Slang, as a rule, not only signifies concepts and things but also, and first of all, the subjective behavior, the feelings, habits, oddities, jokes, tricks, collusions, experiences, and resentments which are peculiar to the group and differentiate it from any other; it alludes to the secret life of the group and strengthens this collective life. It affords a particular delight because only the man who belongs to the group can understand it, and because in using it he immerses himself in this incommunicable hermetic life. Each time he uses the slang of the group, he affirms and reinforces his communion with the group and, in one sense, the giving up of his own personality to the group. The word becomes a kind of magic and operative sign of the unity of the group, and of its difference from ordinary mankind. Then, indivisibly from its function as direct sign, the word is essentially a reverse or inverted sign of the subjectivity, self-love, and pride of the group.
That is why slang cannot really be translated into ordinary language without losing its meaning and flavor. More than an object of thought, it means the overtones that accompany this object in terms of human and social subjectivity. The human despair and abjection with which certain abject writers have to saturate the world of things could not be expressed except in their slang.
Now, if it is true that the essence of language is to manifest thought and objects of thought, it is difficult not to conclude that the various slangs of which I spoke involve a kind of perversion of the function of language.
No doubt an element of reverse or inverted signification is inseparable from the direct signification of the words. But genuine language, while expressive of the group’s subjectivity, gives unquestionable prevalence to objectivity, and direct sign, and to the universality of direct, intellectual meaning; and then the secondary function of language, i.e., the intention of expressing subjectivity, remains itself open, it is oriented toward a communication of the collective self, which tends to make itself sincerely known to others. The risk of impurity of which I am speaking materializes when this intention of expressing subjectivity becomes oriented toward the self-assertion of the group in a closed, aristocratic, or resentful manner, and as against all other groups.
The primary and the secondary functions of language are both human. Language attains complete freedom, and the excellence of its own nature, when these two functions are perfectly fused. The subjective function, however, is, as I have said, secondary. Furthermore it remains, as a rule, in an inchoate and unsatisfactory condition, because our words are primarily destined to designate material and external things. As a result, in their secondary function itself they signify the subjectivity of the social group rather than that of the individual person, and they do so in a more or less awkward and rough manner, which depends on the particular history and accidental experiences of the group. Let me say, therefore, that if Angels used words, it is only in the language of Angels that the two functions of which I am speaking would be really and perfectly fused. It is only in the tongue of Angels that language could attain complete freedom and the excellence of its own nature.
Poets, in mankind, desperately endeavor to achieve a certain similarity of the language of Angels, or of perfect language, capable of expressing things and the self together in one and the same breath. Thus, what birds realize by music only, man can somewhat realize by poetry, and his music has also an intelligible significance, a spiritual meaning.
Jacques Maritain, Language and the Theory of Sign