Douglas Schorr

Addiction isn’t new—humans have always chased highs.

Throughout history, our ancestors shared stories, sang ancient hymns, and, on special occasions, partook in mind-altering substances. The Sumerians sipped beer 7,000 years ago, while cannabis appears regularly in ancient records across the world.

Opium, too, has ancient roots in Mesopotamia and later China. In these early civilizations, it served primarily as medicinal relief—a cure for pain rather than a ticket to self-destruction. It rarely sparked mass addiction. That devastating transformation came later, particularly with industrialization and colonial trade. The British, in their mercantile ventures, exploited opium ruthlessly in China, ushering in widespread dependency—a vivid reminder of how context and potency transform substances into tools of control.

In ancient Egypt, wine was considered a gift from the gods—celebrated for its ability to loosen tongues and soften hearts. Fast-forward to ancient Greece, where symposiums were lively affairs and wine flowed as freely as ideas. Philosophers like Socrates and Plato mused on pleasure and excess, warning that immoderation could cloud judgment. Yet they saw overindulgence more as a philosophical dilemma than a mental disorder.

The Romans adored wine as well. Yet even as revellers raised goblets in joyful communion, no chronic “hooked” behavior appears in their records. Scribes noted the occasional drunkard, but addiction, as we understand it today, was absent from the ancient lexicon. Social rules helped regulate consumption—gluttons and habitual drunks faced mockery and exclusion.

Why was addiction so rare? Because their diets—consisting primarily of meat, fat, seasonal fruit untouched by modern engineering, and animal-based cooking fats—kept brains metabolically steady. There were no sugar floods or engineered dopamine storms. (As explored in The Fat Brain Story.)

Most importantly, what we now call “addictive behaviors” were often ritualistic, not habitual. A feast day wine celebration was a meaningful event, not a daily fix. The wine at the symposium or the offering of opium in a temple had cultural significance, clear boundaries, and often, a defined end. Compare that to today’s 6 a.m. coffee hit, the mindless morning muffin, or nightly sugar ritual. We haven’t just increased consumption—we’ve collapsed meaning into monotony.

The Industrial Turning Point

As centuries passed, society fundamentally transformed. In 18th-century Europe, artisan-crafted sweets and preserves were made with care and consumed sparingly. But industrialization brought refined sugars and mass-produced flavours, altering everything. It took the 1800s to turn addiction into a widespread crisis.

By the early 19th century, alcohol had embedded itself deeply in American daily life. Whiskey and other spirits flowed freely at work, in homes, and at social gatherings—as common as water. Estimates suggest that by the 1830s, the average American adult was consuming over five gallons of pure alcohol annually. Heavy drinking wasn’t just accepted—it was the norm, but societal cracks began to show.

Reformers sounded alarms. Influential movements emerged, voicing not just ethical concerns but advocating for outright abstinence. Initially, rampant alcohol use was framed as a moral failing, but public health concerns soon followed.

At the same time, society’s view of alcoholism started to shift—from personal weakness to diagnosable condition. Interestingly, rural communities—whose diets still centered on whole foods, homegrown produce, and animal fats—sometimes weathered alcohol’s effects better than the urban poor, who subsisted on refined, calorie-poor, nutrient-void foods. The recognition that lifestyle and diet influenced addiction vulnerability was present—even then.

Modern Diet: The Perfect Storm—Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner

Unlike the seasonal, natural fare of the past, modern food is deliberately designed for maximum dopamine activation. Each sugar spike, each artificial “flavour” is calibrated to outdo nature. The human brain simply cannot compete with this engineered stimulation. Historically, food scarcity meant indulgence was rare. People didn’t binge because survival came first. Now we now normalize everyday cravings.

Even tea tells two stories. In Britain, it became a calming ritual. But beneath that civility lay a growing dependency on caffeine, introduced through global trade. Like many modern addictions, it wasn’t just the substance—it was the ritual, the expectation, the daily reinforcement loop.

From Ritual to Reinforcement

Walk through history: ancient peoples used substances to relax, to connect, to cope, but compulsive addiction was remarkably rare. Episodes of overindulgence came during feast or famine, celebration or grief. Compared to our modern “rights before duties” lifestyle, our ancestors faced undeniably harsher conditions. Yet despite their hardships—or perhaps because of them—addiction remained rare and noteworthy when it did occur.

Today, the compulsion is daily, even hourly. Addictive loops are built into our environment because our modern world is designed to trigger them continuously. It’s a war we’re in: modern food and drink is chemically crafted to hijack your brain’s reward system—and neuroscience clearly demonstrates how. These fuels flood the brain with dopamine, creating a spike-crash-repeat pattern. Over time, the pleasure circuits wear down. Cravings become chronic. You’re no longer eating to nourish; you’re eating to feel normal.

This is willpower versus biochemical warfare is playing out in billions of brains.

And it doesn’t stop with food. Today’s most addictive substances are also digital. Apps are designed to hit the same dopamine receptors. Social media, mobile games, and streaming platforms all exploit the same loop: trigger, reward, crash, repeat. We scroll like we snack—seeking that next hit of artificial relief.

The Way-a return to ancestral eating

Animal fats and clean proteins offer a neurological reset. Many people report that cravings simply disappear. No battles. No bargaining, just knowing that there is a proper place and time. When your inputs stop lighting up your pathways like a pinball machine, your brain naturally calms down.

Your stomach knows what’s proper fuel. Your gut flora stabilizes. Your blood sugar stops spiking. Your neurotransmitters start whispering instead of shouting.

Addiction’s Not in Our DNA—But the Switches Are

Genes don’t change this rapidly. But epigenetics—the switches that control gene expression—does. The environment flips these switches. And today’s Standard American Diet (SAD) is throwing breakers left and right.

We all carry circuits for craving, reward, escape—ancient survival tools. But the modern diet turns them on full blast, often across generations. Your grandmother’s sherry habit might predispose the switches in you. But it’s not destiny. A carnivore diet flips them back.

Diet is the biggest lever we have for neurological health. And SAD is pulling it in the wrong direction—aggressively. Addiction is no longer a fringe issue. It’s woven into daily life: alcohol, nicotine, processed food, screens, apps. The common denominator? Reward overload with no real nourishment.

We don’t have to be ruled by addiction’s whisper. Change the channel. Reclaim ownership of your brain’s reward system.