Something strange happens when new technology emerges. Within weeks, sometimes days, certain Christian circles reach consensus:

"It's dangerous. It could be used by the enemy. We need to stay away."

The pattern repeats with remarkable consistency. It happened with the printing press. With photography. With television. With the internet. And now with artificial intelligence.

But here's what troubles me as both a believer and someone who has spent 27 years studying how human minds work: the speed and uniformity of these responses don't look like spiritual discernment. They look like something else entirely.

This article isn't about whether any particular technology is good or bad. It's about something more fundamental: How do we tell the difference between genuine spiritual discernment and fear-based reactions that merely wear spiritual language?

Because if we can't tell the difference, we risk two serious errors: rejecting things God might actually want us to engage with, or worse, mistaking our community's anxiety for the Holy Spirit's guidance.

The Pattern We Need to See

Let me tell you about a fascinating moment in church history. When Johannes Gutenberg's printing press began spreading through Europe in the 1450s, many church leaders were horrified. Here was a machine that could produce written material at unprecedented speed. Surely this would spread heresy. Surely this was a tool of darkness.

The same printing press now produces our Bibles.

Similar concerns arose about photography (it supposedly captured souls), about radio (demonic voices coming through the air), about television (a portal for evil into your home). Each time, the initial Christian response in many circles was fear and avoidance. Each time, the predicted total spiritual catastrophe failed to materialise. Each time, the technology eventually became normalised—even in the communities that first rejected it.

But here's what we need to be honest about: that doesn't mean no one was harmed. Television did change family dynamics. The internet created real struggles with pornography and isolation. Social media has genuinely damaged mental health for many people.

So the fears weren't entirely wrong. Real harm did occur. But here's the tragedy: because the initial response was often "this is demonic—avoid it entirely," the Church frequently failed to do the harder work of helping people engage safely. Instead of practical wisdom about real risks, people got blanket rejection. And when they engaged anyway—because they always do—there was no framework for doing it well.

The fearful response didn't protect people. It left them unequipped.

This pattern should make us deeply curious. Not dismissive of spiritual concerns—but genuinely curious about what's happening when fear replaces the slower, harder work of developing wisdom.

Here's what I've come to understand: fear moves faster than discernment. And that speed comes at a cost.

When something new appears, a community faces a choice. They can take the slow path: careful analysis, prayerful reflection, testing, discussion, and eventual informed consensus. This takes time. It's messy. It requires holding uncertainty.

Or they can take the fast path: frame it as dangerous. Possibly demonic. Something to avoid. This creates instant clarity. Everyone immediately knows the "safe" position. No one has to sit with uncomfortable uncertainty or risk being wrong.

The speed itself should concern us. When have you ever seen genuine wisdom move that quickly?

What's Really Happening

I want to be very clear about something: I believe spiritual warfare is real. I believe there is an adversary who seeks to destroy. I believe discernment matters deeply.

But precisely because I believe these things, I'm concerned when I see fear doing the work that discernment should do.

Here's what I've observed: in many Christian communities, there's an unspoken economy of influence around warning about dangers. The person who sounds the alarm gets attention. They become the wise watchman, the discerning prophet. There's status in being the one who warns the flock.

This creates a subtle pressure. Once one influential voice declares something dangerous, agreeing becomes the socially safe position. Questioning the alarm—even thoughtfully—risks being seen as naive, worldly, or spiritually compromised.

So the belief spreads. Not because each person has independently sought God. Not because they've carefully tested the thing in question. But because going along with the group consensus feels safer than standing alone with uncertainty.

This is what I mean when I say fear masquerades as discernment. The conclusion looks spiritual. The language sounds biblical. But the actual process that produced it had more to do with social dynamics than with genuine seeking of God's wisdom.

The Question That Reveals Everything

There's one question that cuts through confusion about whether we're doing genuine discernment or just reacting from fear:

"What would change your mind?"

This isn't a trick question. It's a diagnostic one.

If someone says "nothing could change my mind about this technology being dangerous," they've revealed something important: they're not doing discernment. They're holding a fixed position that no evidence, no experience, no amount of prayer could shift.

That's not wisdom. That's rigidity dressed in spiritual clothing.

Genuine discernment remains open. Not gullible—open. It says, "Here's what I currently understand, and here's what would lead me to reconsider." It holds conclusions with appropriate humility because it recognises that we see through a glass darkly.

When Paul tells us to "test everything" and "hold onto what is good," he's describing an active process. Testing implies you might discover something is actually fine. It implies you could be wrong in either direction—assuming something is dangerous when it isn't, or assuming something is safe when it isn't.

Fear doesn't test. Fear assumes. And then it looks for confirmation.

Three Questions Before You Decide

Before concluding that any new technology or idea is spiritually dangerous, I'd encourage you to honestly ask yourself three questions:

First: Am I feeling fear or unease because of social pressure from my community?

Did I form this view independently through prayer and study? Or did I adopt it because people I respect and want to belong with hold this view? There's no shame in being influenced by community—we're social creatures. But we need to be honest about the source of our convictions.

Second: Am I feeling fear because someone I trust told me to be afraid?

Whose voice am I actually hearing? A podcaster? A pastor? A social media figure? Have I verified their claims independently, or am I trusting their spiritual authority to settle the question? Even godly leaders can be wrong. Even people with genuine spiritual gifts can mistake their own discomfort for divine warning.

