The Jewish philologist Victor Klemperer wrote a book called the Lingua Tertii Imperii, Latin for “the language of the Third Reich,” which developed from the diary he kept during the Nazi period starting in 1933. Klemperer noted the ways in which the language around him recorded cultural changes. His society was being unmade, and people from Nazi officials to everyday citizens talked in deceitful and slippery ways that showed it. He codified them in the book in 1945 and 1946. The very first regretful observation that appears in what’s known as the LTI is of a species of ugly new words for reversals of actions:
“New demands led the language of the Third Reich to stimulate an increase of the dissociating prefix ent- [de-]. … Windows had to be blacked out [verdunkelt] because of the enemy planes, which in turn led to the daily task of lifting the blackout {des Entdunkelns}. In the event of roof fires, the lofts had to be free of clutter that might get in the way of the firefighters — they were therefore de-cluttered {entrumpelt}. New sources of nourishment had to be tapped: the bitter horse-chestnut was de-bittered {entbittert}.”
Klemperer describes in even more regretful terms his disgust with the term “Entnazifizierung” for “denazification.” While what it describes was, he says, “today’s most important task” in 1946, he said he hoped “that this dreadful word will only have a short life.”
Today, it’s considered one of the great rhetorical sins to bring the Nazi period into one’s arguments. No doubt it’s a good thing to keep this norm in mind, as the “you know who else was a vegetarian?” mode of argumentation is one of the lowest forms. Yet, I am going to commit a misdemeanor violation of Godwin’s Law nonetheless. Because, for some months now, I have been noticing two deeply creepy words that send my brain immediately to that first passage of the LTI. What broke me is buying a bottle of Glenfiddich and tipping out the box to find deposited in my hand a piece of marketing literature asking me to “unlearn” my habits of thought about whiskey. According to the marketing manager responsible for the ad copy, “with the age-old associations of ‘quiet fireside moments’ and preconceptions that surround the category,” they wanted to reach the young and nonstodgy. So, “we had to get people to ‘Unlearn Whisky.’”
In quite another context, this word is much more common: A recent article in the Conversation asks, “Can a college course teach students to ‘unlearn’ racism?” Further down: “Can a college course unteach racism?” I had thought the word for when you discard one mental habit or idea and replace it with a new one through conscious study and effort already existed and that the word in question is simply “learn.” That’ll teach me. Can a sage possessed of tremendous intellectual accomplishment now be “a deeply unlearned scholar?”
Meanwhile, the climate movement has become enamored of “degrowth.” Degrowth.org offers this definition: “Sustainable degrowth is a downscaling of production and consumption that increases human well-being and enhances ecological conditions and equity on the planet.” The website degrowth.info informs us that “degrowth is an idea that critiques the global capitalist system which pursues growth at all costs, causing human exploitation and environmental destruction.” The Harvard Business Review, anyway, assures me that “degrowth shouldn’t scare business.” I’m no economist, just a language writer. I would simply note the existence of the words “shrink” and “wither” as available antonyms for “grow.”
