What writing provides cannot be achieved through life: no action of any kind can match or replace it. First, the ordering and expression of thought—the step forward from reading; the consolidation of learning and reasoning. Then, the reflective nature of the process: even if it were possible to give a speech for as long as one writes and about what one writes, speech is radically different from writing because it does not allow, or rather does not require, revision, which boils down to an in-depth reflection on what one has tried to express and a decision as to its most precise expression. For individuals, writing encourages self-analysis, combining it with an action that materializes in the record of thought. Thus, for those who write, it can function simultaneously as venting and meditation. None of this, however, expresses the main effects of the process, which could be summarized as follows: growth and transformation.
He Who Gets Used to Writing Seriously…
He who gets used to writing seriously and regularly about life will soon see the habit become a necessity which, if neglected and subjected to a period of abstinence, will make his head feel physically like exploding. It is funny how, especially at the beginning, one has to strive to crystallize the habit, one has to force the words to get used to transferring themselves onto paper. In a few years, one can no longer live without it, and the mere lack of a notepad, whether beside one’s bed or under the shower, can cause a tremendous disturbance.
Writing Impairs the Memory
Some Eastern sage said that writing impairs the memory, and that the memory, if not regularly exercised, impairs knowledge. This was said in order to justify knowledge transmitted orally and only mentally recorded. There may well be a great deal of truth in this. However, there are caveats to be made. Firstly, orality presupposes a speaker and a listener; more often than not, a master and a disciple. The master does himself good by teaching, that is, he exercises his memory in the act of teaching. The disciple, on the other hand, listens to him, and does so only with a view to becoming a master in the future. It is also assumed that the master has had a master. And from this we see that such a statement, although it may be true, presupposes a tradition, an environment, in other words, non-existent for most mortals. Supposing there is no disciple, what would the master do to exercise memory? It is not certain that giving speeches to the walls is the best option.
The Dungeons of Thought
An independent thinker concerned with the ultimate purposes of existence must necessarily lodge for a time in the dungeons of thought. And then to study and know them. Some remain there for life; but it seems, however, that the time comes when he must leave them and return to the previous environment, as the heroes always return from their journeys: transformed and with something to teach.