Since the advent of AI and various writing/design/chatbot and translation technologies, I have begun using that archaic technology known as pen and paper again. My rule is: to write first on paper, then edit on the computer—the result: increased pleasure and output in writing.
Why does this feel good? And why does it feel right now, at this period in history? It can be boiled down to the need for embodied activities. As chatbots saturate and flood our world with their soulless sentences, we must return to basics. We need to make writing dirty again.
A remedy for the meaning crisis is pen and paper, a wholesome beginning towards reconstructing your digitally damaged senses and a way to make sure you don’t produce mechanical dibble. The pen will help you develop real, hard-won intelligence, rather than the artificial kind—and to know how to recognise the difference. This is a creative challenge of creativity and not just a form of nostalgia. Sometimes you have to go back to go forward.
Just as meditation and silence are necessary for mental hygiene in the age of noise—pen and paper are hygiene for the toxic fallout of the armies of chatbots. Writers, poets, and philosophers would do well to get out the ink and paper to restore a bit of their unique style before their thoughts become indistinguishable from those of the chatbots.
In his tetrad analysis of media, Marshal McLuhan pointed out that when a new technology arises, an old technology is “retrieved”, and a new one is made “obsolete”. For example, digital exams and PowerPoint presentations will soon be obsolete because cheating with AI is too easy, and you can generate a fake presentation in less than a minute. This means oral and handwritten exams will be retrieved.
There is also the “flip” along with the retrieval when one media is saturated. Polaroids become trendy when too many digital images pollute the psyche; vinyl records and cassettes outsell CDs. This expresses a fatigue of compressed experience and a longing for private intimate experiences. People are looking for ‘special unique’ —even sacred—moments in the age of the flood. The problem is that these are often nostalgic, fetishistic activities for the elite; however, pen and paper are still cheap and available for all.
Marshall McLuhan also said that something get’s “enhanced” with the invention of new tech: with chatbots, the ‘easy button’ of information explodes, while nuance and shadow die. I expect the education system to fall apart this year because of ‘simulated thinking’. But for those who like adventure, and in the face of the ‘easy button’, we should do what philosopher Soren Kierkegaard suggested and make our lives more difficult—and apply enabling constraints.
In any case, here are a few more reasons to spill some ink and why the pen is mightier than the chatbot:
The Death of the Screen. Screens are addictive and dull the senses—they swallow up the sound of birds, distant traffic, and stray cats making love—ambient food and subtle sensation. You don't notice anything when you are plugged into your black box. AI researchers are saying that screens are on the way out. Newer technologies will make the environment transparent—soon, we will be able to write in the sky with a pen. For now, white paper is a beautiful open-ended medium.
The need for sacred space. Handwriting is a refined form of attention, like prayer. Writers know that it gives access to ‘right-brain’ consciousness and makes one more available to new information and nuance—and to the unknown rather than the know.
The Joy of Limitations. In this age of excessive information, we must limit our exposure to distractions. Pen and paper are simple activities devoid of the temptation to check emails, get sexually turned on, check out the latest war porn, clickbait videos, or dumb entertainment. There is just you and your mind in a room, and pen and paper. Turn off, shut down, and drop the pen on the paper.
Direct sensual experience. Love letters were written by hand. Handwriting is a direct expression of the spirit, which can be elegant or messy, legible or incomprehensible—or a secret language for your lover. You can see a person’s soul in the flourishes of their handwriting. Ink has a body in the way that pixels don’t. The ‘smooth’ of chatbots is anathema to creativity. AI writing makes everything smooth—let’s get rough and dirty again with words. While AI can create a decent undergraduate essay in a few seconds, great writers always write in blood and ink. AI, like a parrot, can only imitate. It can’t really be. It can’t really make love. It doesn’t have a body.
Handwriting is embodied. Writing on paper is like yoga for the mind—it is a wholesome, embodied activity. In the age of disembodied attention and spiritual egregores, we must dress down and get on the mat. Handwriting gets you in contact with the sweaty body of your thoughts.
Slowing down the mind. Writing on paper slows down our thoughts, making them legible and sensual again rather than hyperactive. When you write an idea down slowly and carefully, it takes on gravity. Word processing cleans up the echo, like digital sound—but something is lost.
To conclude, digital forces one into immediate contact with the super mob—therefore, find pen and paper, the unmediated voice. It is vitally important to separate from the undifferentiated hive. Be a knight with his wand. Write with spirit, edit with spirit, then go to the computer or the online marketplace bearing gifts.
What matters is made of spirit—without spirit, your ruminations are less than zero. Good writing in every form is made of spirit, and paper and pen are unique aphrodisiacs for the spirit.
I could go on and on, but I just wanted to say that after years of abstinence, pen and paper now feel like good sex. I just wanted to share the ecstasy!
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