Open your phone right now and look at the screen time report. Not to feel guilty — just to notice. Most of us would be a little startled by the number. Not because we're bad people, but because that number represents hours we never consciously chose to spend. The scroll just happened, the way weather happens.
That's the thing almost nobody says out loud about social media: the problem isn't usually what we decide to do with it. It's that we don't decide at all. We reach for the phone the way you'd scratch an itch — before the conscious mind has even registered the impulse. And that reflex, repeated a hundred times a day, is doing something to our interior life that we rarely stop to examine.
Latter-day Saints have a peculiar advantage here, and it's not the one you'd expect. It isn't a list of rules. The Church has been remarkably restrained about handing out rules for screens. What we have instead is a framework for seeing — a way of asking what any tool is actually doing to the soul that holds it.
The question Elder Bednar keeps asking
Back in 2009, long before most of us had smartphones, Elder David A. Bednar stood at a BYU–Idaho fireside and said something that sounded almost alarmist at the time. He "raised an apostolic voice of warning about the potentially stifling, suffocating, suppressing, and constraining impact of some kinds of cyberspace interactions and experiences upon our souls." The talk was called "Things as They Really Are," borrowing the phrase from Jacob, who said the Spirit "speaketh of things as they really are, and of things as they really will be" (Jacob 4:13).
What's striking is that he didn't say technology was evil. He said the opposite — that "neither technology nor rapid change in or of itself is good or evil." Then he handed his listeners two questions, and I'd argue these two questions are the most useful thing the Church has ever given us on this subject:
"Does the use of various technologies and media invite or impede the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost in your life?
Does the time you spend using various technologies and media enlarge or restrict your capacity to live, to love, and to serve in meaningful ways?"
Notice what those questions refuse to do. They don't ask how many minutes you spent. They don't ask whether the content was technically clean. They ask about direction — toward the Spirit or away from it, toward larger loving or smaller loving. The same app, the same half hour, can answer those questions differently on Tuesday than it did on Monday. That's not a loophole. That's the whole point. The gospel is asking you to stay awake to the effect, not to memorize a policy.
Fifteen years later, in 2024, Bednar came back to the same campus and gave "Things as They Really Are 2.0." His verdict on the intervening years was blunt: "The warning voice I raised in 2009 was earnest, emphatic and urgent... That was then. The warning voice I raise today is more earnest, more emphatic and even more urgent, because the technology perils and possibilities we are discussing are everywhere, all the time. This is now."
The two-sided prophet
Here's where it gets interesting, and where a lot of well-meaning members oversimplify. If you listen only to the warnings, you'd think the faithful move is to delete everything and retreat to a cabin. But the very same prophets who warn us most sharply are the ones most aggressively using these platforms.
President Russell M. Nelson is the clearest case. In 2018 he told the youth that "if you are paying more attention to feeds from social media than you are to the whisperings of the Spirit, then you are putting yourself at spiritual risk — as well as the risk of experiencing intense loneliness and depression." He asked them to fast from social media for seven days. He asked the women of the Church to fast for ten, inviting them to notice what happens "after taking a break from perspectives of the world that have been wounding your spirit."
And then, in November 2020, that same prophet looked into a camera and asked the whole world to flood social media — to turn it into "your own personal gratitude journal" for seven days under the hashtag #GiveThanks. "Working together," he said, "we can flood social media with a wave of gratitude that reaches the four corners of the earth." More than 65 million people saw that message.
Fast, then flood. Is that a contradiction? Only if you think the medium is the issue. It isn't. The prophet who begged the youth to put their phones down is the same prophet who begged the world to pick them up and say something true. What changed between the two invitations wasn't the technology. It was the intent, and the fruit.
Elder Bednar made the principle explicit back in 2014: "Technology in and of itself is neither inherently good nor bad. Rather, the purposes accomplished with and through technology are the ultimate indicators of goodness or badness." He called members to "sweep the earth" with messages that are "authentic, edifying, and praiseworthy" — which is just Philippians 4:8 in a modern wrapper. Whatsoever things are true, honest, pure, lovely, of good report — post on these things.
