The Numbers Game

Have you ever noticed just how many numbers we have to deal with in our lives? Social security, drivers’ license, date of birth (self, spouse, kids, parents, friends, etc.), credit cards, PINs, license plates, phone numbers (home, office, cell), FAX numbers, speed-dial numbers, age, number of years in recovery, number of years till retirement (or in retirement), tax ID, lottery tickets, number on the biological clock, number of years till tenure or partnership or residency, number of years till citizenship . . . . Think of our means of evaluating other people: SATs, GPAs, years on honor roll or the dean’s list, years of education, number of degrees, years on the job, sales made, revenue generated, profits earned, net income, credit ratings, number of missed or late payments, amount of funds in savings, IRAs, or other collateral, number of homes or vacations or cars or kids or spouses . . . .

Can all these numbers really tell us what we want to know about other people? Does my GPA say anything definite about whether I’ll turn out to be a productive member of society? Does my credit rating let people know whether I’m the kind of friend who can be counted on at 2am? Does the fact that someone has endured a job they hate for 15 straight years make them any more “stable” or “reliable” or “valuable” than someone who’s eager to break into the field?

Our society expects numbers to provide a shortcut to more intimate information—the kind of information it takes time to find out, the kind that you learn only by actually doing things together, sharing the experiences necessary to get to know someone as a human being. The problem with these numbers is that they operate on probabilities. But people aren’t always that predictable; even when they are, sometimes they surprise you. And some who have been predictable for 20 years may suddenly change under the influence of new life-events, illnesses, or other stresses.

Numbers both over- and under-perform the job we ask them to do. They exclude people who may not have the numbers to ‘prove’ their potential; and they include people whose numbers predict a reliability that their future will belie, for any number of unforeseen reasons. Of course, Benjamin Franklin’s adage that “time is money” explains, in part, our resort to numbers: As a shortcut, society views them as not only a time-saver, but a money-saver.

But are they? How many creative people have had to fight against the numbers game? How many times has society denied original thinkers support because their ‘numbers’ didn’t sufficiently predict success? Albert Einstein worked for years as a patent clerk. T.S. Eliot worked as a bank clerk. Charles Ives was in insurance. Why didn’t society see the potential in these people in their primary fields of endeavor (physics, poetry, music)? Why did it shunt them aside into byways where they had to struggle to find time and energy to offer their unique contributions to the world?

Of course, life isn’t easy. Things don’t always happen as they’re “supposed to.” Maybe Einstein, Eliot, Ives, and others succeeded so brilliantly in part because they had to struggle so hard to find space in their lives for the work they loved. That’s a comforting thought; comforting, but not very likely. It’s hard to believe that people can do a better job of living into the full potential of their God-given gifts and talents without society’s support (and even with its active opposition) than they can do with it. Sure, struggle is part of life, but the numbers game is justifiable only as long as it can actually deliver the information it promises. The numbers game can easily become an excuse for our laziness and fear of acknowledging and responding to the real, live human beings before us.