Today, I am going to dive into a book that is quite simply fascinating: The Molecule of More (often titled Dopamine in various editions) by Daniel Z. Lieberman and Michael E. Long. It is the kind of reading that does not only change the way you understand the brain, but it also transforms the way you view your relationships, your choices, your addictions, and even the very society in which we live.
And I must say this from the outset: if you want to improve your relationship — whether with yourself or with someone else — this book is not optional. It is urgent.
To begin with, the authors present a provocative, almost uncomfortable idea. They state the following:
- If you live under a bridge, dopamine makes you want a shack.
- If you live in a shack, dopamine makes you desire a house.
- If you live in a comfortable house, it makes you dream of a mansion.
- And if you already live in the most expensive mansion in the world, dopamine will still push you to desire a castle.
In other words: dopamine has no moral criteria, no notion of sufficiency, and it definitely does not recognise a finishing line. Its motto is simple, direct, and tireless: “I want more”.
Here, a very popular idea is immediately debunked: the notion that dopamine is the molecule of pleasure. The book makes it clear that this is a common error. In reality, dopamine is the molecule of anticipation, of expectation, of motivation. It is not about enjoying what you have — it is about chasing what has not yet arrived.
This confusion started long ago, in the first studies with drugs such as cocaine. Researchers observed intense states of euphoria and associated that directly with dopamine. For a while, it seemed to make sense. However, as experiments advanced, the story became more complex — and much more interesting.
The great surprise was realising that dopamine fires not when the reward is received, but when there is the possibility of the reward. It is the moment before. The promise. The novelty. The expectation. When something becomes routine, when it ceases to be new, dopaminergic activity drops drastically.
This explains a great deal — including why relationships based only on dopamine seem so intense at the beginning… and so empty afterwards.
A relationship driven only by dopamine is like a roller coaster: exciting, electrifying, full of peaks. But it is fleeting. The initial passion, that phase of idealisation, of butterflies in the stomach, of obsessive thought, is pure dopamine. It is the brain projecting the other person into the future, into the potential, into the “above”, as the book calls it.
Except the novelty passes. It always passes. And when the dopamine decreases, many relationships enter a crisis.
For love to last, it needs to migrate to another chemical and emotional territory: that of oxytocin and vasopressin. Oxytocin, for example, is frequently called “the bonding hormone” — or, as the book quotes provocatively, “the faithful husband hormone”. It is linked to security, intimacy, comfort, and presence.
People with naturally higher levels of dopamine tend to seek more partners, more stimuli, more novelty. Not out of malice, but because their brain is constantly after the next peak. Dopamine may put you in the direction of love, but it is not the final destination. It is merely the starting point.
It is here that the book presents one of its most powerful central ideas: the functional division of the brain into two large systems.
- On one side, the dopaminergic system, responsible for wanting, for desire, for the future, for abstraction — the so-called “space above”.
- On the other, the systems linked to liking, to satisfaction with the present, to the pleasure of just being — the “space below”.
Wanting versus liking. Future versus present.
This tension is in absolutely everything: in love, in work, in consumption, in ambition, in frustration.
In love, for example, dopamine throws you upwards, makes you float, idealise, and project. But if the relationship cannot descend to the territory of comfort, of presence, and of real bonding, it cools down. Not because the love has ended, but because the dopamine has run out — and nobody taught the transition.
This incessant search for dopaminergic peaks has a dark side, which the book approaches with great clarity: addictions. Drugs, gambling, compulsive shopping, social networks, pornography — all of them hijack this system. They create artificial peaks of dopamine, much more intense than the normal rewards of life.
The brain learns fast. It clings to the peak. And it enters a cruel cycle: search, peak, tolerance, fall. The pleasure diminishes, the liking disappears… but the wanting continues firm.
It is for this reason that post-purchase regret is so common. The desire was enormous, the anticipation gargantuan, but the actual satisfaction was small. High dopamine before, low pleasure after.
But the book does not demonise dopamine. Quite the contrary. It shows that there is also the dopamine of control — that which helps us to plan, focus, persist, and overcome obstacles. It is the dopamine of healthy ambition, of strategy, of creativity. It allows us to think abstractly, create new connections, and imagine possible futures.
However, like everything in the brain, there is a limit. In excess, this exaggerated attribution of importance to stimuli can approach disorders such as schizophrenia, bipolarity, and ADHD. The line between genius and mental disorganisation, according to the book, can be thinner than we imagine.
The authors go even further and suggest — with many reservations — that this dynamic between dopamine and satisfaction systems can influence even social and political views. A greater focus on the future, on abstraction, and on change perhaps dialogues more with liberal views. Meanwhile, the valuation of the present, of the concrete, and of stability may align more with conservative views. It is a generalisation, of course, but an interesting reflection.
They connect dopamine also to human progress: to migration, to the exploration of the planet, to technology, and to the search for novelty that brought us here. Perhaps even to certain specific genes, such as DRD4-7R.
And then comes the awkward question that the book leaves in the air: in a world that explores dopamine all the time — with notifications, infinite feeds, and constant stimuli — is this incessant search for “more” becoming self-destructive?
The answer is not to eliminate dopamine. That would be impossible — and undesirable. The way out is harmony.
The book speaks of mastery: when you use dopamine to learn, to master a skill, to cook, to play an instrument, to practise a sport, or to create something with your hands. In these processes, you find satisfaction in the journey, in the present, in the work well done. These are activities that integrate the two systems: the wanting and the liking.
The great lesson is simple and profound: dopamine impels us, but happiness lives in balance with the present.
And this leads us to the final question, right in the spirit of the book: in a world that tries to hook our dopamine all the time, how can we, on purpose, cultivate more experiences of the here and now?
After this reading, this book went straight to my list of the very best.
And you — have you read it? Did you become curious?
