BY DOMINIC WIGHTMAN

Utopian ideas, though charming in theory, always crumble under the weight of their impossibility. They deny human nature: people are complex, driven by a mix of altruism and selfishness, logic and emotion. In a utopia, everyone is expected to behave with perfect benevolence and rationality. However, history and psychology tell us that humans are not wired this way. Alas, we are prone to jealousy, greed, and a myriad of other less-than-ideal emotions. Utopias often rely on the notion of a perfect government. Such a government would need to be run by individuals who are infallible. Flawless government is an oxymoron, a contradiction as glaring as a fish riding a bicycle.

Utopian visions often assume that everyone will adopt the same values and priorities, yet variety breeds innovation and progress, while forced uniformity stifles creativity and leads to stagnation. Life is dynamic and ever-changing, and the notion of a permanent solution to all woes is fundamentally flawed.

I have just had a book published about a utopia I imagined called Arcadia, and I have received several warnings from readers about the naiveté of utopian visions and how, as a conservative, I should not be so optimistic about the perfectibility of the human soul. Dear Readers, why would I spend hours writing a book about Utopia unless, perchance, I was ridiculing naive utopians?

History has shown us that attempts to create a perfect society often result in the exact opposite. When people strive to bend reality into an impossible ideal, they become intolerant of dissent and difference. This intolerance leads to authoritarianism, where the Big State imposes its vision of perfection on everyone, often through oppressive means. The result is a sterile, lifeless garden devoid of the richness that variety brings; like turning all beer to the gassy urine that is Budweiser or reducing Tinder to a single photograph of an androgynous fattie.

A group of animal rights activists standing in a sun-drenched meadow, each sporting a smile so wide it seems surgically attached – they are the embodiment of what I call ‘The Stepford Smile,’ a permanent expression of blissful idealism that rivals even the most exaggerated cartoon characters.

---

These activists, along with other utopians, wear this smile as they champion causes with an unwavering belief in their moral superiority and absolute certainty that their vision of the world is not just possible but inevitable. Yet beneath their veneer of joy lies a profound absurdity, a comedic delusion that would be laughable if it weren’t so earnest. Akin to a Disney animation brought to life, in their utopia, every cow roams free, every chicken frolics happily, and every pig lounges in the sun without a care in the world. They imagine a global society where everyone has turned vegan overnight, meat industries have vanished, and no animal ever suffers. This idealistic dream is charming but impractical, like believing that every cat will suddenly enjoy taking baths or that reintroduced wolves will pass by prams and lambs in the forest in the name of rewilding. These activists’ unwavering optimism, symbolised by their fixed smiles, overlooks fundamental challenges and realities, including the critter genocides caused by harvesting ingredients for their own vegan suppers.

The Stepford Smile masks a troubling tendency toward self-righteousness. Activists often portray themselves as morally superior, looking down upon those who don’t share their views with a mix of pity and disdain. It’s as if they’ve taken a crash course in sanctimony and graduated with honours. This holier-than-thou attitude alienates potential allies and creates an environment where meaningful dialogue is stifled by a condescending smile.

It’s difficult to take someone seriously when they look at you like a benevolent deity bestowing wisdom upon a mere mortal.

The Stepford smile isn’t exclusive to animal rights activists; it’s common among various utopian movements. Environmentalists often wear it as they advocate for a world free of pollution and climate change. Social justice warriors beam as they envisage a society devoid of inequality, discrimination, and injustice. Islamist extremists, stressed about covering ankles, wear the same smile as they look down on non-believers, smug in the knowledge that only they shall enter paradise. The worst of Opus Dei acolytes are grinners too, as are the no border activists, the new intake of Labour uselesses at Westminster, the 12 tribes ‘yellow deli’ loons, and other deluded cultists.

The Stepford smile is for lazy thinkers and short-cutters, reminiscent of those who mistake passion for love and fall to pieces when their partner predictably leaves. It’s a smile that may as well be the faux bella cara made infamous by Italian waiters seducing tips out of gullible guests or the desperate beam of trafficked streetmeat; guaranteed to fast return to the grimness of their hell on earth. The Stepford smile is as sound as the grin of the Maneki Gold Waving Lucky Fortune Cat, so often acquired by those both superstitious and impecunious.

Humans should engage with the messy, imperfect reality of their existence. Unwavering optimism and moral superiority are counterproductive characteristics. Instead of wearing fixed smiles, these activists would do well to adopt a more realistic grimace. The next time you see such an activist sporting a Stepford, remember that behind that smile lies a world of impractical dreams and self-righteous delusions. Stay well clear. You will never need them as much as they need to use or abuse you.

Dominic Wightman is the Editor of Country Squire Magazine and the author of Dear Townies and Arcadia amongst other books.