Zero Sum Game
My Crusade Against Numerical Despotism
Everything looked so promising: I had set my sights on what looked like a gorgeous French cheese soufflé recipe, confident in my capacity to silence my wife’s doubts about my culinary prowess. Yet, what emerged from the oven was an ignoble, deflated amalgam of uncooked paste and cheese... Numbers, my perennial antagonists, had laid siege to my kitchen once again, their vicious tactics leaving my dish in ruins, a sombre relic of a battle where flavor and ambition lay defeated.
My enmity with numbers is profound. Back in high school, I managed to graduate with a 2/20 in mathematics. That should give you a fair sense of my loathing for the discipline. I can't recall anything less fun than equations. Well apart from reading another essay about Substack growth of course.
What I consider the great achievement of still managing to graduate in an economics section with a 2/20 in Math was seen by my family as a crushing defeat. Half of them are engineers, you see, and Art wasn't exactly on the menu for the Bazerques in the past. It took years—and debilitating dementia—for my dad to abandon all hopes that I would finally turn to engineering or science.
Numbers have always been a personal battle for me. I dread them like Napoleon dreaded tall men. But beyond my personal skirmishes, numbers infiltrate the fabric of society in more profound ways.
For starters, numbers are everywhere among us. We're constantly bombarded with reminders of their importance. Take time, for example: since we've chopped it up into numbers, there's a finite amount of seconds ticking away on our life's clock. Personally, I can't stand the sound of clocks ticking; it feels like an unwelcome reminder of death, nothingness and the urgency to define ‘meaningful’.
Speaking of personal gripes, I don't find age particularly enlightening. It often serves more as a tool of leverage than anything else. A child yearns to be older for the semblance of power it brings, while some athletes might fudge their age to boost their market value. And don't get me started on the glorification of being precocious—the youngest this, the youngest that, the "30 under 30," the toddler prodigies giving TED talks. It's as if we're in a constant race against our own timelines… As if TED talks are interesting in the slightest.
And then, as we age, the worries pivot: will there be discrimination? Is there still time? This fixation on age, I find utterly exhausting. I'm not convinced that most 50-year-olds are wiser than the 18-year-olds. Sure, age brings experience with the daily grind, giving you a leg up on certain practical matters, but this experience is often overvalued, as is youth. Why does it matter so much that someone is under 30? It’s miraculous when anyone no matter their age produces something remotely good and not derivative these days, age is a completely irrelevant factor.
This same fixation extends to wealth and status, which are, more often than not, quantified and displayed like a wall of medals on a dictator’s breast. The number of awards, rankings in this or that competition, festival selections, sales—it's all ludicrous when you think about it. Here we are, a bunch of sentient beings on a rock floating in the void, with roughly eight or nine decades to make our mark, and we spend the majority of that time vying for dominance over one another. Yet, in the grand scheme, these numbers mean little. What truly matters—beyond our basic needs—is something more spiritual. Not necessarily religion per se, but rather something that helps us transcend our own mortality.
So, what good do these numbers actually do for humanity? They're merely tools for playing empire builder, dividing us into lords and peasants, and nothing more.
But the story doesn't end there. We assign numbers to everything: weight, height, calorie counts, social media followers, even the amount of money people are willing to pay for influence. KPIs, sales figures, mortgages—the list of life's metrics stretches longer than a Monday morning.
Okay, I'll concede that numbers have their place. They're why I have clean teeth, why I haven't succumbed to smallpox, why I can have children, fly, and why lead no longer courses through children's veins. Indeed, in the realms of science, medicine, and space exploration, numbers prove their worth.
Perhaps my anxiety isn't truly about numbers but about our propensity to create hierarchies, to distinguish and discriminate based on whatever metrics we can conjure. It seems humanity's motivation often boils down to finding new ways to assert superiority over one another. And if it weren't numbers, we'd likely use something else—hair length, skin color... oh, wait.
I've come to see numbers as the favored tools of those who relish in measuring each other, a way to mitigate their own profound sense of emptiness. In a way, I despise them, yet I can't help but acknowledge their divine-like infallibility—they are never wrong, until, that is, we gaze into the vast mysteries of the universe where it’s the absence of numbers that instils a deep anxiety.
It's intriguing because, for a considerable part of my life, I held those who believed in a deity in contempt, viewing them through a lens of supposed intellectual superiority. Yet, as time passed, I've undergone a transformation, nurturing a sort of envy towards believers. The idea of believing in an afterlife, of having that conviction, seems almost enviable now. It would undeniably make the burdens of life lighter, but my much desired epiphany still refuses itself.
But what if numbers were my deities? What if I became the prophet of a new creed that venerates numbers as divine entities?
