The not-so-endless virtues of handwriting and the paradox of humanists

Is the brain a muscle that needs to be trained in order to grow? We’ve been hearing this repeated a lot recently. The underlying idea is rather mechanical: we write by hand to prepare ourselves for typing on a computer; we read novels to learn how to use the internet or artificial intelligence. Yesterday’s exercises, for today’s race. James Flynn, whose name is linked to the ‘Flynn effect’, also liked this metaphor: throughout the 20th century, intelligence test scores rose steadily, particularly in tests measuring the ability to reason abstractly. We can compare these scores over time because certain institutions – and especially the armed forces – began using such tests early on to classify recruits. Not that this ever served the purpose General Hammerstein had hoped for: to keep stupid but eager officers away from command.

For Flynn, that increase was no biological mystery. It was a consequence of the modern world. Science lessons had been introduced in schools. Families were having fewer children and far fewer were dying, so parents could spend more time talking to each one and encouraging them to think for themselves. People were reading more newspapers and books, and radio had arrived. Flynn also believed that in liberal societies, a young person was more likely to find an environment suited to their own inclinations. Mind and environment reinforced one another. What, then, is happening with digital technology and the way we teach today? Those who predict a cognitive disaster – a prelude to an apocalypse for humanity – always cite Norway, where handwriting is compulsory in schools and digital devices are discouraged until the age of 13 and strictly regulated until the age of 16.

In 2024, two Norwegian neuroscientists published a study involving 36 university students, who were asked to write the same words by hand, using a digital pen, or to type them on a keyboard. The electroencephalogram, which records the brain’s electrical activity, showed that during handwriting, the central and parietal areas were more extensively connected. The effect was most evident in two types of waves, theta and alpha, associated with attention and memory. To conclude from this that ‘handwriting improves learning’ is a step too far. The study did not measure learning: participants were rewriting words they already knew, and no one checked whether they remembered something new any better. The comparison was also unbalanced: those typing were required to use only their right index finger, not both hands as is usually the case. It has therefore not been proven that one learns more by writing with a pen. To support this claim, studies would be needed that directly measure memory, comprehension and learning, comparing handwriting with normal typing under realistic conditions. There is a body of research that identifies certain advantages of handwriting in recognising letters, remembering words and learning to read and write. That is a different matter.

There is also a paradox. The humanities, usually the most critical of digital technology and artificial intelligence in schools, reject the idea that human beings can be reduced to biology. For the accomplished scholar of the humanities, we are far more than the chemical reactions triggered within our bodies. This time, however, a piece of data about the brain – for example, ‘greater’ or ‘lesser’ connectivity – is treated as if it were sufficient on its own to determine whether a teaching method is good or bad. When it suits, biological data is accorded an authority that the very same stance seemed to deny it. It is argued that thought, relationships and education cannot be reduced to biology, and yet it is precisely in the neurosciences that the definitive proof of the harms of digital technology is sought. The problem is not the use of biological data. It is treating a brain signal as sufficient proof of the value – or lack thereof – of a practice. In the study on handwriting, the leap is evident. ‘More brain connections’ describes what the brain does. ‘You learn better’ is already an interpretation. ‘Therefore, it is preferable at school’ is a value judgement. These are three distinct steps, and further evidence is needed to move from one to the next.

Let’s return to Norway. It is documented that, over the last twenty years, the cognitive test scores of Norwegian conscripts have stopped rising and have subsequently fallen. Much of that data predates the digital age. It does not mean that ‘Norwegians have become less intelligent’. According to a 2025 study, a considerable part of the change relates to specific skills, education, culture and the relationship between the population and the test content, rather than a uniform decline in general intelligence. The dates may suggest a hypothesis, but the decline began too early to be attributed to smartphones and social media.