Screens and anxiety: neither villain nor savior
A child psychiatrist argues in The New York Times that the screen isn't the problem; I think app design does matter.
Your phone isn't ruining your life. It won't save it either. A child psychiatrist suggests in The New York Times, when discussing screens and anxiety, that the problem isn't the screen.
The title of his column is a thesis in itself: "I'm a Child Psychiatrist. Screens Aren't the Problem." I agree with the core idea, and yet I'd add a layer that matters to a 20-year-old reader: compulsive use is also designed on the other side of the glass.
What he gets right: blaming the object is easy
A rectangle of glass has no will. Scripture never turns objects into moral subjects; it speaks of the heart that uses them. Paul said it plainly: "All things are lawful for me, but not all things are helpful. 'All things are lawful for me,' but I will not be dominated by anything" (1 Corinthians 6:12, ESV).
«The board is tilted: someone designed the app so you won't close it.»
That's why the psychiatrist's approach seems healthy to me. If the phone were the culprit, turning it off would be enough and anxiety would go with it. It doesn't work that way. I'm also wary of technophobia disguised as spirituality: disconnecting doesn't make you holier, nor does connecting make you more worldly.
What's missing: someone designed that swipe
My nuance is concrete. Much of compulsive use doesn't come from your lack of character: it's reproduced by a product designed so you won't close it. Autoplay, the notification that drops right when you turn off the light, the list that never ends. The board is tilted: someone designed the app so you won't close it.
I'm not saying you're a victim without willpower. I'm saying that if the diagnosis stops at "the screen isn't the problem," the one who measured every detail to retain you is left out of the picture. Responsibility is yours and also that of the one who built the hook. I wonder how many of our distractions aren't rebellion but someone else's design.
What it means for you, who grew up between two lies
At 16 and at 30 we were sold two stories in the same package. One: technology would make us better, freer, more connected. Another: every hour in front of a screen was a point less of health and piety. Both treat the human being as a calculation.
Faith tells another story. You are the image of God before being a user, and no screen-time log can tell you who you are. You are also someone fallen, capable of choosing what wears you out. That's why time is managed, not worshiped. See Ephesians 5:15-16: walk diligently, as wise, making the best use of the time.
And there's a way out that doesn't go through the phone: community. A small group, a local church, people who know you and ask about your week. No app can give you that.
This week I suggest a small, honest exercise. Open your phone's usage log and look for that app you open to rest and close more tired. Move it off your home screen, silence its notifications for seven days, and note how you feel. And tell me: which app leaves you empty?
