Stories and numbers seem intertwined in
a confusing way. That one should come
from another seems odd, but they do have some things in common. Stories involve change, and our earliest lessons in maths
teach us how to change numbers. Politicians, game designers, and many other workers in the world require some skill at
translation from one to the other, yet I wouldn't know where any of
us learned how to do this.
Stories can broadly be defined as a telling of change. Good ones, anyway.
An imprisoned princess could find herself changed to a state of freedom, thanks to a noble knight, or a man's idea of his ideal home changes from an exotic location to, after much disappointment with foreign regions, an idea that very closely resembles where he came from.
Stories are usually centred around characters, too. Characters encountering, or initiating, change.
Stories can broadly be defined as a telling of change. Good ones, anyway.
An imprisoned princess could find herself changed to a state of freedom, thanks to a noble knight, or a man's idea of his ideal home changes from an exotic location to, after much disappointment with foreign regions, an idea that very closely resembles where he came from.
Stories are usually centred around characters, too. Characters encountering, or initiating, change.
We find stories very attractive,
perhaps because we can relate to characters and the way they have to stuggle against challenges brought on by change. Mathematics, however,
can often tell the same stories in a more efficient way, yet it fails
to inspire most of us to the same degree.
1 princess plus 1 noble knight equals, as the traditional formula dictates, freedom and happiness. Or 1 mind compares imagined pro's and con's with newly experienced pro's and con's, and as a consequence takes away 1 definition of contentment and replaces it with another.
You could list the factual points of a story to someone, but they might not feel like you have really told them what happened.
1 princess plus 1 noble knight equals, as the traditional formula dictates, freedom and happiness. Or 1 mind compares imagined pro's and con's with newly experienced pro's and con's, and as a consequence takes away 1 definition of contentment and replaces it with another.
You could list the factual points of a story to someone, but they might not feel like you have really told them what happened.
The difference between narrative and
statistics being used to communicate ideas has been observed in
politics. I have heard it commented that some political parties prefer to use real-life stories that the public can sympathise with. Other parties, however, have used numbers to show the full, detailed
picture to their audience, and have won some voters with this method.
A single case study, out of any context, could be a complete lie in a political campaign. "Dorothy doesn't need to pay this type of tax, so the law should be changed" might pull on the heart strings, except that this story might not include the fact that Dorothy is unique within the entire nation. So numbers should be, by comparison, a more accurate representation of what is really going on in the world. But the
theory fails to connect with reality when, it turns out, most people
don't care much about cold hard numbers.
The political campaigners face a
difficult choice. Broadcast the truth and hope that the public
respect it for it's own sake, or pick a convenient example and hope
that the public mistakes it for the entire truth.
But if politics has to pick and choose between the two, board games combine them right before our eyes to create fun and competition.
Board and card games use mathematics as the foundation of their rules and workings, and use a narrative theme to give meaning to the actions that players make. I am focussing on board games because although computer games employ more mathematics in their coding, board games do not hide their workings from us. All of the pieces are on the table, and any cards are played by our own hands.
Look at one of the most basic games,
Snakes and Ladders. The loosely attached story of racing through reptiles and climbing apparatus isn't something I can relate to from any personal experience. Add to that the single element of luck, a dice roll, which dictates the progress of every player! The statistics stare right at us, saying "that's right, there is absolutely nothing you can do to ensure you finish before the others, there is no skill involved here." So if you never played this game as a child, you would assume it should be dull and unengaging. You should probably be right. But for some reason, when I was a kid I cried when I lost. I was also chuffed beyond reason when I won. How do games do this?
Adult board and card games involve
player choice, yet all choices can be simplified to statistics. I
could conquer another section of the map with my army if I attack
that player with those troops... But is it worth the risk? Is that
the most efficient move to make, and the most likely to bring me
victory? Almost all mechanics in themed games simplify to
mathematics. Yet when it is over, do we feel like we crunched numbers
or like we were immersed in a story together? Somewhere along the
lines, the design of the game and the power of our imagination turned
ones, twos and threes into people, journeys, and quests.
Stories and numbers are intertwined in a confusing way. They seem so far apart, and yet where you find one you can find the other. Perhaps the common element that gives power to both of them is change?
Stories and numbers are intertwined in a confusing way. They seem so far apart, and yet where you find one you can find the other. Perhaps the common element that gives power to both of them is change?
Read another post about Change...
Image source: http://www.davidzinger.com/employee-engagement-snakes-and-ladders-5935/
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