Narrator: Imagine a scene from 12,000 years ago in what is now modern-day Turkey. Hunter-gatherers, people who have not yet invented farming or settled in villages, are gathering from far and wide. They are undertaking a project of immense scale and difficulty: carving, dragging, and erecting enormous T-shaped limestone pillars, some weighing up to twenty metric tons. What could possibly motivate this monumental effort, this precursor to civilization? The conventional answer might be religion or the need for a central meeting place. But archaeological evidence points to a more intoxicating possibility: the desire for beer. This puzzling scene from the ancient site of Göbekli Tepe lies at the heart of a profound question about human nature. In his book, Drunk: How We Sipped, Danced, and Stumbled Our Way to Civilization, author Edward Slingerland argues that our thirst for intoxication is not an evolutionary mistake or a modern vice. Instead, it is a deep-seated drive that has been instrumental in our success as a species, sparking creativity, building trust, and ultimately, making civilization possible.

Narrator: From an evolutionary standpoint, the human desire to get drunk seems utterly baffling. Intoxicants impair our motor skills, cloud our judgment, and target the very part of our brain—the prefrontal cortex (PFC)—that is responsible for the cognitive control that has made humans so successful. Standard scientific explanations often dismiss this behavior as a "hijack" of our brain's pleasure circuits, an accidental byproduct of a system designed to reward adaptive behaviors like eating and sex. However, Slingerland argues this explanation is insufficient. The use of intoxicants is too ancient, too widespread, and too culturally significant to be a simple mistake.

The evidence suggests that our ancestors were pursuing intoxication long before they were baking bread. At the 12,000-year-old site of Göbekli Tepe, archaeologists found not only monumental architecture but also large vats containing the chemical residue of fermented grain. The tools and grain varieties found at these early sites were better suited for brewing beer than for making bread. This suggests a startling hypothesis: perhaps the desire for alcohol-fueled feasts was the primary motivation for domesticating grains, meaning humanity invented beer before it invented bread. This flips the traditional narrative on its head. Rather than being a byproduct of agriculture, the desire for intoxication may have been the very catalyst that pushed our ancestors toward a settled, civilized life. The sheer cost and effort involved, across millennia and cultures, suggests that getting drunk must have provided a powerful evolutionary advantage.

Narrator: Humans occupy a unique ecological niche that demands constant creativity and intensive social learning. To thrive, we need to solve novel problems and cooperate in large, complex groups. Slingerland argues that we are adapted for this niche through an extended childhood, a period where our brains are incredibly flexible, creative, and open to new information. As we mature, our prefrontal cortex develops fully, making us more focused and efficient but also more rigid in our thinking. The PFC, while essential for planning and control, can be the enemy of creativity.

This is where intoxication comes in. Alcohol acts as a cultural technology for temporarily disabling the PFC, allowing adults to regain the cognitive flexibility of a child. A fascinating experiment by psychologist Alison Gopnik illustrates this. She created a "blicket detector," a box that would light up when certain objects, or "blickets," were placed on it. In one version, the box only activated with a specific combination of objects. Four-year-olds were brilliant at solving this puzzle, with a 90 percent success rate, while adults, with their fully-developed PFCs, struggled, succeeding only 30 percent of the time. The children's less-focused, more exploratory minds were better suited for creative, lateral thinking. Slingerland posits that alcohol provides a shortcut back to this state. By quieting the hyper-analytical adult mind, it opens the door to new ideas, insights, and the kind of creative problem-solving that has been crucial to human innovation.

Narrator: Beyond individual creativity, alcohol’s greatest benefit may be its power to foster trust and cooperation among strangers. For our fiercely independent primate ancestors, living in large, settled groups presented a massive challenge. Alcohol helped solve this by serving as a powerful social lubricant. It reduces stress, lowers inhibitions, and makes people more open and communal.

The fictional story of Babette's Feast provides a perfect illustration. A small, isolated Danish community of devout, ascetic villagers has grown fractured and suspicious over the years. Old grievances and petty arguments have poisoned their relationships. Then Babette, a refugee French chef, spends her entire lottery winnings on a single, magnificent feast for the community, complete with a relentless stream of world-class wine and spirits. At first, the villagers are wary, having sworn off worldly pleasures. But as the wine flows, a transformation occurs. Tensions melt away, laughter fills the room, old friendships are rekindled, and the community is restored to a state of harmony. The feast demonstrates how a rising collective blood-alcohol content can dissolve the barriers that keep individuals apart, fostering the trust and solidarity necessary for large-scale cooperation. This effect, Slingerland argues, was essential for turning small bands of hunter-gatherers into the citizens of the first cities.

Narrator: While celebrating the benefits of intoxication, Slingerland is clear-eyed about its dangers. The ancient Greeks understood this duality, personified by the god Dionysus, who brought both ecstatic joy and destructive madness. For most of human history, the risks of alcohol were contained by cultural guardrails. Drinking was almost always communal, ritualized, and involved naturally fermented beverages of relatively low potency.

However, two modern innovations have dangerously amplified alcohol's dark side: distillation and isolation. The "gin craze" that swept through 18th-century Britain is a stark historical example. The sudden availability of cheap, potent distilled gin, untethered from social ritual, led to a public health catastrophe. Crime, poverty, and death rates soared as people drank themselves into oblivion. A similar crisis occurred in Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union, when the price of vodka plummeted, leading to a staggering drop in male life expectancy. These events highlight how modern, high-potency alcohol, especially when consumed alone, can overwhelm our evolved defenses. Without the moderating influence of community and cultural norms, the tool that once helped build civilization can become a force of profound destruction, leading to addiction, violence, and social decay.

Narrator: In the modern world, we often view alcohol through a narrow, moralistic lens, focusing almost exclusively on its harms. Public health campaigns frame it as a poison, and society promotes an ascetic ideal of perfect self-control. Slingerland argues that this perspective is not only historically naive but also counterproductive. It ignores the fundamental, functional role that intoxication has played—and continues to play—in human life. The fact that liquor stores were deemed "essential services" across the globe during the COVID-19 pandemic reveals a deep, unspoken truth: we rely on intoxicants to cope with stress, to connect with others, and to find moments of release.

The challenge, therefore, is not to eliminate alcohol but to reintegrate it into our lives in a healthier way. This means rejecting both unrestrained abuse and puritanical abstinence. We must learn to embrace Dionysus with caution and respect, recognizing both his gifts and his dangers. This involves rebuilding the cultural norms that once kept drinking in check: consuming alcohol in social settings, preferably with food, and savoring it for the pleasure and connection it brings rather than for a rapid escape. As the ancient Chinese poet Tao Yuanming wrote, "In the midst of wine there is profound meaning!" By understanding the deep history of our relationship with alcohol, we can make more informed choices, harnessing its power to enhance our lives while respecting its potential for harm.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Drunk is that our desire for intoxication is not a flaw in our design but a key feature of our humanity. It is a powerful tool that our ancestors used to solve the critical adaptive problems of their time: how to become more creative, more trusting, and more cooperative. From the beer-fueled feasts that may have kickstarted agriculture to the wine that lubricates social and business dealings today, alcohol has been a constant companion on our journey to civilization.

Slingerland leaves us with a profound challenge: to move beyond a simplistic view of alcohol as either a virtue or a vice. Instead, we must see it for what it is—a potent cultural technology with both incredible benefits and significant risks. The question is not if we should drink, but how. Can we rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors and create cultural practices that allow us to tap into the creative, communal power of intoxication without falling prey to its dark side? Acknowledging the functional role of Dionysus in our lives is the first step toward building a healthier, and perhaps more human, relationship with the spirit in the bottle.