Third: Am I feeling fear because this is simply new and unfamiliar to me?

Newness triggers caution in all human beings. That's normal. But newness isn't the same as danger. Our ancestors thought the same about technologies we now consider unremarkable. The mere fact that something is unfamiliar tells us nothing about whether it's spiritually harmful.

If you answer "yes" to any of these questions, you haven't done discernment yet. You've had an emotional and social response. That response might be pointing toward something real—or it might just be the natural human discomfort with uncertainty.

Actual discernment comes after you've acknowledged these influences and set them aside.

What Genuine Discernment Looks Like

So what does real spiritual discernment about new things actually involve? Here are some markers I've come to trust:

It takes time. Quick judgments almost always reflect social pressure rather than careful seeking of God. Genuine discernment isn't rushed. It waits. It watches. It prays over days, weeks, sometimes months.

It involves actual engagement. Have you actually used or experienced the thing you're judging? Or are you forming conclusions based entirely on secondhand reports filtered through others' fear? Discernment requires observation, not just speculation.

It considers actual fruit. Not predicted consequences. Not feared outcomes. What does engagement actually produce in people's lives? Does it produce fruits of the Spirit? Does it draw people closer to God or further away? What's the evidence—not the theory?

It remains open to being wrong. True discernment holds conclusions with appropriate humility. It can articulate what new information or experience might lead to reconsideration.

It produces proportional responses. The level of concern matches the actual evidence of harm. Massive alarm over theoretical dangers with no demonstrated damage is different from measured concern over documented problems.

It sometimes leads to conclusions that differ from your community's consensus. This is uncomfortable but important. If your conclusions always perfectly match what everyone around you already believes, that's worth examining. Genuine seeking of God sometimes leads to unexpected places.

The Irony We Must Face

Here's the painful irony in all of this: reflexive fear-based responses actually undermine genuine spiritual discernment—and leave people more vulnerable, not less.

When we rush to categorise something as dangerous without careful testing, we're not being more spiritual. We're being less so. We're substituting the fast comfort of group consensus for the slow, sometimes uncomfortable work of actually seeking God's wisdom.

And when the blanket rejection inevitably fails—because people will engage with new things whether we like it or not—we've given them nothing. No wisdom about real risks. No practical guidance for safe engagement. No framework for recognising when something is becoming harmful in their own lives.

The person struggling with internet pornography needed more than "the internet is dangerous." They needed specific wisdom about accountability, about triggers, about the neuroscience of addiction, about confession and community. The teenager harmed by social media needed more than "phones are evil." They needed guidance about comparison, about identity, about when to step back.

Fear-based rejection doesn't produce that kind of wisdom. It just produces rejection—and then silence when the rejection fails.

We're also, frankly, making ourselves easy to manipulate. When a community is primed to fear anything new, all it takes is one influential voice to trigger the response. That's not discernment. That's a predictable reaction that anyone with an agenda could exploit.

If there truly is an adversary who wants to neutralise the Church's effectiveness, what better strategy than keeping believers in perpetual defensive posture? Afraid of engagement. Suspicious of innovation. So focused on blanket avoidance that they never develop the nuanced wisdom people actually need.

A Different Way Forward

I'm not suggesting we embrace everything uncritically. Some things truly are harmful. Some innovations genuinely do carry real dangers—spiritual and otherwise. The harms from unwise technology use are real and documented.

But we can't help people navigate those dangers through blanket rejection. We need actual wisdom. Real discernment. Practical guidance that helps people engage thoughtfully rather than recklessly.

What if we became communities known for that kind of wisdom? Not reflexive rejection, but thoughtful engagement. Not "stay away" but "here's how to use this well, here are the real risks to watch for, here's how to know if it's becoming harmful for you."

What if we were the communities people came to when they needed help navigating new technologies—because they knew we'd actually thought it through rather than just reacting from fear?

The next time you encounter a new technology or idea and feel that familiar pull toward alarm, I invite you to pause. Ask yourself the three questions. Give yourself permission to say "I don't know yet" rather than rushing to judgment.

And then do the harder work: learn about the real risks. Develop practical wisdom. Become someone who can help others engage safely rather than just warning them to stay away.

That posture—humble, curious, willing to engage and equipped to guide—isn't spiritual compromise. It's actually closer to what Scripture calls wisdom.

And it's far more useful to the Kingdom than fear could ever be.

A Final Thought

The believers who first opposed the printing press weren't bad people. They were trying to protect their communities from what they genuinely believed was a spiritual threat. Their motives were good, even if their discernment was flawed.

The same is true today. Most Christians who rush to warn about new technologies genuinely believe they're serving God and protecting others. I honour that intention even when I question the process.

But good intentions aren't enough. We're called to love God with our minds as well as our hearts and souls. That means doing the hard work of genuine discernment rather than settling for the quick comfort of fear.

Our world is changing rapidly. New technologies and ideas will keep emerging. The question isn't whether we'll face them—it's whether we'll face them with wisdom or with fear.

I know which one I believe honours God more.

Adewale Ademuyiwa is a BABCP-registered cognitive behavioural therapist with 27 years of experience in mental health and trauma recovery. He writes about the intersection of faith, psychology, and technology at StressTherapist.net.