Cities are extensions of humans — collective mirrors of our needs, values, and dreams. If we pause and reflect, we realize that it is through the power of imagination that we have, through time, been shaping and reshaping our surroundings. From the first hearths of early settlements to futuristic eco-cities, we have envisioned — and then constructed — the environments in which we live. But what is imagination? And how does it change worlds?
The word imagine is not a passive wish but an active invocation. It derives from the Latin imaginari, meaning “to form a mental image of.” The root imago refers to a likeness, a representation, a vision brought forth into the mind — and from there, often into the world. To imagine, then, is not merely to daydream, but to place images — visual, symbolic, visionary — into a space where they can begin to act. To imagine is to generate potential.
From the earliest cave paintings to today’s digital simulations, humans have used images to make sense of the world and to shape it. These images have not just mirrored reality — they have created it. Mythic stories, maps, artistic renderings, sketches of the impossible — these have acted as seeds of innovation and transformation.
Leonardo da Vinci, made sketches of flying machines, water systems, and anatomical studies far before, and somehow predicting the technologies that would later emerge. His notebooks were not idle doodles; they were blueprints of futures to come. His ornithopter design, mimicking bird flight, reflected a deep study of the geometric shapes in nature combined with boundless imagination. It inspired a future machine! Though it was never built in his lifetime, it prefigured the airplane. Leonardo’s drawings of a mechanical knight could also be seen as an early concept for robotics who evokes the androids and AI of today.
Art and imagination were once considered essential to science. The image preceded the invention. The drawing conjured the future. The mind’s eye sculpted the shape of reality.
Paradoxically, even if important and the ones responsible for changing the world, imaginative individuals have often been treated with suspicion, even hostility. Why? Because they disrupt the status quo. They see what others do not. They defy boundaries. Prometheus, the Greek Titan who in ancient mythology, created humanity from clay, and who stole fire from the gods to give it to humanity, is a potent symbol. His gift enabled civilization — but for his audacity, he was punished eternally.
Prometheus represents the creative rebel, the imaginative pioneer who bridges divine and human realms. His fire is not just flame, but knowledge, foresight, and the light of consciousness. To imagine a world other than the one handed down is a revolutionary act — and revolutions are rarely welcomed.
Throughout history, prophets, poets, inventors, and visionaries have faced exile, ridicule, and persecution. Yet it is their imagined worlds that endure, eventually becoming the structures of our reality.
When imagination turns outward toward the collective, it gives rise to utopias — a word that etymologically means both “no place” (ou-topos) and “good place” (eu-topos). While often dismissed as naïve or impractical, many utopian visions have manifested as real communities grounded in ideals of equity, cooperation, and justice.
One of the most notable examples is Robert Owen’s New Lanark in 19th-century Scotland. A successful industrialist turned social reformer, Owen believed that environment shapes character. He introduced humane working hours, child education, decent housing, and access to shared resources — all radical concepts for his time. His model of utopian socialism helped lay the foundation for modern cooperative movements and progressive labor policies.
This same impulse to reimagine society has echoed through history. A compelling example from the 20th century is Sweden’s Million Programme (Miljonprogrammet) of the 1960s and ’70s — a state-led initiative to construct one million homes over a decade. Far from the dystopian mass housing blocks often conjured by the word "program," this effort was driven by ideals of equality, access to nature, and human dignity. Urban planners aimed to eliminate slums and create integrated neighborhoods with green spaces, schools, and essential services. Though not without challenges, it was an imaginative leap in national planning — one that addressed both urgent human needs and architectural vision.
These utopias did not seek to escape the world but to transform it from within. They translated values into form. They posed bold questions: What does a just city look like? How can work become meaningful? What if we made decisions for the wellbeing of all, not just the few?
In a time marked by urban sprawl, climate anxiety, and rising inequality, the idea of the “city” as a machine for living has begun to evolve. Across the globe, a new wave of urban planning is emerging — not based on concrete and steel alone, but on regenerative values, imaginative governance, and inclusive design. These are not speculative fantasy cities, nor elite enclaves built to dazzle investors, but working utopias — places where imagination is applied to the art of everyday living.
Two compelling examples stand out: Doughnut Amsterdam in the Netherlands and the now-discontinued Tempe Urban Core in Arizona. Both represent efforts to move away from extractive urban models, offering lessons — from bold experiments that thrive, to those that fall short but still inspire.
The Tempe Urban Core Master Plan in Arizona was conceived as an ambitious reimagining of urban life in the extreme conditions of the Sonoran Desert. It proposed walkability, transit-oriented development, affordable housing, and climate-responsive infrastructure. Green roofs, cool corridors, and extensive shading were among its tools to combat the deadly heat of the region.
