In the preparation of sermons – or the writing of syndicated columns – writers tend to say the exact same thing time after time. They revert back to previous pronouncements. They often continue on with their harangues after their really essential point has been made. And so on.

Yes, today’s topic is the redundant word or phrase. Two years have passed since we last denounced such repugnancies as “exact same,” revert back,” “continue on” and “really essential.” For too long we have neglected “2 a.m. in the morning” and the odious “free gift.” It is time to recur to fundamentals (but not to basic fundamentals) in discussing this aspect of the writing art.

The adjective “redundant” is rooted in the Latin “unda,” wave. Thus a redundant phrase is “overflowing, excessive.” For writers, the crime of redundancy involves the use of more words than are necessary to serve a writer’s purpose, whether the purpose is to inform, to educate, to arouse, to mollify, or simply to amuse. In his justly famous “little book,” Professor William Strunk long ago ordered his students to “omit needless words.” He said:

“Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.”

Strunk’s Rule 13 lies at the heart of the writing art. The art comprises two elements, clarity and style. Let me leave the little dog tricks of “style” for another day. Without clarity, our labors are wasted. What words are “unnecessary”? What words make such a contribution to “clarity” that their technical redundancy may be excused?

These are judgment calls. If we are writing for an audience of lawyers, it would be redundant to quote a “sworn affidavit” or identify a “convicted felon.” An affidavit is not an affidavit until it is sworn, and a felon is not a felon until he has been convicted of a felony. For an audience of laymen, the adjectives “sworn” and “convicted” may not be “needless” at all. They may contribute usefully to the goal of clarity.

In his “Modern American Usage,” Bryan Garner says that adept editors should be alert to 33 redundancies that he finds especially offensive. For examples, he cites absolute necessity, actual fact, advance planning, basic fundamentals, brief respite, collaborate together, general consensus of opinion, fellow colleagues, few in number, free gift, future plans, interact with each other, merge together, and mutual advantage of both.

Also, new recruit, pair of twins, pause for a moment, poisonous venom, reason is because, re-elected for another term, regress back, the same identical, still continues to, surrounded on all sides, temporary reprieve, throughout the entire, and visible to the eye.

Garner’s anathema did not embrace such old targets as “small hamlet,” “component parts” and “very unique.” He is a strict tutor, but he has his moments of leniency; he now regards “old adage” as merely a venial sin, and he surrenders on “the hoi polloi.” (The “the” is technically redundant, “but the three-word phrase predominates and ought to be respected.”)

I mellow with advancing age. In times past I have roundly denounced “four short years,” “nape of the neck” and “hot water heater.” Now the padded phrases strike me as Benign Redundancies. They are not “unnecessary.” They contribute to clarity. Other “needless” words may serve a different purpose: They contribute to style. In Professor Strunk’s exception, these are words that “tell.” Let us not condemn them without good cause.

James Kilpatrick is a syndicated columnist.

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