Tech Exit College

On Clare Morrell's "The Tech Exit," and a little college in Wyoming

I. The Tech Exit

Clare Morell

’s The Tech Exit: A Practical Guide to Freeing Kids and Teens from Smartphones is a succinct and persuasive argument of What Must Be Done, And Why, in response to the screens swallowing our world. It is no exaggeration to say that Morell wants to save humanity. Taking seriously the freedom of the human person, our nature as rational, social, political, and spiritual creatures, and the family as the most fundamental society, The Text Exit provides a workable plan for parents to put screens in their proper place, thereby liberating themselves and their children from the dark, often degrading portals of our own making.

In quick succession, Morell establishes the dangerous and ultimately dehumanizing effects of addictive, interactive screen technologies on the young; destroys the pretense that “harm reduction” (screen-time limits, parental control apps) is a viable or adequate response; and prescribes a twofold response to the crisis: fast and FEAST. Fast refers to a “screen detox” of one length or another.¹ FEAST is an acronym for parents to make their a Tech Exit Family: Find Other Families; Explain, Educate, and Exemplify; Adopt Alternatives; Set Up Digital Accountability and Family Screen Rules; and Trade Screens for Real-Life Responsibilities and Pursuits.

Having told us what each person, and each family, can do immediately and on their own initiative, in the fourth section of the book Morell addresses the “collective solutions” we can work towards in our schools and legislatures, including specific policies and laws that schools, districts, and states have begun to implement (some of which Morell herself has helped to draft). The book concludes with a brief but moving statement of the ultimate, positive reasons to take the Tech Exit.

Morell’s book succeeds for several reasons.

First, Morell marshals the last decade-plus of research on the devastating effects of digital addiction on human development and behavior, with special attention to the first two decades of life. She does so in a highly accessible and engaging way. I’ll be honest. I have not myself read this literature (neither the medical and social-scientific studies themselves, nor the more popular works building upon them such as Anna Lembke’s Dopamine Nation, Jonathan Haidt’s Anxious Generation, Cal Newport’s Digital Minimalism) as they have emerged, though I’ve been vaguely aware of their findings from media coverage and the descriptions of friends and colleagues who have read them. And I’m unlikely to make much time to read these articles and books, for the simple reason that, when I have managed to free myself from the churn of current affairs and the discourse about it, I’d rather be reading good books with my kids and great books with my students. But I have no hesitation recommending that you make time for Morell’s book, and this summer—when it’s easier to choose non-screen-based activities for yourself and your family—is an ideal time to do so. It’s a very quick read, and it will be useful for helping you choose to live well, wherever you (and your friends, relations, and neighbors) currently fall on the Tech Exit life spectrum.

Second, Morell deftly interweaves the conclusions of research with the real-world experience of families whom she interviewed for the book. The personal stories of tragedy and transformation—teens lost to suicide, kids saved from dysfunction, families struggling and then succeeding to restore their physical, social, and spiritual health—incarnate the narrative and inspire the reader. She is constantly urging us: You, too, can change your life, and your family life. You already know you need to. Here’s another reason to do so. Look, these families have already started! Try this. Or that. Or another thing.

Thus, thirdly, Morell deploys these findings for directly practical purposes. I mean this in two senses. Most directly, the author moves fluidly from diagnosis to prognosis to prescription. This is a “what you need to do” book, based on a clear understanding of “what is going on” and “what is the range of possible responses, and what are the likely results of each course of action.” In addition, Morell employs an appropriate flexibility, within sensible limits. For example: the greatest transformation for a severely screen-addled child won’t be enjoyed until the third or fourth week of a screen detox. But if that sounds impossible for your family, start with one week, or a weekend, or even a day or an hour. And when you do start, try to kick it off with a screen-free camping trip, purge the house of addictive devices, plan out the non-screen activities for the week ahead. And so on. Both the body and the appendix of the book supply a “Tech Exit Checklist” and a range of resources (product recommendations, screen detox plans, support networks, and much more) for the reader to consult when making the Tech Exit. The book is somewhat “bloggy” at times. That’s a good thing. It’s not a treatise or a philosophical inquiry. It has all the virtues of an enchiridion: a handbook, or “manual,” for how to live, to “keep on hand” and recur to quickly for reminders and concrete advice after the first read-through.

