12 Steps to Recovery
reprinted from "12 Steps and 12 Traditions" ©
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step One
"We admitted we were powerless over alcohol--that our lives had become
unmanageable."
Who cares to admit complete defeat? Practically no one, of course. Every
natural instinct cries out against the idea of personal powerlessness. It is
truly awful to admit that, glass in hand, we have warped our minds into such an
obsession for destructive drinking that only an act of Providence can remove it
from us.
No other kind of bankruptcy is like this one. Alcohol, now become the
rapacious creditor, bleeds us of all self-sufficiency and all will to resist
its demands. Once this stark fact is accepted, our bankruptcy as going human
concerns is complete.
But upon entering A.A. we soon take quite another view of this absolute
humiliation. We perceive that only through utter defeat are we able to take our
first steps toward liberation and strength. Our admissions of personal
powerlessness finally turn out to be firm bedrock upon which happy and
purposeful lives may be built.
We know that little good can come to any alcoholic who joins A.A. unless he
has first accepted his devastating weakness and all its consequences. Until he
so humbles himself, his sobriety--if any--will be precarious. Of real happiness
he will find none at all. Proved beyond doubt by an immense experience, this is
one of the facts of A.A. life. The principle that we shall find no enduring
strength until we first admit complete defeat is the main taproot from which
our whole Society has sprung and flowered.
When first challenged to admit defeat, most of us revolted. We had approached
A.A. expecting to be taught self-confidence. Then we had been told that so far
as alcohol is concerned, self-confidence was no good whatever; in fact, it was
a total liability. Our sponsors declared that we were the victims of a mental
obsession so subtly powerful that no amount of human willpower could break it.
There was, they said, no such thing as the personal conquest of this compulsion
by the unaided will. Relentlessly deepening our dilemma, our sponsors pointed
out our increasing sensitivity to alcohol--an allergy, they called it. The
tyrant alcohol wielded a double-edged sword over us: first we were smitten by
an insane urge that condemned us to go on drinking, and then by an allergy of
the body that insured we would ultimately destroy ourselves in the process. Few
indeed were those who, so assailed, had ever won through in single-handed
combat. It was a statistical fact that alcoholics almost never recovered on
their own resources. And this had been true, apparently, ever since man had
first crushed grapes.
In A.A.'s pioneering time, none but the most desperate cases could swallow and
digest this unpalatable truth. Even these "last-gaspers" often had difficulty
in realizing how hopeless they actually were. But a few did, and when these
laid hold of A.A. principles with all the fervor with which the drowning seize
life preservers, they almost invariably got well. That is why the first edition
of the book "Alcoholics Anonymous," published when our membership was small,
dealt with low-bottom cases only. Many less desperate alcoholics tried A.A.,
but did not succeed because they could not make the admission of
hopelessness.
It is a tremendous satisfaction to record that in the following years this
changed. Alcoholics who still had their health, their families, their jobs, and
even two cars in the garage, began to recognize their alcoholism. As this trend
grew, they were joined by young people who were scarcely more than potential
alcoholics. They were spared that last ten or fifteen years of literal hell the
rest of us had gone through. Since Step One requires an admission that our
lives have become unmanageable, how could people such as these take this
Step?
It was obviously necessary to raise the bottom the rest of us had hit to the
point where it would hit them. By going back in our own drinking histories, we
could show that years before we realized it we were out of control, that our
drinking even then was no mere habit, that it was indeed the beginning of a
fatal progression. To the doubters we could say, "Perhaps you're not an
alcoholic after all. Why don't you try some more controlled drinking, bearing
in mind meanwhile what we have told you about alcoholism?" This attitude
brought immediate and practical results. It was then discovered that when one
alcoholic had planted in the mind of another the true nature of his malady,
that person could never be the same again. Following every spree, he would say
to himself, "Maybe those A.A.'s were right..." After a few such experiences,
often years before the onset of extreme difficulties, he would return to us
convinced. He had hit bottom as truly as any of us. John Barleycorn himself had
become our best advocate.
Why all this insistence that every A.A. must hit bottom first? The answer is
that few people will sincerely try to practice the A.A. program unless they
have hit bottom. For practicing A.A.'s remaining eleven Steps means the
adoption of attitudes and actions that almost no alcoholic who is still
drinking can dream of taking. Who wishes to be rigorously honest and tolerant?
Who wants to confess his faults to another and make restitution for harm done?
Who cares anything about a Higher Power, let alone meditation and prayer? Who
wants to sacrifice time and energy in trying to carry A.A.'s message to the
next sufferer? No, the average alcoholic, self-centered in the extreme, doesn't
care for this prospect--unless he has to do these things in order to stay alive
himself.
Under the lash of alcoholism, we are driven to A.A., and there we discover the
fatal nature of our situation. Then, and only then, do we become as open-minded
to conviction and as willing to listen as the dying can be. We stand ready to
do anything which will lift the merciless obsession from us.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Two
"Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity."
The moment they read Step Two, most A.A. newcomers are confronted with a
dilemma, sometimes a serious one. How often have we heard them cry out, "Look
what you people have done to us! You have convinced us that we are alcoholics
and that our lives are unmanageable. Having reduced us to a state of absolute
helplessness, you now declare that none but a Higher Power can remove our
obsession. Some of us won't believe in God, others can't, and still others who
do believe that God exists have no faith whatever He will perform this miracle.
Yes, you've got us over the barrel, all right--but where do we go from here?"
Let's look first at the case of the one who says he won't believe--the
belligerent one. He is in a state of mind which can be described only as
savage. His whole philosophy of life, in which he so gloried, is threatened.
It's bad enough, he thinks, to admit alcohol has him down for keeps. But now,
still smarting from that admission, he is faced with something really
impossible. How he does cherish the thought that man, risen so majestically
from a single cell in the primordial ooze, is the spearhead of evolution and
therefore the only god that his universe knows! Must he renounce all this to
save himself?
At this juncture, his A.A, sponsor usually laughs. This, the newcomer thinks,
is just about the last straw. This is the beginning of the end. And so it is:
the beginning of the end of his old life, and the beginning of his emergence
into a new one. His sponsor probably says, "Take it easy. The hoop you have to
jump through is a lot wider than you think. At least I've found it so. So did a
friend of mine who was a one-time vice-president of the American Atheist
Society, but he got through with room to spare."
"Well," says the newcomer, "I know you're telling me the truth. It's no doubt
a fact that A.A, is full of people who once believed as I do. But just how, in
these circumstances, does a fellow `take it easy'? That's what I want to
know."
"That," agrees the sponsor, "is a very good question indeed. I think I can
tell you exactly how to relax. You won't have to work at it very hard, either.
Listen, if you will, to these three statements. First, Alcoholics Anonymous
does not demand that you believe anything. All of its Twelve Steps are but
suggestions. Second, to get sober and to stay sober, you don't have to swallow
all of Step Two right now. Looking back, I find that I took it piecemeal
myself. Third, all you really need is a truly open mind. Just resign from the
debating society and quit bothering yourself with such deep questions as
whether it was the hen or the egg that came first. Again I say, all you need is
the open mind."
The sponsor continues, "Take, for example, my own case. I had a scientific
schooling. Naturally I respected, venerated, even worshipped science. As a
matter of fact, I still do--all except the worship part. Time after time, my
instructors held up to me the basic principle of all scientific progress:
search and research, again and again, always with the open mind. When I first
looked at A.A, my reaction was just like yours. This A.A, business, I thought,
is totally unscientific. This I can't swallow. I simply won't consider such
nonsense.
"Then I woke up. I had to admit that A.A, showed results, prodigious results.
I saw that my attitude regarding these had been anything but scientific. It
wasn't A.A, that had the closed mind, it was me. The minute I stopped arguing,
I could begin to see and feel. Right there, Step Two gently and very gradually
began to infiltrate my life. I can't say upon what occasion or upon what day I
came to believe in a Power greater than myself, but I certainly have that
belief now. To acquire it, I had only to stop fighting and practice the rest of
A.A.'s program as enthusiastically as I could.
"This is only one man's opinion based on his own experience, of course. I must
quickly assure you that A.A.'s tread innumerable paths in their quest for
faith. If you don't care for the one I've suggested, you'll be sure to discover
one that suits if only you look and listen. Many a man like you has begun to
solve the problem by the method of substitution. You can, if you wish, make
A.A., itself your `higher power.' Here's a very large group of people who have
solved their alcohol problem. In this respect they are certainly a power
greater than you, who have not even come close to a solution. Surely you can
have faith in them. Even this minimum of faith will be enough. You will find
many members who have crossed the threshold just this way. All of them will
tell you that, once across, their faith broadened and deepened. Relieved of the
alcohol obsession, their lives unaccountably transformed, they came to believe
in a Higher Power, and most of them began to talk of God."
Consider next the plight of those who once had faith, but have lost it. There
will be those who have drifted into indifference, those filled with
self-sufficiency who have cut themselves off, those who have become prejudiced
against religion, and those who are downright defiant because God has failed to
fulfill their demands. Can A.A, experience tell all these they may still find a
faith that works?
Sometimes A.A, comes harder to those who have lost or rejected faith than to
those who never had any faith at all, for they think they have tried faith and
found it wanting. They have tried the way of faith and the way of no faith.
Since both ways have proved bitterly disappointing, they have concluded there
is no place whatever for them to go. The roadblocks of indifference, fancied
self-sufficiency, prejudice, and defiance often prove more solid and formidable
for these people than any erected by the unconvinced agnostic or even the
militant atheist. Religion says the existence of God can be proved; the
agnostic says it can't be proved; and the atheist claims proof of the
nonexistence of God. Obviously, the dilemma of the wanderer from faith is that
of profound confusion. He thinks himself lost to the comfort of any conviction
at all. He cannot attain in even a small degree the assurance of the believer,
the agnostic, or the atheist. He is the bewildered one.
Any number of A.A.'s can say to the drifter, "Yes, we were diverted from our
childhood faith, too. The overconfidence of youth was too much for us. Of
course, we were glad that good home and religious training had given us certain
values. We were still sure that we ought to be fairly honest, tolerant, and
just, that we ought to be ambitious and hardworking. We became convinced that
such simple rules of fair play and decency would be enough.
"As material success founded upon no more than these ordinary attributes began
to come to us, we felt we were winning at the game of life. This was
exhilarating, and it made us happy. Why should we be bothered with theological
abstractions and religious duties, or with the state of our souls here or
hereafter? The here and now was good enough for us. The will to win would carry
us through. But then alcohol began to have its way with us. Finally, when all
our score cards read `zero,' and we saw that one more strike would put us out
of the game forever, we had to look for our lost faith. It was in A.A, that we
rediscovered it. And so can you."
Now we come to another kind of problem: the intellectually self-sufficient man
or woman. To these, many A.A.'s can say, "Yes, we were like you--far too smart
for our own good. We loved to have people call us precocious. We used our
education to blow ourselves up into prideful balloons, though we were careful
to hide this from others. Secretly, we felt we could float above the rest of
the folks on our brainpower alone. Scientific progress told us there was
nothing man couldn't do. Knowledge was all-powerful. Intellect could conquer
nature. Since we were brighter than most folks (so we thought), the spoils of
victory would be ours for the thinking. The god of intellect displaced the God
of our fathers. But again John Barleycorn had other ideas. We who had won so
handsomely in a walk turned into all-time losers. We saw that we had to
reconsider or die. We found many in A.A, who once thought as we did. They
helped us to get down to our right size. By their example they showed us that
humility and intellect could be compatible, provided we placed humility first.
When we began to do that, we received the gift of faith, a faith which works.
This faith is for you, too."
