For most of my life, when I heard the word “addict”, I pictured a particular kind of person: someone addicted to drugs, alcohol, pornography (except for me, of course… that definitely didn’t apply to me), or gambling and risk — behaviors obviously destructive and difficult to stop.
Until I was willing to admit my own issues, I tended to think of addiction (especially as a pejorative) as something that separated certain people from everyone else (like me).
But the more I’ve thought about addiction, the less I agree with this distinction. I’m wrestling with the idea: Is addiction really a type of person?
Recovery culture and psychology sometimes use terms like “addictive personality” to describe why certain people seem particularly susceptible to addiction — especially to substances or obviously destructive behaviors. And I don’t doubt that some of us are more vulnerable to these particular behaviors than others. Our experiences, repeated choices, learned behaviors, and individual histories can shape those vulnerabilities.
But I don’t see this “addiction” distinction in Scripture. Not just because it obviously doesn’t use our modern vocabulary and cultural definitions. What it does repeatedly describe is slavery and mastery — the relationship we develop with something (or someone) and the power we allow it to exercise over us. Jesus describes those who practice sin as becoming “slaves to sin” (John 8.34), while Peter says it more plainly: “people are slaves to whatever masters them” (2 Peter 2.19).
We can become preoccupied with sex, food, exercise, work, money, entertainment, approval, control, relationships, or countless other things (and of course substances, pornography, and gambling). Some of those things aren’t even inherently unhealthy. The problem isn’t always the thing. The problem can be what we’ve begun asking the thing to do for us.
I’m discovering that addiction is what happens when something incapable of bearing the weight of my trust, devotion, and dependence begins functioning like an object of worship.
This doesn’t mean every strong desire is an addiction.
It doesn’t mean enjoying something makes us addicted to it.
And it certainly doesn’t mean everyone has the same vulnerabilities or proclivities.
I think the idea of addiction has begun to ask me a more uncomfortable question than, “Am I an addict?” It’s been asking me: What (or who) am I allowing to exercise power or control over me?
Scripture repeatedly warns us that what we give ourselves to can eventually exercise mastery over us. Paul makes a particularly fascinating statement about this in 1 Corinthians 6.12 — one that we’ll explore more closely in this week’s Living Scripture.
For now, I think it’s enough for me to recognize (and perhaps admit) that addiction isn’t only something I need to look for in the obviously destructive behaviors in my life. I need to be willing to examine the ordinary parts too and ask myself, “What kind of relationship am I allowing this thing to develop in me — one of me exercising self-control or one of me being controlled?”
Or, simply, “What am I asking this to do for me?” That means the question isn’t simply whether something is healthy or unhealthy, permissible or impermissible. I’ve started asking myself, “What discomfort am I trying to medicate with behaviors that were never designed to relieve it?”
With hope,
Nathan
CLICK TO SUBSCRIBE
