Process Reflections on AA

By Anonymous
​

reprinted with permission of the author from​
​Summer 2020 Process Studies Journal
 
When first introduced to the twelve-step program, I thought:
“It’s great that it can help these other people, but I don’t
think it is for me!” Unlike some, this had little to do with God or
the “religious” aspects of the program. Ironically, my openness
in this regard was due in large part to the “spiritual” experiences
that I had while under the influence of alcohol and drugs. I think
that Jung is correct in his assessment that those who become
addicted to altering their consciousnesses often do so in search
of a spiritual solution to life—though as Jung says, the ultimate
solution lies in Spirit rather than in spirits. Before going into my
understanding of certain aspects of the spiritual dimensions of
the AA program, I want to say a little more about how these
matters unfolded in my life.
 
My attraction to drinking went beyond the welcome sense of
freedom from tension and anxiety it produced—and the euphoric
feeling that All Is Well — moving at times into an oceanic
connectedness and joy that seemed to give intimations of true
religious sentiment. Pot and hash opened up an intuition that there
was something “more” going on, that there might be a deeper
spiritual world, hidden yet close at hand. They also brought into
question many of the things I had taken for granted. When I
moved on to psychedelics, these powerful experiences upped the
ante exponentially. Now I knew there was something more going
on. I experienced new depths of consciousness, began to understand
what Buddhism was getting at, and came to believe that mystical
experience was a genuine and significant phenomenon. Perhaps
most surprisingly, some psychedelic experiences included intuitions
of a spiritual dimension that revealed something I could only think
of as “God.” Thus, by the end of my addiction, the idea of a
Higher Power was something that I had been fully prepared for
and was already desperately seeking.
 
When I arrived at my (hopefully) final treatment center, I had
also found a psychology, philosophy, and theology that allowed
me to form a workable concept of a Higher Power, an understanding
of how my spiritual experiences could be of real significance, and
a way of integrating all of this into my understanding of the world,
science, and everyday life. (I had spent the last twelve years studying
exactly these issues, so this had not come about overnight.)
 
Many of the ideas in this essay rely on the work of William
James and Carl Jung, both of whom figure prominently in the
origins of the Big Book. I'm also indebted to the wisdom of Alfred
North Whitehead and Stanislav Grof, who made these ideas most
alive and cogent for me. Finally, John B. Cobb, Jr.—along with his
student and colleague David Ray Griffin—have most clearly
articulated the implications of Whitehead’s novel philosophy for
my understanding of a Higher Power and spirituality.
 
WHAT I HAD COME TO BELIEVE
 
When I arrived at the Betty Ford Center, however, the campus
minister was not at all pleased with my notion of God—and also
thought that I was totally irresponsible. While the latter opinion
was not completely off base, I did take exception to him saying
that my notion of a Higher Power was “wrong”—too intellectual
and impersonal for his taste, to put it gently. Fortunately, process
theology has served well enough to keep me sober for the last
thirty-five years. And I believe that process theology, and transpersonal
psychology, offer some insights that will prove useful to others as
well, especially those grappling with the often-challenging issues
that arise out of trying to forge a relationship with a Higher Power
and live a more spiritual life.
 
Ironically, I fear that the problem the campus minister had
with my understanding of a Higher Power may also present a
significant problem here. These ideas I have latched onto are novel,
and often complex, which make them difficult to share simply and
effectively. Too much detail may make them appear overly abstract
and scholastic. Too little detail and their power and importance
may be lost. Please bear with me as I attempt to walk the fine line
between.
 
IMAGES OF GOD
 
 It is no secret that many people in recovery deem themselves
atheists or agnostics—and for some compelling reasons. I often
hear from those questioning, or denying, the possibility of a God
that they are reacting to negative experiences with religion from
their youth, or that certain life events caused them to question
conventional conceptions of God, especially as presented through
simple biblical images and dogmatic theological positions that no
longer make sense as an adult. Also, many have lost faith because
they are convinced that modern science and reason have shown
religious views to be logically inadequate and palpably untenable
in the face of everyday reality.
 
I have sympathy with all these reasons. And, I think there are
some other things that deserve to be taken in account as well. I
am reminded of this exchange from The Simpsons:
 
Ned Flanders: “But Reverend I need to know, is God
punishing me?
Rev. Lovejoy: “Ohhh, short answer, “yes” with an “if ”—long
answer, “no” with a “but.”
 
