Michaela Fox

1 July 2015

One for All, and All for… None?

Rain sits on the peer, dangling his feet playfully in the crystal clear lake. He catches a glimpse of Joy, practicing her ritual yoga in the middle of the lush, green grass. As she unites her flexible limbs with her calm mind, Grace brings her a glass of homemade, fresh-squeezed lemonade. Butterflies dance, grasshoppers sing, trees sway. It’s paradise, or is it utopia? Prior to my enrollment in this course, this too-good-to-be-true vision illustrated what I believed to be a utopia. To some extent, I was correct—the idea of a community living together in perfect harmony. However, after uncovering more information about utopian societies, I’ve come to question the process of achieving this harmony. Can a community function harmoniously if its members go about their lives exactly as they wish? The answer, as I’ve discovered, is no. In order for a community to truly be an ultimate utopia, the members must physically and mentally commit to one common ideology. If an individual physically commits, but holds a differing view of what he or she believes society should be, they are not living in utopia and thus the society becomes one’s dystopia. Therefor, the process of creating a utopian community rests on the extent to which its members can exert their own genuine individualities. After reading several model assignments that address the individual’s place in a utopian society, I’ve constructed my motto for utopia: all for one, and one for none.

Let’s begin with the concept of “all for one.” Fictional utopian communities and their Earthly counterparts, intentional communities, all begin by establishing a similar goal from specific religion to general happiness. The individuals desiring to live within this society seek an idea greater than the self and thus become dedicated to one extreme goal. Sarah Coronado examines the individual’s role in her 2011 research post where she relates cults and utopian societies in their shared rejection of individualistic identity and establishment of collective identity. For one ideal to work, one must be abolished.

In an attempt to enact multiple ideologies, conflict arises, and harmony subsides. Those without a firm belief system often turn to those with, such as in the formation of cults. The “tearing down [of] individual identity” of which cult leaders achieve, requires those fragile souls to seek a new, comfortable state of being, where they find themselves “transformed, reborn, enlightened, empowered, rebirthed, or cleared.” The comparison between cults and utopian societies demonstrates the ideal that success of these communities rests in the achievement of an “all for one” mentality. Although cult activity possesses an extreme nature unlike that of utopias, (possibly because they actually exist?) the similarity of surrendering singular identity plays an important role in understanding the formation of utopian societies.

After committing to a collective ideal, the members of utopian communities address human nature and establish some sort of guidelines to maintain that collectivity. Whether these rules are established by a bunch of barefoot hippies with flower crowns, sitting in the middle of a meadow, and shaking their heads in agreement, I’m not sure. However, as we see in Thomas More’s Utopia, Charlotte Perkins Gillman’s Herland, and Ernest Callenbach’s Ecotopia, societies construct their laws categorically. Among these categories are basic needs and current issues, such as “slaves” in Utopia and “their religions and our marriages” in Herland (95, 93). It is then up to the members to agree with the established guidelines of the community and forego any previously held ideals that differ from the collective. In some cases the communities succeed, like the feminist society in Herland, but when individuals are prevented from their genuine ideals of life, we get dystopia.

As the society goes through the motions of time, the members’ individualities begin to peek out, begging for attention. We see an example of this disruption in Ayn Rand’s Anthem with the protagonist, Equality 7-2521, who rejects his community’s concept of “we” and instead seeks to establish a society based on the unspoken word, “Ego.” Rand illustrates the ideal of “one for none” in the Scholars’ rejection of Equality 7-2521’s electric idea. They assume a veil of fear and could only gain courage by “seeking the warmth of one another’s bodies (7.15).” Not only does their physical behavior demonstrate their rejection of individuality and acceptance of collectivism, so do their words, saying how dare he “hold [himself] as one alone and with the thoughts of one and not of many? (7.26)” In utopian societies, there is no room for an individual to shine, nor even exist.

So how do we transform the motto “all for one, and one for none” into its original expression “all for one, and one for all?” Balance. Ruthi Engelke McDonald discusses the necessity for balance in her 2013 midterm, determining that utopian communities fail when they lack balance, and that the Buddhists’ “Middle Way” embodies the success of such balance. While I do not fully believe in a complete utopia based on balance, nor on any basis, I do believe that if we consistently strive to live in a balanced world, positive outcomes will follow.

I Scream Social: Utopia, the New Human Science

          Prior to this course, I had not read any utopian fiction, but I had read several dystopian novels such as the ultra famous trilogies Divergent and The Hunger Games. Although slim, I did have some sort of ideal regarding utopias, and so used that prior knowledge along with my understanding of dystopian fiction as my basis for understanding the course as a whole. However, as I continue to learn in this course, I find myself constantly referring back to my interest in sociology, which, as it turns out, comprises much of the foundation of genre of utopias in general.

