Who got sober, the chicken or the pig?

If a mere code of morals or a better philosophy of life were sufficient to overcome alcoholism, many of us would have recovered long ago. But we found that such codes and philosophies did not save us, no matter how much we tried. We could wish to be moral, we could wish to be philosophically comforted, in fact, we could will these things with all our might, but the needed power wasn't there. Our human resources, as marshalled by the will, were not sufficient; they failed utterly. - Alcoholics Anonymous, pp. 44-45

There is a tendency on the part of the general public to confuse AA with so-called "self-help" programs. Many of us have tried these approaches and, however benevolent they might have been in other respects, they were completely useless in addressing our alcoholism. Most of them are based on the assumption that there exists in all of us some core of goodness that we merely need to uncover to achieve a lifetime of happiness. The fact that whole sections of bookstores are devoted to these programs hints that such programs may not all deliver as promised. Instead, I would prefer to call AA a "self-helpless" program. Here's why.

After Bill had his spiritual experience in Town's Hospital, he struggled to understand what had happened to him. Ebby brought him a a book, William James' Varieties of Religious Experience. I would urge you to read page 124 of Pass It On to get a fuller understanding of how crucial this was to Bill's later thinking. Varieties is a difficult book to master and when I read it I found it tough going. But the most important thing that I took away was the difference between the "once born" and "twice born" human natures. There is a good explanation of this at http://www.pursuit-of-happiness.org/history-of-happiness/william-james/. I am not endorsing this site, but the explanation of this concept is as good as any I've seen. Here is a description of the "twice born" personality.

There are persons whose existence is little more than a series of zigzags, as now one tendency and now another gets the upper hand. Their spirit wars with their flesh, they wish for incompatibles, wayward impulses interrupt their most deliberate plans, and their lives are one long drama of repentance and of effort to repair misdemeanors and mistakes. - Varieties of Religious Experience, p.169

It should be no mystery as to which of these types Bill identified with. "Once born" people are the ones who write the self-help books. Ironically, they are the ones who need them least while their intended audience is the least likely to benefit from them. Instead, I would suggest that you read The Spirituality of Imperfection by Ernest Kurtz. A highly enjoyable read with profound insights. One of my favorites.

I love the line "Our human resources, as marshalled by the will, were not sufficient; they failed utterly." This is key. There are some problems for which any partial solution is no better than no solution. "Half measures availed us nothing." Half measures did not get us half a recovery. Even ninety-nine percent still got us nowhere. The analogy I like to use is to imagine you are trying to get from the roof of one building to the roof of another. Twenty five feet separate the two and all you have is a twenty four and a half foot ladder.  I assure you, you will not get 98% across. You will fail utterly.

I will close with a little AA gem told to me by one of my first sponsors. He said "this program is like ham and eggs: the chicken is involved but the pig is committed." Chickens don't get sober.

Alcoholic death or spiritual life? Let me get back to you on that.

In the preceding chapters you have learned something of alcoholism. We hope we have made clear the distinction between the alcoholic and the nonalcoholic. If, when you honestly want to, you find you cannot quit entirely, or if when drinking, you have little control over the amount you take, you are probably alcoholic. If that be the case, you may be suffering from an illness which only a spiritual experience will conquer.

To one who feels he is an atheist or agnostic such an experience seems impossible, but to continue as he is means disaster, especially if he is an alcoholic of the hopeless variety. To be doomed to an alcoholic death or to live on a spiritual basis are not always easy alternatives to face. - Alcoholics Anonymous - p.44

 A conversion experience is not for me: I'm an obstinate Vermonter. Besides, I can't buy it. People say to me, 'Have faith.' And I believe I'd have faith if I could have it but I can't. - Bill W. in his Guest House talk.

I made a casual decision around the age thirteen that would have profound effects on my life. In the soaring arrogance that only an adolescent can muster, I determined that there was no God. This was a decision of convenience because the life of self-centeredness I was planning for myself didn't really allow for any authority outside of myself, God being chief among them. In this I was profoundly unoriginal. Imagine that, a rebellious teenager!

Now as Bill will point out later, that decision was really an act of faith. I was gambling that life was best lived in the basis of "self determination" to put a nicer spin on it. Of course I didn't see it that way and I carefully insulated myself from anyone who might put a rational wedge in my smug self-assurance.