Yet despite its promise, the plan was ultimately scrapped. Challenges around zoning, political will, community buy-in, and development pressures made implementation difficult. It serves as a cautionary tale of how even well-intentioned, imaginative plans can falter without structural support and sustained commitment.
Still, the vision remains instructive. Tempe’s initial aspirations remind us that bold ideas must be matched by robust governance, long-term thinking, and public trust. Imagination alone is not enough — it must be embedded in systems that can carry it forward.
While Tempe stumbled, across the Atlantic, Amsterdam is experimenting with an entirely new economic imagination. In 2020, during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic, the city adopted Doughnut Economics, a model devised by economist Kate Raworth, as its guiding vision for future development. This move marked Amsterdam as the first city in the world to reimagine its entire urban policy through the lens of a "safe and just space for humanity."
The “doughnut” diagram visualizes a space between two boundaries:
The inner circle represents the social foundation — the minimum standards every person needs for a dignified life: food, housing, education, equality, health, and voice.
The outer circle marks the planetary boundaries — climate change, biodiversity loss, pollution, and resource overuse.
A thriving society, according to this vision, must exist within the doughnut — meeting everyone’s needs without overshooting ecological limits.
In practice, Amsterdam’s adoption of the doughnut is far from symbolic. It’s deeply structural. The city began auditing all policy areas — housing, mobility, procurement, energy, waste — against the doughnut criteria. This led to an ambitious reorientation of priorities, such as:
Circular construction: New buildings must use recycled materials and be designed for disassembly, reuse, or modular adaptation. Projects like Buiksloterham and Schoonschip exemplify this — entire neighborhoods constructed on circular design principles.
Zero-waste goals: Amsterdam aims to halve its use of new raw materials by 2030. Residents are supported in separating waste, and businesses receive incentives for circular business models.
Public procurement with purpose: The city leverages its purchasing power to favor suppliers that meet social and environmental standards — from office furniture to school lunches.
Inclusive governance: The doughnut is not just a framework for city hall — it is a tool for citizen co-creation. Workshops, community initiatives, and neighborhood labs help residents reimagine what thriving looks like in their context — from green rooftops to local food economies.
Importantly, Doughnut Amsterdam embraces imagination as a systems change tool. It does not claim to be perfect, nor does it offer one-size-fits-all solutions. Instead, it offers a living framework — one that evolves with learning, participation, and feedback. Its success has inspired other cities like Copenhagen, Brussels, and Portland to consider similar models.
Where traditional urban policy tends to focus on linear growth, Doughnut Amsterdam dares to ask: What if the purpose of a city isn’t to grow endlessly, but to help people and nature thrive in balance? What if we made decisions not just for profit, but for joy, equity, and regeneration?
Together, these examples show us what 21st-century utopias might look like — not perfect, but possible. They teach us that imagination rooted in values, informed by science, and guided by community can indeed reshape reality. Not through fantasy, but through the determined reweaving of our urban fabric — one policy, one building, one street at a time.
I have always been very interested in the values, and the wisdom that lasts throughout centuries: The perennial philosophies. In all traditions of perennial philosophy — from Plato to Vedanta, from Sufism to the mystics of the Renaissance — there is a recurring triad: the Good, the Beautiful, and the True. These are not mere ideals but active principles that invite the human being to align imagination with wisdom and action.
I firmly believe then, in the power of grounded imagination. Because to imagine a better world is not to escape reality — it is to participate more fully in it. As the philosopher Plotinus wrote, “Never stop working on your statue until the divine glory of virtue shines out on you.”
Each act of imagination is a chisel stroke, shaping the future. Whether through art, activism, urban planning, or quiet reflection, to imagine deeply is to begin the work of making whole. In this sense, imagination is not fantasy — it is the practical creation of a greater possible.
And so the journey continues — not only to envision new worlds but to bring them lovingly into being.
Raworth, K. (2017). Doughnut Economics: Seven Ways to Think Like a 21st-Century Economist. Chelsea Green Publishing.
City of Amsterdam. (2020). Building a City Within the Doughnut. https://www.amsterdam.nl/en/policy/sustainability/circular-economy/
City of Tempe. (2019). Urban Core Master Plan. https://www.tempe.gov/
Hall, P. (2002). Cities of Tomorrow: An Intellectual History of Urban Planning and Design in the Twentieth Century. Blackwell.
Mumford, L. (1961). The City in History: Its Origins, Its Transformations, and Its Prospects. Harcourt.
Maria Fonseca is an interdisciplinary educator, writer, artist and researcher whose work bridges the realms of academic knowledge, community engagement, and spiritual inquiry. With a background in Fine Art and a doctorate in creative practice, Maria has spent over a decade exploring the intersections of human experience, cultural meaning, and collective transformation.