Why it pays to not have an editor.

Why it pays to not have an editor.

Why it pays to not have an editor.

Political commentary and more.
Oct. 28 2003 3:45 AM

The Case Against Editors

Why it still pays to not have one.

The take-home lesson from last week's  Easterbrook affair seems to be that it was a blow against blogging, or at least unedited blogging. Any halfway-decent editor would have made Easterbrook recast the offending paragraph before publication, after all. The ADL would be happy and Easterbrook would be happy. New Republic'sLeon Wieseltier, who stood up for his colleague, nevertheless told the L.A. Times' Tim Rutten that the episode illustrated

the hubris of this whole blogging enterprise. There is no such thing as instant thought, which is why reflection and editing are part of serious writing and thinking, as Gregg has now discovered.

Fair enough. But we don't stop driving just because someone has an accident!  A few points on the blog side:

1. Edited pieces crash all the time.  I myself managed to make a similar moral error in the actual, printed pages of the New Republic, as discussed here. Several layers of editors did not stop me. Although TNR's editor-in-chief later told me he objected to the misguided paragraph--after it had been distributed to the libraries of the world--I noticed the same argument on exactly the same page of the New Republic a few years later in a piece by someone else. Old-media pieces--New York Times op-ed columns being the most prominent example--often sluice into print with very little intervention beyond mild copyediting.  Paul Krugman might as well be blogging.

2.  What about all the blogs that land safely? Editing makes embarrassing errors less likely. That doesn't end the argument, because the purpose of writing isn't simply to avoid embarrassing errors. There are benefits to blogging, including speed and uncensorabilty, that compensate for the greater risk of humiliating folly. And the virtue of speed isn't simply, or even primarily, that you can scoop the competition. It's that you can post something and provoke a quick response and counter-response, as well as research by readers. The collective brain works faster, firing with more synapses. In theory, "faster" can mean "fast enough to have real-world consequences" that print journalism or even edited Web journalism can't have. (The obvious example: Post-debate spin, where every minute counts. If only James Lee Witt had a blog, Al Gore might be alive today.)

3. First thought, good enough thought! Wieseltier's right about the hubris that has accompanied the growth of blogging--the pretense that editing doesn't ever improve pieces, that it just dulls prose down and gets in the way, that an ecstatic unmediated interaction between writer and reader will eliminate such obsolete impediments and (incidentally) reveal the entire structure of print journalism as a fraud, that the elites are no better at analysis than anyone else, that they just held a monopoly, etc. But the better argument for blogging is that while editing almost always improves things, it doesn't improve things enoughto be worth the loss of speed and the risk of excessive self-censorship. Exhibit A here is Daniel Weintraub's Sacramento Bee blog. A few weeks ago, in the heat of the California recall campaign, nervous Bee executives made Weintraub start submitting his copy to an editor. The jury is now in: Weintraub's blog is still good but there's no question it isn't as vivid as it was before.

4. Got hubris? How do the risks of blogging compare with other types of speech? How about talking? Even Serious Thinkers talk. Why isn't blogging like talking, except that you are talking to (potentially) the whole world? That isn't so innovative. Talking on television is talking to (potentially) the whole world, without an editor in sight. I've even seen Leon Wieseltier on TV on occasion. Talking on television is actually more dangerous than blogging, because on the Web there's an opportunity to revise in a way that will actually perform a corrective function. You can't go back and change what you said on Nightline. And if there's a hubris of Weblogging, there's also a hubris of Gutenberging--the idea that you can routinely comment on current events in a way that merits permanent commitment to paper. What's more arrogant than hitting "send"? Hitting "print."

5. C-SPAN at TNR: If blogging is like talking on national television, a key difference is that on the Web the talking is itself a crucial part of the editing function--the "collective brain" process.  When they aren't on national television, old-school writers talk at least in part to get the reaction of others, including their editors. Then they modify their thoughts accordingly. That's a lot of what goes on in the halls of the New Republic. Instead of talking in private, bloggers blog. We may have no editors--no halls for that matter--but we do have readers, and they have e-mail. They in effect become our editors. The dialogue is basically the same; the difference is with blogging the process is public. When I worked for the New Republic, editor-in-chief Martin Peretz enjoyed the editorial meetings so much he wanted to televise them on C-SPAN. Blogging is a bit like Marty's idea, with the crucial added benefit that the viewers can talk back.

6. The lesson of Luke Ford: I don't want to minimize the difference between trying out your ideas in private conversations and trying them out on the Internet.  I didn't realize just how irresponsible we normally are in everyday private conversations until I encountered L.A. blogger Luke Ford. Ford goes around to parties and immediately posts snatches of his conversations on the Web. His reporting is impeccable. He has faithfully quoted me libeling dozens of people on two separate occasions. The second time I was even trying to be careful--but I was still operating under the conversational illusion that the range of my statements was limited.

7. Speech's Dirty Little Secret: Is there a reason we tolerate greater irresponsibility in private spoken conversation? I'd say yes. It's functional--it helps us probe for information and try out ideas that might not be ready for Broadway. Life would grind to a halt if everyone we met was Luke Ford.  Is this functional difference between spoken and printed speech acknowledged in libel law? I haven't brushed up on my First Amendment, but I suspect not. It may be that the only reason spoken speech can perform the off-Broadway function it performs--allowing people to try out ideas, even outrageous ideas, and see which one flies--is that the Times v. Sullivan "reckless disregard of truth or falsity" standard cannot, as a purely practical matter, be applied to most spoken conversations the way it is applied to printed speech. (For starters you'd need an eavesdropping system connected to a computer that could track all conversations, and that doesn't exist--except maybe in North Yorkshire.)