Last week's message about expertise as a vehicle — not a destination — struck a chord. A surprising number of you replied enthusiastically, which may just show that I'm preaching to the converted here, but I know there are plenty of museum professionals who don't share this view. Some push back against the idea that their subject matter expertise should serve other people's goals — or, perhaps more often, they reject the idea that their organization's mission and objectives differ from those of the people they support. They insist people do care about biodiversity, visitors are interested in colonial history, members want to learn about contemporary art.
All those defensive statements reveal something deeper than professional pride. They show how we use expertise as a shield against uncomfortable questions about relevance, impact, and how much we really understand the communities we say we support.
If we admit that people's goals are different than ours that would mean we would have to invest deeply in understanding those goals — we would have to become the students, the ones who need to learn and engage. That would be a profound inversion.
The shield protects the belief that passionate expertise automatically creates public value.
It's a comforting story. If you love Renaissance painting, surely others need that knowledge once they understand it properly. If you're passionate about local ecology, obviously the community requires that expertise. If you're an administrator who just knows that the world needs museums, you'll find lots of people who say they share your belief and point to them as evidence that you're correct.
Here's a pattern I've seen firsthand:
Museum leader argues that learning and the diffusion of knowledge are outcomes that people appreciate or want
Museum leader concedes that most people — including those who ostensibly appreciate learning for its own sake — primarily "engage" with the institution for other reasons (e.g., connecting with family, feeling a sense of wonder, etc.)
Museum leader says, "What about our volunteers, though? Their motivations are obviously aligned with our mission!"
Museum leader learns that even volunteers are often there for other reasons (e.g. connect with others about something that interests them, share their own knowledge, be seen as someone who is a contributor to their community, etc.)
Think about that. When we don't understand the many varied motivations of even our most active participants like volunteers, what does that say about our understanding of the people we're trying to support? If we don't "get" the sliver of people who are our biggest fans, what does that suggest about what we know about the majority of museum users, much less non-audiences?
Passion and expertise don't create relevance. Deep knowledge doesn't generate demand. Your expertise becomes valuable only when it helps people make progress toward goals that actually matter to them.
The real test isn't whether people should care about what you care about.
The test is whether you can use what you know to help them achieve what they're trying to accomplish.
The stories we tell ourselves about what people want are usually stories about what we need to believe to feel important or otherwise validated.
When someone finds joy in helping their child discover something new about themselves and you interpret that as "They want to learn about plant science," you've confused your internal motivation with their external need.
When someone seeks "a way to connect with my community," and you translate that as "interest in biodiversity education," you're projecting your expertise onto their goals.
Expertise matters enormously — as a tool for serving others, not as proof that others support our interests.
The question isn't whether people want what we're offering. The question is whether we can discover what they're actually trying to achieve and use our knowledge to support their progress.