Defining utopia, with Elle Griffin - Part 4
An ongoing conversation with "my nemesis."
Below, you’ll find my second response in the series of emails I exchanged with , on the subject of defining utopias and the potential blind spots in a utopian worldview. This is a response to Part 3, published on The Elysian; Part 2, my first response, is here, and Part 1—the beginning of our exchange—is here. This exchange has been really gratifying because—although the subject matter can veer close to familiar political arguments—we were able to keep the conversation respectful and cooperative, in the spirit of (as I put it) “an interfaith dialogue.” Here, we discuss what “top-down control” means within utopian fiction.
Dear Elle,
Yes! I agree with some of this. There are a couple of interesting questions here.
For example: how do we even define "utopian?" Is it just a synonym for "optimistic?"
Personally, I think it's more than that. I'm not sure it's possible to separate the word "utopian" from the original "Utopia": at its core, it preserves the DNA of the didactic fiction that More created. It's one of the few genres of fiction (maybe the only one?) that presents a blueprint for a world we should actively try to realize. Other stories can inspire, or challenge, or warn; utopian fiction presents a vision for how the world should be.
I think this is why utopian fiction should be held to a higher moral standard than regular fiction. It presents itself as more than just entertainment or cultural edification. Its ideals are higher: utopian fiction wants to imagine a better world—not just for fun, but because its audience is encouraged (maybe expected?) to change the actual world.
Without that distinction, "utopian" becomes extremely hard to define. What separates utopian fiction from pure fantasy? Does utopian fiction require a certain degree of realism? If not—is it just pure fantasy?
Another question: how challenging (i.e. realistic) can the fictional world be until it tips out of "utopian" and into something else?
So, for example—is it possible to have a utopia in which people regularly die from preventable diseases?
It's a trick question. The formulation presumes that there is a class of diseases which are "preventable." Anyone with the means to prevent a deadly disease from killing people is, prima facie, morally obligated to do so. That's what I meant by "because it's theoretically possible, it becomes part of the utopian vision": once we have the theoretical capability to treat or cure everyone on the planet who suffers from Disease X, then the failure to fully realize that capability is viewed as just that—a failure. It falls short of the utopian ideal. If anyone on Earth is allowed to suffer from Disease X, when "we" have the means to prevent it, then we're unavoidably living in a world that is worse than the one we can imagine.
This is the point at which I start to have concerns. My next questions would be: under what conditions is Disease X preventable? And at what cost?
I haven't encountered much utopian fiction that concerns itself with these externalities. (Maybe this is the fiction you'll be writing!) If "imagining a better world" becomes "imagining a world in which Disease X is eradicated," then the story becomes about remaking the world toward that end, spreading the technological and logistical systems that will deliver the cure to every human being on the planet. The cure for X can't just be the property of one country or culture. Disease X is deadly and preventable! It would be a crime to withhold it from anyone! The only sufficiently optimistic scenario is for the world to be so changed that Disease X can no longer survive in it.
The trouble with all the utopian fiction I've encountered is that it's a snapshot of the world after the solution to X starts to work, and before the consequences of the solution begin to set in.
If Disease X is eradicated, realistically, it will probably involve the imposition of cultural norms on marginalized people. Technology is never culturally neutral. If people want the technology that provides the cure for X, then they have to accept the culture that supports it. They have to accept the construction of treatment centers on their land; they have to accept linguistic and technical training that supports the logistical pipeline for the cure; they have to accept the devaluing of traditional approaches to medicine that their culture has developed in the absence of advanced technology.
And what happens afterwards? What happens if funding for the eradication campaign dries up, or if natural disasters or wars disrupt the logistical pipeline that provides the cure? What happens if Disease X returns, and the people who had the utopian vision imposed on them are left with the same problem they had before—but with the added injustice of a compromised culture?
All this would make great fodder for a story. I'm just not sure it would be a utopian story. From the point of view of the marginalized culture I'm imagining, it would almost be inverted: the dominant culture's utopian vision is often a dystopia for the cultures on the margins.
What would be their idea of a utopia? Maybe they already had it, before somebody else's utopia got in the way.
Sincerely,
R.
Part 5 of this series, with Elle’s response, will be published here tomorrow.
There is a strain of recent writing about 'utopia' that is not fiction but is trying to reclaim the idea of "realistic utopias"--Frederic Jameson, Rutger Bregman, Erik Olin Wright among others--and one thing that's interesting about all of them is that they try to avoid the "blueprint" model, where utopia is laid out as a comprehensive design, and instead describe it more in terms of features it ought to have. (Which might include, for example, "death from preventable medical conditions should be rare and never result from a lack of service availability or affordability".)
I'm reminded a bit also of Kim Stanley Robinson's "Three Californias" series of novels--the first book is a dystopian future California; the second book is a status-quo future California; the third book is a 'plausible' utopian California. The third book very much avoids the 'blueprint' model--there's no narrator laying out a comprehensive design. It's about one character's everyday routines and experiences, which also lets Robinson say "even in a better world, there's still going to be loneliness and emotional emptiness etc.; there will still be stories".
And what if the disease is not deadly, but merely debilitating?
This post made me think of the old Soviet joke, “in the Communist utopia, the teacher said, everyone will have a helicopter!
But Comrade, the student replied, why will everyone need a helicopter?
Just think, the teacher said, you might live in Moscow, and there might be bread in Leningrad! “
A utopia will not merely be able to do one thing. Well, it must do everything well. in doing the first thing, well it must not make the second thing worse.
And as you point out, one man’s utopia might turn out to be another man’s dystopia.