addiction

Trajectories

Eugene Raikhel and William Garriott, editors

EXPERIMENTAL FUTURES
Technological Lives, Scientific Arts, Anthropological Voices
A series edited by Michael M. J. Fischer and Joseph Dumit
 ADDICTION
T RA JECTOR I ES

EUGENE RAIKHEL AND WILLIAM GARRIOTT, EDITORS

Duke University Press

Durham and London 2013
∫ 2013 Duke University Press
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper !
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Typeset in Warnock by Keystone Typesetting, Inc.
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Addiction trajectories / Eugene Raikhel and William Garriott, eds.
p. cm.— (Experimental futures : technological lives, scientific arts,
anthropological voices)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
isbn 978-0-8223-5350-8 (cloth : alk. paper)
isbn 978-0-8223-5364-5 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Substance abuse—Research. 2. Addicts—Rehabilitation.
3. Substance abuse—Treatment. I. Raikhel, Eugene A., 1975–
II. Garriott, William Campbell, 1977– III. Series: Experimental futures.
hv5809.a335 2013
6.86 2—dc61 2012044751
Chapter 1 is reproduced by permission of the American Anthropological
Association from Cultural Anthropology 23, no. 4 (November 2008):
718–46. Not for sale or further reproduction.
Chapter 2 first appeared in Addiction by Design: Machine
Gambling in Las Vegas, by Natasha Dow Schüll (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2012). Reproduced by permission of Princeton
University Press.
Chapter 3 is adapted from The Clinic and Elsewhere: Addiction,
Adolescents, and the Afterlife of Therapy, by Todd Meyers (Seattle:
University of Washington Press, 2013). Reproduced by permission of the
University of Washington Press.
Chapter 8 first appeared in Policing Methamphetamine: Narcopolitics
in Rural America, by William Garriott (New York: New York University
Press, 2011). Reproduced by permission of New York University Press.
CONTENTS

Acknowledgments vii

INTRODUCTION Tracing New Paths in the Anthropology of Addiction 1

EUGENE RAIKHEL AND WILLIAM GARRIOTT

ONE The Elegiac Addict 36

ANGELA GARCIA

TWO Balancing Acts: Gambling-Machine Addiction 61

and the Double Bind of Therapeutics
NATASHA DOW SCHÜLL

THREE A Few Ways to Become Unreasonable: Pharmacotherapy 88

Inside and Outside the Clinic
TODD MEYERS

FOURPharmaceutical Evangelism and Spiritual Capital: 108

An American Tale of Two Communities of Addicted Selves
HELENA HANSEN

Elusive Travelers: Russian Narcology, Transnational

FIVE 126
Toxicomanias, and the Great French Ecological Experiment
ANNE M. LOVELL

SIX Signs of Sobriety: Rescripting American Addiction Counseling 160

E. SUMMERSON CARR

SEVENPlacebos or Prostheses for the Will? 188

Trajectories of Alcoholism Treatment in Russia
EUGENE RAIKHEL
EIGHT‘‘You Can Always Tell Who’s Using Meth’’: 213
Methamphetamine Addiction and the Semiotics
of Criminal Difference
WILLIAM GARRIOTT

NINE‘‘Why Can’t They Stop?’’ A Highly Public 238

Misunderstanding of Science
NANCY D. CAMPBELL

TEN Committed to Will: What’s at Stake for Anthropology 263

in Addiction
A. JAMIE SARIS

AFTERWORD Following Addiction Trajectories 284

EMILY MARTIN

References 293

Contributors 327

Index 329
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We thank the contributors to this volume for the stimulating conver-

sations that have helped to shape our thinking about addiction, as well
as for their dedication and patience throughout the editorial process.
Many of the chapters in this volume were originally presented at the
workshop ‘‘Anthropologies of Addiction: Science, Therapy, and Regula-
tion’’ at McGill University in April 2009, which was generously funded by
an Aid to Workshops and Conferences in Canada grant from the Social
Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (sshrc), as well as
by the Division for Social and Transcultural Psychiatry at McGill Univer-
sity. We owe a particularly deep thanks to Sandra Hyde, whose collabora-
tion was essential to our receiving the sshrc grant and to the overall
success of the workshop. This volume has greatly benefited from the
careful readings, insights, and suggestions of a number of scholars who
attended the workshop—as well as an earlier session at the American
Anthropological Association conference in 2007—as participants and dis-
cussants: Nick Bartlett, João Biehl, Joe Dumit, Clara Han, Sandra Hyde,
Nick King, Laurence Kirmayer, Barbara Koenig, Daniel Lende, Margaret
Lock, Dawn Moore, Ronald Niezen, Michael Oldani, Tobias Rees, Lisa
Stevenson, and Allan Young. We also thank the research assistants who
have helped us in innumerable ways at various stages of this project:
Emilio Dirlikov, Annie Heffernan, Roscoe Nicholson, Rachel Sandwell,
Aaron Seaman, and W. Wilson Will. Finally, we are tremendously grateful
to Ken Wissoker and his staff at Duke University Press for their support of
this volume.
 INTRODUCTION EUGENE RAIKHEL AND WILLIAM GARRIOTT

TRACING NEW PATHS IN THE

ANTHROPOLOGY OF ADDICTION

This volume provides a critical examination of ‘‘addiction’’—a

relatively new but increasingly prominent way of thinking about
and intervening into the contemporary human experience. Rooted
largely in Western ideas about health, illness, and comportment,
addiction is now experientially, discursively, and geographically
widespread. As it assumes the status of a ‘‘global form’’ (Collier
and Ong 2005)—albeit a hotly contested one—it both shapes and
is shaped by the contexts in which it takes hold and through
which it passes. Addiction is particularly relevant as an object of
anthropological inquiry because it sits at the crossroads of some
of the issues that most define the world today: the role of scien-
tific—and particularly bioscientific—knowledge in the shaping of
identity, selfhood, and subjectivity; the mutual transformation of
novel medical technologies and the cultural settings in which
they are enacted; and the mediation of biological and psychologi-
cal systems and social and political-economic ones by subjective
and embodied meaning and experience.
The chapters in this volume were originally presented at a
workshop on the anthropologies of addiction held at McGill Uni-
versity in April 2009. During our discussions, we found that while
they reflected a range of geographical fieldwork locations and
were written from a variety of theoretical perspectives, all of
them examined addiction with an attention to a number of issues
that speak to addiction’s unique position in the contemporary
world. These include shifts in the scientific understanding of addiction
and the use of this knowledge for intervention (therapeutic and other-
wise); new developments in addiction therapeutics, many of which (par-
ticularly in the case of pharmaceutical-based treatments) blur the lines
between treatment and use; and the efforts by individual addicts, their
families, and others to live with the effects of addiction while also making
sense of changes in its therapeutic, scientific, social, and political manage-
ment. We suggest that the affinity between these issues—and its signifi-
cance for research on addiction—can be most clearly understood through
a focus on what we call addiction trajectories. In highlighting the notion of
trajectories, we aim to emphasize the directed (yet contingent) movement
of people, substances, ideas, techniques, and institutions along spatial,
temporal, social, and epistemic dimensions. More specifically, the chap-
ters in this volume follow at least three principal types of addiction trajec-
tories: (1) the epistemic trajectories traced by categories and concepts of
addiction as they change over time and move across institutional do-
mains; (2) the therapeutic trajectories of treatments as they move through
distinct cultural and organizational settings; and (3) the experiential and
experimental trajectories of lives constituted through the terrains of ad-
diction and subjectivity.
To clarify what we mean by addiction trajectories, we first turn to an
extended ethnographic example drawn from one of the contributions to
this volume. In her chapter, Anne M. Lovell recounts her encounter with
Pavel, a young man from Ukraine with whom she spoke while researching
Eastern European drug users in Marseille. Pavel began injecting opium
while still living in Ukraine. He found that, when dosed correctly, it helped
him in his work as a computer programmer. But Pavel also found that his
use had become an addiction, or toxicomania, the term generally used
in French-speaking countries (and, with a more restricted meaning, in
Russian-speaking ones).∞ ‘‘My toxicomania,’’ he said, ‘‘was like a woman,’’
suggesting that the experience simultaneously carried the passion and
potential danger of a sexual relationship. ‘‘The needle,’’ he continued, ‘‘was
my brother,’’ pointing to a level of intimacy with the means of injection
rivaling that shared with a family member—a blood relative.
But Pavel’s experience as an addict (or toxicomane) was not defined
solely by these positively valenced experiences of productivity, pleasure,
and intimacy. Still a young man, he had already seen friends overdose and
die. One had been forced to have his leg amputated when gangrene set in

2 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

at the injection site. Pavel himself started selling his parents’ possessions
to pay for opium—an act that prompted them to commit him to a forensic
psychiatric hospital, where he would ultimately go through two rounds of
treatment. At the institution, Pavel underwent a period of forced with-
drawal combined with periodic injections of medications unknown to
him, all while being strapped to a table—a form of treatment/punishment
that reflects the hybrid penal and medical genealogy of post-Soviet addic-
tion medicine (Elovich and Drucker 2008; Raikhel 2010).
Having suffered through commitment to a psychiatric hospital and the
general depredations of his home country’s punitive approach to govern-
ing drug use, Pavel left Ukraine. He traveled through Poland and Germany
to Strasbourg, France, then on to Marseille, where he had friends. In
Marseille, Pavel—along with an unknown number of other travelers from
Russia and Eastern Europe—encountered a very different orientation to
the management of addiction. There, as in many other settings, addiction
was increasingly being framed using a neurobiological idiom, owing in
part to decades of neuroscientific research into the condition (Campbell
2007; Vrecko 2010a). This biomedical model, which is the product of a
different institutional and intellectual history than that which developed
in Russia and other former Soviet states (described by Eugene Raikhel in
this volume), has had a significant impact on addiction management in
France. Specifically, it has both partially displaced an older model rooted
in psychoanalysis and come together with local ideologies of citizenship,
solidarity, and republicanism, leading to an approach that emphasizes the
development of institutions and practices seeking to mitigate the harmful
effects of drug use and draw drug users into the French social body (Lovell
2006). This hybrid model of addiction management provided Pavel, like
other travelers from Eastern Europe, with a different identity through
which he could envision a new future for himself. ‘‘In Ukraine,’’ Pavel said,
‘‘the toxicomane, it’s not like in France. In Ukraine, if someone is a tox-
icomane, he is already a criminal. If I am a toxicomane, I don’t go to the
hospital; I go to prison.’’
But it was also in France that Pavel started using drugs again—not
opium this time, but heroin, as well as methadone, Rohypnol, and bupre-
norphine. Notably, methadone, Rohypnol, and buprenorphine are all le-
gal medications marketed for their therapeutic effect, with methadone
and buprenorphine being two leading medications used to treat addiction
to opiates. Pavel was able to access these medications because opiate-