Another crowd of A.A.'s says: "We were plumb disgusted with religion and all
its works. The Bible, we said, was full of nonsense; we could cite it chapter
and verse, and we couldn't see the Beatitudes for the `begats.' In spots its
morality was impossibly good; in others it seemed impossibly bad. But it was
the morality of the religionists themselves that really got us down. We gloated
over the hypocrisy, bigotry, and crushing self-righteousness that clung to so
many `believers' even in their Sunday best. How we loved to shout the damaging
fact that millions of the `good men of religion' were still killing one another
off in the name of God. This all meant, of course, that we had substituted
negative for positive thinking. After we came to A.A,, we had to recognize that
this trait had been an ego feeding proposition. In belaboring the sins of some
religious people, we could feel superior to all of them. Moreover, we could
avoid looking at some of our own shortcomings. Self-righteousness, the very
thing that we had contemptuously condemned in others, was our own besetting
evil. This phony form of respectability was our undoing, so far as faith was
concerned. But finally, driven to A.A,, we learned better.
"As psychiatrists have often observed, defiance is the outstanding
characteristic of many an alcoholic. So it's not strange that lots of us have
had our day at defying God Himself. Sometimes it's because God has not
delivered us the good things of life which we specified, as a greedy child
makes an impossible list for Santa Claus. More often, though, we had met up
with some major calamity, and to our way of thinking lost out because God
deserted us. The girl we wanted to marry had other notions; we prayed God that
she'd change her mind, but she didn't. We prayed for healthy children, and were
presented with sick ones, or none at all. We prayed for promotions at business,
and none came. Loved ones, upon whom we heartily depended, were taken from us
by so-called acts of God. Then we became drunkards, and asked God to stop that.
But nothing happened. This was the unkindest cut of all. `Damn this faith
business!' we said.
"When we encountered A.A,, the fallacy of our defiance was revealed. At no
time had we asked what God's will was for us; instead we had been telling Him
what it ought to be. No man, we saw, could believe in God and defy Him, too.
Belief meant reliance, not; defiance. In A.A, we saw the fruits of this belief:
men and women spared from alcohol's final catastrophe. We saw them meet and
transcend their other pains and trials. We saw them calmly accept impossible
situations, seeking neither to run nor to recriminate. This was not only faith;
it was faith that worked under all conditions. We soon concluded that whatever
price in humility we must pay, we would pay." Now let's take the guy full of
faith, but still reeking of alcohol. He believes he is devout. His religious
observance is scrupulous. He's sure he still believes in God, but suspects that
God doesn't believe in him. He takes pledges and more pledges. Following each,
he not only drinks again, but acts worse than the last time. Valiantly he tries
to fight alcohol, imploring God's help, but the help doesn't come. What, then,
can be the matter?
To clergymen, doctors, friends, and families, the alcoholic who means well and
tries hard is a heartbreaking riddle. To most A.A.'s, he is not. There are too
many of us who have been just like him, and have found the riddle's answer.
This answer has to do with the quality of faith rather than its quantity. This
has been our blind spot. We supposed we had humility when really we hadn't. We
supposed we had been serious about religious practices when, upon honest
appraisal, we found we had been only superficial. Or, going to the other
extreme, we had wallowed in emotionalism and had mistaken it for true religious
feeling. In both cases, we had been asking something for nothing. The fact was
we really hadn't cleaned house so that the grace of God could enter us and
expel the obsession. In no deep or meaningful sense had we ever taken stock of
ourselves, made amends to those we had harmed, or freely given to any other
human being without any demand for reward. We had not even prayed rightly. We
had always said, "Grant me my wishes" instead of "Thy will be done." The love
of God and man we understood not at all. Therefore we remained self-deceived,
and so incapable of receiving enough grace to restore us to sanity.
Few indeed are the practicing alcoholics who have any idea how irrational they
are, or seeing their irrationality, can bear to face it. Some will be willing
to term themselves "problem drinkers," but cannot endure the suggestion that
they are in fact mentally ill. They are abetted in this blindness by a world
which does not understand the difference between sane drinking and alcoholism.
"Sanity" is defined as "soundness of mind." Yet no alcoholic, soberly analyzing
his destructive behavior, whether the destruction fell on the dining-room
furniture or his own moral fiber, can claim "soundness of mind" for himself.
Therefore, Step Two is the rallying point for all of us. Whether agnostic,
atheist, or former believer, we can stand together on this Step. True humility
and an open mind can lead us to faith, and every A.A, meeting is an assurance
that God will restore us to sanity if we rightly relate ourselves to Him.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Three
"Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him"
Practicing Step Three is like the opening of a door which to all appearances
is still closed and locked. All we need is a key, and the decision to swing the
door open. There is only one key, and it is called willingness. Once unlocked
by willingness, the door opens almost of itself, and looking through it, we
shall see a pathway beside which is an inscription. It reads: "This is the way
to a faith that works." In the first two Steps we were engaged in reflection.
We saw that we were powerless over alcohol, but we also perceived that faith of
some kind, if only in A.A. itself, is possible to anyone. These conclusions did
not require action; they required only acceptance.
Like all the remaining Steps, Step Three calls for affirmative action, for it
is only by action that we can cut away the self-will which has always blocked
the entry of God--or, if you like, a Higher Power--into our lives. Faith, to be
sure, is necessary, but faith alone can avail nothing. We can have faith, yet
keep God out of our lives. Therefore our problem now becomes just how and by
what specific means shall we be able to let Him in? Step Three represents our
first attempt to do this. In fact, the effectiveness of the whole A.A. program
will rest upon how well and earnestly we have tried to come to "a decision to
turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him."
To every worldly and practical-minded beginner, this Step looks hard, even
impossible. No matter how much one wishes to try, exactly how can he turn his
own will and his own life over to the care of whatever God he thinks there is?
Fortunately, we who have tried it, and with equal misgivings, can testify that
anyone, anyone at all, can begin to do it. We can further add that a beginning,
even the smallest, is all that is needed. Once we have placed the key of
willingness in the lock and have the door ever so slightly open, we find that
we can always open it some more. Though self-will may slam it shut again, as it
frequently does, it will always respond the moment we again pick up the key of
willingness.
Maybe this all sounds mysterious and remote, something like Einstein's theory
of relativity or a proposition in nuclear physics. It isn't at all. Let's look
at how practical it actually is. Every man and woman who has joined A.A. and
intends to stick has, without realizing it, made a beginning on Step Three.
Isn't it true that in all matters touching upon alcohol, each of them has
decided to turn his or her life over to the care, protection, and guidance of
Alcoholics Anonymous? Already a willingness has been achieved to cast out one's
own will and one's own ideas about the alcohol problem in favor of those
suggested by A.A. Any willing newcomer feels sure A.A. is the only safe harbor
for the foundering vessel he has become. Now if this is not turning one's will
and life over to a newfound Providence, then what is it?
But suppose that instinct still cries out, as it certainly will, "Yes,
respecting alcohol, I guess I have to be dependent upon A.A., but in all other
matters I must still maintain my independence. Nothing is going to turn me into
a nonentity. If I keep on turning my life and my will over to the care of
Something or Somebody else, what will become of me? I'll look like the hole in
the doughnut." This, of course, is the process by which instinct and logic
always seek to bolster egotism, and so frustrate spiritual development. The
trouble is that this kind of thinking takes no real account of the facts. And
the facts seem to be these: The more we become willing to depend upon a Higher
Power, the more independent we actually are. Therefore dependence, as A.A.
practices it, is really a means of gaining true independence of the spirit.
Let's examine for a moment this idea of dependence at the level of everyday
living. In this area it is startling to discover how dependent we really are,
and how unconscious of that dependence. Every modern house has electric wiring
carrying power and light to its interior. We are delighted with this
dependence; our main hope is that nothing will ever cut off the supply of
current. By so accepting our dependence upon this marvel of science, we find
ourselves more independent personally. Not only are we more independent, we are
even more comfortable and secure. Power flows just where it is needed. Silently
and surely, electricity, that strange energy so few people understand, meets
our simplest daily needs, and our most desperate ones, too. Ask the polio
sufferer confined to an iron lung who depends with complete trust upon a motor
to keep the breath of life in him.
But the moment our mental or emotional independence is in question, how
differently we behave. How persistently we claim the right to decide all by
ourselves just what we shall think and just how we shall act. Oh yes, we'll
weigh the pros and cons of every problem. We'll listen politely to those who
would advise us, but all the decisions are to be ours alone. Nobody is going to
meddle with our personal independence in such matters. Besides, we think, there
is no one we can surely trust. We are certain that our intelligence, backed by
willpower, can rightly control our inner lives and guarantee us success in the
world we live in. This brave philosophy, wherein each man plays God, sounds
good in the speaking, but it still has to meet the acid test: how well does it
actually work? One good look in the mirror ought to be answer enough for any
alcoholic.
Should his own image in the mirror be too awful to contemplate (and it usually
is), he might first take a look at the results normal people are getting from
self-sufficiency. Everywhere he sees people filled with anger and fear, society
breaking up into warring fragments. Each fragment says to the others, "We are
right and you are wrong." Every such pressure group, if it is strong enough,
self-righteously imposes its will upon the rest. And everywhere the same thing
is being done on an individual basis. The sum of all this mighty effort is less
peace and less brotherhood than before. The philosophy of self-sufficiency is
not paying off. Plainly enough, it is a bone-crushing juggernaut whose final
achievement is ruin.
Therefore, we who are alcoholics can consider ourselves fortunate indeed. Each
of us has had his own near-fatal encounter with the juggernaut of self-will,
and has suffered enough under its weight to be willing to look for something
better. So it is by circumstance rather than by any virtue that we have been
driven to A.A., have admitted defeat, have acquired the rudiments of faith, and
now want to make a decision to turn our will and our lives over to a Higher
Power.
We realize that the word "dependence" is as distasteful to many psychiatrists
and psychologists as it is to alcoholics. Like our professional friends, we,
too, are aware that there are wrong forms of dependence. We have experienced
many of them. No adult man or woman, for example, should be in too much
emotional dependence upon a parent. They should have been weaned long before,
and if they have not been, they should wake up to the fact. This very form of
faulty dependence has caused many a rebellious alcoholic to conclude that
dependence of any sort must be intolerably damaging. But dependence upon an
A.A. group or upon a Higher Power hasn't produced any baleful results.
When World War II broke out, this spiritual principle had its first major
test. A.A.'s entered the services and were scattered all over the world. Would
they be able to take discipline, stand up under fire, and endure the monotony
and misery of war? Would the kind of dependence they had learned in A.A. carry
them through? Well, it did. They had even fewer alcoholic lapses or emotional
binges than A.A.'s safe at home did. They were just as capable of endurance and
valor as any other soldiers. Whether in Alaska or on the Salerno beachhead,
their dependence upon a Higher Power worked. And far from being a weakness,
this dependence was their chief source of strength.
So how, exactly, can the willing person continue to turn his will and his life
over to the Higher Power? He made a beginning, we have seen, when he commenced
to rely upon A.A. for the solution of his alcohol problem. By now, though, the
chances are that he has become convinced that he has more problems than
alcohol, and that some of these refuse to be solved by all the sheer personal
determination and courage he can muster. They simply will not budge; they make
him desperately unhappy and threaten his newfound sobriety. Our friend is still
victimized by remorse and guilt when he thinks of yesterday. Bitterness still
overpowers him when he broods upon those he still envies or hates. His
financial insecurity worries him sick, and panic takes over when he thinks of
all the bridges to safety that alcohol burned behind him. And how shall he ever
straighten out that awful jam that cost him the affection of his family and
separated him from them? His lone courage and unaided will cannot do it. Surely
he must now depend upon Somebody or Something else.
At first that "somebody" is likely to be his closest A.A. friend. He relies
upon the assurance that his many troubles, now made more acute because he
cannot use alcohol to kill the pain, can be solved, too. Of course the sponsor
points out that our friend's life is still unmanageable even though he is
sober, that after all, only a bare start on A.A.'s program has been made. More
sobriety brought about by the admission of alcoholism and by attendance at a
few meetings is very good indeed, but it is bound to be a far cry from
permanent sobriety and a contented, useful life. That is just where the
remaining Steps of the A.A. program come in. Nothing short of continuous action
upon these as a way of life can bring the much-desired result.
Then it is explained that other Steps of the A.A. program can be practiced
with success only when Step Three is given a determined and persistent trial.
