The gray areas save the world

The gray areas save the world

Photo by Julian Wirth on Unsplash

Originally published 11 December 2001

Let me speak for gray.

Not black or white. Good or evil. Truth or fal­si­ty. Yes or no.

Let me speak for well, maybe. Sort of. More or less. I think so.

Let me speak for tem­pered certainty.

Until now, I was reluc­tant to speak for gray for fear of being con­sid­ered wishy-washy. Inde­ci­sive. Unprin­ci­pled. But late­ly it seems as if we are sur­round­ed on every side by zealots, and it’s not a pret­ty sight.

We are sur­round­ed by peo­ple who are so cer­tain of their Truth that they are will­ing to strap bombs to their chests and walk into crowd­ed piz­za par­lors. Or fly air­planes into tow­ers. Or hurl vicious epi­thets at young chil­dren walk­ing to school. Or bomb abor­tion clin­ics. Peo­ple who would sub­vert Amer­i­can prin­ci­ples of civ­il lib­er­ties to fight those who have no prin­ci­ples of civ­il liberty.

Flag-wavers and flag-burn­ers. Fun­da­men­tal­ists of the right and fun­da­men­tal­ists of the left. “It’s Amer­i­ca’s fault they hate us” and “Bomb them into the Stone Age.” There’s an ugly stri­den­cy in the air, too many peo­ple who are cer­tain God is on their side, too much cer­tain­ty with a cap­i­tal C.

So, why does the world look gray to me? After all, I was raised in a tra­di­tion of Absolute Truth. I was taught that infi­dels will burn in hell, at least those guilty of “cul­pa­ble igno­rance.” At uni­ver­si­ty, I used a text­book called The­ol­o­gy and San­i­ty by F. J. Sheed, the the­sis of which was that any sane per­son must agree with the author. “Armies of youth fly­ing the stan­dards of Truth,” we sang. There was much good in my ear­ly edu­ca­tion, but not much gray.

But I was study­ing sci­ence, too, and the his­to­ry and phi­los­o­phy of sci­ence. I saw an evo­lu­tion of truth with a low­er-case t. I saw peo­ple who held their cher­ished beliefs to the fire of expe­ri­ence, and who changed their minds when their ten­ta­tive truths failed the test of fire.

When a group of Britons estab­lished the first mod­ern sci­en­tif­ic soci­ety in the 17th cen­tu­ry, they took as their mot­to, “Take no one’s word.” They believed the only reli­able guide to truth was the evi­dence of the sens­es. And even the sens­es can be deceiv­ing. Which is why they embraced the exper­i­men­tal method. Repro­ducibil­i­ty. Obser­va­tions that can be repeat­ed by any­one, and that always give the same result.

Many peo­ple think of sci­ence as a body of knowl­edge — the germ the­o­ry of dis­ease, evo­lu­tion by nat­ur­al selec­tion, New­ton’s laws of motion, that sort of thing. Well, yes, it is. But these things are ten­ta­tive­ly held, with vary­ing degrees of cer­tain­ty. More fun­da­men­tal­ly, sci­ence is a way of think­ing. A way of think­ing that rejects absolutes.

Of course, one can’t blow hith­er and yon on a sea of uncer­tain­ty. To be use­ful, any sys­tem of knowl­edge must be con­fi­dent of itself. To do sci­en­tif­ic work at all, one must start with con­vic­tions. But every good sci­en­tist must be rad­i­cal­ly open to mar­gin­al change, and mar­gin­al­ly open to rad­i­cal change.

Sci­ence works in shades of gray.

Which is not to say that sci­ence has all the answers, or that sci­en­tists are more per­fect human beings than non­sci­en­tists. There are oth­er paths to truth: tra­di­tion, intu­ition, poet­ic imag­i­na­tion, the shaman’s wis­dom. But any­one who has had a good sci­en­tif­ic edu­ca­tion knows how eas­i­ly we slip into unwar­rant­ed cer­tain­ty, no mat­ter what the source of truth.

Our cur­rent regres­sion from gray into black and white has a par­al­lel in ancient Greek thought, as described by E. R. Dodds in the last chap­ter of his clas­sic book, The Greeks and the Irra­tional. He tells of the great age of intel­lec­tu­al dis­cov­ery that began with the foun­da­tion of the Lyceum in 335 BC, and con­tin­ued until about 200 BC. Hori­zons expand­ed. For the first time in his­to­ry, it did­n’t mat­ter where a per­son was born or what was his ances­try. Indi­vid­u­als began to con­scious­ly use tra­di­tions rather than be used by them. The sci­en­tif­ic way of think­ing was invent­ed and briefly flourished.

But there was, Dodds writes, a fear of free­dom, a long­ing for the old cer­tain­ties. Greek cul­ture slipped back into irra­tional­i­ty. Super­sti­tions revived. Author­i­ty and tra­di­tion again became arbiters of truth. Trib­al gods regained their old sway.

A con­fi­dent, cau­tious, open­ness to gray revert­ed to the rigid polar­i­ties of black and white.

Dodds blames the Greek retreat from ratio­nal­ism on an “uncon­scious flight from the heavy bur­den of indi­vid­ual choice which an open soci­ety lays upon its mem­bers.” Any cul­ture that is free must be will­ing to live with gray. Democ­ra­cy is gray. Tol­er­ance, inter­na­tion­al­ism, and ecu­menism are gray.

Gray isn’t easy, but it’s the plan­et’s best hope for a civ­i­lized future.

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