INTRODUCTION 3
substitution therapy plays a key role in the French approach to managing
addiction, and drugs such as methadone are often available for free from
local nongovernmental organizations (ngos). Not surprisingly, perhaps,
Pavel framed his use of these substances in strictly therapeutic terms as a
form of self-medication that he could stop at any time.
While availing themselves of these opiate-substitution therapies and
carving out new lives under a different drug-management regime, this
contingent of Eastern European drug users provoked anxiety, frustration,
and resentment among local drug users and public health workers in
Marseille, not so much because they misused methadone and buprenor-
phine, but because—in an unexpected bid at biological citizenship—they
seemed to use the harm-reduction services aimed at drug addicts pri-
marily as a way to gain access to other social and health services that were
not available to them in their home countries. Pavel and other addicted
travelers thus continued to experience harassment and exclusion from the
surrounding population by virtue of their addicted status (albeit a dif-
ferent kind from what they might have experienced at home). Perhaps in
part because of this ambivalent reception in France, Pavel ultimately
dreamed of returning home to Ukraine. ‘‘I want to live in my country,’’ he
said. ‘‘France is for the French. I’ll find a job [in Ukraine]. I’ll have a family,
children—live!’’
Pavel’s story highlights the shifting place of addiction in the contempo-
rary world. To be sure, this story has elements that are all too familiar.
Pavel’s is a story of the pain and pleasure that come with drug use, one in
which drugs (both licit and illicit) offer a means to self-medicate the social
misery caused by ‘‘reigning structures of social inequality’’ (Baer et al.
2003: 228). It is a story in which the awkward and often incompatible
relationship between the medical and the political domains perpetuates
the very inequalities that so often prompt the turn to drug use in the first
place and hamper the prospects for therapeutic success. Finally, Pavel’s is
a story of sociality and marginalization, of being on the outside of not one
but several social bodies while simultaneously forming new relationships
and associations, often by means of the addiction itself.
Underlying and uniting these various facets of Pavel’s experience, how-
ever, is something more fundamental: the simple fact of his movement as a
result of his addiction. Through his addiction, Pavel is thrown into new
contexts, new milieux. Indeed, these milieux emerge only as Pavel and his
compatriots traverse the social, physical, and political landscapes in which

4 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

their own experiences of addiction are embedded. Such movement is in-
herently productive, creating novel assemblages of people, ideas, inter-
ventions, and other constitutive matter—all of which recursively shape
how individuals like Pavel come to experience and live with their addic-
tion, even using it to make claims on the state for services, belonging, and
care. Along the way, the lines that divide subject and substance, individual
and environment, illness and treatment, and will and desire, among oth-
ers, are reworked, blur, or evaporate altogether. This process works to
refract and reframe the local impact of scientific research, therapeutic
interventions, governance practices, even subjectivity itself, all of which
are revealed to be inseparable from, rather than ancillary to, the contem-
porary experience and manifestation of addiction. Tracing the movement
of Pavel and those like him brings into focus the work of addiction today:
its role in shaping and being shaped by the trajectories along which indi-
viduals like Pavel travel and live.

Addiction: Anthropological Approaches

Before turning to the issue of addiction trajectories in detail, it is impor-
tant to address an even more fundamental question: Why focus on ‘‘addic-
tion’’ per se? Why not focus on ‘‘drugs’’ or ‘‘drug use’’ or ‘‘substance depen-
dence’’? Indeed, anthropologists have a long history of studying particular
psychoactive substances, including alcohol, tobacco, ‘‘drugs,’’ and, most
recently, pharmaceuticals (Dietler 2006; Heath 1987; G. Hunt and Barker
2001; Kohrmann and Benson 2011; Mandelbaum 1965; Marshall et al.
2001; Page and Singer 2010; Petryna et al. 2006). Among other important
findings, this literature has provided evidence for the cultural determina-
tion of distinctions between normal and pathological consumption (Linda
Bennett et al. 1993; Colson and Scudder 1988; Douglas 1987; Eber 1995;
Heath 1958; Marshall 1979; cf. Room 1984); furnished the basis for an
influential argument on the cultural shaping of ‘‘drunken comportment’’
(MacAndrew and Edgerton 1969); documented local social and political-
economic logics surrounding the use and exchange of substances (Agar
1973; Bourgois 1995; Bourgois and Schonberg 2009; Kunitz et al. 1994;
Singer 2008; Spradley 1970; Waterston 1993); studied the intertwining of
colonial (or postcolonial) domination, historical trauma, and stereotypy
surrounding substance abuse in Native communities (Kunitz et al. 1994;
O’Nell and Mitchell 1996; Prussing 2007; Quintero 2000; Spicer 1997,
1998); examined links between substance consumption and the construc-

INTRODUCTION 5
tion of gender identity (Benedict and Benedict 1982; Marshall and Mar-
shall 1990; Suggs 1996); analyzed the interrelationships between structural
violence, harmful drug use, and infectious diseases (particularly hiv)
(Bourgois et al. 1997; Rhodes et al. 2005; Singer 2006); theorized the trans-
formation of self in treatment programs (Bateson 1972; Cain 1991); and
examined the flow of substances as commodities in chains of production,
exchange, and consumption (Mintz 1985; B. Roberts 2000; Stebbins 2001;
Whyte et al. 2002).
While the papers collected here are deeply indebted to many of these
earlier studies, they also move away from employing substance categories
(alcohol, illicit drugs, pharmaceuticals) as the organizing rubric for re-
search. Instead, they take up ‘‘addiction’’ as an object of anthropological
study in its own right, all the while insisting on its contingency as a cate-
gory of human experience. Both ‘‘addiction’’ and the notion of the ‘‘addict’’
in their contemporary meanings are of relatively recent origin. ‘‘Addic-
tion’’ did not enter humanity’s ‘‘grammar of motives’’ (Burke 1969: xvi) in
earnest until the late nineteenth century. And its meaning continues to be
revised and contested in light of new scientific knowledge, medical treat-
ments, and subjective experience—as the various genealogies presented
here demonstrate.
Returning to the question posed earlier, why, then, focus on ‘‘addiction’’
today? We suggest that a number of relatively recent developments have
facilitated the emergence of ‘‘addiction’’ as an object of knowledge, inter-
vention, identification, and contention in the contemporary world. One of
these is the biologization of psychiatry and the emergence of a body of
neurobiological knowledge which characterizes addiction as a dysfunc-
tion of normal brain systems involved in reward, motivation, learning, and
choice (Campbell 2007; Kalivas and Volkow 2005; Vrecko 2010b). In addi-
tion to shifting much public discussion of addiction’s roots from psychol-
ogy, family dynamics, and social factors to neurotransmitters and brain
functions, this research has produced a number of new pharmacological
treatments for addiction, which may encourage forms of life that are radi-
cally distinct from those fostered by programs such as Alcoholics Anony-
mous (aa; see Lovell 2006; Rose 2003a; Vrecko 2006). Indeed, it should be
noted that more than half of the chapters presented here discuss some
form of pharmaceutical-based addiction therapy, with the majority fo-
cused on the drug buprenorphine.
But the contemporary story of addiction cannot be reduced to one

6 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

simply of biomedicalization. The past decades have also seen a prolifera-
tion of technologies for addiction therapy and harm reduction, many of
which openly eschew substance-based treatments. These range from
mutual-help movements modeled on aa to therapeutic communities and
needle-exchange programs. Such institutions are now being exported well
beyond the countries of their origin, where they are transformed, adapted,
and domesticated even as they seek to transform local ways of being
(Borovoy 2001, 2005; Brandes 2002; Hansen 2005; Hyde 2011; Mäkelä et al.
1996; Saris 2008; Zigon 2010). Moreover, such interventions often exist
alongside coercive institutions based on the criminalization of particular
behaviors or substances (Garriott 2011; Moore 2007; Nolan 2001).
The increasing salience of ‘‘addiction’’ has been more, however, than
simply the result of the global migration of ideas and interventions. A
number of technological and political-economic factors have created
conditions under which behaviors ranging from alcohol consumption to
gambling are likely to become compulsive cycles. These include profit-
making entities, such as the alcohol, tobacco, and gaming industries; nar-
cotrafficking operations, which link compulsive desire to the circuits of
consumer capitalism; and conditions of structural violence that under-
mine the forms of support people need to avoid such patterns (P. Benson
2010; Bourgois and Schonberg 2009; Gootenberg 2008; Jernigan 1997;
Schüll 2012; Stebbins 2001; Vrecko 2008).
Appreciating the historically situated nature of addiction is essential
for understanding its significance in contemporary life. Moreover, as the
papers collected here show, to probe addiction is to examine simultane-
ously a series of distinctly modern forms of life, including patterns of
consumption and production, sickness and health, normalcy and pathol-
ogy, neglect and intervention, belonging and alienation—in short, the
very ‘‘stuff’’ out of which the contemporary world is made. Thus, addiction
is a category through which ‘‘anthropos today’’—the contemporary hu-
man—has come to experience itself, one that is at once phenomenologi-
cally robust and historically contingent (Rabinow 2003).

