The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

“’Drink up,’ said Ford, ‘you’ve got three pints to get through.’

‘Three pints? said Arthur. ‘At lunchtime?’

The man sitting next to Ford grinned and nodded happily. Ford ignored him. He said, ‘Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.’”

This passage makes a humorous aside of the important metaphysical and astrophysical conundrums of the age. The idea that time itself may not be as concretely real as humans experience it is fundamental to an understanding of Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity, or quantum physics. The idea that lunchtime is even more elusive adds to the irreverent humor of the passage.

“The contents of Ford Prefect’s satchel were quite interesting [. . .] Besides the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic and the scripts he had an Electronic Thumb—a short black rod, smooth and matt with a couple of flat switches and dials at one end; he also had a device that looked rather like a largish electronic calculator. [. . .] Beneath that in Ford Prefect’s satchel were a few ballpoints, a notepad and a largish bath towel from Marks and Spencer.”

Ford is equipped with all of the items crucial to his work not only as an intrepid researcher for The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy but also to his travels as a hitchhiker. Adams’s inventions here presage an age wherein GPS technology, cell phones, and e-books have become a part of the modern landscape. His nomenclature, in contrast, is derived directly from the names and marketing material of products from the post-World War II period. The “O-Matic” was a common suffix appended to what appeared to be futuristic products of the day (Veg-O-Matic, for example).

“Beneath it [the dome] lay uncovered a huge spaceship, one hundred and fifty meters long, shaped like a sleek running show, perfectly white and mind-bogglingly beautiful. At the heart of it, unseen, lay a small gold box which carried within it the most brain-wrenching device ever conceived, a device that made this starship unique in the history of the Galaxy, a device after which the ship had been named—the Heart of Gold.”

The Infinite Improbability Drive, that “brain-wrenching device,” allows the Heart of Gold to travel infinite distances with improbable speed. Essentially, the device does not adhere to any logical scientific principles whatsoever—its very name elicits impossibility. However, it allows for Adams to explore the nature of coincidence, destiny, and the meaning of existence in both serious and absurd ways.

“The fact that [the Vogons survived] is some kind of tribute to the thick-willed slug-brained stubbornness of these creatures. Evolution? they said to themselves, Who needs it?, and what nature refused to do for them they simply did without until such time as they were able to rectify the gross anatomical inconveniences with surgery.”

This description of the Vogons conjures up their essence as unevolved and unenlightened creatures for which the narrator, The Guide, and the characters have contempt. The fact that this galactic species also serves as the largest contingent in the Galactic Civil Service reinforces the author’s satire of bureaucracy, with of the many bureaucratic servants being as unpleasant, unnecessary, and generally unbearable as the bureaucracies they serve.

“‘Resistance is useless,’ bellowed the guard, and then added, ‘You see, if I keep it up I can eventually get promoted to Senior Shouting Officer, and there aren’t usually many vacancies for nonshouting and nonpushing-people-about officers, so I think I’d better stick to what I know.’”

This is an example of the self-justifying nature of bureaucratic work—“Senior Shouting Officer” is a useless title in order to legitimize unnecessary work—as well as the intellectual and cultural constriction inherent to bureaucratic jobs. The young guard seeks out promotion for its own sake, rather than psychological or spiritual fulfillment—a clear critique of the capitalist impulse.

“The simple truth is that interstellar distances will not fit into the human imagination.”

It is not that the human imagination is limited, but that “interstellar distances” are so large that they are simply beyond human comprehension. The passage appears as Arthur and Ford are launched out into space from the Vogon airlock. The passage underscores the astronomical improbability of their coincidental rescue by the passing Heart of Gold. Their rescue is so improbable that coincidence begins to look like destiny, although the narrative never offers a definitive answer as to whether fate exists.

“The Universe jumped, froze, quivered and splayed out in several unexpected directions.”

This passage describes the widespread effect and power of the Infinite Improbability Drive, which can even turn nuclear missiles into a whale and a bowl of petunias. The Drive’s power underscores both the improbable nature of the machine and the absurdist humor that can be wrung from such a trope, as it helps to both advance the novel’s plot while creating improbable coincidences for the characters.

“‘If there’s anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now,’ Zaphod glared at her again, then laughed.”

The passage summarizes Zaphod’s fundamental self-absorption while also satirizing the corruption of political power. As President, Zaphod should ideally be concerned with the general welfare of others, but instead, he only cares for his “ego” and wants anything that challenges his own importance to be “caught and shot,” suggesting that Zaphod is always driven by self-serving ends in all of his antics.

