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Profanity, Poses, and Tact
“The Gentler View,” Harper’s Weekly (April 9, 1910) : 29
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      It is no light matter to declare off-hand that “damn” is no longer a swear word, or, to be a shade more accurate, that it is not always profanity. have not (yet) found the magistrate’s ruling, referenced here; etymology below The women are going to feel it most. “Damn” had come to belong so personally to them. With that careless decision a magistrate has upset the life scheme of how many people? To have one’s greatest dissipation declared innocuous, to be deprived at one blow of all majesty and might, daring and deviltry — oh, it is not right, it is not fair! The world should have been warned. It should have been given a chance to find something else before this darling of its heart was robbed of all quality. The women are going to feel it most. “Damn” had come to belong so personally to them. It was the great length they went, their limit of revolutionary freedom, and now with the word in their mouths it is pronounced fit for the most cautious conservative. Dust and ashes are inadequate to describe its present dryness. The “d” rings out with its old fervor, but the “m” and “n” trail spiritlessly after melting on one’s lips to a meaningless adjective. Dust and ashes are inadequate to describe its present dryness. The “d” rings out with its old fervor, but the “m” and “n” trail spiritlessly after melting on one’s lips to a meaningless adjective. After having had the courage in one’s more heated moments to become thus fiery, and to learn at this late day that the thing we have dared is nothing, not even always a swear word — only sometimes, and those times not stated — we never can feel toward it the same old relish. We may be swearing and we may be not, but there is no one to tell us which. We are stranded, clinging to a disgraced, enervated word, too discouraged to look about for a fresh choice. We are not yet sure that we want another. We liked “damn.” It was short; it could, if the occasion required, be swallowed and made to pass for “darn” or “dear.” It relieved and comforted us. In time of need “damn” did what nothing else ever will. We want our “damn” back. We beg the law to reinstate it in its former place of honor. We, the women of the present day, need “damn” and we plead for it with feeling.

      It is the passing fad to speak of one’s manner, one’s embedded individual traits, as one’s pose. With airy grace we act as though our characters were fantastic costumes designed for the masquerade ball of the moment, and not only could but would be discarded when the clock struck midnight. It gives a momentary air to the limitations we will carry to the grave, and pleases us with the thought that if we took off the pose we are wearing we would find something quite different underneath. It is cheering to both us and our friends to believe that nothing but three buttons and a pin or two stands between our present slightly irritating selves and the flinging of them off. This pretence that we could at any moment change induces every one to endure our remaining ever the same. It may be the only way in which it could be managed.This pretence that we could at any moment change induces every one to endure our remaining ever the same. It may be the only way in which it could be managed. We dangle the unveiling before our own eyes and those lenient orbs belonging to the kindly world at large, and the general impression is that a charmingly unexpected dénouement would and some day will take place. Masks off and delighted cries of: “You! And I never guessed it . How beautiful!” It is, begging the pardon of the poseur, which includes every last one of us, a mighty thin game; and if any one, without a word to give us time to build up poses genuinely different from ourselves, demanded that we off with dominos and show ourselves, there would be a great fumbling with buttons, much half-hearted tugging, and at last a shamefaced confession of: “I guess this is me, after all. Anyway, I find that what is underneath is just the bare ingredients of what you see on top, and as far as I can tell they stand rather in need of the decorative protection of the really spare covering I have permitted myself.” A pretty situation it would be! Forced to admit ourselves honest, but not particularly worth while, at the point of — not the sword, but investigation! Poses — the absurdity of it! If they were really poses they would be interesting. Their child-like crudeness proves them disgracefully genuine.

      It does seem such a joke on the winter to be planting seeds in the back yard. The blustering cold thought it was going to do such damage, perhaps even succeed in discouraging us permanently; yet, though we led it on its hopes of making a tremendous fuss about the bad weather and pretended to be thoroughly depressed, we knew all the time that these days would come, and on the very first of them up every one popped armed with a trowel and a beaming smile and set to work ebulliently. It must be a great blow to winter. He must feel us to be so hopelessly irrepressible. He has worked for years to down us, and never have we failed to bob up chipperer than ever, always even enjoying a little the joke on him, recovering from our winter gloom suddenly, as though to make the mutiny more marked, throwing off winter’s influence with our tongues thrust impishly out. As we all do it at once, winter is, of course, powerless. He recognizes that we have escaped from his control, and in his rage he probably makes plans for an even severer winter next time. If we continue to make such open demonstrations of welcome to spring, winter will incrase his efforts and the Ice Age will result. We are tempting Providence by our open prancing interest in crocuses and upturned earth. We are tempting Providence by our open prancing interest in crocuses and upturned earth. It would be much more diplomatic to pretend that spring bored us, to dissimulate and cut our capes on the sly. In this way winter’s ire would not be roused and his accumulative revenge would cease to threaten us. Our present demented hanging out of the window because puttering puttering has begun in the back yard is enough to provoke any one, especially a departing tyrant with a divergent theory. For our own good, if not for our own safety, we must stop our abandoned ecstasies.

      For real satisfaction there is nothing that half compares to being tactfully managed. It is intoxicating, and the instant one discovers that one is being driven with a light hand, an eye attentive to one’s restive cavortings, and a genial desire to keep one in the middle of the road without one’s being uncomfortably aware of it, what a spirited creature one becomes! What dancing steps and threats to bolt! Any tired nag aware of tact applied to it becomes a veritable devil of a thoroughbred. It is an opportunity not to be missed; its safety mounts to one’s brain. Impetuosity, fantasy — they can be indulged in to one’s heart’s content, for they will be curbed at the proper moment. Haughtily, with dangerous and flashing eye, one can enjoy one's wills and won’ts, for this adorable, tactful person has taken it into his head that he can manage one, that by round-about ways and much control on his part he can in time bring you to reason. In the mean time you enjoy yourself madly; you permit yourself to be led from your desperate resolves; coaxed, with frequent shyings and buckings, of course; soothed, calmed, and eventually permitted to do more than your naturally cautious nature would have permitted you under other circumstances to hope. To manage is the first need of his nature, and it is only friendly on your side to near the verge of unmanageableness. This wonderful diversion is a direct gift from heaven and comes from nothing but instinctive diplomacy on the part of the other person. To manage is the first need of his nature, and it is only friendly on your side to near the verge of unmanageableness. It exerts his activities and gives a pleasant outing to a side of your nature that at other times does not exist. Such an experience inevitably suggests that nations might not be the wilful creatures they are if the diplomatic service were non-existent. Hordes of diplomats egg a country on. It knows it will not be permitted to go too far, but in an effort to test the capabilities of its diplomats it will go exactly as far as it jolly well can.
 

damn (v.)
Middle English dampnen, also damnen, dammen, late 13c. as a legal term, “to condemn, declare guilty, convict;” c. 1300 in the theological sense of “doom to punishment in a future state,” from Old French damner “damn, condemn; convict, blame; injure,” derivative of Latin damnare “to adjudge guilty; to doom; to condemn, blame, reject,” from noun damnum “damage, hurt, harm; loss, injury; a fine, penalty...”

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