Lone Adventurers versus Leaders, in Space Opera

"Lone Adventurers versus Leaders in Space Opera"

(c) 2007, 2011 by Jordan S. Bassior

The greatest space opera epic in the history of science fiction, by most accounts, is E. E. "Doc" Smith's "Lensman" saga (1). What sets this seris apart from many is that it is the chronology of a cosmic war, overtly between two civilizations -- "Civilization," descended in part from the civilization of Tellus (Earth), and "Boskone," essentially an anti-Civilization; covertly (2) between two ancient super-races, the benevolent, curious Arisians and the malevolent, power-hungry Eddorians. across two Galaxies and aeons of time (3).

Now, like most stories, it centers on one main character -- Kimball Kinnison (4).  However, it really is the saga of a whole war, and so in many crucial scenes he is an influence on, or even merely a witness to much larger events, such as massive interstellar naval campaigns.

One thing that sets this apart from a lot of later space opera -- though the idea was common at the time (5) -- is that Kimball Kinnison is not some sort of renegade or lone adventurer. He is a representative of and agent of Civilization, and much of what happens would not be possible if he did not have the forces of Civilization on which to call, lead, or persuade.

This avoided the major credibility problem of much space opera, which is the question of how and why one character is in a position of such importance to influence cosmic events. In the "Lensman" series the answer is that he has been appointed to this position: it is no more astounding that Kimball Kinnison should play an important role in a major space battle than that General Eisenhower should direct the Western Allied European Theatre in World War II.

Now, of course, the "lone adventurer" (or "band of adventurers") type of space opera, which is more popular today, has a venerable history. It goes all the way back to Edgar Rice Burroughs (though John Carter and the other Barsoomian adventurers, in particular, often acted as leaders or agents of Helium); notable Thirties and Golden Age adventurers included C. L. Moore's Northwest Smith and Leigh Brackett's Eric John Stark, and of course, going back to the Twenties, "Doc" Smith's Dick Seaton of the "Skylark" series (6).

There is much merit to the "lone adventurer" story. Even grand space opera must focus on individuals, and hence there will be "lone adventurer" stories within the grand epic (there are literally dozens of sub-stories within the "Lensman" series, for instance).

But lone adventurers can only accomplish so much, unless they are given tremendous auctorial assistance (as was Seaton in the "Skylark" novels). An insistence on only doing "lone adventurer" stories limits the stories that one is able to tell (7).

Why, then, has grand space opera fallen out of fashion? The reason, I believe, has to do with cultural changes to the popular concept of heroism. Increasingly, since the Vietnam War, the character who is acting as an agent of a higher governmental authority has been rejected as hero in favor of the character who is either acting solely on the dictates of his own conscience, or who starts out acting as an agent of a higher governmental authority but becomes a renegade because of the dictates of his own conscience (8).

It is my belief that this idea came about because many writers feel that "the Establishment" of any Western or Western-like society has been discredited by America's (much-exaggerated) atrocities in Vietnam and that, therefore, the only real heroes possible are Bold Rebels Against the Establishment. In other words, nobody who is fighting for the Powers That Be can possibly be a hero.

Among my problems with this notion is that it is suicidal. We are products of our society, and to wish to tear down or fail to preserve our society means to change it into something that we would not find as hospitable. If we are dealing with themes of Man against Infinite Space and Time, surely preserving what we ourselves value, which (like it or not) is what our Establishments spring from (9), is all the more important?

Interestingly, a more mature, "Doc" Smith like attiude is often found today in planetary science fiction, particularly in the two major "Sea of Time" sagas (S. M. Stirling's Island in the Sea of Time, which features a villain in part inspired by Smith's DuQuesne from the "Skylark" Stories, and Eric Flint's 1632 universe. On an interstellar scale, the grand epic is now being done mostly by David Weber, in a series of stories that began about Honor Harrington, a heroine acting as part of a larger organization, and have moved far beyond merely her own experiences.