As life became more and more unlivable I began to find myself surrounded by people whose lives were attractive. These were people who seemed to have the ability to live life on its own terms, to be generous and humble, and most of all to know joy. I would have gladly given up all my misery to be like them except for one insurmountable issue: they all believed in God and lived Christian lives. I wanted faith, but had become so entrenched in my irrational atheism that it seemed beyond me. It was as if someone were trying to convince me that life would take on new meaning if I could just bring myself to believe in the Tooth Fairy.

One Sunday morning I was by myself at work in the basement of a phone company building. I was there on Sunday because I had to make up the work I hadn't done the day before while I was detoxing. I had an appointment at the bank Monday morning to get a loan to cover the balloon payment on our little dump in Roseville and I thought it would be bad form to show up drunk at 9:00 am. So I went cold turkey on Friday knowing that it would be a couple of days before I would stop shaking. I also had another little problem: I had written a bunch of checks that I had to cover on Monday as well, and my car, such as it was, was not dependable enough to take me to Puritan and Greenfield where the Credit Union was. This was not a neighborhood where you wanted to break down.

So there I was, swimming in self-loathing and maudlin self-pity and all I could think about was the people who had God in their lives and how much I yearned for that simple peace. It was then that a very remarkable thing happened. For a brief moment I became ever so slightly open minded about this God stuff and wondered if I might have gotten it just a wee bit wrong. I suddenly realized that I had been living my entire life based on a decision made by a thirteen-year-old brat. I was thirty three at that time and the results of my atheism experiment were in: not working out too good.

What I did next was as simple as it was profound: I made a decision, not one whit more rational than the one I made at thirteen, that I would begin living on the assumption that God existed even if there were no concrete evidence of it. At that moment, I was instantly freed from the cares and anxiety that had been dominating me and I felt that I was surrounded by infinite love, and that everything was going to be okay. Needless to say, when I read Bill's account of his experience in Towns Hospital I was flabbergasted at just how much it paralleled mine.

I went home and got my brother's bible and flipped to a random page. (This is not a very practical way to study Scripture.) It opened to the parable of the prodigal son. If I had any doubts about the validity of my experience that pretty much quashed it. I must assure you that this is not typical of the spiritual life but it does seem to happen to us more often in those first "pink cloud" days.

The twenty years of my life lived on the assumption of God's non-existence were followed by twenty more based on the opposite assumption. I needn't tell you that the latter was indescribably better. I won't say that this proves the existence of God but it does prove one thing: that faith in God is beneficial in the extreme. Whether or not God exists I may never know. But I know no other way to live.

Let's Step on it

Once more: The alcoholic at certain times has no effective mental defense against the first drink. Except in a few rare cases, neither he nor any other human being can provide such a defense. His defense must come from a Higher Power. - Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 43

 

I could spend a lot more time inching through the remainder of this chapter, but I have pretty much exhausted what I have to say about the First Step by now. And this is exactly where we are. The concluding paragraph sums it up pretty well. As we work through each step, I want to recap what we just covered, where we're going and, surprisingly, what happens in the "cracks" between the Steps.

Okay, where are we going? Bill leads into the next chapter with the final two words of this one: "Higher Power." The next chapter is one addressed entirely to the nature of the "spiritual awakening (experience)" necessary for recovery and to the concept of a Higher Power.

But before we get there, it would be a good idea to look at the "crack."  You may ask, "What the hell are you talking about?" Go ahead.

Here's what I am talking about. The division of the program into discrete steps was a necessity when the book was being written to make clear the common elements of each man's recovery. (Sorry Marty Mann, you weren't around yet.) But none of the early members had this step-by-step experience, and if you really think about it, neither do we today. I think that as we work the steps there is a continuum of experience with milestones along the way. We never really jump from one step to the next.

What is the crack like between Steps One and Two? I have to believe it is different for everyone, but I'll use my own case as an example. You may be able to apply it to yours.

My crack could be described in one word: hopelessness. I knew about AA but I resisted it for two seemingly contradictory reasons. First, I was afraid it wouldn't work. AA was the last house on the block and if that failed me, then what hope did I have? On the other hand, I was afraid that it would work, and that I would end up living without alcohol the rest of my life, a life I could not comprehend. I describe this as being in Death's waiting room. I couldn't die and I couldn't live. I knew full well that I was a hopeless alcoholic but I had no sense that any other life would be better. Think about that: even if someone dangled happy useful sobriety in front of me I had no appetite for it.  I could not move toward happiness even if I wanted to.

