The Heart of the Matter: Why We Stop Asking How

You see, there’s a very old, very short poem – perhaps the shortest ever written – about the history of microbes. It goes: Adam / Had’em. It’s delightful, isn’t it? It tells a billion-year story in two breaths. But it set me to wondering about the titles we give our lives. If we were to title the essay of our own existence, what would be the shortest, most potent word we could find? Some might say “I.” And certainly, there is a great deal to be said about that little pronoun. But for our purposes today, I want to suggest a different word: “Why?”

Now, “Why” is a curious little word. It’s in a class all by itself. You see, we are very good at asking How, What, When, and Where. We are experts in the mechanics. We know how the apple falls, how the electric current shakes the nerves, and how to keep the giant machinery of our civilization humming along. But as a great teacher once said, “I want the ‘why’ of everything; I leave the ‘how’ to children.” That may sound a bit harsh, but stay with me.

When we focus on the “how,” we are looking at the manifestations of life – the ripples on the surface of the pond. But when we ask “why,” we are diving deep. We are looking for the very kernel, the heart of things, the life itself. Most of us, you see, are actually quite alienated from our own lives. We drift. We are like leaves caught in an unconscious stream, seemingly awake but having no real control over where the current is taking us. We are busy – oh, so very busy – with the what and the when of our responsibilities, but we have forgotten to ask why we are doing any of it in the first place.

Imagine you are talking to a man who believes that science is the only truth. He tells you, “It is enough to live, to eat, to drink, and to have a bit of technical knowledge.” But is it? If life were only about learning the mechanics of how things work, it would be a rather dismal affair. It would be like being an expert on the chemical composition of a painting without ever actually seeing the beauty of the image. We must know the essence, the “why” of this life, not just its outward behavior.

The trouble is that we have become robots. Perhaps even worse than robots. A robot, at least, is predictable. It does what it was designed to do perfectly. But we? We are ruled by sporadic upsurges of desires we don’t understand, ambitions we haven’t questioned, and fears that haunt us from the basement of our own minds. We aren’t even in touch with the things we are busy with, let alone being in touch with ourselves. It is a miserable existence, but the trick is, we only realize how miserable it is when we catch a fleeting glimpse of the joy and freedom that comes from a life that is actually in touch with itself.

So, how do we get in touch? We make “Why” a habit. We treat it as a wakeup call. Every time you find yourself drifting, you beep yourself with a “Why?”

Take your interpersonal relationships. If someone is unkind to you, your immediate “how” reaction might be to retaliate. But if you pause and ask “Why?” – and I mean ask it subjectively – the whole situation changes. You ask, “Why do I see this person this way?” You might find that you’ve nudged them into that state with your own behavior. If so, you apologize and rectify it. You “conquer the situation with love.” Or, you might find they are simply having a terrible day – a headache, a worry, a sorrow you know nothing about. Suddenly, instead of being a target, you become a source of peace. You haven’t changed the other person; you’ve changed the observer. And when the observer changes, the world is bound to change.

This self-questioning isn’t about self-pity or beating yourself up. It’s about lighting a lamp. When you light a lamp in a dark room, you don’t have to fight the darkness with a sword; the darkness simply isn’t there anymore. Awareness is that lamp. It reveals the motives and the fears that have been driving your thoughts and words. Once you have the key of understanding, you can stop the self-destructive habits and allow the healthy, nourishing seeds in your heart to finally flower.

We can even apply this to the world at large. We look at social evils – let’s say, corruption or systemic greed – and we shake our heads in disgust. We condemn. But condemnation is just noise. It doesn’t produce light. If we ask “Why?” with a sense of compassion, we begin to see the suffering and the sorrow that drive people to these acts. We realize that, put in the same situation, we might fare no better. This realization doesn’t make us weak; it makes us sober and humble. It ends the complaining and starts the doing.

The habit of asking “Why” is a shield. It protects you from the mindless, hasty responses that define a robotic life. Whether you are a writer or a reader, a worker or a dreamer, you must know your “Why.” You shouldn’t write because you have to write; you should write because you have something worthwhile to say. You shouldn’t read just to pass the time; you should read to find something worthwhile to know.

Every time you fall asleep at the wheel of your life, let the “Why” be the beeper that wakes you up. As long as the answer to that question points you toward peace, harmony, and perfection, you are safe. You are no longer just a manifestation; you are the life itself.