In modern space opera, the limits of light speed are often used to grant the character "lone actor" status. This is of course reasonable, especially over really great spacetime gaps -- who, after all, is going to review the orders of someone 30 thousand light years from home in an STL travel universe? On the other hand, it is less reasonable across short interstellar distances (the captain of a ship on a 20-year round trip to Alpha Centauri does intend to go home someday), and it is a poor excuse in universes which do have FTL travel.

Stories about leaders are, admittedly, harder to do than stories about lone adventurers.  Any leader has to work with his organization.  If he has superiors, and they give him what he considers mistaken orders, he must either follow them, work around them, or persuade them to change their minds.  He must work with his colleagues, which may mean playing organizational politics in order to get to do what he wants to do.  And he must persuade his subordinates to go along with his plan -- even if they are under his unconditional authority, he has to worry about sparking a rebellion or simply being ignored if his orders are too unpopular.

This does not, of course, mean that the character must be some sort of "cover his ass" bureaucrat who is unwilling to make any independent decisions. One wouldn't want to assign crucial interstellar missions to persons matching that description, and such would make poor "heroes," anyway. But even someone far from home can show loyalty to his own culture, society and government (10).

Nor does it mean that every space opera must be about Agents of Authority. There is a good and honored place for Lone Adventurers, and many thrilling tales to tell about them.

It's just that some stories are too big for a Lone Adventurer to handle. 

If we want to control our future, we have to take responsiblity for our past, and if we want to speculate about our destiny on the largest of scales, it can't all be about a single and independent hero.

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Notes:

(1) The novels, not the idiotic anime.

(2) Very covertly, as the Eddorians never catch on to the existence of the Arisians.

(3) Obvious comparisons in terms of scope can be drawn with Benford's "Galactic Center" and Baxter's "Xeelee" space opera sagas.

(4) Though there are two prequels (Triplanetary and First Lensman) which take place before his birth; and in Children of the Lens he shares the stage with his offspring.

(5) Edmond Hamilton originated and Jack Williamson also notably used this idea, often generalized as the "Space Patrol" setting. Its most visible modern manifestation is "Starfleet" in the Star Trek series.

(6) Leigh Brackett kept writing Stark stories to the end of her career, but they always had a Thirties to Forties feel to them.

(7) - To those which can plausibly be witnessed and affected by an at least semi-independent individual, or small group of individuals, which prevents one from telling large-scale stories.  Either the heroes have to be given ridiculous levels of influence, whether due to innate abilities or being At The Right Place At The Right Time, or the story must be merely a small slice of the event:  "What I Saw At The Grand Galactic War."

(8) - Ridiculous extremes of this cliche are the spy who has to wind up hunted by his own agency and the cop who has to be suspended from the force before he can solve the case: both ritual applications of "Outsider" status required to gain the moral advantage needed to deserve success.   The ritual nature of this plot development is clearly shown when the lone spy or cop becomes absurdly more effective on his own than he ever was as the agent of the organization.

(9) - This, I think, is the real reason for the attractiveness of the "lone outsider" hero.  All that is bad or corrupt or ugly about his society can be externalized and blamed on "The Establishment" or "The Powers That Be," while the hero can be painted as being above such flaws.  Yes, even when he's a Gritty Anti-Hero -- being such usually means that he is brutal or sleeps around or swears a lot (all, notice, hallmarks of his Alpha Male untamed nature), not that he participates in or profits from the social vices the author really despises.  (Heroines, of course, get the female equivalents].

It's a dishonest practice.  In real life, the flaws of a society's Establishment almost always spring either from the values of the larger society, and hence will be mirrorred in the hero's and (if the society is similar to our own) the reader's own personality.  What tends to be externalized onto the "Establishment" is not so much vice but failure, as in "victory has a thousand fathers, defeat is an orphan."  The very same beliefs and policies that all will take pride in and credit for when they work well will be blamed on shadowy nefarious politicians, bureaucrats and business lobbies should they fail.

It's one of the uglier sides of human nature.

(10) - As opposed to betraying his service oaths or employment contracts the moment that he runs into the "dilemna" in which his organization is obviously in the moral Wrong and its enemies in the moral Right.  Which begs the question of just why the character signed onto that organization in the first place ...