We often speak about addiction as if it were a discrete pathology—a flaw in a specific group of people who “can’t handle” life’s pressures. But to anyone paying attention, it’s clear that addiction is not a fringe phenomenon anymore. It has become the cultural climate in which we all live, breathe, and try to find meaning.

Everywhere around us, the definition of a successful life has quietly narrowed to the material: a strong body, a powerful brand, a growing portfolio, a social presence that suggests we are rising, winning, conquering. When the meaning of life begins and ends with the physical—what we own, what we consume, how we appear—then the human being is flattened into a creature of appetites. Our culture now trains us to chase not virtues, but sensations. Not purpose, but stimulation. In such a world, wanting becomes an identity. Desire becomes a way of life. Entire industries thrive on manufacturing a constant sense of lack so that products—even trivial ones—become miniature salvation narratives. What used to be called greed or self-absorption has been rebranded as ambition, entrepreneurship, personal empowerment. Meanwhile the restless churn underneath—what many now call dopamine craving—reduces the vastness of the human spirit to a handful of neurotransmitters, as though a life could be repaired with a more precise manipulation of molecules.

It is easier, of course, to blame the modern addict—the young person lost in video games, the middle-aged shopper scrolling for comfort at midnight, the professional who cannot put down their phone. It’s much harder to admit that the conditions shaping them shape all of us. Social media is designed to be irresistible. Shopping is frictionless, instantaneous. Entertainment is infinite. And the definition of the “good life” is constantly being pushed toward consumption, diversion, and self-promotion. Under these forces, who can truly claim immunity? Even our proposed solutions are usually framed within the same worldview that caused the crisis: better treatments, more targeted medications, more refined techniques to “correct” the addicted brain. But how can we fix an ailment when we have lost sight of the organism? How do we heal a symptom when our very definition of what it means to be human has been thinned, distorted, and externalized?

For me, the antidote—or at least the beginning of one—comes from a different source altogether. In the writings of the Bahá’í Faith, especially in the luminous works of Bahá’u’lláh, ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, and Shoghi Effendi, I find a radically different understanding of human identity. Here, human beings are not merely biological machines chasing neurochemical rewards. They are spiritual beings with capacities that transcend the material world—capable of wisdom, compassion, courage, service, and self-transcendence. When those authors describe the purpose of life, they do not speak in the language of acquisition or self-promotion. They point instead to the development of character, the refinement of the soul, the building of community, and the service of humanity. They suggest that fulfillment comes not from satisfying the self, but from integrating it into something larger, something noble.

Across the world, small Bahá’í communities are quietly demonstrating what this looks like in practice: circles of study that nurture collective wisdom; programs for children and youth that emphasize virtues and purpose; gatherings focused on prayer, consultation, and encouragement; acts of service that reconnect people to one another and to their better selves. These efforts are modest, local, and usually unnoticed—but they represent a fundamentally different model of human motivation.

One rooted not in craving but in contribution.

Not in deficiency but in dignity.

Not in distraction but in meaning.

In a society that has turned addiction into a universal condition, these small pockets of coherence offer something quietly revolutionary: A reminder that the human spirit is far greater than its impulses, and that healing begins when we reclaim a vision of humanity that is worthy of us.