A World Without Nuance
Harry T. Cook

By Harry T. Cook
8/21/15
 
 
 
Nuance: from the Latin nubes and the Greek νεφος -- "cloud." In our palaver, a "nuance" is considered to be a deviation from some kind of absolute. "Thou shalt not bear false witness" is generally taken as an absolute prohibition of a deliberate telling of a falsehood. A "little white lie" might be seen as a nuance, a slight clouding or veiling of the truth.
 
The Gestapo officer demands to know of the French farmer if any Jews had passed that way of late. "Non," is the answer. Perhaps in a hurry to get to the nearest village and its bierstube, the fearsome Nazi accepts the answer with a shrug and orders his stooges to get a move on.
 
The farmer is much relieved. He can say to himself that the Jews he has hidden under the floor of the barn out back did not exactly pass his humble home even as he sheltered them in an outbuilding to get to which they had to pass his house, though they did not pass by it on the road out front. His answer was a nuanced one. An answer wrapped in a cloud of ambiguity.
 
Without recourse to that nuance on truth, a whole family likely would have been on its way to Auschwitz or some other killing place. Heraus! Schnell!
 
If I read current American politics correctly -- and it hurts my eyes and lays low my spirit to do so -- the country is being oratorically coerced into accepting absolutist, un-nuanced almost a priori policy statements that leave no room for real-world dilemmas. "Telling it like it is," they say.
 
One presidential aspirant declares that there is no question that a woman impregnated against her will is required by God and should be required by the government to carry the child to full term. Period. Paragraph. No further discussion, not even of the woman's health and other complications.
 
Another compares the nuclear agreement between the United States, its allies and Iran to negotiating with terrorists. "We never negotiate with terrorists." Never? Was it not Winston Churchill who said, "It is 'better to jaw-jaw than to war-war"?
 
Yet another will say that pure capitalism is the only American way, that the so-called entitlements of Social Security and Medicare are outright sins against the invisible but nevertheless all-knowing, occult Hand of the free market economy.
 
Not to be outdone, still another will say there is no such thing as poverty, as have-nots. They are not-yet-haves. Not even a thin glitter of light gets through the wall of that closed system. No nuance, not the slightest cloud of uncertainty.
 
Likewise, if one dares question Israel's provocative building of settlements in the West Bank, he is automatically an anti-Semite. One is either for Israel or against it. It's all or nothing. Clear as a cloudless day.
 
To make a no-nuances-allowed political system work, the people who in effect run it must see themselves as knowing better than anyone else. They must publish something like Mao's Little Red Book. They must rule as Lenin and Stalin and Mussolini and Hitler ruled: czar-like in absolutist terms.
 
Certain expressions of religion traffic in absolutisms, viz. contraception of any kind is a grave moral lapse as is the physical expression of love between persons of the same sex; the husband is the head of the household to whom his spouse and children must cede their freedom to live and move and have their own being; the Bible is the literal Word of God; he who denies so much as a letter of it is not only to be shunned but is destined to eternal perdition.
 
Whenever I encounter the bitter fruit that comes of living under such absolutisms, I recall this passage from the Gospel according to St. John: The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth/1-- a passage Rudolf Bultmann/2 suggested was rooted in ambiguity: "The operation of the πνευμα [or wind] is bound by no discoverable law. Admittedly it is the ambiguity of this term πνευμα that makes it possible for us to entertain this idea, as a hidden meaning lying behind the initial sense of the word."/3

Albert Einstein, a contemporary of Bultmann, helped us to see ambiguity in a phenomenon when otherwise we might have expected to see it in absolute clarity. He demonstrated with his Theory of Special Relativity that an event occurring at one time for one observer could occur at a different time for another.
 
That one observer at one time and one at another could be viewing the same event whilst in different contexts and situations strongly suggests that each might be seeing the same event differently. Thus no singular truth of the matter could be determined.
 
Nuance and ambiguity are our friends. We do well to embrace them and go where they take us. Both are at the heart of responsible scholarship and research that matters.
 
Ambiguity is part of our very selves and of those with whom we live. An adoring spouse can say to his or her partner, "I love you," but it can and frequently does mean many different things separately and together. A smile may be seen as a questioning, as a judgment, as an apology, as an unspoken desire, as an affirmation -- indeed, as a mystery.
 
Nuance is to the human mind and heart what grace and lilt are to the poetry of Keats, what gaiety and brilliance are to the music of Mozart.
 
1/ John 3:8 KJV
2/ Bultmann (1884-1976) was the 20th century's eminent scholar of New Testament texts. He taught at Marburg University in Germany.
3/ Bultmann. The Gospel of John. Philadelphia, PA. The Westminster Press. 1971. 142

Copyright 2015 Harry T. Cook. All rights reserved. This article may not be used or reproduced without proper credit.
 


Readers Write
Re essay of 8/14/15 Looking Back: What Was I Thinking?
 
 
Meredith Grider, Louisville, Kentucky, and Alden. Michigan:
I remember the boy at the station doing all sorts of jobs and love reading this part of your life. Those were the days in small town America!
 
Peter Lawson, Petaluma, California:
Your essay today brought me a stream of warm and wonderful emotions. Thank you for that trip into your psyche. Thank you also for stimulating the urge to write something about the forces that drove me to where I am today.
 
