(from Samuel Johnson’s definition of the word cant)
A while back I put up a tweet saying “‘Deeply’ is the new ‘very,’” but to my shock and dismay the world paid no attention. My little jape failed to quell the rising tide in the usage of the d-word in all sorts of public-facing discourse. Now “deeply” has become the universal adverb. Since I am otherwise in a bit of a midsummer lull, I thought I would take up my cudgel once more and square up to this menace.
“Very,” the feebler predecessor of “deeply,” was one of those words that editors and English teachers automatically red-pencilled into oblivion whenever they saw it on the page. Of course, people used it anyway, because they believed it made their sentences stronger. Why wouldn’t it? Something that’s very big must be bigger than something that’s merely big, right? So, commonsensically, putting “very” in front of an adjective should intensify it.
It didn’t actually work out that way, though. Readers came to understand, at some probably subliminal level, that “very” was just a marker for weak or tendentious writing. Serious people just didn’t use the word. The New York Times might write of “severe flooding” in a disaster area, for example, but you’d never see them use the phrase “very severe flooding.” A politician trying to plead for disaster relief funds might say “very severe flooding” and be quoted as such. But in actual coverage, the newspaper of record would never use “very.” Instead it would present facts and statistics, leaving the readers to judge for themselves the level of severity.
Sophisticated readers thus came to understand that “very” was a marker for lazy writing. Users of “very” were trying to bring you around to a certain point of view without earning it. That’s why editors and English teachers hated it.
“Deeply” has inherited all of the badness of “very” but piled on some additional noxious qualities.
A couple of years ago I set a personal policy that when reading anything at all—a tweet, a press release, a newspaper article—as soon as I encountered the word “deeply” I would simply stop reading and turn my attention elsewhere. I don’t think I’ve missed anything as a result. On the contrary, I’m pretty sure that the rigorous enforcement of this rule has improved my quality of life and upgraded the flow of information coming into my brain.
What “deeply” has that “very” didn’t is the overlay of pious moralism. You can easily get the idea by comparing these three statements:
I was offended by this tweet
I was very offended by this tweet
I was deeply offended by this tweet
Of course, (1) is by far the strongest version. Seeing this, I might roll my eyes at yet another person claiming to be offended by something, but I might keep reading just to see what they’re on about.
(2) is weaker despite—in fact, because of—the attempt to strengthen it by addition of “very.” That’s okay. It’s just a poorly written sentence. The world’s full of those. I might keep reading on the off chance that this is just an inept writer honestly struggling to make a good point.
(3) has all the weakness of (2) but attempts to make up for that by implicitly suggesting that there is some underlying moral cause for taking offense that is impossible to gainsay. Only a monster would refuse to take with the greatest seriousness the concerns of a person who was deeply offended! I stop reading (3) as a matter of principle.
It’s a little bit aligned with how the word “sacred” gets used. Both “deeply” and “sacred” are shorthand for “under no circumstances is it acceptable for anyone to fail to take seriously, let alone disagree with, what I am about to say. All within the sound of my voice must now put on their Serious Faces and hastily knuckle under.”
“Deeply” is, in other words, a marker for cant: a wonderful old word that has been used in various related senses since the 1500s.
Cant’s definition #6 in the OED is so spot on that I can make this essay a lot shorter merely by quoting it here. It is
“To affect religious or pietistic phraseology, esp. as a matter of fashion or profession; to talk unreally or hypocritically with an affectation of goodness or piety.”
Dr. Johnson’s definition is the one shown in the image at the top of this post. Just as a side note, it is fascinating that 270 years ago this sort of talk was a common enough feature of the rhetorical landscape that the likes of Dr. Johnson were absolutely nailing it with one four-letter word.
Anyway, it seems like a mic drop to me, so I’ll now bring this to a close in the serene confidence that no one will use the d-word going forward.
I may not be the world, but I paid attention when you made the complaint to someone in an interview. I thought, “huh, of all things to be irked by”. In the interview—video format, I forget where—you didn’t explain why it bothered you so much. Though I was interested to know, didn’t think I’d ever find out. I’m glad I now know.