The process of writing is a paradigmatic example of a process involving trial and error. From the get-go, you find yourself constantly modifying your wording, style, structure, etc. This is especially true when you write in a language that is not your mother tongue, as I am now doing. There are shortcuts to make the process as painless as possible, especially nowadays -you can be certain that correcting mistakes in the typewriter era was not much fun. For instance, if you are not totally convinced by your word choice, you can just open a new window of your browser and search for a synonym (something I have done several times up to this point). Or if you have just used a comma you’re not sure about, you might visit a grammar website to dispel your uncertainties. By reducing the amount of error involved in the process, these tools make writing easier than otherwise would be. In a certain sense, you can consider all these sources as efficiency devices that allow you to put on the paper (or, better, on the screen), the ideas you want to convey.
However, other tools, upon reflection, seem to operate in a different manner, even if they strike us as similar to the previous ones. Grammarly, a software you are probably aware of, on top of capabilities related to word choice or grammar, offers stylistic advice to its users. Amazing, right? I wouldn’t rush to that assessment though, despite the fact that the software makes the writing process as effortless as it could get. There are several worries I’d like to share in this post.
My main concern stems from the quote, “If you can’t say it clearly, you don’t understand it yourself”, attributed to many thinkers, such as Albert Einstein and philosopher John Searle. The issue with computer-assisted technologies is that the “you” in the previous quote becomes a term with a dubious reference. Let me explain. You write a sloppy or obscure paragraph explaining something. No one really understands what it says—which, by the way, is oftentimes a pretty reliable indication that you don’t, either. You then launch Grammarly and go through every underlined error, following the software’s advice on how to improve it. You don’t give it much thought before following Grammarly’s suggestions, as the whole idea of using such a software is to remove the hard work out of the creative process. Once you’re done, the text makes sense, at least kind of (or, at least, is no longer ungrammatical). You have accomplished your goal: you have said clearly what you wanted to say (most likely, your goal is just to get a good grade but anyway…). However, was it you the one doing the clearer saying, or Grammarly? It’ hard to tell, and if you are like most people, you would get defensive and firmly state that it is obviously you. The problem is that Grammarly doesn’t mind you getting the credit for the good work; self-deception, however, won’t get you far in the understanding quarter. Even if your text tells a different story, you don’t understand the ideas conveyed by it.
Grammarly, in a certain sense, remind me of something dubbed the Galileo Principle by economist Tim Harford. In the Galileo principle, an element that has been introduced to a system for a certain purpose ends up disturbing the system in precisely the manner the element was supposed to prevent. For instance, insurers can encourage riskier behaviors to the point where they are not able to pay out for the resulting consequences of those behaviours (something Harford illustrates with the 2008 financial crisis and credit default swaps). Insurance’s purpose is to make the whole system safer but its introduction can eventually backfire and lead to disturbances of the systems as a result of agents engaging in riskier behaviors. A somewhat parallel thing happens with Grammarly. It isn’t implausible to say that one of the purposes of Grammarly is to help people become better writers. However, it seems that the capabilities of the software, in fact, get in the way of people trying to reach this goal. You design a platform to create better communicators, but it does backfire and makes people worse communicators.
A second concern has to do with creative work. Creativity has been described as a process that includes as essential components resistance and courage, something beautifully conveyed here:
It would be nice to believe that resistance and superhuman effort are only contingent elements of many creative processes. However, even conceding that creativity in some areas can benefit from technological aids, as I see it, the culture of comfort and ease promoted by softwares such as Grammarly can perhaps hinder people’s potential creative endeavours. Part of the problem is that Grammary seems to impose on you by limiting your choices before you can even think about them. Think of it this way. When you’re writing, you are constantly coming back, rewriting, and editing your work. Without Grammarly, this is a painful task but one where possibilities are endless. Grammarly suggestions turn endless choices into a set of predetermined choices that hurt the creative process. In other words, Grammarly, to a certain degree, homogenizes writing. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out an empirical result showing that plagiarism scores have significantly increased after the introduction of writing software to the market—though, maybe, the high amount of word combinations can make this unlikely. In a similar vein, imagine yourself living in a (dystopian, I contend) future where every writer uses Grammarly. In such a future, it would surely be hard to tell the difference between two authors writing about similar subjects. This can also have a negative impact on people’s excitement about reading (which, sadly, is already alarmingly low).
Also, there is something deeply upsetting about the fact that Grammary indicates six issues in the following piece of writing randomly taken from Infifnite Jest by David Foster Wallace:
“The day before they left — so like five days ago — Orin was out by himself in the Jacuzzi by the pool late in the day, caring for the leg, sitting in the radiant heat and bloody late-day light with the leg in the Jacuzzi, absently squeezing the tennis ball he still absently squeezes out of habit. Watching the Jacuzzi funnel and bubble and foam around the leg. And out of nowhere a bird had all of a sudden fallen into the Jacuzzi. With a flat matter-of-fact plop. Out of nowhere. Out of the wide empty sky. Nothing overhung the Jacuzzi but sky. The bird seemed to have just had a coronary or something in flight and died and fallen out of the empty sky and landed dead in the Jacuzzi, right by the leg.”
It would be preposterous to doubt Foster Wallace’s expertise and skill as a writer, and I cannot see why this wouldn’t apply to Grammarly too (except for the fact that using such wording seems to invoke some sort of anthropomorphizing).
A final concern is more general in nature and refers to the inequalities promoted by paid software. Those in the position to pay a Grammarly subscription have an edge on those who cannot afford it, at least in the sense that they could get better grades, by using a tool that is designed with this kind of metrics in mind. Grammarly is the latest addition to a whole set of paid resources that have been unlevelling the playing field in favor of those with acquisition power (think about personal tutors, journal subscriptions, among many others). This time, however, it might backfire, as I explained before.
But, of course, not everything is bad. I would say that by standardizing people’s written communication Grammarly allows us to collaborate in more effective ways. As a result of it, there is less room for things such as ambiguity, that can lead to wasted time and mistakes. Also, it can be very useful for those working under tight deadlines, who cannot wait for the comments and feedback of a friend or colleague, and where writing is not the main purpose (e.g. a journalist reporting on the latest news through a media outlet).
Recent history has proven that fighting technology is swimming against the current. Technology will prevail, so it is crucial not to lose the sceptic look that encourages a careful and critical approach to it.