Metrics Corrupt Values by Replacing Intrinsic Motivation With Capture

The pervasive influence of metrics and scoring systems, while seemingly practical, fundamentally alters our values and behaviors, often in ways that diminish genuine engagement and personal growth. This conversation reveals that the true cost of "value capture" isn't just irritation, but a subtle erosion of our authentic selves, replacing intrinsic motivation with a relentless pursuit of quantifiable, often superficial, outcomes. Those who understand this dynamic gain a critical advantage: the ability to discern genuine value from the noise of arbitrary scores, leading to more fulfilling pursuits and a stronger sense of self. This analysis is essential for anyone feeling the pressure of constant measurement, from professionals navigating performance reviews to individuals seeking deeper meaning in their daily lives.

The Tyranny of the Score: How Metrics Steal Our Values

In a world obsessed with quantification, from star ratings on apps to KPIs at work, we are constantly being nudged, cajoled, and sometimes even forced to play by someone else's rules. Dr. C. T. Nguyen, a philosopher at the University of Utah and author of The Score: How to Stop Playing Somebody Else's Game, argues that these metrics are not mere tools for objective assessment; they are powerful forces that actively reshape our deepest values and motivations. This isn't about simply hating the metric, as Flora Lickman playfully suggests, but understanding how these systems subtly hijack our intrinsic desires, leading us down paths of "value capture" where the score becomes more important than the substance.

The core of Nguyen's argument lies in the insidious way metrics can "capture" our values. What begins as a rich, nuanced appreciation for an activity--be it art, rock climbing, or even spiritual growth--can be reduced to a simplified, quantifiable proxy. This proxy then begins to dictate our focus. Instead of striving for genuine connection on social media, we chase likes and followers. Instead of focusing on the spiritual well-being of a congregation, pastors might prioritize baptism rates, crafting "poppy, peppy sermons" to boost numbers. This shift is not always conscious, but the persistent presence of a scoring system can, over time, fundamentally alter what we believe is important.

"What happens with the drift is that I started caring deeply and immediately about the metric. So I've been calling this value capture, and value capture is what happens when your values are rich and subtle, and then you get put in a setting, typically an institutional setting, that presents you with some simplified and quantified version of your values, and then that starts to take over."

This "value capture" is particularly concerning because it often masquerades as objectivity or efficiency. When asked why metrics are necessary, the common retort is that they eliminate bias and provide clear, objective measures. Nguyen acknowledges this power but emphasizes the profound limitations. Metrics are excellent at capturing what is easily counted and universally understood across different contexts. However, this very universality comes at a steep price: the loss of context, nuance, and the qualitative aspects that often define true value. The example of AI art generators optimizing for "engagement hours" -- essentially addiction -- rather than artistic merit highlights this critical disconnect. The metric captures something, but it’s not the thing we truly care about.

The historical logic of bureaucracy, as explored by Theodore Porter, offers a lens into why metrics become so dominant. Qualitative knowledge, while rich, is difficult to transport and understand across different institutional boundaries. Quantitative data, on the other hand, provides a stable, shareable currency. A letter grade, for instance, is instantly recognizable, but it strips away the detailed feedback a professor might offer. This decontextualization is both the strength and the fatal flaw of metrics. They enable large-scale coordination but do so by cutting out the very context that gives activities meaning.

Nguyen’s own journey through academia illustrates this painfully. His initial love for philosophy, driven by genuine curiosity, was gradually overshadowed by the pressure to publish in high-status journals that favored a specific, dry, and detached style. This pursuit of journal rankings, a clear metric, led to a loss of touch with his original passion and resulted in profound boredom and despair--signals that his values had been captured by an external scoring system.

"And I think here, here's another thought. If you listen to that, if you listen to that quiet voice, then you might be able to steer away. But if the clarity of the metrics, by their clarity and their communicability, is so strong that you let that out-shout the kind of quiet voice of inner despair, then you'll ignore that, and you'll just keep following the metric."

This is where the conversation takes a fascinating turn, exploring the very nature of games. While Nguyen critiques the pervasive, inescapable metrics of daily life, he celebrates the scoring systems within games. The key difference, he argues, lies in agency and voluntary participation. In games, scoring systems are designed to set desires and guide experience, but crucially, we choose to play. Reiner Knizia, a renowned board game designer, uses scoring as his primary tool to tell players what to care about. This can lead to intricate experiences, whether it's building a hotel empire or cooperating to defeat a common foe. The voluntary nature allows us to engage with struggle as a desirable experience, as Bernard Suits famously defined playing a game: "taking on a voluntary obstacle to make a certain kind of experience of struggling possible."