This statement may surprise newcomers who have experienced nothing but constant
deflation and a growing conviction that human will is of no value whatever.
They have become persuaded, and rightly so, that many problems besides alcohol
will not yield to a headlong assault powered by the individual alone. But now
it appears that there are certain things which only the individual can do. A11
by himself, and in the light of his own circumstances, he needs to develop the
quality of willingness. When he acquires willingness, he is the only one who
can make the decision to exert himself. Trying to do this is an act of his own
will. All of the Twelve Steps require sustained and personal exertion to
conform to their principles and so, we trust, to God's will.
It is when we try to make our will conform with God's that we begin to use it
rightly. To all of us, this was a most wonderful revelation. Our whole
trouble had been the misuse of willpower. We had tried to bombard our problems
with it instead of attempting to bring it into agreement with God's intention
for us. To make this increasingly possible is the purpose of A.A.'s Twelve
Steps, and Step Three opens the door.
Once we have come into agreement with these ideas, it is really easy to begin
the practice of Step Three. In all times of emotional disturbance or
indecision, we can pause, ask for quiet, and in the stillness simply say: "God
grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change
the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Thy will, not mine, be
done."
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Four
"Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves."
Creation gave us instincts for a purpose. Without them we wouldn't be complete
human beings. If men and women didn't exert themselves to be secure in their
persons, made no effort to harvest food or construct shelter, there would be no
survival. If they didn't reproduce, the earth wouldn't be populated. If there
were no social instinct, if men cared nothing for the society of one another,
there would be no society. So these desires--for the sex relation, for material
and emotional security, and for companionship--are perfectly necessary and
right, and surely God-given.
Yet these instincts, so necessary for our existence, often far exceed their
proper functions. Powerfully, blindly, many times subtly, they drive us,
dominate us, and insist upon ruling our lives. Our desires for sex, for
material and emotional security, and for an important place in society often
tyrannize us. When thus out of joint, man's natural desires cause him great
trouble, practically all the trouble there is. No human being, however good, is
exempt from these troubles. Nearly every serious emotional problem can be seen
as a case of misdirected instinct. When that happens, our great natural assets,
the instincts, have turned into physical and mental liabilities.
Step Four is our vigorous and painstaking effort to discover what these
liabilities in each of us have been, and are. We want to find exactly how,
when, and where our natural desires have warped us. We wish to look squarely at
the unhappiness this has caused others and ourselves. By discovering what our
emotional deformities are, we can move toward their correction. Without a
willing and persistent effort to do this, there can be little sobriety or
contentment for us. Without a searching and fearless moral inventory, most of
us have found that the faith which really works in daily living is still out of
reach.
Before tackling the inventory problem in detail, let's have a closer look at
what the basic problem is. Simple examples like the following take on a world
of meaning when we think about them. Suppose a person places sex desire ahead
of everything else. In such a case, this imperious urge can destroy his chances
for material and emotional security as well as his standing in the community.
Another may develop such an obsession for financial security that he wants to
do nothing but hoard money. Going to the extreme, he can become a miser, or
even a recluse who denies himself both family and friends.
Nor is the quest for security always expressed in terms of money. How
frequently we see a frightened human being determined to depend completely upon
a stronger person for guidance and protection. This weak one, failing to meet
life's responsibilities with his own resources, never grows up. Disillusionment
and helplessness are his lot. In time all his protectors either flee or die,
and he is once more left alone and afraid.
We have also seen men and women who go power-mad, who devote themselves to
attempting to rule their fellows. These people often throw to the winds every
chance for legitimate security and a happy family life. Whenever a human being
becomes a battleground for the instincts, there can be no peace.
But that is not all of the danger. Every time a person imposes his instincts
unreasonably upon others, unhappiness follows. If the pursuit of wealth
tramples upon people who happen to be in the way, then anger, jealousy, and
revenge are likely to be aroused. If sex runs riot, there is a similar uproar.
Demands made upon other people for too much attention, protection, and love can
only invite domination or revulsion in the protectors themselves--two emotions
quite as unhealthy as the demands which evoked them. When an individual's
desire for prestige becomes uncontrollable, whether in the sewing circle or at
the international conference table, other people suffer and often revolt. This
collision of instincts can produce anything from a cold snub to a blazing
revolution. In these ways we are set in conflict not only with ourselves, but
with other people who have instincts, too.
Alcoholics especially should be able to see that instinct run wild in
themselves is the underlying cause of their destructive drinking. We have drunk
to drown feelings of fear, frustration, and depression. We have drunk to escape
the guilt of passions, and then have drunk again to make more passions
possible. We have drunk for vain glory--that we might the more enjoy foolish
dreams of pomp and power. This perverse soul-sickness is not pleasant to look
upon. Instincts on rampage balk at investigation. The minute we make a serious
attempt to probe them, we are liable to suffer severe reactions.
If temperamentally we are on the depressive side, we are apt to be swamped
with guilt and self-loathing. We wallow in this messy bog, often getting a
misshapen and painful pleasure out of it. As we morbidly pursue this melancholy
activity, we may sink to such a point of despair that nothing but oblivion
looks possible as a solution. Here, of course, we have lost all perspective,
and therefore all genuine humility. For this is pride in reverse. This is not a
moral inventory at all; it is the very process by which the depressive has so
often been led to the bottle and extinction.
If, however, our natural disposition is inclined to self righteousness or
grandiosity, our reaction will be just the opposite. We will be offended at
A.A.'s suggested inventory. No doubt we shall point with pride to the good
lives we thought we led before the bottle cut us down. We shall claim that our
serious character defects, if we think we have any at all, have been caused
chiefly by excessive drinking. This being so, we think it logically follows
that sobriety-- first, last, and all the time--is the only thing we need to
work for. We believe that our one-time good characters will be revived the
moment we quit alcohol. If we were pretty nice people all along, except for our
drinking, what need is there for a moral inventory now that we are sober?
We also clutch at another wonderful excuse for avoiding an inventory. Our
present anxieties and troubles, we cry, are caused by the behavior of other
people--people who really need a moral inventory. We firmly believe that if
only they'd treat us better, we'd be all right. Therefore we think our
indignation is justified and reasonable--that our resentments are the "right
kind." We aren't the guilty ones. They are!
At this stage of the inventory proceedings, our sponsors come to the rescue.
They can do this, for they are the carriers of A.A.'s tested experience with
Step Four. They comfort the melancholy one by first showing him that his case
is not strange or different, that his character defects are probably not more
numerous or worse than those of anyone else in A.A. This the sponsor promptly
proves by talking freely and easily, and without exhibitionism, about his own
defects, past and present. This calm, yet realistic, stocktaking is immensely
reassuring. The sponsor probably points out that the newcomer has some assets
which can be noted along with his liabilities. This tends to clear away
morbidity and encourage balance. As soon as he begins to be more objective, the
newcomer can fearlessly, rather than fearfully, look at his own defects.
The sponsors of those who feel they need no inventory are confronted with
quite another problem. This is because people who are driven by pride of self
unconsciously blind themselves to their liabilities. These newcomers scarcely
need comforting. The problem is to help them discover a chink in the walls
their ego has built, through which the light of reason can shine.
First off, they can be told that the majority of A.A. members have suffered
severely from self-justification during their drinking days. For most of us,
self-justification was the maker of excuses; excuses, of course, for drinking,
and for all kinds of crazy and damaging conduct. We had made the invention of
alibis a fine art. We had to drink because times were hard or times were good.
We had to drink because at home we were smothered with love or got none at all.
We had to drink because at work we were great successes or dismal failures. We
had to drink because our nation had won a war or lost a peace. And so it went,
ad infinitum.
We thought "conditions" drove us to drink, and when we tried to correct these
conditions and found that we couldn't to our entire satisfaction, our drinking
went out of hand and we became alcoholics. It never occurred to us that we
needed to change ourselves to meet conditions, whatever they were.
But in A.A. we slowly learned that something had to be done about our vengeful
resentments, self-pity, and unwarranted pride. We had to see that every time we
played the big shot, we turned people against us. We had to see that when we
harbored grudges and planned revenge for such defeats, we were really beating
ourselves with the club of anger we had intended to use on others. We learned
that if we were seriously disturbed, our first need was to quiet that
disturbance, regardless of who or what we thought caused it.
To see how erratic emotions victimized us often took a long time. We could
perceive them quickly in others, but only slowly in ourselves. First of all, we
had to admit that we had many of these defects, even though such disclosures
were painful and humiliating. Where other people were concerned, we had to drop
the word "blame" from our speech and thought. This required great willingness
even to begin. But once over the first two or three high hurdles, the course
ahead began to look easier. For we had started to get perspective on ourselves,
which is another way of saying that we were gaining in humility.
Of course the depressive and the power-driver are personality extremes, types
with which A.A. and the whole world abound. Often these personalities are just
as sharply defined as the examples given. But just as often some of us will fit
more or less into both classifications. Human beings are never quite alike, so
each of us, when making an inventory, will need to determine what his
individual character defects are. Having found the shoes that fit, he ought to
step into them and walk with new confidence that he is at last on the right
track.
Now let's ponder the need for a list of the more glaring personality defects
all of us have in varying degrees. To those having religious training, such a
list would set forth serious violations of moral principles. Some others will
think of this list as defects of character. Still others will call it an index
of maladjustments. Some will become quite annoyed if there is talk about
immorality, let alone sin. But all who are in the least reasonable will agree
upon one point: that there is plenty wrong with us alcoholics about which
plenty will have to be done if we are to expect sobriety, progress, and any
real ability to cope with life.
To avoid falling into confusion over the names these defects should be called,
let's take a universally recognized list of major human failings--the Seven
Deadly Sins of pride, greed, lust, anger, gluttony, envy, and sloth. It is not
by accident that pride heads the procession. For pride, leading to
self-justification, and always spurred by conscious or unconscious fears, is
the basic breeder of most human difficulties, the chief block to true progress.
Pride lures us into making demands upon ourselves or upon others which cannot
be met without perverting or misusing our God-given instincts. When the
satisfaction of our instincts for sex, security, and society becomes the sole
object of our lives, then pride steps in to justify our excesses.
All these failings generate fear, a soul-sickness in its own right. Then fear,
in turn, generates more character defects. Unreasonable fear that our instincts
will not be satisfied drives us to covet the possessions of others, to lust for
sex and power, to become angry when our instinctive demands are threatened, to
be envious when the ambitions of others seem to be realized while ours are not.
We eat, drink, and grab for more of everything than we need, fearing we shall
never have enough. And with genuine alarm at the prospect of work, we stay
lazy. We loaf and procrastinate, or at best work grudgingly and under half
steam. These fears are the termites that ceaselessly devour the foundations of
whatever sort of life we try to build.
So when A.A. suggests a fearless moral inventory, it must seem to every
newcomer that more is being asked of him than he can do. Both his pride and his
fear beat him back every time he tries to look within himself. Pride says, "You
need not pass this way," and Fear says, "You dare not look!" But the testimony
of A.A.'s who have really tried a moral inventory is that pride and fear of
this sort turn out to be bogeymen, nothing else. Once we have a complete
willingness to take inventory, and exert ourselves to do the job thoroughly, a
wonderful light falls upon this foggy scene. As we persist, a brand-new kind of
confidence is born, and the sense of relief at finally facing ourselves is
indescribable. These are the first fruits of Step Four.
By now the newcomer has probably arrived at the following conclusions: that
his character defects, representing instincts gone astray, have been the
primary cause of his drinking and his failure at life; that unless he is now
willing to work hard at the elimination of the worst of these defects, both
sobriety and peace of mind will still elude him; that all the faulty foundation
of his life will have to be torn out and built anew on bedrock. Now willing to
commence the search for his own defects, he will ask, "Just how do I go about
this? how do I take inventory of myself?"
