I gave a TEDx talk organised by London Business School a few weeks ago. I did not think it went particularly well — all the faffing and rehearsing that TED demands had the effect of making me a cheesy, stilted version of myself. As I skulked offstage, an MBA student came up to me in a state of great excitement. “That was awesome!” he said. I demurred but he went on: “I couldn’t believe you said that!”

幾周前，我參加了倫敦商學(xué)院(LBS)組織的一次TEDx大會(huì)并發(fā)表了演講。我自己覺(jué)得那次演講效果并不是特別好——所有那些按要求進(jìn)行的瞎忙活和排練只讓我在臺(tái)上變得做作生硬。當(dāng)我在臺(tái)下偷偷摸摸地走著的時(shí)候，一位極度興奮的MBA學(xué)員來(lái)到我面前。“那樣講棒極了！”他說(shuō)。我表示不贊同，但他接著說(shuō)：“我簡(jiǎn)直不敢相信你居然說(shuō)了那個(gè)詞！”

This was puzzling, given I had just spent 18 minutes giving a motherhood-and-apple-pie talk about why I was junking journalism to be a maths teacher. Then he explained: “You said the word bullshit! In a TED talk!”

他的話(huà)有點(diǎn)費(fèi)解，因?yàn)樵谀?8分鐘里我談?wù)摰臇|西應(yīng)該是大家喜聞樂(lè)見(jiàn)的，關(guān)于我為什么要放棄記者生涯，成為一名數(shù)學(xué)老師。然后他解釋說(shuō)：“你說(shuō)了‘bullshit’（狗屎，瞎扯淡）這個(gè)詞！在一場(chǎng)TED演講里！”

We stared at each other in mutual amazement. He was shocked at my use of the word. I was shocked at his shock.

我們大眼瞪小眼，雙方都很震驚。他震驚于我用了那個(gè)詞，而我震驚于他的震驚。

To me bullshit is not a swear word: it is my meat and potatoes. It is what I have written about for decades. I use the word because there is none other that does the trick. I suppose I could say “nonsense” instead, but that would be a euphemism. And euphemism is almost always bullshit.

對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)，“bullshit”不是臟話(huà)：這是我的基本用語(yǔ)。這是我在幾十年的寫(xiě)作中的用詞。我用這個(gè)詞，是因?yàn)闆](méi)有別的詞可以達(dá)到同樣的效果。理論上我可以換用“nonsense”（胡扯），但那就是婉約的說(shuō)法了。而婉約說(shuō)法幾乎都是狗屎。

Yet recently I have noticed something odd is happening. The corporate world, despite producing bullshit in ever greater amounts, is increasingly prudish about the word itself. When I wrote a column on how to spot bullshit, a reader posted underneath: “I object to using BS (spelt out) in a daily newspaper, especially one as esteemed as the FT. These points can be made just as well without scatological language.”

然而，最近我注意到有些怪事正在發(fā)生。盡管出產(chǎn)了與日俱增的廢話(huà)，企業(yè)界對(duì)這個(gè)詞卻日益談之色變，大驚小怪。我曾經(jīng)寫(xiě)過(guò)一篇論如何發(fā)現(xiàn)狗屁不通的廢話(huà)的專(zhuān)欄文章，一名讀者在下方評(píng)論：“我反對(duì)在一份日?qǐng)?bào)上使用“BS”（bullshit的縮寫(xiě)）這個(gè)詞，尤其是在像英國(guó)《金融時(shí)報(bào)》這樣受到尊敬的報(bào)紙上。不使用臟話(huà)也能表達(dá)這些觀點(diǎn)。”

A surprisingly large number of Financial Times readers recommended the message.

給這條信息點(diǎn)贊的FT讀者數(shù)目大的驚人。

Equally, when Travis Kalanick banged another nail in his own coffin by getting caught on camera yelling at an Uber driver, the headlines were about his swearing. He said the dread word “bullshit” at least three times, but his real offence was that he refused to listen to the financial woes of the driver, preferring to jab his finger and shout in an obnoxious fashion.

