Idealism for Cynics

I’m not a huge fan of modern ‘philosopher’ Alain de Botton. His book Religion for atheists is one of the most nonsensical things I’ve ever read, and I find his regular pronouncements on life somewhat hit and miss.    

One of his most popular statements – which has even made the transcendent leap to mugs, postcards and Instagram quote-photos – is clearly a resonant ‘hit’ for many:

‘Cynics are – beneath it all – only idealists with awkwardly high standards.’

I’m not convinced that cynicism is a virtue to be romanticised. Nor is idealism a characteristic to be corrupted. If that’s true in culture, it has to be doubly true among people who believe they have a handle on hope. The story of our faith is the story of Moses, Gideon and David, people who believed the impossible. Much of our theology is shaped through Paul, a man who relentlessly pursued his beliefs – even to death. The disciples were all so convinced of what they knew that all but one of them were martyred for their hope; not a cynic among them.

Jesus calls us to a manifesto of uncon­ditional, unflinching love. His radical ideas about loving your neighbour, practising peace and pursuing justice are about as ideal­istic as you can get. There is never an ounce of cynical disbelief in Jesus’ words – he simply calls people to a better, higher way of being, and believes they’re capable of it. I’d go so far as to say that cynicism and the Christian faith are incompatible.

So why then is it so often present in my life and youth ministry? When I hear about new initiatives and projects in Christian youth work, my excitement is often tinged with suspicions about the motives of those behind    them, or dampened with doubt that their approach will do any good. When a youth worker tells me that she’s attracting 300 young people to her group, my mind imme­diately wanders to concerns about celebri­ty-style ministry. Recently when a very cool, very popular young person told me that he’d ‘found Jesus’, I’m ashamed to say that my first thought was that it was a wind-up. I per­ceive myself as an idealist, but I’m actually a brilliant cynic.    

That, Mr de Botton, is not something to be celebrated. Instead, it’s cause for self-reflec­tion. Why is that? Why do I – and I presume many of us – struggle to escape the natural, fallen inclination to assume the worst of peo­ple and situations?  

Perhaps it’s a result of being on the back-foot in a culture that no longer embraces the Christian faith as a welcome part of the furniture. Perhaps cynicism is a by-product of having our confidence knocked. Youth groups are getting smaller, budgets are get­ting cut, many of our finest contemporaries are suddenly on the road to ordination; in a time like this, idealism is a hard thing to keep alive. Yet if we return to the context in which the apostles were ministering, we see much greater obstacles; far more reasons to be dis­couraged. What the early Church did really well was hold on to hope in spite of the evi­dence to the contrary – and as a result of their faith and the life that caused them to live, ‘the Lord added to their number daily.’

So what does it mean for us, now, to prac­tise this kind of idealism? It’s a question worth contemplating, but it begins with sim­ply becoming aware of where our hearts have hardened. What do we really think about the other churches and youth ministries in our area? Who in our youth group might be deserving of that second chance we’re with­holding? What big idea or initiative are we holding back with because we’re paralysed by the fear that it might not work?

Idealism was what made Jesus compel­ling. It’s one of many virtues of his that I want to try to emulate. We might naturally tend towards cynicism, but every time we feel it rear its ugly head, we should pray for the strength to choose something better. In an Alain de Botton culture, young people aren’t in need of another cynical voice in their lives – they might just be drawn to one that speaks of hope.