Here, I will try to provide a long, short answer.
 
First off, I think there is a bit of bad faith involved when
atheistic apologists go after religious stories that were obviously
created for the uneducated masses in much simpler times, and
which therefore rely on images from a different world and culture
(sheep and donkeys, pastures, and agrarian lives in general). Surely
these writers from the intelligentsia can afford to take on the most
sophisticated theological positions. If they refuse to do so, then
at least they should stop knocking down strawmen. After all, it
would be easy enough to mock science if one picked on some of
the popular theories from the 16th or 17th centuries.
 
Secondly, I suspect many doubter’s convictions are related to an overinvestment in, theory and purely rational analysis. Up until recently, the modern Western world placed much of its trust in the authority of science and reason. And we are now seeing a dangerous reaction to this overestimation:
 
I had a scientific schooling. Naturally I respected, venerated, even worshiped science. As a matter of fact, I still do—all except the worship part.
 (Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, 1953/1979, New York City: Alcoholics Anonymous World Service, Inc. 26)
 
Whitehead himself—a philosopher, logician, and scientific
theorist of note—thought we needed to be careful about accepting
too easily scientific pronouncements and positions, especially those
falling outside their special expertise:
 
Nothing is more curious than the self-satisfied dogmatism
with which mankind at each period of its history cherishes
the delusion of the finality of its existing modes of knowledge.
Sceptics and believers are all like. At this moment scientists
and sceptics are the leading dogmatists. Advance in detail is
admitted: fundamental novelty is barred. This dogmatic common
sense is the death of philosophic adventure. The Universe is
vast. (Whitehead, 1948. Essays in Science and Philosophy. New
York: Philosophical Library. 91-92)
 
But what if there is a way of conceptualizing a God that does
not wither under the “laws” of science, the problem of evil, or
the critique of the rational modern mind? I think there is. Whitehead
presents us with a very different religious image: God as a loving
companion and poet of the world:
 
He does not create the world, he saves it: or, more
accurately, he is the poet of the world, with tender patience
leading it by his vision of truth, beauty, and goodness.

​[Please excuse Whitehead’s use of the masculine pronoun,
he was writing almost 100 years ago.] (346)
In this sense, God is the great companion—the fellow sufferer
who understands. (Whitehead, [1929] 1979. Process
and Reality; An Essay in Cosmology. Corrected edition: David
Ray Griffin and Donald W. Sherburne, eds. New York:
Free Press paperback edition. 351)
 
IS GOD IN ABSOLUTE CONTROL?
 
Conventional religion, and some AA writings, maintain that
God has all the power and knows everything, including the future.
Whitehead presents us with a different understanding of how God
influences the world—a difference that makes all the difference. Rather
than being omniscient and omnipotent, the God of process
theology knows as much as any entity could know and is as powerful as any
entity could be. Because Whitehead’s philosophy endows all entities with some creativity of their own, God does not have all power and does not control everything. Furthermore, since each moment of reality involves a
creative integration of the past, the future is only partly determined
by the effects of past influences. God does not determine the
future, nor can God know exactly how events will unfold, even
though God knows as much—and is as powerful—as the metaphysical
constraints of reality allow.
 
And when you think about it, an all-powerful and controlling
God would not really be so impressive. How much power does it
take to control powerless beings, who are simply your puppets?
Rather, influencing beings who have their own creative responses
to reach more of their full potential is a power worthy of worship.
 
On a related note, God doesn’t need to have “all power” to
help alcoholics recover and maintain sobriety, just enough power.
And while being “powerless” in regard to drinking is a very useful
and descriptive way to highlight the obsession and compulsion
that can dominate the alcoholic if even one drink is taken, in the
rest of life, feeling powerless is not very empowering. Of course,
relying on God’s guidance is useful in any situation, but it is also
helpful to feel confident in one’s ability to engage fully in life.
 
In sum, the process God does not control everything. This
is very important in regard to one of the main objections to the
idea of a loving God: The problem of evil.
 
There are a number of explanations, or “non-explanations,”
as to why evil can occur in a world that is controlled by a God
who is totally good. For example: God gives us free will. But what
about the evil of natural disasters than wipe out huge swaths of
human achievement? God has a plan—but those who have suffered
through the consequences of that “plan” cannot be blamed for
doubting the love behind it. God works in mysterious ways and
we must have faith—but why must we have faith in One who
appears to be causing so much pain and misery? There are more
sophisticated arguments of course, but I have not discovered any
that are nearly as satisfactory as the one offered by process theology.
God is all-good, knows as much as can be known, and works
through persuasion, rather than coercion—through love, rather
than force. But because God works through persuasion and does
not control all outcomes, bad things can happen. In every moment
God promotes “the good,” and works to comfort the harmed,
but the creativity inherent in people and throughout nature means
the human and natural evils are bound to arise in our less than
perfect world.
 