Blayney Colmore, Jacksonville, Vermont:
Was it Kurt Vonnegut, I think, who said that writing is a form of mental illness? I understand his point if what he means is that for many of us it is an unconquerable compulsion. I am so addicted to words -- how they sound, how they go with other words in the sentence -- that my wife, among others, accused me of caring more about the sound and cadence of the words in a sermon than the meaning they conveyed. Inasmuch as preaching seems to me better suited to music than prose, I pleaded guilty. I find myself rehearsing ways to greet someone I am on my way to see. For me, writing is a hedge against mental illness. The magic of the written and spoken word one of the happiest of human illusions; that by putting our agile minds to work we can order the chaos. Henry Adams wrote in The Education of Henry Adams: "Chaos is the law of nature, order the dream of man." Where do I recall reading, "In the beginning was the Word ... and the Word was God?"
 
Robert B. Hetler, Suttons Bay, Michigan:
A column most pleasant in the reading. I am thinking of how Dr. Hosmer waved her pencil at the class, as if it were some magic wand that would heal all of our grammatical wounds. There are some trains in Europe which come close to your fonder memories.
 
Fred Fenton, Concord, California:
Having been Dipt in Ink may be your sin, but is our treasure. Drowning in near useless words from every quarter, I prize your two weekly offerings as lifesavers from a secure shore.
 
Eunice M. Rose, Southfield, Michigan:
I know I have written to you before about trains, but your essay today has forced me to do it again! As entertainers in our teens and early twenties, my twin and I crossed this country and into Canada many, many times. As for trains, I've written many times about our love affair with train travel. I can't resist doing it again. One of my favorite memories is taking the Mercury to and from our home in Cleveland to Detroit to see every disk jockey we could. The train left the Cleveland Terminal at 8:15 and rolled into Detroit at 11:15. We hopped the train, going directly to the dining car. We always ordered the same breakfast: poached eggs over crisp toast, bacon, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and coffee. It got so that as we boarded the train, we could see the chef plopping our eggs into the pot. Once in our career, we splurged and took a roomette rather than coach. Total luxury! On another trip through the South, this time no roomette, a kind conductor saw us huddled in our seats in the middle of the night, and took us into an empty roomette. Can you tell I long for those days of comfortable, friendly travel on trains and planes? Keep on writing these wonderful essays. You are a treasure.
 
Robert Vinetz, Los Angeles, California:
You write of having worked serially for three "failing institutions -- the railroad, the church and the newspaper ..." This brought to mind that life itself is, of course, a "failing institution." On a cosmic scale, entropy may rule. On a smaller, more human scale, I like to think that what's important is seeking and inhabiting at least one of those "failing" institutions, those innumerable "islands" of meaning, of fleeting anti-entropy. That, you've done beautifully! And shared those islands, those words rising out of the ink-sea, with so many others. who will go on to share them with so many others. Thank you.
 Vincent McCoy, Toronto, Ontario:Come across to Canada, Mr. Cook. We have trains galore. Maybe like the ones you remember. You have certainly had your hand in many a different trade. Keep writing. Thomas McCullough, Royal Oak, Michigan:What a wonderful, nostalgic piece of prose. Thank you. I do take exception with one thing, however. You mentioned having worked for "three failing institutions -- the railroad, the church and the newspaper." If you meant a particular church with a small "c," I cannot question your assessment for I am ignorant of which church you speak. If, however, you meant Church with a capital "C" then I assure you the Bride of Christ is alive and well. (Although perhaps with a slight temperature in a few locations.)

Judith Orbach, Beverly Hills, Michigan:
This was a lovely piece. My husband would have envied you your early railway experiences, as he was a great aficionado. I don't believe, though, that he ever had an opportunity like yours to aid in the operations.

 Tracey Martin, Southfield, Michigan:
I write because I persuade myself that I have something worthwhile to say. Or to respond to friends who do have something worthy of expression. And to leave a historical record. Sometimes I write to myself. For myself. But, when finally I do my own dust-to-dust, what happens to my accumulated, unorganized postulates, ponderings and pretentions will be well beyond my decision, or even my interest. Even more, when the universe does return to perfect balance and ceases to exist, even Shakespeare will be lost forever. Although his contemplations might be encapsulated and hurled into the spacial void in odds-against hopes that they will be discovered by life equally sentient. In any event, we of this life are fortunate indeed that you decided to write, and to do it with such trenchant insight
 
Josephine Kelsey, Ann Arbor, Michigan:
How about, you worked for three changing institutions in an age of profound change? I think railroads, the churches, and the press only fail if they do not change and insist on staying in the past-present. Interesting essay.
 
David R. Cook, Onalaska, Wisconsin:
I loved your writing essay because I am experiencing my own writing urges more intensively since moving to assisted living and away from friends and church that stimulated me over the years. I was a prolific letter writer for our twice-weekly paper. But frequent essay writing is the product of my isolation as care giver for my wife with Alzheimer's. I'm writing when we are taking a walk and I'm writing at night with the light out when my subconscious gets going on a topic and won't stop. I'm from a family of writers. The legendary high school journalism teacher who trained my brother Don and inspired him also taught me eight years later. Don began as a copy boy on the St. Petersburg Times in Florida soon after graduation from high school in 1937 and within three years he was reporting for a wire service from Washington, D.C. You and I have a lot in common, not least of which is religion and trains, but you were much more widely and deeply educated in college and graduate school. I'm sure we will both keep writing until we can't. 

What do you think?
I'd like to hear from you. E-mail your comments to me at revharrytcook@aol.com.