Language emerges out of meaning. People want to communicate ideas to each other, and therefore have ascribed signs and symbols to represent those ideas. At this point in time, we should have enough symbols to arrange in such an order to externalize any internal idea we might have. Language should serve as the indicator of internal meaning—this is its very purpose. There’s only one problem with that. Our human language is old, and in its current state about as corroded and broken as an Atari left in the rain. Certain words have lost their original meaning, been given new meaning, or been given additional meaning. And, aside from a concrete meaning, words have accrued connotations over the years, something which cannot necessarily be quantified. Now, because language is such a powerful and useful tool, certain people and parties have decided to co-opt certain elements of language to use for their own devices. Generally, this language they decide to exploit is either to promote their own group, and/or put down another group. Usually, the group in question pursues the latter. This phenomenon has caused a rather unfortunate reaction: namely, the elimination of certain language from the cultural lexicon. In the interest of being politically-correct, certain phrases or words must never be uttered. There is a war on language being waged under the blanket of political-correctness—this is not only misguided in its execution but also extremely damaging to our culture..

The politically-correct war on language should really be a war on intention. Language conveys meaning, and this meaning is derived from personal intention. Now, if one’s intentions are hateful or negative, so too is the meaning of one’s ideas—and out pops hateful speech. Try to show a recording of this hate speech on network television, or play it in a public place. Chances are, you’ll get in trouble pretty quick. So, what’s the problem here? You can’t say these things? All right, let’s censor out the offending snippets, replacing them with silence or a high frequency beeping tone. Amazing! Now we can play the clip! But, replacing epithets and pejoratives with docile substitutes is not the answer—the speech is just as hateful as it has always been. Obscuring the vowel of a word doesn’t mean we don’t know what word it was. Why, just the first letter is enough to suggest the meaning of the entire word (see: “f-word,” “n-word,” etc.). The speaker’s intentions don’t change when the listener or some censoring middleman puts a bunch of bleeps in there. Now, instead of superimposing bleeps and bloops over the offending words, let’s substitute politically-correct speech. Let’s say that we have told the speaker in question that in order to publish his speech in any form, he will have to substitute all epithets with inoffensive terminology. For our example, the speaker, though a hatemonger, happens to be a real pushover and acquiesces to our requests. The speech plays, and big surprise—it’s still writhing with hatred and anger. Could it then be, that changing language doesn’t change the underlying meaning? Of course. Language is the final, outermost layer in the process of communication of thought. It also happens to be the first, outermost layer in the process of interpretation. So, because it is the first layer in receiving the message, it often takes the blame for the meaning behind the message, and changes to the language are seen as a solution. But, because the language is the last step in sending the message, all meanings and interpretations have been set.

To substitute offensive language with politically-correct jargon does no good without changing intentions. A racist can call a black man a “nigger” or an “African-American,” and still have the same opinion of him. You can call gay man a “queer,” a “homosexual” or a “fag” and still have the same stereotypical caricature of him in your head. The list could go on and on. Language carries the burden for these hateful things that people say, but really the problem lies much deeper. To change the offensive language but leave the intentions which spurred those words intact is to fall short. Language is an easy scapegoat because it lies on the surface of meaning and provides an easy target. Of course, to say that the war should be on intention is not meant to be puritanical in any respect—merely that those who wish to end hatred in the world should expel their efforts on the cause of the problem rather than the effect.

There is a difference between conveyed meaning and inferred meaning. This arises from a difference in personal experience on the part of the speaker and the listener, and the cultural experience of both. While the personal experience will change drastically from person to person, the cultural connotations will remain largely intact. The disparity between conveyed and inferred meaning can increase when interest groups co-opt language for their own purposes and create connotations that do not inherently exist in common usage. This causes the language to corrode with the deliberate insertion of meaning. Inoffensive words can be demonized in such a manner, and offensive terminology can be reclaimed by the oppressed. An excellent example of this lies in the feminist movement. Inga Muscio writes that the word “vagina” is etymologically derived from “sheath for a sword.” This is supposedly part of the reasoning behind the reclamation of words which I don’t exactly feel the most comfortable slinging around to describe the female anatomy, as one without the biological parts in question. I’ve had first-hand experience of women who refuse to use the word “vagina” entirely on that etymological basis. But, the fact that this etymological root has only been presented in feminist writing should tell us something—that this meaning is not inferred by most, and interpreted as such by only a few. Perhaps the root of the word was “sheath,” but as usage became ubiquitous over time, that root meaning was lost. To assert that the word “vagina” is offensive in the 21st century would be to insert meaning which has not been connoted since the word’s inception—a connotation likely conceived without malice.

