One of the distinctions that define the human species is the nature of our ability to communicate with each other. As far as we have been able to determine, we are unsurpassed as a species in the variety and extent of the information we are able to share with each other -- largely because of our invention of a recordable and easily exchangable language. Often, societies seem to hold in highest esteem those who possess special talent in the use of words whether for fanciful or factual ends.

Since the invention of writing some 6000 years ago, the transmission of this ever-growing verbal heritage has become dependent almost completely on its being recorded in written form. Indeed, reading and writing are universally recognized as major objectives of education. Those unfamiliar with, or unable to, access this heritage are looked down upon and labeled "illiterate" or "uneducated" or "boobies" (at least in the original meaning of the term).

Note that both reading and writing are characteristics of the "educated". The purpose of this essay is to suggest that a different category of "uneducated" has become epidemic in our century: those who can and do read, but have either no ability or no inclination to write. They are familiar with literature and thus not illiterate; what shall we call them? In medicine, the word "agraphia" describes a condition in which a patient can read and speak but is unable to write. This term fails to cover those who can, but don't, write; i.e., the willfully "agraphic". Thus, I suggest the term "nongraphic" to cover both cases. (Alternative terms which might be debated include "paucigraphic" or "nonscriptic".)

If I were writing about all this for some highbrow journal, I would try to support my case by inquiring why have modern times, unlike previous centuries, produced so few examples of authors who are famous for their great literary correspondences. But to the same point and much closer to home let me just ask why so few people we know write letters anymore. Several easy answers rush to mind:

1) There is no necessity to write anymore; the invention of the telephone has made it possible to communicate over long distances orally -- a situation that did not exist 100 years ago. However, aside from cost considerations, do we, or for that matter can we, really communicate the same things talking over the telephone that we express writing a letter?

2) Writing takes time, and the pace of modern life, including all the TV programs, sporting events, etc. that occupy our attention, leaves little time left over for such pleasantries (or unpleasantries as the case may be). However, if this were entirely to blame, then one would have expected the advent of word processing and convenient e-mail to have produced a marked improvement in the exchange of significant discourse. It is true that there is a great volume of e-mail being sent at the speed of light across complex interconnected networks, but the very ease of pushing buttons seems to result in a content that is inversely proportional to convenience. Many e-mail messages seem limited to one or two original sentences often with the great bulk of the transmission filled with copies of other e-mail snippets.

But even these telling excuses don't fully justify the almost total avoidance of letter writing by either snail mail or by e-mail nowadays. Let me propose what I believe to be the primary factor that has contributed to the present graphophobia:

Throughout our formal schooling, expressing ourselves in writing seems to have been always accompanied with the shattering probability of correction, if not total rejection, because the form never seemed to meet someone's exacting standards of useage. Perhaps the sadest case of graphophobia I know of was induced in a friend at Stanford who seemed quite willing to post a note home regularly until his Mother, with certainly the best of motives, decided to help him perfect his writing skills by circling all misspelled words and underlining grammatical variances in red ink and sending his letters back to him. Even fullbacks have literary egos and this practice, as you might expect, soon solved the problem, for he who doesn't write doesn't make mistakes. Many kids view written assignments as some form of punishment and I wonder if it might be that unconsciously there is great reluctance to risk writing under scrutiny because of many years of redlined English exercises.

Now there is one final concern which I hesitate to raise since it reflects on the writee rather than the written to: There is the remote possibility that reluctance to write, specifically to answer letters, is an indication of the sentiment of the answerer towards the sender. Most of us are old fashioned enough to regard a letter received as an obligation to send a reply. And, if we are not particularly interested in continuing the infinite series of exchanges implied, we will delay answering as long as possible and end up resenting the imposed obligation.

My research has shown that only sexigenarian teachers, convinced of their continuing mission to bring enlightenment to future generations, are egocentric enough to continue sending out their invaluable advice despite the unresponsiveness of most of the audience addressed, but by the same token, no others are so pleased and uplifted by receiving responses to their extended ministry.