This is the state into which Bill and the others tried to steer the "pigeon." This was the condition that Rowland H. was in when Carl Jung pronounced him hopeless. "Is there nothing else?"  he cried. But keep in mind that this is a passage, a moment when the sufferer turns from darkness to light. It's kind of like rolling out of bed. Hardly instantaneous in my case. So we pass from Step One to Step Two, keeping in mind that this is not a Kodak moment, frozen in time. It is more like the moment when we awake from a dream.

The Pitfalls of Blogging

How's that working out for ya?

Our behavior is as absurd and incomprehensible with respect to the first drink as that of an individual with a passion, say, for jay-walking. He gets a thrill out of skipping in front of fast-moving vehicles. He enjoys himself for a few years in spite of friendly warnings. Up to this point you would label him as a foolish chap having queer ideas of fun. Luck then deserts him and he is slightly injured several times in succession. You would expect him, if he were normal, to cut it out. Presently he is hit again and this time has a fractured skull. Within a week after leaving the hospital a fast-moving trolley car breaks his arm. He tells you he has decided to stop jay-walking for good, but in a few weeks he breaks both legs. 

On through the years this conduct continues, accompanied by his continual promises to be careful or to keep off the streets altogether. Finally, he can no longer work, his wife gets a divorce and he is held up to ridicule. He tries every known means to get the jay-walking idea out of his head. He shuts himself up in an asylum, hoping to mend his ways. But the day he comes out he races in front of a fire engine, which breaks his back. Such a man would be crazy, wouldn't he? 

You may think our illustration is too ridiculous. But is it? We, who have been through the wringer, have to admit if we substituted alcoholism for jay-walking, the illustration would fit us exactly. However intelligent we may have been in other respects, where alcohol has been involved, we have been strangely insane. It's strong language - but isn't it true? - Alcoholics Anonymous, pp. 37-38

Pardon the long citation. I considered truncating it, but it's such an meaningful example for most of us that it does bear retelling.

Why does the jay-walker engage in such absurd and incomprehensible behavior? Alcoholics are hardly unique in exhibiting this sort of self-destructive behavior. The key to untying this knot is to ask one simple question: "What's the payoff?" People do not self-destruct for the pure joy if it. I believe they are tying to meet a fundamental need in a way that offers relief without addressing what is lacking in their lives. I'm sure you can think of numerous examples. Those who know me well need look no further.

So what is it that the alcoholic is missing? What emptiness are we trying to fill? Here's an excerpt from Carl Jung's letter to Bill W.:

I am strongly convinced that the evil principle prevailing in this world leads the unrecognized spiritual need into perdition, if it is not counteracted either by real religious insight or by the protective wall of human community...  You see, "alcohol" in Latin is "spiritus" and you use the same word for the highest religious experience as well as for the most depraving poison. The helpful formula therefore is: spiritus contra spiritum.

Jung refers to an "unrecognized spiritual need." That's quite in keeping with what we have been discussing so far regarding the spiritual nature of the problem. Notice as well that he sees the solution in a "real religious insight" (a spiritual awakening?) or "a protective wall of human community" (a fellowship?). 

In "A Vision for You" Bill draws the parallel between what alcohol means for most normal drinkers and what the fellowship offers in its stead. "Yes, there is a substitute and it is vastly more than that. It is a fellowship in Alcoholics Anonymous." AA fills the unrecognized spiritual need by providing the human community that genuinely satisfies the need as opposed to the counterfeit provided by alcohol.

“You have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless, until they can find rest in you.” 

So said St. Augustine. I could not say it better.

Yes, I am

I am going to take the lazy way out and quote a section of "Pass It On" in which Bill describes in detail the insanity of the first drink from his own experience. It is very apropos this section of the Big Book and is one of my favorite stories

Bill was to have one last great battle with booze. It would be a running, bruising battle. It started on Armistice Day.

"The fright was getting hazier. I didn’t have to exert myself so much to resist. I began to talk to people about alcoholism, and when offered drinks, I would give the information to them as a defense and also as a justification for my former condition. Confidence was growing.

