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This is one of those evergreen topics for academics, and for those who love to hate academics.  (Or, in some cases I suppose, who hate to love them.)  Ann Althouse links to an article by an economist who confesses that he has deliberately written "to impress rather than inform," and writes, "I lost my patience with unnecessarily complicated writing a long time ago."  Orin Kerr writes about this as well, adding that "the problem in legal scholarship is that complex and sophisticated words create the impression of complex and sophisticated arguments."  At The Faculty Lounge, Eric Muller offers his succinct agreement.  But our own Marc DeGirolami, in the comments to Eric's post, says, in effect, hold the phone: "If this is merely a call for elegant writing, then I suppose I agree (who could be against that?). But if it is a rallying call for simplicity for its own sake, then I think it misguided. Simple and clear is not the only way to express ideas -- especially complex ideas -- in a way that can be academically edifying."

Those of us with memories that extend a couple of weeks back may recall some discussion of who Marc writes for (somewhere between no one and himself), and that he was criticized for this in some corners.  Those of us who have actually read Marc's work know that it is pellucid and enjoyable.  So what gives?  Is he giving ammunition to his critics?  The commenters above have clearly staked out the popular position, and the cognoscenti can certainly fill in the missing snipes at Judith Butler et al.  But is there some justice to Marc's position?

You betcha, although there is also justice in the standard position.  The original article by the economist describes deliberately making writing obscure in order to win influence.  That is a cardinal sin of academic writing, or any other kind of writing.  My sense is that a still larger group of legal academics probably fall into obscurity without this kind of malicious intent; they're aping what they see around them, or they're just not taking the time to think about what they're writing and boil it down.  That's a sin too, although perhaps a venial rather than a mortal sin.  

But the key is the idea of making writing unnecessarily obscure.  Technical writing can be "obscure" to a general audience, but that writing can also be necessary to put thoughts down precisely in a way that will be understood by the relevant audience.  Non-technical writing should certainly try to avoid obscurity, but not at all costs.  If an idea is difficult to express clearly without boiling away some of its essence, or if it expresses ideas that are obscure because they are ineffable, or if some of its obscurity is also part of its grace and beauty, we shouldn't view that as a fatal blow against it.  There is more in heaven and earth than can be expressed in a "see Dick run" style.  One of my favorite writers is Norman Maclean, and he is often cited, often in a somewhat hostile register, as a model of breathtaking simplicity of style.  But some of his greatest writing can be returned to again and again because it lives in its absences and silences, in meanings that are far from plain from the face of the text.  It's simple writing, but it's not always clear.  That's called poetry, bub, and there can be a place for it -- even in academic writing.  

Orin is surely right that too much academic legal writing is neither poetic nor clear, but just dresses up basic and often trite ideas in ten-cent diction.  By all means let us avoid that.  But I think the fear that Marc expresses is that these kinds of common-sense views about what writing should be can become anti-intellectual dogma -- that they can be used by, say, blog commenters to sneer at academic or difficult writing in general without bothering to look at the writing itself.  "Write simply" is a pretty good rule of thumb.  "Write appropriately" is even better.  

Incidentally, not all of the blame for this tendency toward obscurity (although most of it, to be sure) lies at the feet of the writer.  The article Althouse references discusses how the economist in question did worse when he submitted clearly written articles to (peer-reviewed) journals than when he submitted the same article in a more obscure form.  On the whole, and perhaps contrary to popular belief, I think legal academic articles place better if they are clearly written than if they are written in a jargon-ridden fashion.  (Look at guest-blogger John Greenman's great article On Communication, which was both incredibly readable and very well-placed -- but was technical when it had to be.)  But it is probably also true that the law review selection process can sometimes give a little extra weight to submissions whose unnecessarily obscure or jargon-ridden language conveys the illusion of substance and authority.  Legal academics, even junior ones, should have enough moral backbone to disregard this moral hazard; but law review editors should certainly remind themselves to be part of the solution, not the problem.    

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