Trajectories: Movement and Method

In writing of addiction trajectories, we seek to highlight a number of
specific issues and problems evoked by the full range of meanings sug-
gested by the notion of the trajectory. Trajectories can be spatial as well as
temporal; in the cases presented in this volume, they are usually both

INTRODUCTION 7
simultaneously. Trajectories also can be charted over social and institu-
tional dimensions. In addition, while the notion certainly suggests the
temporality of a human life, addiction trajectories are not only about
disease and illness processes as experienced by people. Categories, tech-
nologies, and institutional forms related to addiction also change over
time and move from place to place. Thus, we mean simultaneously to
evoke ideas of motion, temporality, and change, as well as the tension
between forces that structure and determine social phenomena into well-
worn paths and those that maintain the contingency and indeterminacy of
those paths, allowing individuals to veer off into unexpected directions. In
taking up this terminology, we also intend to signal a critical engagement
with two broad and distinct literatures that have employed similar con-
cepts: anthropological work on the spatial movement and mobility of
people, things, and ideas and the often clinically engaged social science
literature that examines ‘‘illness trajectories.’’ Finally, the concept of ad-
diction trajectories suggests a number of methodological choices, which
we trace through the chapters in this volume.
In their emphasis on trajectory and movement, the contributions to
this volume not only enrich our understanding of addiction but also bring
greater analytic clarity to these themes in the anthropological literature
more generally. Anthropologists have productively used movement, travel,
and other action-oriented tropes and metaphors (flows, traffic, circula-
tion) as heuristics through which to understand everything from the social
lives of pharmaceuticals to the illegal traffic in human organs and the
production of scientific knowledge (Petryna et al. 2006; Scheper-Hughes
2003; Whyte et al. 2002). We understand the notion of trajectory to refer
not simply to movement, but to directed movement, thus implying the
forces and processes—whether social, psychological or biological—which
shape this directedness. Seen in this light, addiction cannot be reduced
simply to a biological condition, a social affliction or the symptom of some
deeper malaise. Rather, it must be seen as a trajectory of experience that
traverses the biological and the social, the medical and the legal, the cul-
tural and the political. Understanding addiction requires attention to how
it inspires movement across these multiple domains, or, as Lovell puts it
in her contribution to this volume, ‘‘tracing the trajectories of elusive
travelers.’’
We are also indebted to the extensive literature on ‘‘illness trajectories,’’
a concept widely used in longitudinal studies of illness in individual lives

8 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

and across the life-course, and in related discussions about the social
production of differential health outcomes (G. Becker and Kaufman 1995;
Corbin and Strauss 1987; Strauss et al. 1982; Wiener and Dodd 1993).
During the 1970s and 1980s, medical sociologists studying chronic illness
developed the notion of the ‘‘illness trajectory’’ to refer ‘‘not only to the
physiological unfolding of a patient’s disease but to the total organization
of work done over that course of illness plus the impact on those involved
with that work and its organization’’ (Strauss et al. 1982).≤ This concept
has been highly influential in qualitative health research, particularly in
clinically applied studies in mental health seeking to understand ‘‘when,
where and how to intervene’’ in order to achieve improved health out-
comes.≥
Many researchers working on addiction have used the related concept
of ‘‘drug-use trajectories’’ in longitudinal and developmentally oriented
studies (Hser et al. 2007). Much of this literature seeks to explain the
finding that many people who use addictive drugs habitually for a period
of time either ‘‘mature out’’ of heavy use or stop without therapeutic
intervention (Chen and Kandel 1995; Robins 1993; Winger et al. 2005;
Winick 1962). Anthropologically informed literature on drug-use trajec-
tories has generally emphasized that norms, role expectations, and under-
standings of pathology are not only culturally determined but also dif-
ferentiated across local conceptualizations of the life-course (Nichter et
al. 2004; O’Nell and Mitchell 1996; Quintero 2000). The notion of trajec-
tory is also implicit in discussions about conceptual frameworks for re-
search and treatment that might move beyond the current dominance of
diagnostic categories based on the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of
Mental Disorders (dsm), particularly among cultural psychiatrists and
medical anthropologists concerned with the shaping or production of
chronicity in psychotic disorders (cf. Good et al. 2010; Luhrmann 2007). In
all of these uses of the term, ‘‘trajectory’’ signals a shift away from a syn-
chronic focus on symptoms or markers toward a diachronic one on indi-
viduals undergoing changes and the relationship between individual ex-
periences, life-course events, and environmental processes. Although we
aim to draw on many useful elements of this discussion here, we also seek
to inflect the concept of trajectory in somewhat different ways.
In particular, we draw attention to how the ideas of specific life trajec-
tories with addiction work to perpetuate themselves—particularly when
enacted in highly persuasive illness narratives. For example, numerous

INTRODUCTION 9
scholars, including Angela Garcia (2010), have argued that the overdeter-
minedness of the aa or Twelve Step narrative—which plots a trajectory
running from crisis to ‘‘hitting rock bottom’’ to redemption—may serve to
reify or even produce the chronicity of addiction. Conversely, it is pre-
cisely an emphasis on the potential of open-endedness and contingency
(what João Biehl and Peter Locke [2010], drawing on Gilles Deleuze, call
‘‘becoming’’) that distinguishes the notion of trajectory from that of the
‘‘career’’—an idea that has been widely used in the ethnography of drug
and alcohol use (e.g., H. Becker 1953; Kunitz et al. 1994; Waldorf 1973).
An emphasis on trajectories has a number of methodological implica-
tions as well. Specifically, concern with movement is rooted in a unique
ethnographic sensibility that focuses on tracing or ‘‘following’’ subjects as
they move through their everyday lives (de Certeau 1988; Le Marcis 2004;
Marcus 1995). This approach has been central to ethnographers’ ability to
discover so-called hidden populations of drug users that typically remain
outside the clinical gaze (Page and Singer 2010). But to follow someone in
this way is not simply a matter of shadowing their every move. The ap-
proach here is a much broader enterprise. It involves attending not only to
lived experience but also to the material out of which lived experience is
made: the relations, knowledges, technologies, and affects, as well as the
recursive impact of subjectivity itself (Biehl et al. 2007), which takes on
particular significance given the ‘‘chronic’’ character of addiction. In his
contribution, Todd Meyers argues that to ‘‘follow’’ one’s subjects in this
way includes ‘‘conversations with concerned family members, friends, pa-
role officers, clinicians, and social workers—often in the absence of the
‘study participant.’ ’’ Such a method also requires ‘‘documenting the work
of clinicians and the material administrative traces that remained after
someone would disappear.’’
In tracing such trajectories, the contributors to this volume demon-
strate the inadequacy of conceptualizing worlds or spaces—such as those
of the clinic or of the ‘‘street’’—as separate from one another. In her chap-
ter, Anne Lovell notes that much of the addiction literature assumes a
unilinear, uniform trajectory from use to treatment. However, the con-
tributors to this volume suggest that subjectivities are forged and life
patterns are shaped not so much in the clinic or rehabilitation center as an
endpoint or exclusively in the domain of ‘‘use,’’ but in the movement be-
tween them. Thus, in her chapter, Angela Garcia shows how the clinical
logic of chronicity articulates with Hispano notions of endlessness to

10 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

foreclose the possibilities for a particular patient’s life. In a related argu-
ment, Meyers suggests some of the complex relationships between the
aims and practices of the clinic and the ones that patients carry with them
into non-institutional spaces. Here, patients’ dispositions toward thera-
peutics are not adequately described by focusing on compliance or non-
compliance; rather, they blur the more basic distinction between thera-
peutics and the pathology they seek to alleviate.
The remainder of this introduction will discuss the individual chapters
in greater detail. It is organized around three kinds of addiction trajecto-
ries. The first section examines the epistemic trajectories of categories and
concepts of addiction as they have transformed over time and moved
across domains. Following this, we focus on the therapeutic trajectories of
various treatments and related assemblages as they move between cul-
tural and institutional settings. Finally, we attend to the experiential and
experimental trajectories that emerge as subjects use substances, knowl-
edge, and therapeutics and are used by them. In examining lives constituted
through the terrains of experience and subjectivity, these contributions also
show how addiction itself can be productively seen as a trajectory along
which the subject travels.

Epistemic Trajectories
In using ‘‘addiction’’ as an organizing rubric for this volume, we aim to
direct attention to what Ian Hacking (2002) has called the ‘‘historical
ontology’’ of this category—its coming into being as an object of knowl-
edge (and, importantly, self-knowledge) and intervention under a particu-
lar set of conditions—rather than to further naturalize it as a self-evident
phenomenon.∂ This is not to discount the experiential reality of addiction.
Rather, the contributors to this volume seek to understand how scientific
and other expert framings of addiction are implicated in lived experience.
The etymology of the term ‘‘addiction’’ locates its earliest usage in
Roman law. To be an addict in this context was to be in a state of slavery as
a result of failure to pay a debt. In the Roman Empire, the addict was the
debtor enslaved to his or her creditor; in the contemporary world, the
addict is the person enslaved to a substance or process, whether it is
alcohol, a drug, or an activity such as gambling (Gomart 2004).
Addiction in its contemporary meaning began to take shape in earnest
in Anglo-American countries with the formation of the disease concept of
alcoholism during the early industrial age. Here, the individual’s desire to

INTRODUCTION 11
consume alcohol was framed as a chronic, progressive compulsion that
led eventually and inevitably to a loss of control. This concept emerged at
a time that drinking practices were increasingly problematized for their
perceived incompatibility with the behavioral strictures then valorized,
particularly those of self-reliance, independence, and productivity (Fer-
entzy 2001; Levine 1978; Room 2003).∑ Alcoholism and other such ‘‘dis-
eases of the will,’’ as they were framed throughout the nineteenth century,
arose as a kind of shadow to the normative ideal of the freely choosing
subject in much the same way that Foucault and others have argued that
the concept of madness emerged in a mutually constitutive relationship to
reason (Foucault 1965; Valverde 1998).∏ The cultural specificity of the
relationship between person and substance figured by this idea is bol-
stered by several classic ethnographic studies, which together documented
how valorized and socially constructive practices of heavy drinking in
several indigenous communities transformed into more disruptive and
painful patterns with the advent of markets and wage labor (Heath 1958,
2004; Marshall 1979, 1982).
The twentieth century saw a number of key shifts in how medical
researchers understood the relationship between human biology, individ-
ual psychology, environment, and particular psychoactive substances.
Moreover, researchers’ conceptual categories and questions were deeply
shaped by what states and social movements took to be significant prob-
lems of the day. For example, many late nineteenth-century physicians in
the United States and Britain understood habitual drunkenness as a sign
of ‘‘inebriety,’’ a concept that drew upon contemporary theories of degen-
eration and understood alcohol as ‘‘racial poison’’ (Valverde 1998: 54).
While inebriety was framed by some as an underlying condition that
linked drinking with tobacco and opium use, as well as other so-called
vices, the general idea of alcohol as inherently harmful meshed with the
increasingly influential prohibitionist ideas of the temperance movement
(Courtwright 2005; Valverde 1998). Following the repeal of Prohibition in
the United States, aa articulated a conception of alcoholism as disease
according to which some aspect of the particular drinker (rather than the
substance itself) lent itself to pathological consumption (Gusfield 1996:
247–56). This general assumption about alcoholism, in turn, informed
decades of studies on ‘‘predisposition’’ and ‘‘risk factors’’ that sought to
identify the specific aspect of the drinker (social, psychological, or heredi-
tary) or her or his environment to which addiction might be ascribed (Val-