This distinction is critical. Games offer a "magic circle" where points and outcomes are detached from real-world consequences. A marathon runner chooses the struggle of the race over a taxi; a rock climber uses hands and feet on the rock for the challenge, not a rope. This detachment allows for a playful attitude and the exploration of different ways of being. Connor, a listener who created a spreadsheet to track his hikes with his dog, exemplifies this positive use of metrics. By adding a scoring system to an already beloved activity, he deepened his engagement and strengthened his bond with his pet, demonstrating how metrics, when controlled and aligned with intrinsic values, can enhance experience.

"Some scoring systems drag you into boring, grinding action. Some scoring systems drag you into something that you find rich and fulfilling. And this story is like the ideal story. This is someone that added a scoring system, created an experience that was better, and they acknowledged that they're not being, they're not being sucked into an experience that they do not want, right? They're using the scoring system under control to give them the life they want."

Conversely, the inescapable nature of real-world metrics prevents this playful detachment. The stakes are too high, and the consequences too real. This is why, as Elizabeth’s Yahtzee story suggests, we can take wild risks in games that we wouldn't dare in life. The low stakes of a game allow for dramatic moments and learning experiences that are impossible when the "points" are tied to our livelihoods, reputations, or even our sense of self-worth.

The power of games, especially role-playing games like Dungeons & Dragons, lies not just in their voluntary nature but in their ability to create "a new habit of soul." By imposing strict rules and constraints, games can paradoxically push us towards greater freedom and flexibility. The rigid structure of yoga, for example, allows practitioners to move into new postures. Similarly, playing a character in D&D whose sole function is to "probe their soul for vulnerabilities" forces a different perspective on the world. This is the opposite of bureaucratic metrics, which lock us into a single, pervasive value system. Games, at their best, encourage us to adopt different angles, to explore new capacities, and to engage in the process of inquiry itself.

Ultimately, Nguyen suggests that games--and by extension, the meaningful engagement they foster--may hold a key to the meaning of life. Drawing on Aristotle, he posits that value lies not in portable outputs or outcomes, but in the exercise of our capacities, the process of inquiry, and the struggle itself. The joy of solving a puzzle, figuring out a complex system, or mastering a skill--these are the intrinsically valuable human activities that metrics often obscure. By understanding the difference between chosen, contextualized game-scores and inescapable, decontextualized metrics, we can begin to reclaim our values and pursue a more meaningful existence.

Key Action Items:

• Identify Your "Value Capture" Triggers: Over the next month, actively observe situations where you feel compelled to focus on a quantifiable outcome rather than the intrinsic quality of the activity. Note the specific metrics involved and how they influence your actions.
• Seek "Boredom" as a Signal: If you experience persistent boredom or despair in a particular activity, treat it as a critical signal that your values may be misaligned with the current metric or goal. (Immediate Action)
• Reintroduce Game-Like Constraints (Voluntarily): For tasks where metrics feel oppressive, experiment with imposing voluntary, game-like constraints. For example, set a timer for focused work with a specific, small goal, or gamify a tedious task with a personal reward system. (Over the next quarter)
• Prioritize Process Over Outcome: Consciously shift your focus from the final score or deliverable to the enjoyment and learning derived from the process of doing the work. This requires a deliberate mental reframing. (Ongoing)
• Cultivate Qualitative Assessment: For areas where metrics feel inadequate, develop personal qualitative assessment methods. This might involve journaling, seeking feedback from trusted peers, or reflecting on the "why" behind your actions. (This pays off in 6-12 months)
• Explore "House-Ruled" Systems: In areas of life where you have some control (e.g., personal projects, hobbies), consider modifying or creating your own "rules" or metrics that better align with your intrinsic values, rather than accepting externally imposed ones. (This pays off in 12-18 months)
• Embrace the "Magic Circle" Mentality: For activities that feel overly metric-driven, try to mentally create a "magic circle" where the immediate score is temporarily detached from real-world consequences, allowing for more experimental and playful engagement. (Immediate Action)