On Saying No: Noughts and Crosses

Sometimes, more rarely than the ideal, I find myself having to say No to someone, some project or responsibility. Some of these Nos have been draconian, and have earned me the disrespect of a number of those affected. Some were slight: easily forgiven. Some have left me with lingering regrets, some with self-congratulation. Some have seemed inevitable, as the task was just too big for my compass; some have required introspection and discernment. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could always spread joy and relief by saying Yes?

            Why do we find it so hard to say No? How do we feel when someone says No to us? How many Yeses does it take to fill a concert hall, for example, and how many does it take to keep a committee going? Do we sometimes prevent the solution to a problem by saying Yes in a situation actually requiring systematic restructure from the ground upwards, so that a communal burden can be effectively shared? Or so that bad design can be exposed and a whole new way of action be brought into being?

            I find it especially hard to say No to people’s expectations, and this may be the result of my own daring. I have a tendency to overestimate my strength. A few basic maxims are useful here, such as ‘You can’t be in two places at one time’ and ‘There’s only one of me’. One of my serious regrets may seem a small thing, but to my neighbour it was a real disappointment: the day I had to say I couldn’t drive her to a long promised dog show because I was so exhausted I could hardly get out of bed. My neighbour couldn’t drive, and she’d been training her dogs for ages. How could I let her down so? Such regrets are going to stay with me, for my neighbour died long ago.

            Composer Gustav Holst gave his daughter Imogen the advice to put her health and physical fitness before any other consideration — Imogen Holst became a composer, conductor, teacher, arts administrator, and the amanuensis of Benjamin Britten, so there were eventually many considerations — because you can only get the best out of yourself if you are in good condition, just as you can’t get the best music out of a broken-down piano: what’s needed, he said, is ‘a proper mechanism’. He felt this should come first, and he told his daughter to stop before she became tired. Now this is excellent advice. How often do we stop before we become tired?

            It’s a fact, attested in the Gospels, that Jesus said No. He said No to the Kingdoms of this world and to their glory. He said No in the first instance to the devil, the old tempter, but he said the same No to the people of Jerusalem who welcomed him as their King. He told Pilate that if he had been that worldly King, his followers would be fighting for him. Instead, he was lifted up on the cross prepared for him by the Roman authorities.

        There is in art a concept called ‘negative space’. This is the space between the shapes in a drawing, the silence between the notes in music, the emptiness at the centre of the wheel in the Tao. If we don’t take proper rest by saying No, we won’t be able to say Yes when occasions require it, often without warning, and so fulfil our obligation to be fully present for others. To get the best out of ourselves, we need a proper mechanism: we can’t drive ourselves to the brink by always saying Yes.