Answer Addiction

Tag: Alcoholics Anonymous

  • Alcoholics Anonymous Welcomes Queer Members – But Is It Enough?

    Addiction is inherently bound up in issues of class, race, sexuality, religion, and yes, gender – the exact “outside issues” that AA members are taught to check outside the meeting room doors.

    Every day, in thousands of church basements, community centers, and clubhouses across America, people who can boast anything from a few hours to many decades without alcohol gather to collect one more sober day. Nearly all these meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous begin with members collectively reciting something called the AA Preamble, a statement of purpose for the AA group and reminder that AA’s “primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics achieve sobriety.”

    I first heard the Preamble in 2009, during my earliest attempt at sobriety, and have heard it hundreds more times since. The Preamble is so ubiquitous in the AA program that almost all members can recite it by heart. The Preamble is short, just two paragraphs comprised of five sentences. Until last year, it was exactly 100 words. It is now 98. The loss of three words, and addition of one, might seem small, almost meaningless, to anyone outside of the AA program. But for an organization that has stubbornly resisted most edits to its doctrines and covenants since its genesis over 80 years ago, it is earthshaking. And for those of us who want AA to change – who hope the program that did so much to save our lives can adequately respond to new, more inclusive cultural norms – it is a sign that AA is not a relic or a curiosity but a living, evolving thing, still in search of the best way to carry the message.

    For 74 years, the Preamble told members that AA is “a fellowship of men and women who … help others to recover from alcoholism.” Here’s the big change: “men and women” has been dropped and replaced with “people.” There’s a poetic simplicity to this that shouldn’t undermine its significance. No longer does AA’s self-constructed statement of purpose reduce members to men or women, Box A or Box B, this or that. AA is full of queer, trans, and non-binary addicts who for decades were greeted at every meeting with a recitation that excluded them. That is no longer the case.

    To understand why the change to the Preamble is so important, you first must understand just how rooted in antiquity much of AA is. I’m a gay atheist, and my first few years in “the rooms” were spent largely trying to see how, or if, I could fit in. No easy task. The central text of Alcoholics Anonymous is the “Big Book,” originally written in 1939 by famed AA founder Bill Wilson with assistance from other founding members. The Big Book’s first 164 pages, the pages thought of as the “nuts and bolts” of the AA program and authored primarily by the near-mythic Bill W., have remained largely set in stone, subject only to grammatical and semantic edits. Wilson’s vision of a set of principles and practices to get and keep a drunk sober remains intact. And many of those principles read as outdated at best, and offensive at worst, to modern eyes.

    Consider the chapter that caused me the most distress. “We Agnostics” purports to be the AA welcome wagon for the irreligious, but it is deeply condescending to those who don’t believe in God. The chapter begins reasonably enough, with sympathies toward those who have found organized religion corrupt or otherwise distasteful. It then turns toward AA’s unique, somewhat incomprehensible notion of spirituality, a vague sense that there is a “God of our understanding” who is in some way “bigger” than us. This can all be read metaphorically, which most godless AA members do, as a call to get out of our own heads and kill our egos. But there is a hard religious turn toward the end, a nod to our “Creator,” and a parable of a drunk redeemed through faith that wouldn’t be out of place on a megachurch’s Instagram feed. The overall message of “We Agnostics” is: Perhaps you don’t believe in God now, but you will, if you want to get sober.

    Arguably worse is “To Wives,” chapter 8 of the Big Book. As the title might have tipped you off, “To Wives” is sexist, heteronormative nonsense. Written in a confessional style, “To Wives” purports to tell the story of the long-suffering wife of the alcoholic – “Oh, how she cried!,” that sort of thing. The unspoken assumption is that alcoholics are men, and AA membership is mostly men, and these members are straight and married to women. In that sense, the old Preamble – written eight years after the Big Book and when AA was becoming more established – sounds downright progressive in its inclusion of both “men and women.”

    None of this should be surprising. Wilson was the product of both his time and his spiritual biography. In 1939, women had only been voting for 20 years, and the teaching of evolution could still be outlawed by states. For his part, Wilson had put down the bottle with the help of the Oxford Group, an anti-hierarchical, but explicitly Christian, sect focused on adherence to high moral standards and surrender to God. He incorporated many of the Oxford Group’s teachings into the Big Book. The roots of AA are Christian ones, and as a result, there is a religious lean to much AA literature. Some members are happier about this than others. When I was first trying to stay clean, I told a longtime member I was an atheist. He responded, missing the point entirely, that this was fine: “All you need to believe is there is a God, and you ain’t Him!”

    Both “To Wives” and “We Agnostics” remain, unchanged, in the Big Book today, although there have been unsuccessful movements to remove or rewrite them. It is no exaggeration to say that the change to the Preamble is the biggest move toward modernity AA has taken in perhaps its entire history. How did it happen? Well, making a complex process simple: any AA meeting can propose changes through their elected representative, who then takes those proposals to an annual conference, where they are voted on by all the area delegates. (There are 93 “areas” in the US. Some states have one, bigger states have more – New York has four.) It is at these General Service Conferences where the big decisions about the most fundamental tenets of Alcoholics Anonymous are made.

    The Preamble vote took place at the 2020 Conference. One New York area delegate put together a charming PowerPoint presentation, appropriately titled “AA In A Time of Change,” laying out the broad procedural steps, and I am cribbing from that here. AA groups in New York, D.C., and Louisiana pushed to have the change debated at the Conference. One committee initially voted down the proposal, finding that they needed “more information.” And that could have been where the change died – smothered in committee and consigned to next year’s conference.

    It wasn’t to be. As per the delegate, “in rapid succession,” members brought four floor actions. A floor action is discouraged at a Conference – it is outside of the normal “process” by which change is made within AA, and can be voted down immediately. There is a radical bent to a floor action, and for a body that requires 2/3 majorities to pass anything, the Conference process is nothing if not deliberative. But “I guess we’re alcoholics,” notes the welcomingly wry delegate, and members pushed. And so, after a “spirited” debate, the floor actions passed, and on May 1, 2020, Alcoholics Anonymous formally voted to make the Preamble inclusive of non-binary recovering alcoholics. It was announced in Grapevine in 2021, and was introduced at AA groups throughout the summer and fall.

    I wanted to find out just how spirited the conference debate was. The voting debates at the General Service Conference are not public, even to other AA members. While writing this article, I reached out to six area delegates to hear their recollections of the Preamble debate and vote. Only one responded, and he declined to speak. I anticipated their hesitancy – one of the most religiously observed creeds of Alcoholics Anonymous as an organization is its refusal to engage in what it deems “politics.” This is so important that it is even part of the Preamble itself, which states, “AA…does not wish to engage in any controversy [and] neither endorses nor opposes any causes.” And so, AA takes no position on medication, health coverage, drug legalization, or any of the other myriad policy debates that directly touch on addiction.

    But this is a country that bans trans people from public restrooms, that mandates genital inspections for children to play sports. In that context, yes, making the Preamble queer-inclusive was “engaging in controversy,” and it is silly to pretend it isn’t. Certainly the opponents of the change, in private Facebook groups, attacked it in political terms. “Extraterrestrials are going to feel excluded now.” “More Cancel Culture, Politically Correct BULLSHIT.” One member’s post I saw bluntly stated that her group would refuse to read the new Preamble. And again and again, members expressed annoyance that AA would take up what they call an “outside issue.”

    The “outside issue” trope is an old one in the program, drawn from the language of the Tenth Tradition, which tells members that AA “has no opinion on outside issues,” and thus will “never be drawn into public controversy.” It is deeply connected to AA’s refusal to engage in “politics.” The justification here is that anything not explicitly related to sobriety can alienate addicts from the program, and thus keep them mired in active addiction. But there’s an equally salient point – by not engaging in the everyday realities of members’ lives, AA can seem distant, naïve, and unfeeling. Plus, as in the case of the Preamble change, the ban on outside issues can be weaponized by bigots.

