The Influence of Language on Character.
v. 20. Woe to them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter.
Only those who have had extensive opportunities of observation, can have any idea of the evil influence of the abuse and misapplication of words in questions of religion and morals, especially among the young.[1] To an almost incredible degree the distinctness of our associations and intellectual perceptions depends upon our correct use of the machinery of words. From long usage, words become at length identified in the mind with the things we have accustomed them to represent. What, then, must be the effect when language is deliberately misapplied for the express purpose of confounding the distinctions of right and wrong! For various reasons, it is more easy to misapply words in relation to morals, than in relation to other subjects. 1. Ethical propositions are to a great degree incapable of absolute proof. 2. In discussing the great topics of morals, very few persons bring a perfectly unbiassed mind to the task. 3. Vice and virtue, though essentially distinct as qualities, are still in many cases nothing more than different modifications of some common subject. The line which separates the use of a thing for its abuse is not always strongly marked; or rather is sufficiently indistinct for those who are determined not to see clearly to afford themselves a plausible justification for the aberration of their choice. But on all these accounts we should be the more careful to use accurate language on all questions of morals, especially in society, where the temptation to speak as others are speaking is so strong. Two things especially lead to that perversion of language which our text condemns. 1. Men “call evil good,” from an almost irresistible desire to cloak and veil their vices. It is one of ten thousand daily recurring proofs of the strange inconsistencies of human nature, that the same persons whose conscience will not recoil for a moment at the actual commission of deeds of sin and atrocity, and who even appear to defy public opinion in the conduct they are pursuing, will still to the last shrink from the admission of those terms which really characterise their conduct. It is the appellation and not the actual guilt which to them constitutes the disgrace. 2. Men “call good evil,” from a desire to defend themselves from the condemnation passed upon them by the better example of others. They attempt, in the first place, by palliations and misstatements, to render vice less odious than it really is; and secondly, by attributing to the pious unworthy and corrupt motives, to render unamiable that goodness in others which they want strength of mind and of principle to imitate. From this latter species of wickedness very few stand perfectly clear. Which of us has never felt as a reproach the example of principles better and holier than our own, nor attempted in consequence to restore the equilibrium of our self-respect, not by improving our own practice, but by depreciating and ridiculing that which as Christians it was our duty to admire? Let us be on our guard against disparaging that sincerity of disposition, which strives to regulate its conduct by the unbending Christian standard, by calling it “enthusiasm,” “fanaticism,” “austerity.” Enough difficulty, we know from our own experience, lies in the way of every man’s spiritual improvement, without throwing in his path the additional obstacles of ridicule, contempt, and odium, which few minds, even the most religious, have sufficient fortitude to despise. (Matt. xxiii. 13; Mark ix. 42.) Thus, to “call good evil” is to imitate the Pharisees (Mark iii. 22), and comes perilously near committing the sin against the Holy Ghost.—P. R. Shuttleworth, D.D., Sermons, 117–143.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The world is generally governed by words and shows: for men can swallow the same thing under one name, which they would abominate and detest under another. The name of king was to the old Romans odious and insufferable; but in Sulla and Julius Cæsar they could endure the power and absoluteness of a king, disguised under the name of dictator.—South, 1633–1716.
I think that one of the master incantations, one of the most signal deceits, which we practise upon ourselves, comes from the use of language. There are words that we learn in childhood which we abandon when we come to manhood. Generally speaking, our fireside words are old Saxon words—short, knotty, tough, and imbued with moral and affectional meanings; but as we grow older these words are too rude and plain for our use, and so we get Latin terms and periphrases by which to express many of our thoughts. When we talk about ourselves we almost invariably use Latin words, and when we talk about our neighbours we use Saxon words. And one of the best things a man can do, I think, is to examine himself in the Saxon tongue. If a man tells that which is contrary to truth, let him not say, “I equivocate;” let him say “I lie.” Lie! why, it brings the judgment-day right home to a man’s thought. Men do not like it, but it is exactly the thing that will most effectually touch the moral sense; and the more the moral sense is touched the better. If a man has departed from rectitude in his dealings with another, let him not say “I took advantage,” which is a roundabout, long sentence: let him say, “I cheated.” That is a very direct word. It springs straight to the conscience, as the arrow flies from the bow to the centre of the mark. Does it grate harshly on your ear? Nevertheless, it is better that you should employ it; and you should come to this determination: “I will call things that I detect in my conduct by those clear-faced, rough-tongued words that my enemies use if they wanted to sting me to the quick.”—Beecher.