12 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

verde 1998). In the meantime, at least until the 1970s, biological, public
health, and social science research streams on alcohol, tobacco, and illegal
drugs developed in relative isolation from one another, each influenced by
a distinct field of actors with competing political, social, and commercial
interests (Berridge 2001; Campbell 2007; Courtwright 2005).
The transformation of diagnostic categories and criteria has been sim-
ilarly divergent, with different frameworks emerging from various institu-
tional bodies, some of which have dropped the term ‘‘addiction’’ alto-
gether. For example, during the 1960s, the World Health Organization,
which publishes the International Classification of Diseases, replaced the
related terms ‘‘drug addiction’’ and ‘‘drug habituation’’ with ‘‘drug depen-
dence,’’ which was defined to encompass both psychological and physio-
logical dependence. By the 1980s, that had been loosened further still
(Reinarman 2005: 311–12; Room 1998). The term ‘‘addiction’’ was simi-
larly dropped from dsm-iv (the fourth edition of the American Psychi-
atric Association’s authoritative Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of
Mental Disorders), although arguments have been made for its reinstate-
ment in the next edition (O’Brien et al. 2006). Finally, the entire Anglo-
American addiction paradigm has been challenged in countries such as
France and Russia, where different intellectual and institutional concep-
tualizations rooted in distinct national and political histories continue to
hold sway (Lovell 2006; Raikhel 2010, this volume).
For nearly twenty years, neurobiologically oriented addiction research-
ers, led in the United States by the National Institute on Drug Abuse
(nida), have publicly promoted the idea of addiction as a ‘‘chronic, relaps-
ing brain disease’’—a dysfunction of the brain systems involved in reward,
motivation, learning, and choice (Hyman 2005; Kalivas and Volkow 2005;
Leshner 1997). According to this model, addiction is generally understood
as the behavioral outcome of this biological dysfunction, namely ‘‘compul-
sive seeking . . . and administration of a drug despite grave adverse conse-
quences’’ (Nestler 2004: 698). This model, based on several decades of
research conducted on the neural correlates of experiences such as craving
and pleasure (much of it carried out on nonhuman animals), was strength-
ened and legitimated by the powerful imaging technologies that became
widely available during the 1980s and 1990s, as Nancy Campbell discusses
in her contribution to this volume (see also Campbell 2007; Vrecko 2010a).
Specifically, the ‘‘chronic, relapsing brain disease’’ model replaced a narra-
tive in which withdrawal and growing physical tolerance led the user to

INTRODUCTION 13
consume increasing quantities of a substance to maintain the same level
of intoxication with one in which substances and particular behaviors
‘‘hijack’’ endogenous systems evolved to reward behavior that is necessary
for survival—the so-called dopamine hypothesis (Hyman 2005; Kalivas
and Volkow 2005). While the expansion of the addiction concept to be-
havior such as gambling, sex, and overeating may have been shaped as
much by the burgeoning mutual-help and addiction-recovery movements
as by biomedical research (Schüll, this volume; Sedgwick 1992; Valverde
1998),π the ‘‘chronic, relapsing brain disease’’ model has provided an im-
portant framing to this expansive notion of addiction by suggesting that
certain behaviors not involving psychoactive substances nonetheless cor-
relate with the activation and dysfunction of the same brain circuits
(Block 2008; O’Brien et al. 2006; Petry 2006; Volkow and O’Brien 2007).
On a more fundamental level, the neurobiological model shares certain
basic assumptions with psychological models of addiction—for example,
the notion that various behaviors associated with the repeated consump-
tion of psychoactive substances are ‘‘symptoms’’ indicative of some dis-
crete underlying condition, or, in other words, a disease entity rather than
contingent outcomes of people interacting with particular milieux (Keane
2002: 568; Reinarman 2005: 308; Room 1983).
By briefly tracing these historical trajectories, we point to the contin-
gent nature of their futures. While we have yet to see how the neurosci-
ences will transform professional and lay understandings of addiction, it is
clear that practices such as problematic drinking and drug use have not
yet been biologized—or subsumed under the aegis of psychiatry—to the
same degree as other forms of human suffering, particularly mental illness
(May 2001; Valverde 1997, 1998). Some reasons for this may be internal to
biomedicine. For example, Carl May (2001) suggests that we can speak
only of a ‘‘quasi-disease model of addiction’’ in biomedicine, because a
lack of clear organic disease markers makes physicians dependent on
patients’ self-reports for diagnosis, rendering diagnosis largely an issue of
self-identification.∫ While some biomedical traditions have attempted to
deal with this by associating addiction with certain discrete and observ-
able behavioral markers, such as reflexes (as Raikhel shows in his contri-
bution), the failure to identify clear biological markers has, at least until
this point, meant that addiction has failed to live up to the evidentiary
criteria of biomedicine. The issue of therapy is also important here, in that
the success of psychopharmacological treatments seems to have helped to

14 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

significantly legitimate biological accounts of mental illness, even in the
absence of discrete biological markers, whereas pharmacological treat-
ments for addiction have not yet been taken up as widely.
Moreover, while the neuroscientific framing of addiction enjoys wide-
spread mainstream institutional support, rival conceptualizations persist.
Active critiques of the brain disease model of addiction have been mounted
not only by anthropologists, sociologists, and historians (whose work is
described throughout this introduction) but also by researchers in other
disciplines and by practitioners in various health professions. For exam-
ple, psychologists, behavioral economists, and philosophers have argued
that thinking about addiction as ‘‘disease’’ obscures how addicts continue
to exercise choice, even under highly constrained conditions (Foddy and
Savulescu 2010; Heyman 2009; Schaler 2000). Other psychologists have
gone further, arguing that even defining addiction as a disorder amounts to
a medicalization of conditions more properly understood as ‘‘problems of
living,’’ while some bioethicists have questioned whether a brain disease
model will in fact reduce stigma around addiction, as is often claimed
(Buchman et al. 2011; Midanik 2006; Peele 1989). Perhaps most notably,
as Summerson Carr (2011) shows, the therapeutic and recovery fields in
North America use a very different model of how addiction affects human
subjectivity that foregrounds the inner depth and complexity of the hu-
man psyche. Other therapeutic techniques, such as motivational inter-
viewing, display a conspicuous lack of interest in the specifics of addicted
subjectivity or even in the phenomenology of addiction broadly conceived,
focusing instead on the efficacy of the therapeutic encounter and the skill
of the professional practitioner (Carr, this volume).
Disease models of addiction have also encountered significant resis-
tance on the more general level of public understanding. As Jamie Saris
suggests in his chapter, this may be true partly because disease models
historically have been interpreted as underwriting a behavioral determin-
ism that threatens Enlightenment notions of the subject with free will
(Hyman 2007). Not surprisingly, in North America those who have ar-
gued in recent years against disease conceptualizations of addiction gen-
erally have offered some notion of ‘‘choice’’ as an alternative (e.g., Satel
1999).
In her chapter, Nancy Campbell demonstrates how the logics that
dominate lay discourses on addiction in North America—largely those of
the Twelve Step and recovery movements—can easily frame and undercut

INTRODUCTION 15
attempts to decouple addiction from notions of choice, responsibility, and
self-control. Her chapter focuses on the appearance of Anna Rose Chil-
dress on The Oprah Winfrey Show. Childress, an addiction neurobiologist
and clinician, sees her research—which represents an entire literature
focused on ‘‘relapse’’ and devoted to understanding how particular set-
tings and situations trigger drug cravings—as actively countering stig-
matizing and moralizing interpretations of addiction as the result of an
individual’s failure to maintain self-control. Yet during the episode Camp-
bell analyzes, Childress’s work on the role of contextual cues that trigger
certain states—often without a person’s conscious awareness—sits very
uncomfortably alongside—and, arguably, is drowned out by—the lay
therapeutic discourse of personal choice and responsibility, as well as by
the confessional register, promoted by Oprah. Moreover, in the shift to a
popular arena, many common assumptions about the persuasiveness of
scientific arguments are overturned. Even Childress’s invocation of the
supposedly ever seductive neuroimaging technology, with its brightly col-
ored images, fails to prevail over the therapeutic discourse of confession
and self-control. Ultimately, Campbell suggests, the ‘‘pharmacological
optimism’’ of neuroscientists like Childress may index not a neurological
determinism or reductionism but, rather, a ‘‘respect for the complexities
represented by relapse’’ that is significantly greater than that expressed by
those who see addiction as a matter of choice and self-control.
Jamie Saris similarly takes up the relationship between neurobiological
models of addiction and the notion of the free-willing subject. Rather than
abandon a notion of choice or will or agency, Saris argues for a more
robust and better-theorized commitment to such notions. In concrete
terms, this means ensuring that choice is conceptualized to allow it to be
embedded in or emerge from contextual accounts of life and individual
particularity. Moreover, these kinds of particularity are precisely what
Saris sees as the interest of some scholars in pharmacology and neurobiol-
ogy, as they turn from exploring the neural mechanisms underpinning
addiction to examining more closely how these mechanisms interact with
phenomena at other levels of complexity. For Saris, the current moment
in the neurobiology of addiction provides anthropology with a specific
point of entry or engagement, at which its insights can be invaluable for a
potentially mutually transformative encounter with biologically based sci-
ences. In fact, a growing number of social scientists studying addiction
(some of them represented in this volume) have called for a robust and