    Addiction is inherently bound up in issues of class, race, sexuality, religion, and yes, gender – the exact “outside issues” that AA members are taught to check outside the meeting room doors. AA teachings discourage these discussions in any formal or public setting, and so, newcomers living in poverty are told that this is no barrier to a spiritual awakening, minorities are told to overcome their “victimhood,” and old timers – usually white men with decades sober – often spitefully attack any mention of drugs other than alcohol in meetings. Yes, even drug use is considered an “outside issue” by many AA members. As it has with the Preamble, the outside issues rule is vague enough to be targeted at any inter-group discussions some members don’t like.

    Try as I might, I could not get an AA representative to comment on the record for this story. I had a lengthy chat with a very nice employee at AA’s General Services Office who asked me to forward some questions and refused to be quoted. Those questions were not responded to. I wasn’t surprised – I’ve written about AA and politics in the past, and was castigated by some for even identifying myself as an AA member in public. There is an overarching fear of sunlight in AA that is at odds with our current cultural moment, where institutions both private and public are held accountable for their internal rules and processes.

    The Preamble’s change is a sign that the tide is turning in Alcoholics Anonymous. As older addicts are replaced by younger ones, the wall AA has built around its teachings weakens a little more. As one Facebook commenter put it: “Stop debating queer and trans members because we’ve been here and stayed sober even when we weren’t included, don’t get it twisted nothing any of ya’ll have to say will change my sobriety date.” Exactly.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Atheist Nurse Wins Fight to End Mandatory 12-Step Addiction Treatment for Health Staff in Vancouver

    Atheist Nurse Wins Fight to End Mandatory 12-Step Addiction Treatment for Health Staff in Vancouver

    B.C. health authority settles human rights complaint with Byron Wood, who lost his job after quitting AA.

    Health-care professionals who work in Vancouver-area hospitals and medical clinics will no longer be required to attend 12-step programs if they want to keep their jobs after being diagnosed with addiction.

    The change comes as a result of a settlement between public health authority Vancouver Coastal Health and former nurse Byron Wood, who filed a human rights complaint alleging he was discriminated against as an atheist when he was fired for quitting Alcoholics Anonymous.

    Wood told CBC the agreement was reached after a month of negotiations. 

    “I’m really happy about the outcome — it means that VCH employees are not required to attend 12-step rehab centres, 12-step meetings, or participate in any 12-step activities if they object for religious reasons,” he said in an email.

    “It’s what I’ve been fighting for, for the last six years.”

    As part of the settlement, Wood said he has to keep many details of the agreement confidential.

    But he did say Vancouver Coastal Health employees who require addiction treatment will now have a way of “meaningfully registering their objection” to 12-step programs.

    They won’t have to attend AA and similar programs “if that approach to treatment conflicts with their religious or non-religious beliefs,” Wood said.

    Nearly 14,000 people work for the health authority, including 5,500 nurses and 2,700 doctors.

    Officials at VCH have yet to respond to requests for comment, but a spokesperson confirmed the settlement terms outlined by Wood.

    ’12 step does not work for everyone’

    The settlement could have implications in other professions and across the country. Researchers who study addiction treatment for health-care workers say it’s common for employees to be required to participate in 12-step programs in the interest of protecting public safety.

    Vancouver lawyer and workplace consultant Jonathan Chapnick said mandatory AA has long been the standard approach for workplace addiction issues in Canada.

    “I think it makes sense for employers to look at something like this and do their own research and make their policy better reflect the research evidence that’s out there,” he said of VCH’s change in policy.

    “Twelve step does not work for everyone. And, in fact, it doesn’t work for most people.”

    Six of AA’s 12 steps directly refer to God or a higher power, including one that requires members turn their will and lives “over to the care of God.”

    “The 12 steps are a religious peer support group, not a medical treatment. They shouldn’t be imposed on anyone,” Wood said.

    “When you’re a medical doctor, and you specialize in only one condition, and the only treatment that you offer for that condition involves God, you shouldn’t be practising medicine.”

    Wood was working as a registered nurse on Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside when he was diagnosed with substance use disorder after a psychotic break in the fall of 2013. 

    His professional college was informed, along with his union and Vancouver Coastal Health, his employer at the time. 

    He was referred to a doctor specializing in addictions, who created a plan that Wood would need to follow if he wanted to return to work. AA was a mandatory component.

    As an atheist, Wood suggested alternatives to the 12-step program, including secular support groups like SMART Recovery and LifeRing Secular Recovery, but his doctor rejected them, according to emails Wood provided to CBC News. 

    He also asked for a referral to a new doctor, but his union informed him it only uses addiction specialists who follow the 12-step model, the emails show.

    The AA meetings didn’t help, Wood said, and he lost his job as well as his registration as a nurse when he stopped going.

    Since then, he’s been fighting to get his job back while dealing with his addictions using a drug called naltrexone, which blocks the intoxicating effects of alcohol and opiates. He says he is healthy and no longer meets the criteria for substance use disorder.

    Plans to re-apply for nursing licence

    While many people say AA has been instrumental in their recovery from addiction, scientists have long questioned the overall effectiveness of the program, and say choice in treatment plans is key to recovery.

    Wood’s complaint to the B.C. Human Rights Tribunal was bolstered by letters of support from scientists, doctors, psychotherapists, lawyers, the B.C. Civil Liberties Association, the B.C. Humanist Association, and the Centre for Inquiry Canada, an Ontario-based humanist charity.

    The complaint originally named the B.C. Nurses’ Union as a respondent, but that portion was dismissed by the tribunal earlier this year.

    Wood said he plans to apply to the College of Nursing Professionals for reinstatement of his licence, with the hope of finding a new job in nursing.

    This article originally appeared on CBC.ca and is republished here with permission.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Truth or Consequences: How I'm Learning to Practice Rigorous Honesty in Recovery

    Truth or Consequences: How I'm Learning to Practice Rigorous Honesty in Recovery

    Hard to overlook taking a can of black beans from a church pantry on the same day I spend $74 on hair care, when I bother writing out my nightly inventory. 

    Riding on the back of my dad’s Honda in western New York when I was a teen, we stopped by a cornfield and stole a few ears for supper. The kernels were tough (actually inedible). Turns out it was feed corn. That memory stuck, along with its moral: stealing ain’t worth it. It never turns out like you’d hoped, and you never get off scot-free… 

    In my first year of recovery I pilfered fistfuls of Sugar in the Raw packets from Starbucks (I don’t take sugar in my coffee). This bad behavior went into my nightly inventory for months, but I still stole those sweet square pillows any chance I got. I wrote about it, talked it over with my sponsor, but it didn’t stop. 

    Eventually, as a newly single head-of-household, I connected thieving to my fear of not being able to provide for myself and my two sons. And this awareness helped me to see I had a choice: fear or faith. I could stay in scared survivor mode, working those sticky fingers at Starbucks, or instead, start shelling out for sugar at the supermarket for William’s breakfast strawberries, while still believing I’d manage to pay the July/August combined electric bill on an apartment climate that artificially supports both cool and warm zones (for humans and equatorial pet lizards respectively.) And while I still sometimes make the un-sober choice at the cream and sugar station, I’ve gotten my haul down to two packets; the amount, I reason, every customer is entitled to, whether or not they use sweetener. 

    While some of the promises outlined in the chapter “Into Action”in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous are, indeed, starting to materialize (I AM “intuitively” able to “handle situations” that previously “baffled” the hell out of me), others remain misty. I won’t say I’m panicky, but “fear of economic insecurity” does remain a vaporous dread…

    Absolute Honesty – Aiming for The “Great Ideal”

    Originally, the third tradition went like this: “The only requirement for membership is an honest desire to stop drinking.” That’s how it was written, until Bill Wilson was persuaded to axe the “honest” by other sober drunks, concerned that word might scare some rummies away. I agree, it’s a tricky adjective. In a letter from 1966, the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous writes:

    “Only God can know what absolute honesty is. Therefore, each of us has to conceive what this great ideal may be—to the best of our ability.”

    Hmm… leave it up to each delusional drunk to define the term, know right from wrong, truth from fiction? Problematic. But Bill knew that alcoholics–maybe more than normies–need regular reality checks. That’s why accountability to other sober alcoholics is embedded in the steps, and it’s why fellowship with others, also aiming for this “great ideal,” is important, if not critical, to long-term sobriety. And the fourth and fifth steps, taken in tandem, are two flea bombs to the infested sofa of the dishonest alcoholic mind. At least they worked this way for me, driving to the surface a teeming nest of selfish, self-serving behavior, driven by false beliefs of incompetence and unlovability. 

