The Question Words

Who, what, when, where, how, why. These are the six basic question words in English. Their simplicity (all monosyllables) and uniformity (all containing w and h) might lead you to think there’s something basic, even elemental, about them: that these are the six fundamental types of questions a person can ask, that all six are equally simple and straightforward.

As usual with English, the uncomplicated facade hides a jungle of complexity.

For one thing, there are other question words besides these six. “Which” is perfectly valid but for some reason doesn’t spring to mind as readily; “whither” is antiquated; yes-or-no questions can take many forms (is, are, were, should, would, could, etc.); and of course we can imagine endless other constructions (“To whom were you speaking?”).

But even the big six are not all alike. Some are far more complex than others.

“Where” and “when” are the simplest, requiring only a basic notion of space and time. Both can be answered with coordinates. “What” is more complicated, requiring not only spatial awareness, but also the concept of objects or entities to fill that space. “Who” is trickier yet, layering the idea of personhood over top of “what.” Animals do not get their own question word, and neither do stars, rainbows, or shiny rocks. Only people are special enough for “who.”

“How” is where it starts to hit the fan. “How” implies a concept of status, of organizing the universe into not just objects but modes. “How are you?” The question is meaningless unless the asker and the answerer share a common understanding of not only the myriad ways a person can feel and exist, but the ways people categorize those states. “How” is a big step up from “what.”

“How” is also a catch-all for questions along every axis not covered by the other five. Height: “How tall is she?” Speed: “How fast are we going?” Quantity: “How much does that cost?” Other languages are constructed differently. Spanish, for instance, uses cómo for “how” in the sense of status, but cuánto for “how much.” There’s no inherent reason we have to use the same word for both.

All that complexity is nothing compared to “why.” “Why” implies a profound understanding of the universe, a sense of causality, a mind that asked “what is the reason” so often it needed its own word. “Why” is dissatisfied with just knowing the arrangement of things; “why” demands an explanation. It asks for a story.

The first five questions are animal-brain questions, questions a dog could ponder. “Why” is a question for humans.