Literarily and historically, utopia refers to an intentional community aimed at reforming or escaping a corrupt or dysfunctional society by detaching, planning, and cooperating as a collective group of individuals. Thomas More’s coining of the word in his novel Utopia translates into either “no place” or “good place.” The etymology of utopia subsequently gives rise to the logicality of such a place actually existing. A “good place” located in “no place” seems unfeasible. However, authors of utopian literature are not necessarily intending to present blueprints for an exact future. Rather, by addressing current issues they allow readers to reimagine the world, providing an example of what could be.

We don’t read as a community, we read as individuals—the reader conceptualizes the words on the page and reflects on those words using his or her own beliefs and experiences. The individualistic attention required of the process of reading accounts for the detractions and attractions of utopian literature. Since the variables of life differ between each and every individual, one’s idea of a utopia may be another’s dystopia, no matter how neutral and seemingly pleasing it may be. For example, the feminist utopia in Herland does not appeal to me due to its obvious lack of men. On the other hand, a dedicated feminist may read the novel and finally feel hope for the world. This hope represents one attractive quality of the genre because it allows for the individual to connect with her most intense self—the feminist advocate. Even if the descriptive illustration of the utopian society seems unreachable, it is still conceptualized. Thus, the concept of utopia instills hope for the individual.

When discussing the detractions of utopian literature, the individual falls short. Utopian communities depend on collaboration, togetherness, and harmony, which unfortunately requires members to lose much of their own independent identities.  As James Seth puts it in his 2011 midterm, this convention of “social homogeneity” prevents the creation of “interesting and memorable characters,” making utopian novels less entertaining. Whereas the citizens of Ernest Callenbach’s Ecotopia melt into a puddle of homogeneity, Ayn Rand’s protagonist, Equality 7-2521, in Anthem, flashes distinctive lighting bolts. The flashiness of unique characters in dystopian fiction make it much more entertaining to read than utopian fiction, but does that make it more valuable? I think not.

What makes literature valuable? Its revelatory abilities? The opportunity to self-identify? The actual act of reading? Well, what genre of literature you ask. Ah ha! Therein lies the answer. We read utopian fiction for a result different from that of dystopian fiction. The conventions that loosely define a genre represent such differences between why we read “X” type of book versus “Y.” For example, the utopian narrative often consists of sequential, descriptive narration, usually from an outsider’s perspective, which encourages readers to consider knowledge the value of the genre. It is up to the reader to determine how they want to use that knowledge.

Dystopia, on the other hand, takes the reader inside the community by telling the story from an insider’s point of view, and entertainment becomes the value. The notion of conventions as reasoning behind why we choose certain forms of art over others is also present in films and television. If More’s Utopia and Rand’s Anthem were televised, it’s likely that Utopia would air on Nat Geo and Anthem would air on FX—the type of art is distinctive because of its conventions, therefor our reasoning for watching/reading varies. Considered formal conventions, these characteristics of genre reveal purpose for reading and thus separate utopia from dystopia. Nonetheless, the two related genres merge in discussion of content conventions.

Utopian and dystopian fictions inhabit the same sphere in regards to content. They both investigate individualistic needs and desires, communal cooperation, equal and fair distribution, etc. They may lean in different directions along the spectrum of a specific theme, but the spectrum remains constant. The similarity between utopia and dystopia in what we could call the “meat” of the art is the same, so rather than explaining what we gain from experiencing the genre (knowledge, entertainment), content conventions acknowledge why; Sam watches the film Gravity for entertainment, but watches The Universe (educational series) to learn; why? Because Sam is attracted to space. The why we read this genre describes an interest in the functionality of human beings, social science. From these texts we are forced to go back to basics—what do we need, why do we need it, and how do we get it. By asking these questions and developing potential theories we discover about not only society but also ourselves.

For me, this discovery attributes to my attraction to the genre. However, I keep replaying the idea that my interest isn’t in the texts themselves but in the discussion of the texts. Does this make me a fraud? Or does it fulfill the utopian author’s intentions? As a “Literature of Ideas,” it succeeds. It would be a lie to say I loved reading Utopia or Herland (I did enjoy Ecotopia). I did however find that the presence of those texts inspired thought, possessing the potential to evolve with the procession of time. Despite the addition to more knots in my pile, I can’t seem to resist. The feeling activated by expanding my mind is my utopia, and no one can take that away. Perhaps the definition of a utopia is too specific, too collective and not individualistic. So, to those who say, “utopias don’t work,” I say, “you’re thinking about it wrong.”

Works Cited

Coronado, Sarah. A Look at the Members: Collective and/or Individual Identities. 2nd Research Post 2011. 4 July 2011.

Parnian, Katie. The Perfect Utopia: a Contradiction in Terms. Midterm Exams 2011.

Seth, James. World Upside Down: Progressivism, Economy and Identity in Utopian      Literature. Midterm Exams 2011. 25 June 2011.