Now, consult yourself: Think of the feeling you have after a pleasant afternoon or evening spent with people you like; imagine the effect it has on your mood, your sense of belonging and self-worth. And now think of the feeling you have after an afternoon or evening spent texting with people you like, or playing games on your phone, or, if you’re a certain type, scrolling through Twitter. In my experience, there’s no comparison. Texting isn’t actively unpleasant, and I have even had conversations by text that meant a lot to me. Maybe at its best it’s like writing letters or talking to someone on the phone in past eras, although I very much doubt that it usually reaches that standard. But remember what the substitutive effect means. Imagine that you had been planning to go out with friends but the plans fell through and you ended up texting with each other, idly sending Facebook messages, or, most likely, doing whatever you do to kill time when you’re bored and on your phone. This would probably be somewhat disappointing; indeed, you might well seek to make plans with someone else to fill the newly free time. Now imagine this happening dozens of times a year. That cumulative effect is the effect of the smartphone.

Paradoxically, as smartphones have made us more alone, I suspect that they have also made it harder to be alone. It would be perfectly intuitive to assume that instant access to an expansive world of communication makes us less lonely. But does that logic really hold up? When I’m alone, I now can be precisely aware of every person who isn’t reaching out to me, or whom I’m not reaching out to. Worse still, I have instant access to an enormous network of social news: From pictures of social gatherings on Facebook to Snapchats of concerts, there is a good chance that I will be aware of whatever enjoyable things my broad circle of acquaintances is up to.