Summary
In the second section of the essay Orwell moves on from the politics of writing to focus specifically on political writing itself. He opens with the claim that political writing is bad writing. The cause of this has to do with writers being a mouthpiece for a general party line and not expressing their autonomous “opinion.” He claims that to do this in political writing is a rebellious act. Political pamphlets, speeches etc. have a commonality between different parties: this is that they never have a “fresh, vivid, homespun turn of speech” (255).
He develops an image of a political speaker pantomiming the party line. He says that when certain political phrases are repeated, the speaker of these phrases has gone out of their way to render themselves into a form of dummy, curtailing their independent thought so as to reiterate accepted party line. He compares the political speechmaker to a churchgoer, reciting litany.
Orwell’s political position begins to emerge at this point, as he says that political speech and writing have become largely a “defense of the indefensible” (255). Here we come to understand his view on the implications of the poor language he’s been discussing (a view that—consistent with his thesis—he refuses to obscure). A pivotal argument arises when he explains the implications of abstract, meaningless language. The indirect aspect and vagueness of political language, he argues, allows for the defense of such things as: “the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan…. All of these can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of political parties” (256). Using concrete, descriptive language he lists the types of atrocities that certain abstract political terms cover up. By using abstract terms in place of concrete or descriptive terms a political writer is able to obscure the reality of the cause they are defending. “Pacification; transfer of populations or rectification of frontiers; elimination of unreliable elements” are examples of rhetorical abstractions that can be deployed for political purposes without the user taking responsibility for the often violent reality of the processes they’re describing.
In this part of the discussion, Orwell highlights the defense of Soviet totalitarianism. He examines the style of abstractions used to apologize for Soviet atrocities and ultimately to cover them up. Abstract language, he shows, serves a political agenda by suspending reality from the language of justification.
At this stage of the essay it becomes apparent that all language is implicated in the problem he’s discussing. “There’s no such thing as ‘keeping out of politics’,” he claims. “All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred and schizophrenia. When the general atmosphere is bad, language must suffer' (256). The feedback loop between language and politics exists not only on level of the individual writer; it pervades the entire political sphere. A corrupted political “atmosphere” perpetuates itself through poor language. Even “people who should know better,” he claims, are implicated. Using slight corruptions or seemingly benign familiar phrases is a weakness that leads to further corrosion of thought. Orwell doesn’t exempt himself from these corruptions. He says that his essay likely bears many of them. The point is not to expect some kind of pure transparency. Honesty is a process, an ongoing effort to question the meaning of one’s language and think independently and to contribute original thinking rather than mere repetition.
He argues that a reversal of poor uses of language is possible and that there is value in struggling for this. He gives examples of some uses of clichés in political speech at which journalists have recently jeered. He suggests that certain corruptions such as the “not un- formation” and others, might be ridiculed away (257).
He then lists the things that a defense of English doesn’t have to do with: preserving archaic terms; proper grammar; oversimplifications. Instead, he says that it does have to do with efficiency and clarity, making your language as effective as possible in delivering your meaning. He discusses the process of thinking of an object or idea and attempting represent that object. He explains how it’s possible to think without language when thinking of a concrete thing. In order to represent that thing there’s typically a process of visualization. When you think of an abstract idea, however, language begins to flood your thoughts and can easily swamp and ruin the idea “unless you make a conscious effort” to mitigate or control the flow (257). The point is to be the one in charge of that flow and the terms you use to represent your thoughts, rather than the other way around.
Orwell presents a list of rules to allow the writer to avoid vagueness:
i. Never use a metaphor, simile or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
ii. Never use a long word where a short one will do.
iii. If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
iv. Never use the passive where you can use the active.
v. Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent
vi. Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous (257)
While these rules may seem simple, Orwell says, the change in attitude that they entail is not.
In concluding, he claims that he’s not arguing for a retreat from language or from political struggles. His main point is to draw attention to the connection between “political chaos” and the “decay of language” (258). His essay is also about resisting orthodoxies. “Political language” of all types, he concludes, “is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind” (258). He ends where he began, by arguing for the importance of the effort to resist corrupt language.
Analysis
In the second part of the essay, Orwell reveals the politics of his discussion. His critique of language is in fact a critique of the politics of all language, but most cuttingly, a critique of partisan arguments. His discussion implicates all language use, including his own, but political language is the main target. As becomes clear, the essay is an indictment of explicitly partisan positions and party politics. But unlike familiar angles and identifiably political arguments, his position isn’t easily recognizable as a political one. This is no coincidence, though, as familiar political positions are the main thing he’s critiquing. He’s not targeting a single political opponent or propounding a single party agenda. He’s going after party lines and political rhetoric as a whole.
In his critique of dead, unoriginal and abstract language, there’s an inherent and totalizing condemnation of the language of party politics. For it would seem difficult, if not impossible, to reiterate a familiar, identifiable “party line” by using fresh, original language, or by thinking independently. If a political writer or speaker thinks independently and asserts agency in articulating their ideas, if they follow Orwell’s guidelines, their ideas can’t be repetitions of pre-established party positions. Accordingly, it would be hard to exempt any outright, openly partisan language, or any language that is easily associated with a common political ideal, from Orwell’s critique.
Near the end of the essay Orwell states openly that he’s going after political speech and writing. But this doesn’t mean that he feels that people cannot or should not write politically. On the contrary, as he explains, there’s no escape from politics. Everything is, in some sense, political. No one can exempt themselves from it. But how people write and speak politically is what is most important. Any political language that conforms to standardized terms or common figures of speech, from the most politically charged to the simplest turn of phrase, reflects laziness, lack of thinking, and the sin of pantomiming the opinions of others.
While hardline, clearly identifiable party positions might be eliminated through his guidelines, it doesn’t follow that political writers would be in eternal opposition by never "agreeing" on political doctrine. Independent thinking isn’t oppositional thinking. There could easily be similarities between different articulations. But these articulations would be fluid. There would be less in the way of “positions” and more of an evolving, continuous dialectical exchange, rather than static political oppositions.
It's important to note a point that comes near the end of the essay, which is that Orwell isn't advocating perfectionism. At first glance, his rules for independent thinking seem like they might have a silencing effect, in that there would be almost no turn of phrase that would be truly independent. Sentence construction depends on a certain conformity. But Orwell isn't promoting precision or exactness; he's not claiming that every sentence has to be completely "original." Instead, he's calling for writers to check their ideas and language against a set of basic guidelines.
One other important final caveat that he makes is that his discussion doesn't pertain to creative literary expression.
