And just like that, the world is better at writing. I have noticed lately that the emails I receive have improved in quality. Even scammers use perfect prose while trying to get me to hand over my login credentials. All of this is thanks to artificial intelligence.
I have often used A.I. to clean up an email on a sensitive topic before hitting send. We might think this is wonderful, and in some ways it is, but we will not become better writers because of it. Instead, our writing ability will diminish. More importantly, we need to ask whether we will diminish as people if we misuse it.
I get it, I could have greatly improved this post’s readability if I had simply pasted it into ChatGPT and said, “Clean this up.” If I really wanted to grab your attention, I could have said, “Give me an opening sentence that draws people in.” If I wanted it to be more academic, theological, or pastoral, all I would have needed to do was give it a prompt.
What is even more astounding is the prompt could have looked like this, “dont like the way thes is said, help it be smart soundng.” And like a flash, I would have something better written than anything I could have come up with. It wouldn’t have even ended that last sentence with a preposition, but I did not ask A.I. to do any of this.
Why didn’t I use A.I.? Writing is a skill that must be used to be strengthened. It must also be used to be maintained. Every time we rely on A.I. to do our writing, we lose an opportunity for growth, and if we do it enough, our ability to write will weaken like a sedentary muscle.
Writing is also a process of honing your thoughts. When I started to write this, I had a concept, an idea, of what I wanted to communicate, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to do it. As I am writing this, I am adding these ideas to my noetic structure. Moving things around and making improvements to make sure it all holds together. There is no better way to do this than to try to articulate these ideas myself.
There have been several sentences I have deleted because, after reading them, I realized there was either something amiss in the way they were articulated, or they were contradictory to something else I had already written or believe. During this process, I have learned to avoid those pitfalls. This correction is only possible because I did the work, not A.I. In the future, when talking about this topic in person, I will know to avoid those phrases I wrote and then deleted—incorrect verbiage that I was clearly inclined to use.
I would have missed out on all these opportunities for personal development had I given A.I. my idea and asked it to spit out something for me. Sure, I would still have had to do some editing and honing, and that would be a good process, but my mind was involved in crafting every word of this article.
I can call this mine. I can look at this and say, “I wrote every word of that.” Even if A.I. could have done it better, I would have been left unfulfilled with a polished, artificially produced article in hand.
I get the temptation. Everyone else is doing it. And soon, if not already, it will become an expectation. It used to take me an hour and a half to write a board report. With A.I., I can do it in 15-20 minutes. Before long, that short timeframe will be required. If we choose to do it without the assistance of A.I., we will soon hear the question, “Why can’t you accomplish as much as your fellow employee?”
When that time comes, and A.I.’s use is even more ubiquitous than it is now, like workers on an assembly line, we will push a button to spit out our reports, and those who read them will push their button, asking for a summary and to write a response. We will then push our button to give a response to the response, and on and on it will go. Some email correspondence already feels like this.
If we short-circuit the writing process while preparing a sermon or Bible study, we are doubly impoverished. Not only do we miss out on the spiritual benefits, but we clearly think the sermon we produce is more important than the heart that delivers it. Either that, or we are blind to the spiritual impoverishment to which we are exposing ourselves.
A preacher is never ready to preach until he has wrestled with the Scripture passage, and the Lord has pressed it deeply into his soul. That doesn’t happen when artificial intelligence writes for us. Like great production on an empty song, the sermon may sound good to the listener, but its soul is hollow.
Productivity is a worthy goal, but never productivity alone. More important than what we produce is who we are. What are we becoming? It is impossible to talk about the benefits of A.I. in anything other than utilitarian language. But what about character and virtue? What about growth in godliness? Are the utilitarian benefits of A.I. neutral to our growth as people made in the image of God? Or do its benefits come at a personal cost?
D. Eaton
The Fight of Faith 