THE DANCE
 
Whitehead also proposes a very different relationship between
God and the Creatures (humans, animals, and all other entities in
the universe). Process theology’s position is called pan-en-theism. It
differs from most forms of pantheism—where God tends to be
equated with nature, that is, God and nature are the same thing.
In contrast, for pan-en-theism, God and the finite entities have their
own experiential trajectories, even though they are also intimately
interconnected. God is in us; we are in God.
 
Each momentary event forms itself from its connections to
past events, and then in turn flows into other newly forming events.
This constant flow of interaction is how all events are in relationship,
including their ongoing relationship with God. I am reminded of
the lyric from the rock group, Yes: “Inside out, outside in, inside
out, outside in, perpetual change.”
 
This distinction between a close interaction versus a complete
fusion is crucial. It is the difference between being two lovers in
an intimate relationship, and being the same person. While for a
brief spell the latter may seem like a wonderful ideal, we all come
to realize it is not possible, nor would we want it to be.
 
God is with us all the time, informing and receiving every
moment of our existence. In philosophical parlance, God and the
World are “internally related.” God’s being flows into every moment
of reality and then those completed moments flow back into God’s
experience, rather like these lyrics from Lord of the Dance:

I am the life
That’ll never, never die;
I’ll live in you if you
If you live in me,
I am the lord
Of the dance said he.
​
This is the never-ending dance: one of shared feeling and
experience between the Soul of the Universe and the finite souls
that populate that universe.
 
HOW EVERYTHING IS “CONNECTED”?
 
Whitehead’s metaphysical innovation that ties together this
vision of reality is called “perception in the mode of causal efficacy.”
In effect, it argues that there is more to life than what is given by
the senses; and there is a more fundamental way of connecting to
this “more.” Whitehead argues that this deeper aspect of things
is vitally important for how we understand the nature of the world
and the functioning of reality. Thus the scientific method of relying
solely on the data provided through sense perception locks us into
an impoverished view of the universe, namely one devoid of
values, spiritual experience, intuition, and feeling.
 
Whitehead’s more primary mode of perception arises from
the direct flow of past events into new forming ones: it is the
feeling of past feeling. Some of the most vivid examples of these
“casual” feelings involve the flow of bodily sensations into conscious
experience: for example, hunger pangs, sexual arousal, or a shiver
of excitement. Another is the way short-term memory flows into
the present moment of awareness when speaking, listening to
music, or watching an unfolding scene in nature—there is an
ongoing merging of images and feelings, where the “just past”
still informs the present experience. More generally, this same
process of a direct “grasping” of data from past events is, by
hypothesis, how quantum events occur, how brain cells influence
human experience, and, most generally, how all moments of reality
arise.
 
GOD’S GUIDANCE
 
This notion of the past flowing directly into, and thereby
helping form, our flow of experience is central to our ability to
have an intimate connection with God, with others, and with
nature. Through this more primary mode or perception, we are
open to God’s Being and influence at every moment, and are
similarly in a flowing connection with other human beings and
nature—though often in a mostly unconscious way.
 
Whitehead refers to God’s contribution to the beginning of
every moment as its “initial aim.” In effect God presents each
event, including human experiential events, with a vision or seed
of the best way to form or create itself. After that, the event’s own
creative synthesis takes over and manifests itself through its
unconscious choices. Thus, our unconscious patterns and habits
are critical to how our lives, moment by moment, unfold. I find
this idea of an initial aim particularly helpful for understanding the
idea of “turning over one’s will and one’s life.”
 
The AA literature talks of bringing one’s will into alignment
with God’s will. From a Whiteheadian perspective, this would
involve a two-fold project of opening up in the moment to the
depths of one’s being to discern the aims being offered by the
Higher Power. Secondly, there would be a longer-term project to
shift one’s habitual ways of thinking and feeling into a more
spiritual vein—into less rigid and selfish patterns—in order to
realign one’s unconscious processes towards promoting God’s
will, rather than resisting it. This process of opening both one’s
awareness and one’s ego to new possibilities is the process of
turning over one’s will and one’s life. (Hopefully,
being of service to others will unfold as a natural
consequence of such a realignment of the will.)
 
