Ignorance is bliss. Yet knowledge seems to have this seductive quality to it that beckons you to seek it, however much you might end up miring yourself in misery. We are drawn like moths to the flame, dying a thousand deaths, happily kissing the blinding white every single time.
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found?
The same old fears.
The scientist in us kills all the negative reinforcement. As if there is some subconscious force pushing us all to transcend beyond the results of Pavlov's experiments. Each time we hope that we remember, and learn by the next time. Yet each time we fool ourselves into thinking that knowing is better than not. But is it better than never having asked the question in the first place? Nay, it cannot even compare.
Ignorance isn't not knowing the answer to some question. Ignorance is not knowing the question itself.