同樣的，當(dāng)特拉維斯?卡蘭尼克(Travis Kalanick)又一次自掘墳?zāi)梗蝗伺牡經(jīng)_著一位優(yōu)步(Uber)司機(jī)大喊大叫的時(shí)候，各大報(bào)紙頭條都是關(guān)于他爆粗口的事情。他說(shuō)了那個(gè)惡劣的詞——“bullshit”——至少3次，但他真正的過(guò)錯(cuò)是拒絕傾聽(tīng)那名司機(jī)的經(jīng)濟(jì)困境，寧可用手指戳著對(duì)方，以一種令人反感的方式叫嚷。

My all-time favourite story of misplaced prudery over swearing comes from Goldman Sachs. During the financial crisis a leaked internal email described one of its mortgage-backed securities as “one shitty deal”. The bank’s response? An anti-swearing policy, which meant henceforth employees would be protected from language that might upset them.

關(guān)于對(duì)臟話(huà)不知所謂的假正經(jīng)，一直以來(lái)我最?lèi)?ài)的故事來(lái)自高盛(Goldman Sachs)。在金融危機(jī)期間，一封外泄的郵件稱(chēng)高盛的一只抵押支持債券是“屎一樣的買(mǎi)賣(mài)”。高盛的回應(yīng)呢？出臺(tái)一項(xiàng)反粗口政策，這意味著從此以后高盛的員工將被保護(hù)起來(lái)，任何可能惹惱他們的話(huà)都不會(huì)落入他們的耳朵里。

While companies become more priggish, the evidence mounts that swearing at work is something we should be encouraging. I have just been sent an advance copy of Swearing is Good for You: the Amazing Science of Bad Language by Emma Byrne, an impressive catalogue of research showing how effing and blinding helps us deal with pain, bond with others, is associated with intelligence and makes us more inclined to trust each other.

盡管企業(yè)變得更加自命清高，越來(lái)越多的證據(jù)表明，我們應(yīng)該鼓勵(lì)在工作中說(shuō)臟話(huà)。最近我拿到了一本埃瑪?伯恩(Emma Byrne)的《說(shuō)臟話(huà)對(duì)你有益：臟話(huà)的奇妙科學(xué)》(Swearing is Good for You: the Amazing Science of Bad Language)先行版。這本令人印象深刻的著作列舉了一系列研究，表明說(shuō)臟話(huà)能幫助我們應(yīng)對(duì)傷痛和與他人拉近關(guān)系，不僅與智力相關(guān)，還能讓我們更傾向于信任彼此。

It is a glorious, uplifting read, but I do not think it quite gets to the heart of it. My own research shows how swearing can help you be more successful by getting your point across and having your own way. I have just searched the 41,000 emails in my FT inbox for the word fuck and got 146 results. Most were from friends and colleagues engaging in banter, yet the few that came from strangers used expletives to great effect. One man emailed asking for my help on something with a message that began: “Your podcasts are fucking fantastic.” The addition of the swear word slowed me down, made me judge the outrageous flattery to be sincere and tricked me into saying yes.

這是一本值得稱(chēng)道和令人振奮的書(shū)，但我不認(rèn)為這本書(shū)說(shuō)到了點(diǎn)子上。我自己的研究表明，說(shuō)臟話(huà)能夠幫助你更成功，因?yàn)樗粌H有助傳達(dá)你的觀點(diǎn)，并且還能讓你達(dá)成自身所求。我搜索了我的工作郵箱收件箱里的41000封電子郵件，里面有146個(gè)“fuck”。其中大多數(shù)是朋友和同事在開(kāi)玩笑時(shí)說(shuō)的，然而少數(shù)幾個(gè)陌生人把這個(gè)詞用到了極致。一位希望我在某件事上幫助他的人是這樣給郵件開(kāi)頭的：“你的播客真是他媽的棒極了。”這句臟話(huà)讓我放慢了閱讀速度，并且讓我得出這種“別具一格”的恭維是真誠(chéng)的，這誘使我答應(yīng)了他的請(qǐng)求

In another, a reader forwarded a message that he had received from a McKinsey consultant that ended “Bests”. “Who the fuck says ‘bests’?” the reader wrote. Once again, I paid attention, laughed and put it in my bullshit cupboard with a view to giving it a prize.

