There was an era when spirituality was a deeply personal affair, unfolding in the quiet corners of daily life. It resided in the kitchen where the morning's first incense spiraled upwards before the chai brewed. It was found in temples, where the ringing of bells signified divine presence, not a photo opportunity. Faith lived in the small, consistent acts: folded hands, softly uttered prayers, and the gentle glow of a diya lit before sleep. These moments were intimate, never intended for an audience.
The Camera in the Temple: When Devotion Becomes Content
Today, that same faith is frequently captured through a lens. The aarti is performed with one hand holding the sacred lamp and the other steadying a smartphone. A visit to a temple includes pauses to find the perfect camera angle. Expressions of grief, gratitude, and prayer are meticulously edited into fifteen-second reels for public consumption. While divinity has not vanished from contemporary life, genuine devotion is quietly being repackaged as digital content.
This shift is driven by the fundamental mechanics of social platforms, which reward visibility over sincerity and measure attention rather than pure intention. When an individual records themselves praying, they are no longer fully immersed in the act. A part of their consciousness remains engaged in the ritual, while another part is busy framing the shot, assessing the lighting, and contemplating the caption. This division alters the essence of the spiritual experience. Faith, which traditionally flowed inward for personal connection, now increasingly turns outward for public validation.
From Inner Discipline to Outer Proof: The New Logic of Belief
In older spiritual traditions, belief was sustained through discipline and did not require external evidence. One prayed because of faith, not to produce proof of that faith. The modern dynamic has inverted this logic. Now, if a prayer is answered or a fast observed, there is an implicit pressure to document and share it. The invisible and intangible are met with skepticism in a world that equates reality with what is recorded. If an event wasn't captured on camera, did it truly occur?
Social media algorithms further distort spiritual expression. These platforms do not prioritize calmness or patience; they amplify drama, high emotion, and spectacle. Consequently, spiritual content adapts to these rules. A quiet moment of gratitude is less "performative" than an emotional breakdown. Steady, disciplined practice loses out to sensational stories of miracles. In this ecosystem, God becomes a narrative device, personal suffering a hook for engagement, and healing a dramatic reveal. Faith is reduced to a compelling before-and-after montage.
The Unseen Cost: What Gets Lost in the Search for Virality
Authentic spirituality is rarely cinematic. It is repetitive, often routine, and persists even on days devoid of magic. It withstands unanswered prayers and long periods of silence. However, the format of short-form video reels has no space for this kind of enduring faith. It demands peaks, tears, and transformative moments. Therefore, what is showcased online is not devotion as it is authentically lived, but devotion as it can be marketed and sold.
This performance creates a dangerous feedback loop. When a prayer reel receives likes and shares, the brain begins to associate spiritual practice with social approval. High engagement feels like confirmation of a prayer's power, while low engagement can seed doubt. Faith, which once found its anchor within, becomes dependent on the reactions of an external audience. For many, spirituality evolves into an online identity—a component of personal branding defined by aesthetic choices in music, quotes, and displayed rituals. God becomes part of a curated aesthetic, and belief transforms into a performance.
The most profound aspects of faith reside in silence, in that private space where no one is watching. This is where raw honesty flourishes. Cameras cannot access this sacred interiority. Gradually, the vital inner work of spirituality is supplanted by outer display. People may start praying for the reel instead of for their own souls. Behind the powerful facade of public devotion often lies a private emptiness. When spirituality is constructed for an audience, it ceases to be a refuge and becomes a source of pressure, demanding the continuous performance of belief even during times of fatigue, confusion, or doubt.
It is crucial to remember the original purpose of prayer and devotion. Faith was never meant to be entertainment. It was conceived as a relationship, a place of rest, and a grounding force during life's instability. The divine does not require recording to be present. Devotion does not become real because it was witnessed by thousands; it becomes real because it was felt sincerely and quietly, without a single witness.
