@ Branden with an E
2025-02-14 13:19:06
Our generation has a cussing problem.
Not the kind our grandfathers had. Their swearing was like their gunpowder—kept dry, used sparingly, and when used, meant to do something. A man swore when he had been wronged, when fate had dealt him a rotten hand, when he stood on the edge of some great loss or some great victory. He swore not because he was thoughtless, but because he was thoughtful—because there were things in this world that deserved cursing, just as there were things that deserved blessing.
But today? Today, men swear too much, but their swearing is too little. Profanity has become a nervous tic, a filler word, a lazy man’s substitute for wit. We curse not with thunder but with static, not with the crack of a whip but with the feeble hum of a refrigerator. We lace our every sentence with obscenities, not because we are overcome with feeling, but because we have forgotten how to feel at all.
And this is what makes our generation’s swearing so weak, so colorless, so infuriatingly dull. It is not that men curse—it is that they curse in the same tone with which they order a sandwich. Their profanity is not the language of men at war with the world’s wickedness; it is the language of men too bored to speak properly. They do not curse like sailors charging into battle; they curse like cashiers sighing through their shifts.
And yet, in an irony too delicious to ignore, we live in an age obsessed with language. We do not believe in God, but we believe in speech codes. We do not fear hell, but we fear being reprimanded in the workplace. We have scrapped the Ten Commandments but will gladly enforce a list of forbidden words a mile long. Our rulers and bureaucrats will pore over a man’s every sentence, hunting for an offense, searching for some phrase to declare unacceptable.
And yet—yet!—these same rulers, these same bureaucrats, these same petty, priggish priests of modern propriety will gladly flood the airwaves with an endless stream of empty, witless vulgarity. A schoolteacher may be fired for uttering a forbidden phrase, but a pop star may string together a song consisting of nothing but profanity, and no one blinks an eye. We are hypersensitive to language when it contains truth, yet utterly indifferent when it contains nothing at all.
And this is the real problem: we do not curse too much, but too weakly. Our words are exhausted, worn thin, spoken to death. Men have forgotten how to speak with fire, how to command with words, how to invoke heaven or hell with their tongues. They do not pray, because they do not know how to form words for the divine. They do not make oaths, because they no longer believe words can bind them. They do not declare war on the evils of the world, because they have spent all their breath on pointless cursing and have none left for real battle.
And where does this road lead? It leads to a world where men have lost the power of speech entirely. A world where every conversation sounds the same, where every man mutters the same tired handful of words over and over, like a machine running out of oil. It leads to a world where poetry is impossible, where language is shriveled and gray, where men do not swear terrible oaths because they no longer believe in terrible things. It leads to a world where men do not pray because they do not believe in miracles, and men do not curse because they do not believe in damnation.
But this is not a lament. This is not the tired sigh of a defeated man. This is a call to arms.
The solution is not to ban speech further. It is not to purge all rough language from the world and replace it with the sterile buzz of corporate-approved jargon. No, the solution is simpler, and far more radical. Men must learn to shut up.
They must learn to close their mouths until they have something worth saying. They must stop filling the air with idle, useless, lazy profanity and speak only when speaking matters. If a man must swear, let him swear like a hammer striking an anvil—sharp, sudden, final. If a man must curse, let it be a curse that shakes the very bones of the world. Let his words be rare, but let them be terrible. Let his anger be real. Let his prayers be real. Let his oaths be real.
But above all, let his words be true. Let his promises be binding. Let his speech be a sword, not a dull spoon. Let him recover the power of language, the discipline of speech, the ancient art of saying what he means and meaning what he says.
For the world was not spoken into being with mumbling. Creation did not begin with filler words and placeholders. It began with a Word—a real Word, a mighty Word, a Word so vast and true that it shaped the heavens and the earth.
And so it must be again.
If men wish to remake their world, if they wish to shake the rotten foundations of this empty, word-weary age, then let them first learn to speak. Let them strip their language of all that is weak, all that is frivolous, all that is cheap. Let them cut out the cancer of casual vulgarity and replace it with something fierce, something worthy.
Let them curse like warriors and pray like prophets. Let them make oaths that bind and promises that burn. Let them stand among men and speak with voices that shake the air—voices that carry weight, voices that mean what they say, voices that, when heard, demand silence in return.
For a world that has lost the power of words will not be saved by noise. It will not be saved by muttering. It will not be saved by the droning nonsense of a people who have forgotten how to mean what they say.
It will be saved by men who have learned once again to say what they mean—and to speak as if their words could move mountains.
Because they can.