“The Heart of Gold fled on silently through the night of space, now on conventional photon drive. Its crew of four were ill at ease knowing that they had been brought together not of their own volition or by simple coincidence, but by some curious perversion of physics—as if relationships between people were susceptible to the same laws that governed the relationships between atoms and molecules.”

The passage once again conflates coincidence with destiny, social relationships with quantum physics. This passage foreshadows the revelation that the Earth is actually a kind of organic computer, wherein the mathematical algorithms presumably bring certain people together and make particular events occur. It is left unclear who, or what, is directing these events: artificial intelligence, divine intelligence, or sheer Universal randomness.

“’Can you fly her?’ asked Ford pleasantly.

‘No, can you?’

‘No.’

‘Trillian, can you?’

‘No.’

‘Fine,’ said Zaphod, relaxing. We’ll do it together.’

‘I can’t either,’ said Arthur, who felt it was time he began to assert himself.’”

This exchange reveals important aspects of Arthur’s characterization. He is ignored in the conversation about who can fly the ship, because his interstellar skills are non-existent. He is offended by the snub, though not vehemently, as he is aware of his short-comings. He does, however, start to “assert himself,” suggesting growing self-confidence as he undergoes his space travels.

“Of all the planets in all the star systems of the Galaxy—many wild and exotic, seething with life—didn’t he just have to turn up at a dump like this after fifteen years of being a castaway? Not even a hot-dog stand in evidence.”

This passage is Ford’s bleak assessment of Magrathea—or at least, the surface of Magrathea. It also provides a hint into Ford’s character: He is eager to be engaged with the Universe again, after his long exile on Earth. His feelings of disappointment at discovering that the legendary planet is a “dump” that lacks even a “hot-dog stand” creates a moment of literary bathos, in which a character’s sorrow is rendered in terms that elicit humor instead of pity.

“’I don’t know what I’m looking for.’”

Zaphod’s comment encapsulates the core metaphysical conundrum at the heart of the book, the existential riddle of the meaning of life. Zaphod also embodies the notion that sentient beings are alienated from themselves: He has severed his own minds, obscuring his motivations and memories even to himself. He seeks fame and fortune—to be President of the Galaxy, to steal the Heart of Gold, to find the fabulously wealthy Magrathea—and yet finds nothing satisfying. He is still looking for a greater truth or deeper meaning.

“When one day an expedition was sent to the spatial coordinates that Voojagig had claimed for this planet they discovered only a small asteroid inhabited by a solitary old man who claimed repeatedly that nothing was true, though he was later discovered to be lying.”

In another tangential aside, Adams addresses the relativity of truth. In searching for the planet of sentient ballpoint pens, all that was found was “a solitary old man” engaged in espousing the relativity of the truth—that is, that “nothing was true.” Ironically, however, the old man is lying.

“The last ever dolphin message was misinterpreted as a surprisingly sophisticated attempt to do a double-backward somersault through a hoop while whistling the ‘Star-Spangled Banner,’ but in fact the message was this: So long and thanks for all the fish.”

As the narrator explains to the reader, the dolphins are the second most intelligent species on Earth, with humankind in third place. Here, the author parodies the human tendency to place themselves at the pinnacle of the planet’s hierarchy: The dolphins are not performing mere tricks for the humans, they are trying to send them an important message. The dolphins know of the eminent destruction of Earth and cannot get the humans to understand, so they send a final message before their escape. This message becomes the title of the fourth book in the Hitchhiker series.

“Many millions of years ago a race of hyperintelligent pandimensional beings (whose manifestations in their own pandimensional universe is not dissimilar to our own) got so fed up with the constant bickering about the meaning of life which used to interrupt their favorite pastime of Brockian Ultra Cricket (a curious game which involved suddenly hitting people for no apparent reason and then running away) that they decided to sit down and solve their problems once and for all.”

This passage is the background that Slartibartfast provides on the mice: They are the “hyperintelligent pandimensional beings” who commission the original computer, Deep Thought, to determine the answer to life, the universe, and everything. The mice’s “constant bickering about the meaning of life” and their “curious game” of “suddenly hitting people for no apparent reason” parodies both mankind’s own philosophical pretensions and propensity for meaningless violence.

“‘You just let machines get on with the adding up,’ warned Majikthise, ‘and we’ll take care of the eternal verities, thank you very much [. . .] Under the law the Quest for Ultimate Truth is quite clearly the inalienable prerogative of your working thinkers. Any bloody machine goes and actually finds it and we’re straight out of a job, aren’t we? I mean, what’s the use of our sitting up half the night arguing that there may or may not be a God if this machine only goes and gives you his bleeding phone number the next morning?’”