Since Step Four is but the beginning of a lifetime practice, it can be
suggested that he first have a look at those personal flaws which are acutely
troublesome and fairly obvious. Using his best judgment of what has been right
and what has been wrong, he might make a rough survey of his conduct with
respect to his primary instincts for sex, security, and society. Looking back
over his life, he can readily get under way by consideration of questions such
as these:
When, and how, and in just what instances did my selfish pursuit of the sex
relation damage other people and me? What people were hurt, and how badly? Did
I spoil my marriage and injure my children? Did I jeopardize my standing in the
community? Just how did I react to these situations at the time? Did I burn
with a guilt that nothing could extinguish? Or did I insist that I was the
pursued and not the pursuer, and thus absolve myself? How have I reacted to
frustration in sexual matters? When denied, did I become vengeful or depressed?
Did I take it out on other people? If there was rejection or coldness at home,
did I use this as a reason for promiscuity?
Also of importance for most alcoholics are the questions they must ask about
their behavior respecting financial and emotional security. In these areas
fear, greed, possessiveness, and pride have too often done their worst.
Surveying his business or employment record, almost any alcoholic can ask
questions like these: In addition to my drinking problem, what character
defects contributed to my financial instability? Did fear and inferiority about
my fitness for my job destroy my confidence and fill me with conflict? Did I
try to cover up those feelings of inadequacy by bluffing, cheating, lying, or
evading responsibility? Or by griping that others failed to recognize my truly
exceptional abilities? Did I overvalue myself and play the big shot? Did I have
such unprincipled ambition that I double-crossed and undercut my associates?
Was I extravagant? Did I recklessly borrow money, caring little whether it was
repaid or not? Was I a pinch penny, refusing to support my family properly? Did
I cut corners financially? What about the "quick money" deals, the stock
market, and the races?
Businesswomen in A.A. will naturally find that many of these questions apply
to them, too. But the alcoholic housewife can also make the family financially
insecure. She can juggle charge accounts, manipulate the food budget, spend her
afternoons gambling, and run her husband into debt by irresponsibility, waste,
and extravagance.
But all alcoholics who have drunk themselves out of jobs, family, and friends
will need to cross-examine themselves ruthlessly to determine how their own
personality defects have thus demolished their security.
The most common symptoms of emotional insecurity are worry, anger, self-pity,
and depression. These stem from causes which sometimes seem to be within us,
and at other times to come from without. To take inventory in this respect we
ought to consider carefully all personal relationships which bring continuous
or recurring trouble. It should be remembered that this kind of insecurity may
arise in any area where instincts are threatened. Questioning directed to this
end might run like this: Looking at both past and present, what sex situations
have caused me anxiety, bitterness, frustration, or depression? Appraising each
situation fairly, can I see where I have been at fault? Did these perplexities
beset me because of selfishness or unreasonable demands? Or, if my disturbance
was seemingly caused by the behavior of others, why do I lack the ability to
accept conditions I cannot change? These are the sort of fundamental inquiries
that can disclose the source of my discomfort and indicate whether I may be
able to alter my own conduct and so adjust myself serenely to
self-discipline.
Suppose that financial insecurity constantly arouses these same feelings. I
can ask myself to what extent have my own mistakes fed my gnawing anxieties.
And if the actions of others are part of the cause, what can I do about that?
If I am unable to change the present state of affairs, am I willing to take the
measures necessary to shape my life to conditions as they are? Questions like
these, more of which will come to mind easily in each individual case, will
help turn up the root causes.
But it is from our twisted relations with family, friends, and society at
large that many of us have suffered the most. We have been especially stupid
and stubborn about them. The primary fact that we fail to recognize is our
total inability to form a true partnership with another human being. Our
egomania digs two disastrous pitfalls. Either we insist upon dominating the
people we know, or we depend upon them far too much. If we lean too heavily on
people, they will sooner or later fail us, for they are human, too, and cannot
possibly meet our incessant demands. In this way our insecurity grows and
festers. When we habitually try to manipulate others to our own willful
desires, they revolt, and resist us heavily. Then we develop hurt feelings, a
sense of persecution, and a desire to retaliate. As we redouble our efforts at
control, and continue to fail, our suffering becomes acute and constant. We
have not once sought to be one in a family, to be a friend among friends, to be
a worker among workers, to be a useful member of society. Always we tried to
struggle to the top of the heap, or to hide underneath it. This self-centered
behavior blocked a partnership relation with any one of those about us. Of true
brotherhood we had small comprehension.
Some will object to many of the questions posed, because they think their own
character defects have not been so glaring. To these it can be suggested that a
conscientious examination is likely to reveal the very defects the
objectionable questions are concerned with. Because our surface record hasn't
looked too bad, we have frequently been abashed to find that this is so simply
because we have buried these self same defects deep down in us under thick
layers of self-justification. Whatever the defects, they have finally ambushed
us into alcoholism and misery.
Therefore, thoroughness ought to be the watchword when taking inventory. In
this connection, it is wise to write out our questions and answers. It will be
an aid to clear thinking and honest appraisal. It will be the first tangible
evidence of our complete willingness to move forward.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Five
"Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature
of our wrongs."
All of A.A.'s Twelve Steps ask us to go contrary to our natural desires . . .
they all deflate our egos. When it comes to ego deflation, few Steps are harder
to take than Five. But scarcely any Step is more necessary to longtime sobriety
and peace of mind than this one.
A.A. experience has taught us we cannot live alone with our pressing problems
and the character defects which cause or aggravate them. If we have swept the
searchlight of Step Four back and forth over our careers, and it has revealed
in stark relief those experiences we'd rather not remember, if we have come to
know how wrong thinking and action have hurt us and others, then the need to
quit living by ourselves with those tormenting ghosts of yesterday gets more
urgent than ever. We have to talk to somebody about them.
So intense, though, is our fear and reluctance to do this, that many A.A.'s at
first try to bypass Step Five. We search for an easier way--which usually
consists of the general and fairly painless admission that when drinking we
were sometimes bad actors. Then, for good measure, we add dramatic descriptions
of that part of our drinking behavior which our friends probably know about
anyhow.
But of the things which really bother and burn us, we say nothing. Certain
distressing or humiliating memories, we tell ourselves, ought not be shared
with anyone. These will remain our secret. Not a soul must ever know. We hope
they'll go to the grave with us.
Yet if A.A.'s experience means anything at all, this is not only unwise, but
is actually a perilous resolve. Few muddled attitudes have caused us more
trouble than holding back on Step Five. Some people are unable to stay sober at
all; others will relapse periodically until they really clean house. Even A.A.
old timers, sober for years, often pay dearly for skimping this Step. They will
tell how they tried to carry the load alone; how much they suffered of
irritability, anxiety, remorse, and depression; and how, unconsciously seeking
relief, they would sometimes accuse even their best friends of the very
character defects they themselves were trying to conceal. They always
discovered that relief never came by confessing the sins of other people.
Everybody had to confess his own.
This practice of admitting one's defects to another person is, of course, very
ancient. It has been validated in every century, and it characterizes the lives
of all spiritually centered and truly religious people. But today religion is
by no means the sole advocate of this saving principle. Psychiatrists and
psychologists point out the deep need every human being has for practical
insight and knowledge of his own personality flaws and for a discussion of them
with an understanding and trustworthy person. So far as alcoholics are
concerned, A.A. would go even further. Most of us would declare that without a
fearless admission of our defects to another human being we could not stay
sober. It seems plain that the grace of God will not enter to expel our
destructive obsessions until we are willing to try this.
What are we likely to receive from Step Five? For one thing, we shall get rid
of that terrible sense of isolation we've always had. Almost without exception,
alcoholics are tortured by loneliness. Even before our drinking got bad and
people began to cut us off, nearly all of us suffered the feeling that we
didn't quite belong. Either we were shy, and dared not draw near others, or we
were apt to be noisy good fellows craving attention and companionship, but
never getting it--at least to our way of thinking. There was always that
mysterious barrier we could neither surmount nor understand. It was as if we
were actors on a stage, suddenly realizing that we did not know a single line
of our parts. That's one reason we loved alcohol too well. It did let us act
extemporaneously. But even Bacchus boomeranged on us; we were finally struck
down and left in terrified loneliness.
When we reached A.A., and for the first time in our lives stood among people
who seemed to understand, the sense of belonging was tremendously exciting. We
thought the isolation problem had been solved. But we soon discovered that
while we weren't alone any more in a social sense, we still suffered many of
the old pangs of anxious apartness. Until we had talked with complete candor of
our conflicts, and had listened to someone else do the same thing, we still
didn't belong. Step Five was the answer. It was the beginning of true kinship
with man and God.
This vital Step was also the means by which we began to get the feeling that
we could be forgiven, no matter what we had thought or done. Often it was while
working on this Step with our sponsors or spiritual advisers that we first felt
truly able to forgive others, no matter how deeply we felt they had wronged us.
Our moral inventory had persuaded us that all-round forgiveness was desirable,
but it was only when we resolutely tackled Step Five that we inwardly
knew we'd be able to receive forgiveness and give it, too.
Another great dividend we may expect from confiding our defects to another
human being is humility--a word often misunderstood. To those who have made
progress in A.A., it amounts to a clear recognition of what and who we really
are, followed by a sincere attempt to become what we could be. Therefore, our
first practical move toward humility must consist of recognizing our
deficiencies. No defect can be corrected unless we clearly see what it is. But
we shall have to do more than see. The objective look at ourselves we
achieved in Step Four was, after all, only a look. All of us saw, for example,
that we lacked honesty and tolerance, that we were beset at times by attacks of
self-pity or delusions of personal grandeur. But while this was a humiliating
experience, it didn't necessarily mean that we had yet acquired much actual
humility. Though now recognized, our defects were still there. Something had to
be done about them. And we soon found that we could not wish or will them away
by ourselves.
More realism and therefore more honesty about ourselves are the great gains we
make under the influence of Step Five. As we took inventory, we began to
suspect how much trouble self-delusion had been causing us. This had brought a
disturbing reflection. If all our lives we had more or less fooled ourselves,
how could we now be so sure that we weren't still self-deceived? How could we
be certain that we had made a true catalog of our defects and had really
admitted them, even to ourselves? Because we were still bothered by fear,
self-pity, and hurt feelings, it was probable we couldn't appraise ourselves
fairly at all. Too much guilt and remorse might cause us to dramatize and
exaggerate our shortcomings. Or anger and hurt pride might be the smoke screen
under which we were hiding some of our defects while we blamed others for them.
Possibly, too, we were still handicapped by many liabilities, great and small,
we never knew we had.
Hence it was most evident that a solitary self-appraisal, and the admission of
our defects based upon that alone, wouldn't be nearly enough. We'd have to have
outside help if we were surely to know and admit the truth about ourselves--the
help of God and another human being. Only by discussing ourselves, holding back
nothing, only by being willing to take advice and accept direction could we set
foot on the road to straight thinking, solid honesty, and genuine humility.
Yet many of us still hung back. We said, "Why can't `God as we understand Him'
tell us where we are astray? If the Creator gave us our lives in the first
place, then He must know in every detail where we have since gone wrong. Why
don't we make our admissions to Him directly? Why do we need to bring anyone
else into this?"
At this stage, the difficulties of trying to deal rightly with God by
ourselves are twofold. Though we may at first be startled to realize that God
knows all about us, we are apt to get used to that quite quickly. Somehow,
being alone with God doesn't seem as embarrassing as facing up to another
person. Until we actually sit down and talk aloud about what we have so long
hidden, our willingness to clean house is still largely theoretical. When we
are honest with another person, it confirms that we have been honest with
ourselves and with God.
The second difficulty is this: what comes to us alone may be garbled by our
own rationalization and wishful thinking. The benefit of talking to another
person is that we can get his direct comment and counsel on our situation, and
there can be no doubt in our minds what that advice is. Going it alone in
spiritual matters is dangerous. How many times have we heard well-intentioned
people claim the guidance of God when it was all too plain that they were
sorely mistaken. Lacking both practice and humility, they had deluded
themselves and were able to justify the most arrant nonsense on the ground that
this was what God had told them. It is worth noting that people of very high
spiritual development almost always insist on checking with friends or
spiritual advisers the guidance they feel they have received from God. Surely,
then, a novice ought not lay himself open to the chance of making foolish,
perhaps tragic, blunders in this fashion. While the comment or advice of others
may be by no means infallible, it is likely to be far more specific than any
direct guidance we may receive while we are still so inexperienced in
establishing contact with a Power greater than ourselves.
