Vulgar Language

A friend of mine was telling me about her new job, “I’m the only one in the office who is a Christian. But I think I’ll like working there.” I asked her how she knew she was the only Christian. Religious census on her first day of work? A round of heart-to-hearts?

“Well, the rest of them swear and stuff.” She said.

Over these last two years I’ve started swearing recreationally and when it’s appropriate, and I’m a Christian. So I have a vested interest in my research on the morality of swear words; I’d like to keep using them and be doing the right thing. I searched for the Bible verses the anti-swearing sector (ASS) use to discourage Christians from swearing (cussing, cursing, etc.). The article “Christian Cursing” at biblebelievers.com lists verses in Matthew and Titus. The Matthew one was especially compelling to me:

"But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned." (Mat. 12:36-37)

You could call this the writer’s commandment. Writers respect words and language. Good ones make their words do work and carry meaning; idle words have no place.

Biblebelievers.com and some other ASS sites warn against “falling into the language of the world,” and I wonder if words will justify us based on their content or form.

The infamous round of four-letter words in the English language have landed on the list of profanity because in 1066 they were vulgar. Vulgar meaning common. The Norman conquest of England meant the ruling classes spoke French while the lower classes spoke Anglo-Saxon (sometimes called Old English). [Note: villain is similar to vulgar in that its negative meaning derives from social connotations rather than moral ones. Ville, in French, means city. Villain is a city dweller.]

The presences of Anglo-Saxon and French existing together explain the word variety in modern English. French words in law, government, religion, and high culture took the place of the A.S. equivalents. Words for live animals that the peasants worked with have A.S. origins: cow, pig, deer, etc. Their cooked counter parts have French origins: beef, pork, bacon, venison, etc.

Shit, bitch, ass, and hell (among others) also have A.S. origins. The people who spoke these words were probably from the lower classes.

David Foster Wallace talks about, among other things, sub-dialects in his article Authority and American Usage, “There are innumerable sub- and subsubdialects based on all sorts of things that have nothing to do with locale or ethnicity — Medical-School English, Peorians-Who-Follow-Pro-Wrestling-Closely English, Twelve-Year-Old-Males-Whose-Worldview-Is-Deeply-Informed-By-South-Park English — and that are nearly incomprehensible to anyone who isn't inside their very tight and specific Discourse Community (which of course is part of their function).” The way (or ways) we talk is determined by the groups we are a part of and determines the groups we will be able to join in the future. Not ever swearing is a church-goers shibboleth, at least in general. That’s why my friend assumed her coworkers were not Christians; it wasn’t because swearing is a sin and Christians don’t sin. The pop-Christian community goes from being wary of shit to believing all shit is bullshit and will damn you to hell. A Christian sub-dialect is fine.

But it is limited.

Speaking only pop-C sub-dialect makes it harder to make friends outside this group. I wonder if this is why some parents ban swear words – not so much because swearing itself is bad, but because they don’t want their children to associate with the wrong kind of people. With a limited number of sub-dialects, kids can’t associate with any crowds but their own. It seems to me that Jesus lived with more concern for the out-groups, the ability to meet with anyone, and inclusion than for vocabulary. Just saying.

Spokane

Casey’s bar on Monroe Street is full of wrap-around couches. The tables are black, the floor is black tile, and the walls are crimson lit by weak gold lamps. At the table next to me are four thirty-somethings. They’ve had a couple of drinks and already have those far-away grins. One man’s wearing over-sized NFL gear and the women’s pants fit too tight. Up front, a woman in a black cowboy hat dances to somebody singing karaoke. A light pink shirt covers her cascading tummy and is tucked into her jeans. She doesn’t dance wildly – it’s more like she’s happily and comfortably at home.

And that’s the thing about Spokane – it’s not dancing for you.

There’s nothing about the way Spokane looks or its culture that will make you pay attention. I grew up living in the foothills of Pikes Peak – nine degrees south and 5,000 ft higher than Spokane. The Rocky Mountains and the intensity of the Colorado sun confront you. It’s like coming out of a long tunnel and gulping for air. Seattle also confronts you with its tall reflective buildings, winding exits, and deep green trees. And the Sound, going from light blue to steel grey, catches the city up in itself. Both places demand recognition for their beauty. Colorado shows off with its sunshine and clear air, and Seattle does the same with its moodiness and narrow streets.

But Spokane tends to be dark for five months. The sky matches the asphalt – all slate except for the half hour at dusk when the clouds light up pink and the gold street lamps come on. The old brick industrial buildings let restaurants and offices gut them and move in. Smokestacks stand unused.

If you go a few minutes south of downtown, you run into massive silos, the only buildings with curves. One to the east on Market has graffiti of Obama and McCain looking like buddies.

A couple of minutes towards Argonne open up into wheat fields. After harvest, the rolling fields glitter like Rumplestiltskin’s gold, and the power lines stand like resting giants. The fall light is so long (The sun is so low in the sky that the light goes through a lot of atmosphere.) that everything is red-shifted. Blues and greens hardly show up – the pine trees look black.

Spokane doesn’t care what you think. It’s not going to lose twenty pounds and put on a miniskirt. The brick sits through snow that won’t melt and doesn’t hear complaints. It’s fine with its Monroe dive bars and getting dark at 4:30. As long as you’re expecting it to impress you, it won’t.

Grammatical Snickering

An unfortunate misplaced modifier by Jason Aldean:
"Well, you can see the neighbor's butt crack nailing down his shingles."

George Strait shows the importance of punctuation:
"you'll always be a fire(.) I can't put out"