    Writing for The Grapevine, Bill W. admits: 

    “Fallible as we all are, and will be in this life, it would be presumption to suppose that we could ever really achieve absolute honesty. The best we can do is strive for a better quality of honesty.” 

    Yes, it’s “Progress, not Perfection,” an overworked AA cliché that still works for me. 

    Tenth Step…

    As I just celebrated my sixth sober anniversary, I’m self-assessing, looking for evidence of change. For 2,229 days now, I’ve been striving for this “better quality of honesty.” But am I any less of an opportunist, a conniving cheapskate looking to get over? After all, I am still wheeling over to the express check-out line with well over ten items. I do still abuse mascara testers at Sephora with no intention to buy, slather hand cream samplers up past my elbows, and spritz enough cologne to reek as bad as that OKC coffee date who pinched my calf and finished my almond pastry. Last time I was at the dermatologist’s, I scooped all the free ointments for scaly skin conditions I don’t have, and just last week in the health food store, I sampled the salsa and chips, both coming and going. I justified that snacking by lying to myself that someday, I would actually buy that breaking-bank bag of corn chips. I even tethered my teenager to the tasting station to graze while I shoveled spicy cashews in the bulk section. A few missed my baggie and met my palm instead. For as long as I’ve been around the rooms, I haven’t gained as much ground as I’d hoped on “rigorous” honesty. I’m less afraid, yes, but I’m still a tightwad. What’s been sorta acceptable ‘til now is finally starting to really bother me, six years later; little acts of looting are getting under my sober skin.

    So tonight I put this question to the cleansed face in the mirror: What does recovery from shifty and self-serving look like, entering year seven?

    “Well for one thing,” my reflection replies through toothpaste paw prints, “you can pay better attention to what you’re actually doing, and the results you’re getting from these actions. Are you still boxing fellow commuters into tight parking spots and returning to your bumper the next morning to find profane love notes under your wiper? How about cutting the line at the Lincoln Tunnel? You are definitely still guilty there…”

    My mirror image is not getting off her soap box. “What about those five dead minutes between applying your serum and moisturizer? Wouldn’t it be a good look to jot a 10th step review then? Remember those?” I do. Hard to overlook taking a can of black beans from a church pantry on the same day I spend $74 on hair care, when I bother writing out my nightly inventory. 

    “Then there’s meditation,” my two-dimensional me adds. And she’s right. Sanity is somewhat restored when I light incense, hit the gong, and sit for ten minutes. Sometimes I fall asleep. Doesn’t matter, still helps. 

    “Oh and call your sponsor.” Because my spiritual growth is inversely proportional to my enthusiasm towards any particular action, the single best move I can make is to remain accountable to another sober alcoholic: to recommit to running anything eyebrow-raising by my sponsor.

    Today it’s less about how many sobriety coins I’ve collected, and more about whether or not I’m dropping the suggested donation in the collection plate. (I can damn well afford the two bucks). I tell myself that “tasting” 12 grapes in the produce section before deciding on red over green is old behavior that won’t ever again find sea legs on this sober ship. Same goes for wheedling out of traffic violations or fighting late fees. But I’m lying. Only today, the Con Ed customer support chick waived all late fees for one lame reason: I’d somehow “overlooked” the whopping summer billing summaries to my inbox. 

    And five years ago, my son reached 44 inches, the legal height to pay full fare on New York City public transit. Yet I still make the seventh-grader duck the turnstile while I glide my MetroCard just once. I won’t say “no, never,” but I don’t see this behavior resolving until William sprouts facial hair. Why? Because I’m cheap and manipulative—always angling to get something for nothing. AA is a program of change, but some defects die hard.

    Recognizing Progress

    It has gotten better in other important ways though. Post-divorce romantic relations are above board and approaching sane. And thanks in part to my sponsor, who flagged flaws in my interactions with others that serve no one, my wuzband and I now communicate, commiserate, and reciprocate in rearing adolescent males under separate cover; our co-parenting game is tight. 

    These are the payoffs for continuously striving for this “better quality of honesty” —better relations with others when I keep my inner-cheater, the little girl who collected loose change from her mother’s purse to buy cola slushies from the corner store, and who grew to collect new boyfriends before losing old ones, in check; a conscience that’s becoming clearer than the bathroom mirror. That feels good.

    But here’s why rigorous honesty is life-or-death to my long-term sobriety—and it’s not the petty larceny— because sure, I can probably carry on for a while stashing stray Oreos in my overalls after the 5:30 meeting instead of leaving them for the 7:30 drunks. It’s because these minor infractions lead to major ramifications. It’s the excessive texting on company time that leads to the O’Douls, that leads to the oyster stout, or the laughing gas for the routine filling that leads to the first bloody Mary—light on Absolut—that leads, absolutely, to the first drunk. Because this is what it’s really about, right? Tricking myself straight into the insanity of the first drink. 

    My BS detector needs its batteries changed more than just when Daylight Savings Time rolls around… 

    The most honest and most important action I can take on a daily basis is to follow through on my primary purpose: to stay honest, to stay sober, and to help another alcoholic. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • An Atheist's Guide to Alcoholics Anonymous

    An Atheist's Guide to Alcoholics Anonymous

    Simply put, when we do not understand how something works, we chalk it up to god.

    The following is an excerpt from a longer work.

    Spiritual Caulk and the Great Puppeteer in the Sky

    One of the most profound insights I’ve discovered in atheist literature is that god concepts serve the purpose of filling in gaps in our knowledge. “Miracles” like lightning and earthquakes and sudden changes in personalities were considered inexplicable. In order to satisfy the natural human hunger for explanation deities were invoked. To this day god serves the same purpose. Simply put, when we do not understand how something works, we chalk it up to god. God serves as a metaphysical caulk, a generic, all-purpose filler that effectively fills in the gaps in our understanding.

    One time at an AA meeting at San Francisco’s 1010 Valencia I heard a woman talk about a ride on a city bus. She was fairly new to sobriety, feeling pretty shaky at the time. As she rode the city bus she looked up and, there on the seat directly before her, she recognized a fellow member of AA. This chance encounter and their subsequent interaction helped her through a difficult time. She interpreted this as a miracle. She described it as “god working in her life”, a very common expression in the rooms of AA.

    This is what I have come to refer to, yes, somewhat derisively I confess, as the puppeteer god. It refers to the idea that god arranges worldly matters to reinforce our AA lifestyle, to miraculously guide our “spiritual” development. This god is very helpful, offers us numerous opportunities for growth, but never gives us more than we can handle. On good days god even finds us parking places when we are on the verge of being late for some important event, like an AA meeting or a job interview. The puppeteer also likes to miraculously inspire our sponsor to call us just when we most need to hear from him or her. I understand the comfort such beliefs bring. A safe, orderly world. Like a household in which a caring, attentive parent oversees all.

    But I wondered as she spoke, hadn’t this other fellow been on that bus before? Undoubtedly when she was still “in her cups”, that same rider was right there, sitting before her unnoticed. In fact that very same rider might have been sitting across the way, waving a Big Book directly in her face just the day before. But she would have been unable to acknowledge this fortuitous encounter and all the mutual good that it afforded. Perhaps she had been blinded to the world around her as she obsessed over how and where she was going to get her next fix, pill or drink.

    Wasn’t the difference, the real deal maker in this scenario, our speaker’s newfound willingness to perceive and imbue with value this most excellent opportunity for enhancing her recovery? Wasn’t her newfound openness and willingness really the crux of the matter, regardless of theistic interpretations?

    I find it very difficult to relate to the sharing of AA members whose Higher Power arranges the world to fix them. They utilize god to fill in the void in their understanding when interesting and impressive things happen in their lives. To me this just smacks of mental laziness. I feel very uncomfortable in meetings where this sort of thing takes place. I think they are dismissing the power of genuine willingness in their lives, denigrating the incredible capacity of humans to embrace change and transform for the better.

