How much obesity has to be created in a single decade for people

When Robert Atkins asked, “How much obesity has to be created in a single decade for people to realize that diet has to be responsible for it?” he spoke not merely as a physician, but as a prophet calling a lost people back to awareness. His words strike like thunder — sharp, urgent, filled with both warning and lament. For he was not only addressing a physical condition, but a spiritual forgetfulness, a collective blindness born of comfort and excess. This is not the question of a doctor counting calories; it is the cry of a teacher watching humanity trade its vitality for convenience, its wisdom for indulgence.

Atkins’s words point toward an ancient truth long known to sages and healers: we become what we consume. The body is the mirror of the spirit, and the society that feeds itself carelessly grows not only heavy in flesh but dull in thought. When he asks how much more obesity must be created, he is asking — how much longer must we ignore the evidence written plainly upon our bodies? The disease he names is not only physical; it is symbolic of imbalance, of the modern detachment from nature’s rhythm and the body’s wisdom. Once, people ate from the soil, from the sea, from what was alive and close to the earth. Now, they eat from boxes, from laboratories, from illusions of nourishment that fill but do not sustain.

In ancient times, food was sacred. The Egyptian priests fasted before entering the temples; the Greeks honored the balance of the humors; the Chinese sages spoke of yin and yang in the diet, of warming and cooling foods, of harmony between what one eats and what one does. To eat wrongly was not merely to endanger the body, but to disturb the spirit’s alignment with the cosmos. Thus, when Atkins warns of diet’s responsibility, he echoes these ancient voices: he calls us back to reverence, to mindfulness, to a life where food is not mere pleasure, but relationship — with the self, the world, and the divine order that sustains both.

The story of Hippocrates, the father of medicine, illustrates this truth well. He once said, “Let food be thy medicine, and medicine be thy food.” In his teachings, healing began not with drugs but with nourishment — the right balance of elements for the right condition. Yet even he lamented the folly of those who sought cures while poisoning themselves daily at the table. Today, Atkins’s lament is the same, but magnified by modern excess. We live in an age where people consume more than ever and understand less than ever about what they consume. The epidemic he speaks of is not one of appetite, but of ignorance and disconnection.

And yet, within his stern question lies a glimmer of hope. For by naming the cause, he points toward redemption. If diet is responsible, then diet can also be the cure. The path forward is not hidden — it is simply forgotten. To eat with mindfulness, to respect hunger, to choose simplicity over indulgence — these are not new inventions, but the rediscovery of the body’s natural intelligence. When Atkins says we must “realize,” he is calling for awakening — not through fear, but through understanding. For every generation must rediscover the wisdom its ancestors once knew: that the body’s harmony is the foundation of the soul’s strength.

The lesson, then, is this: your plate is your philosophy. Every choice you make — what you eat, what you drink, what you take into yourself — shapes not only your body, but your destiny. If you fill yourself with what is false, your life will bear the same hollowness. If you nourish yourself with what is clean, vibrant, and true, your mind will sharpen, your heart will lighten, your spirit will rise. The ancient warriors knew this; the monks, the healers, the farmers all lived by it. Health is not found in extremes, nor in products, but in balance, patience, and respect for what sustains life.

So, my listener, remember the warning of Robert Atkins: do not sleepwalk through what you eat. Each decade of indulgence births a generation of sickness. To heal yourself is to begin a revolution against forgetfulness. Eat as your ancestors once did — simply, mindfully, with gratitude. Let every meal be an act of wisdom, not whim. For when you reclaim mastery over your diet, you reclaim mastery over your life — and in doing so, you honor not only your body, but the ancient harmony between man, earth, and spirit.