Write What You Mean, Mean What You Write | George Orwell's "Politics and the English Language"

Today we’re talking about the time that George Orwell combined my most and least favorite topics into a single essay called “Politics and the English Language.” And I bet you’ll never guess which is which!

George Orwell wrote “Politics and the English Language” in response to what he saw as a decline in the quality of the English language during and after the second World War. And that decline, he argued, was the product of political and economic forces at work during the time.

Of course, Orwell was a writer and commentator on language, so it’s no surprise to hear that he had opinions about English and the way journalists, politicians, and others mangled it. The world is full of people with overly strong opinions about other people’s writing style.

But the problem was not just that he was having a hard time finding writers with good taste. For Orwell, the decline in language reflected and reinforced a larger decline in society. As he put it: “[The language] becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts.”

Orwell worried that the relationship between sloppy language and foolish thoughts had created a vicious cycle that had produced a disgusting kind of political discourse, but he was also convinced that it was reversible—so he wrote this essay in order to show the way forward and explain how people could get themselves out of their miasma of political grossness by using language more thoughtfully. And, boy, did he ever write an essay!

I read “Politics and the English Language” for the first time in high school, and I had always enjoyed writing, but this was one of the first times that I had ever thought of writing as a kind of deliberate craft. Of course, this essay is full of rules which I was only too eager to follow at the time, but it also just offered a more general perspective on writing that really changed the way I thought through my own writing process.

So, today, I want to talk about some of the big ideas in Orwell’s essay and go over some of the ways that his insights can be useful for us as we write.

Now, we don’t know anything about sloppy, disgusting political discourse these days—but Orwell still makes some good points. And, who knows, maybe if politics ever gets out of hand again, we can use his suggestions to make things better.

Either way, a lot of what Orwell has to say will help you to improve your writing—even in the best of political times. So let’s see what he’s got to offer.

The Problem

Orwell opens his essay with five excerpts of the kind of modern English that, in his view, is ruining the world. He suggests that, while each of the examples is full of faults, all of them have the same fundamental problems in common—and these two issues, he argues, are at the root of the mutual corruption between politics and the English language.

He explains the two central problems like this: “The first is staleness of imagery; the other is lack of precision. The writer either has a meaning and cannot express it, or he inadvertently says something else, or he is almost indifferent as to whether his words mean anything or not. This mixture of vagueness and sheer incompetence is the most marked characteristic of modern English prose, and especially of any kind of political writing. As soon as certain topics are raised, the concrete melts into the abstract and no one seems able to think of turns of speech that are not hackneyed: prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated hen-house.”

In other words, Orwell complains that modern political language doesn’t bring any vivid images to mind and doesn’t really get its precise points across. Writers of this sort tend to reproduce phrases that they are used to hearing rather than select the exact words that communicate what they mean to say. As a result, they don’t really say anything new or meaningful.

So the problem with bad political writing like this is that it prevents anyone—including yourself—from knowing what you actually think. If you don’t pick out words that actually mean what you mean for them to mean, your readers will only have access to a rough approximation of your actual thoughts.

And if they’re trying to respond to their best guess at your actual position, they’ll probably miss the mark. So you’ll have to respond to their best guess at what you said based on your best guess as what they said, and they’ll have to respond to your best guess at their best guess at your best guess—and before you know it, everyone is fighting about a problem that wouldn’t have existed if you’d just taken the time to say what you actually meant.

But that’s enough hypothetical twists and turns, let’s look at a concrete example of how Orwell says this all works.

An Example

To illustrate the problems of stale imagery and imprecise language, Orwell writes a translation of a well-known verse from Ecclesiastes. The original, goes like this:

“I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet  bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill;  but time and chance happeneth to them all.”

And his translation into “modern English” goes a little something like this:

“Objective considerations of contemporary phenomena compel the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account.”

So what do you think? They both say the same thing—basically, that the things that happen to people have less to do with their skills and abilities and more to do with dumb luck. But they go about it in very different ways.

The original version starts with a person standing under the sun, watching people in different kinds of competitions. The second starts with “objective considerations.”

The most basic difference here is that the first version is full of people and things while the second one is only full of ideas. The first one gives you a series of experiences in the world, and the second one gives you a series concepts to think about.

And why do you think Orwell provided this example? Because examples and people and things are easy to understand and full of meaning. Pure abstract ideas are much harder to care about and understand.

After he makes his translation, Orwell explains: “As I have tried to show, modern writing at its worst does not consist in picking out words for the sake of their meaning and inventing images in order to make the meaning clearer. It consists in gumming together long strips of words which have already been set in order by someone else, and making the results presentable by sheer humbug.”

And by “sheer humbug,” I think he means that modern political English is less about making a point and more about sounding smart and impressive. And this kind of writing does sound pretty smart and impressive—you have to admit—but you also have to admit that it’s much harder to understand and much less interesting when you really pay attention to it. And that’s because it’s just a big, gummy mess of abstract ideas.

So Now What?