The urge to reclaim language that has historically been used negatively is noble in intent. What better way to stick it to your haters than to embrace their verbal weapons, right? Lingual reclamation can be a good thing—by saturating the lexicon with positive use of the word in question, the word’s negative meaning loses its power to hurt. This is the case in the most ideal sense of reclamation. However, the ideal is rarely achieved; problems occur immediately. The “us and them” mentality is increased by reclamation—as in, “it’s okay when we say it, but not when you say it.” And, despite the saturation of the positive connotations, traces of the negative will always remain inherent in that particular word, when said in a certain context. After a group has “reclaimed” a word for their own usage, they are set off as distinct and different from the whole, precisely the problem they hoped to overcome. As such, this reclamation misses the point—instead of attempting to change the connotations of the language, the social conditions which produced those connotations must be changed. Of course, doing so is extremely difficult, and so the superficial change in language is deemed satisfactory.

Exploiting language for the sake of alienation goes far beyond the walls of racial and sexual epithets, however. Alienation can emerge from language structure as well. Listen to an academic. Their speech is so … eloquent. Those who wish to convey a certain pretense behind the meanings of their words use big words and complicated sentence structure. At times, I consider myself to be a guilty party to this—and, sometimes I even make up fictional words which sound convincing—all for the sake of subjugationalisticalism. By utilizing structure and vocabulary outside of the confines of common speech, the listener is made subjugate to the speaker. The higher class of the speaker is asserted, while true meaning is obfuscated. (Please note irony in use of “obfuscate.”) You can listen to somebody talk at you for an hour with the most beautiful words and eloquent speech patterns, and still not know what the hell they were talking about. Try listening to Noam Chomsky if you would like contextual evidence of this. People who feel superior to others feel the need to use a sophisticated tongue to prove their intelligence and education. Sometimes, things need to be stated as they are, without a lot of flowery language hiding the true meaning.

Individuals who wish to appear smarter than they actually are pick up buzzwords and in-language to appear knowledgeable in a particular subject area. Academics are often guilty parties to this practice. Rampant usage of prefixes such as “proto-,” “neo-,” “pseudo-,” post-,” and “quasi-” is a dead giveaway. See also: frequent allusions to last names of past scholars/writers with “-esque” or “-ian” suffixed, such as “Kafkaesque,” “Clausewitzian,” and “Wittgensteinian.” All groups make use of buzzwords and in-language to set themselves off from the rest. This can be seen as a kind of code which is understood only by members of the group in question. While academics choose to make use of the aforementioned devices, teenagers have their own particular slang which is undecipherable by their parents, and political groups incessantly use acronyms. All of these practices serve one purpose: to alienate those who aren’t “in” on the lingo.

Language is so often used as a tool to alienate and separate—across the board. Whether a member of the KKK or a scholar, the words you use can be harmful or disparaging, depending on the contents of your heart. Pure intention shines through to acceptable, understandable language but not vice versa. Therefore, to attempt to cut off intention through cutting off language is a misguided battle, resulting in a Band-Aid solution in which everything appears to be copasetic. To attempt to eliminate offending language is impossible, to attempt to change it misguided.

There’s a Saturday Night Live sketch parodying children’s television in which four sprightly people dance around wearing shirts with the four letters of a well-known expletive. Now, the humor in the sketch derives from them coming dangerously close to lining up in the proper order to spell the curse. They never do, obviously—but what’s the difference? Does switching two letters really make the word less offensive? The intention is quite clear by the nature of the sketch that these letters are supposed to spell something naughty. Where’s the line to cross? Does substituting asterisks for vowels really soften the blow of an offensive word? Well, no. Of course not—the word is still there, even if it’s partially covered up. See no evil, hear no evil, right? In many ways, the war on language strives to cover up language, and in doing so hopes to cover up the meaning behind it. But covering up goes only so far in enacting change. Changing language should be the final step in a more dynamic struggle.

So, what’s the point here? Just this: political-correctness is fine; nobody wants to offend. But this eternal eggshell-walking can produce a very uptight and stodgy attitude toward life. Have a sense of humor about these kinds of things. After all, if you can’t laugh, what else is there in life?

The naming of nouns makes it possible to place them in your memory and to use them in magic tricks, but in no case is it truer than with children. Lucy and Sam were the two I’d find between the apartment parking lot and the grassy front lawn. Tall, imposing, loving, and they were the ones who made the biggest messes.

Marky was the one who was big around the middle and flexible up top.
Petrie reminded me of a mushroom. He had a waxy complexion, living close to Sonny’s house at the street corner or about 25 feet from school.
Our oldest friend was the si that lived in our home for more than 20 years.
Ficus benjamina, an indoor benjamin fig tree.
They were all trees, but they were more alive than ever, and they had names. That was the only possible way they could be marked as important and placed in a known universe: If a child could treat them with just the same name-possession privileges as any other person.

Children can universally apply words and names without stigma or embarrassment, and likewise they question and transfigure the general usage of words and names.

