What would it profit a man to gain the whole world but lose his voice? The Little Mermaid, in Hans Christian Andersen’s original telling, makes such a wager in an attempt to leave behind her mermaid nature and join the world of men. 

For the chance to become human, fall in love and acquire an immortal soul, she trades her voice, her most prized possession, knowing that it will never return.

Today, with the rise of artificial intelligence (AI), we face a similar dilemma. By allowing machines to speak and think for us, we can escape the limits of human intelligence and the time and toil human processing demands. But if this costs us our voices, will the bargain be worth it?

The question is a very real one in my own field of work: medicine. In recent years, the medical field has seen an explosion of AI note-writing, a resource I would have longed for as a young medical student. Now, an AI tool can record a patient encounter on a smartphone, generate a well-organized summary of the patient’s history, and synthesize recommendations and treatment plans according to the user’s preferred style and formatting. The physician simply needs to proofread the content, make small edits, sign it, and move on to the next patient. 

But when I started using an AI transcription program at work, something in me recoiled. Yes, it saved me time, and the medical facts were accurate. But something was missing. My medical opinion on complex neurological illnesses was being relayed to my colleagues under my signature, in words I did not write. Patients’ charts were now flooded with similar documentation while we, as physicians, seemed all too eager to let machines communicate for us. 

It’s worth asking what is lost in this kind of AI-mediated writing, not just in medical note-taking, but in similar activities in other fields, from legal correspondence to classroom instruction. Or first, why writing is an important human act.

A human voice speaks words. These words, once spoken, can be recorded and expressed through writing. The epics of Homer, the letters of Paul and the plays of Shakespeare are a record of words and stories that concretize human speech and express an echo of the Logos, the Word Made Flesh, in whose image men speak and compose.

But the distinctly human act of writing is under threat everywhere in a world of growing AI ubiquity. Chatbots can now produce and edit large swaths of comprehensible language in an instant, allowing humans to abbreviate or forego the painful process of drafting, proofreading and editing.

These tools are now being used to write academic papers and compose or summarize emails, revealing a willingness to surrender our own words even when corresponding directly with another human being. By using these tools for these purposes, we are, like the Little Mermaid, selling our voices for convenience and freedom from the often difficult work of communication and composition.

What would be lost in a world without human writing? A novel, an academic paper, an email — even a doctor’s note — is a mode of exchange between persons. No matter its purpose, style or composition, each form of writing is meant for a human being who will open and read it. 

Every time we speak or write, we reveal part of our souls and personalities and commune with others. While AI can summarize data frighteningly well, only a human voice, written or spoken, can communicate that data as a thought, a message or an invitation. To let AI write for us and thus surrender our language would compromise the human voice, what Pope Leo XIV has called one of “the defining elements of every encounter with others.” 

The process of writing also provides a space for the writer to think critically, distilling his reactions and intuitions into a coherent expression of thought. In medicine, this work allows the physician to refine impressions from the exam room and arrive at the best treatment plan for the patient. 

For an academic, it offers the opportunity to reflect on and communicate the salient messages of his work to others in his field. For the poet or novelist, writing draws out elements of innate human experience that are inaccessible to a machine. 

Escape from this worthwhile effort will smuggle in a temptation to laziness and complacency that will erode our cognitive skills and dim our souls. AI can assist us, but it should not think for us. 

Admittedly, AI technology is still in its infancy. It will improve and evolve. Note-taking tools, research devices and writing assistants might, in theory, be used without supplanting our speech and dimming our intellects. But, as Scripture says, wide is the path that leads to destruction. 

AI provides an easy path that will always be, well, easier. Instead of letting ourselves be swept along by the current of progress, we must stay alert and learn how the tools work. We must judge carefully how to use some tools and avoid others and, rather than adopting every new technology of the day, follow St. Paul’s advice to “test everything and hold fast to what is good.”

After a couple weeks of working with my AI note-taker, I returned to writing my own notes. I may work a bit slower. I may be behind the times. But my notes communicate my own thoughts and words, and that is a product I will sign my name to. 

Our voices and words are sacred. They are ours, and they are echoes of Him who gave them to us. They should not be given away — even in so noble a pursuit as medicine.

Jacob Goodwin, M.D., is a practicing neurologist from northern Minnesota where he lives with his wife and five children. In addition to clinical practice, he enjoys reading, writing, and homeschooling his children.