Agent or object
But I want to go underneath the "good content versus bad content" conversation, because I think there's something deeper the Restoration sees that other worldviews miss.
Lehi taught his sons that God created "things to act and things to be acted upon" (2 Nephi 2:14). That distinction is the quiet axis of the entire plan of salvation. A rock is acted upon. A soul acts. The whole purpose of mortality, in Latter-day Saint theology, is to prove that we are the kind of beings who can choose and act for ourselves rather than merely react.
Now hold that next to how a social media feed actually works. It is engineered — brilliantly, expensively, relentlessly — to make you an object. The algorithm studies you so it can act upon you. The infinite scroll exists precisely to remove the moment of decision, to keep you reacting long after you meant to stop. Elder Bednar put it with chilling precision in 2024: the technology, if we let it, can transform us "from agents who can act into objects that are only acted upon." And then the line that should stop any of us cold — by surrendering our agency to it, "we may unwittingly help Lucifer to achieve in mortality what he was unable to accomplish in premortality."
Think about what that means. The premortal war was over agency. Lucifer's plan was to remove it. And here we are, a third of our waking hours offering it up voluntarily, thumb-first, to a machine that never once wondered whether we existed.
This is why the secular framing — "practice digital wellness, it's good for your mental health" — is true but far too small. The gospel isn't mainly worried about your sleep or your dopamine, though it cares about those. It's worried about whether you are still an agent. Whether you still act. Because the single most valuable thing you brought from the premortal world, the thing that makes salvation even possible, is the capacity to choose. And that is exactly the thing the scroll is designed to dissolve.
What honesty requires us to admit
I don't want to pretend the gospel hands us a tidy answer, because it doesn't. The hard truth is that social media is genuinely woven into how we work, how we keep up with family across oceans, how converts first found the missionaries, how a grieving friend lets you know she's grieving. President Nelson himself used it to reach tens of millions with a prayer. For most of us, deleting everything isn't discipleship — it's just opting out of a mission field.
So the line isn't between the connected and the disconnected. It runs right down the middle of each of us, and we have to find it again every single day. Elder Gerrit W. Gong, in a 2026 workshop on technology, drew the boundary about as well as anyone: "Artificial intelligence can answer questions, but it cannot answer prayers." The same could be said of a feed. It can show you a thousand faces and leave you lonelier than before. It can give you information by the firehose and never once give you truth, because truth, as Jacob said, comes by the Spirit — and the Spirit doesn't trend.
There's a young woman from Peru who wrote recently about resetting her social media algorithm — unfollowing accounts, changing filters, becoming "more mindful." She called it resetting her "spiritual algorithm too." I love that, because it captures the actual work. You are not a victim of the feed. You trained it, and you can retrain it. That is an agent's move. That is acting rather than being acted upon.
One thing to try this week
Don't start with a vow to quit. Start with a single question, and ask it in real time — not in the abstract, but the next time your thumb is already moving toward the icon: Right now, is this making me an agent or an object? Am I about to act, or about to be acted upon?
You'll find you can't ask that question and keep scrolling mindlessly. The asking itself breaks the spell, because it drags the choice back into the light where you can make it. Some days the honest answer will be "I'm reaching out to someone I love" or "I'm about to share something true," and you should scroll on with a clear conscience. Other days the answer will be "I'm numbing out," and you'll put it down — not out of guilt, but because you remembered you're a son or daughter of God who was made to act.
The Lord's invitation in this dispensation is almost absurdly simple, and He gave it to Oliver Cowdery in words that fit on a phone's lock screen: "Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not" (D&C 6:36).
Every thought. Including the ten thousand little ones that the feed is quietly trying to think for you. The question was never really about social media. It was always about who gets to author your attention. Heaven is still asking. The machine is counting on you not to notice that it's asking too.