Ergonomists are not physicians - they are engineers - and their

Hearken, O students of wisdom and the balance between science and truth, to the words of Eugene Scalia, who once said: “Ergonomists are not physicians — they are engineers — and their medical theories are controversial. Some of the world’s leading medical researchers deny that repetitive motion causes injury.” Though spoken in the modern tongue of labor and policy, this saying carries the pulse of an ancient struggle — the conflict between knowledge and power, between belief and evidence, between those who build the tools of man and those who heal the bodies that wield them. Beneath its measured tone lies a meditation on how truth must be tested not by conviction alone, but by proof and humility.

In this statement, Scalia draws a line between professions, reminding us that the mastery of one field does not grant dominion over another. The ergonomist, trained in the art of design and motion, seeks to shape the environments in which human beings labor — the chair, the desk, the factory line. Yet the physician, versed in the language of pain and tissue, seeks to heal what those environments may harm. Scalia’s words suggest caution: that the claims of engineers about human injury may not always rest upon firm medical foundation, and that expertise must remain humble before the boundaries of its own domain.

Yet this is not simply a rebuke; it is also a reflection on the complexity of truth in the modern age. For in an era where science grows vast and specialized, truth no longer belongs to one priesthood of knowledge. Each discipline — medicine, engineering, economics, and law — carries a fragment of the greater understanding, and only through dialogue can wisdom emerge. Scalia’s warning thus echoes like an ancient proverb: beware of certainty in isolation, for when pride replaces patience, error walks unseen beside you.

There is, too, a deeper human story within these words — the story of labor and injury, of the countless hands and backs that have bent to build the modern world. The debate over repetitive motion injuries, such as carpal tunnel syndrome, became a symbol of the tension between worker and employer, between health and productivity. Scalia’s remark, though spoken in policy, reaches into the moral realm: how do we balance compassion with skepticism, protection with progress? In this question lies the same dilemma faced by kings and philosophers of old — how to govern justly in a world where truth itself is contested.

Consider the example of Florence Nightingale, who, though not a physician by formal training, revolutionized medicine through her understanding of hygiene and environment. She, too, was an outsider in the world of doctors, yet her observations saved thousands. Her legacy reminds us that while boundaries between disciplines matter, wisdom often arises at their intersections. The ergonomist who studies motion and design may indeed glimpse truths the physician overlooks, just as the physician may see suffering invisible to the engineer. Scalia’s caution must not close minds, but instead remind us that all claims — even compassionate ones — must bow before evidence.

Still, there is irony in the heart of this quote. For to question the link between repetition and harm is to confront the ancient truth that excess, in all forms, leads to decay. The body, like the soul, withers when forced into patterns without rest or renewal. From the blacksmith’s arm to the typist’s wrist, history teaches that labor without rhythm becomes suffering without voice. Whether engineers or physicians name it so, the lesson is the same: harmony between work and body is sacred, and its neglect brings pain that no argument can erase.

Thus, let the lesson of Scalia’s words be not division, but discernment. Respect the boundaries of knowledge, yet let them converse; question boldly, yet act with compassion. Let neither engineer nor doctor, lawyer nor laborer, claim mastery over the full mystery of man. For wisdom is not found in the certainty of one view, but in the dialogue between many.

So remember, O listeners: “Ergonomists are not physicians — they are engineers.” Each truth is a thread, and the fabric of understanding is woven only when all threads meet. Honor those who build, those who heal, and those who question — for only in the unity of these callings does civilization endure, and the toil of humanity find its balance between progress and peace.