Utopia Is a Road, Not a Place

A standard for every other literary portrait of the imaginative utopias from Thomas More’s Utopia, but the idea was not really his own; the man had already written about the creation and imagining of a perfect social system by his time ago. In fact, since Plato’s Republic, such detailed accounts of hypothetical communities have been proposed and rotated through by different philosophers.

What made More unique in his approach, however, was that the story was framed as if the traveler was discovering a foreign and perfectly organized society in a detailed and concrete description that would excite the imagination even of his readers. The travel narrative was a new angle with which More became different.

As the philosopher and historian Michael Walzer puts it in his book The Revolution of the Saints, this is how More’s method shifted the understanding of utopias: “More’s utopia was not simply an abstract philosophical treatise, but a narrative that made the idea of a perfect society something readers could imagine and engage with directly.”

Utopia is as important to the affairs of the state as it is to literature. More’s Utopia may have one of the worst reputations possible to be attached to a book, for it is far from simply a piece of fancy flight; it is one of the most potent critiques that authors against the government policies and social attitudes prevalent in sixteenth-century England made. More than that, it is not only an exemplary discourse on a perfect society. Instead, it is a sharp commentary on the imperfections and inequities of More’s age.

This double-ended aspect of utopias, as imaginative literary works and vehicles for political commentary, gives at least two different angles of an understanding of the utopian project: the constructive or imaginative and exploratory (which puts up the better vision of society) and critical or reformist and satirical (which condemns and undermines the existing social and political forms).

According to Walzer, these two aspects of utopia are inextricably linked and seminal for a political philosophy interpretation of utopias. Not only does utopia take the shape of an ideal blueprint for a society, but it will also become echoes into which the present systems can be made better or transformed completely.

An ideal state refers to utopias in its definition. By definition, utopias, or their very essence, cannot come to fruition. The moment they are seen in reality, they cease to be ideal and have nothing to do with utopias. The real world can certainly come closer to the ideal, but it can never fully become it.

This inherent impossibility of realizing an ideal has contributed to the negative connotation of the term “utopian,” which is often used to discredit ideas or proposals seen as unrealistic or naive. The origins of the anti-utopian spirit go back to Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx on utopian socialism. They condemned it with the sword about its dreamy and illusory aspects, claiming it to be unhinged from reality with the present class struggle and revolution.

This last objection has a shade of hypocrisy. Indeed, it is as improbable that it will be realized as any other utopian ideal, just as Marx sees the emergence of an egalitarian socialist society from the ruins of capitalism. The possibility of constructing a society free of inequality and exploitation through a revolution has no guarantees and raises its uncertainties.

Still, the criticisms leveled against utopianism by Marx and Engels have not been able to wipe out associations between utopia and unrealistic hopes. So, Marx’s utopia is essentially a scientific account of historical inevitability with all the dreams and disillusionments he has ever criticized.

Anti-utopian voices always warn of the evils of idealism, and their message has pervaded almost every level of society, teaching young minds to suspect the crimes of utopian schemes in the education system. Idealism in schools is most often put down, like when a nutritionist warns against letting a child eat too much sugar. High school (and junior high) level reading lists are filled with anti-utopian novels that take a critical stance against the dangers of idealistic thinking.

These titles typically include Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 and Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, works in which dissent is crushed in a totalitarian regime and dystopic threats are examined in a patriarchal theocracy.

Another major perennial is George Orwell’s Animal Farm, a classic assessment of the dangers of totalitarianism disguised as equality. At the same time, 1984 takes a stark look at governmental surveillance vanishingly through control.

Those books brought into the classrooms can serve as cautionary tales for young dreamers against the dangers of “fairy-tale thinking.” Still, just as likely, they are about delivering the axiom: “Do not try this at home,” meant to alert the students about the perils of going against the norm. After all, the utopians are not dozers only. They are radical subversives with schemes for alternative social arrangements and institutions.

All too often, these kinds of utopians who threaten the established order are under constant scrutiny from those in control. For many, the vision of utopia seems ludicrous or even naïve. For the powerful, it is something much more terrifying: a thought that could disturb their hold on the world.

Utopia itself is not a “destination” in the strictest sense of the word. The very idea of a perfect state of affairs makes utopia, by definition, an ideal that one can never fully reach. One might easily counter this by saying, first, that perfection itself is unattainable, or, second, there is no objective standard for what would constitute perfection in the first place. How would we even know we have reached it? If the word “destination” is used to refer to a final, possible point, then a utopia, in that sense, would lead us nowhere.

Always something we aspire for. It can be compared to the ancient story by Zeno of a tortoise triumphing over a great hero: Achilles races against a tortoise. In it, Achilles approaches the tortoise closer and yet fails to catch it. It is because he, each time, covers the distance that the tortoise has already achieved, after which it goes farther away. It results in a series of infinite numbers of approaches leading towards smaller and smaller steps, which continuously fail to form an actual completion.

However, it does not mean Achilles does not make any peace. The most crucial point to realize is that without truly reaching the tortoise, he always strides forward, narrowing the distance by tiny fractions.