16 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

critical engagement with the biological sciences (Campbell 2010; Kushner
2006, 2010; Lende 2005, 2012; Singer 2001; Vrecko 2010a; Weinberg 2002).
Of course, debates about the nature of addiction are not limited to the
medical and scientific arenas. As several of the contributors to this vol-
ume point out, legal and political debates have likewise had an impact on
the development of disease models of addiction, often through policy
practices that promote the criminalization of addiction. Indeed, this no-
tion of an inherent opposition between the seemingly rehabilitative and
therapeutic claims of a medical model and the coercive practices under-
written by a criminal one is often taken as an article of faith by profes-
sionals in the therapeutic arena. For example, proponents of the ‘‘chronic
relapsing brain disease’’ model frequently argue that ‘‘scientific discoveries
that substantiate the biological basis of addiction and improve treatment
outcome should ultimately erode entrenched societal attitudes that pre-
vent addiction from being evaluated, treated and insured as a medical
disorder’’ (Dackis and O’Brien 2005: 1431). As a consequence, many pro-
ponents of therapy and rehabilitation see the propagation of biomedical
models of addiction as a direct way to contest criminalizing approaches to
the problem.
However, as William Garriott suggests in his chapter, a lack of accep-
tance of biomedical models of addiction is not necessarily the problem.
Indeed, during his work on methamphetamine in a rural community of
West Virginia, Garriott found that the prevailing nida model of addiction,
which views addiction as a chronic, relapsing disease of the brain, was
widely accepted by professionals working in the local criminal justice sys-
tem. In the cases that Garriott documents, the model of addiction as a
‘‘disease’’ requiring treatment was seamlessly interwoven with an institu-
tional logic that viewed addiction as inherently linked to criminal behav-
ior, which privileged punitive responses to this behavior and foreclosed
any possibility of therapeutic alternatives. In examining how the link be-
tween addiction as a criminogenic disease and incarceration as the only
appropriate institutional response has come to be seen as self-evident,
Garriott finds a number of ways in which the trajectory of this logic rein-
forces and embeds it in the institutions themselves.
Both Campbell and Garriott show what becomes of the neurobiologi-
cal model of addiction as it is translated to different epistemic cultures,
defined by particular discursive and institutional settings (Knorr-Cetina
1999). More specifically, their chapters suggest how, notwithstanding the

INTRODUCTION 17
assumption that knowledge of addiction’s neurobiological basis will inev-
itably result in progressive social change, this knowledge may be radically
transformed by the assumptions and imperatives of the domain to which
it is translated—even though addiction knowledge can just as easily have
its own transformative effects.Ω
Thus, what seems significant, beyond the sheer number of models pur-
porting to explain what addiction is and how it works, is the recognition
that each model carries with it a certain logic. This logic (albeit malleable)
gives the model in question the capacity to have certain effects in certain
contexts and under certain conditions. However, the dependence on con-
text means that the effects are often difficult to predict in advance, and
unanticipated consequences (e.g., the use of neurobiological knowledge of
addiction by police officers to carry out police work) are the rule. In the
terminology of the volume, we can say that different models of addiction
are the product of different, highly contingent epistemic trajectories, and
this particularity gives them unique capacities to launch new trajectories
all their own. This dynamic is nowhere more apparent than in the realm of
addiction therapeutics.

Therapeutic Trajectories
The sheer number of available addiction treatments is striking. They range
from faith-based treatments rooted in Christian and other religious tradi-
tions to Twelve Step programs such as aa and any number of approaches
rooted in psychology—everything from cognitive-behavioral therapies to
family counseling. Although these treatments vary significantly in their
approach and orientation—to say nothing about their working assump-
tions regarding the nature of both addiction and the human—it is not
uncommon for individual addicts to combine or engage with them piece-
meal based on availability or circumstance or to develop a therapeutic
regimen tailored to their specific needs or desires (Schüll, this volume).
Such a motley approach can be seen as the product of insufficient access
to appropriate treatment, the play of power relations, or (from the stand-
point of medicine) patients’ noncompliance, but it is also, in many ways,
perfectly in step with mainstream medical recommendations, which em-
phasize that no single treatment is effective for everyone (even though
most treatment regimens present themselves as singularly sufficient and
efficacious). For example, nida states on its website that ‘‘the best treat-
ment programs provide a combination of therapies and other services to

18 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

meet the needs of the individual patient.’’ This statement provides the
caption to a chart titled ‘‘Components of Comprehensive Drug Abuse
Treatment,’’ which includes eighteen different components, ranging from
‘‘Substance Use Monitoring’’ and ‘‘Self-Help/Peer Support Groups’’ to
‘‘Legal Services’’ and ‘‘Child Care Services.’’∞≠ There seems to be a working
assumption among medical practitioners that the number of interven-
tions available is vast and that each addict will employ a unique combina-
tion of techniques based on his or her specific circumstances—or, at least,
will experiment until he or she has found the treatment that works best.
Conversely, this model seems to suggest that virtually any mode of inter-
vention or therapy can be applied to addiction, mirroring the way that,
today, almost anything can be figured as addictive (Schüll, this volume).
Employing the notion of trajectory, addiction therapeutics may thus be
defined by the ongoing interplay between the discrete practices of specific
therapeutic regimens, on the one hand, and those of addicted individuals
who engage or are engaged by them, on the other. This process is itself
mediated by institutions, politics, and public opinion, just to name a few.
This ongoing interplay between therapeutic regimens and individual ad-
dicts creates a situation in which novel combinations are the rule and not
the exception. Moreover, patients often bend therapies to their own pur-
poses—for instance, to manage their use of a particular substance (Acker
2002). Like the models of addiction examined earlier, particular therapeu-
tic regimens have their own historically and institutionally defined logics,
which inspire trajectories based on the specific technologies they employ.
For example, anthropologists have paid close attention to the social roles
and models of self and personhood encoded in addiction diagnostics and
therapeutics, as well as in less formalized lay models of or discourses on
addiction. While certain kinds of treatment—particularly psychotherapy
and self- and mutual-help programs—do this more explicitly by encour-
aging patients to experience themselves in particular ways, research car-
ried out by anthropologists shows the subtle ways in which ‘‘even simple
‘self-less’ biomedical technologies [such as medications] inadvertently act
as technologies of the self’’ (Lock and Nguyen 2010: 284).
One of the most significant recent changes in addiction therapeutics in
this regard is the rise of new pharmaceutically based treatments. Once a
domain occupied almost exclusively by methadone, such treatments now
include drugs (used alone or in combination) such as naltrexone, disul-
firam, acamprosate, bupropion, varenicline, and buprenorphine. This de-

INTRODUCTION 19
velopment cannot be explained simply by the vicissitudes of technoscien-
tific innovation. Rather, it reflects more fundamental changes that have
taken place in science and medicine over the past several decades, includ-
ing the biologization of psychiatry and, more specifically, its reframing as
a ‘‘clinical neuroscience discipline’’ (Insel and Quirion 2005). This shift,
among others, presaged the movement of psychopharmaceuticals to the
center of the contemporary clinical toolbox (Shorter 1998), a move that, in
turn, created a market—and thus incentives—for producing medications
to treat particular kinds of conditions. Disorders of a more chronic char-
acter are especially appealing from a market perspective because they
hold out the prospect of patients’ taking a particular medication not just
until they are cured (understood as an impossibility in this case) but per-
petually in pursuit of some semblance of normalcy. Health itself becomes
something that is pharmaceutically mediated, and individuals grow ac-
customed to the idea of being on ‘‘drugs for life’’ (Dumit 2002, 2012).
One implication of this is that fairly longstanding distinctions are be-
coming increasingly blurred: between licit and illicit drugs, between prod-
ucts designed to addict and those designed to alleviate addiction, and,
indeed, between ‘‘therapy’’ and ‘‘use.’’ Of course, as numerous histories of
psychoactive substances remind us, the distinctions between licit and
illicit drugs, between those that heal and those that harm, have always
been contentious and shifting. Heroin, after all, was developed and pro-
moted during the early twentieth century as a safe alternative to morphine
(Courtwright 2001). However, it does seem that a number of relatively
recent developments have undercut what was—at least for much of the
post–Second World War period—a strongly defined distinction between
health-promoting and harm-inducing substances (even though this dis-
tinction often fell apart in practice, as demonstrated by the suffering that
often accompanies addiction treatments such as methadone [Bourgois
2000]).∞∞
This blurring of distinctions is evident in many of the chapters in this
volume. Both Anne Lovell and Todd Meyers discuss the nonmedical use
of buprenorphine and its circulation outside therapeutic settings—a phe-
nomenon Lovell has referred to as ‘‘pharmaceutical leakage’’ (Lovell 2006:
146). Angela Garcia describes local framings of heroin as ‘‘medicine.’’ And
Natasha Dow Schüll examines how addiction therapy and machine gam-
bling become part of a single circuit traveled by many residents of Las
Vegas: ‘‘It is not only that gambling addicts’ machine play is isomorphic

20 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

with their therapeutic practices, but that a certain complicity and even
interchangeability develops between the two, merging the zones of self-
loss and self-recovery.’’∞≤
Some of the drugs used to treat addiction are novel not only pharmaco-
logically but also institutionally, socially, and culturally. For instance, bu-
prenorphine has been approved in several countries for prescription by
general practitioners partly as an attempt to reduce the stigma associated
with clinic-based methadone maintenance therapy (Agar et al. 2001; Lov-
ell 2006). Moreover, some observers have argued that various psycho-
active medications, including the new addiction treatments and main-
tenance drugs, encode radically different notions of the self from those
currently prevalent in North American and European folk psychologies:
rather than teaching people to conceptualize behavioral problems as orig-
inating in a self or psyche shaped by the memory of personal experience,
such medications may encourage their consumers to ascribe problems to
neurochemical imbalances (Martin 2006; Rose 2003b; Vrecko 2006).
One of the most pronounced differences in this regard appears between
talk-based and medication-based addiction therapies. Whereas psycho-
therapeutic interventions and the Twelve Step program employ what Carr
(2006: 634) calls an ‘‘ideology of inner reference’’ to teach addiction suf-
ferers to represent themselves as particular types of people—namely, alco-
holics and addicts—pharmacological treatments encourage users to think
of themselves as ‘‘targeting and controlling specific elements of neuro-
chemistry’’ rather than resisting cravings through force of will or with the
aid of fellow sufferers (Vrecko 2006: 302). Thus, the argument is often
made that where the ‘‘psychological self’’ that underlies psychotherapeutic
discourse and practice has depth and internality, the ‘‘neurochemical self’’
encouraged by pharmaceutical interventions is ‘‘flattened’’; where the for-
mer encourages self-transformation, the latter facilitates self-modulation
(cf. Rose 2003b, 2007). Such differences may partially account for some of
the resistance that pharmacological treatments for addiction have en-
countered.∞≥
But such binary distinctions between talk-based and pharmaceutically
based treatment modalities are often overdrawn and neglect the ways in
which such treatments, in practice, plot a trajectory that produces novel
therapeutic regimens. Such regimens typically include a host of interven-
tions, including those that are neither talk-based nor pharmaceutically
based but are rooted in other institutional discourses such as religion, law,

