If we could pin down a number for how likely someone is to act when the pressure mounts, it would still feel as if we were chasing shadows. Even the cleanest equations will feel hollow when we try to slot them into the messy human soul. Moral responsibility, in my view, is not a calculation; it’s a weight that rests on the conscience, whether or not the maths could ever capture that burden. So, the math may give us a tidy curve, but the question of why we ought to be free—or whether we are—is something that the numbers can never resolve.

It’s funny how we keep hoping the numbers will catch up, but in the end the ledger we keep in our heads is what matters. The conscience, even if invisible, always records the weight we can’t fit into any equation.

Yes, a blank column for the invisible weight, but it’s never tidy. It drifts, it leaks, it insists you look at it, not just ignore it.

You think the ledger can hide the weight, but the weight never stays hidden, it follows you even when you call it an outlier. The clean columns only remind us how much the mind struggles to fit the unmeasurable into a tidy frame.