Utopia for me
Without a trial lens

By Babar Mirza

"I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason."

John Keats's famous definition of the quality crucial to form 'a Man of Achievement' has inspired many in literature and philosophy. I heard about it only a couple of years ago from a friend who has a good taste in literature (though my good luck in this regard doesn't compensate for the regrettable rarity of this breed now a day).

Initially I thought of it as a hedonistic ideal implying an escapist lifestyle: complacency, the lack of will to explore, or submission to a chaotic or false reality. Moreover, I found it beneath human dignity to stop being curious about that deceptive specter called truth, or being incensed by the malicious lies I am told? But, as soon turned out, I was too drunk in youthful adventurism to understand its real meaning.

Truth no doubt is a worthy ideal; seeking it has always been the lofty ambition that distinguishes humans from other living species. In the beginning, nature crafted those superstitions that labelled fear and dependency as truth. The more sophisticated social systems, later on, derived the strength of their foundations from an unknowable but certain supernatural force. But the more we came to know, the more we doubted the certain. After the failure of nature and God to deliver 'objectively' verifiable certainty, science made the last attempt to give definite answers to the same 'big' questions, but ended up miserably with the Uncertainty Principle.

In social theory, liberalism (a euphemism for capitalism) leaves the individual free to find any answer he or she likes as long as it doesn't conflict with the business interests. Not much help there. Communism, on the other hand, held the very questions to be irrelevant and exploitative and concerned itself with the material only, which, it claimed, fashioned the inner-self or the spirit. Notwithstanding the moral appeal of communism to struggle for a better future, the idea of a purely biological, materially determined life doesn't give me much to live on. Existentialism is another notable modern philosophy that urges human beings to discover and actualise their true potential; for me, it's a rephrasing of the problem, not a solution.

'To be or not to be?' had always been the question, and, it seems, shall always be. In fact, reviewing major ideologies of the past and the present seems like trying different lenses on an optometrist's trial frame until you can read the images on the last line of the box; the only difference being that here you never find the right match for your eyes. The answer seems to exist but doesn't reveal itself. We try to guess and even be reasonably sure about it, but soon time and events collapse the castles built on our interpretation of those blurry images.

It was at this point that I realised the true import of Keats's immortal sentence quoted in the beginning. The result was a tendency to look at things without any trial lenses. Hence I found in me a passive submission to the uncertain, but this submission is only provisional, and in a delicate balance with active struggle for truth. I must reach after 'fact and reason', but without any haste or irritation, and even if I never get there, I must not lose sight of the essential ingredients of my life -- the natural beauty and the unique individuals that surround me.

In short, I should be content with the certainty I have at any given point, and that I can do through finding common grounds among people and understanding and tolerating other's eccentricities, even relishing in a union of dissimilar individuals. These are the sources of that peace of mind that give me reason to live.

Some intellectuals proudly boast about how they are interested in ideas and not people. I pity them. It's hard for an idea to apply equally to two individuals, let alone a community or a nation.

However, my motive is strictly personal. It's my utopia. Having realised that truth is not out there, I don't see any point in fretting over it. Caring to look above every night to see how beautifully the moon wanes and waxes and the utter delight felt on seeing it round with a milky light; trying to feel the pain of others and, subject to my capacity, helping them assuage it is the summary of my utopia, and no cost appears to be too much for it.