    If you choose to interpret recovery experiences in this way, you are left with some inexplicable and particularly onerous implications. For example, why did god not similarly come to the rescue of Freddy, or Jim, or Alice, or Tom? Each of them has relapsed and are now out stumbling drunk or shooting up in an alley somewhere. Why did the puppeteer not come to their aid? Is there a merit system involved? Is it karma? Unlikely to be the case, as we all know miscreants who have been spared, yet sweethearts who have succumbed.

    I believe that the real work in our bus rider’s life is being done largely by her newfound attitude. She is open to solutions and opportunities to grow her recovery that, prior to this time, she could not even have recognized. She is ready for new, life changing experiences that could move her forever away from the needle and the bottle, and instead towards sober well-being. This mindset, of open-mindedness and willingness, is essential to recovery. Theistic interpretations are not. And it is this newfound mindset that’s really doing the heavy lifting here. Not god.

    Courage to Change

    Prayer and meditation are among the most obvious examples of definitively religious practices considered essential to recovery. This morning, ironic though it may be, I prayed before returning to these blasphemous writings. Why? Because I need a daily restoration to sanity and this activity is a learned and habitual component in that process. 

    But the heavy lifting in prayer is not done by anything outside of us. The puppeteer deity does not meet our requests, or deny them, or even hear them. Through prayer and meditation we make fundamental changes to ourselves. It is an act of commitment and recommitment to a new set of values. But there is nothing that is literally miraculous involved, no outside deity at work. Praying for people, places and things does nothing to affect the people, places or things in question. What it can do is change us, and thereby our relationships with the people, places and things in question. What prayer does is simply change our thinking, our emotions, our action choices, and thereby everything about our relationships with the rest of the world.

    AA members often jest that we should be careful what we ask for. A common interpretation is that, when you begin to pray for something, to ask god for something, god will present you with opportunities to develop or earn that thing. Say, for example, you discover in your inventory process you suffer from impatience. Recognizing this as a defect in your character, you subsequently pray for increased patience.

    The popular mythology in AA is that, at this point, The Great Puppeteer in the Sky will place before you a frustrating series of circumstances intended to shine a spotlight on your impatience. “Our higher power presents us with opportunities for growth.” Having become ready to have this defect removed, god now tests, or forges, us through exposure to temptation. That god gives us what we need in order to allow us the opportunity to develop our character is a historically common theistic interpretation.

    But it is fairly easy to see how a non-believer, or conversely, if you will, one who believes in human potential, can interpret such experiences as simply highlighting our newfound sensitivity and awareness, along with our newfound willingness to change. Occam’s Razor, or the Law of Parsimony, suggests that, all other things being equal, we should employ the explanation which posits the least extra parts, as it were. Certainly employing supernatural deities to explain straightforward psychological and social phenomenon directly conflicts with this most common sense philosophical principle.

    Consider, for example, the sixth and seventh steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. These prescribe for us that we become willing to have god remove all of our defects of character and humbly ask him to do so. If we work the steps with genuine honesty, open-mindedness and a willingness to change, we will come to identify our negative tendencies and reach a state of willingness to change. From here on out, if we are genuinely interested in changing, we will be hyper-aware of these traits and their consequences in our daily life. This newfound sensitivity to both the trait and its impact on self and society are sufficient, when coupled with an awareness of viable alternatives, to fully explain the process.

    This is what happens when we identify problematic tendencies (steps 4 and 5), and subsequently become willing to change (steps 6 and 7). Through this process of honest and critical self-reflection we are now more acutely aware both of the behavioral propensities and of their negative effects upon self and society. We have heightened our awareness and see these things at work in our lives with greater honesty than ever before. Most of us are aware that some practice is then required, as we strive daily to employ different behaviors when the occasion arises to do so. In this manner we slowly but surely change our habits of word and deed regarding the problematic behavior.

    An introduction to viable alternative attitudes and actions
    +
    A genuine willingness to change
    +
    The passage of time
    =
    All the defect removal we need.

    The result of this process is that we can be significantly transformed. Some defects are removed quickly and easily, perhaps because they are directly correlated with using behaviors. These fall to the wayside as physical sobriety begins. But many defects of character we must grapple with slowly over time. Willingness to change includes being honest enough to identify the defects, to face their effects on ourselves and those around us, to see the daily flare-ups, to learn alternative attitudes and actions from our fellowship or literature, and then to practice the implementation of those alternative methods in our daily lives.

    On this “one day at a time” basis we experience slow, yet certain, incremental change. We gain nothing by understanding these profound transformations as dependent upon theistic intervention. In fact, we may be inclined to take less responsibility, to wait for the miracle rather than work for the change.

    Sometimes a genuine spirit of willingness will create moments of inspiration, moments of sudden change. This, too, should come as no surprise. These rapid changes are miraculous, indeed, in the sense that they are often life-changing and profound. But whether the change is slow and incremental or sudden and immediate neither requires theistic interpretation. In fact, by so doing, we denigrate the amazing and wondrous capacity of humans to change for the better. Perhaps taking the blame for the bad, while giving god credit for the good, is an antiquated and counter-productive tradition.

    The changes brought about by a life in AA can indeed seem profound, even miraculous. We are surprised. One day we could think of nothing but alcohol or drugs, and would obsessively, energetically and compulsively shape our lives around the need to use them constantly, regardless of the horrendous damage done to ourselves and to those around us. The next day (seemingly) we are caring, sober, responsible, unselfish and kind people, almost entirely transformed. We do not recognize that there is within us this capacity for transformation which is perfectly and entirely explicable on humanistic grounds. Because the change is beyond our understanding, we apply the spiritual caulk, the fill-all in our understanding that is “god”. But the caulk is not needed. Miracles happen every day. I know. I am one of them. If you are reading this, you are probably one too. But god is not required to make sense of them. In fact, in so doing, we denigrate and belittle our own innate capacity for transformation and positive change.

    The above is an excerpt from the book Common Sense Recovery: An Atheist’s Guide to Alcoholics Anonymous. The book was originally written as a journal by long-term member Adam N., as he sought to bridge the gap between the religious language and perspectives of AA, and his own increasingly secular, atheistic understanding of the fundamental principles of recovery. Now in its third edition, this work continues to be a valuable guide for many who struggle with the religious nature and language of AA and contains important insights for the future of the fellowship.

    An audio version of Common Sense Recovery will soon be available through audible.com.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Brad Pitt Praises Alcoholics Anonymous

    Brad Pitt Praises Alcoholics Anonymous

    “You had all these men sitting around being open and honest in a way I have never heard,” Pitt said in a recent interview.

    Brad Pitt may be one of the most famous movie stars on the planet, but when he turned to an Alcoholics Anonymous group in a time of need, he found the compassion and anonymity that he was looking for. 

    “You had all these men sitting around being open and honest in a way I have never heard,” Pitt told The New York Times about the 18 months that he spent attending AA meetings. “It was this safe space where there was little judgment, and therefore little judgment of yourself.”

    Sharing in a Safe Space

    Despite his celebrity, Pitt felt that he could open up in the meetings, without worrying about other people spreading his stories. That helped him heal, coming off his divorce from actress Angelina Jolie. 

    He said, “It was actually really freeing just to expose the ugly sides of yourself. There’s great value in that.”

    Pitt and Jolie reportedly split after an argument about his drinking. In 2017, six months after he got sober, he told GQ, “I can’t remember a day since I got out of college when I wasn’t boozing or had a spliff, or something. I stopped everything except boozing when I started my family. But even this last year, you know—things I wasn’t dealing with. I was boozing too much.” 

    When his drinking was at its worst, he could “drink a Russian under the table with his own vodka. I was a professional. I was good,” Pitt said. 

    He had to make a change, and decided to take control of it. “I had taken things as far as I could take it, so I removed my drinking privileges,” he told the Times.

    Taking Inventory

    Going through his divorce and getting sober forced Pitt to take an honest inventory and face some long-time challenges that he had been avoiding. 

    “The fact is, we all carry pain, grief and loss,” he said. “We spend most of our time hiding it, but it’s there, it’s in you. So you open up those boxes.”

    Part of that was realizing the impact that fame had on him. 

    He said, “In the ’90s, all that attention really threw me. It was really uncomfortable for me, the cacophony of expectations and judgments. I really became a bit of a hermit and just bonged myself into oblivion.”

