DISILLUSIONED YOUTH

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 240, 30 December 1927, Page 4

DISILLUSIONED YOUTH

By a MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN. I suppose all of us who have achieved middle age, with our mental faculties fairly well intact, are impatient of the theory that advancing Anno Domini means retrospective unanimity of thought and outlook, and a middleaged prejudice against all projective evolution in human nature, in literature, and the arts. When, in the most moderate spirit, we venture the smallest criticism of the younger generation and its ways and works, we are met with the retort courteous: “Dear old thing, when we’re your age we may think as you do.” One begs leave to wonder. To wonder whether these children of modernity will ever shed their metallic scales. To wonder whether they will ever lose that seemingly inherent hardness, cynicism, utter ack of xeverence, complete contempt for honest tears, and cast-iron allegiance to materialism, against which an older generation appeals in vain. Reverence and pity have so far gone out of fashion that actual cruelty will be resorted to in these days to raise a dubious laugh. Any sorry joke that will evoke a scurrilous smile is good enough to make havoc of the heart’s gentleness. All the happy virtues are sacrificed for the sardonic reputation of a soi-disant wit. This laughter that rings so hollow; these smart witticisms that “make the long nose’* at decent tradition in our modern novels and plays, and that leave middle-age shuddering with distaste or boredom, may be but transient symptoms of post-war degeneration. But, transitory or not, they are leaving their indelible mark on youth, to whom literature and the stage now bring such early sophistication, such premature disillusionment. To that disillusionment, middle age is not allowed the privilege of ministering the consolation of an older wisdom, or outlining a lovelier quest. Fart of one’s hope for the younger generation is one’s knowledge that it does still suffer, and that suffering, pity, and reverence cannot forever dwell apart. But for the moment youth lias nothing to cling to. Neither faith in humanity nor in any other higher power. It sneers at idealism, and when realism hurts it beyond endurance it grows still harder-eyed in its rebellious pain, and no more experienced 1 and or heart may proffer sympathy.. How can love help when love has only those forsworn ideals for the quickening of youth’s vision and the strengthening "of its soul? "iouth’s pwn code is strong enough in self-sufficiency until it receives a knock-down blo\v. But when that happens, what a tragic display of weakness! Clubs where drink is served could tell their own tale of how youth, of both sexes, meets disillusionment to-day. The sportsmanship on which it prides itself is powerless to help youth to play the ideal StJ-fne when a too- realistic destiny is winning the match.