Christians, delete your accounts?

In late September, a journalist at Politico confirmed what voters outside of D.C. had long known—the story about Hunter Biden’s laptop that roiled the 2020 presidential campaign was, indeed, genuine. The most disturbing aspect of the story is not that the entire media establishment reflexively denied the truth of the New York Post’s initial reporting. It was that social media companies such as Twitter and Facebook immediately censored a story about presidential corruption because they were nakedly trying to influence an election.

Whether it is social media companies censoring the Biden laptop story and the Wuhan lab leak hypothesis, or their banning of voices critical of transgender ideology, it’s become patently obvious that social media is a corrupting influence on our national discourse. But changing this corrupt system is hard to do because, ultimately, the problem is us—too many people are eager participants in social media, even when we know it’s bad for us.

A few weeks ago, my pastor offered up a stern admonition for his flock: “You should delete all of your accounts. You don’t need them, and you’ll be happier.” Of course, this wasn’t a strict matter of biblical doctrine, but it’s sound advice for Christians nonetheless.

Much to my chagrin, this was one of those times in every churchgoer’s life when you’re forced to contemplate whether your pastor is using his sermon to make an example of you personally. I have over 80,000 Twitter followers, and my wife, who works for a cable news network, has a whopping 670,000.

Having a large social media presence is seen as a measure of one’s influence, particularly for journalists. Setting aside the gratification of our egos, it’s hard to deny social networks such as Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook have become important centers for discourse. Some of you reading this may even have jobs or businesses that are heavily dependent on social media.

But since its inception, social media’s business model has always been about driving “engagement”—the goal is to get you to log on and never log off. This was never healthy, and increasingly Silicon Valley engineers have admitted that their business models depend on maximizing addictive algorithms that provoke anxiety-inducing dopamine spikes.

A lot is happening in the real world to be anxious about, and we don’t need social media to make it worse. Last year’s heated election, nationwide rioting, and COVID-19 pandemic were a lot for anyone to endure. The fact most of us were trapped in our homes for months with little human contact and only an internet connection to process all that was happening proved to be a bigger health threat for many than the pandemic itself—suicide, substance abuse, domestic violence, depression, and mental illness all shot through the roof.

The good news is that, well, the good news can help save you from all of this. For example, a recent study from the Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion concluded “highly religious individuals and evangelicals suffered less distress in March of 2020” in response to the pandemic and faith “protected mental health.”

The same study also criticized religious Americans as less likely to adhere to pre-vaccine COVID restrictions, such as masking and social distancing. This may be a fair criticism in some respects, but the efficacy, implementation, and politics behind those restrictions are still debatable 18 months later. COVID restrictions that allowed casinos to operate while shuttering churches were difficult to take seriously.

While it’s tempting to think politics explains everything about American behavior in the 21st century, I submit there might be at least one other explanation for why religious Americans stayed saner during a life-threatening global pandemic: Christians felt more connected to their community at a time when, for others, fear was pervasive.

When you go to a church, you’re choosing to associate with lots of other people who you often would never associate with otherwise. But once you see that someone whose personality or politics might otherwise rub you the wrong way also shares your deepest values and beliefs, it becomes easy to overlook such differences.

And while churches are hardly devoid of damaging conflicts, in my experience, disputes between fellow congregants are usually dealt with by teaching an important Christian value for all—forgiveness.

In this respect, social media is the antithesis of Christians overlooking superficial differences and coming together in worship. Instead, social media trains us to ignore the complexity of human relationships and our good intentions, sorts us all into narrow categories, and then pits the resulting teams against each other in contests of ideological purity that inherently sinful creatures can’t possibly win.

Canadian media theorist Marshal McLuhan is famous for his observation “the medium is the message.” It should be obvious to anyone who spends minutes perusing Twitter. The medium is toxic to earnest discourse. Of course, most people know next to nothing of McLuhan’s work, so they don’t know he was a devout Catholic who also made this observation: “In Jesus Christ … it’s the one case where we can say that the medium and the message are fully one and the same.”

In this respect, it’s worth noting how Jesus’ message stands apart from what happens on social media. “Love your neighbor” is pretty much a direct contradiction of “argue with strangers on the internet.” Instead, let’s spend the time and energy most of us spend on social media building trust and persuading the people closest to us in real life. It’s certain to be more beneficial to our community, politics, and mental health than attempts at winning over someone you’ve never met with “based memes” and angry ripostes about immigration policy.

So yes, if you can, go ahead and delete your accounts. You probably don’t need them, and you will be happier. And if you must remain on social media, try to ask yourself if you love your neighbor every time you want to hit “send.” Even though I have a hard time practicing what my pastor is preaching, we all know he’s right.