另外一封郵件里，一位讀者轉(zhuǎn)發(fā)了他從一位麥肯錫(McKinsey)咨詢(xún)師那里收到的郵件，那封郵件以“Bests”（致以最美好的祝愿）結(jié)尾。“誰(shuí)他媽的會(huì)說(shuō)‘bests’？”這位讀者寫(xiě)道。我再一次報(bào)以關(guān)注，大笑起來(lái)，然后把這一條放到我的“狗屎收藏”中，心里想著我得給它評(píng)個(gè)獎(jiǎng)。

Just in case anyone priggish is reading this, I ought to end with something obvious. Context is all. Swearing is only recommended for people who are amiable and know how to communicate. It should never be used by those who are nasty or angry.

以防萬(wàn)一，如果本文的讀者里有一本正經(jīng)的人士，我必須得用一些顯而易見(jiàn)的事情來(lái)給這篇文章收尾。語(yǔ)境是重點(diǎn)。粗口只推薦給那些平和友善，知道如何溝通的人。那些不友好或者憤怒的人絕對(duì)不宜說(shuō)臟話(huà)。

Among the messages in my collection was one from a man who had taken exception to something I had written. His stream of obscenities deserved to be deleted unread, but I have kept it as evidence that swearing can still hurt and disgust — when it is used with just that intention.

搜索結(jié)果中還有一條來(lái)自一位強(qiáng)烈反對(duì)我寫(xiě)的某篇文章的男士。他的郵件滿(mǎn)篇都是污言穢語(yǔ)，我其實(shí)可以完全不看，直接刪除，但我還是保留了這封郵件，這是一個(gè)證據(jù)，證明說(shuō)臟話(huà)依然有可能帶來(lái)傷害，引人反胃——當(dāng)一個(gè)人說(shuō)臟話(huà)就是抱著這種意圖的時(shí)候。

I gave a TEDx talk organised by London Business School a few weeks ago. I did not think it went particularly well — all the faffing and rehearsing that TED demands had the effect of making me a cheesy, stilted version of myself. As I skulked offstage, an MBA student came up to me in a state of great excitement. “That was awesome!” he said. I demurred but he went on: “I couldn’t believe you said that!”

幾周前，我參加了倫敦商學(xué)院(LBS)組織的一次TEDx大會(huì)并發(fā)表了演講。我自己覺(jué)得那次演講效果并不是特別好——所有那些按要求進(jìn)行的瞎忙活和排練只讓我在臺(tái)上變得做作生硬。當(dāng)我在臺(tái)下偷偷摸摸地走著的時(shí)候，一位極度興奮的MBA學(xué)員來(lái)到我面前。“那樣講棒極了！”他說(shuō)。我表示不贊同，但他接著說(shuō)：“我簡(jiǎn)直不敢相信你居然說(shuō)了那個(gè)詞！”

This was puzzling, given I had just spent 18 minutes giving a motherhood-and-apple-pie talk about why I was junking journalism to be a maths teacher. Then he explained: “You said the word bullshit! In a TED talk!”

他的話(huà)有點(diǎn)費(fèi)解，因?yàn)樵谀?8分鐘里我談?wù)摰臇|西應(yīng)該是大家喜聞樂(lè)見(jiàn)的，關(guān)于我為什么要放棄記者生涯，成為一名數(shù)學(xué)老師。然后他解釋說(shuō)：“你說(shuō)了‘bullshit’（狗屎，瞎扯淡）這個(gè)詞！在一場(chǎng)TED演講里！”

We stared at each other in mutual amazement. He was shocked at my use of the word. I was shocked at his shock.

我們大眼瞪小眼，雙方都很震驚。他震驚于我用了那個(gè)詞，而我震驚于他的震驚。

To me bullshit is not a swear word: it is my meat and potatoes. It is what I have written about for decades. I use the word because there is none other that does the trick. I suppose I could say “nonsense” instead, but that would be a euphemism. And euphemism is almost always bullshit.

