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On the Second Step

December 1944

Having taken the First Step of the AA program by admitting that we were powerless over alcohol, we were confronted with Step Two: “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

This Second Step is often referred to as the first spiritual Step; but is it or the subsequent Steps any more spiritual than Step One? Is not anything spiritual which tends toward elevating us to the best and highest type of human being we are capable of becoming?

The Second Step contains the crux of the AA method of getting well: it shows us how to expel that little streak of insanity which caused so many relapses into debauchery long after the normal drinker would have shrunk from another drink. This twisted kind of thinking is eliminated by faith in a Power greater than ourselves.

The question which naturally arises in the newcomer's mind is: “How can I acquire enough faith to get well?” The road to faith is by taking all Twelve Steps. Faith is acquired by working for it; it is retained by continuous use of the Twelve Steps.

One who has gained faith in this greater Power finds such faith reflected toward himself. To the alcoholic this means faith that he will not take the first, fatal drink. But that is not all, for soon we learn that in some mysterious way our whole lives have been changed, our thinking changed, and our desires as well. Finally the realization comes that we no longer drink—because we just don't want to.

The greater Power now becomes for us the court of final appeal. Those harsh judgments of people, conditions and so on, which we made in the past, are now left to this court. This is the way to tolerance. Our own ideals, aims and ambitions are also submitted. This leads to progress, and it is by progressing that we become—and remain—well.

Horace C.

I Nearly Quit

September 1965

“Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

When I first encountered this Step, I took offense at the word sanity. If the Step had said, “Power greater than ourselves could put us back on our feet,” or “back on the right path,” I could have understood. Sanity, with all that the word implies, seemed too strong.

I felt I couldn't be crazy or I wouldn't have sought help. Truthfully, I very nearly quit the program, all over the word insanity.

It was not until the Fourth Step (after stumbling and skipping over the Third) that I began to see the light. But it wasn't until the autopsy had gotten well underway and I found out that though I appeared normal to see and talk to, I was extremely selfish, thoughtless, heartless, inconsiderate and resentful of the very air I breathed. Was this the moral make-up of a normal person? I decided not. I had lost all true perspective in daily living. I couldn't plan and carry out one full day without confusing my hours with a lot of unrelated side issues and off-the-track thinking. Yes, I finally agreed that I needed the restoration of my sanity.

Then fear set in. Cold, unreasoning fear. What to do? Where to begin? Suddenly I became angry. Angry with myself. Angry with AA. “I might have known,” I thought. “I get myself involved with some offbeat outfit and here I am, more confused and upset than ever.” I recall wondering, “What's wrong with these people anyway? Why can't they handle their own affairs and let me handle my life as I see fit?” At that point I marched back to Step Two.

Another snag! I knew that somehow if I were to have any semblance of success with the program, I had to believe in a Power greater than myself. I didn't kid myself there. I knew that the answer to that was God and God alone. How to contact Him? I didn't know. I knew about prayer and the universally accepted benefits to be derived from it. I also remembered such phrases as “in God's own time” and “all things cometh to him who waits”—but I wanted my request for restoration of sanity to be stamped “To God for immediate action.” With that thought in mind, I really believe I sat back and waited for the flash of lightning and the peal of thunder heralding a spiritual awakening.

Up to this time, my prayers had consisted of half-hearted attempts for relief from my hangovers, from financial strain due to drinking and from marital difficulties brought on by my folly. However, I began to pray in earnest. At first, haltingly, ill-worded and selfishly, but ever so earnestly and sincerely, I laid bare my sins and misspent life. I gave vent to my fears and frustrations, my trials and tribulations, praying that if there ever was a stupid fool who needed help, I was that fool.

Still, I could see or feel no change in myself or my attitudes. I kept coming to AA. Each time I went to a meeting, I insisted to myself that this would be the last time. Later, as each “last one” went by, I finally found myself looking forward to the next “last meeting.” And so I have come to accept the Second Step, and to see that through staying in AA, sanity has been restored. I think I'm a better man for the struggle to understand.