But Orwell, doing his part to rise above the political mess, does not just point out problems. As he concludes the essay, he actually suggests some practical ways that writers can keep themselves honest and contribute to better political discourse by writing more deliberately.

He writes: “People who write in this manner usually have a general emotional meaning—they dislike one thing and want to express solidarity with another—but they are not interested in the detail of what they are saying.”

That is, political writers are really just trying to show what team they are on. They aren’t actually trying to participate in real communication or deliberation in order to solve problems.

So Orwell suggests that scrupulous writers should be asking themselves a few questions as they write in order to avoid this kind of dangerously empty writing:

“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?”

In essence, Orwell says that writers should stop and be deliberate about what they’re writing. Instead of just putting down the first phrases that come to mind, Orwell urges writers to be absolutely clear about what they actually think and what they want to say. Then, they need to find the words that will communicate exactly that idea and the images that will make the meaning easy to understand.

And it’s as simple as that—write what you mean and mean what you write. And don’t be satisfied with close enough.

But to help writers improve their own writing, Orwell also provides six rules that are designed to solve the two main problems that affect political writing.

Now, you might think you’d only need two rules to fix two problems…but I guess Uncle George was feeling generous…

Anyhow, the first rule is: Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print

You know how the background picture on your phone or computer sort of becomes invisible over time? You see it so many times that it stops being interesting, and your brain stops paying attention to it altogether.

Same thing with figures of speech. They should be used to make your writing more interesting, engaging, and understandable. If you rely on metaphors, similes, and other turns of phrase that you have seen other writers use, it’s like trying to get someone’s attention with their phone background. It’s not going to work. So Orwell encourages writers to come up with figures of speech that are new.

Don’t let other people write for you—craft your own figurative language and put it to good use.

Second, Orwell says, “Never use a long word where a short one will do.” And that falls right in line with an emphasis on saying what you mean instead of picking words to impress people.

And I don’t want to embarrass anyone, so I won’t say too much about it—but just know that there’s nothing more obvious than a thesaurus substitution. Synonyms aren’t always interchangeable—and a short, common word that’s used well will always be more impressive than a big fancy one that’s used incorrectly.

Rule 3 is “If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.” That’s what revision is for. Your final draft should get right to the point as efficiently as possible.

Rule 4 states, “Never use the passive where you can use the active.” And I would say more about that,  but I have a sneaking suspicion that there’s a video out there somewhere about this exact rule… Hopefully you find the one I’m thinking of.

And rule 5: “Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.”

Again, the point here is to write to be understood, not to show off. If that specialized word is exactly the word you need—then, by all means, use it, but it it’s just to be fancy, maybe pick another one.

Now, at this point, I feel like Orwell’s list is a little pedantic and overdone. As helpful as these rules might be to inexperienced writers, I could pick a winning fight with any one of them.

So it’s important to remember that Orwell is writing about political writing specifically—these rules do not apply in all contexts. For example, a scientific researcher is going to have to use a lot of scientific words and passive voice that a political commentator just doesn’t need to bother about.

But this is why I think Orwell’s sixth rule is the true moment of brilliance in this essay. It could have all been one grouchy man’s rant against the decline of English followed up by a list of overly strict rules—and then this essay wouldn’t have been as interesting. For me, the sixth rules saves it all and makes the essay timeless.

And now that I’ve built it up so much, it probably won’t sound that exciting, but here it is anyway—the incredible sixth rule: “Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous. “

Isn’t that just the best thing you’ve ever seen? Orwell’s rules are meant to help writers write better sentences, but he acknowledges that writing is not a rule-based activity. It’s all situational, so he builds a release valve into his system and urges writers not to let his rules force them into writing stupid, ugly sentences. If there’s a good reason to break one of the previous rules, do it.

And that sixth rule is really at the heart of Orwell’s central argument—know what you mean to say and then say exactly that. You know better than anyone’s made-up rule whether you’re saying what you mean, so feel free to let rules guide you, but recognize that only you can be responsible for getting your point across.

Conclusion

Orwell concludes his essay  by saying: “Political language — and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists — is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. One cannot change this all in a moment, but one can at least change one's own habits, and from time to time one can even, if one jeers loudly enough, send some worn-out and useless phrase — some jackboot, Achilles’ heel, hotbed, melting pot, acid test, veritable inferno, or other lump of verbal refuse — into the dustbin where it belongs.”

Ultimately, the task of each writer is to write exactly what they mean to write. And each person who decides to raise their standard for their own writing is making a meaningful contribution to the overall improvement of political discourse.

Now, of course, the problems with political writing are not isolated to the 1940s. We may have different political jargon, for example—but it’s still political jargon and it’s still being used in despicable ways, so Orwell’s advice is as relevant as ever.

And, on some level, “Politics and the English Language” is on the same mission as this channel—to help people to become more deliberate and effective writers so that we can all enjoy more meaningful and responsible public discourse.

So I’m glad you joined us today, and I hope you’ll stick around for more. Because, you know, not to be dramatic or anything, but the world depends on it. As Orwell put it, “What is above all needed is to let the meaning choose the rod, and not the other way around.” So go write what you really mean, and I’ll see you next week.