PRAYER
 
It follows that one important function of prayer is to ask for openness to God’s guidance and love, which lurks in the depths of our experience at
all times. Likewise, in meditation we attempt to quiet our minds to allow God’s presence, guidance, and love to flow up from the depths and into conscious awareness.
 
When praying for others, this model would suggest that we can be of help by asking God to help them open to this source of guidance, healing, and
inspiration, which is always available, but not always easy to feel—especially when one is sick, depressed, or overwhelmed by difficulties. Thus praying for others is not to alert God to their need, which we might assume is already known by God, but rather to send out our energy and intention to those in need to help open their being to the love and healing that is already being offered by God.
 
ACCEPTANCE
 
One aspect of the Big Book that I struggle with, in part because it is cited so often and with such passion, is the passage from the story “Doctor, Alcoholic, Addict”:
 
And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When
I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing,
or situation—some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and
I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing,
or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at
this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God’s
world by mistake. (Alcoholics Anonymous. 1976. NYC: Alcoholics
Anonymous World Service, Inc, 3rd Edition. 449)
 
While I find much of the full passage on acceptance important
and inspirational, there are several things that I believe need to be
clarified from the perspective of a Whiteheadian point of view.
 
First, we have returned to the crucial issue of whether God
is omnipotent. This idea that “absolutely nothing happens in God’s
world by mistake” implies that God controls everything, and
therefore God is responsible for all the evil and suffering in the
world. Such an all-controlling God also means that we have no
freedom of choice at all. Neither of these conclusions seem
acceptable to me.
 
I find the God of process theism far more comforting and
helpful: a God who works through persuasion, not via total control,
and where all entities have some power of choice. There are
accidents and evil choices made in the world. In response, God
continues to aim the world towards the best outcomes, offering
comfort while sharing in the suffering.
 
I suspect the reason this AA writer makes such a sweeping
claim about God’s level of control is to justify his point in the
previous sentence: that, to find serenity, I have to accept that
everything is “exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.”
But do we need to believe that God has made things exactly the
way they are for us to be able to relax into the moment and accept
it as it is? I don’t think so. Doesn’t it make just as much sense to
fully accept every moment as it presents itself because we want
to be in the flow of things, rather than fighting them?
 
From a process perspective, each moment of our existence
arises directly out of our reception of the past. Though we may
add our own transformations to what is presented, we first need
to be open to the “things themselves” as they are in themselves.
On the other hand, each moment of our experience also aims
towards the future and makes a unique contribution to it. So
“acceptance” is not the complete answer. Rather, acceptance,
followed by creative transformation, offers a fuller response to
our reality.
 
In other words, while not reacting blindly or precipitously to
events is an admirable goal, we do want to be willing and able to
make changes to situations that we feel are not supposed to be
like they have been in the past. For example, I think most of us
will want, when possible, to change situations involving addictive
use of alcohol and drugs, violent relationships, exploitive behaviors,
etc. While accepting that they have happened, or are happening,
may be the first step of fully acknowledging their concrete reality,
the next step might well be to decide they are no longer acceptable.
This is much easier to do, I think, if one is not under the impression
that dangerous situations, people, and places need to be accepted
as part of God’s plan, and instead may well be regarded as accidents,
bad luck, or various types of missteps and mistakes of the human
variety.
 
SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE
 
Following the lead of William James, the Big Book of Alcoholics
Anonymous speaks of two kinds of spiritual experience. You
might call the first kind “mystical,” a sudden opening into the
spiritual depths of the universe. The second is a more gradual
opening up to an inner guidance, along with a shedding of the
personality traits that obscure this connection and obstruct one’s
ability to be of service to others and, as the medical profession
puts it, to “do no harm.” Of course, these two varieties of spiritual
unfolding are not really so distinct. Daily meditation and prayer
often lead to spiritual openings and insights that go beyond the
mere educational events of daily life, even though most do not
reach the full power of the kind described in Bill Wilson’s
paradigmatic mystical experience. In turn, this kind of full-blown
spiritual experience is usually followed by the more mundane
educational variety of spiritual experience, which slowly helps
consolidate and evolve this mystical vision.
 
