This year alone, we will collectively produce trillions of words online, from emails and essays to scripts, articles, and social media posts. The average employee now sends and receives over 120 emails per day, while platforms like X see over 500 million posts daily. Many of these words are aided or wholly produced by artificial intelligence (AI) applications such as ChatGPT, Grammarly, or Microsoft’s Co-Pilot. These tools promise to increase efficiency and amplify our output, but in this relentless race to produce more, are we quietly diminishing our ability to think deeply and feel fully?
At its essence, writing is an act of reflection. It compels us to pause, to slow the rapid churn of thought, and to observe more closely what is happening within and around us. In a world obsessed with immediacy, writing remains one of the few disciplines that require patience. Translating our emotions, experiences, and intuitions into words forces us to examine our assumptions and trace our responses back to their roots. Through writing, our vague impressions gain clarity; our beliefs and biases become more open to examination and change.
Psychologists have long noted the reflective power of writing. Research from the University of Texas at Austin found that individuals who engaged in expressive writing for just 15 minutes a day over four days had improved mental clarity, mood, and even immune function. Writing helps structure our inner chaos, it transforms the abstract into the tangible and allows us to make sense of what otherwise feels overwhelming.
This is one reason why journaling has persisted across centuries. Whether through the diaries of Anne Frank, the expedition notes of Burke and Wills, or the poetic reflections of Henry Lawson, writing has served as a critical space for discovery and self-connection. In a spiritual context, it becomes an act of attentiveness, a way to listen for God’s presence, to notice movements of the soul, or to give language to the ineffable.
But the question of writing’s relevance becomes even more pressing in an age where AI can generate a 500-word essay in under a minute. Are we outsourcing not just our productivity, but our capacity for contemplation?
For children and young adults, this challenge is especially acute. The National Literacy Trust reports that writing for pleasure among UK children has dropped by more than 25% in the past decade, with many citing the dominance of screens and social media as major reasons. Educators are increasingly noticing a decline not only in handwriting fluency but in students’ ability to construct complex written arguments or express emotions through writing. When expressive writing is replaced by taps and swipes, the inner life risks being deflated.
This is not an argument to reject technology. Tools like AI are valuable for editing, generating ideas, and consolidating research; I used AI to gather the statistics I’m citing in this article. They can free us from mechanical tasks so that our creative effort can be better focused elsewhere. Yet, we must protect the labour and grit that authentic writing demands; the grappling with thought and feeling that cannot be automated. The point is not just to produce text, but to produce understanding.
In a culture defined by speed, distraction, and noise, writing remains one of the simplest acts of resistance. It reminds us of what it means to be human: to think deeply, to feel intentionally, and to communicate with care.
Jo Maloney is the Media and Public Affairs Consultant for the Uniting Church Synod of NSW and ACT
