George Orwell, in “Politics and the English Language” reminds me of my mother. She comes from a long line of clergymen and grew up around story-telling and lots of analysis and a fair amount of intellectual curiosity. Why she married my father is still to be revealed since he comes from a long line of practical types and the men folk, in particular in his tribe, are taciturn or, as Aunt Virginia (who herself married into the clan and described it), are “tall, dark and silent.” Orwell is like Mother’s team and can travel to Europe via Peru and Pensicola, in other words, with lots of background, context and supportive material so that when we arrive, we are both relieved and much more prepared to understand the point, which has taken A LONG TIME to arrive at. He presumably is going to tell us about the horrors of language and its relation to political thought but not until page six (of nine) does he blurt out his thesis (I’m being funny here; get it?). But I forgive him because I have enjoyed his linguistic excursions along the way.
So on page six he says:
“A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself
at least four questions, thus: What am I trying to say? What words will
express it? What image or idiom will make it clearer? Is this image fresh enough
to have an effect? And he will probably ask himself two more: Could I put
it more shortly? Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly? But you are not
obliged to go to all this trouble. You can shirk it by simply throwing your
mind open and letting the ready-made phrases come crowding in. They will
construct your sentences for you—even think your thoughts for you to a certain
extent-and at need they will perform the important service of partially concealing
your meaning even from yourself. It is at this point that the special connection
between politics and the debasement of language becomes clear.”
There, he said it. Finally.
And what a perception: that this “throwing our mind open” is not, as we often think of it, a fine idea, but is a way to throw caution and consideration away and is, in a way, lazy. With this “open” mind we let “ready-made phrases” (like clichés) crowd in and even “think your thoughts for you . . . .” If ever there were an argument made for not relying on cheap and popular language here it is. Using only fad language puts the user’s thinking to sleep.
Along the way he had many a gem, though. I especially appreciate his explanation of cause and effect on page one: “. . . an effect can become a cause, reinforcing he original cause and producing the same effect in an intensified form . . . .” He goes on to say that the language “becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish . . . [since] the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts.”
Wow.
This is great stuff. While I am not sure that he is entirely correct that slovenly language has produced foolish thoughts I am quite sure that slovenly language intensifies foolish thoughts. Foolish thoughts, alas, set themselves up in our thinking and we believe them and act on them. Allowing confusion to stand in for clarity, we are then comfortable with slovenly chatter. Orwell says this is a dangerous thing to do and I agree with him.
Orwell is such a satisfying writer of essays. He throws important ideas around by the tens and twenties. Here is one such idea: “ . . . if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought.”
Again, wow. What we say affects how we later think. I can see this everywhere. When we do not attempt to say something well we lower the power and accuracy of the thinking itself. I wonder if the attempt to say something well counts as powerful? Simple people can say profound things. Highly educated types can be windbags.
I mentioned a post or two ago that political life is reflective of personal life so Orwell’s point here is applicable. As politicians and all the rest of us use language deliberately we change the direction and tone of our dealings and daily life. He says that the degredation of the language is probably curable since language reflects “existing social conditions.” As these conditions are improved so, presumably, is the language—and, more importantly, the foolish thoughts are made less foolish; this is the implication.
A favorite other thing form Orwell: language has its literary merits, which he does not address in this essay very much, but mostly he sees language’s importance as “an instrument for expressing and not for concealing or preventing thought.” A very fine thinker, Orwell, for seeing that language, misused, can both “conceal” and “prevent” thought. Just because a thing is said does not mean that it is thinking. One could extrapolate this idea from Orwell’s ideas here. This is an important idea for social and political reasons. For reasons of personal growth. He triumphs again, for stating important ideas with refreshing directness and insight.
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