Everyone's a critic; some are cynics

Last week, in passing, I mentioned vaccine hesistancy and apparently I said something outrageous, almost a sacrilege. Specifically, we might accept that vaccine hesitancy is a legitimate response to experiences of modern healthcare even if not scientifically grounded or objectively best for children.

I did say I strongly supported vaccination, but that was not enough for some.

Several people wrote to me saying I was supporting vaccine skeptics. I know what they mean, of course, but it's not a phrase I would use. Nor would I say "climate skeptics" if talking about global warming. I would be more likely to talk about cynics.

I think we can usefully make a distinction between these two critical stances, although I wouldn't hold to this as a dictionary definition.

To my mind, a skeptic (like Descartes or Hume) doubts their own knowledge or understanding. They may go much further and doubt all knowledge, but the key is that they start with self-doubt and self-examination.

A cynic, on the other hand, doubts the claims of others and even treats them with some contempt, often because they take a pessimistic view of their motivations.

It seems to me that cynicism often arises when people begin to doubt the possibility of meaningful conversation with those on the other side of an argument. This, in turn, shapes how they engage (or refuse to engage) with the subject.

Cynics have already decided the worst is true: there’s no curiosity, no willingness to be proven wrong or to be delighted by a new perspective. It's a failure of what Martha Nussbaum calls "ethical imagination," short-circuting the work of imagining the inner lives of others. The cynic has a predetermined script: "These people are selfish or corrupt and necessarily wrong."

Perhaps I could describe it as a form of exhaustion: worn out by what cynics see as the mendacity of those they oppose. But too often, this turns into an equally tired substitute for real understanding. It’s less demanding to say, “It's all corrupt” or “none of this makes a difference” than to examine the many layers of human motivation.

Culture rewards critics over creators

The social media ecosystem celebrates the clever dismantling of ideas more than the sustained effort - and personal vulnerability - of creation. The immediate reward (clicks, views, or prestige) tends to go to whoever can deconstruct or debunk the fastest.

In contrast, it’s far safer to remain in the role of the critic because creation (whether of art, scientific discovery, technology, or public policy) exposes one to failure, intellectual and moral.

In literary and cultural circles, cynicism can be a defense against the embarrassment of being caught believing in something outdated or simplistic. In politics, the cynic often declares they occupy a position “outside” the system - of elites, of conventional thinking - and are therefore immune from the illusions that ensnare everyone else. But as soon as you claim immunity, you’ve actually lost your critical edge. You become a prisoner of your own negativity. The cynic is forever safe but in a rather lonely fortress.

Cynicism is a cage.

In other spheres - politics, economics, climate science - many people, especially bright and curious ones, worry deeply about being deceived, of being naive or taken advantage of. Embracing cynicism preemptively solves that worry. People think if they adopt a consistently doubtful outlook, they won’t be blindsided. It appears clever, but it’s fundamentally rooted in fear. Cynicism cosplays as insight.

The cynic keeps a sense of control by insisting, “I see through the illusions.” But, ironically, that can be the biggest illusion of all. This stance can degenerate into seeing all human interactions as zero-sum. In terms of policy or cooperation, if everyone is presumed to act solely out of self-interest, we miss the capacity for trust, public reason, or ethical motivation.

Cynicism might feel like armor, but it’s more of a cage.

The alternative is damaging: you may get it wrong, and it's wrong to do so. But getting it wrong, with all its depression, confusion, and challenge to the ego, was to Jung, the necessary breakdown that precedes psychological rebirth.

Cynicism's false nigredo

In Jung’s metaphor of alchemy, this darkening is the nigredo, the “dark night of the soul”, that catalyzes psychological progress. It is an initial confrontation with the shadow self: dark, repressed, or unconscious aspects of the personality.

The alchemists saw materials transform as they burned them in their crucibles. First darkening (nigredo), then lightening (albedo), glowing yellow (citrinitas), and finally glowing red (rubedo). Jung saw this process as mirroring psychological transformation, believing the ego must undergo a similar process of dissolution and reconstitution.

In contrast to this creative transmutation, where darkening enables us to move forward, cynicism is a static gloom: a refusal to engage.

It reminds me of Baudrillard's claim that modern society is caught in an endless precession of falsity or simulation. Cynicism, as a “false nigredo,” remains superficial, an endless critique, but it never integrates anything.

The precession of social media

Cynicism thrives in social media, because the artifacts, be it a Tweet or a viral post, gain traction not by virtue of their truth but by their ability to generate attention. And we can all see that cynicism and criticism is easily condensed into pithy, viral statements.

Over time, a posture of permanent disillusionment can become an identity: I am the person who sees through everything. And that identity is often rewarded by likes, retweets, or a supportive group that shares the same stance.

Of course, social media technology can be wonderfully enabling when used for discourse - there are profoundly interesting and engaged blogs to read - but it also makes it convenient to hide behind sniping or mockery. It’s easier to fire off a dismissive remark than to engage in a deeper investigation. And, as we have all no doubt seen, anonymity can spread a contagion of cynicism. It spreads quickly through organizations, communities and even families without offering any constructive path forward.

The ancient cycnics

Diogenes of Sinope, perhaps the most famous ancient Cynic, was nicknamed "the Dog" for his shameless public behavior and his disregard for social conventions, sleeping in the public marketplace in a large ceramic jar, of the kind used for oil or wine.

The Cynics embraced this comparison, seeing dogs as models of natural living: unashamed and true to their nature.

But ancient Cynics had a coherent ethical stance: they challenged the common systems of wealth, power and convention. Their actions were embodied as they lived out their critique in a very direct way with a kind of radical minimalism that was physically and socially concrete.

Modern cynicism is typically a rhetorical posture, lacking the raw authenticity of its ancient counterparts.

Is there a way out of cynicism?

When I look at friends who I would describe as climate cynics, Covid cynics, or vaccine cynics, in general I often see disillusioned idealists. People who could care deeply but often saw too many contradictions.

It makes we wonder if cynicism can be recognized as disappointment in disguise, which then might become a starting point for something more positive: an engaged skepticism, perhaps.

For me, the way out can start by valuing vulnerability, which our education, business and political systems suppress, rewarding as they do, argumentative skill over collaboration and shared discovery.

In technology, for example, we do appreciate partial solutions and flawed prototypes (all those beta releases with which we struggle) in their place, but in other fields, such as politics, we reject this approach, refusing experimentation and the possibility of progress through failure.

Yet this vulnerability and openness to failure is important to avoid the pitfall of naïve optimism: the equally unthinking opposite of cynicism.

For one thing, we can operate within a system we distrust while seeking to remake it. If we engage with real-world cases of progress, however modest, we don't need to ignore the failings, but we can study how and why certain efforts succeeded. Hope, after all, is not the denial of difficulties; it’s a commitment to press on despite them.

That’s not naïve; it’s strategic. We might say, “We know this process is flawed, but we can engage it with for meaningful ends.”

Cynicism denies commitment. Naïveté denies difficulties.

Realism - and skepticism - accepts that the world is flawed, but is still open to getting it right.