Examples:

"Why is the sky blue?"
The asker, often a hobbit, assumes that colored things have their particular colors for particular reasons. In this sense, there exists a distinct possibility that the sky may as well have been a color other than blue. The hobbit then sees the blue sky as both magic and arbitrary.

"A teaspoon of cat"
A hobbit game that involves two stuffed animals, both animated and voiced by one human being each, in which the mommy cat and the baby cat play "house." ("House": A game in which two or more people rename objects into other objects and define the jurisdiction that is considered The House. Participants pick roles to assume while navigating the house while using the proper imaginary doors, and if necessary, pick proper names to use in assumed roles)

"My inner quan [pants] will help me. Ohhhhhmmm. Paaaants."
A mantra used by hobbits when talking about the usefulness of long underwear in the wintertime, perhaps even better if prewarmed by the dryer.

Words can be misused without being seen as grammatically incompetent. Some grammatical incompetencies could get people disinvited from grammar parties, in which invitees bring favorite bottles of wine and favored discussion topics.

Words can also be part of a transfiguration process, arbitrary and subject to change. Words can be combined to form other words, at the same time applying language rules that already exist.

As children treat language differently, they are not being bound to traditional word usage out of unfamiliarity to said rules.

Any word could become a noun by adding "-age" or any appropriate suffix ("snackage", "luggage", it’s called luggage because you lug it around?). In the same way, anything can become a verb by adding the suffix "-ize". Words can be assigned without discrimination and unknown things are assigned the nearest fit.

Mistakes are silly, not awkward. Forgiveness is a universal good and a universal habit.
All people are worthy and loved despite their race or ethnicity, religion, socio-economic status, sexual orientation or any other verbal classifiers.

The only way a thought can be formed is through language. A language inspired by the habits of children would change the way the world sees itself.

Language permeates the experiences of the modern individual. When we aren’t being barraged by catchy advertisements and horrifying headlines, our minds continue their duties of discernment and analysis, in much the same terms they do when we speak or read. This seems to beg the question: how much do the words we ascribe to our experiences influence our perceptions of them? To what degree language is actually formative of experiences is debatable, but at the very least it is a significant part of the classification system that allows us to function amidst an endless sea of sensory information.

This is satisfactory for most, but the seekers among us are driven to ask if there is anything more. Can all experience really be discussed in definite terms? It certainly seems there must be experience beyond language. We all know the shortcomings of language in one way or another. Anyone who has told a “you had to be there” joke has experienced it firsthand. If language is inadequate in evoking a simple humorous sentiment from someone who was absent from an experience, surely it is even more flawed when applied to personal, formative experiences such as love and spirituality.

Most of the world’s great spiritual traditions express this idea in some way or another. An introduction to Buddhism can often begin with an illustration of this truth. It challenges an individual to define the “I” that he or she identifies with. There is no answer that makes sense, though, as it is illogical to identify it with a body, or memories, or even our thoughts. Zen Buddhists have even gone far enough to create a catalog of mental puzzles known as Zen koans, whose purpose is to trick the mind into reflecting on inexpressible truths through contradictory and illogical statements. In Judaism, the name of God, Yahweh, is best translated as “I am who am.” This is again a statement that makes no logical sense, but evokes ideas of a higher level of being.

Spiritual traditions and their literature abound with these sorts of perplexing statements because of the function they serve. This function is one that arose in response to an idea that has had as much influence culturally as the opposable thumb did biologically; namely the infinite. It seems silly, but we can imagine an earlier form of man staring into the stars, humbled by the expansiveness of it all. We are surrounded by reminders of our transience and are constantly reminded that the world we see will keep on functioning the same way once we are gone. At some point, people began to try to label and standardize this idea like any other. Different cultures attempted to portray this idea in a way that could be personally meaningful for an individual in their society. Entire pantheons of gods and extensive mythologies were created to forge a way of effectively communicating the infinite nature of existence to the average person.

In other words, religions are culturally attuned entities that serve the function of assisting people in understanding a common, ineffable truth. All of the important religious traditions, then, are merely different faces of the same truth. If we tie this idea back to that of language, the picture begins to appear more complete. Any claim that words have some sort of transcendent value seems silly. It certainly seems arrogant that humans believe that the infinite nature of existence can be completely described in our own terms. Language is a development of a few thousand years, while the infinite nature of being has presumably been around forever, or to put it another way God was there before existence as we know it. This doesn’t undercut the value of language; it simply defines its function in more precise terms. Language then becomes a mediator between different subjective viewpoints. As social creatures, it is still extremely valuable for humans to be able to relate to each other. No sensible person would completely abandon language in their quest for an experience of the divine. As with most things in this world, language is most effectively used in moderation. If we are able to give up our curious longing to define everything in terms we can understand, we may find that the answers make more sense.