He is wise, or maybe he just has too much time on his hands to think about everything under the sun. There is no rest for the philosopher’s mind because even if some trains of thought are morbid or depressing, it’s still interesting, much more than not thinking.
He may grow premature wrinkles and grey hairs, but it will happen eventually anyway, so why worry over worrying over the various meanings of life?
He’s seen a man wiser than him at work; a wise but poor man who saved the city he lived in from a powerful king. This man is remembered by no one except himself; this nameless, faceless wise man who never became a hero because he wasn’t given any fame. Does what he has done matter, then, when no one has acknowledged his actions?
Of course, he believes doing good and making wise choices are better than the alternatives, yet the same fate falls on all living things, whether they’ve chosen a life of wisdom or a life of foolishness. When faced with the end, does choice matter?
He can’t quite place a finger on why, but he still believes that life matters. So he keeps on thinking and thinking, until the day when he finally reaches the Answer to the questions.