對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)，“bullshit”不是臟話(huà)：這是我的基本用語(yǔ)。這是我在幾十年的寫(xiě)作中的用詞。我用這個(gè)詞，是因?yàn)闆](méi)有別的詞可以達(dá)到同樣的效果。理論上我可以換用“nonsense”（胡扯），但那就是婉約的說(shuō)法了。而婉約說(shuō)法幾乎都是狗屎。

Yet recently I have noticed something odd is happening. The corporate world, despite producing bullshit in ever greater amounts, is increasingly prudish about the word itself. When I wrote a column on how to spot bullshit, a reader posted underneath: “I object to using BS (spelt out) in a daily newspaper, especially one as esteemed as the FT. These points can be made just as well without scatological language.”

然而，最近我注意到有些怪事正在發(fā)生。盡管出產(chǎn)了與日俱增的廢話(huà)，企業(yè)界對(duì)這個(gè)詞卻日益談之色變，大驚小怪。我曾經(jīng)寫(xiě)過(guò)一篇論如何發(fā)現(xiàn)狗屁不通的廢話(huà)的專(zhuān)欄文章，一名讀者在下方評(píng)論：“我反對(duì)在一份日?qǐng)?bào)上使用“BS”（bullshit的縮寫(xiě)）這個(gè)詞，尤其是在像英國(guó)《金融時(shí)報(bào)》這樣受到尊敬的報(bào)紙上。不使用臟話(huà)也能表達(dá)這些觀點(diǎn)。”

A surprisingly large number of Financial Times readers recommended the message.

給這條信息點(diǎn)贊的FT讀者數(shù)目大的驚人。

Equally, when Travis Kalanick banged another nail in his own coffin by getting caught on camera yelling at an Uber driver, the headlines were about his swearing. He said the dread word “bullshit” at least three times, but his real offence was that he refused to listen to the financial woes of the driver, preferring to jab his finger and shout in an obnoxious fashion.

同樣的，當(dāng)特拉維斯?卡蘭尼克(Travis Kalanick)又一次自掘墳?zāi)梗蝗伺牡經(jīng)_著一位優(yōu)步(Uber)司機(jī)大喊大叫的時(shí)候，各大報(bào)紙頭條都是關(guān)于他爆粗口的事情。他說(shuō)了那個(gè)惡劣的詞——“bullshit”——至少3次，但他真正的過(guò)錯(cuò)是拒絕傾聽(tīng)那名司機(jī)的經(jīng)濟(jì)困境，寧可用手指戳著對(duì)方，以一種令人反感的方式叫嚷。

My all-time favourite story of misplaced prudery over swearing comes from Goldman Sachs. During the financial crisis a leaked internal email described one of its mortgage-backed securities as “one shitty deal”. The bank’s response? An anti-swearing policy, which meant henceforth employees would be protected from language that might upset them.

關(guān)于對(duì)臟話(huà)不知所謂的假正經(jīng)，一直以來(lái)我最?lèi)?ài)的故事來(lái)自高盛(Goldman Sachs)。在金融危機(jī)期間，一封外泄的郵件稱(chēng)高盛的一只抵押支持債券是“屎一樣的買(mǎi)賣(mài)”。高盛的回應(yīng)呢？出臺(tái)一項(xiàng)反粗口政策，這意味著從此以后高盛的員工將被保護(hù)起來(lái)，任何可能惹惱他們的話(huà)都不會(huì)落入他們的耳朵里。

While companies become more priggish, the evidence mounts that swearing at work is something we should be encouraging. I have just been sent an advance copy of Swearing is Good for You: the Amazing Science of Bad Language by Emma Byrne, an impressive catalogue of research showing how effing and blinding helps us deal with pain, bond with others, is associated with intelligence and makes us more inclined to trust each other.

