Save for a few numerophiles, most people think of the science of statistics as boring, dry, and consigned to a dusty corner of the mathematics department. But the late I. Bernard Cohen, founder of Harvard University's History of Science department, was determined to alter this popular opinion. His last book, The Triumph of Numbers, amasses a collection of statistical histories and tales, resurrecting such great figures as Benjamin Franklin and Florence Nightingale in the process, in an endeavor to present the importance of numbers to both the past and present. With anecdotes, quotes, and his own voice, Cohen shows how numbers permeate even the most obscure and unusual aspects of life, and leaves us with the seed of computational mastery begun by the advent of the computer.

Cohen's voice is the most noticeable and strongest element in this book, conversing with the reader in the style of a wise, knowledgeable lecturer. Even as he pulls figures about weapons use in nineteenth-century England, and describes in painstaking detail the exact arithmetic and problem-solving steps Thomas Jefferson undertook to calculate the process of determining seats in the House of Representatives, he maintains the human-interest level of his story. His humor shines, weaving itself easily into his narrative in pithy comments, like "a mysterious numerical quantity called APR appears on our monthly credit card statements," and vivid images, such as that of the great Napoleon Bonaparte, sitting at the foot of the Pyramids of Giza, calculating how large a wall around France one could build with its stones. (Cohen goes on to show with precision that Napoleon's figures were roughly accurate.)

Maintaining his easy-going teaching manner, Cohen proceeds to teleport his readers through history. He moves chronologically, establishing basic historical context at each broaching of the temporal barrier before diving into the numerically-relevant quirks and geniuses of the time. He begins with the mysteries of the Bible, recounting how the tempted King David was punished for carrying out a census on the people when, only a few years later, another ruler was hardly chided for performing the same act. Cohen transitions into the tentative use of numbers in the time surrounding and constituting the Scientific Revolution. He covers the amusing attempts at converting morality into arithmetic and describes the manipulations of mystic numerology to relate Martin Luther to the Devil. He then bursts into independent local studies, in which the use of numbers and statistics was developed.

He also details Jefferson's obsession with numbers, noting for instance the third president's reflection on his "ten and one-half grandchildren, and two and three-fourths grandchildren,' adding that 'these fractions will ere long become units.'" Even Jefferson's political thought was governed by numbers: his decision that black slaves counted for three-fifths of a white person in the population count, for example, influenced his decision on the number of seats in the House of Representatives apportioned to each state. Jefferson deliberated for some time over whether, in determining the number of seats a state would receive, this fraction should be rounded up or down.

As a brief departure from Jefferson, Cohen also relates how, by using population estimates, Benjamin Franklin was able to convince the English to annex Canada rather than Guadeloupe in the French and Indian War, thus making him nearly single-handedly responsible for the longest militarily undefended border in the world. Cohen goes on to cover political arithmetic, the use of statistics in political determinations, court rulings on censorship, and ethics debates over crime and punishment.

By the time he reaches the founding (by Adolphe Quetelet) of the science of sociology, Cohen appears to be somewhat mired in the glut of statistical history. He regains his jolly footing, though, by balancing all the numerical positivism with an entire chapter dedicated to critical oppositions to the increasingly-widespread use of statistics. Charles Dickens dominates this section as the primary spokesperson against over-reliance on statistics. It is no surprise that Dickens was so vehemently opposed to this science; countless English legislators relied upon it to generate the data which they could then use to delay the costly social reforms that Dickens advocated in his literature. While the great novelist is still better-known for A Christmas Carol than for Hard Times, he nevertheless published scathing condemnations and elaborate satires featuring characters who failed to consider alternatives to statistics. One story in his journal narrates the tragedy of a girl who marries not for love, but for the reasoning that the statistics overwhelmingly support the success and prosperity of most marriages over time. She ends ruined and unhappy, collapsed in an observatory belonging to her father-the very figure who instructed her to prize rationality and figures at the expense of any emotions.

At this point, however, the work becomes more uneven. Cohen suddenly shifts into a final and isolated, though still very interesting, chapter about the exploits of Florence Nightingale, a highly educated young lady from a wealthy family, inspired by a vision from God instructing her to devote her life to helping others. Surprisingly, she used statistics to reform the appalling conditions of field hospitals in the Crimean War, as well as English hospitals. Her careful record-keeping and scrupulous sanitation efforts sparked a wave of reform in English medicinal care, its success strongly supported by her calculations and tallies.

Quite surprisingly, the book ends here. Cohen leaves us only with an all-too-brief blurb about the invention of the first calculating computers. It is hardly enough to make the continuity buttress his piecemeal, sporadic history of statistics and the way the science operates today. He fails to mention statistical efforts in other parts of the world, such as the extensive system of tallying concubine health and activity in ancient China long before Europeans speculated on how many people the earth could support. Sadly, we must remain content with this disconnected series of brief but enjoyable anecdotes about the pervasiveness of numbers.