A reflective guide for readers who want to understand how society shapes ideas of normality, morality, and addiction—and what you can gain by questioning those ideas.
What is normal and what is abnormal? Everything began with fear. Thousands of years ago, humans had no concept of what was normal or abnormal, nor did they have the frameworks of psychology, medicine, or behavioural science that we rely on today. What we now call “normality” grew out of collective habits, shared fears, and survival instincts. Medical science depends heavily on these terms, using them as reference points for diagnosis, treatment, and intervention. Over time, institutions connected to health and medicine have developed systems that classify people according to these definitions, often reinforcing a cycle where individuals stay dependent on medical interpretations and the industries built around them. Scholars argue that medicalisation, turning ordinary human experiences into medical issues, has expanded dramatically in the last century, shaping how societies think about behaviour, health, and deviance (Conrad, 2007).
In some countries, killing a deer is a crime, while killing and eating a goat is perfectly legal. One act is condemned, another accepted, even though both involve taking a life. There is usually no punishment for killing a goat in most places, yet killing a protected species can lead to fines or imprisonment. So, why is killing certain animals illegal? Who decided which animals deserve protection and which do not? Cultural anthropologists have long noted that human societies create moral rules based on ecological needs, religious values, and economic priorities (Douglas, 1966). But most of us rarely stop to question how these rules came to be or why they differ so drastically across borders.
Euthanasia, or mercy killing, is accepted in some countries but banned in many others. Even doctors, who dedicate their lives to reducing suffering, are not legally allowed to end it in most parts of the world. The laws around it emerge from a mix of religious beliefs, political pressures, and historical norms. Some countries accept the practice as an expression of human dignity and autonomy, while others see it as crossing an ethical boundary that must remain intact (Quill & Battin, 2004). But when we ask where these laws truly came from, we see the same pattern: rules created by humans out of fear; fear of death, fear of misuse, fear of moral collapse, or simply fear of change.
Weak humans created laws to protect themselves from the stronger ones. In the wild, there is no law and order. Nature does not divide actions into right or wrong. The famous saying “Everything is fair in love and war” captures the instinctive reality that nature operates on survival, not moral judgment. Philosophers such as Hobbes believed early humans lived in what he called a “state of nature”, where life was “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short”, and laws were invented to prevent mutual destruction (Hobbes, 1651). Whether or not life was truly that brutal, one thing is certain: humans created rules long before governments existed, mostly as a way to protect themselves.
If killing is wrong, then why were bulls born with horns? Why do scorpions have stings and snakes have venom? Nature itself does not seem to be against killing. Predators and prey form a cycle that has existed for millions of years. You might say humans don’t have venom or claws, and you’re right. But humans were born with something far more powerful: the brain. That brain gave us tools, strategies, and technologies. As archaeological research shows, early humans used stones, sticks, and traps to survive against stronger animals and rival tribes (Lewin & Foley, 2004).
In ancient times, humans killed each other for possessions; wives, children, cattle, gold, and other valuables. Archaeological evidence from early settlements suggests violence was common, driven by food scarcity, competition, and the absence of structured communities (Keeley, 1996). To protect themselves from stronger men, the weaker ones began hiding in caves and holes. When the powerful invaded their shelters, they built walls and doors. When that wasn’t enough, they added locks and gates. As the strong kept breaking in, the weak hired guards. When even that failed, they made laws and formed communities. That is how civilization and social order were born; from fear, from the desire to survive, and from the need to create boundaries around behaviour.
Then comes the word addiction.
There are many kinds of addiction. I, for example, am addicted to writing. I can sit with my blog and laptop for hours, pouring my thoughts into words. After a few days or months, I delete everything. Then, after a short break, I start writing again about something new. That too is a kind of addiction. But it is harmless. It does not destroy my life or threaten my health. It simply reflects a repetitive behaviour driven by interest and passion.
When we hear the word addiction, most people think of smoking, drinking, using mobile phones, or sex. The very idea of what is considered “normal” has created the word addiction. In ancient times, thousands of years ago, there was no such word. Not because humans did not experience addiction, but because they did not have a name for it. Anthropological research suggests early societies viewed repetitive behaviours through spiritual, moral, or ritual lenses rather than medical ones (Rose, 2007). Today, the term exists, and that is the only difference.
What is really wrong with addiction? Addiction simply means overuse or overdependence on something. But people are different. Everyone has their own likes and dislikes. Some like eating rice, some enjoy watching movies, and some go for long drives. Every person has habits they cling to for comfort, pleasure, or distraction. Life is long, and the day itself often feels too long to live through. When the world becomes repetitive, people search for something that makes them feel alive or gives them a pattern to follow.
Imagine a world where you don’t have to work eight or twelve hours a day just to feed yourself or your family. Suppose you were born extremely rich, with nothing to worry about earning a living. Do you realize how much free time you would have? What would you do with it? How many hours can you spend eating or sleeping? Even if you overdo those, people will call it addiction. But is that really wrong? Studies show that leisure time expands when basic survival needs are removed, and people tend to repeat pleasurable activities simply because they can (Kahneman, 2011). Yet society labels this repetition differently depending on who is doing it.
From the eyes of the poor, who must work day and night, four days a week or twenty days a month, just to live a stable life, this free-time activity of the rich is called addiction. But how fair is that? The judgement does not come from the behaviour itself, but from who is performing it. Sociologists argue that society uses moral language to regulate behaviour differently across social classes (Becker, 1963). A labourer who spends hours on his phone is called lazy, but a wealthy person who spends hours on the golf course is called relaxed or privileged.
From the rich person’s point of view, it is not addiction; it is simply enjoying the privilege of time and choice. While the poor are trapped in a cycle of work and routine, the wealthy have the freedom to repeat what they love, even if endlessly. Their behaviour is rarely questioned because society sees addiction differently when it does not threaten economic productivity.
So why do we label a rich man’s repeated actions as addiction? Is it truly wrong, or is it just another way the world divides what is “normal” and what is “abnormal”? When we look closely, we find that the concepts of normality, morality, and addiction are not fixed. They shift depending on culture, class, history, and power. What people call normal today was once abnormal yesterday, and will be considered outdated tomorrow. When you understand that, you see that the world’s labels are often reflections of fear, control, and convenience—not universal truths.