J.S.

Walla Walla, Washington

Sanity

March 1981

Around the tables, Step Two cannot be emphasized too much, not only to newcomers, but to all AAs. Clearly, the chief mark of restoration to sanity is our not taking the first drink. No matter what else happens to us, as long as we refrain from the first drink, our lives will get better.

I realize the problems and solutions in my present life may well appear to be madcap, but I know a Power greater than myself is aiding me to carve out a better life. The change from the absolute madness in those tormented years of active alcoholism has been gradual, rather than sudden. When an inventory is taken, I perceive definite transformations—but in reality, they have been slowly coming all along.

I try now to explain frankly that I have problems with my thinking. (And I suspect most AAs have and will continue to have such problems.) But there is a difference: Today, I recognize the unreasonableness of much of my thinking or, more accurately, my responses to others. For me, there is a direct coupling of the Tenth Step and Step Two. The more sanity, the quicker the admission that I am wrong. It is much easier today to get rid of overreaction at the thought level before it becomes a spoken word and then a physical act.

Now, I can see that sanity is steadily being restored to me so that I can use the other Steps to greater advantage.

Sanity Clause

February 1982

The “sanity clause” in my “contract” with AA simply tells me that if I want to maintain my sobriety, I must go to any length to keep my mental attitude constantly aimed toward sound, rational thinking in all my affairs, one day at a time.

If anyone had told me thirty years ago that AA would come to mean basically that to me, I would have thrown up my hands and said, “What an order! I can't go through with it.” As it has turned out, however, from the day—November 16, 1950—when I first came into contact with AA, it has been my privilege to be an active member. For this, I am truly grateful.

The word sanity had very little meaning to me during my early years in AA. When the occasion arose to discuss Step Two, we would talk about the word insanity, but little time was spent on sanity. Someone usually set the theme by telling about his or her insane escapades, and then each of us in turn would follow by recalling our own insane acts. Sometimes, it would take on the appearance of a contest, the object being to see who could out-insane the other members.

Then, one night after a Step Two meeting, I decided to find out what those courageous early members who put our Twelve Steps together really meant by sanity. I was a little surprised to find that my dictionary defined it as the quality of being sound of mind, sound of judgment, reasonable and rational in one's thoughts. I was further surprised to find that the definition of sanity did not even mention insanity. As I sat there mulling over the definition, an idea occurred to me: “This is what I'm to be restored to—sound, reasonable, rational thinking.”

Since that time, I have used my dictionary to check on the meaning of other words in our Twelve Steps, our Traditions, and the first part of the fifth chapter of the Big Book. I find that this gives clearer meaning to my program as a whole. This habit of checking the meanings of words has caught on with other members. One of our women members even donated a fine dictionary to our group, to be used along with our Big Book and other AA material.

W.H.

Shenandoah, Iowa

An Indescribable Benevolence

August 1992

“Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” What does this Step mean to me, a woman with just nine months of sobriety in AA behind her? What was my process of “coming to believe,” and in what way do I feel I am being “restored”?

At first I had to take this Step on faith alone. I knew I believed; but I did not begin to understand. Why would God bother with someone who had misused her energies, squandered opportunities, bruised the hearts of loved ones and ridden alcohol like a runaway horse to the gates of insanity and the brink of death?

Slowly I began to realize that “why” was the wrong question. One day when I was about three months sober, a quiet gentleman spoke up at my noon meeting and delivered a message which seemed to have my name written all over it. He said that we need only ask ourselves “how”—and that this question could be answered by three simple words: “honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness.”

I was desperate enough to try anything—even follow directions. I began to share at meetings as honestly as I was able. The pain and ugliness that poured forth from those dark recesses within appalled me, but to my amazement, no one judged. My worst confessions were received with tenderness and even a certain reassuring humor. I began to see that all of us had suffered in many different ways, and that I was hardly unique in experiencing that terrible sense of being "in disgrace.”

