The Utopian and the Arcadian, Part Two
And it is now that our two paths cross. Both simultaneously recognise his Anti-type: that I am an Arcadian, that he is a Utopian. He notes, with contempt, my Aquarian belly: I note, with alarm, his Scorpion's mouth. He would like to see me cleaning latrines: I would like to see him removed to some other planet. Neither speaks. What experience could we possibly share?
— W.H. Auden, "Vespers"
Ask yourself: Did things used to be better or are they going to be better later?
Most of us lean more strongly toward one of these beliefs or the other. Either we reminisce for an idyllic past—perhaps one we never knew—or we long for a perfect future.
In either case, we divorce our visions from the pesky problems of the present, which we assume are unique to our age—and could not have spoiled the past—or can eventually be conquered.
Thus, we belong to one of two camps: We are Arcadians or Utopians. We sense that Arcadia has been lost or we believe that Utopia has not yet been found.
The Arcadian searches endlessly for that simple and unspoiled time when order and beauty reigned supreme. Yet the search for that perfect place reveals that everything everywhere has always been spoiled by... us.
The Utopian plans and invents, reshapes and innovates, tooling with politics and art, science and technology to create a system where society will flourish free from evil or inefficiency. Yet they find it difficult to step outside themselves to solve the problem that they are.
The Utopian and the Arcadian cannot understand each other.
Those nostalgic Arcadians loathe the foolish Utopians with their misguided ideas about progress. In turn, the hopeful Utopians despise the cracker-barrel Arcadians whose best years are ever-further behind them.
Nearly every modern political conflict is a battle of these two divergent ideologies: a sense that beauty must be recovered and a belief that perfection is attainable.
Both of these beliefs are foolish because both are incomplete.
The two ideas aren't divergent—they're dependent. What at first glance appears an irreconcilable difference is in fact a striking complementarity.
After all, what good can the hopeful Utopian bring into the world without mining and refining the goodness of the past? What comes after depends on what came before.
And where should that Arcadian store the treasures of the past to enjoy them if not now and henceforth? What came before shapes what comes after.
The Utopian and the Arcadian hold half-beliefs: they debate as one-legged straw men.
Ask yourself: Did things used to be better or are they going to be better later?
Yes.
When man was created, things were better. We existed for labor, for love, and for leisure. We were free from sin. We were in communion with God.
When man dies, things will be better. We will no longer toil or carry burdens. We will no longer feel pain. We will be in communion with God.
We should not look only toward the past with melancholy as we mourn our loss of innocence. Nor should we look only toward the future, forgetting our fragmented God-like nature that enables us to strive, to hope, to dream, to persist, to endure, to try.
We are not Utopians and we are not Arcadians. We are Catholics.