What’s the stereotpical question that a child would ask? For me, when I think of kids asking questions, the first one that comes to mind is this: “Why is the sky blue?” Kids are stereotypically curious about the world and the way it works, sometimes to the point of annoyance. But that’s alright. Though we often say, “Curiosity killed the cat,” we often don’t talk about curiosity killing any kids. Funny enough, I don’t remember myself asking this question, but I must have been a curious child since I’m clearly obsessed with questions as an adult. Still, the questions that have interested me have changed. Consider this first question as an example: it is exceedingly simple to answer. Though I have no background in physics (apart from grade ten science), even I could do it. The sky, as a matter of fact, is not actually blue. Rather, the molecules that make up our atmosphere simply reflect blue light while they absorb everything else. This is also why the sky changes colour from time to time, even at night. It’s simply reflecting and absorbing different rays of light to various degrees. At least I think that’s the right answer. It’s probably more complicated than that. But I got bored with this question and became infatuated with another. Then, years later, I realised that I could probably sum up the direction of my life in three questions: (1) Why is the sky blue? (2) Why is the sky? And lastly, (3) why? Why, indeed.

This first question is really the domain of science. It seeks to understand the way the physical world works and why things or certain phenomena behave as they do. Clearly, I’m not a scientist, so I moved on.

The second question is the domain of religion and philosophy. It wonders why there are any of these things in the first place! In undergrad, I often heard the early Greek philosophical tradition characterised as trying to answer questions rather like this: why is there something rather than nothing? There’s a lot of answers, as you might expect, all of which are still up for debate. Some people say God made everything, and they are satisfied with this. Some people suggest that the Big Bang did it. Others believe something else entirely, or that the universe is uncreated. Who’s to say it has a beginning, after all? Personally, I still find these questions fascinating, but there is still a question that is even more perplexing than this.

Why? If God made us, then why? If there was a Big Bang that created the Universe (emphasis added because some people believe the universe existed prior to the Big Bang), then why did that happen? And why does it matter whether I know or not? Why? Why at all? What is the point of any of these questions and why should I care about the answers? Frankly, I can only describe this stage as some kind of weird meta-philosophy or existentialism, and it keeps going on and on an on.

When I got accepted to my undergrad program in philosophy at Ryerson, my then-philosophy teacher signed my yearbook, saying, “Enjoy tumbling down the rabbit hole for the next four years!” But he was wrong. It wasn’t for the next four years. It’s likely I’ll wonder about some of these questions for the rest of my life, and that’s okay. I’ve often posited that if I knew everything, I’d get bored because the process of searching for an answer is more fun than actually having one. I’ll forever remain curious about these things, of course, but not in the same way. After all, I must ask myself, “Why must I know this? To what end?” Questions are good, but not for their own sake, and once I realised that, I’ve stumbled across a fourth to add to my line up: “What’s next?”

It’s difficult to know the answer. I could easily argue that the child who asks why the sky is blue is asking a stupid question: it is possible to dig deeper. Likewise, I might mock the philosopher and the religious for their questions, if they leave the third unanswered. Still, I might even mock myself for falling down the rabbit hole as such. I believe it is a good thing not to take oneself too seriously in such matters. Nevertheless, I might also praise these questions for their spirit of curiosity and interest, though I would maintain the view that is possible to dig even deeper still, and ask what the purpose of this exercise is for. To live a good life? To live in perpetual and ecstatic awe? If this is so, you might stop asking “why” and instead ask “how”.