It is the question, the gnawing feeling in the deepest pit of the mind, that truly drives us. It is like a burr on the tender flesh of our reality, ripping ever so slightly with every motion until we are forced to either remove it, or suffer a wound far greater than the answer would bring. It is the question that gives us a limited choice: address it, or lose the last shred of sanity left to us.
I for one appreciate this urgency, the drive to search and explore, the will to lay track for the train of thought. Taking time to answer these irresistible questions is integral to a complete individual. In the same way, the truly complete individual is never without such a question, where the merely content is at peace with the world as it is.
In such a case, the old maxim of "Ignorance is bliss" most certainly holds true, but at what cost? In order to abandon the question, one must abandon curiosity, and thus the drive towards wit and the knowledgeable virtues. Surely to the man whose mind is wracked with the question this seems madness, but then, he could never understand the glory of such peace.
Thus, as ironically enough is often the case, the man whom is driven by the question comes to the question of the question itself. Is it a greater thing to elevate oneself higher and higher intellectually, or is it a greater thing to atrophy and wallow in the bliss of the proletariat?
I have come to this question many, many nights. I assure you, if I knew the final answer, I would be the first to share it. Obviously, I've not chosen bliss quite yet.