Our next problem will be to discover the person in whom we are to confide.
Here we ought to take much care, remembering that prudence is a virtue which
carries a high rating. Perhaps we shall need to share with this person facts
about ourselves which no others ought to know. We shall want to speak with
someone who is experienced, who not only has stayed dry but has been able to
surmount other serious difficulties. Difficulties, perhaps, like our own. This
person may turn out to be one's sponsor, but not necessarily so. If you have
developed a high confidence in him, and his temperament and problems are close
to your own, then such a choice will be good. Besides, your sponsor already has
the advantage of knowing something about your case.
Perhaps, though, your relation to him is such that you -would care to reveal
only a part of your story. If this is the situation, by all means do so, for
you ought to make a beginning as soon as you can. It may turn out, however,
that you'll choose someone else for the more difficult and deeper revelations.
This individual may be entirely outside of A.A.--for example, your clergyman or
your doctor. For some of us, a complete stranger may prove the best bet.
The real tests of the situation are your own willingness to confide and your
full confidence in the one with whom you share your first accurate self-survey.
Even when you've found the person, it frequently takes great resolution to
approach him or her. No one ought to say the A.A. program requires no
willpower; here is one place you may require all you've got. Happily, though,
the chances are that you will be in for a very pleasant surprise. When your
mission is carefully explained, and it is seen by the recipient of your
confidence how helpful he can really be, the conversation will start easily and
will soon become eager. Before long, your listener may well tell a story or two
about himself which will place you even more at ease. Provided you hold back
nothing, your sense of relief will mount from minute to minute. The dammed-up
emotions of years break out of their confinement, and miraculously vanish as
soon as they are exposed. As the pain subsides, a healing tranquillity takes
its place. And when humility and serenity are so combined, something else of
great moment is apt to occur. Many an A.A., once agnostic or atheistic, tells
us that it was during this stage of Step Five that he first actually felt the
presence of God. And even those who had faith already often become conscious of
God as they never were before.
This feeling of being at one with God and man, this emerging from isolation
through the open and honest sharing of our terrible burden of guilt, brings us
to a resting place where we may prepare ourselves for the following Steps
toward a full and meaningful sobriety.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Six
"Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character."
"This is the Step that separates the men from the boys." So declares a
well-loved clergyman who happens to be one of A.A.'s greatest friends. He goes
on to explain that any person capable of enough willingness and honesty to try
repeatedly Step Six on all his faults--without any reservations
whatever--has indeed come a long way spiritually, and is therefore entitled
to be called a man who is sincerely trying to grow in the image and likeness of
his own Creator.
Of course, the often disputed question of whether God can--and will, under
certain conditions--remove defects of character will be answered with a prompt
affirmative by almost any A.A. member. To him, this proposition will be no
theory at all; it will be just about the largest fact in his life. He will
usually offer his proof in a statement like this:
"Sure, I was beaten, absolutely licked. My own willpower just wouldn't work on
alcohol. Change of scene, the best efforts of family, friends, doctors, and
clergymen got no place with my alcoholism. I simply couldn't stop drinking, and
no human being could seem to do the job for me. But when I became willing to
clean house and then asked a Higher Power, God as I understood Him, to give me
release, my obsession to drink vanished. It was lifted right out of me."
In A.A. meetings all over the world, statements just like this are heard
daily. It is plain for everybody to see that each sober A.A. member has been
granted a release from this very obstinate and potentially fatal obsession. So
in a very complete and literal way, all A.A.'s have "become entirely ready" to
have God remove the mania for alcohol from their lives. And God has proceeded
to do exactly that. Having been granted a perfect release from alcoholism, why
then shouldn't we be able to achieve by the same means a perfect release from
every other difficulty or defect? This is a riddle of our existence, the full
answer to which may be only in the mind of God. Nevertheless, at least a part
of the answer to it is apparent to us.
When men and women pour so much alcohol into themselves that they destroy
their lives, they commit a most unnatural act. Defying their instinctive desire
for self-preservation, they seem bent upon self-destruction. They work against
their own deepest instinct. As they are humbled by the terrific beating
administered by alcohol, the grace of God can enter them and expel their
obsession. Here their powerful instinct to live can cooperate fully with their
Creator's desire to give them new life. For nature and God alike abhor
suicide.
But most of our other difficulties don't fall under such a category at all.
Every normal person wants, for example, to eat, to reproduce, to be somebody in
the society of his fellows. And he wishes to be reasonably safe and secure as
he tries to attain these things. Indeed, God made him that way. He did not
design man to destroy himself by alcohol, but He did give man instincts to help
him to stay alive.
It is nowhere evident, at least in this life, that our Creator expects us
fully to eliminate our instinctual drives. So far as we know, it is nowhere on
the record that God has completely removed from any human being all his natural
drives.
Since most of us are born with an abundance of natural desires, it isn't
strange that we often let these far exceed their intended purpose. When they
drive us blindly, or we willfully demand that they supply us with more
satisfactions or pleasures than are possible or due us, that is the point at
which we depart from the degree of perfection that God wishes for us here on
earth. That is the measure of our character defects, or, if you wish, of our
sins.
If we ask, God will certainly forgive our derelictions. But in no case does He
render us white as snow and keep us that way without our cooperation. That is
something we are supposed to be willing to work toward ourselves. He asks only
that we try as best we know how to make progress in the building of
character.
So Step Six--"Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of
character"--is A.A.'s way of stating the best possible attitude one can take in
order to make a beginning on this lifetime job. This does not mean that we
expect all our character defects to be lifted out of us as the drive to drink
was. A few of them may be, but with most of them we shall have to be content
with patient improvement. The key words "entirely ready" underline the fact
that we want to aim at the very best we know or can learn.
How many of us have this degree of readiness? In an absolute sense practically
nobody has it. The best we can do, with all the honesty that we can summon, is
to try to have it. Even then the best of us will discover to our dismay
that there is always a sticking point, a point at which we say, "No, I can't
give this up yet." And we shall often tread on even more dangerous ground when
we cry, "This I will never give up!" Such is the power of our instincts
to overreach themselves. No matter how far we have progressed, desires will
always be found which oppose the grace of God.
Some who feel they have done well may dispute this, so let's try to think it
through a little further. Practically everybody wishes to be rid of his most
glaring and destructive handicaps. No one wants to be so proud that he is
scorned as a braggart, nor so greedy that he is labeled a thief. No one wants
to be angry enough to murder, lustful enough to rape, gluttonous enough to ruin
his health. No one wants to be agonized by the chronic pain of envy or to be
paralyzed by sloth. Of course, most human beings don't suffer these defects at
these rock-bottom levels.
We who have escaped these extremes are apt to congratulate ourselves. Yet can
we? After all, hasn't it been self-interest, pure and simple, that has enabled
most of us to escape? Not much spiritual effort is involved in avoiding
excesses which will bring us punishment anyway. But when we face up to the less
violent aspects of these very same defects, then where do we stand?
What we must recognize now is that we exult in some of our defects. We really
love them. Who, for example, doesn't like to feel just a little superior to the
next fellow, or even quite a lot superior? Isn't it true that we like to let
greed masquerade as ambition? To think of liking lust seems impossible.
But how many men and women speak love with their lips, and believe what they
say, so that they can hide lust in a dark corner of their minds? And even while
staying within conventional bounds, many people have to admit that their
imaginary sex excursions are apt to be all dressed up as dreams of romance.
Self-righteous anger also can be very enjoyable. In a perverse way we can
actually take satisfaction from the fact that many people annoy us, for it
brings a comfortable feeling of superiority. Gossip barbed with our anger, a
polite form of murder by character assassination, has its satisfactions for us,
too. Here we are not trying to help those we criticize; we are trying to
proclaim our own righteousness.
When gluttony is less than ruinous, we have a milder word for that, too; we
call it "taking our comfort." We live in a world riddled with envy. To a
greater or less degree, everybody is infected with it. From this defect we must
surely get a warped yet definite satisfaction. Else why would we consume such
great amounts of time wishing for what we have not, rather than working for it,
or angrily looking for attributes we shall never have, instead of adjusting to
the fact, and accepting it? And how often we work hard with no better motive
than to be secure and slothful later on-- only we call that "retiring."
Consider, too, our talents for procrastination, which is really sloth in five
syllables. Nearly anyone could submit a good list of such defects as these, and
few of us would seriously think of giving them up, at least until they cause us
excessive misery.
Some people, of course, may conclude that they are indeed ready to have all
such defects taken from them. But even these people, if they construct a list
of still milder defects, will be obliged to admit that they prefer to hang on
to some of them. Therefore, it seems plain that few of us can quickly or easily
become ready to aim at spiritual and moral perfection; we want to settle for
only as much perfection as will get us by in life, according, of course, to our
various and sundry ideas of what will get us by. So the difference between "the
boys and the men" is the difference between striving for a self-determined
objective and for the perfect objective which is of God.
Many will at once ask, "How can we accept the entire implication of Step Six?
Why--that is perfection!" This sounds like a hard question, but
practically speaking, it isn't. Only Step One, where we made the 100 percent
admission we were powerless over alcohol, can be practiced with absolute
perfection. The remaining eleven Steps state perfect ideals. They are goals
toward which we look, and the measuring sticks by which we estimate our
progress. Seen in this light, Step Six is still difficult, but not at all
impossible. The only urgent thing is that we make a beginning, and keep
trying.
If we would gain any real advantage in the use of this Step on problems other
than alcohol, we shall need to make a brand new venture into open-mindedness.
We shall need to raise our eyes toward perfection, and be ready to walk in that
direction. It will seldom matter how haltingly we walk. The only question will
be "Are we ready?"
Looking again at those defects we are still unwilling to give up, we ought to
erase the hard-and-fast lines that we have drawn. Perhaps we shall be obliged
in some cases still to say, "This I cannot give up yet...," but we should not
say to ourselves, "This I will never give up!"
Let's dispose of what appears to be a hazardous open end we have left. It is
suggested that we ought to become entirely willing to aim toward perfection. We
note that some delay, however, might be pardoned. That word, in the mind of a
rationalizing alcoholic, could certainly be given a long term meaning. He could
say, "How very easy! Sure, I'll head toward perfection, but I'm certainly not
going to hurry any. Maybe I can postpone dealing with some of my problems
indefinitely." Of course, this won't do. Such a bluffing of oneself will have
to go the way of many another pleasant rationalization. At the very least, we
shall have to come to grips with some of our worst character defects and take
action toward their removal as quickly as we can.
The moment we say, "No, never!" our minds close against the grace of God.
Delay is dangerous, and rebellion may be fatal. This is the exact point at
which we abandon limited objectives, and move toward God's will for us.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Seven
"Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings."
Since this Step so specifically concerns itself with humility, we should pause
here to consider what humility is and what the practice of it can mean to us.
Indeed, the attainment of greater humility is the foundation principle of each
of A.A.'s Twelve Steps. For without some degree of humility, no alcoholic can
stay sober at all. Nearly all A.A.'s have found, too, that unless they develop
much more of this precious quality than may be required just for sobriety, they
still haven't much chance of becoming truly happy. Without it, they cannot live
to much useful purpose, or, in adversity, be able to summon the faith that can
meet any emergency.
Humility, as a word and as an ideal, has a very bad time of it in our world.
Not only is the idea misunderstood; the word itself is often intensely
disliked. Many people haven't even a nodding acquaintance with humility as a
way of life. Much of the everyday talk we hear, and a great deal of what we
read, highlights man's pride in his own achievements.
