20 Aug 2013 04:25:08
No such pleasures are to be found in William B Irvine's A Slap in the Face: Why Insults Hurt – And Why They Shouldn't. Irvine is a professor of philosophy at Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio, and he writes as if he doesn't get out much. Certainly, his description of David Niven as a "playwright" suggests the professor is not entirely au fait with his source material. And with his endless "Let us now turn our attention tos" and "I might adds" and "As we have seens", he indulges in so much throat clearing that you want to offer him a lozenge.
Oh dear, that sounds like what the professor would term a "blatant insult". What's more, as Irvine notes in a typical statement of the obvious: "One way to increase the pain caused by an insult is to inflict it in public." Guilty again; I've insulted a writer in public. But it turns out that I'm on safe ground, because Irvine cites Seneca's advice – if you are going to publish, you must be willing to tolerate criticism.
But when does criticism become insulting? Indeed, what qualifies as an insult? Irvine argues that an insult is anything that is calculated to offend someone, whether or not it achieves its aim, or anything that does offend someone, whether or not it was intended. In other words, anything and everything.
He outlines seemingly arbitrary categories of insult, such as the ambush insult, the backhanded compliment and teasing, before informing us that "insults cause pain by giving rise to various negative emotions, with feelings of anger being at the top of the list". Really? What about an insult to our intelligence? Alas, Irvine never gets to grips with that particular taxonomy.
The problem is that in devoting so much effort to restating in laboured fashion what all of us already know, Irvine misses out on the art of the insult. What makes a good insult? Why? And on what occasions are insults necessary or deserving?
In reality, few of us are brave or insensitive enough to be genuinely insulting, especially in person. And even fewer possess the wit to make the insult stick. That's why we retain a sneaking regard for those who can and do.
When Winston Churchill, a man with a rare gift for the memorable jibe, said of Stafford Cripps: "He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire", he employed an inspired moral reversal to savage what he took to be Cripps's priggishness. What makes the insult particularly effective is Churchill's implicit acknowledgment of his own flaws. He humanises himself at the expense of Cripps.
It's one thing to mint such a telling phrase in the comfort of the study, quite another to deliver it in the heat of an exchange. The French speak of esprit de l'escalier, that sudden realisation of what you should have said that comes to you the moment you leave the scene and descend the stairs.
We're all masters of the one-liner after the event, but how much better it would be to come up with the appropriate cutting remark when it actually mattered. Think of all that psychological turmoil and self-laceration one could avoid if gifted with the verbal power to best your enemy or opponent at will.
Because the right insult, if expressed with sufficient nonchalance, can put a spring in your step while demoralising the recipient. Unfortunately, what tends to happen is that neither side manages to land the coup de grâce and both instead nurture a lifelong grudge, whereas a winning barb can reduce the suffering by 50%.
On these vital moral issues, Irvine has little to say. Unsurprisingly for an American academic, he's more interested in waging a rearguard action against the terror of PC speech codes that have swept US campuses, which as he rightly points out place a disproportionate power in the hands of the most sensitive.
Irvine takes his line from the Stoic philosophers who realised that as it's impossible to change the world to make it inoffensive, it's better to change ourselves so that we're less susceptible to feeling offended. This is worthy advice, but I don't think it's especially helpful.
Names do hurt, as much as we might try to pretend they don't. Sometimes, the best response is not speech pacifism but a really viciously clever retort. But if you're looking on tips on wit, this book is not the place to start.
