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University College London published a major study this week. A complex piece of work calculated the benefits and costs to the public purse of immigration. As ever, people across the political spectrum have been quick to claim it demonstrates whatever it was they already believed. This is one of many reports that are part of an increasing pattern in public life. I’m referring to the confidence with which we feel we can reduce the value of others and even ourselves to figures on a balance sheet.

We live longer, use more sophisticated forms of hospital treatment, expect more people to go on to higher education: such things cost the state more than they used to. During a season of austerity the bottom line is obviously important. But what we’re losing is a public vocabulary for talking about the value of a human life beyond that life’s monetary surplus or deficit to the state. You don’t visit a relative with dementia because he or she is a net asset to the economy. The trouble is it’s increasingly difficult to find a language to express any other kind of asset.

And that brings with it a real diminishment. We say we want politics to be about principle, but in practice more often what we want is for politicians to get things done, knock heads together, turn things around – and otherwise leave us alone. And what’s the result? We get what we ask for. We demand what can be demonstrated by statistics, borne out by opinion polls, and announced in eye-catching headlines. Politics becomes the pragmatic calculation of short-term consequences.

But people’s views about the way we live our lives are seldom formed by a dispassionate analysis of likely outcomes. Beyond debates over principle and statistical calculation lies a third tradition of moral reflection.

It goes like this. What kind of a person do I want to be? What sort of a society do I want to live in? What legacy do I want to leave to the next generation? Jesus said, ‘Your heavenly Father counts every single hair on your head.’ That means our relationships with one another arise from wonder, from the glory of being alive, from cherishing the mystery of another person, from enjoying the beauty of creation.

We can hold tight to our precious principles or impress everyone with our compelling statistics. But public policy in the end has to be founded on a common vision for abundant life. When does anyone ever describe that deeper vision? Isn’t it futile fighting over different ways to travel if we’ve no language to talk about where we’re going?

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