INTRODUCTION 21
or alternative medicine. Philippe Bourgois (2000), for instance, docu-
ments how criminalizing and medicalizing discourses coexist within a
methadone treatment program, each serving as a unique vector for the
exercise of power to the detriment of those enrolled in the program.
Moreover, although treatment is often discussed as a discrete, defined (or,
at least, definable) event in an individual addict’s life, it often occupies a
much more circumspect position. One need only look at the life of Alma
as presented by Angela Garcia to see how certain treatment experiences
can come to be seen simply as one more component of the addiction
rather than the means for alleviating it. Attending to such combinations
provides an alternative context in which to examine how particular thera-
peutic regimens work in the shaping of subjectivity.
Therapeutic regimens work to shape subjectivity not just through
combination but also through contrast, providing treatment modalities
that are often quite at odds with others on offer and effectively forcing (or
enabling) individual addicts to choose between two different models of
patienthood. Many of the contributors examine the interplay between
competing therapies, not as products of different historical epochs, but as
models that coexist in the same temporal frame. In the process, they
reveal both significant differences and unforeseen similarities.
Helena Hansen, for instance, examines opioid maintenance therapy
based in primary care offices in the United States and Pentecostal addic-
tion ministries in Puerto Rico. The basic differences between these models
seem overwhelming: whereas the Puerto Rican addiction ministries view
addiction as part of a moral struggle and cater largely to a socially margin-
alized population (Hansen 2005), buprenorphine treatment operates un-
der the assumption that addiction is a neurochemical disorder and, at least
in the United States, has been used primarily by a relatively middle-class
and socially integrated population. However, rather than casting bupre-
norphine treatment as a new departure and addiction ministries as a re-
turn to tradition, Hansen emphasizes how each of these models is largely
novel even as it echoes much older conceptions of personhood. Moreover,
the two therapies have more in common than one might initially think.
Hansen shows that both ‘‘evangelism and buprenorphine are products of a
unique postindustrial form of dislocation, of a radical individualism and
anonymity that reflects unstable social connections, and a thin sense of
authenticity and purpose.’’ Not surprisingly, then, although each model
puts the focus on personal choice and individual change as keys to ther-

22 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

apeutic success, in practice the users of both of these therapeutic mo-
dalities are trying to forge collectivities through ties of illness and self-
recovery.
Summerson Carr’s contribution complements other chapters in that it
examines an incipient shift in the model of addiction underlying contem-
porary treatment practices. However, in this case the shift was brought
about not by the development of psychopharmaceutical interventions for
addiction but by the dramatic rise of another expert modality: motiva-
tional interviewing (mi). Carr notes that while the world of addiction
treatment is itself vast and varied in North America, it has for several
decades been unified around the notion of addiction as a ‘‘disease of de-
nial.’’ She begins by drawing on fieldwork in a treatment program for
homeless women in the U.S. Midwest. She shows how counselors, in an
attempt to dissipate denial and demonstrate ‘‘insight,’’ work to elicit verbal
demonstrations of accurate self-knowledge from their clients, beginning
with the pronouncement that one is an addict. These clients are concep-
tualized not as having impaired volition but as being problematically will-
ful, a condition that Gregory Bateson (1972: 313) identified as ‘‘an un-
usually disastrous variant of the Cartesian dualism, the division between
Mind and Matter, or, in this case, between conscious will, or ‘self,’ and the
remainder of the personality.’’ Carr illustrates how the clinical formula-
tion of willful denial plays out in highly confrontational methods, wherein
therapists insist that clients speak the inner truths that they presumably
deny.
In contrast to this still dominant way to define and treat addiction in
North America, Carr then traces the rapid ascendance of mi, a modality
that carries with it a strikingly different set of assumptions about lan-
guage, personhood, and addiction. Not only does mi lack an elaborated
theory of human interiority—in a manner somewhat akin to the Russian
behavioral methods described by Raikhel—it also lacks an articulated
theory of addiction. Instead, Carr argues, mi is an operationalized theory
of clinical communication, one that bears striking resemblance to speech
act theory. So, rather than enjoining clients to articulate emotions, inten-
tions, and memories presumed to lay hidden beneath denial, mi practi-
tioners subtly encourage clients to voice ‘‘change statements,’’ which are
conceived as speech that precipitates rather than references intentions to
change clients’ drug-related behavior. With these two prominent sites of
American addiction treatment in focus, Carr suggests that ‘‘if American

INTRODUCTION 23
addiction treatment produces particular types of people, with a special
interest in generating sober ones, it does so largely because it reproduces
and refines the representational media available to American speakers.’’
She adds that with the continued rise of mi, we will witness the ‘‘baptism’’
of a new group of drug users who are authorized to produce as well as
denote truths when they speak, suggesting that anthropologists and prac-
titioners alike listen out for what they might say.
Raikhel’s study of addiction medicine in Russia—narcology—adds an-
other dimension to how unexpected therapeutic trajectories result in the
blurring and interrelation of different therapeutic models. The dominant
modalities of treatment for alcoholism in Russia are suggestion-based
methods developed by narcology, a subspecialty of psychiatry that was
established during the Soviet period to deal with addiction—at the time,
primarily alcoholism. A particularly popular method is the use of disul-
firam, an alcohol antagonist, for which narcologists commonly substitute
neutral substances. The chapter examines the epistemological and institu-
tional conditions that facilitate this practice of ‘‘placebo therapy.’’ Raikhel
argues that narcologists’ embrace of such treatments has been shaped by a
clinical style of reasoning specific to a Soviet and post-Soviet psychiatry,
itself the product of contested Soviet politics over the knowledge of the
mind and brain. This style of reasoning has facilitated narcologists’ under-
standing of disulfiram as a behavioral rather than a pharmacological treat-
ment and has disposed them to amplify patients’ responses through atten-
tion to the performative aspects of the clinical encounter and through
management of the treatment’s broader reputation as an effective therapy.
Moreover, the methods of behavioral modification that make up the clini-
cal armamentarium of narcology do not encourage patients to identify
with their illness, as is common in many North American approaches to
therapy. Rather than attempting to transform patients’ subjectivities,
these methods work by harnessing their preexisting ideas, beliefs, and
affects, with an end result that is experienced as a change in behavior or
practice without a change in self.
This chapter also reminds us that, like other technologies, therapeutic
and administrative techniques for the management of addiction are in-
creasingly tracing new spatial and cultural trajectories as they are exported
to settings beyond their countries of origin.∞∂ Moreover, many of these
modalities of therapy and harm reduction, ranging from mutual-help
movements modeled on aa to therapeutic communities to methadone

24 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

maintenance therapy and needle-exchange programs, are also embedded
in or associated with larger institutional configurations and transnational
projects (Walby 2008). These projects, in turn, can have profound effects
on how issues are framed and addressed locally. To take only the most
obvious example, the rise of the hiv/aids epidemic and the subsequent
development of an assemblage of organizations, institutions, policies, and
techniques to address it has had profound effects on the management of
drug dependence, bringing the spectrum of harm-reduction approaches
to the mainstream and, in some cases, shifting the moral valence sur-
rounding intravenous drug users by reframing them as at-risk (Bourgois
2000).
Taken together, many of the chapters in this volume reveal how addic-
tion therapeutics traverse the life of the addicted subject. The promises
offered by therapeutics, typically framed in terms of self-management and
ongoing recovery rather than ‘‘cure,’’ are often at odds with the institutional
imperatives that underlie treatment in practice. For example, Bourgois
and Jeffrey Schonberg (2009) describe how homeless heroin users in San
Francisco regularly expressed a desire to ‘‘go clean’’ and would enter treat-
ment programs periodically for this purpose, particularly in the wake of
sudden life crises.∞∑ Schonberg’s extended account of his attempt to trans-
port one key informant to a treatment program after she decided to go
clean demonstrates in rich detail the multiple challenges and resistances
addicts face when they attempt to enter recovery. Some of these arise from
the addiction itself. But many others, as Bourgois and Schonberg show, are
rooted more deeply in U.S. practices of drug management: inadequate
funding for in-patient treatment programs, the lack of follow-up services
for those trying to recover, the difficulties finding gainful employment in
the licit market, and resistance to the expansion of methadone mainte-
nance all complicate the efforts of those who want to address their addic-
tion through therapeutic measures. Moreover, many of these challenges
have been deepened by the restructuring of social-service provision ac-
cording to a neoliberal logic of governance over the past decades (Fair-
banks 2009).
The notion of therapeutic trajectories allows us to trace the often con-
tradictory, always contingent existences of addiction therapies across in-
dividual lives, institutional spaces, and geographic contexts. By glimpsing
the contradictions of the treatment system through the eyes of those try-
ing to access it, we see how it is lived, employed, traversed. Moreover,

INTRODUCTION 25
highlighted through the lens of trajectory, we see an additional promise
that therapeutics hold out to would-be recipients of treatment, perhaps
the most fundamental: a possible exit from the cycle of addiction or, at the
very least, the means to make life livable again, even if this means remain-
ing within the confines of the addiction.

