There is a poignant song titled “Better Than I” (often associated with Joseph: King of Dreams), and within it lies a lyric that has been haunting me lately: “I give up my need to know why.”
It is a beautiful sentiment, but it is deeply counter-intuitive to the human experience. We are creatures of logic and narrative. When the world breaks, we immediately try to put the pieces back together with reason. We can quickly grasp the who, the what, the where, and the when of a crisis. But the burning question that eats us alive—the one that keeps us staring at the ceiling at 3:00 AM—is “Why?”
When the Answer Doesn’t Make Sense
In my community, we are currently reeling from a horrific tragedy. A local man—a church-going husband—shot and killed his wife at point-blank range, then went to his 14-year-old daughter’s room and shot her as well. He fled the scene and ultimately took his own life while being pursued by the sheriff. The details are gruesome, but the catalyst is absurd. The murder was reportedly over an argument about turning the TV away from an NFL football game.
We know the facts. We know the trigger. But the soul rejects “the football game” as an answer. It isn’t enough. It doesn’t balance the scales. The “why” in this scenario feels empty, leaving us terrified that life can be so fragile and human behavior so volatile. We obsess over the “why” because we hope that if we can understand it, we can prevent it. But sometimes, there is no logic to be found.
The Wall of Mistrust
The obsession with “why” isn’t limited to life-and-death tragedies; it plagues our personal relationships, too. I recently experienced a painful falling out with a close friend. It centered on an action I took, and my friend demanded to know why I did it. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t have an answer. The problem was that I gave the answer—honestly and clearly—and it was rejected.
This is the deeper trap of the question. We think we want the truth, but often, we only want an answer that satisfies us. Because the level of mistrust between us had grown so deep, my true “why” was deemed unbelievable. No matter the veracity of my explanation, the bridge of trust had collapsed, making the truth look like a lie. When trust is gone, “why” becomes a rhetorical weapon rather than a genuine inquiry.
The Scorpion and the Frog
This brings to mind the old fable of the Scorpion and the Frog. The scorpion wanted to cross a river and asked a frog to carry him on his back. The frog, naturally, objected. “You are a scorpion! If I let you on my back, we will get to the middle of the river, and you will sting me and kill me!”
The scorpion offered a logical rebuttal: “Why would I do that? If I sting you while I am riding on your back, you will surely die, but then I would drown, too! It is in my own best interest not to sting you.”
This reasoning made sense to the frog. The logic was sound. So, he agreed. Yet, halfway across the river, the scorpion flipped his tail and stung the frog right between the eyes. As the paralysis set in and they both began to sink, the dying frog gasped, “You said you wouldn’t sting me! We are both going to die! Why did you do it?” The scorpion simply replied, “Because I am a scorpion.”
Believing What You See
We torture ourselves looking for complex psychological reasons, hidden motives, or logical explanations for the pain inflicted upon us. We want the “why” to make sense. We want the husband to have a reason better than a football game. We want the friend to accept our truth. We want the scorpion to care about self-preservation.
But sometimes, the “why” is simply nature. Some people cannot help themselves. Some dynamics are toxic by design. Maya Angelou famously said:
“When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.”
We often spend years trying to repaint people with the colors of our own expectations, asking “why” they acted a certain way, hoping for an answer that allows us to keep them in our lives. But usually, they have already given us the answer through their actions.
Perhaps the songwriter was right. There is a peace to be found in giving up the need to know “why.” We don’t have to understand the scorpion’s nature to know we shouldn’t carry it across the river. We don’t need to force our truth on those committed to misunderstanding us. Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is accept the facts, release the need for a satisfying explanation, and simply let go.