A psychology professor whom I’ve never met once wrote to me a mini-manifesto, disparaging my efforts as a critic. He wrote:

There are two kinds of people in science: bumblers and pointers. Bumblers are the people who get up every morning and make mistakes, trying to find truth but mainly tripping over their own feet, occasionally getting it right but typically getting it wrong. Pointers are the people who stand on the sidelines, point at them, and say “You bumbled, you bumbled.” These are our only choices in life. If one is going to choose to do the easier of these two jobs, then one should at least know what one is talking about. Sorry, but I think by and large you don’t.

I think this dualism is counterproductive. If, instead of dividing the world into “bumblers” and “pointers” (and let me not even comment on the ridiculousness of a research psychologist making such a categorization and saying “these are our only choices in life”), we were to consider “bumbling” and “pointing” to be two essential activities conducted by any scientist—and, for that matter, if we were to recognize that one can and should spend lots of time criticizing one’s own work (that is, “pointing” at our “bumbling”) and that we can and should consider criticism to itself be an ongoing development (that is, “bumbling” in our “pointing”)—then, I think our research and our criticism could improve.

To draw a humble analogy from my experiences on the street: If each of us were to spend some time as a pedestrian, some time as a bicyclist, some time as a bus rider, and some time as a car driver, than I think we’d all be able to interact more efficiently and considerately. But if we associate each person (or, in the sociology example, each area of expertise) with only one role, we get all kinds of trouble, as indicated by various psychology and biology researchers who can’t seem to handle open criticism.