Experiential and Experimental Trajectories

Taking the historical contingency of addiction into account means that
the ‘‘givenness’’ of addiction can no longer be taken for granted. While,
again, not discounting the experiential reality of addiction, such a move
forces us to look at this experience in terms of the wider systems of knowl-
edge and practice from which the category of addiction derives its mean-
ing and force. This includes efforts in science to define addiction, as well
as efforts in the fields of medicine, law, and religion, just to name a few, to
develop treatments and other forms of intervention targeting addiction.
Indeed, the history of addiction in many ways is the history of its treat-
ment as efforts to define this modern malady have taken place against the
backdrop of its wider problematization. That is, addiction emerges as an
object of inquiry and concern only when its associated behaviors become
incompatible with the demands and expectations of modern life (Levine
1978; Vrecko 2010b).
From this perspective, addiction is revealed to be deeply implicated in
questions of human vitality and what has come to be called ‘‘the politics of
life itself’’ (Rose 2007). This politics includes the functioning of the life
processes, the making of personal identities and connections, and even
the ‘‘will to live’’ (Biehl and Eskerod 2007: 17). The continued pursuit of
scientific knowledge of addiction has expanded our understanding of hu-
man vitality at the level of ‘‘life itself,’’ shaping and reshaping how we
understand ourselves and interact with the world (Campbell 2007; Frank-
lin 2000; Rose 2007; Schüll 2012). This knowledge has, in turn, enabled
numerous forms of intervention that give shape to ‘‘life as such,’’ or life
understood as ‘‘the course of events which occurs from birth to death,
which can be shortened by political or structural violence, which can be
prolonged by health and social policies, which gives place to cultural
interpretations and moral decisions, which may be told or written—life
which is lived through a body (not only through cells) and as a society (not
only as species)’’ (Fassin 2009: 48). This orientation toward life reveals a
politics centered less on ‘‘normalization’’ than on ‘‘deciding the sort of life

26 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

that people may or may not live’’ (Fassin 2009: 48; cf. Bourgois and Schon-
berg 2009). It is thus a politics that understands that life (the vital) is never
fully separated from its other—namely, death (the lethal).
Caught up in the interplay between the vital and the lethal, addiction
can be seen, in two related ways, as a kind of ‘‘experimental system.’’ The
historian of science Hans-Jörg Rheinberger (1997: 238) has defined an
experimental system as ‘‘a basic unit of experimental activity combining
local, technical, instrumental, institutional, social, and epistemic aspects.’’
Rheinberger used this term to describe the social context of laboratory
science, and anthropologists have described as ‘‘experimentality’’ the en-
rollment of people living in resource- and institution-poor settings into
clinical trials and treatment programs run by ngos (Nguyen 2009; Petryna
2007). We see something that resembles this notion of ‘‘government-by-
experiment’’ (Nguyen 2009: 211) and its associated assemblage of institu-
tions, technologies, discursive practices, people, and capital in Lovell’s
account of the French state’s attempt to pull drug addicts into the space of
healthcare provision and social citizenship through the promotion of
high-dose buprenorphine as an opiate-substitution therapy (see this vol-
ume and Lovell 2006). More broadly, the chapters by Schüll, Garriott,
Meyers, Raikhel, and Hansen all trace unique configurations of the institu-
tional, the social, the discursive, and the material through which experi-
mental trajectories of addiction are forged.
However, recalling the etymological links between ‘‘experiment’’ and
‘‘experience,’’ we might conceive of experimentality in a slightly different
way (Desjarlais 1997; Cynthia Scott 1991: 781; Williams 1985: 126). Do we
not see the same types of combination taking place as the drug user,
gambler, or whoever throws himself or herself into a series of personal
experiments with gambling or the drug—the kind of experiments that
Walter Benjamin undertook with hashish to achieve a new orientation to
the world (Benjamin 2006)? Should we not attend to this illicit form of
experimentality, the combinations it produces, and its consequences?∞∏ In
short, addiction, viewed along an experiential and experimental trajec-
tory, is implicated in the ‘‘acting out’’ of technoscience (Biehl et al. 2001),
as well as in forms of production and consumption, the effects of which
are often unknown and unpredictable at the outset.
Thus, while addiction may indeed at times be an ‘‘unhealthy selection
of a chemical solution to discomforting experiences’’ (Singer 2006: 10), as
some have argued, it may also be understood as a form of experimentation

INTRODUCTION 27
or intervention at the level of life itself. From this perspective, so-called
self-medication—and the idea that one is numbing oneself to the social
world—is but one way to understand what is taking place when a person
engages in substance use, gambling, or any other ‘‘habit-forming’’ be-
havior (Das and Das 2007). Another possibility is to see it as a way to
harness the experiential or experimental potential of the body by means of
a particular substance or activity (such as gambling or sex). From this
perspective, social relations are significant not simply as contextual fac-
tors that explain a person’s movement into substance abuse or addiction
or as products of the hegemonic forces of unequal power relations, but as
relational and experiential ends in themselves. These are part and parcel
of the new trajectories of experience opened up—at least, initially—by
means of the addiction.
This kind of illicit experimentality is not without risk. Deleuze has ob-
served that such vital experimentation carries with it a lethal component,
which tempers any celebration of substance use (or addiction) as an un-
qualified form of escape, enjoyment, or resistance. Indeed, accounting for
this moment or process in which the vital becomes lethal remains a key
challenge in the theorization of drugs and other objects of addiction (De-
leuze 2007; cf. Biehl 2010). The analytic task from this perspective is to
attend closely to the kinds of experimentation taking place and trace them
back (and forward) to the subjective milieux from which they originate and
(possibly) return. It means following the trajectories set in motion by this
experimentation, even as they may lead the subject to self-destruction
(Garcia, this volume). Deleuze defines this state abstractly as ‘‘the contrary
of connections.’’ He brings the question of drug use generally to that of
addiction specifically when he asks, ‘‘Why and how is this experience, even
when self-destructive, but still vital, transformed into a deadly enterprise
of generalized, unilinear dependence? Is it inevitable? If there is a precise
point, that is where therapy should intervene’’ (Deleuze 2007: 254).
Meyers examines the interplay of vital and lethal forces in the treat-
ment experiences of adolescents in Baltimore. Cedric and Megan were
both heroin users who became enrolled in a local treatment center. They
were also enrolled in a clinical trial for the opiate replacement therapy
Suboxone. Meyers’s ethnographic approach in which he ‘‘followed’’ Ced-
ric and Megan in their movement inside and outside the clinic across
various sites of experimentality (both licit and illicit), revealed a number
of distinct ambiguities in the experience of therapeutics. Among his most

28 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

notable findings were the novel therapeutic practices Cedric and Megan
developed in their use of Suboxone and management of their own addic-
tion. This included the combined use of heroin, Suboxone, and some-
times OxyContin at various dosages. Cedric and Megan diligently re-
corded the date, time, and dosage levels involved in their efforts to slowly
replace their heroin use with Suboxone. These practices, which func-
tioned as a kind of ‘‘simulacrum of clinical reasoning,’’ as Meyers describes
it, did not fully comport with the rigorous expectations of the clinical trial
process. Yet, as Meyers shows, these practices were not seen as novel or
devious by Cedric and Megan. Rather, they were a faithful reproduction of
the therapeutic process of replacement therapy they were learning about
at both the treatment center and in the clinical trial. As Cedric himself put
it, ‘‘It just like in group, you know, cut back a little, and a little more, and
bad days less, and some day, you know, cured.’’
While the use of opiate replacement therapy to treat addicts like Cedric
and Megan raised concerns in Baltimore about drug diversion and other
forms of illicit use, Meyers shows that, in the lives of adolescents like
Cedric and Megan, it carried several meanings and sustained various rela-
tionships. Perhaps its most significant impact on Cedric and Megan was
that it held out the possibility of a future free from heroin. Cedric himself
uses the term ‘‘cure’’ to describe the future he envisioned for himself and
Megan, contradicting contemporary ideas about addiction as a chronic,
relapsing disease in which cure is impossible. The stories of Cedric and
Megan thus reveal the novel forms of experimentality at work in addiction
and its treatment, as well as the blurred boundaries between the two as
pharmaceutical interventions such as Suboxone move to the forefront of
addiction therapeutics, replacing one object of habitual use with another.
Attending to the experiences of those whose lives have become defined
by addiction offers a profound vantage point from which to view the
interplay of vital and lethal forces that defines the addicted experience.
Indeed, understanding experience as a driver of such trajectories (rather
than simply a means of apprehending them) was a central tenet of some of
the earliest important social science work on addiction (H. Becker 1953;
Lindesmith 1938). Similarly, in focusing on the trajectories subjects trace
in relation to addiction, such as those of Cedric and Megan, the chapters
in this volume draw our attention to the motives driving this movement.
A desire to locate and consume the object of addiction is a prominent
motivation, as is the need to obtain resources, but so is the desire to avoid

INTRODUCTION 29
the substance and manage the addiction, to access therapeutic resources
and achieve a sense of stasis. These trajectories typically intertwine and
often in ways that make them difficult to distinguish.
As we see in these chapters, following subjects over the course of their
trajectories opens up not only lives but milieux. Indeed, addiction itself
can be seen both as a trajectory and as a milieu; it is both traversing and
traversed. As described in Campbell’s chapter, the contemporary science
and treatment of addiction has attempted to come to terms with this qual-
ity of addiction through the discourse of ‘‘triggers’’—those sights, sounds,
smells, and people that are associated with using a particular substance
and are understood to have the power to arouse the desire to use again.
Those who have participated in aa will often discuss the need to change
their ‘‘people, places and things’’ as an essential step in their recovery.
These signal recognition of the importance of the milieux in which addic-
tion occurs and into which subjects are ‘‘thrown’’ (see Campbell and Gar-
cia, this volume). Moreover, such milieux may be shaped or structured in
significant ways. As Daniel Lende aptly puts it, ‘‘Given how modern so-
cieties approach drug use—often demonizing it and confining its use to
marginalized places of the social map—drug cues and drug availabilities
come packaged together in specific environments’’ (2012: 349).
But anthropologists take this dimension further to show the broader
impact of this highly charged relationship between addiction and its mi-
lieux. For example, in her chapter, Angela Garcia tells the story of Alma
and her agonistic relationship with heroin. In following Alma’s physical
and imagined movements from a detox clinic to a Christian fellowship to
the town of her childhood and, ultimately, to the local emergency room,
Garcia reveals how the historical loss of land, culture, and integrity in the
Española Valley provides the backdrop to what has become the area of the
United States with the highest per capita rates of heroin overdose. Alma
sees ‘‘no exit’’ (no hay salida) from her addiction, a view rooted in the
dovetailing of local Hispano tropes of loss and endlessness and the clinical
concept of chronicity, as well as in her own experience using and trying
not to use heroin. These local sentiments of loss emerge from ‘‘structures
of feeling’’ shaped by many decades of land loss and expropriation among
Hispano inhabitants of the Española Valley, suggesting a structuring of
affect that is spatial as much as it is temporal (Williams 1977).
In a similar vein, Lovell charts the experiences of les russes on their
paths of medical travel as they are ‘‘caught up in biopolitical strategies of