But wasn't “dis-grace” the opposite of God's grace, God's blessing, God's love? As I strove to keep an open mind, or at least to prevent the door from completely slamming shut, more things were revealed to me. My own active role in forsaking God became all too apparent. It seemed that I had “disgraced” myself, not so much through the recklessly hurtful actions I committed in my drunkenness, but in closing myself off from the infinite, mysterious how of divine love.

In opening my mind to new ways of loving and being (and sometimes, in my willingness, I could only manage the merest crack), I felt the gentle infusion of an indescribable benevolence. It was as if, in spite of myself, unconditional love insisted on streaming in through that crack in the door and filling the aching void, the God-shaped space in my heart. I felt his love in the embraces of fellow AA members, I witnessed his grace in the serenity shining from their eyes, and in the rollicking laughter which sometimes threatens to lift the roof at my home group meetings; I heard the music of recovery.

Willingness was simply given to me. I began to feel that my feet were keeping me sober; they unfailingly took me to a meeting even when the rest of me screamed in protest. As this willingness was planted in me and slowly, haltingly grew, I began to feel the subtle dawning of an amazing inner light: a sense that I was being restored.

How could God do this? Had I ever really been sane—and if I hadn't, where was the model for this restoration? Surely he had nothing to go on, no plan to follow. I began to doubt again, to wonder whether I even had enough inherent worthiness to warrant this miraculous process.

Then I began to realize, through other people's loving messages, that no one is entirely self-made. A woman in my Step group expressed it this way: “Who we are is God's gift to us. Who we become is our gift to God.” It began to dawn on me that recovery is something like the restoration of a very old painting, covered over by layers and layers of darkening, distorted varnish. This process of restoration is so precious in God's eyes and is undertaken with such infinite care that not all of the underlying pattern can be revealed at one time. What is uncovered, bit by bit and layer by slow, careful layer, are the things which are necessary and appropriate for me to know about myself right now.

Moreover, no painting paints itself; we are masterworks, all lovingly created by God's hands. Whether our colors are vivid or subtle, whether the design is boldly abstract or serenely pastoral is not our choice. Ours is only to accept this work of art as given—to strive to reveal our true colors and the beauty of our true design in everything we say and think and do.

I do not begin to understand the miracle of this restoration in my own life. I only know that it is happening, and that it is not a mistake. A sense of my own worthiness is restored only very slowly; it is as if God knows I must be responsible for past damage and be more careful in the future if I am able to feel truly worthy. Though God loves me unconditionally, I will have to live my own faith, cherish each day of my recovery, and practice unconditional love to the best of my limited ability before I can wholeheartedly love myself.

The process is slow and often painful, and sometimes I feel I have barely begun. But when frustration or impatience overtake me, or when ego threatens to override all the progress I have made, I try to remember that God is the master painter—the spirit which inspired the works of Michelangelo, Renoir and Van Gogh—the loving force which is even at this moment restoring the damaged painting of my life to its original luster and irreplaceable design.

Who better to carry out this loving and painstaking restoration than the master himself?

Margaret G.

Port Coquitlam, British Columbia

Beyond Sanity

February 1999

“There are those, too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if they have the capacity to be honest.” That quote from the Big Book describes me. I have a mental disorder—severe clinical and chronic depression—but I am in recovery. The program works.

When I first came into the Fellowship, I was in a depressive state, and a few days later was hospitalized for the fifth time. In the hospital, I learned about the illness of alcoholism: the mental obsession and the physical compulsion. When I was released from the hospital a month later, I began attending AA meetings in earnest.

At first, staying sober was not as difficult as I had envisioned. The physical compulsion had left me while I was in the hospital, and though I was left with an occasional thought or desire for a drink, there was nothing upon which I had to act. Within a short time, I began to notice some benefits of sobriety that were special to me and became self-reinforcing. Without ingesting alcohol, which was a depressant, my depression finally had a chance to improve. It wasn't over yet, but through the grace of God, I could see change. More than that, sobriety seemed to coincide with freedom from the hospital. I had stopped attempting suicide (something I'd only done while drinking). And now, thirty-seven months into sobriety, I haven't been back in the hospital.