With great intelligence, men of science have been forcing nature to disclose
her secrets. The immense resources now being harnessed promise such a quantity
of material blessings that many have come to believe that a man-made millennium
lies just ahead. Poverty will disappear, and there will be such abundance that
everybody can have all the security and personal satisfactions he desires. The
theory seems to be that once everybody's primary instincts are satisfied, there
won't be much left to quarrel about. The world will then turn happy and be free
to concentrate on culture and character. Solely by their own intelligence and
labor, men will have shaped their own destiny.
Certainly no alcoholic, and surely no member of A.A., wants to deprecate
material achievement. Nor do we enter into debate with the many who still so
passionately cling to the belief that to satisfy our basic natural desires is
the main object of life. But we are sure that no class of people in the
world ever made a worse mess of trying to live by this formula than alcoholics.
For thousands of years we have been demanding more than our share of security,
prestige, and romance. When we seemed to be succeeding, we drank to dream still
greater dreams. When we were frustrated, even in part, we drank for oblivion.
Never was there enough of what we thought we wanted.
In all these strivings, so many of them well-intentioned, our crippling
handicap had been our lack of humility. We had lacked the perspective to see
that character-building and spiritual values had to come first, and that
material satisfactions were not the purpose of living. Quite
characteristically, we had gone all out in confusing the ends with the means.
Instead of regarding the satisfaction of our material desires as the means by
which we could live and function as human beings, we had taken these
satisfactions to be the final end and aim of life.
True, most of us thought good character was desirable, but obviously good
character was something one needed to get on with the business of being
self-satisfied. With a proper display of honesty and morality, we'd stand a
better chance of getting what we really wanted. But whenever we had to choose
between character and comfort, the character-building was lost in the dust of
our chase after what we thought was happiness. Seldom did we look at
character-building as something desirable in itself, something we would like to
strive for whether our instinctual needs were met or not. We never thought of
making honesty, tolerance, and true love of man and God the daily basis of
living.
This lack of anchorage to any permanent values, this blindness to the true
purpose of our lives, produced another bad result. For just so long as we were
convinced that we could live exclusively by our own individual strength and
intelligence, for just that long was a working faith in a Higher Power
impossible. This was true even when we believed that God existed. We could
actually have earnest religious beliefs which remained barren because we were
still trying to play God ourselves. As long as we placed self reliance first, a
genuine reliance upon a Higher Power was out of the question. That basic
ingredient of all humility, a desire to seek and do God's will, was missing.
For us, the process of gaining a new perspective was unbelievably painful. It
was only by repeated humiliations that we were forced to learn something about
humility. It was only at the end of a long road, marked by successive defeats
and humiliations, and the final crushing of our self sufficiency, that we began
to feel humility as something more than a condition of groveling despair. Every
newcomer in Alcoholics Anonymous is told, and soon realizes for himself, that
his humble admission of powerlessness over alcohol is his first step toward
liberation from its paralyzing grip.
So it is that we first see humility as a necessity. But this is the barest
beginning. To get completely away from our aversion to the idea of being
humble, to gain a vision of humility as the avenue to true freedom of the human
spirit, to be willing to work for humility as something to be desired for
itself, takes most of us a long, long time. A whole lifetime geared to
self-centeredness cannot be set in reverse all at once. Rebellion dogs our
every step at first.
When we have finally admitted without reservation that we are powerless over
alcohol, we are apt to breathe a great sigh of relief, saying, "Well, thank God
that's over! I'll never have to go through that again!" Then we learn, often to
our consternation, that this is only the first milestone on the new road we are
walking. Still goaded by sheer necessity, we reluctantly come to grips with
those serious character flaws that made problem drinkers of us in the first
place, flaws which must be dealt with to prevent a retreat into alcoholism once
again. We will want to be rid of some of these defects, but in some instances
this will appear to be an impossible job from which we recoil. And we cling
with a passionate persistence to others which are just as disturbing to our
equilibrium, because we still enjoy them too much. How can we possibly summon
the resolution and the willingness to get rid of such overwhelming compulsions
and desires?
But again we are driven on by the inescapable conclusion which we draw from
A.A. experience, that we surely must try with a will, or else fall by the
wayside. At this stage of our progress we are under heavy pressure and coercion
to do the right thing. We are obliged to choose between the pains of trying and
the certain penalties of failing to do so. These initial steps along the road
are taken grudgingly, yet we do take them. We may still have no very high
opinion of humility as a desirable personal virtue, but we do recognize it as a
necessary aid to our survival.
But when we have taken a square look at some of these defects, have discussed
them with another, and have become willing to have them removed, our thinking
about humility commences to have a wider meaning. By this time in all
probability we have gained some measure of release from our more devastating
handicaps. We enjoy moments in which there is something like real peace of
mind. To those of us who have hitherto known only excitement, depression, or
anxiety--in other words, to all of us--this newfound peace is a priceless gift.
Something new indeed has been added. Where humility had formerly stood for a
forced feeding on humble pie, it now begins to mean the nourishing ingredient
which can give us serenity.
This improved perception of humility starts another revolutionary change in
our outlook. Our eyes begin to open to the immense values which have come
straight out of painful ego-puncturing. Until now, our lives have been largely
devoted to running from pain and problems. We fled from them as from a plague.
We never wanted to deal with the fact of suffering. Escape via the bottle was
always our solution. Character-building through suffering might be all right
for saints, but it certainly didn't appeal to us.
Then, in A.A., we looked and listened. Everywhere we saw failure and misery
transformed by humility into priceless assets. We heard story after story of
how humility had brought strength out of weakness. In every case, pain had been
the price of admission into a new life. But this admission price had purchased
more than we expected. It brought a measure of humility, which we soon
discovered to be a healer of pain. We began to fear pain less, and desire
humility more than ever.
During this process of learning more about humility, the most profound result
of all was the change in our attitude toward God. And this was true whether we
had been believers or unbelievers. We began to get over the idea that the
Higher Power was a sort of bush-league pinch hitter, to be called upon only in
an emergency. The notion that we would still live our own lives, God helping a
little now and then, began to evaporate. Many of us who had thought ourselves
religious awoke to the limitations of this attitude. Refusing to place God
first, we had deprived ourselves of His help. But now the words "Of myself I am
nothing, the Father doeth the works" began to carry bright promise and
meaning.
We saw we needn't always be bludgeoned and beaten into humility. It could come
quite as much from our voluntary reaching for it as it could from unremitting
suffering. A great turning point in our lives came when we sought for humility
as something we really wanted, rather than as something we must have. It marked
the time when we could commence to see the full implication of Step Seven:
"Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings."
As we approach the actual taking of Step Seven, it might be well if we A.A.'s
inquire once more just what our deeper objectives are. Each of us would like to
live at peace with himself and with his fellows. We would like to be assured
that the grace of God can do for us what we cannot do for ourselves. We have
seen that character defects based upon shortsighted or unworthy desires are the
obstacles that block our path toward these objectives. We now clearly see that
we have been making unreasonable demands upon ourselves, upon others, and upon
God.
The chief activator of our defects has been self-centered fear--primarily fear
that we would lose something we already possessed or would fail to get
something we demanded. Living upon a basis of unsatisfied demands, we were in a
state of continual disturbance and frustration. Therefore, no peace was to be
had unless we could find a means of reducing these demands. The difference
between a demand and a simple request is plain to anyone.
The Seventh Step is where we make the change in our attitude which permits us,
with humility as our guide, to move out from ourselves toward others and toward
God. The whole emphasis of Step Seven is on humility. It is really saying to us
that we now ought to be willing to try humility in seeking the removal of our
other shortcomings just as we did when we admitted that we were powerless over
alcohol, and came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore
us to sanity. If that degree of humility could enable us to find the grace by
which such a deadly obsession could be banished, then there must be hope of the
same result respecting any other problem we could possibly have.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Eight
"Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all."
Steps Eight and Nine are concerned with personal relations. First, we take a
look backward and try to discover where we have been at fault; next we make a
vigorous attempt to repair the damage we have done; and third, having thus
cleaned away the debris of the past, we consider how, with our newfound
knowledge of ourselves, we may develop the best possible relations with every
human being we know.
This is a very large order. It is a task which we may perform with increasing
skill, but never really finish. Learning how to live in the greatest peace,
partnership, and brotherhood with all men and women, of whatever description,
is a moving and fascinating adventure. Every A.A. has found that he can make
little headway in this new adventure of living until he first backtracks and
really makes an accurate and unsparing survey of the human wreckage he has left
in his wake. To a degree, he has already done this when taking moral inventory,
but now the time has come when he ought to redouble his efforts to see how many
people he has hurt, and in what ways. This reopening of emotional wounds, some
old, some perhaps forgotten, and some still painfully festering, will at first
look like a purposeless and pointless piece of surgery. But if a willing start
is made, then the great advantages of doing this will so quickly reveal
themselves that the pain will be lessened as one obstacle after another melts
away.
These obstacles, however, are very real. The first, and one of the most
difficult, has to do with forgiveness. The moment we ponder a twisted or broken
relationship with another person, our emotions go on the defensive. To escape
looking at the wrongs we have done another, we resentfully focus on the wrong
he has done us. This is especially true if he has, in fact, behaved badly at
all. Triumphantly we seize upon his misbehavior as the perfect excuse for
minimizing or forgetting our own.
Right here we need to fetch ourselves up sharply. It doesn't make much sense
when a real toss pot calls a kettle black. Let's remember that alcoholics are
not the only ones bedeviled by sick emotions. Moreover, it is usually a fact
that our behavior when drinking has aggravated the defects of others. We've
repeatedly strained the patience of our best friends to a snapping point, and
have brought out the very worst in those who didn't think much of us to begin
with. In many instances we are really dealing with fellow sufferers, people
whose woes we have increased. If we are now about to ask forgiveness for
ourselves, why shouldn't we start out by forgiving them, one and all?
When listing the people we have harmed, most of us hit another solid obstacle.
We got a pretty severe shock when we realized that we were preparing to make a
face-to-face admission of our wretched conduct to those we had hurt. It had
been embarrassing enough when in confidence we had admitted these things to
God, to ourselves, and to another human being. But the prospect of actually
visiting or even writing the people concerned now overwhelmed us, especially
when we remembered in what poor favor we stood with most of them. There were
cases, too, where we had damaged others who were still happily unaware of being
hurt. Why, we cried, shouldn't bygones be bygones? Why do we have to think of
these people at all? These were some of the ways in which fear conspired with
pride to hinder our making a list of all the people we had harmed.
Some of us, though, tripped over a very different snag. We clung to the claim
that when drinking we never hurt anybody but ourselves. Our families didn't
suffer, because we always paid the bills and seldom drank at home. Our business
associates didn't suffer, because we were usually on the job. Our reputations
hadn't suffered, because we were certain few knew of our drinking. Those who
did would sometimes assure us that, after all, a lively bender was only a good
man's fault. What real harm, therefore, had we done? No more, surely, than we
could easily mend with a few casual apologies.
This attitude, of course, is the end result of purposeful forgetting. It is an
attitude which can only be changed by a deep and honest search of our motives
and actions.
Though in some cases we cannot make restitution at all, and in some cases
action ought to be deferred, we should nevertheless make an accurate and really
exhaustive survey of our past life as it has affected other people. In many
instances we shall find that though the harm done others has not been great,
the emotional harm we have done ourselves has. Very deep, sometimes quite
forgotten, damaging emotional conflicts persist below the level of
consciousness. At the time of these occurrences, they may actually have given
our emotions violent twists which have since discolored our personalities and
altered our lives for the worse.
While the purpose of making restitution to others is paramount, it is equally
necessary that we extricate from an examination of our personal relations every
bit of information about ourselves and our fundamental difficulties that we
can. Since defective relations with other human beings have nearly always been
the immediate cause of our woes, including our alcoholism, no field of
investigation could yield more satisfying and valuable rewards than this one.
Calm, thoughtful reflection upon personal relations can deepen our insight. We
can go far beyond those things which were superficially wrong with us, to see
those flaws which were basic, flaws which sometimes were responsible for the
whole pattern of our lives. Thoroughness, we have found, will pay--and pay
handsomely.
