The Better World
Language Matters
By John and Lynne Diamond-Nigh

Q:  I’m tired of public profanity. Am I wrong?

A:  I love a paradox, and here’s a dandy: the root of the word “profane” is the Latin word for temple (fanum). Ancient temples, unlike American churches, enclosed a large statue of a god or goddess, and only the most elevated priests could enter the “cella,” or sacred chamber. The Greek equivalent of our Sunday church service, instead, was held in the open air in front of the temple where an altar would have been erected. Pro fano simply means “in front of the temple.” One very literal translation of profanity would be good, devout church-going.  

But you are quite right, public profanity is increasing and is not only an annoyance, it pollutes in the same way that cigarette smoke pollutes. Because of that, the city of Pasadena recently outlawed public profanity. I frequently traipse across a nearby college campus. I can’t help overhearing students on the sidewalk. The ubiquitous “F” word is the verb, noun, pronoun, adjective, adverb, and participle of their slim lexicon. Okay, I know that trash is a cog in their ardent striving to be “cool,” to be included in their tribe of choice, but it’s soooo banal and so offensive. Is college a place for diligent enlightenment, or is it a four-year holding pen where society places its young to grow up? Alas, not everyone does.

And their language reflects it.

But all of society, some sociologists suggest, suffers from arrested development. They point to our collective greed, our infantile entertainments, our growing illiteracy (of which obscenity seems to be a proportionate beneficiary). We get Larry the Cable Guy because we deserve Larry the Cable Guy.

Let’s take the opposite point of view: is there any justification for profanity, private or public?  A cultural touchstone just now is “authenticity.” Which is more authentic, Tony Soprano saying, “is this the same duck à l’orange that I had last week?” or “is dat da shame damn orange-peel duck I had last week?” Hamlet would be little more than a tiresome baby without his sordid jests and cunning vulgarities. Art can hardly portray the dark, tangled side of life using the language of the British House of Commons. Indeed, most great artists are great because they violated the prevailing norms of good taste.

And here’s another exception. I hold in great affection a certain classy, curmudgeonly sage.  He has diamond-bright eyes, a pound of steel wool for eyebrows, a pronounced affection for martinis, and a cerebral hard-drive jam-packed with tall tales. His bad words are colorful—bad language is still language, and as such is part of its expressive potential. He belongs to a unique class—old adventurers who have earned the right to be, in a literary, raconteur sort of way, salty in their speech. But they are few.

As a rule, however, foul speech is not classy at all. It’s bad manners. We have a (by no means prudish) friend who is dating now. A few bad words uttered by her date over dinner pretty much spells the end of any future relationship—a sort of Rorschach test. I think that I know what she means.

Language matters. Perhaps there is cause for dejection, but let me say this: we travel around the world, and nothing we see on our travels is ever quite as fine as what we come home to—that great American paragon, the warm-hearted, fair-minded, clear-spoken common woman or man. That’s true decency. That’s real class! 

Lynne is an etiquette and protocol consultant and a humanities professor at Elmira College. John is an artist and designer. Please send questions and comments to thebetterworld@mountainhomemag.com.