Why I Still Like Numb3rs

Armed with my aunt and uncle’s Netflix subscription, I recently rekindled my obsession with a television show that I enjoyed as a child: “Numb3rs.” After binge-watching a few seasons, I set out to determine why this show still has such a draw on me.

For the uninitiated, “Numb3rs” is a crime show about the exploits of Charles “Charlie” Eppse, a genius math professor who helps his brother Don, an FBI agent, solve crimes.

Before delving into my affection for the show, I should note that “Numb3rs” is not without its problems. Alice Silverberg, a University of California, Irvine professor who consulted for the show, wrote an article during its run that detailed most compelling complaints against “Numb3rs.” Some of her observations—like her objection to the lack of mathematical rigor in each episode’s original script—are less problematic for me; I never really expected the math on the show to be particularly accurate.

But Silverberg is right to point out that the show’s female academic characters tend too often towards “sex object,” and that the romantic relationship between Charlie, a professor, and Amita, a graduate student at the beginning of the show, would pose serious ethical issues in real life. In addition, David, the show’s only African-American character, reflects the “black-character-as-perpetual-loyal-sidekick” trend in American TV.

Aside from these complaints, however, I think the show represents something better than the typical, gimmicky police procedural, largely because of the way in which it depicts the relationship between intellectual pursuits and public service.

One of the show's running themes is that Charlie—who was a math prodigy—is destined for great things in academia. As he becomes more and more absorbed in helping his brother solve crimes, however, he worries that he is wasting his academic gifts on less intellectually significant endeavors. Don has similar concerns.

Ultimately, the show suggests that public service is as noble a calling as pursuing the mysteries of the universe, and that the two are not mutually incompatible. Tension exists between science and the state in “Numb3rs,” most notably when Charlie wrestles with the implications of national security restrictions for the dissemination of knowledge to developing countries. But overall, the show presents an optimistic image of how government and academia can work together to improve lives. This conclusion may seem quaint or oversimplified, but it goes a long way towards explaining why I continue to enjoy the series.

As students, we hear quite a bit about becoming "citizen-scholars," about the need to use what we know in the service of others. We also know that many of us will go into lucrative careers in consulting and finance, careers that further the image of the elite education as a stepping-stone toward material gain.

We also hear a lot about the joy of learning for learning's sake, and we spend much of our time delving into abstract or obscure questions that can seem to have little practical value. This part of our education gives rise to an image of the elite college as haunt of star-gazing theoreticians who, like the astronomer in Chaucer’s “The Miller's Tale,” might walk into a terrestrial obstacle while studying the movement of celestial bodies.

What I like about “Numb3rs,” then, is that it presents a far more optimistic view of the role of education in public life. It points out that academic disciplines have serious real-world applications, that government should make use of those applications, and that academics have an obligation to the larger society. Put less romantically: As a student, thinking that what you are studying could save the world is fun. I like the show because it represents a well-crafted version of that idea.

On the other hand, it could just be the frequent gunfights. Those are cool too.

Nelson L. Barrette, a Crimson editorial writer, lives in Winthrop House. His column normally appears on alternate Mondays.