But, fourthly, Morell’s book is practical in the fullest and noblest sense of the term. Classically understood, prudence is the intellectual virtue that governs right action: the prudent person is able to perceive, and choose, the best course of action, embodying the moral virtues in his particular situation and thereby enacting a truly happy way of life. Prudence, then, is not autonomous. To become itself fully, to become the trusty guide that will move the moral agent toward his full flourishing, prudence must receive from outside itself a correct notion of what is best for humanity. To become a good man, the prudent man must know what is good for man as such! Though its earliest foundations are laid in the semi-rational habituation imitation of admirable exemplars, it comes to depend in part on the intellectual grasp of unchanging truths about human nature, rightly manifest here and now in this unique and unrepeatable situation.

Morell’s book is never weighed down by the kind of prose you have just courageously endured in the previous paragraph. But this perspective emerges naturally in her conclusion. “What We Reenter When We Leave Digital Technologies Behind” is, briefly, reality as it is and as it ought to be—the life of virtue and happiness that is both enabled by, and enables, fuller communion with nature and neighbor and God. It’s all done very deftly, and briefly, which is probably for the best, not only because it’s true to the phenomenon but also because it will enable Morell to reach a wide audience. The desire to be a good mother and wife and person is ultimately inseparable, for her, from being a good Christian, and rightly so. But faith isn’t a necessary condition for this desire, nor for the decision to take the Tech Exit. (That said, it surely helps. Again, more on that below.)

Morell’s goal is indicated in the subtitle of the book, “Freeing Kids and Teens,” and the title of her Substack, “Preserving Our Humanity”: freeing us from a life stunted by addiction, harm, and unreality, and freeing us for a life in which we are able to become what we are—humans meant for family, community, virtue, happiness, and the beautiful fullness of a real life, inhabiting a world that is “charged with the grandeur of God.” This is a great service. The truth explicit throughout the book is that addictive screen technologies are poisonous to a truly human life. The truth implicit throughout most of the book, and stated directly in the conclusion, is that a slavish, selfish, solipsistic, and self-indulgent life is not a truly human life. A fully human life must be lived with a deliberate openness to transcendence.

II. The Tech Exit College

Morell’s book is focused on kids and teens, and for good reason: they are the ones just now growing up during our digital flood, most prone to addictive programming, and most directly at risk of technologically-induced dehumanization. But what comes next? Several families interviewed describe how they’ve approached the college years. Here and elsewhere, the range of examples Morell describes is helpful. The biggest takeaway is to dispel the myth that ”kids will just swing to the other extreme” when they leave home. Habituation, it turns out, is a thing; the foundations laid in the home, up through the high school years, make a real difference in how young people choose when they are on their own in the world.

I flatter myself to think that I’ve always tried to take a prudent approach to smartphones and screen addiction. (I haven’t. “Lord, make me delete my Twitter account, but not yet.”) The truth is that, though my generation tends to “get it” more readily than the Boomers and Gen X whose brains and hearts were fully formed in the pre-digital world, most Millennials simply haven’t had to wrestle with these demons ourselves nearly as much as Zoomers and Gen Alpha kids born during and after the deluge. For that reason, it can be easier to rationalize the little doses and deny the addiction. But in my experience, as with many of the families in Morell’s book, having young children has been a great impetus for moving, slowly, in the right direction.

More precisely: in the very years that the digital flood has risen, my family began to withdraw from it. We started living a Tech Exit life seven summers ago, immediately after our first child was born, for a very simple reason: I started teaching at Wyoming Catholic College. Though Morell doesn’t discuss the College, and though the College crafted its technology policy without being cognizant of the smartphone, it’s fair to call it a (perhaps the) full-on Tech Exit College.