This passage satirizes bureaucratic and academic institutions. Majikthise is not actually interested in finding the answer to the meaning of life, as is his professional task—rather, he is more concerned with protecting his job security. The philosophers argue that Deep Throat will effectively render their profession obsolete. Majikthise’s complaints that the computer will leave them “straight out of a job” once again reveals the self-serving and shallow motives of the novel’s experts, who care more for their own social and intellectual standing than finding any definitive truths.

“‘I speak of none but the computer that is to come after me,’ intoned Deep Thought, his voice regaining its accustomed declamatory tones. ‘A computer whose merest operational parameters I am not worthy to calculate—and yet I will design it for you. A computer that can calculate the Question to the Ultimate Answer, a computer of such infinite and subtle complexity that organic life shall itself form part of its operational matrix.’”

Deep Thought talks majestically about his design, ultimately to be called the Earth, which will incorporate “’organic life’” into its technological matrix. In having to create a new super-computer that will formulate the right question to the answer to life (Number 42), the passage parodies the endless—and ultimately futile—search for definitive meaning that humans (and the mice) are embarked upon.

“In the sky a huge sign appeared, replacing the catalog number. It said, Whatever your tastes, Magrathea can cater for you. We are not proud.”

This passage satirizes consumer capitalism, with the Magrathean advertisement parodying the relationship between producers and consumers. They will do anything—compromise their principles, bend the laws of physics, suspend moral judgement—in order to please their customers. Magrathea itself is the epitome of capitalist impulses run amok, as it bankrupts the Galaxy with its amassing of wealth.

“’In this replacement Earth we’re rebuilding they’ve given me Africa to do and of course I’m doing it with all fjords again because I happen to like them, and I’m old-fashioned enough to think that they give a lovely baroque feel to a continent. And they tell it’s not equatorial enough. Equatorial!’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘What does it matter? Science has achieved some wonderful things, of course, but I’d far rather be happy than right any day.’”

Slartibartfast’s complaint about his new role in the rebuilding of Earth II echoes the many dissatisfied comments about work throughout the book. When work is divorced from beauty and pleasure, or spiritual and psychological fulfillment, then it is a drudgery. Slartibartfast represents the opposite of the young Vogon guard: He symbolizes the pursuit of artistic accomplishment over the bureaucratized roles imposed by institutions, wanting to be “happy” instead of “right” in his professional pursuits.

“’Well, I mean, yes idealism, yes the dignity of pure research, yes the pursuit of truth in all its forms, but there comes a point I’m afraid where you begin to suspect that if there’s any real truth, it’s that the entire multidimensional infinity of the Universe is almost certainly being run by a bunch of maniacs.’”

In this passage, Frankie mouse replies to Arthur’s query regarding the Ultimate Question. Arthur displays shock at the mice’s willingness to fabricate a question, or at least to compromise ethically in collaborating on what makes best sense to the masses. The mice are interested in appearances rather than substance—the quest for truth and the adhering to ideals fall by the wayside in the pursuit of fame and fortune. Adams satirizes this self-serving impulse throughout the book, from the untitled introduction to the very end.

“’All right,’ said Benjy. ‘What do you get if you multiply six by seven?’

‘No, no, too literal, too factual,’ said Frankie, ‘wouldn’t sustain the punters’ interest.’”

Proof of their cynical intentions, the mice collaborate in a ruse to invent a question that would cohere with the answer (forty-two) to life, the universe, and everything. The question, however, needs to be philosophically-engaging enough to prolong the never-ending debate about the meaning of existence and to please the “pundits.” Keeping the people’s interest is integral to the mice’s desire to ensure lasting fame and fortune.

“‘Let’s get shot out of this whole,’ said Zaphod. ‘If whatever I’m supposed to be looking for is here, I don’t want it.’”

While this statement is casually offered in the aftermath of a potentially deadly pursuit by police, Zaphod appears to be coming to terms with a fundamental truth. He keeps seeking fame and fortune—which Magrathea symbolizes—but this pursuit leaves him empty and endangered. He might be edging toward the realization that there is more to life than adventurous exploits engineered to keep him famous and wealthy.

“Ford could sense it and found it most mysterious—a ship and two policemen seemed to have gone spontaneously dead. In his experience the Universe simply didn’t work like that.”

This passage is ironic, since the Universe has been working at a highly improbable level throughout the entire novel. All of the coincidences the crew have experienced imply that the Universe is filled with implausible happenstance, while Ford’s continued incredulity hints at a continuing reluctance to accept the randomness and unpredictability of existence.