By Charlotte Fox Weber*
Good or bad, beautiful or ugly, thin or fat, black or white. We can be binary, extreme and split in how we see the world – and ourselves for that matter. There’s a psychological reason we tend to be this way. It’s easier for us to make quick judgements than to tolerate ambiguities and explore the in-between. We see this in children, where subtlety is hard to learn, and hard for us to explain. We see it in politics. We see it in our own minds when we are anxious and fearful, and we think things are black and white and there are no shades of grey.
Integrating and reconciling polarities is both demanding and endlessly worthwhile. It’s where great literature and art teaches us not just about the beauty of shades of grey but also about how to live. Shakespeare warned us of our polarising tendencies: ‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’
So how can we consider what’s in between, what’s a mixture of good and bad, rather than good or bad? Start with yourself. Consider that you are not either/or but rather both/and. You can be both good and bad. Serious and silly. Exceptional and ordinary. Empathic and selfish. And most importantly, all that’s in between. When we stop insisting on absolutes, we are liberated to accept ourselves more, to embrace reality more generously, more forgivingly.
I turned to Jack Guinness, model and editor of Queer Bible, for insights on this subject. ‘As soon as we are born, we’re placed into binary categories,’ he says. ‘Our bodies are filled neatly in exclusive slots, boy or girl. Then our behaviour is judged: are we “good” or “bad”? From the outset we’re encouraged to think of two options, right and wrong, black and white, opposing sides, etc. No one fits neatly into these classes. Nature is messy and random. The order our brains try to impose on the world and on human behaviour leads to an inevitable mismatch. We fall short, feel ashamed, or develop a sense of lack.’
Guinness’s words resonate deeply for me. As a psychotherapist, I’m constantly struck by the deprivation that comes with black and white thinking. We feel we must decide if we are gay or straight, if a job is good or terrible, if we love or hate someone. If a project we’ve worked hard on is actually completely useless. We idealise and then we denigrate. We do this with art and artists too. We dethrone our heroes. Cancel culture contributes to this black and white thinking as well, where lionised figures are simply annihilated when their flaws are revealed.
Guinness continues: ‘Admitting the existence of, and then sitting in, the grey – a middle place of doubt with undefined boundaries – is to rest in power.’ Let’s consider our resistance to shades of grey. It often stems from our love of certainty, especially when we’re apprehensive, self-doubting, and uneasy about finding our way. We want answers and clarity. But our yearning for certainty can mislead us. ‘Beware dogmatic minds that claim to have all the answers,’ Guinness says. ‘I’m much more comfortable talking to spiritual people who allow for unknowable mysteries.’
Not knowing is hard for us, but it’s also where we discover and grow. Guinness continues: ‘Admitting the existence of, and then sitting in the grey – a middle place of doubt with undefined boundaries – is to rest in power.’
The poet John Keats described the sense of awe and ambiguity with the term ‘negative capability’ which is about the beauty we find in nuance in uncertainty. Think of something that fills you with awe – a work of art, a beautiful building, a slice of the sky, someone or something you’re drawn to. There’s often a sense of mystery in the things that fill us with wonder, even if we have knowledge and understanding. I’m not for a moment suggesting that we stop trying to comprehend the world. But a part of understanding includes accepting a degree of mystery.
Let’s return to the sky, where we see shades of grey more than anywhere. Especially during this world moment, many of us feel heavy, listless, dispirited. Grey may be the last thing we want. We crave colour, excitement. But when we really look at the grey, there can be something quite beautiful and honest about clouds too. In the words of Guinness: ‘By admitting that we can’t control through classification and labelling, we allow for the possibility of something new and unexpected. Sit in the grey.’
It’s always interested me that we refer to black and white photography, because it’s of course filled with shades of grey. Why do we call it that? Consider the world of André Kertész, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Dorthea Lange. The list is endless when we begin to consider the magnificence of grey in their photographs. There’s subtlety, texture, nuance, shadows and light, and all of this is really how the mind works internally, when we permit ourselves to sit in the grey.
*This piece originally appeared in the Spring 2021 issue of OnOffice Magazine.
