1 The Infinite and the Sublime in The Expanse

       Michael J. O’Neill

It made a damning comment as it looked over Fred Johnson’s actions against the Anderson Station civilians (“Back to the Butcher”). It stood over Holden’s shoulder as he talked with his mother by the campfire and she gifted him a copy of Don Quixote (“New Terra”). And it strolled alongside every character that has donned a suit and ventured out of their craft to walk in space. One of the most important characters in The Expanse is not named in the credits. It cannot compete for our attention with Avasarala’s Machiavellian cleverness, with Naomi’s resourcefulness or even with Holden’s dreamy hazel eyes. But this character is onscreen almost constantly. The fact is, it is on camera more than any character in the credits. It is the infinite.¹

Chiaroscuro

      The aesthetic techniques used in The Expanse are indicative of the infinite space that is an essential and ever‐present character in the show. Even the claustrophobic condition of the Belters on Ceres, Ganymede, and Eros points to the infinite space outside. The design of the show keeps infinite space always present.

In the opening credits, the directors and art designers of The Expanse give us the setting of the story in a context of infinite space. Views of several planets—Earth, Mars, Saturn—are framed by black spaces that communicate that these huge objects are mere specks of activity in an endless darkness. The opening shot of Saturn might be the best example. The planet is offset in the camera frame—set to the left side as we look out over the famous rings of the planet. What then is the center of the camera’s focus? The darkness beyond Saturn. The cinematography and set design of The Expanse make extensive use of chiaroscuro (ke‐ah‐ro‐skoor‐o)—a famous artistic technique in the history of painting. The use of dark shadow, and the contrast of light and dark, create the illusion of volume in three dimensions on a canvas. If you have seen a painting (that is, not one of his many portraits) by Rembrandt or by Caravaggio, you have likely seen chiaroscuro used.

      Of course, the aesthetics of the show are not an accident. Chiaroscuro was a technique developed in the seventeenth century. The many references to Don Quixote in The Expanse point to the same century. Season one, episode one is named “Dulcinea.” Dulcinea is the love interest that the delusional Don Quixote de la Mancha idolizes in the story. Season one, episode seven is named “Windmills”—the monsters that the delusional Don Quixote fights on horseback. Rocinante is the name of Don Quixote’s horse. And, if that were not enough, Holden’s mother gifts him a copy of the novel in season four. All of these references bring our attention to the idea that Holden may be a deluded hero on a quest in a universe he does not understand.

      However, they also link the show to a time when the human race first confronted the idea of infinite space—the seventeenth century.

      Artistic techniques, like technology, forms of language or music, are expressive of the mind of the age from which they arise. The use of chiaroscuro in the show is compelling visually and situates the viewer in two times—the twenty‐fourth century of The Expanse and seventeenth‐century Europe. The technique was born of a time when the idea of the infinite space of the universe was working its way into the human imagination. The Expanse plays with the idea of infinity and makes it a theme and element in the thoughts and actions of the characters. A quick detour to the seventeenth century will help us understand this theme of the show better.

A New, Infinite (And Wonderful?) Universe

      The first time the human race confronted the infinite spaces of the universe, it found itself at a loss to understand its place in that infinity. Galileo (1564–1642) had demonstrated the truth of the heliocentric model of the solar system. (Fun fact—Galileo also discovered one of the Belters’ future homes, Ganymede.) The idea that points of light in the night sky were stars, like our sun, which were moving through massive spaces and were far, far away was discussed in the salons of France and the academies of England. In 1687, Isaac Newton (1642–1727) published the first unified mathematical model of the motions of all bodies moving through space. All of the scientific world celebrated. Newton had done it—found the mathematical key to everything! It would be more than 200 years before relativity theory would throw the Newtonian model into question.

Like the presence of the Ring System in The Expanse, Newton’s model inspired enthusiasm about human possibilities and human enlightenment. Alexander Pope (1688–1744) caught the mood of the late seventeenth century well when he wrote, “Nature and nature’s laws lay hid in night: God said, ‘Let Newton be!’ and all was light.”² But did this new understanding of the universe have a dark side? Were we on a promontory looking at the beauty of nature newly understood and looking toward a human future full of wonderful possibility? Or were we on a precipice over an empty abyss into which we would fall?

The Abyss Looks Back (Nietzsche Warned You …)

      What do you see when you look over The Expanse? Holden sees hope and the need to struggle for justice. Miller sees a quest to find the real Julie Mao. Avasarala sees nothing but the coming of an eventual existential threat to human life. Fred Johnson sees the possibility of redemption. The Mormons, the need for a journey to find God.

For Blaise Pascal (1623–1662), the infinite space discovered by the new physics of the seventeenth century was a terrifying emptiness—proof of the insignificance of human life and the need for faith in God. (He is in both Avasarala’s camp and the Mormons, perhaps.) He writes, “For, after all, what is man in nature? A nothing compared to the infinite, a whole compared to the nothing, a middle point between all and nothing, infinitely remote from an understanding of the extremes; the end of things and their principles are unattainably hidden from him in impenetrable secrecy.”³ When you think about something infinitely large, like the universe, are human beings not a “nothing compared to the infinite”? And, when you think about the fact that the molecular, atomic, and subatomic world is infinitely small, are human beings not “a whole compared to the nothing, a middle point between all and nothing”?

      Our place as rational creatures would seem to put us in a position of distinction in all of this infinity. But, “the end of things