#61 Measurement
Measurement
It's useful to be able to measure things. While I'm happy to make a soup or a stew with a pinch of this and a dollop of that and whatever vegetables we have on hand, I value the security of a recipe in baking. I measure my teaspoons and my cups and can be confident of the outcome. Measurement helps in sewing-in making clothes that fit and quilt squares that line up. It's important in carpentry; you wouldn't want to build a bookcase or a house by guess, hoping that the pieces will fit together one way or another. There is an important place for the precision that measurement can provide.
There is something reassuring about things that can be measured. Three teaspoons will always equal a tablespoon, the biscuit recipe will always produce biscuits, and twelve inches will always match a foot, no matter what medium you are using. You know what you are working with, and if you're careful, you can be pretty sure of how it will turn out.
The problem comes when we start trying to measure things that aren't quite as tidy as flour, fabric and 2x4s. Economics, for example, prides itself on being a science based on fact, on measurable data than can be relied upon for accuracy. So we measure interest rates and return on investments and median income and ups and downs in consumer spending and stock market activity and profit margins. We measure the gross domestic product and the gross national product. They are all hard numbers, like inches and tablespoons. When the numbers are good, we must be doing well.
The flaw in this system is so fundamental that it's hard to detect. In order to have a science of economics, in order to measure reliably, we have to leave out of the system everything that cannot be measured. Joy, satisfaction, human connection, sense of purpose, security-since there's no satisfactory measure for any of these, they have no place in the picture. They are irrelevant to the scientific determination of how well-off we are. Neither clean air nor quiet nor open space nor free time have any measurable economic value, while polluting industries, leaf blowers, urban sprawl and long work hours are all part of our nation's wealth.
There are similar issues in philanthropy. Foundations want to be responsible stewards of the money they hand out, so more and more they are requiring measurable outcomes. It's not enough to tell stories of growth and change. Stories can't be measured. So, to prove that they've spent this year's dollars well, social programs scramble to produce numbers about degrees and grades and jobs and income and immunizations. They can't talk about what is often the heart of their work-growing love, or courage, or hope for the future, or lives of meaning, or bright spirits-because none of these things can be translated into tidy numerical outcomes at the end of a year.
Measurements can play a role in economics and grant reporting. The number of people who have indoor plumbing or high school degrees or jobs at a livable wage or health insurance is likely to be indicative of overall well-being. But is the sum of all these things the measure of a good life? Does that sum plus a million dollars add up to happiness?
Let's keep things like inches and tablespoons and dollars for what they're really good at-like making biscuits and book cases and change at the store. But let's not settle so easily when we're talking about ourselves, our community, our well-being, and our future. When we're dealing with human beings we need a little more humility, and a little more understanding of the importance of that which cannot be measured.
It's useful to be able to measure things. While I'm happy to make a soup or a stew with a pinch of this and a dollop of that and whatever vegetables we have on hand, I value the security of a recipe in baking. I measure my teaspoons and my cups and can be confident of the outcome. Measurement helps in sewing-in making clothes that fit and quilt squares that line up. It's important in carpentry; you wouldn't want to build a bookcase or a house by guess, hoping that the pieces will fit together one way or another. There is an important place for the precision that measurement can provide.
There is something reassuring about things that can be measured. Three teaspoons will always equal a tablespoon, the biscuit recipe will always produce biscuits, and twelve inches will always match a foot, no matter what medium you are using. You know what you are working with, and if you're careful, you can be pretty sure of how it will turn out.
The problem comes when we start trying to measure things that aren't quite as tidy as flour, fabric and 2x4s. Economics, for example, prides itself on being a science based on fact, on measurable data than can be relied upon for accuracy. So we measure interest rates and return on investments and median income and ups and downs in consumer spending and stock market activity and profit margins. We measure the gross domestic product and the gross national product. They are all hard numbers, like inches and tablespoons. When the numbers are good, we must be doing well.
The flaw in this system is so fundamental that it's hard to detect. In order to have a science of economics, in order to measure reliably, we have to leave out of the system everything that cannot be measured. Joy, satisfaction, human connection, sense of purpose, security-since there's no satisfactory measure for any of these, they have no place in the picture. They are irrelevant to the scientific determination of how well-off we are. Neither clean air nor quiet nor open space nor free time have any measurable economic value, while polluting industries, leaf blowers, urban sprawl and long work hours are all part of our nation's wealth.
There are similar issues in philanthropy. Foundations want to be responsible stewards of the money they hand out, so more and more they are requiring measurable outcomes. It's not enough to tell stories of growth and change. Stories can't be measured. So, to prove that they've spent this year's dollars well, social programs scramble to produce numbers about degrees and grades and jobs and income and immunizations. They can't talk about what is often the heart of their work-growing love, or courage, or hope for the future, or lives of meaning, or bright spirits-because none of these things can be translated into tidy numerical outcomes at the end of a year.
Measurements can play a role in economics and grant reporting. The number of people who have indoor plumbing or high school degrees or jobs at a livable wage or health insurance is likely to be indicative of overall well-being. But is the sum of all these things the measure of a good life? Does that sum plus a million dollars add up to happiness?
Let's keep things like inches and tablespoons and dollars for what they're really good at-like making biscuits and book cases and change at the store. But let's not settle so easily when we're talking about ourselves, our community, our well-being, and our future. When we're dealing with human beings we need a little more humility, and a little more understanding of the importance of that which cannot be measured.
posted by Pamela Haines | 1:23 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home