We might next ask ourselves what we mean when we say that we have "harmed"
other people. What kinds of "harm" do people do one another, anyway? To define
the word "harm" in a practical way, we might call it the result of instincts in
collision, which cause physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual damage to
people. If our tempers are consistently bad, we arouse anger in others. If we
lie or cheat, we deprive others not only of their worldly goods, but of their
emotional security and peace of mind. We really issue them an invitation to
become contemptuous and vengeful. If our sex conduct is selfish, we may excite
jealousy, misery, and a strong desire to retaliate in kind.
Such gross misbehavior is not by any means a full catalogue of the harms we
do. Let us think of some of the subtler ones which can sometimes be quite as
damaging. Suppose that in our family lives we happen to be miserly,
irresponsible, callous, or cold. Suppose that we are irritable, critical,
impatient, and humorless. Suppose we lavish attention upon one member of the
family and neglect the others. What happens when we try to dominate the whole
family, either by a rule of iron or by a constant outpouring of minute
directions for just how their lives should be lived from hour to hour? What
happens when we wallow in depression, self-pity oozing from every pore, and
inflict that upon those about us? Such a roster of harms done others--the kind
that make daily living with us as practicing alcoholics difficult and often
unbearable could be extended almost indefinitely. When we take such personality
traits as these into shop, office, and the society of our fellows, they can do
damage almost as extensive as that we have caused at home.
Having carefully surveyed this whole area of human relations, and having
decided exactly what personality traits in us injured and disturbed others, we
can now commence to ransack memory for the people to whom we have given
offense. To put a finger on the nearby and most deeply damaged ones shouldn't
be hard to do. Then, as year by year we walk back through our lives as far as
memory will reach, we shall be bound to construct a long list of people who
have, to some extent or other, been affected. We should, of course, ponder and
weigh each instance carefully. We shall want to hold ourselves to the course of
admitting the things we have done, meanwhile forgiving the wrongs done us, real
or fancied. We should avoid extreme judgments, both of ourselves and of others
involved. We must not exaggerate our defects or theirs. A quiet, objective view
will be our steadfast aim.
Whenever our pencil falters, we can fortify and cheer ourselves by remembering
what A.A. experience in this Step has meant to others. It is the beginning of
the end of isolation from our fellows and from God.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Nine
"Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others."
Good judgment, a careful sense of timing, courage, and prudence--these are the
qualities we shall need when we take Step Nine.
After we have made the list of people we have harmed, have reflected carefully
upon each instance, and have tried to possess ourselves of the right attitude
in which to proceed, we will see that the making of direct amends divides those
we should approach into several classes. There will be those who ought to be
dealt with just as soon as we become reasonably confident that we can maintain
our sobriety. There will be those to whom we can make only partial restitution,
lest complete disclosures do them or others more harm than good. There will be
other cases where action ought to be deferred, and still others in which by the
very nature of the situation we shall never be able to make direct personal
contact at all.
Most of us begin making certain kinds of direct amends from the day we join
Alcoholics Anonymous. The moment we tell our families that we are really going
to try the program, the process has begun. In this area there are seldom any
questions of timing or caution. We want to come in the door shouting the good
news. After coming from our first meeting, or perhaps after we have finished
reading the book "Alcoholics Anonymous," we usually want to sit down with some
member of the family and readily admit the damage we have done by our drinking.
Almost always we want to go further and admit other defects that have made us
hard to live with. This will be a very different occasion, and in sharp
contrast with those hangover mornings when we alternated between reviling
ourselves and blaming the family (and everyone else) for our troubles. At this
first sitting, it is necessary only that we make a general admission of our
defects. It may be unwise at this stage to rehash certain harrowing episodes.
Good judgment will suggest that we ought to take our time. While we may be
quite willing to reveal the very worst, we must be sure to remember that we
cannot buy our own peace of mind at the expense of others.
Much the same approach will apply at the office or factory. We shall at once
think of a few people who know all about our drinking, and who have been most
affected by it. But even in these cases, we may need to use a little more
discretion than we did with the family. We may not want to say anything for
several weeks, or longer. First we will wish to be reasonably certain that we
are on the A.A. beam. Then we are ready to go to these people, to tell them
what A.A. is, and what we are trying to do. Against this background we can
freely admit the damage we have done and make our apologies. We can pay, or
promise to pay, whatever obligations, financial or otherwise, we owe. The
generous response of most people to such quiet sincerity will often astonish
us. Even our severest and most justified critics will frequently meet us more
than halfway on the first trial.
This atmosphere of approval and praise is apt to be so exhilarating as to put
us off balance by creating an insatiable appetite for more of the same. Or we
may be tipped over in the other direction when, in rare cases, we get a cool
and skeptical reception. This will tempt us to argue, or to press our point
insistently. Or maybe it will tempt us to discouragement and pessimism. But if
we have prepared ourselves well in advance, such reactions will not deflect us
from our steady and even purpose.
After taking this preliminary trial at making amends, we may enjoy such a
sense of relief that we conclude our task is finished. We will want to rest on
our laurels. The temptation to skip the more humiliating and dreaded meetings
that still remain may be great. We will often manufacture plausible excuses for
dodging these issues entirely. Or we may just procrastinate, telling ourselves
the time is not yet, when in reality we have already passed up many a fine
chance to right a serious wrong. Let's not talk prudence while practicing
evasion.
As soon as we begin to feel confident in our new way of life and have begun,
by our behavior and example, to convince those about us that we are indeed
changing for the better, it is usually safe to talk in complete frankness with
those who have been seriously affected, even those who may be only a little or
not at all aware of what we have done to them. The only exceptions we will make
will be cases where our disclosure would cause actual harm. These conversations
can begin in a casual or natural way. But if no such opportunity presents
itself, at some point we will want to summon all our courage, head straight for
the person concerned, and lay our cards on the table. We needn't wallow in
excessive remorse before those we have harmed, but amends at this level should
always be forthright and generous.
There can only be one consideration which should qualify our desire for a
complete disclosure of the damage we have done. That will arise in the
occasional situation where to make a full revelation would seriously harm the
one to whom we are making amends. Or--quite as important--other people. We
cannot, for example, unload a detailed account of extramarital adventuring upon
the shoulders of our unsuspecting wife or husband. And even in those cases
where such a matter must be discussed, let's try to avoid harming third
parties, whoever they may be. It does not lighten our burden when we recklessly
make the crosses of others heavier.
Many a razor-edged question can arise in other departments of life where this
same principle is involved. Suppose, for instance, that we have drunk up a good
chunk of our firm's money, whether by "borrowing" or on a heavily padded
expense account. Suppose that this may continue to go undetected, if we say
nothing. Do we instantly confess our irregularities to the firm, in the
practical certainty that we will be fired and become unemployable? Are we going
to be so rigidly righteous about making amends that we don't care what happens
to the family and home? Or do we first consult those who are to be gravely
affected? Do we lay the matter before our sponsor or spiritual adviser,
earnestly asking God's help and guidance--meanwhile resolving to do the right
thing when it becomes clear, cost what it may? Of course, there is no pat
answer which can fit all such dilemmas. But all of them do require a complete
willingness to make amends as fast and as far as may be possible in a given set
of conditions.
Above all, we should try to be absolutely sure that we are not delaying
because we are afraid. For the readiness to take the full consequences of our
past acts, and to take responsibility for the well-being of others at the same
time, is the very spirit of Step Nine.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Ten
"Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it."
As we work the first nine Steps, we prepare ourselves for the adventure of a
new life. But when we approach Step Ten we commence to put our A.A. way of
living to practical use, day by day, in fair weather or foul. Then comes the
acid test: can we stay sober, keep in emotional balance, and live to good
purpose under all conditions?
A continuous look at our assets and liabilities, and a real desire to learn
and grow by this means, are necessities for us. We alcoholics have learned this
the hard way. More experienced people, of course, in all times and places have
practiced unsparing self-survey and criticism. For the wise have always known
that no one can make much of his life until self-searching becomes a regular
habit, until he is able to admit and accept what he finds, and until he
patiently and persistently tries to correct what is wrong.
When a drunk has a terrific hangover because he drank heavily yesterday, he
cannot live well today. But there is another kind of hangover which we all
experience whether we are drinking or not. That is the emotional hangover, the
direct result of yesterday's and sometimes today's excesses of negative
emotion--anger, fear, jealousy, and the like. If we would live serenely today
and tomorrow, we certainly need to eliminate these hangovers. This doesn't mean
we need to wander morbidly around in the past. It requires an admission and
correction of errors now. Our inventory enables us to settle with the past.
When this is done, we are really able to leave it behind us. When our inventory
is carefully taken, and we have made peace with ourselves, the conviction
follows that tomorrow's challenges can be met as they come.
Although all inventories are alike in principle, the time factor does
distinguish one from another. There's the spot check inventory, taken at any
time of the day, whenever we find ourselves getting tangled up. There's the one
we take at day's end, when we review the happenings of the hours just past.
Here we cast up a balance sheet, crediting ourselves with things well done, and
chalking up debits where due. Then there are those occasions when alone, or in
the company of our sponsor or spiritual adviser, we make a careful review of
our progress since the last time. Many A.A.'s go in for annual or semiannual
housecleanings. Many of us also like the experience of an occasional retreat
from the outside world where we can quiet down for an undisturbed day or so of
self-overhaul and meditation.
Aren't these practices joy-killers as well as time-consumers? Must A.A.'s
spend most of their waking hours drearily rehashing their sins of omission or
commission? Well, hardly. The emphasis on inventory is heavy only because a
great many of us have never really acquired the habit of accurate
self-appraisal. Once this healthy practice has become grooved, it will be so
interesting and profitable that the time it takes won't be missed. For these
minutes and sometimes hours spent in self-examination are bound to make all the
other hours of our day better and happier. And at length our inventories become
a regular part of everyday living, rather than something unusual or set apart.
Before we ask what a spot-check inventory is, let's look at the kind of
setting in which such an inventory can do its work.
It is a spiritual axiom that every time we are disturbed, no matter what the
cause, there is something wrong with us. If somebody hurts us and we are sore,
we are in the wrong also. But are there no exceptions to this rule? What about
"justifiable" anger? If somebody cheats us, aren't we entitled to be mad? Can't
we be properly angry with self-righteous folk? For us of A.A. these are
dangerous exceptions. We have found that justified anger ought to be left to
those better qualified to handle it.
Few people have been more victimized by resentments than have we alcoholics.
It mattered little whether our resentments were justified or not. A burst of
temper could spoil a day, and a well-nursed grudge could make us miserably
ineffective. Nor were we ever skillful in separating justified from unjustified
anger. As we saw it, our wrath was always justified. Anger, that occasional
luxury of more balanced people, could keep us on an emotional jag indefinitely.
These emotional "dry benders" often led straight to the bottle. Other kinds of
disturbances--jealousy, envy, self-pity, or hurt pride--did the same thing.
A spot-check inventory taken in the midst of such disturbances can be of very
great help in quieting stormy emotions. Today's spot check finds its chief
application to situations which arise in each day's march. The consideration of
long-standing difficulties had better be postponed, when possible, to times
deliberately set aside for that purpose. The quick inventory is aimed at our
daily ups and downs, especially those where people or new events throw us off
balance and tempt us to make mistakes.
In all these situations we need self-restraint, honest analysis of what is
involved, a willingness to admit when the fault is ours, and an equal
willingness to forgive when the fault is elsewhere. We need not be discouraged
when we fall into the error of our old ways, for these disciplines are not
easy. We shall look for progress, not for perfection.
Our first objective will be the development of self restraint. This carries a
top priority rating. When we speak or act hastily or rashly, the ability to be
fair-minded and tolerant evaporates on the spot. One unkind tirade or one
willful snap judgment can ruin our relation with another person for a whole
day, or maybe a whole year. Nothing pays off like restraint of tongue and pen.