    Now, he has learned to deal with those anxieties in a healthier way, or to put them out of his head entirely.  

    “Those dubious thoughts, the mind chatter, the rat in the skull—that’s comedy,” he said. “It’s just ridiculous that we would beat ourselves up that way. It doesn’t matter. I spent too much of life wrestling with those thoughts, or being tethered to those thoughts, or caged by those thoughts.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Tales of a High-Bottom Alcoholic

    Tales of a High-Bottom Alcoholic

    Having a high bottom can be more dangerous because it can go undetected for life. You can end up just living a soulless life.

    When I first got sober someone referred to me as having a “high bottom.” A friend, trying to be funny, yelled out, “that’s just because she has long legs!”

    I was then told that a high bottom meant I had not caused too much damage to myself or others while I was drinking, but I feel like that’s subjective. A “low bottom” does not really leave much open to interpretation: jail, interventions, hospital, losing your family, your job, your home. You have to decide: get sober or suffer terrible consequences, one of which might be death.

    A person experiencing a high bottom may not appear to be suffering outwardly, but inside life can be unbearable, unmanageable, or just not as good as it could be. My periodical heavy drinking was interfering with my quality of life and I had had enough. Surviving isn’t half as fun as thriving, not just financially but emotionally and physically.

    When I first got sober I was sort of mad I didn’t have a low bottom; I might have gotten sober sooner and I would know for sure I had a problem. I was also mad that my idea of fun had to change. I wore beer goggles to view my whole life. Anything was tolerable if there was a “reward” later—later that night, later that week, or later that month. If I could look forward to cutting loose at some point, the rest of life seemed more bearable.

    I co-wrote and co-starred in a film called The Foxy Merkins. It went to Sundance, sold out premieres, and was nominated for an Independent Spirit Award. I drank on and off when I was writing, filming, and at all the premieres. In every situation, I felt like something was missing and I would drink more to get to the place of feeling complete…but it never came. Drinking had stopped being fun or gratifying because I wasn’t connected to myself. For me, that was a low bottom. I want and need to be fully connected to great moments in my life.

    Some of my friends/enablers still try to get me to drink and don’t see what the big deal is, while other friends say “if Jackie can quit drinking, anyone can do it.” It’s not black or white, and that gray area almost kept me drinking for life. I can always point to someone else who has a worse drinking problem. If you have cancer, you’re going to treat it no matter how minor it is. Your mind isn’t trying to tell you to look at how bad the other guy’s cancer is. No one’s saying “your cancer is nothing in comparison. Stop being a baby. You can moderate cancer. Forget about it.” That is what my brain did for years, and what my enablers told me: “That guy is falling down drunk. Have you ever fallen anywhere? NO. Then you are not an alcoholic.”

    When I first got sober I thought “why me?” Today I still wonder “why me,” but it’s more “why am I so lucky to get to live in the moment and to feel all of my feelings?” When I finally got to this place, I stopped being mad that I did not have a clear low bottom. It sounds ridiculous to me now but I had been really frustrated about it. I thought: “I am doing this program with all I got, I should be able to half-ass it because I have not caused as much wreckage as most people.” That is an example of my crazy alcoholic diseased thinking.

    Now I know everyone has a different bottom. Every day of my life, my head tells me I can drink and I have to remind it I don’t even want to drink. My mind wants to kill me: it only leaves me alive to have a vehicle to run around in. It is my job every day to remind myself that my life is so much more rewarding now. Cash and prizes are just extras, the real rewards are free and deeply fulfilling.

    Being honest and useful to the world is priceless. It’s easy to sleep at night when I am not lying to anyone, especially myself. Even if I’d never experienced any external repercussions from lying, it took a toll on me, because I knew. There is nothing like going to sleep at night with a clear conscience.

    When I heard that they might be putting high-bottom stories in the Big Book, I experienced a range of emotions. I was happy that other high bottoms will find stories they can relate to in the book. My ego, on the other hand, went nuts: WHAT?!! I would have killed to have heard high-bottom stories when I came in. I might have gotten sober sooner. Or maybe my dad might have been able to get sober. But for today, I am not waiting to blow off steam. I don’t feel that I deserve to drink because I have been wronged. That’s how I used to live. If something went “wrong” I had to have a drink.

    I never want to make blanket statements, these are my opinions and they change often. At no time do I want to claim that my opinions are set in stone. As my perception continues to grow, my opinions will change for the better.

    “Normal” drinkers are people who never or rarely suffer consequences from drinking. They rarely get drunk, nor do they ask themselves if they have a drinking problem. They never feel they must learn to moderate their use. High-bottom drinkers can hold down a job, they can have relationships, and no one gives them an intervention; but their souls deteriorate over time. They tell themselves they will learn to moderate. High-bottom drinkers are usually surrounded by other functioning alcoholics and enablers—people who do not want the person with alcoholism to get better because that means they will have to look at themselves, and they won’t look better in comparison anymore.

    Having a high bottom can be more dangerous because it can go undetected for life. You can end up just living a soulless life. Everything seems fine, but you never feel real gratification or get to know the real you or the greatness you are capable of.

    With a low bottom, people are forced to quit drinking: they have to or they will die. High bottoms aren’t necessarily facing death, but they have to quit to really live. At least I did. Things still don’t go perfectly, but how boring would that life be? I now do my best to welcome my life challenges. I now know how to deal with them head-on, and if I don’t I have a crew of new friends that can help me help myself. Now, fun is always being in the present moment, connected to all that is, and not trying to figure out the next drink.

    Life is not perfect, but at the same time, it kinda is.

    See Jackie in Wild Nights with Emily, now playing in selected theaters!

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • AA 2.0: Why the Evolution of Alcoholics Anonymous Needs to Happen Now

    AA 2.0: Why the Evolution of Alcoholics Anonymous Needs to Happen Now

    The founders purposely left the door open for science to come into the realm of recovery, and unlike modern AA, they did not discount its potential importance when it came to helping people.

    I am an alcoholic, or, as conventional wisdom goes, an alcoholic in recovery. I’ve had my share of rehabs, detoxes, and IOPs. I’ve dealt with numerous counselors, doctors, psychiatrists, and even a hypnotist. I have mastered “white-knuckling.” And I’d “given myself fully to the simple program” that is AA. Nothing worked. This is not to say I did not have my dry spells, as well as full-on productive years of zero consumption of anything that contained ethanol. Still, I relapsed, and went down a black spiraling abyss pretty confidently when my consumption quickly became prodigious in both amount and frequency of use.

    Sheer yet fully predictable insanity ensued. Binges went on for weeks and ER visits became routine. Doctors gave me a bleak prognosis, as coming out of the drinking spells had become nearly impossible. Maintenance drinkers had nothing on me — I drank to breathe, to sleep, to go to the bathroom. Beer and wine became juice, annoyingly un-intoxicating. Blended whisky — aka brown vodka — was the only thing that worked, before it didn’t. A rehab intake clocked me at .43 blood alcohol content, with the fatal spectrum usually starting around .35. I am not a large guy by any means; turns out it was the tolerance I’d developed that saved me from kicking the bucket from alcohol poisoning. I stayed drunk for two days just on what was in my bloodstream, and then the withdrawal hit like a train. Librium, Zofran, Librium. An in-house doctor woke me up; my pulse was barely there. But, as always, thankfully, in a week I started feeling better. 

    A Revolutionary Program… for 1939

    The role of AA in my recovery has been significant. The fellowship of men and women — a genius brainchild of Dr. Bob and Bill Wilson, and wholeheartedly endorsed by Dr. Carl Jung himself, has helped countless families. It is incredible in its selflessness and honesty and yet, today’s AA is rigid, too antiquated, and legacy-driven. It’s normal, though, for an organization of this stature and with this much history. After all, back in 1939 this was an absolutely revolutionary, even visionary, break-through. But we’re not in 1939 or even 2009, and so AA must adapt or it will lose its edge. 

