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The Grumpy Grammarian

Swearing, cussing or cursing, profanity – all are time-honored components of our language.  Straitlaced dowagers and self-righteous preachers who want cursing to vanish from our vocabulary will never have their way, for swearing has probably flourished since caveman first struck his opposable thumb with his newly fashioned hammer and uttered something like, "Oh, grug!"  Although we will probably always have some words that are socially unacceptable among certain groups at certain times, we humans find cursing to be useful and therapeutic.

One obvious and interesting fact about the history of cussing is that social attitudes about the practice are constantly changing.  Not only do various groups within society differ at any particular time, but over time society as a whole differs about what is "shocking" or unacceptable.  Words that were taboo yesterday may be at least somewhat commonplace and acceptable today.  Bluenoses who wring their hands over the "deterioration" of the language in this regard, and who see it as a symbol of moral erosion, might just as well give up.  Swearing is too useful to give up.  Furthermore, whether bad language causes declining morals or simply reflects what has already happened to morals – indeed, whether there is any connection between the two – is a classic chicken-and-egg question.

Opponents of any form of swearing need read no further.  Before they take the high ground, however, I would ask them if they occasionally use darn, heck, or shucks in place of the cruder alternatives.  Nearly everyone knows what they mean.  Granted, we have a peculiar, possibly hypocritical, double standard here, but what's the point of it?  I understand why journalists use f*** instead of writing out the crude four-letter word (and I do the same thing), but nearly everyone fills in the blanks.  Oddly enough, few of us get the same satisfaction from shouting "Oh, shucks" when we're disappointed or have made a mistake as we do when we use the other word.

It's a simple fact:  For most of us, swearing has a cathartic value.  It helps to purge negative emotions, giving us a healthier outlet than would, say, hitting ourselves in the head with hammer that we've just brought down on our thumb.  I don't pretend to know why this is.  Psychologists have, no doubt, some theories about the purgative power of profanity, and the experts in brain chemistry may have discovered that cussing triggers the release of a brain chemical that makes us feel better.  It doesn't matter.  Whatever the psychological or physiological dynamics are, most of us will swear, at least occasionally.

This is not to say that we are all entitled to cuss however much we want, whenever we want, or that we should become addicted to it.  I once knew a very intelligent man, a college English professor, who peppered his private conversation with the notorious f-word with the same frequency that teenaged girls nowadays use like.  Although he somehow managed to curb this habit in the classroom, it was painful to listen to him, and being with him in places where conversation could be easily overheard was embarrassing.  Besides, his constant use of the f-word caused it to lose its power to shock or to emphasize.  Sadly, this habit made him appear to be a man of limited vocabulary when, in fact, his vocabulary was quite extensive.

Restraint is also wise around children.  I try to avoid dipping into my considerable repertoire of cuss words when my grandsons are within earshot.  Although I know that they will learn all the "naughty" words eventually – and may even use them experimentally to see what effect these words will have, as kids are wont to do – I don't intend to contribute to this part of their education.

The target of our swearing bears some consideration, too.  It is far more acceptable to curse an inanimate object (which has no feelings) than to curse a person, except perhaps when the person cannot hear us.  I believe, for example, that I might not be able to work at a computer at all if I were prohibited from swearing at it when it fails to cooperate with me.  Though I've tried, I also have difficulty driving without swearing at other drivers, but maybe I haven't tried hard enough because I know that they can't hear me.

Recently, I've tried to resort to "creative" cursing when I drive:  "May a thousand camels urinate on your SUV," "Where did you get your license – from a mail-order catalog?"  Nevertheless, when someone suddenly cuts me off on the highway, my kneejerk response is:  "You &%$#/* idiot!"  Fortunately, when the grandkids are visiting, their father, whom I have rarely heard swear, does the driving.

We can all decide for ourselves, I suppose, when swearing is an appropriate and even healthy outlet.  Sometimes, when I lapse into an excess of profanity, I feel guilty about it.  Ironically, I swear at myself for doing it.  Sometimes this reminds me of my mother's sneezes.  She apparently learned that a good, healthy sneeze was unladylike.  Although stifling an explosive sneeze in public is certainly both healthy and good manners, she went to an extreme.  It's hard to describe, but what she did when she had to sneeze was a kind of suppressed "Knzzt," which made her look like she was in danger of bursting a blood vessel.  Swearing is like that, I believe – a healthy outlet that should be indulged in, used discriminately but not entirely suppressed.