Cynicism, it has always seemed to me, is like a reverse form of acne. Just as the blistering spots of your teens and early 20s pack their bags and start to troop off your face, cynicism arrives with its matching four-piece baggage range to set up shop in your soul. After you've loved and ceased to love once, you start to think that love might not be forever. After you've heard a certain amount of well-meant rhetoric and seen that nothing changes, you start to raise a quizzical eyebrow at idealism. And after you get a laugh for mocking those who try, those who don't, those who are corrupt and those who aren't, you learn that naivety just doesn't get the same kind of response.
Traditionally, cynicism has had a rather bad name. "A cynic is one who when he smells flowers, looks for the funeral," remarked the wit, and self-professed cynic, H.L. Mencken, confirming the reputation of the cynic as sceptical, hard-boiled and constantly on the lookout for an ulterior motive. Yet cynicism isn't necessarily a bad thing. For example, a dose of cynicism can be very useful when you start your working life, as it allows you to identify the politics operating in most workplaces and to protect yourself against them.
When looking at the political life of this country, cynicism has proved to be a vital tool. If certain people hadn't been distinctly cynical about the ethics of those responsible for the planning of north county Dublin, there might still be people having two grand a time in Conway's pub.
In the early 1990s, for example, we were told that vitamin pills, aromatherapy and feng shui might solve all our problems, and personally speaking, I was delighted when people started to get a little cynical about all that. Taking some vitamin C and zinc when a cold looms is one thing, but spouting off endlessly about how ginseng can make you feel more centred and how chanelling can nurture the inner child is a placebo too far for me.
Cynicism was a method of pointing out the shortfalls of unquestioning belief, of distancing yourself from something that threatened to become mumbo-jumbo. But increasingly, it seems we're living in a post-cynical age, one in which cynicism is less about having a questioning attitude, and more about having a blasee, slightly bored and very un-impressed take on everything. It seems that everyone I know now talks with a kind of joking insincerity to ensure nobody could accuse us of taking anything too seriously. It isn't that we think everything is boring, it's more that we're careful to show the world we're aware of a hidden agenda, that we don't care too much, and that we're not such fools as to believe the hype.
We all use the Internet, for example, yet we're careful not to sound too excited about the world therein - blasee is good, bored is better. Mention you're going to a film with a foreign title, and you'll find yourself smirking and saying something like: "Well, I'd better get a bit of culture down my neck." You can even see it on the dance scene - people who used to believe rave could provide the best night out in the world and might even bring down the barriers between the classes, gently mock themselves for gurning like fools and massaging the shoulders of complete strangers, even while they're preparing for another night out.
I've never thought of myself as cynical but increasingly I've noticed that I sound like Gore Vidal at the age of 27. When I heard about the anti-capitalism riots in London, I didn't cheer my peers for sticking up for their beliefs and nor did I berate them for pointlessly damaging property. I just wondered whether they stocked up on burgers as they ransacked McDonalds's kitchen.
I've always thought this was just the way it was, that we were all living in a cynical age and that's all there is to it, until a couple of events last weekend brought me up short. The first was the Trinity Ball, to which I went along at the last minute on Friday, feeling slightly underdressed in a skirt and top. "Ah well," I thought. "Sure, it'll all be different now than it was in my day." I presumed that "kids nowadays" would be dressing down, sneering at anything so old-fashioned as drunkenness, having converted the ball into a posh, city-centre rave.
Much to my surprise, it was the same as it ever was, but smaller. Most of the girls wore long dresses, the guys wore tuxes and everybody stumbled round in a drunken haze, snogging each other, squealing like traffic lights when they bumped into friends and dancing badly on the cobble stones of Front Square. I was surprised and pleased to see students were still so dead set on having a good time in such a traditional student fashion. It seemed innocent and fun and distinctly lacking in anything approaching cynicism.
The next day I stumbled on the antiracism march in Parnell Square. I had spotted posters earlier in the week, but had thought: "What good will it do?" and promptly forgot about it. But when I unexpectedly came across the rally, I stuck around to listen for a while and was brought up short by the fervour and idealism all around me. People shouted "Hear, hear" and clapped when the speakers made a point. Sinead O'Connor got up and sang a song and people swayed to the tune and clapped like crazy. People hoisted banners demanding that the Gardai be banned and the fascists smashed, without a smirk or a knowing comment between them.
I couldn't help but be impressed. I might have made cynical jokes inquiring what we were protesting about today, was it anti-GM foods or fox-hunting perhaps? I may have giggled when a six-year-old boy marched away from Sinead O'Connor's heartfelt rendition of a Bob Marley song, saying loudly to his mother: "That's shite". But for the first time in ages, I felt annoyed at myself for being so cynical. Sure, I was there at the rally, but I felt a bit dull and washed up and jaded for being unable to truly protest against racism, something I feel strongly about.
It's probably a good thing that each generation thinks it has all the answers, thinks its smarter and more savvy than the one that went before. But I'm beginning to get cynical about cynicism which, let's be honest, doesn't even bother to try to find the answers, just sits on the fence and jeers at those doing the searching. Of course, it's a cop-out to blame some generational Zeitgeist when nobody made me become sceptical, but such is the nature of cynicism. It's like scratching at a scab or bitching about a friend - it's irresistible, impossible to stop once you get going, and detrimental in the long run. And sadly, I don't hold out too much hope for my new resolution to be more passionate, idealistic and whole-hearted - like that'll last.