The Arithmetic Of Anxiety
Statistical Morality Is Unsafe
When words lose their weight, numbers rush in to take their place.
Our age trusts statistics not as tools but as truths. If a study says “one in four men is lonely,” we nod gravely, not asking what lonely means, nor who the one is.
The figure feels solid, safer than the fog of human feeling.
Numbers soothe us with the illusion of certainty; they convert private unease into public fact.
But statistics are not wisdom. They are opinions disguised as measurement. They describe what is counted and exclude what cannot be.
Their curves and averages flatten the shape of human life until all variety looks like error.
This new moral arithmetic is subtle but pervasive. We speak of “recommended amounts” of friendship, of sleep, of happiness, of steps walked, of minutes spent meditating—as though goodness were quantifiable and life could be managed by metrics.
To fall short of the average is to feel suspect, in need of improvement or cure.
Statistical morality began as a way to govern populations. It has become a way to govern selves. It tells you how much joy is enough, how much quiet is too much, when solitude becomes risk. And so we live by percentages, anxious not to fall behind in the race to be normal.
Yet life cannot be averaged. Peace cannot be plotted on a graph.
To live statistically is to surrender your singularity. To measure is to mistrust.
The man who consults a number to know whether he is well has already forgotten how to feel.
If you wish to find equilibrium, step outside the curve. Let yourself be an outlier.
Statistical morality will tell you that you are wrong; stillness will tell you nothing at all—and that is closer to truth.