Indeed, it all adds up—I don't fully grasp them, yet they impact me in ways both beneficial and adverse. They are simultaneously finite and infinite, towering over us with their omnipresence. Perhaps starting a religion isn't such a bad idea. Imagine having ten gods:
0, the supreme deity, the embodiment of creation and the void—nothingness in its purest form. Its design, reminiscent of an alien egg or a funeral urn, may not scream 'cool,' but it exudes power. Zero reigns supreme, our pantheon's Zeus.
1, the solitary god, represents both beginnings and endings. It's a deity tinged with melancholy, overseeing our firsts and lasts, hardly a bearer of joy.
2, my personal favorite, symbolizes love and companionship, enhancing everything it touches. It's the deity we'd invoke at feasts and, ahem, orgies—didn't I mention those? Hopefully, that's not a deterrent; they're an essential aspect of any self-respecting cult.
3, the trickster, embodies temptation, imbalance, and envy. Its form, slightly sinister, is a vague reminder of an insect ready to pounce on its pretty
4, the guardian of stability and order, sits on one leg as the chill architect of the universe.
5, Four’s younger sister, the harbinger of change and freedom, embodying the unpredictable nature of life. It’s a shapeshifter, a line that refuses to be straight.
While I'm too indolent to detail all ten, I believe this gives you enough to ponder on joining my numerically inspired faith. One guarantee: our gatherings would be legendary, perhaps even celebrating Pi Day by reciting pi to infinity while listening to the deafening ticks of a gigantic clock.
Seekers could come to me for confession, sharing tales of solace found in the Fibonacci sequence or lamenting failed pilgrimages to my ancient, malfunctioning calculator due to incorrect coordinates?
Whether I succeed at my prophet career or not, I aim to shift from combat to camaraderie with numbers, acknowledging our past battles and seeking an armistice. This resolution becomes all the more relevant as I navigate the world of online metrics, strategizing over figures whose significance I've come to question, a testament to my evolving relationship with the numerical.
It's cliché, yet unavoidable, to stress the importance of focusing on what truly matters in life. Obvious as it may seem—it's undeniably true.
I think all the truly meaningful elements of life are of a sentimental nature. At first glance, this notion may seem to lack the grandeur of lofty ideas and ideals, but in truth, it holds. Sorry, Brecht. What does this mean for how we organize our lives in tangible terms? We often spend far too much time chasing status symbols rather than nurturing meaningful relationships that could help us transcend mortality.
Can having 100, 1000, or even 1,000,000 paid subscribers ever replace the value of a single profound friendship? The kind with whom you share life's journey? I'd trade all the subscribers in the world to reclaim such a friendship. I've been fortunate to experience this level of connection in the past. Ultimately, there's nothing more significant than sharing one's soul… And becoming two.
So, let's all hail the magnificent 2. As your self-proclaimed prophet, I hereby solicit your donations, which I assure you will be devoted entirely to the noble cause of the Church of Numerism... and, of course, to providing its leader with an ample supply of frozen Mars bars.
I suppose I'd make a decent prophet, wouldn't I? It might even add a certain flair to my resume... Remy Bazerque: Writer/Director/Prophet has a ring to it.
This essay turned out more upbeat than I anticipated. I expected to be spewing vitriol at numbers throughout, yet here I am, harmonizing with the somewhat cheesy chorus advocating for authenticity. Damn it. I can't help but loathe it—ah, but perhaps it's because I yearn to be 'one' of a kind, right?
Anyway, I'm curious about your own experiences. What's your relationship with numbers, life, death, sex, paella... or whatever else you wish to discuss? Share your thoughts in the comments.
Beautifully written, Remy. You've left me at the end of that piece feeling uncharacteristically optimistic. Hats off.
I've been uncomfortable with any kind of religious sentiment since I escaped a rather oppressive catholic upbringing, but I guess there is something ennobling about the search for the divine. My antagonism towards all kinds of faith has definitely softened over the years. I don't think age has made me wiser, true, but it has given me the benefit of some distance. Polytheistic religions like the pantheon you've offered have the benefit of balance. Each deity has her devotees, and whatever one may pronounce the others are there to offer an alternative perspective. It's the monotheism of the abrahamic religions that is so dangerous in the world. I think I could get round your numerated gods. I could work with this. Maybe.
As well as building the metrics by which we attempt to exceed one another, numbers can be limiting, even enslaving. I guess any paradigm can be paralysing. Perhaps the trick for any creative artist is to see the prison as an opportunity. The worst thing you can do to any creative artist is to tell them they can do anything they want. Despair will surely follow. Impose limitations and they will burn their creative energy trying they round them, and often I the process generate their best work.
So maybe this is where numbers are out saviour. Use only one colour. Verses must have seven lines. Use only two chords. Use two bass guitars and zero keyboards. And so on. Self-imposed limits or rules to sponsor creativity. Numbers can be friends after all.
Great read. Very personal. When I took calculus in college I actually had the only nightmare of my life where the integral symbol was chasing me through a city and it was entirely terrifying.