30 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

survival’’ that define our current age. In this way, she challenges contem-
porary paradigms of biological citizenship, particularly the idea that
claims for citizenship and asylum based on illness carry more weight than
those based on poverty, injustice, or violence, given the difficulty faced by
those who try to make political claims using the illness of addiction (Fassin
2005; Nguyen 2005; Petryna 2002; Ticktin 2006).
Nowhere, perhaps, is the relationship between movement, trajectory,
and milieu more evident than in the map drawn by Mollie and reproduced
by Schüll in her chapter about video gamblers in Las Vegas. In this il-
lustration, Mollie represents the various loci involved in her addiction to
machine gambling. Notably, these include spaces of play and recovery—
the casino and Gambler’s Anonymous, respectively—as well as sites not
so easily classified, such as the grocery store and the 7-Eleven. These
spaces are linked to form a circle, at the center of which is Mollie herself,
seated before a video gambling machine. Notably, this representation of
her experience provides no point of entry or exit—only a closed system of
spaces, routes, and locations she must traverse. In the same way, the
system has no obvious end, no point at which Mollie might embark on a
new trajectory (Schüll 2012).∞π
Mollie’s map charts a territory at once external and internal to her
experience. From a temporal perspective, it is a route she has traversed
many times before but also anticipates traversing again. In its representa-
tion of routes, spaces, and places, it refers to ‘‘real’’ locations: the mgm
Grand Hotel, the 7-Eleven, the electronic gambling machine. Indeed,
along with other scholars inspired by actor-network theory, Schüll pays
close attention to the materiality of these spaces and objects, and to the
effects of their particular configurations (2012; cf. Duff 2011; Gomart 2004;
Weinberg 2011). However, in Mollie’s experience of them, and particularly
in her experience of them as constitutive loci of her addiction, these spaces
and places take on an imaginary quality. The trajectory she traverses over
the course of her addiction signifies a space where the real and imaginary
meet. Mollie’s map thus charts the kinds of trajectories that emerge through
the movement spurred on by addiction. These trajectories eventually be-
come constitutive of the experimental system of addiction, blurring the
distinction between addiction and subjectivity, trajectory, and milieu.
This may even reach a point of lethality for the subject, as it did for Alma,
where the only exit is death.

INTRODUCTION 31
Conclusion
As we have suggested, addiction offers a particularly fruitful area for the
advancement of anthropological theory today because it is a privileged
site where individual experiences of desire, pleasure, and suffering; the
expertise of professionals in medicine, psychotherapy, and the law; and
the regulatory ambitions of the state intersect in ways that blur the dis-
tinction between the vital and the lethal, the normal and the pathological,
illness and treatment. Although we make no claim to a unified theory of
‘‘the addicted subject’’—indeed, such a claim would be at cross-purposes
with the understanding of addiction presented here—the contributors to
this volume nevertheless demonstrate a common concern with what we
have called ‘‘addiction trajectories.’’ This notion encompasses several dis-
tinct kinds of movement: that of ideas through time and space, of inter-
ventions through diverse institutional domains, and of subjects across the
dimensions of experience and subjectivity.
As the story of Pavel with which we began the introduction shows,
addicts are agents of the contemporary world trying to navigate its distinct
contours. They are subjects seeking transformations at the level of their
own personhood and experience; they are objects of knowledge for con-
temporary science and other epistemic cultures; and they are targets of a
host of therapeutic interventions, from the medical to the punitive. The
movement of those living with addiction depends on the kinds of trajec-
tories—epistemic, therapeutic, experiential, and experimental—we have
described here, bringing into being new configurations of people, ideas,
and interventions.

Notes
1. Although ‘‘addiction’’ is the closest English translation for the term ‘‘toxicomania,’’
the two should not be taken as strict synonyms. In the French context, ‘‘tox-
icomania’’ developed in a unique historical, institutional, and national context
and has often been articulated self-consciously as an alternative to the Anglo-
American addiction paradigm. A key distinguishing feature of the toxicomania
paradigm is its largely psychoanalytic orientation (Lovell 2006). Narcology—the
specialty of addiction medicine in post-Soviet countries—uses two terms: ‘‘narko-
maniia’’ and ‘‘toksikomaniia,’’ the former generally denoting dependence to illicit
drugs and the latter to pharmaceuticals (Babayan and Gonopolsky 1985).
2. Much of this literature emerged from the work on ‘‘grounded theory’’ by the
medical sociologist Anselm Strauss. Like the correlate and contemporary notion

32 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

 of the ‘‘illness narrative,’’ the concept of the illness trajectory was used partly to
carve out a space for the study of both the social shaping of illness and the
subjective experience of illness by its sufferers.
3. The nimh lists one of the primary objectives of its 2008 Strategic Plan as ‘‘Chart
Mental Illness Trajectories to Determine When, Where, and How to Intervene.’’
4. Hacking takes the term ‘‘historical ontology’’ from Foucault’s ‘‘What Is Enlighten-
ment?’’ (1984): ‘‘This could be the name of a study, [Foucault] said, that was
concerned with ‘truth through which we constitute ourselves as objects of knowl-
edge,’ with ‘power through which we constitute ourselves as subjects acting on
others,’ and with ‘ethics through which we constitute ourselves as moral agents.’
He calls these the axes of power, knowledge and ethics’’ (Hacking 2002: 2). More
specifically, Hacking (2002: 11) writes, ‘‘My historical ontology is concerned with
objects or their effects which do not exist in any recognizable form until they are
objects of scientific knowledge.’’
5. In his landmark essay ‘‘The Discovery of Addiction’’ (1978), Harry Levine attrib-
utes the first clear articulation of a disease model of addiction to the eighteenth-
century physician Benjamin Rush of Philadelphia. Levine argues that Rush’s model
differed significantly from previous understandings of drunkenness in four ways:
‘‘First, he identified the causal agent—spirituous liquors; second, he clearly de-
scribed the drunkard’s condition as loss of control over drinking behavior—as
compulsive activity; third, he declared the condition to be a disease; and fourth, he
prescribed total abstinence as the only way to cure the drunkard’’ (Levine 1978:
152). Despite challenges to Levine’s claim regarding the origins of the disease
model, it seems that widespread medical consensus regarding alcoholism as a
disease did not come until the nineteenth century (Porter 1985; Warner 1994).
6. Although notions of ‘‘willpower’’ are largely absent from most of today’s biomedi-
cal conceptualizations of addiction, the same argument has been made in regard
to the place of addiction under contemporary neoliberal conditions, particularly
vis-à-vis the valorization of freedom (O’Malley and Valverde 2004; Reith 2004;
Seddon 2007).
7. As Craig Reinarman (2005: 313) argues, ‘‘In 1942, the Alcoholism Movement was
founded by Marty Mann, a public relations executive and former ‘drunk,’ and
others. By 1944, she [had] joined with Dr. E. M. Jellinek at Yale to create an
organization whose purpose was to popularize the disease concept by putting it
on a scientific footing. Note the chronology: science was not the source of the
concept but a resource for promoting it. This organization later became the
National Council on Alcoholism. . . . Their goal was to create a new ‘scientific’
approach that would allow them to get beyond the old, moralistic ‘wet’ versus ‘dry’
battlelines of the Temperance and Prohibition period’’ (Reinarman cites Roizen
1991).
8. Even the ‘‘disease model’’ widely associated with aa and the Twelve Step move-
ment stands in an ambivalent relationship to the medicalization of alcoholism in
that it uses the notion of disease instrumentally as a means to alleviate stigma and
counter notions of moral responsibility while simultaneously espousing an un-

INTRODUCTION 33
 derstanding of alcoholism that places a much greater emphasis on psychosocial
and spiritual frameworks (Valverde 1998; Wilcox 1998).
9. Dingel and Koenig (2008) address what in some ways is the converse issue, exam-
ining how racial categories enter scientific discourse and practice in genetic re-
search on addiction.
10. See the website at http://www.nida.nih.gov.
11. For example, addiction to prescribed drugs—in itself in no way novel—has grown
in scale and become the object of increased focus in the public sphere along with
the increasing prevalence of psychotropic medications. Thus, during the first
decade of the twenty-first century, prescription and over-the-counter medica-
tions were reported to be the second most common class of drugs used for
nonmedical purposes by U.S. high school students (after marijuana), and the
issue of potential chemical dependence has been prominent in debates over the
merits of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (ssris) and other common anti-
depressants (Haddad 2001; Johnston et al. 2009; Medawar 1997).
12. Additional blurring of previously distinct categories is taking place at the regula-
tory level. At the same time that tobacco is coming under the regulation of the
U.S. Food and Drug Administration—and is thus framed in medicalized and
public health terms—marijuana is increasingly coming under medical regulation,
as well, although on different jurisdictional levels and in rather different ways (P.
Benson 2010).
13. Just as various neurobiological disease concepts have encountered resistance in
the form of choice-based ideas about the subject, so have attempts to develop
pharmacological treatments for various addictions encountered particular kinds
of resistance (Room 2004).
14. While many (though certainly not all) proponents of these methods assume that
clinical and therapeutic technologies are discrete, portable, and transposable be-
tween contexts with little transformation, anthropologists have shown in great
detail how various modes of treatment have been transformed in their encounter
with local styles of clinical reasoning, medical traditions, and assumptions about
illness and personhood. Anthropologists have examined Twelve Step groups in
various cultural settings, including groups focused on co-dependency in Japan
(Borovoy 2001, 2005) and aa in Mexico City (Brandes 2002). In ongoing work,
Sandra Hyde (2011) examines the development of therapeutic community-type
rehabilitation centers for heroin addiction in China, and Alex Golub and Kate
Lingley (2008) have looked at the rise of Chinese discourses about ‘‘Internet
addiction’’ as part of a moral crisis associated with a number of ongoing and
profound social, economic, and technological changes.
15. Similarly, Caroline Jean Acker (2002) notes how heroin users in the first part of
the twentieth century used treatment as a way to manage their addiction and
bring their heroin use under control. Here the objective, from the subject’s per-
spective, was not to stop using but to return use to a more manageable state.
16. We intend for our use of the term ‘‘experimental’’ not to be limited to the North
American middle-class notion of ‘‘experimenting with drugs’’ but to refer more

34 RAIKHEL AND GARRIOTT

 broadly to the use of psychoactive substances or various practices in an attempt to
open up horizons of possibility, whether affective, experiential, or social, albeit
often in fleeting, compromised, and deeply constrained ways.
17. Natasha Schüll makes this argument in her discussion of Mollie’s map in the
introduction to her book: ‘‘The road that she drew features no exits, appearing
instead as a closed circuit of stations where various vices—as well as their reme-
dies—may be pursued. Inside this circuit, she hung with no clear grounding
except the machine onto which she held. ‘Where is that?’ I asked when she had
completed the sketch, pointing at the human-machine pair in the middle of the
page. ‘That’s nowhere,’ she responded; ‘that’s the zone’ ’’ (Schüll 2012: 26).

INTRODUCTION 35