I don’t have much elucidation to add to what the recovery
literature has to say about spiritual experiences of the education
variety, beyond what I have already discussed about relaxing and
releasing habitual emotional and mental patterns. This has the
two-fold benefit of increasing intuitive access to God’s initial
guidance, while also loosening one’s worldly “gown,” thereby
making changes more possible in the behaviors known in the Big
Book as character defects.
 
This same process, of opening more deeply into the unconscious
depths of one’s experience, is also operative in those more powerful
spiritual experiences that I would term transpersonal, that is, going
beyond our culture’s usual experiential boundaries. As mentioned
earlier, I found a number of my drinking and drug experiences
very helpful for transitioning into sobriety, both for opening me
up to the possibilities of spiritual experience as well as to a Higher
Power. Transpersonal psychology was important for understanding
this process, and for putting my psychedelic experiences into a
larger religious and psychological context. So don’t discount the
possible importance of any past experience. As they say, “we will
not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it.”
 
I want to mention one more point about spiritual experience.
Whitehead says that God seeks to foster intensity of experience in
the universe—thus the evolutionary thrust towards more complex
organisms with ever-increasing depths of experience. This goal
of creating intense experience may in part explain the initial
attraction of alcohol and drugs for those predisposed to powerful
reactions to these substances. So perhaps the addict’s search for
new highs is even more closely connected to the spiritual search
than we might have imagined. Alas, this intensity of experience
fades in concert with the substance’s diminishing effectiveness as
tolerance and bodily fatigue set in. The search becomes ever more
desperate, and ultimately comes to naught.
 
However, it may slowly dawn on the recovering addict that
this sought-after intensity can be directed towards long-term
satisfaction, as well as short-term excitement. Then the long journey
of sobriety unfolds as one builds a life of spiritual growth and
social participation and commitment.
 
A SPIRITUAL UNIVERSE
 
In contrast to the impoverished universe portrayed by much
of modern philosophy and science—namely, a world devoid of
values, spiritual experience, intuition, and feeling—a Whiteheadian
cosmology offers the possibility of “nature alive” and filled with
many spiritual dimensions. Drawing on the human emotion,
creativity, and primitive feeling that characterize so much of human
experience, Whitehead extends (generalizes) these properties into
nature, providing a view that encompasses elements of animism,
mysticism, and aspects of classical Eastern and Western religions.
 
A process cosmology provides a broad range of possibilities
for developing an understanding of a Higher Power. Process
philosophy offers a basis for at least three kinds of sacred Ultimates:
an Ultimate Actuality (God), for the theologically inclined; an
Ultimate Reality (“Emptiness”), for those with more of a Buddhist
sensibility; and the World as the Ultimate manifestation of Spirit
(e.g. animism), providing a foundation for paganism, nature worship,
or simply for those who claim natural phenomena as their Higher
Power. In addition, since relationships are the keystone of a
Whiteheadian universe, the AA fellowship could also serve as a
Higher Power.
 
SPIRITUALITY AND RELIGION
 
This brings us to a final point: Being spiritual but not religious.
Should we consider AA to be spiritual, religious, both, or even
neither? (This may sound radical, but I don’t believe that having
some of the trappings of religion is necessarily a bad thing.) I
think it fair to say that AA is a fellowship that supports, cares
about, and facilitates the spiritual growth of its members. This
closely resembles the functions of traditional religions, and I doubt
many in the program would object to this characterization. However,
AA achieves these goals with minimal dogma, structure, or hierarchy.
Thus, I think it most accurate to say that AA is a program of
spiritual development and service to others, which bears some
resemblance to traditional religion, but is a unique hybrid in its
own right.
 
But the real issue I want to address is the commonly heard
claim, inside and outside AA, that someone is “spiritual but not
religious.” Even while rejecting traditional religion and conventional
understandings of God, many “nonbelievers” frequently continue
to seek a spiritual dimension for their lives. Often, this sacred
quality is found in some type of spiritual community or in a belief
system forged out of their personal search for meaning, fleshed
out by various spiritual systems and writings.
 
Here, I only want to make a simple suggestion: that the essence
of religion is spirituality in community. As members of AA know all
too well, without the kind of “religious” fellowship provided by
the program, most would not have much spirituality or even
sobriety. So if we consider “religion” most basically to be a group
of individuals with a shared path promoting spiritual growth and
a sense of community purpose, then I don’t see anything objectionable
to calling oneself, or the AA program, religious as well as spiritual.♦