In comments to my response to Geoff Dyer's critique of academic writing, Bill Coberly suggested that "a lot of the tolerance for lousy writing in academia does come from that (probably unconscious) desire to keep academia sacred and mysterious." There's probably something to this.
On a related note, the faslanyc blog responded to both articles by excerpting a portion of a 2001 Harpers article by David Foster Wallace on this topic. Wallace calls the offending style "Academic English". I'll repeat the excerpt here:
It probably isn't the whole explanation, but, as with the voguish hypocrisy of PCE [Politically Correct English], the obscurity and pretension of Academic English can be attributed in part to a disruption in the delicate rhetorical balance between language as a vector of meaning and language as a vector of the writer's own resume. In other words, it is when a scholar's vanity/insecurity leads him to write primarily to communicate and reinforce his own status as an Intellectual that his English is deformed by pleonasm and pretentious diction (whose function is to signal the writer's erudition) and by opaque abstraction (whose function is to keep anybody from pinning the writer down to a definite assertion that can maybe be refuted or shown to be silly). The latter characteristic, a level of obscurity that often makes it just about impossible to figure out what an AE sentence is really saying, so closely resembles political and corporate doublespeak ("revenue enhancement," "downsizing," pre-owned," "proactive resource-allocation restructuring") that it's tempting to think AE's real purpose is concealment and its real motivation fear.
Many critics of my last post seemed to think that the opposite of turgidity is simplicity, maximizing efficiency of reception for a "commonsense" readership. But the similarities between academic and corporate English suggests to me that efficiency is not the opposite of mumblespeak. Rather, it's something more like earnestness, confidence, deliberateness—all features that tend to define real styles and distinguish them from false ones. There's plenty of earnest, difficult writing that's worth reading—and plenty of earnest, buttery writing too. But the many "in many ways" and signposts and all the other chaff that wrankles Dyer, this does seem like the same sort of concealment that corporate shills hawk.
