There’s an author I recently discovered. I like his work quite a bit. I’ve read two series by him, two or three independent works, and a number of short stories. A few didn’t quite enthuse me, but in general I enjoy what he writes and find lots of good lines — and effective turns of events — in his work
( However. )
Though it’s taken a good while to come into focus, I’ve slowly become aware just how much I have come to dislike a currently popular word.
“Problematic.”
There are a number of reasons for that, several not confined to the word itself. The major ones come down to my dislike of buzz-words in general (I despise “woke”, for instance, though it didn’t bother me a bit until its current assigned meaning manifested) and the way glib labels are so often used as a substitute for reasoned argument or actual thought. There’s a bit more to it than that, though; there is a specific form of intellectual laziness, even of genuine dishonesty, in the way that word is applied these days.
If I say, “I have a problem with Plrbfy,” the focus is where it should be: on me, on my objections, on my reasons for objecting. I can make a sound argument, a poor one, a specious one, but the starting-point I chose necessitates that I make at least some attempt to justify my opinion.
If instead I say, “Plrbfy is problematic,” the balance shifts. The thing to which I am objecting — or policy, or principle, or person — becomes the focus, and I’ve applied a label to it (accurately or not), and the overall sense is that Plrbfy or some defender of Plrbfy must refute my opinion or the label sticks. My contention is not proven by any means, and I may indeed follow that contention with arguments or examples, but I have started with a label that I haven’t (yet) bothered to justify.
If you genuinely don’t see a difference between the two, then fine: do it my way. After all, if there’s no difference, what does it cost you?
If you do see the difference, and prefer to stick with “problematic” … well, then I have a problem with that.
People are not innocent until proven guilty.
They’re not. If they were, that would mean that every person prosecuted is innocent, which would mean that every prosecution is unjust. It would also mean that it was the proof that made them guilty, and not the facts. “He was an innocent man until the jury delivered its verdict, then suddenly (but not before then) he was a murderer.”
No. No, that’s not how it works.
If he’s guilty, his guilt was already a fact, it simply took time to get a jury finding that recognized that fact. If he’s guilty, and a jury finds him not guilty, he’s not suddenly innocent; he’s still guilty, we just don’t have a legal finding thereof. (Conversely, of course, a guilty verdict doesn’t make someone guilty, it merely establishes something that was already there … or not, if the guilty verdict is wrong, which we all know can happen.)
What we have under American law, and likewise in many other countries, is a presumption of innocence until guilt has been properly proven. That is to say, you’re not convicted simply upon being accused, certainly not without having a trial.
These things come in increments. People speak of Mosaic law — “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” — as harsh and primitive. And it is: NOW. At the time, it was an important forward step, putting a strict limit on escalations of revenge killings that turned into centuries-long feuds (which still continue in the Middle East). “Look, I know the guy hurt you, and I know you want justice, but this is what justice amounts to: if he put out your eye, you can’t kill him, you can only take his eye in retaliation. Go beyond that and you’re the outlaw, and we’ll be coming for you.” By the same token, there was an important moment in Western culture, many centuries later, when the law had liberalized to the point where an accused person was allowed to present a defense. He was, in other words, permitted to make an attempt at proving his innocence. This was a stunning expansion of individual rights … at the time.
Now, the onus is on the state to prove guilt. And well that it should be so.
But he’s not — I say again, not — innocent until proven guilty; we just treat him so, because that’s how civilized people behave. And intelligent people recognize the distinction between presumed innocent and actually innocent.
Words mean things. And some differences truly do make a difference.
I love words. I especially love when language allows you to express specific points that can easily be glossed over by generalizations. This is particularly acute when the people relying on the generalization insist that (or persist in behaving as if) the less-accurate generalization is the actual meaning.
(This is from an actual Wikipedia entry.)
Muphry’s* Law: “If you write anything criticizing editing or proofreading, there will be a fault of some kind in what you have written.”
*Yes, that’s how it’s spelled. That’s kind of the point of calling it that.
There.
Is.
No.
Such.
Word.
As.
“Prophesize”.
A prophecy is a prediction of the future. To prophesy is to make a prediction (presumably a true prediction) of the future. Prophesize just means …
It means you don’t know a f**king thing about what (you think) you’re talking about.
Learn the damn language, people.
discreet/discrete discrete: As in, There are discrete [distinct] advantages to being discreet in one’s words and behavior.
I’ve been spotting this one a lot lately, including in formal professional publications. The second is not a more refined way of saying/
discreet:
A few years ago, I saw a quote that stuck with me: “Never make fun of somebody for mispronouncing a word. That means they learned it reading.” The increasingly common misspelling of homophones indicates, to me, that too many people are writing without having done enough reading.
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