperspecialization. The notion of “practice” in this case is a synonym for “experience,” while “theory” can be understood to suggest specialized education or training. Both possibilities offer knowledge as outcomes, but the knowledge that comes from experience, Epstein implies, is more insightful and useful in the long term.

“It took time for Jill to convince me that because of her unique life experience, she could see what no specialist could.”

Chapter 8 includes the story of Jill Viles, a part-time substitute teacher with muscular dystrophy who pursued a hunch that she and Olympic sprinter Priscilla Lopes-Schliep both had similar genetic disorders. The thought that a high-performing athlete and Viles had related disorders seemed improbable, and Epstein was skeptical when Viles reached out to him. Ultimately, Viles’s suspicion proved accurate. While Lopes-Schliep’s expert doctors and trainers had not guessed the existence of the issue, Viles—though an amateur—had an intimate knowledge of the signs of her own disorder and drew on them to perceive a similar disorder in Lopes-Schliep.

“Looking at me, from the engineer’s perspective, it’s like, ‘Look at this idiot,’ but once you’ve got a couple hit products under your belt, this word ‘idiot’ seems to slip away somewhere.”

Chapter 9 of Range discusses Gunpei Yokoi of Nintendo as a paradigm of the non-specialist finding success in a highly technical world. Yokoi began his career at Nintendo working with electronics, but he lacked real engineering specialization. Instead, he had a knack for utilizing well-understood technology to create highly popular products. Yokoi suggests the same thing about himself that Epstein proposes in Range: non-specialists are capable of leveraging an outside or even naïve point of view to find solutions and ideas that specialists might have overlooked. 

“Individual creators started out with lower innovativeness than teams—they were less likely to produce a smash hit—but as their experience broadened they actually surpassed teams: an individual creator who had worked in four or more genres was more innovative than a team whose members had collective experience across the same number of genres.”

As part of his critique of expertise, Epstein examines research that shows individual creators who are allowed to explore different fields, learn other methods, and take part in a variety of aspects of the creative process are better equipped for innovation. Moreover, their creative gains are proportionally greater than the effect of having a team of specialists in which each specializes in one aspect of the creative process. Epstein discusses this phenomenon in the context of comic book artists, but the implications are further reaching, suggesting that while generalists might have a longer path to success, their results are qualitatively enriched. 

“There is a particular kind of thinker, one who becomes more entrenched in their single big idea about how the world works even in the face of contrary facts.”

In Chapter 10’s discussion of experts and the errors they make when their views become limited, Epstein draws on the distinction philosopher Isaiah Berlin drew between “foxes” and “hedgehogs.” These terms refer to divergent ways of thinking: Foxes stay open to many ideas while hedgehogs unwaveringly pursue one idea. For Epstein, the hedgehog approach is faulty because it leads experts to see only what they see, even when evidence seems to contradict their expectations. 

“Their foxy hunt for information was like a literal fox’s hunt for prey: roam freely, listen carefully, and consume omnivorously.”

Epstein considers research that seeks to understand why many experts struggle to translate their knowledge into accurate or useful forecasts. The experts most successful at making forecasts are like Isaiah Berlin’s foxes, considering many points of view, paying attention to information that contradicts their expectations, and looking beyond their narrow field of focus. The curiosity, exploration, and openness to changing points of view such experts deploy are critical tools that facilitate their success. 

“That is called, in a word: learning. Sometimes it involves putting experience aside entirely.”

Epstein extends his application of Berlin’s foxes versus hedgehogs to make the general claim that foxes are more poised to gain and apply knowledge in part because they are willing to set aside their preconceptions. This claim from Chapter 10 harkens back to earlier points in Range, such as Chapter 6’s discussion of Vincent van Gogh and other individuals who were willing to let go of plans and expectations. At the same time, it foreshadows Chapter 11, in which Epstein shows that the shortcomings of “hedgehogs” are evident in cases like the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger, due in part to engineer’s unwillingness to forego their preconceptions and entrenched methods. 

“They stuck to the usual tools in the face of an unusual challenge.”

Many highly trained experts in areas like firefighting, engineering, and the military have an intimate relationship with their tools, Epstein shows. Their expertise is nearly inseparable from their tools, given how much time and effort they put into mastering them. At the same time, he argues, their reliance on those tools and the methods of using them can become a hindrance either in cases when they literally need to drop them for safety (as in firefighters fleeing a scene) or figuratively need to let them go to succeed or avoid disaster (as in the case of the space shuttle Challenger’s team, who might have avoided the tragedy if they had put their tools, methods, and protocols aside for the sake of the project’s overall wellbeing). 

“Incongruence […] helps people to discover useful cues, and to drop the traditional tools when it makes sense.”

Chapter 11’s discussion of the tragedy of the space shuttle Challenger and the failures that led up to it adds to the argument of Range by showing how flexibility and open-mindedness benefit not only individuals but also organizations. For instance, individuals benefit from the ability to explore, musicians benefit when given the opportunity to practice more than one instrument, and athletes benefit when they sample more than one sport. Likewise, organizations benefit when they are comprised of diverse individuals representing a range of identities, experiences, and points of view. Epstein proposes that one way to think of this diversity is “incongruence,” or the practice of organizations encompassing individuals who do not necessarily fit the expectations or assumptions about who makes up the institution. Embracing incongruence better equips organizations to think flexibly (“drop” their tools) and broadly. 

“An enthusiastic, even childish, playful streak is a recurring theme in research on creative thinkers.”

Throughout Range, Epstein critiques the notion that the rigorous or repetitive practice, training, or methods following a known agenda is the only way to achieve success. Creativity, particularly in “wicked” domains, benefits from the opportunity to explore freely—including making mistakes, trying things out just for the sake of it, or investigating something new. This echoes the way children learn in practice, which Epstein alludes to by calling the practice “childish,” but he also alludes to the joy and fun present in this approach by calling it “enthusiastic” and “playful.”

“[T]hriving ecosystems had porous boundaries between teams.”

Hyperspecialization within individuals is replicated at an institutional scale in many cases. Just as Epstein argues individuals benefit from opportunities for exploration, flexibility, and looking outside of their domain, he insists teams within organizations are better equipped when they are not isolated from one another. Instead, he encourages collaboration, cross-pollination of ideas, and listening to others’ perspectives, and he cites several examples of how these practices have been successfully implemented. 

“The atypical combination of typical forms—say, hip-hop, a Broadway musical, and American historical biography—is not a strategy fluke of showbiz.”

In discussing how creative individuals actively seek to explore and merge multiple domains, Epstein makes an allusion to Lin-Manuel Miranda, creator of the musical Hamilton. Miranda chose an unusual subject for a musical, the story of US founding father Alexander Hamilton, and set it to music based on hip-hop instead of the standard styles expected in a musical. The results were both artistically successful and highly popular. For Epstein, Miranda’s approach was not due to chance or a “fluke” but rather to his deliberate willingness to try something unexpected and creative. 

“Original creators tend to strike out a lot, but they also hit mega grand slams.”

Epstein acknowledges a key aspect of creative work and of exploration in general: To freely explore means that many dead ends, mistakes, and fruitless ideas will result. Yet at the same time, this freedom allows for the occasional success to emerge, and success is tied to the “strike outs” made along the way. Examples like Oliver Smithies and his “Saturday morning experiments” (Chapter 12) and artist Vincent van Gogh (Chapter 6) exemplify this approach.