Wyoming Catholic College opened its doors in 2007, the same year that the iPhone debuted. From the beginning, the College had a unique Technology Policy, crafted in ignorance of the smartphone, social media, and all that they would bring, but providently anticipating these looming challenges. The founders responded to the proliferation of ordinary cell phones and (I’m not kidding) headphones, by deciding to forbid them entirely in the student body. Why? Because the College understood itself to be a community dedicated to immersion in reality and the cultivation of the human person as a free, social, rational, and spiritual creature, and it recognized that texting (yes, we’re talking about T9 texting on flip phones and brick phones) and headphones (yes, we’re talking about Walkmen) tended to get in the way. From the very first year, TVs (remember those?) were not allowed in the dorms. Nor were video game consoles. Nor was the Internet. (I mean a total restriction on Internet access in the dorms. No email! Students log on when they need to during the day, in specially defined parts of campus.) We have been creating an intentionally low-screen environment for our students for 18 years.

Most notably, from the very first year, every Wyoming Catholic College student has given up his or her cellphone at the beginning of freshman year. Not just for class time. For all the time that they are here as a student, they’re not allowed to have a cell phone, dumb or smart. (A few students don’t own phones at all, even now, in the Year of Our Lord 2025. The rest “check them out” when they leave town for breaks.) This began as a relatively straightforward limitation on possessing and using certain tech. Its principles (described here, and more fully formulated in an appendix to the College’s Philosophical Vision Statement) have continued to guide the College in the digital era. The College has been clear from the beginning: though no technology is neutral, though every tool shapes its user to a greater or lesser extent, we are not simply against cell phones, laptops, and the Internet. But we recognize the threat they pose to human life and to the particular goods of our College community, and so we have been speaking about, and practicing, a “tech fast” for nearly two decades.²

Wyoming Catholic students fast from certain forms of technology, so that they are the more able to feast on everything that is better. To begin with, our freshmen start their time at the College with a 21 day backpacking trip in the Rocky Mountain wilderness. (For those of you following along at home, that’s a three-week trip. And it’s preceded by a week of front-country preparation. So by the time they return to town for their first classes, our students have already undergone the three- to four-week “screen detox” that Morell recommends.) Fully immersed, our students feast on the reality of nature, which St. Augustine called “God’s First Book.” They also worship God directly in the backcountry, in Holy Mass celebrated on the mountaintops of Wyoming. (If you know any outdoorsy priests, we are always excited to invite more chaplains into the mountains! Our students return to the wilderness for weeklong trips every fall and spring throughout the four years, and the college’s outreach, COR Expeditions, offers similar opportunities to all comers throughout the calendar year.) Then, they return to town and begin their classes, all of which are rooted in the Great Books, above all God’s “Second Book”—Holy Scripture, which they read through the freshman year and return to each semester in their theology courses—and the other great wellsprings of the Western tradition, beginning with the epic poems of Homer, the philosophical dialogues of Plato and treatises of Aristotle, the mathematical inquiries of Euclid, and an immersion in spoken Latin as the language of Western Civilization. They feast on the spiritual, intellectual, and cultural inheritance which is their birthright. And, because our classes are small, discussion-based seminars, and our community is a very tight-knit one, they feast on the social reality of one another as human persons, creatures made in the image and likeness of God, friends and cooperators in the experience of wonder and the quest for wisdom. Above all, our students feast on Our Lord, who gave His Body and Blood to us in the sacrifice of the Eucharist and commanded us to eat; and they enter into this feast more fully because of their time spent in creation and in conversation, in prayer and worship, with the manifold distractions flowing through screens stymied, at least for now.

In other words, our students fast from technology in order to feast upon the greatest things available to them: nature and humanity and divinity. Our students fast from technology in order to be freed, for a time, from all of its distractions—distraction from the beauty of the world around them, from the truths articulated by the great minds of the past, from the goodness of community with each other, from the unity of all these things in God. The best way to judge the result—in our students, and in our community—is to come and see for yourself. (Short of that, read this short piece by Clair McFarland, or this long piece by Ashley McKinless.) From my perspective, at least—the perspective of an insider, of course, for better and for worse—we probably have the healthiest (physically, intellectually, and spiritually) group of college-age kids around today, and have preserved a more human way of life than on any other campus community with which I’m familiar.

