"Forces of Habit: Drugs and the Making of the Modern World" by David T. Courtwright (Harvard University Press, 277 pp, $24.95) is a vivid account of the global spread of psychoactive drugs over the last 500 years. The University of North Florida historian defines drugs broadly enough to include not just the usual suspects like heroin and marijuana, but also generally legal drugs such as tobacco, alcohol and caffeine.
Courtwright's witty writing should appeal to those with a taste for black humor. The author possesses a seemingly infinite supply of vivid examples about the impact of drugs on humanity, and even upon the animal kingdom. Lions, he notes, "have learned to prey upon drunks staggering home at night from East African roadside bars."
"Forces of Habit" can help modern white-collar workers banned from smoking indoors reflect on the ferocious anti-smoking campaigns that earlier tobacco addicts endured. While American smokers are forced to risk pneumonia each winter while they puff away in the freezing doorways of office buildings, "Russian smokers suffered beatings and exile; snuff takers had their noses torn off. Chinese smokers had their heads impaled on pikes. Turkish smokers under the reign of Ahmed I endured pipe stems thrust through their noses."
Ironies abound in "Forces of Habit." Alcoholics Anonymous' co-founders, Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob Smith, "both smoked heavily and died of cigarette-related illnesses." (Today, AA chapters searching for meeting places are bedeviled by the new prohibitions on indoor smoking. Reformed alcoholics often want to smoke to relieve the tension of staying on the wagon.)
But Courtwright has serious ambitions as well.
"This book," he writes, "grew out of a broader curiosity about psychoactive commerce, a ubiquitous -- and, I now believe, defining -- feature of the modern world."
This leads Courtwright to rewrite much of human history from a, well, drugocentric viewpoint. "The domestication of fire," he informs us, "made widespread drug use possible in the first place." A few eons later, "The Apollo 11 astronauts," he notes, "were drinking coffee three hours after landing on the moon."
"Forces of Habit" is thus in the grand tradition of the Monomaniacal School of History. It stands comparison to such valuable works as William McNeill's "Plagues and Peoples" and Daniel Yergin's "The Prize," which explained the history of the world in terms of germs and oil, respectively.
Courtwright's vast goals are assisted by his defining "psychoactive drug" expansively enough to include coffee and chocolate. He even tentatively discusses sugar. I'm not sure why he didn't ultimately accept sugar as "psychoactive." Those of us with little kids have certainly seen sugar's impact on brain chemistry.
One problem with his semi-sprawling approach to defining "psychoactive drugs" is that it's not clear where to draw the line. If I drink a glass of warm milk to help me fall asleep, does that make milk psychoactive? Or would it be "psychodeactive?"
When going on a family outing, I always insist that we bring along some high-calorie, high-fat foods like cheese sticks. Few things end screaming tantrums faster than cheese. And it helps mellow out my kids, too. So, is cheese a psychoactive drug, just like crack and crank?
What about sunshine? The vitamin D it produces seldom fails to cheer me up.
Is a tan also a drug?
Evidently, Courtwright defines a drug as a chemical that wasn't around for most of human evolution. He takes a Darwinian perspective on the desire for drugs.
"Humans evolved in itinerant band societies. Life in the sedentary peasant societies that succeeded them was less varied, fulfilling, egalitarian and healthful. Taking drugs to get through the daily grind (or to treat the intestinal and parasitic diseases attendant to settled life) is peculiar to civilization. ... Such practices are further clues, if any are needed, that our social circumstances are out of sync with our evolved natures."
Drugs apparently produce artificially the pleasurable brain chemistry reactions that evolution devised to reward our distant caveman ancestors for engaging in hunting and other behaviors essential to survival. Perhaps this explains the terrible alcoholism problems currently suffered by the indigenous tribes -- such as American Indians, Eskimos and Australian aborigines -- who have only recently given up the primordial hunter-gatherer lifestyle.
Of course, New World Indians had their own native drugs to share with Columbus. According to Courtwright's bottomless bag of memorable quotes, the fanatically anti-smoking and anti-drinking Adolf Hitler called tobacco, "the wrath of the Red Man against the White Man, vengeance for having been given hard liquor." (Perhaps, though, Hitler showed that power is the most dangerous drug of all.)
Courtwright dislikes drugs, but what he really hates is capitalism. "The peculiar, vomitorious genius of modern capitalism," he expounds, "is its ability to betray our senses with one class of products or services and then sell us another to cope with the damage so that we can go back to consuming more of what caused the problem in the first place."
Rich merchants and Western European governments generally encouraged drug commerce well into the 19th century. The relatively recent growth of temperance movements and at least partially effective government controls on drugs, Courtwright asserts, were a response to the industrial revolution changing what capitalists required from workers. Before industrialization, landlords could keep fieldworkers in debt-slavery by getting them addicted to expensive alcohol or opium. Drunken factory workers, though, would break expensive machinery.
"The growing cost of the abuse of manufactured drugs turned out to be a fundamental contradiction of capitalism," claims Courtwright. On the other hand, one could also argue that the historically high level of sobriety reigning in today's hyper-capitalistic information economy -- where caffeine is the only acceptable drug -- demonstrates that free markets can encourage self-control.
Many economists, most notably Milton Friedman, have suggested legalizing all drugs. They point out that the outlawing of drugs generates crime, just as Prohibition did.
The historian Courtwright, however, believes these economists are living in a theoretical dreamland. The "dangers of exposing people to psychoactive substances for which, it is increasingly clear, they lack evolutionary preparation" means that the "answer, whatever it may be, is not a return to a minimally regulated drug market."
I fear this is true, but I would have liked to have seen Courtwright grapple more directly with the libertarian economists' arguments. Historians love facts, but distrust logic, while economists don't like to mess up their beautiful theories with too much reality. Perhaps someday, a thinker equally at home with both the history and theory of drugs will resolve this crucial quandary. Until then, "Forces of Habit" makes a fine introduction.