    Both Dr. Bob and Bill Wilson were complex, highly educated, empathetic, and caring individuals. Their realization of a prominent role of Higher Power in recovery did not come easy. Skeptics, cynics as they were, they had to overcome an internal struggle before making peace with the fact that human nature was helpless in the face of the monstrous foe of addiction. The resulting text, which we all now know as the Big Book, was the product of a multi-year intellectual effort, which was by no means easy or straightforward. For example, one little-known fact about the book is that initially it used the 2nd person throughout its chapters, as in “you recover, you need to, you have a problem.” The authors decided to change it to the 1st person (we), which brought a completely new tone to the script. From preachy and authoritative it became welcoming and tolerant.

    In addition, when it comes to finding ways to recover from alcoholism (specifically becoming a “normal drinker” as opposed to an alcoholic), the Book mentions that “science may one day accomplish this, but it hasn’t done so yet.” In fact, multiple recovery groups and schools of thought have stepped in to fulfill this prediction. For instance, the Sinclair Method introduced its harm reduction model, based on the pre-emptive use of Naltrexone to reduce cravings and use. Like with everything else, if it works for you, great. It did not for me or any other alcoholic I know. 

    AA’s Founders Expected AA to Change

    The founders purposely left the door open for science to come into the realm of recovery, and unlike modern AA, they did not discount its potential importance when it came to helping people. Today’s AA, on the other hand, has forgotten that approach, adopting more of a “my way or the highway” when it comes to alternative recovery techniques.

    My respect and love for AA is beyond mere deference. I firmly believe that its overall purpose is remarkable. However, I also know that it could be more effective in reaching more people if it actively adopted — or at least discussed — modern-day scientific findings when it comes to addiction. Yes, rigorous honesty and humility are key, however, an inquisitive and questioning mind is not something that should be shunned; on the contrary, it should be celebrated. Ask Bill Wilson. 

    The Book should be akin to the concept of a “living, breathing” Constitution, which celebrates evidence-based evolvement of the original understanding of the Supreme Law of the Land (for example, ever-present discussions of the Fourth Amendment as applied to modern-age surveillance technology. Back when it was written, there was no phone or Internet surveillance, yet the maxim against unreasonable search and seizure is alive and well). Evolution of approaches, when it comes to addiction treatment, is a natural occurrence and fighting it is like trying to cross-breed humans and monkeys hoping we can get better, more advanced Homo sapiens, or even a new humanoid altogether.

    Let’s also take a look at the concept of singularity, as defined by famous futurist and (coincidence?) Google’s Director of Engineering, Ray Kurzweil. Essentially, he summarized it as an ever-developing concept of a progressively consequential role of technology in everyday life. One of the most striking illustrations of that concept is Kurzweil’s conclusion that today, an average child in Africa (or Russia, U.S., Cuba, China, etc.) with an off-the-shelf smartphone has more information at her fingertips than the president of the United States had 30 years ago. As any brilliant idea, singularity was successfully explained and encapsulated in simple terms by the above example.

    Science and Spirituality

    The same type of evolution awaits AA in particular, and the fight against addiction in general. Get with the program or get run over, as progress does not stop, and that is exactly what Bill Wilson understood so well in his pragmatic ingenuity. 

    From the reptilian middle brain and limbic system responsible for survival hijacking the thinking territory of the prefrontal cortex (in the AA lingo, home of the white-knuckling demon), to the brain’s neuroplasticity and ability to heal itself and learn new reward pathways after alcohol (or meth, heroin, porn, etc.) has done its scorched-earth number on its dopamine receptors, today’s science has explained it all. That is not to say that it has effectively pre-empted the field and left no room for miraculous recovery (doctors sometimes call it spontaneous remission) or any other spiritual component. To the contrary, following Dr. Carl Jung and his glorious pronouncement Spiritus Contra Spiritum, with which he famously concluded his 1961 letter to Bill Wilson discussing the viability of AA, science leaves ample room for spirituality when it comes to addiction. Now it’s time for AA to return the favor and welcome science in its rooms. 

    AA (or any other single-tier approach) cannot win this war on its own. And I am not even talking about the alleged (yet well-researched) 5-7 percent long-term success rate of AA (see Lance Dodes, MD, The Sober Truth: Debunking the Bad Science Behind 12-Step Programs and the Rehab Industry).

    What I am referring to instead is inclusiveness and intentional wariness of rigidity. Like Tolkien’s Balrog, addiction is a shape-shifter, a cunning, conniving, vindictive foe with an overpowering ability to maim and kill. Gandalf the Gray — arguably the strongest protagonist of Tolkien’s Middle Earth, simply could not dispatch the demon of all demons through his conventional, albeit awe-inspiring powers, and had to adjust and in a way shape-shift himself into Gandalf the White.

    So, who’s to say that what’s good for the U.S. Constitution, Kurzweil, and Gandalf is not good for Alcoholics Anonymous? More importantly, will AA even survive if it doesn’t embrace its own evolution?

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Original Manuscript of AA’s Big Book Goes On Display In Indianapolis

    Original Manuscript of AA’s Big Book Goes On Display In Indianapolis

    Indianapolis Colts owner Jim Irsay, who is in recovery, purchased the manuscript for $2.4 million.

    The original manuscript of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, complete with the founders’ edits scrawled on the pages, went on display for public viewing for the first time on Thursday (April 18) in Indianapolis.

    The Big Book, the vessel for the 12-step program for getting and staying sober, was first published in 1939 and has since sparked a global movement.

    The 161-page manuscript—with the original markings made by the founders including Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob Smith as they passed the draft amongst themselves—went up for auction last May. Before then, it was the subject of some controversy as AA World Services fought for ownership of the document.

    Ultimately, the manuscript was purchased for $2.4 million by Jim Irsay, the owner of the Indianapolis Colts. Irsay himself is in recovery, as he detailed to the Indy Star in 2014 following a DUI arrest earlier that year.

    “It’s an unusual disease in the sense that the person has to diagnose himself,” Irsay said at the time. “He has to realize that there’s this genetic disease you have to deal with through treatment. My grandfather and father both died of the disease, and you realize you’ve spent a lot of time on this path.” He revealed that he struggled with his use of pain medication, like many Americans trying to manage pain.

    Irsay attended his first AA meeting 25 years ago, and still goes to meetings to this day. He said in his interview that he had remained alcohol-free for more than a decade.

    “It’s been a long path. I still have chronic pain… It’s an ongoing thing in one’s life when recovering from any disease,” he said. “There’s a lot of gratitude and spiritual growth. And it’s rewarding because it makes you more virtuous when you have success.”

    By putting the manuscript on display for all to see, Irsay “wants the book to be a beacon of hope for those afflicted with addiction issues” and to “help reduce the stigma of addiction,” said Larry Hall, vice president of special projects and historical affairs for the Colts.

    The manuscript was on display at Fairbanks Hospital’s annual fundraiser dinner at the Westin Indianapolis. Its next stop is Akron, Ohio, where it will be on display for the first weekend of June at the home of Dr. Bob Smith for Founders Day.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Why You Should Embrace AA Groupthink and Shed Your Terminal Uniqueness

    Why You Should Embrace AA Groupthink and Shed Your Terminal Uniqueness

    AA encouraged me, a sauced snowflake loaded on liquor and individualistic narcissism, to put aside enough of myself to embrace two traits required to curb my alcoholism: discipline and structure.

    Addiction has a grand irony: For a disease whose treatment thrives on identification with fellow sufferers, its symptoms are extraordinarily individual. Precisely how addiction manifests in each of us — drug of choice, length of active substance abuse, depth of debauchery — varies more widely than nearly any major affliction.

    This is because addiction, like no other ailment, turns us insane and then turns us loose on the world. Ours is not a disease subject to controlled clinical settings; we find ourselves in circumstances that, though certainly following a pattern, have variables as unique as life is complicated. I have a recovering friend who, unlike me, has never sideswiped a taxi in the Holland Tunnel, blind drunk, and kept going. But alas, I’ve never been so creative as to hide vodka in a vase, as he has (#HappyHourFlowers).

    As an alcoholic, then, my addiction-fueled adventures differ from the experiences of other problem drinkers. These exploits also are so abnormal in terms of their setting — namely, civilized society — that they feed another peculiarity of addiction: the “terminally unique” mindset that I am, somehow, alone in my inability to stop drinking at any cost.

