On one particularly overcast morning, a man walks upon a grey hill. As he does so, he mumbles softly, conversing with no one
“I am tired,” he complained.
“Is that so?” he replied.
“Yes. My feet hurt and I grow weary. Why must we walk?”
“Because we must.”
“But why?”
“Why does any man travel down the path he is given?” he asked.
“Well,” he says uncertainly, “I suppose it depends on the circumstance.”
“Well there you go,” he replied.
“Oh,” he says in return, more uncertain than before. “So, why must we walk?” he repeats.
“Well I believe, as you put it, it would depend on the circumstance.”
“Oh. So what is our circumstance?”
“You do not recall?”
“No no, I remember.”
“Well?”
The man bites his lip, deep in thought. “I don’t remember. What is our circumstance?”
“Ah. That is simple, my friend.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well then what is it?”
“It’s simple. It’s the same circumstance for every man.”
“Well what is it?”
“It’s because we must.”
“Oh. But why?”
“The same reason as any man.”
“But why?”
“I wouldn’t try to think about that, my friend.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because the people who dig too deep often find that there’s really no purpose at all. Asking why we walk is akin to asking why we eat. Or sleep. Or breathe. Or do anything. We say that we do these things for a multitude of reasons. But when you dig deep enough, you find that there are none. And when you find this, you do one of two things. You either resolve to go on, unfettered by the truth, or you give in. Whether they want to or not, everyone has to give in eventually. And when you give in, everything you’ve ever done is rendered useless. So what’s the point in waiting?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s because there is none.”
“Oh.”
“So, armed with this knowledge, do you go on unfettered? Or give up?”
“I suppose I should go on. I’m afraid of giving up.”
“As most are. But everyone does it eventually. What’s the point in prolonging it?”
“I suppose there is none.”
“Then that is why you must walk.”