For decades, economic logic has dominated government thinking and popular debate. By demanding that arguments rely on quantitative data as their sole form of evidence, economists have set the terms of the debate and, for the most part, determined its parameters. In many ways, we live under a dictatorship of digits. It’s almost impossible to make an argument without someone asking to see some “hard data” — statistics, charts, graphs or formulas — to back up your case.
But the failure of the economic models to predict the Great Recession demonstrated that relying on quantitative data alone to predict the future is foolhardy. Since the onset of the financial downturn, economists have argued that what we need is just better econometric models — better charts and more precise formulas. While that won’t hurt, it won’t completely solve the problem either. Society — social life — is so complicated and varied that it is hard to believe that it will ever conform to a set expression of x’s and y’s.
Instead of trying to re-invent economics (again), academics should allow different forms of evidence into the discussion: Enter the anecdote.
Let me be clear: I am not saying we should throw out the numbers; they are definitely useful. I’m arguing only that we need an end to the dictatorship of digits and should learn to respect meaningful anecdotes as a legitimate form of proof. Sometimes a good anecdote — a critical analysis of a narrative — can reveal information that quantitative data cannot.
First, surveys and models sometimes cannot identify emerging trends. For example, fashion mavens would probably fail if they relied solely on surveys to predict “the next big thing.” J. Crew chief executive Millard Drexler—considered one of the most successful businessmen in the fashion industry—eschews surveys. According to a recent profile in The New Yorker, he bases most of his business decisions on detailed conversations with select customers. He uses these interactions — few in number, though great in significance — as anecdotal evidence to determine the direction of his company.
Anecdotes sometimes represent key details that numbers leave out. As the saying goes, “Statistics are like bikinis: What they reveal is interesting, but what they conceal is vital.” For example, many of the best and brightest minds of the 1920s looked at market indicators and thought things looked sunny. But Joe Kennedy — father of the future president and a successful businessman in his own right — anticipated the crash. How? According to legend, one day the boy shining his shoes gave him stock advice. He figured that if a shoeshine boy thought he understood enough to invest wisely, the market was full of ignorant investors. He saved himself millions by learning from an anecdote that revealed the bigger picture — the market’s climbing indicators were fueled more by wild speculators than rational actors.
Finally, anecdotes are useful in representing evidence that quantitative measures are not well suited to capture. Over the summer, I worked for an education non-governmental organization interested in measuring whether the organization’s teachers were successfully motivating their students. Motivation manifests itself in many ways: Students track the teacher with their eyes, they are eager to participate, they remain focused. An observer can recognize this body language — but this is very difficult to capture in quantitative measures. Still, the “eagerness of a student to learn” is a useful measure of a teacher’s ability. In order to represent the quality of a teacher, then, it is necessary to rely on anecdotal evidence of student participation.
“Interdisciplinary” is a (by now, not so new) buzz word in academia — and the word is often thrown around on our campus. Impressive as the word may sound, it is easier said than done. A truly interdisciplinary approach by social scientists to problem solving requires that thinkers accept multiple forms of evidence — and do not rely on numbers alone. Sociologists and anthropologists have spent decades developing methods for analyzing and using narratives to make persuasive explanations of social phenomena. Despite the rigor of these disciplines, policy makers and mainstream thinkers are often hesitant to rely on these academics’ expertise.
It would be foolish to ignore quantitative measures — we needn’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. On the other hand, it is equally foolish to ignore good anecdotes. Different knowledges articulate themselves differently, and there is no reason that a chart should always be privileged over a narrative. If we are going to successfully confront the challenges of tomorrow, we must learn to listen to everyone — no matter how they choose to speak.
Adam Bradlow is an anthropology major from Potomac, Md. He can be reached at abradlow@princeton.edu.
Apply to write for Opinion! Applications are due Oct. 1. Visit dailyprincetonian.com/join/opinion.
Read More
Keep academic authority in human hands
Lily Halbert-AlexanderThe Trump administration’s attacks on research and higher education as well as a blind reliance on AI chatbots are reflective of a societal backslide: a commodification of knowledge that prioritizes “efficiency” over the messy process of getting to an answer, where nuances are flattened and the truth is fungible.
The Trump administration’s attacks on research and higher education as well as a blind reliance on AI chatbots are reflective of a societal backslide: a commodification of knowledge that prioritizes “efficiency” over the messy process of getting to an answer, where nuances are flattened and the truth is fungible.
What do we owe society for a Princeton education?
Jia Cheng ShenThe social and moral responsibility that comes with receiving a degree subsidized by both private generosity and public trust is significant.
The social and moral responsibility that comes with receiving a degree subsidized by both private generosity and public trust is significant.
Notes from a so-called enemy’s classroom
Jennifer JenningsIt wasn’t revolutionary. It was homework. But it was homework that asked: how do we build schools that work for all kids? Inclusion, after all, is the “I” in DEI. That’s what we’re thinking about together. And caring about each other’s experiences and opportunities, it turns out, isn’t something you can outlaw.
It wasn’t revolutionary. It was homework. But it was homework that asked: how do we build schools that work for all kids? Inclusion, after all, is the “I” in DEI. That’s what we’re thinking about together. And caring about each other’s experiences and opportunities, it turns out, isn’t something you can outlaw.