Of course, it’s not easy, and it doesn’t work perfectly. But to the extent that our Tech Exit College works, it does so for several reasons.

First, as a community, we got a jump-start on the digital flood. It’s hard to imagine a college banning smartphones and restricting Internet use in, say, 2015, when they’re becoming ubiquitous among the young but the harms are just beginning to be discussed by faculty and administrators, or in 2025, when the harms are generally understood but almost every teenager in America is addicted. That’s not to say a college couldn’t do this now, or some time in the next five years. It certainly helps us stand out. And the more families that make the Tech Exit, the more practical this might become. Assuming it’s something you want to do. (Humanality is helping making some intermediate steps possible for groups of college students.) As a result, giving up your phone and living a tech-light life for eight semester is part of our brand. Many of our students decide to enroll after experiencing this aspect of our community.

Second, we fast so that we can feast, and we feast on the very best things. In her conclusion, Morell describes the good reasons for leaving digital tech behind—above all, “self-fulfillment” ordered to “self-transcendence,” in love of neighbor and love of God. This can take a whole range of concrete forms in Tech Exit families. We have found an appropriate way to incarnate these goals in a highly particular college community. It works for us, because it is so well-fitted to the peculiar thing we’re trying to do.

And third, we talk about our tech policy, and think about it, and talk about it again, and tweak it. We’ve outlined not only a policy, but also a reason for the policy, and that reasoning is directly integrated with the enduring mission of the College. We include technology-themed lectures in its Formal Lecture Series, and our own professors will give short talks—not just announcements about the policy, but genuinely intellectual explorations of the nature of technology—to freshmen during their orientation. In this respect, we resemble some of the families, schools, and communities that Morell describes in her book, who have signed on to a “Postman Pledge” to restrict addictive tech use.

Perhaps the greatest virtue of Morell’s The Tech Exit is its hopefulness, a virtue opposed to the vice of despair. As she said recently, “smartphones are in fact, not an inevitable part of childhood”; “Don’t give up hope. It is never too late to reverse course.” Morell’s book is showing families and schools how to act upon this hope. Organizations like Humanality are working to plant low-tech “friend and family villages” everywhere. And Wyoming Catholic is evidence that an entire college community can choose another path.

1. The more addictive and harmful a screen-based technology, the more Morell is wary of it; the less addictive and harmful, the less wary. Morell distinguishes carefully between her main targets on the one hand (addictive interactive media designed to draw attention away from reality) and the use of tech as a tool, or the occasional enjoyment of a family movie, on the other.

2. When I saw Clare Morell’s “fast/feast” structure, I immediately thought of the rhythms of the liturgical year, which involve seasons of fasting (notably Lent, though the Byzantine Catholic tradition is even more, shall we say, generous with this practice throughout the year) in preparation for seasons of feasting. Morell’s point isn’t to recommend fasting from addictive, harmful technology and then indulging in it as a treat. Nor is this the meaning of the Christian discipline of fasting and feasting. We are not meant to abstain from sin during Lent and then indulge in sin on Easter. Rather, we give up genuinely good things (red meat is good, haven’t you heard?) as a discipline to focus on hearts on even better things (virtue is better, and entering more closely into union with God is best, haven’t you heard?), and we are then able to enjoy those relatively good things more properly, ordering them towards God in communion with our neighbor, above all in the great holiday feasts: “I think there is no occasion accomplished that is more pleasant than when festivity holds sway among all the populace, and the feasters up and down the houses are sitting in order and listening to the singer, and beside them the tables are loaded with bread and meats, and from the mixing bowl the wine steward draws the wine and carries it about and fills the cups. This seems to my own mind to be the best of occasions” (Odyssey IX.5–11, tr. Lattimore).