We must avoid quick-tempered criticism and furious, power-driven argument. The
same goes for sulking or silent scorn. These are emotional booby traps baited
with pride and vengefulness. Our first job is to sidestep the traps. When we
are tempted by the bait, we should train ourselves to step back and think. For
we can neither think nor act to good purpose until the habit of self-restraint
has become automatic.
Disagreeable or unexpected problems are not the only ones that call for
self-control. We must be quite as careful when we begin to achieve some measure
of importance and material success. For no people have ever loved personal
triumphs more than we have loved them; we drank of success as of a wine which
could never fail to make us feel elated. When temporary good fortune came our
way, we indulged ourselves in fantasies of still greater victories over people
and circumstances. Thus blinded by prideful self confidence, we were apt to
play the big shot. Of course, people turned away from us, bored or hurt.
Now that we're in A.A. and sober, and winning back the esteem of our friends
and business associates, we find that we still need to exercise special
vigilance. As an insurance against "big-shot-ism" we can often check ourselves
by remembering that we are today sober only by the grace of God and that any
success we may be having is far more His success than ours.
Finally, we begin to see that all people, including ourselves, are to some
extent emotionally ill as well as frequently wrong, and then we approach true
tolerance and see what real love for our fellows actually means. It will become
more and more evident as we go forward that it is pointless to become angry, or
to get hurt by people who, like us, are suffering from the pains of growing up.
Such a radical change in our outlook will take time, maybe a lot of time. Not
many people can truthfully assert that they love everybody. Most of us must
admit that we have loved but a few; that we have been quite indifferent to the
many so long as none of them gave us trouble; and as for the remainder--well,
we have really disliked or hated them. Although these attitudes are common
enough, we A.A.'s find we need something much better in order to keep our
balance. We can't stand it if we hate deeply. The idea that we can be
possessively loving of a few, can ignore the many, and can continue to fear or
hate anybody, has to be abandoned, if only a little at a time.
We can try to stop making unreasonable demands upon those we love. We can show
kindness where we had shown none. With those we dislike we can begin to
practice justice and courtesy, perhaps going out of our way to understand and
help them.
Whenever we fail any of these people, we can promptly admit it--to ourselves
always, and to them also, when the admission would be helpful. Courtesy,
kindness, justice, and love are the keynotes by which we may come into harmony
with practically anybody. When in doubt we can always pause, saying, "Not my
will, but Thine, be done." And we can often ask ourselves, "Am I doing to
others as I would have them do to me--today?"
When evening comes, perhaps just before going to sleep, many of us draw up a
balance sheet for the day. This is a good place to remember that
inventory-taking is not always done in red ink. It's a poor day indeed when we
haven't done something right. As a matter of fact, the waking hours are
usually well filled with things that are constructive. Good intentions, good
thoughts, and good acts are there for us to see. Even when we have tried hard
and failed, we may chalk that up as one of the greatest credits of all. Under
these conditions, the pains of failure are converted into assets. Out of them
we receive the stimulation we need to go forward. Someone who knew what he was
talking about once remarked that pain was the touchstone of all spiritual
progress. How heartily we A.A.'s can agree with him, for we know that the pains
of drinking had to come before sobriety, and emotional turmoil before serenity.
As we glance down the debit side of the day's ledger, we should carefully
examine our motives in each thought or act that appears to be wrong. In most
cases our motives won't be hard to see and understand. When prideful, angry,
jealous, anxious, or fearful, we acted accordingly, and that was that. Here we
need only recognize that we did act or think badly, try to visualize how we
might have done better, and resolve with God's help to carry these lessons over
into tomorrow, making, of course, any amends still neglected.
But in other instances only the closest scrutiny will reveal what our true
motives were. There are cases where our ancient enemy, rationalization, has
stepped in and has justified conduct which was really wrong. The temptation
here is to imagine that we had good motives and reasons when we really didn't.
We "constructively criticized" someone who needed it, when our real motive was
to win a useless argument. Or, the person concerned not being present, we
thought we were helping others to understand him, when in actuality our true
motive was to feel superior by pulling him down. We sometimes hurt those we
love because they need to be "taught a lesson," when we really want to punish.
We were depressed and complained we felt bad, when in fact we were mainly
asking for sympathy and attention. This odd trait of mind and emotion, this
perverse wish to hide a bad motive underneath a good one, permeates human
affairs from top to bottom. This subtle and elusive kind of self-righteousness
can underlie the smallest act or thought. Learning daily to spot, admit, and
correct these flaws is the essence of character-building and good living. An
honest regret for harms done, a genuine gratitude for blessings received, and a
willingness to try for better things tomorrow will be the permanent assets we
shall seek.
Having so considered our day, not omitting to take due note of things well
done, and having searched our hearts with neither fear nor favor, we can truly
thank God for the blessings we have received and sleep in good conscience.
Home
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step Eleven
"Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out."
Prayer and meditation are our principal means of conscious contact with God.
We A.A.'s are active folk, enjoying the satisfactions of dealing with the
realities of life, usually for the first time in our lives, and strenuously
trying to help the next alcoholic who comes along. So it isn't surprising that
we often tend to slight serious meditation and prayer as something not really
necessary. To be sure, we feel it is something that might help us to meet an
occasional emergency, but at first many of us are apt to regard it as a
somewhat mysterious skill of clergymen, from which we may hope to get a
secondhand benefit. Or perhaps we don't believe in these things at all.
To certain newcomers and to those one-time agnostics who still cling to the
A.A. group as their higher power, claims for the power of prayer may, despite
all the logic and experience in proof of it, still be unconvincing or quite
objectionable. Those of us who once felt this way can certainly understand and
sympathize. We well remember how something deep inside us kept rebelling
against the idea of bowing before any God. Many of us had strong logic, too,
which "proved" there was no God whatever. What about all the accidents,
sickness, cruelty, and injustice in the world? What about all those unhappy
lives which were the direct result of unfortunate birth and uncontrollable
circumstances? Surely there could be no justice in this scheme of things, and
therefore no God at all.
Sometimes we took a slightly different tack. Sure, we said to ourselves, the
hen probably did come before the egg. No doubt the universe had a "first cause"
of some sort, the God of the Atom, maybe, hot and cold by turns. But certainly
there wasn't any evidence of a God who knew or cared about human beings. We
liked A.A. all right, and were quick to say that it had done miracles. But we
recoiled from meditation and prayer as obstinately as the scientist who refused
to perform a certain experiment lest it prove his pet theory wrong. Of course
we finally did experiment, and when unexpected results followed, we felt
different; in fact we knew different; and so we were sold on meditation
and prayer. And that, we have found, can happen to anybody who tries. It has
been well said that "almost the only scoffers at prayer are those who never
tried it enough."
Those of us who have come to make regular use of prayer would no more do
without it than we would refuse air, food, or sunshine. And for the same
reason. When we refuse air, light, or food, the body suffers. And when we turn
away from meditation and prayer, we likewise deprive our minds, our emotions,
and our intuitions of vitally needed support. As the body can fail its purpose
for lack of nourishment, so can the soul. We all need the light of God's
reality, the nourishment of His strength, and the atmosphere of His grace. To
an amazing extent the facts of A.A. Life confirm this ageless truth.
There is a direct linkage among self-examination, meditation, and prayer.
Taken separately, these practices can bring much relief and benefit. But when
they are logically related and interwoven, the result is an unshakable
foundation for life. Now and then we may be granted a glimpse of that ultimate
reality which is God's kingdom. And we will be comforted and assured that our
own destiny in that realm will be secure for so long as we try, however
falteringly, to find and do the will of our own Creator.
As we have seen, self-searching is the means by which we bring new vision,
action, and grace to bear upon the dark and negative side of our natures. It is
a step in the development of that kind of humility that makes it possible for
us to receive God's help. Yet it is only a step. We will want to go further.
We will want the good that is in us all, even in the worst of us, to flower
and to grow. Most certainly we shall need bracing air and an abundance of food.
But first of all we shall want sunlight; nothing much can grow in the dark.
Meditation is our step out into the sun. How, then, shall we meditate?
The actual experience of meditation and prayer across the centuries is, of
course, immense. The world's libraries and places of worship are a treasure
trove for all seekers. It is to be hoped that every A.A. who has a religious
connection which emphasizes meditation will return to the practice of that
devotion as never before. But what about the rest of us who, less fortunate,
don't even know how to begin?
Well, we might start like this. First let's look at a really good prayer. We
won't have far to seek; the great men and women of all religions have left us a
wonderful supply. Here let us consider one that is a classic.
Its author was a man who for several hundred years now has been rated as a
saint. We won't be biased or scared off by that fact, because although he was
not an alcoholic he did, like us, go through the emotional wringer. And as he
came out the other side of that painful experience, this prayer was his
expression of what he could then see, feel, and wish to become:
"Lord, make me a channel of thy peace--that where there is hatred, I may bring
love--that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness--that
where there is discord, I may bring harmony--that where there is error, I may
bring truth--that where there is doubt, I may bring faith--that where there is
despair, I may bring hope--that where there are shadows, I may bring
light--that where there is sadness, I may bring joy. Lord, grant that I may
seek rather to comfort than to be comforted--to understand, than to be
understood--to love, than to be loved. For it is by self-forgetting that one
finds. It is by forgiving that one is forgiven. It is by dying that one awakens
to Eternal Life. Amen."
As beginners in meditation, we might now reread this prayer several times very
slowly, savoring every word and trying to take in the deep meaning of each
phrase and idea. It will help if we can drop all resistance to what our friend
says. For in meditation, debate has no place. We rest quietly with the thoughts
of someone who knows, so that we may experience and learn.
As though lying upon a sunlit beach, let us relax and breathe deeply of the
spiritual atmosphere with which the grace of this prayer surrounds us. Let us
become willing to partake and be strengthened and lifted up by the sheer
spiritual power, beauty, and love of which these magnificent words are the
carriers. Let us look now upon the sea and ponder what its mystery is; and let
us lift our eyes to the far horizon, beyond which we shall seek all those
wonders still unseen.
"Shucks!" says somebody. "This is nonsense. It isn't practical."
When such thoughts break in, we might recall, a little ruefully, how much
store we used to set by imagination as it tried to create reality out of
bottles. Yes, we reveled in that sort of thinking, didn't we? And though sober
nowadays, don't we often try to do much the same thing? Perhaps our trouble was
not that we used our imagination. Perhaps the real trouble was our almost total
inability to point imagination toward the right objectives. There's nothing the
matter with constructive imagination; all sound achievement rests upon
it. After all, no man can build a house until he first envisions a plan for it.
Well, meditation is like that, too; it helps to envision our spiritual
objective before we try to move toward it. So let's get back to that sunlit
beach--or to the plains or to the mountains, if you prefer.
When, by such simple devices, we have placed ourselves in a mood in which we
can focus undisturbed on constructive imagination, we might proceed like this:
Once more we read our prayer, and again try to see what its inner essence is.
We'll think now about the man who first uttered the prayer. First of all, he
wanted to become a "channel." Then he asked for the grace to bring love,
forgiveness, harmony, truth, faith, hope, light, and joy to every human being
he could.
Next came the expression of an aspiration and a hope for himself. He hoped,
God willing, that he might be able to find some of these treasures, too. This
he would try to do by what he called self-forgetting. What did he mean by "self
forgetting," and how did he propose to accomplish that?
He thought it better to give comfort than to receive it; better to understand
than to be understood; better to forgive than to be forgiven.
This much could be a fragment of what is called meditation, perhaps our very
first attempt at a mood, a flier into the realm of spirit, if you like. It
ought to be followed by a good look at where we stand now, and a further look
at what might happen in our lives were we able to move closer to the ideal we
have been trying to glimpse. Meditation is something which can always be
further developed. It has no boundaries, either of width or height. Aided by
such instruction and example as we can find, it is essentially an individual
adventure, something which each one of us works out in his own way. But its
object is always the same: to improve our conscious contact with God, with His
grace, wisdom, and love. And let's always remember that meditation is in
reality intensely practical. One of its first fruits is emotional balance. With
it we can broaden and deepen the channel between ourselves and God as we