An Age of Cynicism?
26/08/15 05:43
Mohammed Fairouz is one of the most sought-after composers of the International classical music scene. The American composer has a catalog that includes opera, symphonies, vocal and choral settings, chamber and solo works. He is one of the most frequently performed composers working today. His fourth symphony, “In the Shadow of No Towers” was inspired by Art Spiegelman’s book of the same title about American life in the aftermath of 9/11.
He is only 29 years old. That’s younger than our children. His age struck me recently as I read an essay that he wrote about living in the age of cynicism. Earlier this month I wrote a blog post about my nephews who are 29 years old and what seems to be a sense of wandering among these young adults. Fairouz doesn’t seem to be wandering. He seems capable of incredible focus and creativity and amazing productivity.
In his essay, Fairouz speaks of how the age of anxiety has given way to the age of cynicism. He speaks of how cynicism is being celebrated and even equated with intelligence among young adults of his generation. The essay got me to thinking.
The current generation of young adults in the United States are among the most privileged people to have lived on this planet. Not every young adult comes from a wealthy family, but they have grown up in a culture with a great deal of luxury and privilege, especially when compared to young adults in other parts of the world or young adults from almost any previous generation. They have grown up taking mass communication for granted, experiencing television and Internet connections as “necessities.” The affluence and abundance that this particular group of young adults has seen is unparalleled anywhere else. It was not even imagined by my parents’ generation who thought of affluence in terms of secure housing and perhaps a bit of savings in the bank.
This affluence and privilege, however, does not seem to have produced security for these young people. Instead theirs seems to be a generation that is prone to fear and aimlessness. Were I to have the opportunity to sit and talk with Fairouz, I might even question his choice of the word cynicism to describe their world view. Perhaps nihilism might be closer to what I observe in too many of those who are on the border between their twenties and thirties.
It would be tempting here for me to turn back on my studies of the history of philosophy at this point and write extensively about the history of Greek philosophical and political parties, about the distinctions between cynics and skeptics and how those philosophical traditions have contributed to the shape of modern thought. I know, however, that such a digression would make the eyes of most of my readers roll and would be unappealing to today’s young adults, few, if any of whom read my blog in the first place.
Instead, I will just say that our modern understanding of cynicism has its roots in ancient thought. Greek cynics sought to live simple lives free from possessions and found their purpose in life to live in harmony with nature. This concept evolved gradually into a distrust of things that were of human origin and finally, in the 19th and 20th centuries into a philosophy that generally doesn’t trust the sincerity or goodness of other human beings. The modern meaning of cynicism is quite different from its historic roots.
That said, today’s young cynics seem to be reluctant to trust others and slow to see anything of value in developing deep relationships with other people.
Living, as I do, somewhere between the World War II generation and this new crop of cynics it seems to me striking that the deprivations of the Great Depression produced such an optimistic group of leaders while current levels of affluence seem to be producing young leaders who are distinctly short of hope about the future.
It may be that there is a connection between optimism and courage. At least optimism takes courage. Building a better future requires risk and assuming risk requires courage. If you decide to trust no one and to be cynical about all possibilities of hope, you can remain in your shell and you never have to face the possibility of failure. It may feel safe, but it looks like a lack of courage when viewed from the outside. Negativity and doubt are not particularly courageous positions.
Recently a young adult with whom I was visiting was using the words “blind trust” to describe my commitment to the church. I was a bit thrown by the description, because it seems to me that the years of study and the care with which I made certain choices regarding the following of my calling are anything but blind. I have not experienced trust as involving blindness. Daring, yes! Audacity, yes! But blindness, not really. My trust in the institutional church is based on years of study and careful consideration.
That doesn’t mean that trust won’t involve suffering. When one loves and trusts, one opens oneself up to the potential of being hurt. Meeting yesterday with a man whose wife just died after more than 50 years of marriage, I am deeply aware of how much pain loss can involve. Falling in love means that one risks great pain. Heartbreak involves real suffering.
But you would never get that man to say that it wasn’t worth it. You would never find cynicism in his belief that trusting another person and becoming married wasn’t the best course of life for him. Despite the pain, life is worth it.
I hope this cynicism that surrounds us is just a phase of life that will lead to the courage to trust and risk. I, for one, am not willing to judge an entire generation by some of its members actions and beliefs before they enter their 30’s. There is a lot of room for growth and maturity and wisdom to develop.
