On Idle Words

What do we do in a world of so much terrible propaganda, blatant deception, and so many false narratives?

I know we know this has been the state of affairs, and yet we are barraged with such tragic, horrific, and abhorrent consequences of it all around us. I know you likely feel as I do that it is too much to bear.

It is.

These words feel so much more than idle. They feel evil. They are, I think. And so it bears remembering that language and words also contain the medicine. They are what is harming us, and they must be used if we are to heal us. For the sophists, rhetoric was the proper use of the divine gift of language. All religions hold language to be a holy undertaking. The Vedas say, “Without beginning or end Brahman, the primordial Word, imperishable Sound/manifests itself in the form of all beings and from which the entire world comes.” It is not just Christianity that says that in the beginning was the Word. There is a divinity inherent to language.

I think of this sometimes as I scroll over thousands of words in mere minutes. Whatever the core purpose of language is, I think we are vastly overshooting its usage. I think we may be veering toward losing its point—and its potency—entirely. Perhaps we should listen to our Jewish siblings who tell us that God’s very name is so holy it is to be whispered.

personal photo from Oregon of a small pond encircled by sagebrush

I’ve recently read (and deeply enjoyed) Raimon Pannikar’s book, The Rhythm of Being. He speaks about this divine dimension of language frequently throughout, a stark contrast to the headlines I would often read before and after. For Pannikar, the entire cosmos carries within it a harmonious rhythm of being in which we find ourselves inextricably linked together. Our human and spiritual task is to live into that rhythm. And language is a central way we either dance along or fail to listen entirely. He writes,

“The basic function of human language is not to be a vehicle of information, but to share humanly in the dynamics of our common destiny. The Divine is a silent partner of any authentic conversation.

From the jump, he defines language as being part of our group project. (Of course it is!) Language is here to support our shared future together. Our words connect us, and the Divine is there as a holy conversation partner throughout.

I wonder how that changes how we show up to conversation, when we go in with this kind of awakened awareness. But the words we choose are also the words that FORM US. We may choose them wisely, or flippantly, but either way, they are shaping us every time.

Pannikar writes,

“When I discover myself speaking, truly speaking—that is, uttering sacramental and thus truthful words—I am experiencing a divine power myself, sensing that the Divine is descending upon me, being, as it were, incarnated in myself.”

It’s for this reason that he boldly suggests that when Jesus warns us in Matthew 12:36 that we will be held accountable for “every idle word” we utter, what he means is any word that is, by function if not definition, a non-sacramental word.

A non-sacramental word.

If we describe sacrament as a declaration of the holy, then sacramental words are those which support the inherent harmony of the universe. They connect us together in a shared rhythm of being. The words help us align to the divine song. A non-sacramental word, then, would be the kind of word that belittles, destroys, undercuts, or ignores this holiness.

Lies would count. Slander. Gossip. Propaganda. Obfuscation. Deflection. Deceit. Words that engender violence or incite anger for anger’s sake. Words that seek division.

This word in Greek, argos, can be translated as idle, empty, careless, useless, lazy. It’s described in terms of inactivity, that there’s work to be done that is not being done, which is why it was often used in antiquity to describe laborers who did not fulfill their tasks. It is a lack of productivity. And while our modern Western brains can see that only in economic terms, it was also used to describe a much more natural sense of productivity, like when a fruit tree is meant to produce fruit and doesn’t. (Jesus had words for a tree like that once.) So it can be described as sluggish and empty, as if it does not germinate anything from within. In more extreme cases, it can be described as pernicious, this sense of not only NOT producing something good but degrading something good into something bad over time.

We are surrounded by so many pernicious words. It’s an avalanche, really.

So it feels imperative to be mindful of our words these days. How can we choose our words with care, like medicine?

The Buddhists teach of the three gates to use before uttering any words: Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind? If we are aiming to have what the Buddhists call right speech, we’d do far worse than this very simple test.

Asking Is it true? aligns us with speaking in accordance with the harmony of things and not against it.

Asking Is it necessary? prevents most forms of idle chatter, unnecessary and empty words, words better left unspoken.

Asking Is it kind? reminds us of that central function of language, which is to “share humanly in the dynamics of our common destiny.” We speak for each other, on behalf of each other, in support of each other.

I’ll try if you’ll try.