In rational communities: plumbers don’t work on cars, nor eunuchs teach sex education; but in routine neural neighborhoods patent idiots publicly denounce idiocy amidst the cheers and jeers of other obvious idiots. (You are keeping in mind that the real tale being told here concerns activities within the folds of your brain, and nowhere else, right?)
The few people on this planet at any given time, who want to understand what is going on strongly enough to engage in some consistent and not totally insane effort to that end, begin in the same position as anyone else desirous of knowing something they do not presently know. They seek to be told about it by someone who does know, but in this singular instance no one does know.
The one big question that eternally dogs the few has no answer – not in the context as mind pictures a relationship between questions-and-answers, and between not-knowing-something, and then learning-about it.
Routine people and princes think that there are many questions to be answered about life: about why humans are so blind in certain affairs; about why they are so stupid concerning other particular matters, The sundry examples of mortal thought and speech that all men find inexplicable in other men, are all but reflected variations of a single question: ”Why is life like THIS?” (with “this” being a blank space that each man’s mind continually fills and re-fills in as dictated by never-still circumstances).
”Why is life like THIS?” That is the one, all-encompassing question proffered by philosophers, princes, priests, and plebeians alike, which in most instances is actually a criticism rather than a question. If the person engaged in the criticism understood what is going on in life, the question, even if unstated, would be operationally answered, and their criticism erased. No man would express any complaint about life if he knew what was going on in life.