Courts are supposed to be formal institutions. That's not a bug. It's a feature. Yet increasingly, we're hearing from legal observers and even some jurists that judicial informality is not just acceptable but desirable, even inevitable. The trend toward looser language, casual tones, and less rigid procedural guardrails is being presented as modernization. What it actually represents is a gamble with institutional credibility that we should be far more cautious about endorsing.
The case for informality sounds reasonable on its surface. Judges are human beings, not automatons. Formal language can obscure rather than clarify. A Supreme Court opinion written in conversational prose might reach a broader audience than one wrapped in centuries of legalese. Why shouldn't courts adapt to contemporary communication styles?
Because courts exist in a different category than most institutions. They don't market products. They don't entertain. They adjudicate disputes and interpret law. The formality we see in judicial decisions, briefs, and courtroom procedure serves specific purposes: it creates distance between the decision-maker and the litigant, it signals solemnity and thoughtfulness, and it establishes a paper trail that future courts can rely upon. Formality is a check against bias.
When federal appellate opinions begin sounding more like blog posts, something real is lost, even if readability improves. The formality of the judicial voice has historically signaled that a judge is not speaking from personal preference or ideology. She is channeling a tradition larger than herself. Informality erodes that boundary. It invites readers to see the judge as a personality rather than an institution.
Consider the practical implications. Legal practitioners rely on precedent. They cite language from prior decisions. They parse judicial reasoning with precision. They need to know that when a judge writes something, it has been considered carefully, refined, and stands as an official record. Informal language introduces ambiguity. Casual phrasing can be misunderstood or later regretted. The institutional memory of the law requires a certain linguistic discipline.
There's also a troubling equity dimension that gets overlooked. Formal judicial language, whatever its drawbacks, is neutral in a way that conversational speech is not. Informality carries social markers. Some people's casual speech patterns read as authoritative; others' read as unreliable. A judge's turn toward informality doesn't create a level playing field. It simply changes whose communication style the system privileges.
The inevitability framing is perhaps most worth challenging. We're being told that younger judges naturally write differently, that digital natives expect less formality, that adaptation is simply the march of progress. This is not inevitable. It's a choice. Institutions can choose to maintain standards even as the world changes around them. Universities haven't abandoned essays. Legislatures haven't ditched bill language. Medical records haven't become text messages. Some domains have reasons to resist the pull toward informality.
None of this is an argument for impenetrable prose or arcane language for its own sake. Courts should be clear. Judges should communicate effectively. But there's a meaningful distance between clarity and casualness. We can have opinions that are precise, accessible, and still formally rigorous.
The burden of proof should rest with those proposing to strip away the formality that has structured judicial authority for centuries. Show us empirically that informal opinions produce better jurisprudence. Demonstrate that removing procedural rigor improves access to justice. Prove that undermining the institutional distance between judge and litigant serves the cause of impartial adjudication.
Until then, skepticism toward this trend isn't reactionary nostalgia. It's prudent institutional conservatism. Courts should change when change serves their function. Formality serves that function. The case for abandoning it remains unmade.