盡管企業(yè)變得更加自命清高，越來(lái)越多的證據(jù)表明，我們應(yīng)該鼓勵(lì)在工作中說(shuō)臟話(huà)。最近我拿到了一本埃瑪?伯恩(Emma Byrne)的《說(shuō)臟話(huà)對(duì)你有益：臟話(huà)的奇妙科學(xué)》(Swearing is Good for You: the Amazing Science of Bad Language)先行版。這本令人印象深刻的著作列舉了一系列研究，表明說(shuō)臟話(huà)能幫助我們應(yīng)對(duì)傷痛和與他人拉近關(guān)系，不僅與智力相關(guān)，還能讓我們更傾向于信任彼此。

It is a glorious, uplifting read, but I do not think it quite gets to the heart of it. My own research shows how swearing can help you be more successful by getting your point across and having your own way. I have just searched the 41,000 emails in my FT inbox for the word fuck and got 146 results. Most were from friends and colleagues engaging in banter, yet the few that came from strangers used expletives to great effect. One man emailed asking for my help on something with a message that began: “Your podcasts are fucking fantastic.” The addition of the swear word slowed me down, made me judge the outrageous flattery to be sincere and tricked me into saying yes.

這是一本值得稱(chēng)道和令人振奮的書(shū)，但我不認(rèn)為這本書(shū)說(shuō)到了點(diǎn)子上。我自己的研究表明，說(shuō)臟話(huà)能夠幫助你更成功，因?yàn)樗粌H有助傳達(dá)你的觀點(diǎn)，并且還能讓你達(dá)成自身所求。我搜索了我的工作郵箱收件箱里的41000封電子郵件，里面有146個(gè)“fuck”。其中大多數(shù)是朋友和同事在開(kāi)玩笑時(shí)說(shuō)的，然而少數(shù)幾個(gè)陌生人把這個(gè)詞用到了極致。一位希望我在某件事上幫助他的人是這樣給郵件開(kāi)頭的：“你的播客真是他媽的棒極了。”這句臟話(huà)讓我放慢了閱讀速度，并且讓我得出這種“別具一格”的恭維是真誠(chéng)的，這誘使我答應(yīng)了他的請(qǐng)求

In another, a reader forwarded a message that he had received from a McKinsey consultant that ended “Bests”. “Who the fuck says ‘bests’?” the reader wrote. Once again, I paid attention, laughed and put it in my bullshit cupboard with a view to giving it a prize.

另外一封郵件里，一位讀者轉(zhuǎn)發(fā)了他從一位麥肯錫(McKinsey)咨詢(xún)師那里收到的郵件，那封郵件以“Bests”（致以最美好的祝愿）結(jié)尾。“誰(shuí)他媽的會(huì)說(shuō)‘bests’？”這位讀者寫(xiě)道。我再一次報(bào)以關(guān)注，大笑起來(lái)，然后把這一條放到我的“狗屎收藏”中，心里想著我得給它評(píng)個(gè)獎(jiǎng)。

Just in case anyone priggish is reading this, I ought to end with something obvious. Context is all. Swearing is only recommended for people who are amiable and know how to communicate. It should never be used by those who are nasty or angry.

以防萬(wàn)一，如果本文的讀者里有一本正經(jīng)的人士，我必須得用一些顯而易見(jiàn)的事情來(lái)給這篇文章收尾。語(yǔ)境是重點(diǎn)。粗口只推薦給那些平和友善，知道如何溝通的人。那些不友好或者憤怒的人絕對(duì)不宜說(shuō)臟話(huà)。

Among the messages in my collection was one from a man who had taken exception to something I had written. His stream of obscenities deserved to be deleted unread, but I have kept it as evidence that swearing can still hurt and disgust — when it is used with just that intention.

搜索結(jié)果中還有一條來(lái)自一位強(qiáng)烈反對(duì)我寫(xiě)的某篇文章的男士。他的郵件滿(mǎn)篇都是污言穢語(yǔ)，我其實(shí)可以完全不看，直接刪除，但我還是保留了這封郵件，這是一個(gè)證據(jù)，證明說(shuō)臟話(huà)依然有可能帶來(lái)傷害，引人反胃——當(dāng)一個(gè)人說(shuō)臟話(huà)就是抱著這種意圖的時(shí)候。