Competency Extrapolation

In John Dickson's excellent work Humilitas, I am introduced to a concept I've noticed in myself, alas, as well as others, but heretofore never had a concise name for: "competency extrapolation."  This is the malady of conflating opinion with genuine expertise.  Or to put it more simply perhaps, it is when you or I engage in you-don't-know-everything-there-is-to-know-Mr.-Smarty-Pants gamesmanship with someone whose subject competency is truly greater than our own. 

Dickson cites as his example a friend of his who believed the doltish historical assertions in The Da Vinci Code were true.  Now, Dickson holds a PhD in ancient history.  If anyone could set his friend straight on Dan Brown's Gnostic varnish job on the Gospels it was Dickson.  But it was just because his friend was such a renowned engineer, highly intelligent in his field of expertise, that he argued with Dickson for the historical integrity of a novel that had none.  Competency extrapolation.  "Because his judgment about things mechanical was so astute and widely sought after," Dickson concludes, "he backed himself on matters far outside his speciality" (p. 53).

We all do this at times, Dickson observes.  Some of us slip into competency extrapolation more easily than others: if, for instance, we're used to being an opinion leader or shaper of others' thinking, such as in my work as a pastor.  I'm asked to render reflection and critical judgments on all manner of matters civic, financial, vocational, academic, domestic, political, historical, and theological (and even medical on occasion, though I’m not that kind of doctor!).  I know this is because I am generally trusted and regarded a competent life-guide, for which I am grateful.  I do seek the Lord's incomparable wisdom continually.  But there is so much about these and other fields I know little to nothing about, including my own field of expertise, theology.  It is well said that the more you plumb the depths of God the more you realize how out of your depth you really are with Him.

I remember some TV show about doctors in which the patient, a young woman, would consult Google on her smartphone in her hospital bed while the doctor discussed her condition with her.  She then argued with his recommendations, having instantly found second opinions online to back herself with.  That's competency extrapolation in extremis.  (Citing Latin right there when I don't know Latin might qualify too!)  Or take that memorable scene in the movie Good Will Hunting, when Robin Williams showed Matt Damon his competency extrapolative scoffing was a cover for deep insecurity: “You’re an orphan, right?  Do you think I know what that’s like because I’ve read Oliver Twist?”

We witness the dynamic of competency extrapolation all the time: in the stands at ballgames when fans, who've watched a lot of football, therefore know better how to play the game than coaches or players; in parent-teacher conferences when Mama, who studied education in college, suggests to the youthful teacher that her lack of experience is why her son, who refuses to work, is failing; and in the armchair theologian who's led "countless" Bible studies, that indomitable Sunday morning quarterback whose question for the preacher after his sermon has just enough edge to it—just enough mustard on it—that it's obvious the congregant thinks his pastor doesn't know what-the-Heaven he's talking about.

The antidote to competency extrapolation is the practice of that kind of humility that refuses to overreach.  Humility that recognizes competency or expertise in one area of life does not translate into competency in all areas.  This is why theologian John Stackhouse included a chapter in his book Church called, "I Have No Opinion.”  He writes, “It is a good intellectual and spiritual discipline for opinion-mongers such as myself to admit limitations and stop talking” (emphasis his, p. 36).   

Likewise, I've come to regard it a mark of spiritual growth to admit that sometimes I just don't know what I think about a particular issue, or what you should think about it either.  The surprise is how often this seems to disappoint people.  I think this is because modern American culture is a lot like ancient Athens, which Luke describes as a place where “all the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there would spend their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new” (Acts 17:21).  In other words they (and we) loved hearing themselves talk.

I love responding to weekly questions for the Faith in Memphis blog (www.faithinmemphis.com), though I am a little embarrassed how often pieces of my responses are making it into the Saturday paper.  But not everything I'm asked to write about is in my depth.  This week's question, for instance, is about immigration.  It's not an issue I've kept up with much—beyond taking in an episode or two of Border Wars on the National Geographic channel.  So my commentary needs to honestly (and humbly) admit this or else I'll extrapolate.  That's a refined way of saying I'll posture, or write checks with my ego my intellect can't cash. 

I'm fascinated by a variety of subjects and read widely; I sure want to know more than I do.  But I can’t keep up with everything—every theological dispute or debate, every current issue, etc.  I can’t even keep up with everything going on in my church and home!  So the next time you ask me about something and I tell you I don’t know—I really don’t know.  But far from finding this a place of ignorance, it’s a place of deeper wisdom and better humility.