Thoughts on hyperbole

On the Today programme this morning there was a debate on the supposed overuse of the noun Tragedy; I didn’t hear all of the discussion, such is the reality of the working week, but it did get me thinking about the abuse of terminology in modern discourse.

If there is a single faction that is overwhelmingly responsible for excessive linguistic hyperbole, it is of course, the Media. The overwhelming amount of print, online, and televised content, inevitably leads to an overextension and abuse of our wonderful, if finite, language. It was the Today show itself that cited its sports commentator, Steve May, who described the death of Irish racehorse, Best Mate, as a ‘tragedy.’ Best Mate won a trio of Cheltenham Gold Cup’s, and was one of the most beloved modern racehorses. The Times even ran an obituary, concluding: “Few horses have been so special.”

The death of Best Mate was front-page news in many newspapers, and many within the sport believe they were denied one of the very great champions of all time, but was it actually a ‘tragedy?’ To highlight this supposed misuse of the lexis, the programme spoke to an ‘expert’ on the classics, who argued that the phrase was essentially a dramatic term, and had been diluted – and somewhat damaged - by its modern use.

Surely words are subject to context, and evolve with their continued use? Words mean whatever we intend them to mean, and no single person, or institution, are the gatekeepers of our language. It is ingrained feudalism that dictates that we should use a pre-described version of English (or whatever tongue one speaks), something that in our modern Liberal Democracy, we should eschew. Students of linguistics are aware that language is not something that can be enshrined; it’s organic, as it evolves with our civilisation, not isolated from it by some authoritarian diktat. If any one section is the gatekeeper of our precious language, then it is our children. Children have the faculty to invent new words, develop grammar where none existed, and merge different tongues into a working form of communication.

There is, however, some truth in what the Today programmes learned guest said. The creators of our media do prostitute our language in the hope of exaggerating the prominence, or impact, of a story. The term ‘tragedy’ is used to describe all sorts of mildly gloomy news; the ousting of a cabinet minister, the contents of our school meals, or the death of a racehorse. None of which, technically, one could describe as a ‘tragedy.’ Using such a delicate and important term loosely does devalue it, and leaves its correct usage somewhat muddied by its newfound ambiguity. Clarity and meaning is lost, so ignorant hacks can embellish an otherwise unspectacular story.

Let us first, define tragedy. Tragedy is from the Greek tragoedia, meaning “goat song;” its origin, probably, linked to the sacrificing of goats prior to the performance, or the goatskin often worn by actors in deference to the god Dionysus (Dionysus famously partied with half-goat beings). It was defined by Aristotle in his work Poetics, and was a definition of a specific form of drama.

Tragedy should not be misrepresented as a ‘sad story.’ The death of a horse is sad, emotional, and even – to those involved - devastating, but the heart attack of Best Mate was not tragic.

Tragedy is the drama of noble and/or heroic virtue against some overwhelming power. The ‘power’ may be the law, the gods, moira (fate), or society. The fight of the heroic man (this was Greek drama after all, women were either bed-fodder, witches, or Gorgons) against inevitable failure was, Aristotle argued, an important dramatic device to create Catharsis: the emotional cleansing of the audience through pity, sorrow, or another heightened emotion. Having ridden this emotional rollercoaster, the viewer would consider their own situation, and be relieved that they don’t face such insurmountable obstacles. A tragic drama would, in practice, enforce the role of the State as a benevolent force, relative to the malevolent powers portrayed onstage.

It should come as no surprise that Tragedy was silent during the moral theatre of Medieval Europe; the regressive and suspicious church would never tolerate such a celebration of heroic virtue. It was the dramatists of the Renaissance who rediscovered this classical device, following the translation and distribution of classical texts (the printing press was reinvented in the West in 1450, meaning the churches control of literature – through its network of scribing monks – was relinquished; it is clear that the emergence of movable type was the single greatest liberating event in European philosophy and art).

Shakespeare’s best work was tragedy. Hamlet, Othello, and Macbeth, were not only gifts to Freud, but brilliant examples of Tragedy. Hamlet’s moral righteousness in his vengeance (for the murder of his father, by his uncle - Claudius) was tragically thwarted by the mechanisms of the Danish court. The audience is witness to the deus ex machina that is the ghost of Hamlet’s father; we therefore share the young princes outrage, and we want him to succeed in usurping the wicked Claudius. And we are horrified by the eventual bloodbath that is its climax (sorry for the spoiler, but if you haven’t seen Hamlet by now you probably never will).

Critics and scholars may question Hamlet’s case as a heroic character, and even question the nobleness of vengeance, but certainly in Classical Greece, and throughout Mediterranean culture, revenge was viewed as a moral necessity, and a virtue worthy of Tragedy (our modern concept of revenge is filtered by works such as Melville’s Moby-Dick, which convey the futility of vengeance).

It is in this context, that I argue that we have indeed perverted the true connotation of what is a great word - a term of definite and precious meaning. Journalists and writers should respect terminology that is loaded with such exact context, not idly adulterate it by poor association. We overuse - and therefore weaken – great words in our day-to-day communication; words such as fantastic, evil, and disaster are used liberally, with scant regard for their power and meaning.

It is with these considerations that I implore politicians, commentators, writers, and journalists, to moderate their use of our language. Do not abuse the dictionary in the pursuit of impact. If a story, decree, or response, is indeed worthy, it need not be embellished by such lazy hyperbole.