In the same way, utopianism as an ideal does not require an actual attainment moment in history. Rather, the very eventuality of its almost continuous progress (the slow and the negligibly imperceptible and yet towards a fairer and juster society) is worth having. In this very process, we are also constantly reevaluating and remaking ways of living together, affecting our political (space and social lives as well in that ongoing journey).

Still, if utopia is a journey rather than a destination, what would make the trip worth taking apart from the fact that the road to utopia is hardly overcrowded? For this consideration, let us set up a simple analogy. Thinking of a person utterly confused about who he wants to become: without any vision of his future self, how could he make wise and meaningful decisions concerning his life? Every choice would either feel random or short-sighted.

It can easily be extrapolated to society as a whole. When a particular people, a community, or even an entire nation does not know what world they want to live in, how can they make sound collective choices? How can they judge which policies, values, or transformations are worth the investment of their struggle?

It is where utopian thinking comes in. It tells us what the guiding vision ought to be, one goal, however far it may be, that we might never realize. Utopia is the carrot dangling before the mule, providing energy and momentum so that it does not stall. The better world may be but a figment of our imaginations, yet it is the only thing that propels us into the actual world.

Excellence, on the personal level, corresponds to utopia. According to virtue ethics, perfection is not so much the end; it is an eternal endeavor to be a better person with courage, wisdom, compassion, and integrity. It is in such a constant struggle that a person is molded to be virtuous.

Suppose all of us are on this path (a constant effort to be better today than yesterday). In that case, the collective push of individual progress would pull society in a positive direction, too. With such momentum toward being better people, society could result in a kind of excellence, like a utopia where it is not a common destination but a state where things are more just, more compassionate, and more whole.

However, utopia does not only dream big or do good for its own sake; it has a deep tie with ethics. Any act of kindness that tries to take you toward the “good place” is, therefore, ethically right, and this will be the deep moral current that underlies utopian thinking. It is not just idealism but more like a moral compass that points you toward something better.

The journey toward utopia is not just a hopeful trek; ethical and good things are done. Progress has been hard, and though it may take time or turn out not so perfect, it will still be worth pursuing.

The very fact that it has been shown to work (theoretically speaking) by having some common utopian vision as the utopia of society itself already provides a perfect opportunity for cooperation to flourish within that society. However remote or abstract, when people work toward the same vision of a future, it gives everyone a sense of direction. It is like saying, “That is the destination” before you embark on a road trip: even if the roads are winding, at least people try to get there together.

Imagine this: society is a huge, messy decision-making puzzle constantly being solved by individual choices. Each person’s choice is more manageable when one knows what the objective is for others. If we all know the shared goal, this utopian ideal, we are more likely to make collective match decisions because such decisions will not only be our own but will fit in with what everyone wants, too.

When there is mutual agreement on the kind of world that is envisaged, cooperation becomes simpler. There develops an expectation that everyone else is also working towards the same end. Therefore, trust develops. Helping your neighbor is not a matter of altruism; it is helping to push the entire system and, therefore, your existence forward. A bonus for all.

If the utopian vision becomes an obvious and properly shared part of a society’s identity, then people will not act alone; they will act in confidence that everybody else is pulling their weight, too. Interest conflicts grow smaller in that kind of environment because one’s success begins to look more like that of everyone else. That is surely the kind of collective energy that utopian thinking can generate.

To enter into this kind of social contract (wherein everyone agrees to join together for a common vision of a better world) is roughly analogous to what John Rawls spoke of with the “original position.” He asks people to imagine themselves behind a veil of ignorance, where they do not know their social status, class, or other personal advantages. With that very mindset, the belief was that fair rules for all would most likely be invented since the creation of society would be with total ignorance of where any one of us would end up.

With that being said, the talk of building a utopia is not simply about the want to arrive at a perfect place. It also becomes a matter of putting in writing a contract that says what is permitted and not permitted! This commitment to both the goal and the way of getting there is what the whole cooperative effort is, first of all, anchored in, and that presents the integrity of the utopian project.

Now, this is a funny part: for this to make sense, we all have to have the same vision of utopia, even when, deep down, we know we may never reach it. From such a perspective, is it even rational? Well, sort of. Look at it this way: if utopia is seen as the best possible version of society but one that cannot fully exist, then a step toward that vision makes for better cooperation among people. Those societies that cooperate well tend to fare better.

It follows that whichever way you look at it, working toward utopia becomes the most rational and practical course of action. Engaging in such a common utopia project is not just idealistic but makes rational sense for everyone who wants a more just, stable, and cooperative society.

A thinker of utopia, as Tom Moylan puts it, may not be the one who gets restricted by some rigid rulebook and locked into one particular methodology of imagining the future. They would rather think freely and creatively by picturing new worlds to be liberated of strict academic frameworks and eager conformity to logic. However, utopias have managed to be documented responses to the issues and realities of the age, and they have broken these bounds. Utopian visions may even move across time and space, into the past, into the future, or sideways into alternative realities.