    For me, the result was a hopeless alienation that, in turn, only further fed my alcoholism. Afraid and isolated, I gave up trying to give up.

    Amid this lonesome landscape lies the tailored times in which we live. A solid case can be made that we are in the single most individualistic era in human history.

    Take me, for example. Like most people Gen X or younger, from early childhood I’ve been called unique, singular, special. I’ve been told I can do anything, be anyone, and was perfect exactly as I was. I am, it appears, a gentle snowflake.

    Fast forward to today’s iWorld. We have made-to-order music playlists, binge TV watchlists, e-newsletter subscriptions. Our Facebook and Twitter feeds serve up personally-algorithmed news items between posts from our personally-constructed list of cyber-friends. From our social media silos, we see, hear, and click on hyper-customized content — our own little gated communities in the World Wide Web. For God’s sake, even our sleep is customized.

    We do exactly what we want, when we want, how we want. We ultra-individualize, then wonder why modern society is so uber-fractured.

    And then, those of us with addiction get too high or too drunk for too long, and need help. Suddenly, we uber-individuals need help from… well… ourselves.

    And when we walk into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, that’s exactly what we get.

    AA Pluribus Unum

    Despite its imperfections — including those noted by yours truly — nothing has ever made me feel so simultaneously special and ordinary as my early experiences in Alcoholics Anonymous. As a newcomer, I was told I was the most important person in the room; but as a person in the room I was told that, though our experiences may be vastly dissimilar, we were all here for the same reprieve to the same disease.

    First and foremost — before I ever considered that I may have found a solution to my compulsive, destructive drinking — AA provided a cure for my self-diagnosed tragic uniqueness. I wasn’t sure I could quit drinking but, after just a few meetings of identifying with the similar compulsions of fellow alcoholics, I was damn sure that I wasn’t the only one who had this affliction. A lot of acronyms get thrown around in AA; perhaps one should be Alienation Antidote.

    For me, this prerequisite to recovery — this normalization of my abnormality — was an immediate and amazing upside to AA, one that fortunately superseded or masked some of my preconceived concerns.

    Like most people, I skidded along the bottom before finding recovery. Months before my eventual sobriety date, I’d been warned by peers during an unsuccessful rehab stint that AA was a cult or, at least, cultish in its groupthink. I was told that there would be a lot of people spouting a lot of nonsense and, worse, telling me what to believe while they did it.

    And you know what? They were partially right. AA did indeed ask me to set aside some of my individualism — my preconceived notions, my longstanding perceptions, the personal penchants that made me me — in favor of a program that, I was told, had a well-established track record of helping alcoholics achieve sobriety.

    AA encouraged me, a sauced snowflake loaded on liquor and individualistic narcissism, to put aside enough of myself to embrace two traits required to curb my alcoholism: discipline and structure.

    Structured Settlement

    I came into AA a stone-cold atheist and remain a skeptical agnostic, and for a long time I thought AA’s first requirement for newcomers was that they develop faith in a higher power.

    I now realize that this isn’t true. Before AA asks for anything enshrined in the 12 steps (the higher power concept is introduced in Step 2), AA asks us to stop having complete faith in ourselves — or, at least, the drunk and desperate versions of ourselves that, alone, simply cannot stop drinking.

    The salve for this outsized self-reliance comprises some of the very same group-centric activities many AA-haters find cultish: chants like the Serenity Prayer offering a simplified perspective; readings like “How It Works” providing experience-driven direction; ubiquitous signage with familiar phrases and, of course, the ever-present Twelve Steps.

    As someone who entered AA as the Smartest Person on Earth (an unofficial title, it turned out), I fully understand how threatening this can seem. Even as a scared newcomer in desperate search of a solution, I didn’t want to trade my hellish life for a post-apocalyptic Zombieland. Despite the attraction of folks who’d clearly found a way to stay sober, I’ll admit to checking the coffee machine for Kool-Aid during my first few meetings. 

    But what I soon realized was that there was a simplistic beauty to AA’s anti-individualism that, for me, was extraordinarily effective in early recovery. My rehab roomies, I found, were just so full of themselves that, when confronted with a different approach, they reflexively labeled it full of shit.

    Are there cultish aspects to AA? Absolutely. Even Catholic masses don’t end with everyone standing in a circle holding hands. Anyone wondering why some people duck out of meetings five minutes early should re-examine that ritual.

    But by and large, AA’s so-called groupthink offers newcomers a keep-it-simple structure that — as fledgling sobriety becomes longstanding recovery — can be selectively shed. It asks spiritually disarmed newcomers to buy the whole standardized toolset… then allows us to return some piecemeal as we acquire new, more customized tools.

    I for one needed some discipline to replace the chaos my life had become. I also needed certain concepts — powerlessness over alcohol, the hurt I was causing others, the incredibly alien concept that there was, in fact, hope — beaten into my brain. In hindsight, I realize AA is repetitive for a reason.

    I see a lot of newcomers enter the rooms as customized as they are clueless. For them as for myself, rigidity en route to freedom is an entirely worthwhile tradeoff. There is value in a traditions-based organization with agreed upon rules that, when adhered to successfully, work well for many people.

    How has AA’s emphasis on the group helped you? Let us know in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Alcoholics Anonymous: A Different Perspective

    Alcoholics Anonymous: A Different Perspective

    Rather than seeking knowledge through scientific methodology to gather more and more evidence regarding the factual attributes of successful recovery, AA emphasizes scripture, tradition, and the word of authority figures.

    I recently read an essay on another recovery-oriented site, a site whose focus is on people in 12-step recovery yet who are disinclined to religion. The topic was “moments of clarity.” Now, this phrase, for those who have spent years in the 12-step subculture, has obvious connotations. Having the knee-jerk, familiar response to the phrase is one of those cult-like behaviors which make me happy I am no longer an AA member, no longer speaking the lingo nor “drinking the Kool-Aid.” For this free-thinking addict/alcoholic, 60 years old and having spent more of my life in recovery than out, it brought to mind something very different from what was intended. This was a profound and life-changing experience I had, in which the following truths hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks:

    1. I am an atheist.
    2. Alcoholics Anonymous is a religion, like Christianity and Islam.
    3. Such religions tend to impede the development of scientific knowledge regarding natural phenomenon.
    4. Alcoholism, addiction, and the process of recovery are entirely natural phenomenon.
    5. AA has a very low success rate.

    Before going on, I should make clear that I am not merely another AA-basher. I am a former long-term member and Alcoholics Anonymous was central in my life for decades. I learned a great deal, much of which I utilize to this day. I also mean no disrespect whatsoever to the author of the original essay, and I apologize for being tangential. I have problems with the “program,” but not with any individual members. My focus is on all those who suffer because, like myself, they are forced to choose between the rock of active addiction and the hard place of joining what is essentially a Christian sect.

    Alcoholics Anonymous as Religion

    “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

    • Twelve Steps

    The chapter We Agnostics is a thinly veiled effort at proselytizing by a devout Christian. Its goal is to use the concept of “open-mindedness” to convince readers to buy into the dualism of old-time religion, with its antiquated belief in the existence of both a natural and a supernatural realm, complete with supernatural entities or “higher” powers. Attaching “as we understood him” to a couple of steps is similarly disingenuous. It is nothing more than a manipulative sales pitch by a professional salesman, one which pales in the shadow of the heavy-handed religiosity of his “12 steps of recovery.” So, for example, in Bill Wilson’s steps you will find: 

    God four times,
    Him or His four times
    Prayer and meditation
    Spiritual awakening and
    A power greater than ourselves.

    Surrender of the personal will, faith in God, confession, prayer and meditation, ultimately even proselytizing and missionary work are promoted as essential attributes of recovery. Here again, the steps promote religious dualism, with its denial of the value of naturalistic, or scientific, knowledge. Even in the 21st century I distinctly recall hearing this erroneous, anti-science perspective espoused in meetings, with god and the supernatural realm presented as the source of all the good stuff, while the natural realm and the animal known as Homo sapiens served as the source of all the bad.

