脏话，也可叫做咒骂，粗话，坏话，污言秽语，是电视上不让说的话。大多数心理学家称其为“禁忌语”，这一术语不偏不倚，让其他一些持不同意见的人挑不出什么毛病。然而，不论怎么称呼，脏话会让我们气血翻涌，心生憎恶，蒙受侮辱，然而甚至还会意外起到安抚情绪的作用。 
为什么心理学家们要费尽心思去研究这种粗鄙之言呢？正如美国麻省文理学院教授蒂莫西-杰在2009年的回顾（可在他的网站中找到，值得一读）中所说，禁忌语是无处不在的：“我们从刚会说话就开始说脏话，一直说到老，甚至在患上老年痴呆、年老体弱的时候还再说。”我们大概每说200字都蹦出一个脏词来，但是这个速率因年龄（青春期时说的脏话最多）、性别（男人说的更多、更惹人厌）以及个人差异而有很大不同，其中个人差异是最重要、而且也许是最显著的影响因素。
这些禁忌语在刚开始使用时并不都是平等的，冒犯他人的程度也各不相同。至今，对于孩子们是如何体会到某一禁忌语适用语境之间细微的差别这一问题，人们仍然毫无头绪。从某种意义上说，孩子们词汇表中的每个字都会遇到这样的难题。然而，禁忌语遇到难题的风险更大，而且毫无疑问，对其进行研究更是难上加难。试想一下，哪个父母会给自己的孩子报名参加标题中含“脏话”的研究呢？
不管怎样，我们最终通过心理实验了解到，在这些孩子该上大学的时候，他们对于禁忌语有很强的识记能力。禁忌语多倾向与情感方面，而感性的东西能够吸引我们的注意，并会保留在记忆中。（这就是为什么我们会在悲剧性的或是令人欢欣鼓舞的事件发生后会感到迷茫无措，而在轻微的沮丧或是愉悦的情况下则不会如此。）禁忌语的特殊性有助于我们将其记住。在许多场合中——教堂，教室，我敢说也包括心理实验——我们都单纯的期望不要听到脏话。当我们这样想的时候，这种效果会愈加凸显。因此，禁忌语出现的场合的变更会影响我们的感知。与阅读一份充塞着禁忌语的名单（比如在实验时给受试者播放《好家伙》电影）相比，我们在阅读满是中性词的名单（比如让受试者观看《宝贝》）时会更容易记住其中某一句奇言妙语。
一些调查者甚至声称——这也是备受争议的地方——除了情感影响或者特性，禁忌语还以其他方式控制着我们，因为现在我们已经逐渐将使用和关注禁忌语作为一种生存策略。此外，杰也质疑道，还有什么其他的表达方式比一句恰到好处的“他妈的”更有力吗？
或者可以认为说脏话仅仅是因为会让我们心情变好，这也没什么不妥之处。在2011年基英国基尔大学的理查德-斯蒂芬斯带领的一项调查中，研究者们测试了参与者们将手放进冰水的忍受时间。在其中一次实验中，参与者可以选一句脏话反复说，而在另一次实验中同一批参与者被要求不能出声咒骂。（有时无咒骂实验会先进行，有时会后进行）在大声咒骂时，参与者的心率加快，忍受冰水的时间也相对较长——大约会持续一分钟到一分半钟。然而，这种将说脏话作为止疼药的方法，尽管很吸引人，但若是重复使用的话效果就会减弱：平时说脏话最少的人会得到最多的“脏话福利”。
On the Psychology of Swearing Could cursing be good for us Consider cuss words, also known as curse words, swear words, profanity, bad language, and what not to say on television. Most psychologists use taboo words, a term so nonjudgmental that it seems to pass judgment on those who would call them anything else. But however we reference them, the fact remains that they intrigue and disgust, insult and—rather surprisingly, in some circumstances—assuage us. Why do psychologists bother studying the language of the gutter? Well, as Timothy Jay, a professor at the Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts, puts it in a 2009 review (available on his website, and very worth your time), swearing is ubiquitous: “we say taboo words as soon as we speak and we continue to swear into old age even through dementia and senile decline.” And we do so at a rate of about one taboo word per 200 words. This rate, however, differs dramatically among age groups (swearing peaks in adolescence), between genders (men swear more often and more offensively), and most importantly and perhaps obviously of all, from one individual to the next. All taboo words are not created equal. Nor are they equal-opportunity offenders. It remains unknown precisely how children acquire the nuanced contexts for a given expletive. In a sense, this is a problem children face for every word in their vocabulary. But with taboo words the stakes seems higher—and the studies undoubtedly harder to come by. What parents are going to sign up their toddler for a study with “cussing” in the title? In any event, we know that by the time said toddler is old enough for college, his memory for taboo words in psychology experiments is excellent. Taboo words tend to be emotional words, and emotional things attract our attention and keep it. (That is why those “where were you when” moments follow tragic or inspiring events, never mildly disappointing or merely pleasant ones.) The distinctiveness of taboo words also helps us remember them. In many contexts—church, classrooms, and dare I say psychology experiments—we simply don’t expect to encounter swearing. So when we do, it stands out. Thus, changing the context in which swearing occurs can change how we experience it. Were we to read a list chock-full of taboo words (the experimental equivalent of, say, watching Goodfellas), we’d be less likely to remember a given zinger than when reading a list full of neutral words (the experimental equivalent of watching Babe). Some researchers have even suggested—and here things get more controversial—that taboo words have a hold on us that goes beyond their emotional impact or distinctiveness, that we evolved to use and attend to taboo words as a survival strategy. What else, Jay observes, can “intensify” communication more efficiently than a well-placed Fuck you? Alternatively, though not incompatibly, we may swear simply because it makes us feel better. In a 2011 study led by Keele University’s Richard Stephens, researchers measured how long participants would keep a hand in a container of freezing water. On one trial, participants repeated a swear word of their choice. On another trial, the same participants immersed their hand without cursing. (Sometimes the no-cursing trial occurred first, sometimes second). When cursing, participants’ heart rates increased, as did the amount of time they were capable of withstanding the freezing water—from about a minute to a minute and a half. But the swearing-as-painkiller method, though intriguing, becomes less effective with repeated use: this “swearing benefit” is largest for those who swear least.
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