Taking the First Step was easy. Hospitalizations and drunk driving citations had clearly made my life unmanageable, and I knew I was powerless: that the first drink would get me drunk.

It was the Second Step that I eyed with intense interest: “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” Did that mean that my Higher Power would eradicate my mental illness? That is what I believed and prayed for. If the God of my understanding could offer me recovery from alcoholism, could he not offer me recovery from this other illness as well?

As I continued to attend AA meetings and listen carefully, I heard experiences with the Second Step that didn't quite apply to me. One common definition of insanity was "doing the same thing (i.e., drinking) over and over, expecting different results.” That definition fit me as far as my alcoholism went, but was too narrow to help with my mental illness. I resigned myself to a continuing mental illness.

However, I also continued my journey with the Steps. Doing each to the best of my ability, with painstaking care, I completed all twelve, until in the end I found a new definition of sanity. It was bigger than any definition I had heard concerning Step Two, but it was also bigger and better than my wildest imaginings. This sanity offered serenity, a feeling of wellness or well-being, possession of a center of balance from which to operate, and a feeling that my place in this world was just right. The sanity I've received through work on the Steps is far more than I could have hoped for.

Now I'm not only a recovering alcoholic but have truly been "restored to sanity,” and am forever grateful.

Doreen C.

Bowie, Maryland

Two Ounces a Day

July 1993

After a little sobriety, some of the craziness of the drinking days gets to be funny. It feels good to laugh about it, but it's bittersweet humor with an edge of pathos and lunacy not far below the surface. When someone bristles at the word "insanity” in Step Two, I remember that I did, too—and I think of this episode.

A few months before I stopped drinking I took my first physical in years. I took a bunch of tests, and my liver put some bad numbers on the board.

Did I drink? the doctor asked.

“Some,” I said.

He said he wanted me to limit myself to two ounces a day, or risk serious damage to my liver. “Would that be a problem?”

“No problem,” I said.

I didn't want to blow out my liver, but I didn't want to give up martinis, either. So I tiptoed up to the edge of the limit the doctor had set: Each day I took my bottle of gin and my measuring cup and poured precisely two ounces for my single, skimpy martini. I felt deprived, of course, but kept it up for a week.

Then I got to thinking. The doctor said two ounces of alcohol, and this gin was only eighty proof—just forty percent alcohol—so I was shortchanging myself. I did the math. To get two ounces of real alcohol, I'd have to drink five ounces of gin!

So I measured out that more generous serving for another week or so, but still felt cramped. I was a busy guy, after all, and didn't have time to fool with measuring cups. What the doctor really meant, I decided, was to limit myself to two drinks a day. So I forgot about the measuring cup and made myself two martinis a day—in a glass the size of a goldfish bowl.

Of course, even that discipline soon was abandoned.

My mental gyrations made perfect sense at the time, but a little sobriety made me see the bizarre episode for what it was: A doctor told me I faced serious health problems because I was drinking too much, and I responded by playing games.

If he had told me that chocolate bars were causing a life-threatening problem, I wouldn't merely have cut back; I would have quit, that day, because chocolate bars weren't that important to me. And that's the insanity: Alcohol had become important enough to me to die for.

G.S.

Royal Oak, Michigan

Where's the Miracle?

November 2006 (PO Box 1980)

In AA, I often hear, “Don't give up five minutes before the miracle.” But most of the important and astounding things that have happened to me in the last eighteen years of sobriety in AA have been slow in coming and impossible to recognize or appreciate until long after they took place.

However, there was one exception. That is the miracle that comes with Step Two.

One day, after nine months of attending meetings and staying dry, I was standing alone in our meeting room just beneath where the Twelve Steps hung on the wall. I looked up and my eyes fell on Step Two.

As I read, “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity,” I suddenly realized that I no longer had any desire to drink. I couldn't even remember when I had last thought of alcohol. The obsession which had controlled my whole life for twenty-five years had simply vanished. AA works.

Dennis D.

Fort Worth, Texas