Gospel Principles

By Lizzy Pingry   

During World War II, American soldier Audie Murphy earned a total of twenty-eight medals, including two from France and one from Belgium, making him the most decorated soldier in American history. His story was so extraordinary that in 1955, it was sensationalized in a film that Murphy himself starred in. To Hell and Back is his biography, and at one point, it shows the death of Murphy’s best friend, Lattie Tipton (named “Brandon” in the film). The scene was understandably difficult for Murphy, as Brandon is shot, looks at him from a distance, and falls down dead. However, this scene as depicted in the movie is not what really happened. Murphy stated, “When we shot the scene, we changed the part where Brandon died in my arms. That was the way it had really happened, but it looked too corny, they said. I guess it did.” 

This highly decorated soldier had to relive one of his worst days, and a director or writer looked him in the eye and told him that the truth “looked too corny,” and the concept of that situation is just as shocking as the death itself. When writers censor or change the truth of a situation because it makes them uncomfortable or because it may be unpopular, they risk invalidating the truth, especially in nonfiction. Latter-day Saint authors have to grapple with the concept of censorship when trying to decide whether or not to use profanities in their writing. 

Language: What Is It Good For? Absolutely Everything

The debate of appropriate use of language is an argument spanning centuries. It is one of the reasons the English language is so adaptable. Some words in English didn’t start as profanities but eventually evolved into something inappropriate for polite society. The Journal.ie’s article “The Historical Origins of 6 Swear Words We Use Every Day” explains that the Proto-Indo European’s base word skie, or the Old English scitte, started as a verb and noun (respectively) for “separating” or “purging” from the body. This base eventually evolved to suit the needs of the speakers until it stopped meaning “going to the bathroom” and started being a vulgarity for excrement. Meanwhile, some words started as vulgarities and eventually shifted into every-day terms. For example, a silly sounding word, zounds, is an archaic exclamation (popular in Baroness Orczy’s The Scarlet Pimpernel) meaning “God’s wounds,” and it was a terrible curse when it was first introduced. 

Words are not capable of being bad by themselves. Even our synonyms for the phrase “swear words” supports that idea: vulgar means lacking in sophistication, and profane means disrespectful or irreverent. The word is only as powerful as our reaction to it as individuals and as a society. God’s name is a prayer—until it is used as an exclamation. The way we use the word defines its appropriateness, and we have to vet each term and syllable. Is it worse to say that it’s a “damn beautiful day” or to tell an overeager child to “please shut up”? Writers must evaluate the way they express themselves: how does our use of language and its profanities build or destroy our stories?

Writers who are disinclined to use profane words in their writing might be familiar with a First Presidency message, in which Spencer W. Kimball addressed the world—specifically writers!—on profanities. He stated, “I lately picked up a book, widely circulated, highly recommended, a best-seller, and my blood ran cold at the profane and vulgar conversations therein, and I cringed as the characters used in an ugly way the sacred names of Deity. Why? Why do authors sell themselves so cheaply and desecrate their God-given talents? Why do they profane and curse?” Those who prefer to avoid using strong language in their writing may reflect on Book Cave’s article, “Profanity in Books: Show Don’t Tell Emotion,” which points out that “there are more effective ways to make the world ‘bloom’…the use of vulgarity quickly becomes a cheap, convenient device to give the impression that the book is up-to-date and realistic.” These individuals argue that profanity in any form is a sin and an example of weak writing styles; they believe that profanity is an excuse to express strong emotions without having to be vulnerable.

Meanwhile, we have stories about “the cursing apostle” J. Golden Kimball, who, when driving a stubborn stage of oxen, started cursing to get them moving. He remembered, saying: “Boy, how I did cuss! Did I wax eloquent! I’m afraid I did. But, did those oxen sit up and take notice? They sure did; every one of them got down to business. You see, they were Church oxen, and when you talked that language to them they understood it.” This humble and humorous story of working with Church oxen is a reminder that we are, none of us, perfect, and since that’s the case, we can’t expect the characters in our writing to be perfect either. The Writing Cooperative’s article “Should You Use Curse Words in Your Writing?” (heads up! This one uses strong curse words, so don’t read it if you want to avoid that kind of language) insists “swearing isn’t the only way to express emotion, but it is a tool in your arsenal.” Writers who use profanities in their work may relate to the article “Writing Dark Things as a Positive Person” by Zachariah Wahrer where he states, “If a story is all positive, it isn’t interesting. We have to have conflict, deception, destruction, lies, etc., to make it interesting, because that is how we experience everyday life (albeit usually on a smaller scale).” These individuals argue that strong language is representative of human nature and realism; they believe that profanity is an opportunity to represent a variety of character voices and experiences. 

This argument is relevant to writers all over the world. Writers can join the discussion by educating themselves on the pros and cons of using profanities in our writing. 

3 Reasons Why You Can Feel Justified Using Profanities in Your Writing

Lattie Tipton’s death was so traumatic that even nearly fifteen years later, Audie Murphy struggled to maintain composure while reenacting the scene. While the film’s representation of the scene is still potent, knowing the truth of the death is even more so. Failing to accurately represent the situation changed the meaning behind the scene, and one could argue that the same could apply to using profanities. For example, let’s take the phrase, coined initially by U.S. Naval officer David Glasgow Farragut: “Damn the torpedos! Full speed ahead!” This phrase is a popular colloquialism meaning to move forward despite the risks you may face.

