A few weeks ago, I was driving my children to a birthday party. The route took us down our town’s Main Street, where a few hundred locals were gathered for a “No Kings” rally, holding homemade signs and asking for a supportive honk.
My mouth fell open at the sight of several profanity-laden posters. I prayed that my kindergartener would not have enough time to sound out the words. He did, however, ask why I looked shocked.
Not a few weeks later, he saw the same look of horror on my face when I read the now infamous expletive-laden social media post that the president shared on Easter Sunday, directed to the leadership of Iran.
In both instances, I offered the same lesson we use when our kids try out potty talk: some words might get you instant attention, but they are cheap imitations of what’s truly funny or meaningful.
Today’s children are accustomed to vulgar language. It’s the ocean they swim in. They hear it on television, at sporting events, even from the Oval Office and the floors of our legislative chambers.
This is to say nothing of online influencers, podcasters, and social media stars — many Catholics among them — who routinely speak poorly of others. These individuals handily profit from filling our feeds with gossip, detraction, slander, and calumny — all grave and serious sins against the Eighth Commandment.
What’s most tragic is that we are now addicted to watching it all. The research suggests the more we are exposed to rudeness and profanity, the more acceptable we believe it to be. Our own patterns of behavior and speech then follow.
In reality, we don’t have a language problem. We have a heart problem.
That’s the diagnosis of Father Gregory Pine, OP, author of “Training the Tongue and Growing Beyond Sins of Speech” (Emmaus Road Publishing, $17.95 ).
This book — part memoir, part Thomistic manual on vice and virtue — is a pocket-ready guide for anyone serious about changing their manner of speaking or online posting. It’s a suitable gift for relatives and elected officials alike.
As a professor of Dogmatic and Moral Theology at the Dominican House of Studies, the assistant director of the Thomistic Institute, and a host of the Godsplaining podcast, Pine’s speaking skills are worth imitating, even if he shares plenty of anecdotes in which he regretted saying something the second it came out of his mouth. (As a fellow Philadelphia native, I especially appreciated his treatment of northeast speech, which can be rough around the edges. We come from a group of people who once booed Santa Claus, after all).
For Pine, training our speech is not just about politeness — it’s a path to moral and spiritual growth. “The tongue discloses our interior life, and we can use it in all kinds of ways,” he opens. That’s a way of paraphrasing Jesus: “From the fullness of the heart the mouth speaks” (Luke 6:45).
The author recommends that we start the practice of speaking up and speaking well in a variety of circumstances. He prioritizes instances in which we should tell the truth, engage in conversation, encourage and correct, offer instruction, make each other laugh, and talk to God in prayer.
Pine writes as a Dominican friar, someone trained to help souls grow in the spiritual life, not only by avoiding sin and its near occasion, but by growing in virtue. Building good habits over time produces lasting results. One might say that “practice makes permanent.”
He has no illusion that this is easy. Take, for example, the fact that we don’t know what news stories are true or what information sources are reliable at any given moment. Fake news, misinformation, and AI images abound.
“Never before have we had a public with such easy access to such a vast amount of information and practically no confidence in its veracity,” he observes.
Telling the truth is imperative if we are to arrive at an agreed-upon set of facts, let alone a shared understanding of them. After all, speech was designed for communion. It was the Word who became flesh.
While we can’t control what others do, we can master our own truth-telling. For Pine, that starts with refusing to “recount something as a truth which you know to be a lie.” If you catch yourself embellishing or exaggerating something, stop yourself mid-sentence and pivot to another topic. Better to suffer an awkward moment than to slide into sin.
Or if you’re in an argument and find yourself overstating or falsely characterizing something in an effort to win, pause, and respond with, “I don’t know.” Pine is certain that this phrase can be liberating for both speaker and listener.
True speech, Pine suggests, is both honest and loving. It seeks the good of the listener while remaining faithful to reality.
The same humility is required in conversation. How often do people say, “We need to have more conversations about [insert subject]” when what they really want to do is express a point of view they have no intention of changing?
If you find your conversation partner insufferable or boring, the author suggests examining how good of a listener you are. If you’d rather talk about another subject, you can generously respond to whatever subject is offered, as it might reflect your interlocutor’s expertise or comfort level.
You can practice friendliness by asking open-ended questions or saying something that invites more people into a conversation. The goal of conversing is always to connect people to one another and to help someone feel seen and understood. Persuasion can only follow empathy. We should never seek to dominate a discussion, even if there is a chance to do so.
Pine also explores the idea that fraternal correction is an act of charity. We are obligated by love to correct falsehood when we hear it. He suggests that we ask ourselves three questions before proceeding: “Is this a serious fault?” “Can the person change?” “Am I motivated by love?”
If yes, then we should offer correction in a manner that preserves the dignity of the person in the wrong and never with the intention of shaming him. Humor, encouragement, and sympathy are all tools we can employ.
Pine’s approach is practical. He treats virtue not as an abstract ideal but as something trained. After all, the tongue is just another muscle, and we train plenty of those through consistent steps and reps.
Virtuous speech does not emerge from sudden bursts of inspiration but from repeated choices. Small disciplines — pausing before responding, resisting gossip, choosing gentler words — gradually form a character marked by charity and integrity.
To train the tongue is to take seriously the call to love others. In learning to govern our words, we learn to shape our hearts — and, in turn, can shape the world around us. If vicious speech can spread like a contagion, so can its virtuous counterpart.
