Is it enough to know our ultimate questions have answers, or must we try to explicate them?

Humanity is a story-telling species, unlike any other species we know of today. That means we are constantly creating stories that try to help us make sense of the world around us.  Whether those stories are about the gods bowling to create thunder, or the Buddha sitting under a tree, or a babe being born of a virgin, the stories we tell about the world give us a way of comprehending the world we live in. Those stories—myths and oral traditions in pre-literate cultures—give the people who hear (and create) them a sense of empowerment by providing them with the sense of understanding.  It may be unique with humans that “understanding” has so much power. Yet if one considers that a naked hominid, cowering in the darkness of night, would be nearly defenseless against every other predator on the plains of Africa, it perhaps makes sense that telling stories about creation, and gods of nature, and devils is so vital. Telling a story about the forces of nature is reassuring, as if telling the story grants us control over that aspect of nature. Thus, our stories about the world and the universe and the meaning of life are essential to us. With our stories—the direct result of someone looking at the stars and asking, “Why?”—we can imagine that we control our world in a way we really don’t.  Thousands of years ago, we told stories about Zeus and Apollo and Athena. Today we tell stories about DNA and Big Bangs and supernovas. We believe that today’s stories are in some sense closer to ultimate truth than earlier ones, but whether they are or are not seems to make less difference than that we tell them at all. Stories are what make us human. We must have them—and that means we must always try to explicate them and answer the question, “Why?”