My first introduction to Jean Jacques Rousseau, citizen of Geneva, occurred in less than favourable circumstances, and it is only today, earlier rather than later in my journey, that I have had the chance to see him in a new light. The agent bearing principle responsibility for this shift is Judith Shkar’s essay on the two types of utopias Rousseau advocates for: ‘Sparta and the Age of Gold.’[1] It is one of those fortuitous occurrences one does not imagine to intentionally come across, but manifests itself as a chance encounter that can only be the mysteries of fate and chance. Such accidental meetings are essential encounters, fleeting as they may be, for while the agents themselves may be small — sometimes even words or phrases, not even entire sentences, sometimes essays, not books — they are shifts of some ethereal character in otherworldly encounters that break what can sometimes turn into monotony and banality. To this date, I have thought of Rousseau as the proud father of the noble savage (knowing fully well that he never used the word even once in his oeuvre), of fantastical lands, the theoretician of the Homo Ignoramus.