    • Scripture

    The highlighting, underlining, and prodigious dog-earing; treating the book as a sacred object like the Quran; studying and re-reading, with study groups like the Bible; carrying it everywhere; quoting and citing as if anything between the covers is self-evidently true or “gospel,” so to speak; and the unwillingness to change a word of the first 164 pages: all of these attest to a belief in the Big Book as the kind of scripture or divine word which serves as the foundation for religious traditions like Christianity, Islam, and others. I can recall many times in the rooms when I heard the view that the Big Book was divinely inspired, the ludicrous notion that a supernatural entity was speaking through Bill Wilson when he wrote Alcoholics Anonymous.

    • Tradition

    Rather than seeking knowledge through scientific methodology to gather more and more evidence regarding the factual attributes of successful recovery, AA emphasizes scripture, tradition, and the word of authority figures. These are the criteria that many religions use to justify “knowledge” as they understand it. Ironically, even though America is one of the greatest scientific nations in history, we also suffer a populace which is largely hostile to science and academics. The members of AA comprise a microcosm of this larger population.

    • Faith is NOT a Virtue

    Faith is claimed to be a virtue, but in the 12-step context it is actually the acceptance of something for which zero evidence, facts, or data exist. That is, the adulation of ignorance, a trait which walks hand-in-hand with America’s mistrust of science and of academics more generally. This approach teaches us to be mistrustful of science, yet obedient and sheep-like with religious authority. The main reference to science in the “first 164 pages” is one line which states that “science may one day cure alcoholism, but it hasn’t done so yet.” Importantly, this one reference is often read sarcastically, with derisive snickers and mocking asides, illustrating a cocky certainty of its implausibility.

    • Authority and Obedience

    As with religions like Christianity and Islam, unquestioned obedience to authority figures is of the utmost importance in Alcoholics Anonymous. We are all familiar with the phrase “take the cotton out of your ears, and put it in your mouth.” In some places this is an actual rule, with newcomers in their first 30, 60, or 90 days advised to only listen. Unquestioned obedience to authority is a major distinction between religious perspectives and secular, humanist, and scientific approaches. The adulation of Bill, of Bob, of circuit speakers and old-timers, of sponsors, the use of quotes as meeting topics, and the current emphasis on temporally-measured sobriety, encouraging both pride and the development of a hierarchy, all convincingly mirrors the religious emphasis upon blind faith and obedience to the words of authority figures.

    • Conservatism

    Conservatism in this context means a profound reticence to change. I believe that the Catholic Church recently apologized to Galileo, only 450 years overdue. Both Christianity and Islam still treat women as if we were living in Biblical times. This intransigence, this resistance to progress, is one of the primary characteristics of Alcoholics Anonymous. AA causes people to become narrow-minded and inflexible, unable to consider new, different, or contrary approaches to treatment methods. When I have broached these subjects with current members, they have consistently become defensive and “circled the wagons.”

    Religion as Impediment

    “So what?” you might ask. “So what if AA is a religion?”

    The problem is, as a result of their fundamental dualistic nature, these types of religions stand in the way of us acquiring knowledge and, in particular, cultivating a more naturalistic, scientific understanding of addiction, alcoholism, and the truly essential attributes of recovery.

    Problems and Solutions

    You admit you have a problem. Then you find a “spiritual solution.” What do you do? In AA, as with Islam and Christianity, you are discouraged from seeking an alternative solution. You are even encouraged to proselytize, to go out and “spread the good news.” Religious converts, recipients of the “one true word,” are trained to be blind, even hostile, to alternatives, particularly naturalistic ones, while enthusiastically promoting the one and only true supernatural solution.

    So around 8 or 10 years into sobriety we go and get our counseling certificates, then get a job working or volunteering at a nearby treatment center. The faculty, staff, and volunteers at the facilities, and at the couple of behemoths in the addiction treatment field, are largely AA members, AA trained, and generally convinced that with the 12 steps and our “spiritual solution,” the problem has been solved. I believed this too, for many years. This fundamentally biases the treatment process, leaning it towards 12-step and away from any alternatives.

    Conservatism Revisited

    Another consequence of AA’s conservative bent is that people in the program become so convinced that the Big Book and the program are perfect exactly as they are, that they do not hear what atheists or skeptics like myself have to say. This is a form of cognitive bias called confirmation bias, which simply refers to how, even when confronted with facts or data challenging their beliefs, people will nonetheless cling to their original views. In fact, people will even double-down on their faulty original position when confronted with fully rational, fact-based alternatives. This bodes ill for our efforts to update recovery by embracing more empirical, evidence-based knowledge, especially if it conflicts with AA tradition, scripture, or authority.

    Anti-Naturalistic Thinking

    These religious traditions started out as pre-scientific efforts to understand ourselves, the greater cosmos, and our place within it all. Their most significant error was the introduction of the afore-mentioned dualism, an imagined schism between the natural and the supernatural. Ever since Darwin, we have known that the 100% natural animal Homo sapiens builds new knowledge on top of old knowledge, accumulating knowledge over time until we figure out how to solve all manner of worldly, natural problems. This includes curing diseases that were once deemed completely beyond our comprehension or scope, requiring prayer, sacrifices, and incantations to mysterious gods.

    Rather than attributing meaning to the words “bless you” when someone sneezes and seeking to bring supernatural elements to bear on the demonic entities which allegedly cause a person to become sick, we have instead discovered the germ theory of disease. I am simply suggesting that we stop thinking in such medieval, archaic terms when it comes to addiction, alcoholism and recovery and instead fully embrace empirical, scientific methods which might yield more fruitful results.

    God of the Gaps

    The strongest argument for religion as an impediment would be the “god of the gaps.” For millennia humanity has inserted supernatural answers into the gaps in our knowledge. If a hurricane blows or an earthquake hits, god (or, if you prefer, a higher power) did it. However, over time, naturalistic answers have replaced supernatural answers, one by one, consistently, and with far more accuracy.

    Complex psycho-social maladies like ours are particularly mysterious and therefore highly prone to such supernatural interpretations. AA’s founding fathers were steeped in a social context in which radical personal transformations were deemed mysterious and supernatural. We had absolutely no idea what was involved, so we labeled such experiences as “psychic” (Silkworth) or “spiritual” (Jung), which merely perpetuates the fallacious dualism, as a result of both the unclear meanings and supernatural undertones of such key terms.

    Over the course of human history our questions have found their best, most accurate answers not in the supernatural but instead in knowledge gained through approaches emphasizing the scientific method. As atheist author Greta Cristina and others have wisely observed, there exist precisely zero accounts of this process moving in the opposite direction. Nonetheless, AA remains an obstinate hold out.

    It’s time to embrace facts and data, to give science a real shot at addressing this global scourge. AA members must become more open to approaching the problem anew. If, when confronted with Galileo holding that the earth revolved around the sun, the church had simply said “well, let’s check out what the evidence says,” that would have been great. But they did not. Instead, like AA members have done to me—and I’m no Galileo—they cry “trouble maker” and play hear no evil, see no evil…

    Alcoholics Anonymous as a Failure

    None of the above would matter if Alcoholics Anonymous really, truly worked.

    But it does not.

    I was told by the senior counselor in my second treatment center that only 10% of us would “make it”. That’s an admitted failure rate of 90%. This was not merely manipulative sales-speak. Such extremely poor success rates are similar to what a variety of differing studies have found. We all know this, anecdotally. If you look, you can see that the only thing busier than the coffee pot at an AA meeting is the revolving door. And such disheartening research does not even scratch the surface of our failure, as most of the world’s millions of addicts and alcoholics never even darken the doorways of AA in the first place, for a number of very good reasons.

    “It works if you work it” is a classic example of the kind of un-falsifiable claim which characterizes religious traditions. Scientific claims, on the other hand, are characterized by falsifiability, which simply means that they can be tested. Then we can either discard them, modify them, or build upon them. It is by utilizing precisely such scientific approaches that we have discovered cures for polio, small pox, malaria, and so much more. The more complex, psycho-social disorders, such as depression or bi-polar disorder, are likewise yielding to our efforts to address them as purely natural phenomenon.

    By any and all measures, there is a staggeringly large amount of room for improvement. The religious perspective merely serves to block our way at this point in history. In the short time it took you to read this essay, thousands of lives were shattered or ended. It’s time to move on and aggressively seek empirical, naturalistic solutions to this deadly global scourge.

     

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