When hurtful words are hurled our way, how often does the childhood chant come to mind? “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” It’s a phrase often uttered to soothe a child’s feelings when the mean kids turn on them, but I’m not sure its premise is true.
Long before the advent of neon colored casts, I broke my arm two different times at the age of five and six. It was painful when it occurred, but fortunately, the breaks resulted in no permanent damage. In hindsight, the second fracture may have kick-started my literary career, as my report about the highlights of my summer featured the maggots in my cast when it was removed. No wonder it itched!
But the nasty names, the hurtful words heaped upon us, the disrespectful or scornfully abusive remarks or actions of the insult – they stick around for decades. When Ashland author and poet Sarah Wells shared a social media post last week, her words dredged up one of those memories for me. She has a screensaver that randomly introduces new words, and the term ‘poetaster’ greeted her when she returned from a meeting. A new word to Sarah (and to me), a poetaster is a person who writes inferior poetry. She commented: “What an almost useless word. No one would ever use it in public settings to describe someone else without trying to be an arrogant jerk, and to say it of yourself would be met with, ‘No way!’ You’re an amazing poet.”
About fifteen years ago, I submitted some poetry to two denominational publications. In response, I received a letter from the first magazine, essentially labeling me a poetaster. Offering constructive criticism, the rejection letter suggested I take a course in poetry-writing, and then try again. Ouch!
Insults come in many shapes and sizes: blatant or subtle, blundering or laser-like, shouted or whispered. For some, they become nearly an art form, dripping with sarcasm, a word that literally means ‘flesh-eating.’ Remember comedian Don Rickles? He earned a good living by way of the insult, and was nicknamed the “Merchant of Venom.” What an epitaph!
In 2011, George Weigel wrote a short essay on the art of the insult, concluding that “today’s political badinage is lame, lamer, lamest compared with the wits of yore.” In sharing some famous – or infamous – insults, he wrote of Winston Churchill. “Told over dinner by Lady Astor, the American-born female member of the House of Commons, that, “If you were my husband, Winston, I’d poison your soup,” Churchill immediately replied, “And if you were my wife, Nancy, I’d drink it.”
What can we do when insults come our way? The temptation is to insult in return, but unless we have Churchill’s quick wit, we’re not likely to succeed. Philosophy professor William Irvine suggests an alternative strategy: become an insult pacifist. “When insulted, you carry on as if nothing happened.” As easy as ignoring the three-year-old in the throes of a tantrum in McDonalds.
Irvine continues: “If you do respond to an insult, you use self-deprecating humor; you insult yourself even worse than they did and laugh while doing it.” When Harry tells me I’m not fit to eat with the pigs, I can answer, “Sure I am!” I don’t like that strategy.
There is an alternative: we can practice a different art, the art of affirmation. The biblical counsel of I Peter applies here: “Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing . . .”
When I was wallowing in my induction to the poetaster hall of fame all those years ago, the second publication where I submitted my poetry responded. “Madame,” the editor wrote, “you are a poet.” I can’t begin to describe the difference those five words made for me.
Mr. Rogers understands: “Sometimes, all it takes is one kind word to nourish another person. Think of the ripple effect that can be created when we nourish someone. One kind empathetic word has a wonderful way of turning into many.” Here’s to many ripples in your pond – and mine.
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