A Two-edged Sword

 

I occasionally listen to Bill Maher monologues on one of the American Network’s late-night shows (also on YouTube). He’s one of those anti-woke, “stop being so sensitive” public figures who in a recent episode invoked that old “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” shibboleth plus the “get over it already; they’re just words” sentiment. The attitude seems to be an accompaniment to a larger “free speech” theme where taking exception to what people are saying or writing is interpreted as an attempt to force them to shut up, to rob them of the right to say what they’re thinking.

Marjorie Taylor Greene, an American house representative—who’s gained notoriety for her outspoken, arbitrary pronouncements on just about everything—publicly decried the judgment against Alex Jones for lying repeatedly that the Sandy Hook school massacre was a hoax: “He was just speaking words,” she said.

I think thoughts and write words. More than that, I publish them occasionally, and sometimes others publish them. Some who will read this have thoughts they put into words to be spoken from pulpits, in front of classes of students, in meetings and workplaces, at family gatherings, on Zoom, etc. Words are our most civilizing invention: exchanging words in speech and writing allows our human species to learn, think, plan, to share our common aspirations, to transmit knowledge and wisdom, express feelings, negotiate decisions affecting groups.

For some reason, the Bible has never possessed cachet enough to cause the destructive possibilities of language to sink in. In Mark’s gospel, for instance, Jesus’ words, “You shall love your neighbours as yourself,” and in James’ Epistle (1:26), “If anyone considers himself religious and yet does not bridle his tongue, he deceives his heart and his religion is worthless,” there’s enough of a clue to determine that what we say and write, as well as how we say and write it is really significant. Our right to speak and write as we wish is secondary to our obligation to promote our neighbour’s wellbeing.

At the extreme of the abuse of words is the lie designed to benefit self at the cost of others. Libel, slander, fraud laws respond to those, of course, when they occur in the day-to-day commerce among individuals and corporate interests. But there’s a whole class of word abuse that’s more subtle: the choice of adjectives or adverbs, the tone of an utterance, the timing, etc., meant to promote one way of thinking over others or to denigrate an opposing viewpoint or person.  Political speech excels at this, but we all do it, often unconsciously. “I disagree with him,” versus, “what he’s saying is wrong,” versus, “what he’s saying is stupid,” versus, “he’s full of s..t,” as an example.

I know, this makes of our tongues a loaded gun we carry around with us. It’s why I listen to Bill Maher, I guess, to get a reality check on what I’m thinking before I go out there so strongly that I’m advocating the stifling of all speech and writing … in case our loaded gun goes off accidentally. Nothing undoes hurtful speech as well as an admission of failure and a genuine apology. We’re chaotic as a species; we will make wrong choices resulting in the wounding of others. We have soap to clean up careless spills; we have (thank God) speech and writing to clean up our verbal, written messes.

An Afterthought: In Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act V, Scene V, Hamlet acknowledges to Laertes that in an impetuous, “mad” state, he killed Laertes’ father, Polonius. He begs Laertes to think of the killing as if, “I shot mine arrow o’er the house and hurt my brother.” I’ve puzzled over this with High School English classes: If you shoot an arrow over the house, not being able to see where it will land, are you less guilty of hurting your brother than if you deliberately shot the arrow at him? Look up “mens rea,” if you’re inclined to discuss levels of guilt with someone. Think about “the word” as an “arrow.” Think about James’ “bridling of the tongue.”

               Let’s get together and talk.