Fade to Grey

Hot on the heels of "The Century of the Self"—of which they are its ultimate product—millennials have sought to redefine Western society as a kinder, gentler upgrade. To their credit, they have crafted a narrative that aspires to transcend the hard-nosed world I grew up in, substituting the communal support systems that once kept society turning with a benevolent ‘Good Samaritan’ ethos, rooted—perhaps unconsciously—in a Judeo-Christian moral framework. This is particularly striking given their generation’s public rejection of faith. 

Education has been reimagined in an inclusive, outward-looking embrace of both those we know and those we don’t—a final renunciation of the self-serving, archaic narratives best left to the distant past. Few would disagree with such humanist generosity of spirit: respect for all, acknowledgement of past faults, and aspirational intent for the future. Yet how has a narrative so well-intentioned given rise to the self-flagellating tribalism now fracturing Western society? How can an educated critique of the past produce so bleak an offering for the future? 

This, I think, is the fundamental problem we face: the complex issues we have identified in the world cannot be solved with despair—they demand hope. And if we cannot instil that hope in the next generation, we rob them of agency; and in doing so, we condemn ourselves to extinction.

I’ve wondered whether this refusal to engage with nuance arises from fear. Deprived of the social belonging once offered by community—a deficit only deepened by the pandemic—we all hunger for meaning and allegiance. The isolation imposed by lockdowns intensified this loss, but also introduced a more insidious moral dimension. By conflating identity with opinion, it ushered in a new era of identity politics—one that operates as a moral as well as a political creed.