The beauty of it is that the utopian writer does not have to tell what the future will look like and, in doing so, professes all-knowingness. Instead, they envision better ways of living: sometimes in familiar settings, other times on distant planets, and still other times in settings that are utterly dissimilar to our world. These imagined societies distance the writers from critiquing the real world, not only inside but also outside, asking themselves, “What if things were radically different?”

Doing so engages a whole different set of solidary connections and shared visions that transcend the divides of class, race, gender, etc. That is the beauty of utopian thought. It opens space for critique “and” connection: one single imaginative leap.

The narrative is the main vehicle through which a literary utopia spreads its message. It is not enough for a utopian ideal to be presented in a dry, theoretical way: narrative form brings it into the flesh and makes it live. Thus, it makes the reader’s involvement deeper and more immediate. The narrative makes the utopian vision more interesting and palatable. It invites the reader into a world where she can imagine what it may have been like to live in such a society.

While pure theoretical arguments sometimes sound abstract and far away, a narrative that grips one’s imagination brings home the ideal.

In other words, the utopian discourse creates a meta-narrative that facilitates a comparison between the actual present and some imaginary future. This contrast enables audience members to put into perspective the two worlds portrayed in the story. The reader is burdened with more than mere passivity; they are called upon to think about the factors that connect the present with an ideal that is ultimately arrived at by their thinking and ponderings, and maybe even some of their sufferings as well.

In essence, it becomes a collaborative effort in which the reader’s imagination and the narrative design delve into what is possible and how those possibilities might come to fruition in tangible terms.

One would object to at least one problem with articulating a positive vision of utopia: differing ideas may occur about what utopia should actually be. It implies that an opposed vision may conflict directly with another of an opposite utopia, giving a competing vision of the ideal society. It is challenging. The fact that there are competing visions that clash might thwart the entire utopian project, therefore hindering the process more.

Utopian endeavors rely on some form of common agenda in promoting cooperation within society. If that unity is absent, any progress made will slow down and eventually come to a halt.

If utopias were to compete against each other, no particular utopia could find a foothold. Instead of a peaceful march to a better future, chaos would exist akin to a war of all against all. Hence, utopianism ceases to be a pleasant journey and becomes a battleground for competing ideals.

Thus, when two mutually exclusive versions of utopia arise, we must figure out which one is less rational. To avoid conflicts of interest and preserve the integrity of the utopian project, we must concede that only one vision can become the “true” utopia. The true utopia must be one more rational and better able to work in the real world.

This theoretical dilemma has rendered the concept of negative utopia proposed by philosopher Herbert Marcuse all the more enticing. According to Marcuse’s thesis of negative utopias, while it is impossible to construct an entirely congenial vision of the ideal society, we can come to a universal agreement on which society we definitely do not wish to live in.

It amounts to a reverse picture of utopia. Instead of envisaging an ideal future, we first have to identify and eliminate the characteristics of society that are universally perceived as undesirable. Therefore, from the features that everyone agrees to discard as harmful or unjust, what is admissible by others should be at least minimally acceptable to all in theory.

Marcuse’s utopian journey, however, assumes an endpoint quite different from that of other such journeys. In this case, the endpoint is not an endless striving for an unblemished world but maintenance in this manner until society has rid itself of all universally disliked attributes.

After that, the society walks into a frozen abeyance, devoid of both theoretical direction and a vision with any weight pushing it onto the next phase. The ailment may have been taken away, but the treatment killed the patient: without these negative attributes, there would be no impetus, no reason to go towards a better world.

Utopianism is a nostalgic yearning for a time and place that does not exist. Besides that, it is hope for a time and for a place that has yet to come. It is what it could be: a possible better future, what could be different, better, and more just.

From that same perspective, in good times, we look nostalgically back to those times and places where we have not existed, nor may they even have existed, feeling like we are out of sync with everything around us; here, life is being lived in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Unfortunately, temporal inconsistency is not defined as utopian longing. It is a sign that utopia has failed: the failure to take right now for one’s own time a better future action and not find oneself belonging to a greater, cooperative human event.

The idea of utopianism is yet another way of being that encourages hope for the creation of a universal sense of belonging in humanity, argues against the very pretexts of human self-destruction, and collapses in favor of some higher interest. It sets man free from all such states of pessimism structured by the Hobbesian thought of the state of nature, which can give rise to a bright vision of human nature. A concept of a long-lasting, if not everlasting, universal peace.

If we think that less is good both in theory and in practice, then we also fail our combined intellectual responsibility. Utopia is not necessarily a far-off dream. It can be better thought of as a self-confirming prophecy. The beauty of it is that not even 100% realization is a requirement for its striking effect; its mere existence can compel social cooperation and instill harmonious human relationships. We tell our children about utopia, and in sharing that narrative, we dissolve their fears—and our own.

By accepting this vision, what is it for us? Are we truly doing the work needed to make it happen, or are we simply remaining in our state of temporal inconsistency? What kind of world do we wish to create? Do we have the strength to bring it, or are we satisfied with a world that is less than our abilities? Can utopia actually be termed a possibility that needs a maximum thrust for greater cooperation and harmony, or are we destined to stay disparate and apart?

References

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