I guess I’m just taking their cynicism with a bit of skepticism, and I’ll spare them the lecture on the history of Greek philosophies.
He is only 29 years old. That’s younger than our children. His age struck me recently as I read an essay that he wrote about living in the age of cynicism. Earlier this month I wrote a blog post about my nephews who are 29 years old and what seems to be a sense of wandering among these young adults. Fairouz doesn’t seem to be wandering. He seems capable of incredible focus and creativity and amazing productivity.
In his essay, Fairouz speaks of how the age of anxiety has given way to the age of cynicism. He speaks of how cynicism is being celebrated and even equated with intelligence among young adults of his generation. The essay got me to thinking.
The current generation of young adults in the United States are among the most privileged people to have lived on this planet. Not every young adult comes from a wealthy family, but they have grown up in a culture with a great deal of luxury and privilege, especially when compared to young adults in other parts of the world or young adults from almost any previous generation. They have grown up taking mass communication for granted, experiencing television and Internet connections as “necessities.” The affluence and abundance that this particular group of young adults has seen is unparalleled anywhere else. It was not even imagined by my parents’ generation who thought of affluence in terms of secure housing and perhaps a bit of savings in the bank.
This affluence and privilege, however, does not seem to have produced security for these young people. Instead theirs seems to be a generation that is prone to fear and aimlessness. Were I to have the opportunity to sit and talk with Fairouz, I might even question his choice of the word cynicism to describe their world view. Perhaps nihilism might be closer to what I observe in too many of those who are on the border between their twenties and thirties.
It would be tempting here for me to turn back on my studies of the history of philosophy at this point and write extensively about the history of Greek philosophical and political parties, about the distinctions between cynics and skeptics and how those philosophical traditions have contributed to the shape of modern thought. I know, however, that such a digression would make the eyes of most of my readers roll and would be unappealing to today’s young adults, few, if any of whom read my blog in the first place.
Instead, I will just say that our modern understanding of cynicism has its roots in ancient thought. Greek cynics sought to live simple lives free from possessions and found their purpose in life to live in harmony with nature. This concept evolved gradually into a distrust of things that were of human origin and finally, in the 19th and 20th centuries into a philosophy that generally doesn’t trust the sincerity or goodness of other human beings. The modern meaning of cynicism is quite different from its historic roots.
That said, today’s young cynics seem to be reluctant to trust others and slow to see anything of value in developing deep relationships with other people.
Living, as I do, somewhere between the World War II generation and this new crop of cynics it seems to me striking that the deprivations of the Great Depression produced such an optimistic group of leaders while current levels of affluence seem to be producing young leaders who are distinctly short of hope about the future.
It may be that there is a connection between optimism and courage. At least optimism takes courage. Building a better future requires risk and assuming risk requires courage. If you decide to trust no one and to be cynical about all possibilities of hope, you can remain in your shell and you never have to face the possibility of failure. It may feel safe, but it looks like a lack of courage when viewed from the outside. Negativity and doubt are not particularly courageous positions.
Recently a young adult with whom I was visiting was using the words “blind trust” to describe my commitment to the church. I was a bit thrown by the description, because it seems to me that the years of study and the care with which I made certain choices regarding the following of my calling are anything but blind. I have not experienced trust as involving blindness. Daring, yes! Audacity, yes! But blindness, not really. My trust in the institutional church is based on years of study and careful consideration.
That doesn’t mean that trust won’t involve suffering. When one loves and trusts, one opens oneself up to the potential of being hurt. Meeting yesterday with a man whose wife just died after more than 50 years of marriage, I am deeply aware of how much pain loss can involve. Falling in love means that one risks great pain. Heartbreak involves real suffering.
But you would never get that man to say that it wasn’t worth it. You would never find cynicism in his belief that trusting another person and becoming married wasn’t the best course of life for him. Despite the pain, life is worth it.
I hope this cynicism that surrounds us is just a phase of life that will lead to the courage to trust and risk. I, for one, am not willing to judge an entire generation by some of its members actions and beliefs before they enter their 30’s. There is a lot of room for growth and maturity and wisdom to develop.
I guess I’m just taking their cynicism with a bit of skepticism, and I’ll spare them the lecture on the history of Greek philosophies.