If we were to take that phrase and change it to avoid the profanity, we lose the intention behind the phrase. Neither “Don’t worry about the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!” nor “Forget the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!” carries the same reckless abandon as the vulgarity; the original phrase stirs a level of shock and awe, and it is far more realistic to imagine a sailor cursing. The profanity is an exclamation we expect from such a character, and some authors (and readers) feel strong language is justified because it lends itself to realism. 

It could be argued that fictional characters cannot be directly quoted, so providing alternatives to profanities is not going to change the meaning. To expand on that counter-argument, let’s look at Tim O’Brien’s novel The Things We Carried, which is introduced as a nonfictional memoir of American soldiers in Vietnam. Strong language is used throughout the book; these were real men surviving war, and if changing an experience invalidates it, we should expect nonfiction writers to honor the language as much as they can. However, at the end of the novel, readers come to understand that it was never a memoir; none of the men were real, and it takes first-time readers by surprise because the details are so accurate, so realistic, that it’s more unbelievable to think these characters weren’t human. The language they use is shocking, but expected. If O’Brien created fake characters and let them swear like soldiers, was he being profane, or was he representing the soldiers who did exist, even namelessly? Writers argue that these vulgarities are tools for intentionality. We would not correct real human beings for their profane statements; why should writers have to tiptoe around fictional characters inspired by those same people? 

Influential comedian Richard Pryor noted, “What I’m saying might be profane, but it’s also profound,” suggesting that strong language can convey powerful messages. What’s more is the fact that writers are crafting something; their decisions in their work are not always meant to represent their personal values. Conflict and antagonists must exist to create a story, and these conflicts can sometimes be gruesome, raw, and violent because the protagonist has to overcome these evils to develop. To this day, Cormac McCarthy’s The Road is impacting lives because of its haunting imagery. McCarthy wrote about characters that would kill their own children to survive; does that mean he agrees with the tactic and would implement it himself? No. The same could be said for writers who use profanity. These writers can uphold Oscar Wilde’s insight: “I didn’t say I liked it. I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference.” 

3 Reasons Why You Should Feel Justified Not Using Profanities in Your Writing

On the other hand, writers are meant to develop the skills of producing powerful emotions without leaning on the reader’s shock. C.S. Lewis wrote to a young author about adjectives saying, “…instead of telling us a thing was ‘terrible,’ describe it so that we’ll be terrified. Don’t say it was ‘delightful’; make us say ‘Delightful!’ when we’ve read the description. You see, all those words…are only like saying to your readers ‘Please, will you do my job for me?’”

The same reasoning can apply to using vulgarities. Writers claim that using profanity is a signal of lazy writing, and Mark Twain humorously suggested, “Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very;’ your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” 

Writers who won’t use profanities have to adapt their work around the void, and doing so can make it just as impactful, particularly since vulgarity for shock value is a detriment to the reader and potentially to the work, especially the more it is used. For example, when you hear about the 2013 film “The Wolf of Wall Street,” you may not think about the story of corrupt stockbrokers in America. Instead, you probably remember it as being the most expletive film in history. The consequence of “realistic” profanity? This film won’t be remembered for the characters or their development, nor the conflict or how it was or wasn’t overcome, but for its use of over 700 swear words. Realistically, this is profanity. Outside a Latter-day Saint community, people use strong language as frequently as any other part of speech. If writers want to claim profanity as realism, they may find their work being analyzed for reasons they didn’t intend. 

Using profanities is not as tempting when you realize that there are ways to work around doing so. Great men and women throughout history have avoided using profanities, even when they could have been justified to do so. Teddy Roosevelt, America’s 26th president, didn’t swear.

Instead, according to Mental Floss’s article “16 Savage Teddy Roosevelt Insults,” he employed colorful phrases to describe his frustrations. Rachel Hawkins’ young adult novel Rebel Belle produces a narrator who censors her friend’s strongest language throughout the story because “this is my story, so I’m cleaning it up a little.” Language contributes to realism, and using profanities is not required to develop a unique character voice. 

Who is Right and What Really Matters

Both sides of the argument are so compelling and it makes the decision that much harder. We are advised to use “praiseworthy” language, but as artists, we aim to reveal the truth of our reality. Toni Morrison’s novel Beloved is one of the most influential stories of our time, and it uses explicit violence and language to tell the truth. Writers can’t be expected to use profanities to deliver that truth, but I would say they can’t be expected not to either. This debate is one for the ages. 

In the end, I can only say to write what is true to you. Validation of your art is not necessary for it to exist; what you write will continue with or without others’ approval. Whatever language you decide to implement, I simply recommend that you do so deliberately and with the understanding that your words—profane or not—carry a meaning that will affect your readers. What you choose to put in or take out can change your story in big ways and little ways at the same time: To Hell and Back told the true story of a soldier who witnessed the death of his best friend, and whether Lattie Tipton died on a hillside or in Audie Murphy’s arms, he still died. 

Lizzy Pingry is a full-time editor and enthusiastic writer. She graduated with a degree in English and emphasis in creative writing from BYU-Idaho and has worked as an editor on multiple projects since 2016. She lives in Idaho with her husband and their cat, Jack.