I have been thinking a lot about the number forty-two. There can be a whole heap of wisdom stored up in just a little bit of foolishness. Forty-two is the answer to the question. The exact question is a little bit of a mystery. Sometimes, the asking of a question, the understanding of a question enough to ask it, is also the answering. As Douglas Adam’s nihilistic tale grapples with the meaning of life, the universe, and everything, he hits the bullseye with his little joke: We can’t skip to the answer. This isn’t like a maths problem where we smuggle in our calculators to get through with it quickly. To just be given the answer is not to be given the answer. One must understand the answer, and therefore, the question. In this case, there are no shortcuts, and you’ll probably die before finishing the calculations.
However, there is another enjoyable level to this joke/myth/allegory/parable or whatever it is. It is the wrong answer. A computer, in the end, can only output a number; even our fabulous ChatGPT is only a very advanced application of statistical probability. From sowing leaves over our nakedness to building towers to heaven, from a serendipitous mold that can save lives to the killing of lives by tearing the very fabric of reality in two, our technological minds cannot grasp that technology can only give us the wrong answers. Over and over again, we plug away at our calculator and get those bits of data back, 101010. Not only have we not understood the question, we have not asked the right one.
Tale Told 