But because it’s someone you don’t know, and because you don’t have the opportunity to ask him or her questions, you have no way of knowing what that motive was.

However, you can make a reasonable inference.

In general, if what he or she wrote is primarily factual, it’s likely that the writer was trying to inform you of something.

If the adjectives and adverbs he or she used were more or less evenly balanced, then it’s likely that he or she was honestly offering you something for your consideration.

And finally, if the writer used big, unfamiliar words, or a lot of abstractions, or words that represented primarily intangible characteristics, then it’s almost a certainty that he or she was trying to deceive or manipulate you. Or impress you.

In the first two cases, the writer was probably sincere, and, therefore, was trying to clearly communicate something to you. In the third case, he or she was probably not.

You know, come to think of it, George Orwell had something to say about this kind of thing in his essay "Politics and the English Language": The great enemy of clear language is insincerity.

By the way, it doesn’t matter whether the vehicle involved was the New York Times or the National Enquirer, The American Spectator or Penthouse Magazine, a product of Harper & Row or just something that was self-published.

Nor does it matter whether the writer is well- or little-known, highly- or lowly- regarded by the so-called intellectual elite, or whether the piece’s reception by critics was favorable or unfavorable.

You see, insincerity comes in all kinds of sizes and in all kinds of packaging.

Think about it.