“Armistice Day, 1934, rolled around. Lois had to go to the Brooklyn department store where she worked. Wall Street was closed down, and I began to wonder what I would do. I thought of golf. I hadn’t played in a long time. The family purse was slender, so I suggested to Lois that I might go over to Staten Island, where there was a public course. She couldn’t quite conceal her apprehension, but managed to say cheerfully, 'please do. That would be wonderful.’ I soon crossed on the ferry and found myself seated on the bus beside a man with a flying target rifle. That brought back memories of that Remington single-shot piece my grandfather had given me when I was 11 years old. We started talking about shooting.

“Suddenly, a bus behind us collided with the one we were in. There wasn’t any great shock, neither too much damage. My friend and I alighted on the pavement to wait for the next one to come along. Still talking about shooting irons, we noticed something that looked like a speakeasy. He said to me, ‘What about a little nip?'

“I said to him, 'Fine, let’s go.' We walked into the place. He ordered a Scotch. With ease, I ordered ginger ale. 

‘Don’t you drink?' he said.

“ I said. 'I’m one of those people who can’t manage it.’ And then, I dwelt on the allergy and the obsession, among other things. I told him all about the terrible time I’d had with liquor and how I was through with it forever. Very carefully, I explained the whole illness to him.

“Soon, seated in another bus, we were presently deposited in front of a country inn quite well down the island. l was to go to the golf course nearby; he was to take another bus to the rifle range. But it was noontime, so he said, ‘Let’s go in and have a sandwich. Besides, I’d like to have a drink.’ We sat at the bar this time. As I have said, it was Armistice Day. The place was filling up, and so were the customers. That familiar buzz which rises from drinking crowds filled the room. My friend and I continued our talk, still on the subject of shooting. Sandwiches and ginger ale for me, sandwiches and another drink for him.

‘We were almost ready to leave when my mind turned back again to Armistice Day in France -- all the ecstasy of those hours. I remembered how we’d all gone to town. I no longer heard what my friend was saying. Suddenly, the bartender, a big, florid Irishman, came abreast of us beaming. In each hand he held a drink. ‘Have one on the house, boys,’ he cried. ‘It’s Armistice Day.' Without an instant’s hesitation, I picked up the liquor and drank it.

‘My friend looked at me aghast. ‘My God, is it possible that you could take a drink after what you just told me? You must be crazy.’

"And my only reply could be this: 'Yes, I am.'

"Pass It On," pp. 109-111

Copyright © 1984 by Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc.

Some additional (unnecessary) thoughts

In one of my last posts, I made reference to the decision to drink as a spiritual decision. This was an idea that came to me as I was writing about Jim. It was not a belief I had ever harbored until that time. It just seemed to make sense.

As I sat at coffee on Saturday and discussed this, the expression on the faces of some of my friends indicated anything but complete agreement with this idea.

I am not one to form my beliefs outside of the context of the fellowship. In fact, if I have anything meaningful to say it is because my knees have been under hundreds of AA tables over the years, not because I have been granted some unique revelation. There are a few that claim this for themselves and for the most part they are the cheerfully ignored. Heaven help me if that ever becomes my M.O. So I was forced to reconsider my position. If you can allow me to get over-analytical I would like to offer some of my additional thoughts on the matter.

 The term "spiritual" has very positive connotations, both in AA as well as in the larger culture. To speak of such an insane decision as being spiritual in nature is therefore very jarring to the ears. How do I put this in words that are more in harmony with the general tenor of the Big Book?

When Bill says that we "... may be suffering from an illness which only a spiritual experience will conquer," I think there is a strong implication that we do not so much "lack" a spirit as we possess a diseased spirit. This leads to the question as to whether our spirit is entirely dormant. The term "spiritual awakening" does seem to imply that our spirit is present but not functioning. (I think I may have heard mine snoring a couple of times.) But the term can also imply a moment of enlightenment. Frankly, I don't think Bill gave it anywhere this much thought. But I will.

An analogy might be useful. I own a print shop, and the world of color is sometimes my personal hell. Trying to get color right is a delicate balancing act between CMY and K (cyan, magenta, yellow and black). If one of these is missing, the resulting color is skewed away from the missing color. For example, an image deficient in yellow will appear purplish. Now, the thought life of someone whose spirit is diseased will result in thinking that is skewed heavily toward the mental and physical, in other words toward "an allergy of the body" and an "obsession of the mind." If we turn that around, you can say that alcoholism is the "color" of someone with a diseased spirit.

Therefore (finally) I can say that the insanity of alcoholism can only be understood as a fundamentally spiritual condition. The decision to drink is a fundamentally spiritual one. If that makes any sense, God bless ya.