We Have Questions

The thrilling (and maddening) search for answers.

Questions are beautiful things. They are the launch pads of all knowledge and have spawned human achievement in all areas of life, from “Why does the apple fall downward?” to “How can this photon be both a particle and a wave?” to “Why are the leaves of this bush not consumed by the fire?” The unquenchable human curiosity about who, what, and where we are is a fundamental drive—a factory-installed feature of a soul. 

Questions can be frustrating. Most people are not congenitally equipped to say, “I don’t know.” It would seem to be significantly more satisfying to have answers, and should too paltry a harvest of answers accumulate in the intellectual silo a hunger bourne of despondence can set it. Imagine a murder mystery with no big reveal or a puzzle that’s missing a dozen critical pieces. At a certain point, we might just throw our hands up and ask for the remote. What’s the point if we never get anywhere—if questions just multiply and beget offspring?