It's a Selfish Program
April 01, 2009 Story of the Day
March 1970

Vol. 26 No. 10


"THIS IS a selfish program." That's what they told me when I first started
coming around AA.

I had several initial reactions to the statement--all negative.

First of all, I was repelled. "Selfish" had been equated in my mind with "bad."
"Selfish" was the term which was always slapped on my drinking behavior--and
that was what I was aching to get away from.

Second, I was baffled. Here was a group of people who were theoretically
dedicated to turning their wills over to God, searching out and working on their
character defects, making amends, and helping others. If this was selfish, then
the Golden Rule was upside down.

Last, I was suspicious. Wasn't this perhaps some kind of humility gimmick--to go
around acting like a saint and, at the same time, claiming to be selfish?

As I saw myself, I was being at least mildly Christlike. I had given up
drinking. I had forsaken all hope of future fun in order to be a better husband,
a better parent, a better employee, a better member of the community. What's
more, I was putting myself out by going to meetings, and I was trying to help
other people. Certainly this entitled me to a mini-halo.

As long as this perspective persisted, I kept taking a first drink. And I didn't
begin to stay sober until fellow AAs said to me, "Recognize that you are staying
sober for yourself and not for your wife, your children, or your job. If you get
mad at your wife, your children, or your job, pop goes your sobriety--unless you
know you are staying sober for yourself."

So, finally, I realized that I was trying to stop drinking because down deep I
had become convinced that I would suffer more pain by continuing to drink than I
would by giving it up. That understanding stopped me from taking another first
drink. But now I began to encounter a new set of problems, and each problem
offered an opportunity to display my newfound nobility.

My wife wants to go to a big party. There'll be lots of drinking at the party,
so I'd prefer to stay home and watch TV. But I say, "Of course, dear, if you
want to go, we'll go." And go we do. Afterwards, I exercise a subtle expertise
in letting her know (more than a few times) how difficult it was for me and just
how unselfish I am.

I am passed over for an opportunity in the office. I'll have you (and anyone
else that will listen) know that I would never stoop to the kind of politics
played by the man who got the opportunity. And because I am a rather noble
being, I will not quit the firm just because an injustice has been done me.

I get a Twelfth Step call at three o'clock of a blizzardy morning. I go out in
the storm to a crummy apartment and stay with the caller the rest of the night.
The next day he gets drunk again, and I say, "The hell with him--after all I did
for him."

The same thread runs through each of these three stories. I was being unselfish.
I was doing something for somebody else. Yet, instead of my nobility yielding
satisfaction and happiness, it was yielding anger and resentment.

Something had to be wrong.

It took me many months and many meetings to realize what it was. But gradually
light began to penetrate. I went to the dictionary. I went to many dictionaries.
I looked up the word "selfish." Most dictionaries said something like "deficient
in consideration for others." But in one dictionary I found this definition:
"appealing to self-interest." Then there was an editor's note: "the theory of
morals that pursuit of pleasure of one kind or another is the ultimate spring of
every action."

"Appealing to self-interest." What was the matter with that? Certainly,
everything I had done in my drinking years had been aimed toward ultimate
self-destruction. I had destroyed my health, my self-confidence, and my
self-respect. What would be the matter with trying to build myself up a bit?

After all, the only thing God ever would give me to work with--for good or
evil--was myself. So maybe self-interest was a good thing and not a bad one. If
"myself" was the only instrument I had or ever would have, perhaps the stronger
I made myself, the more productive I could be.

Now that "selfish" was no longer a dirty word, I took another look at the
editor's note: ". . .pursuit of pleasure. . .the ultimate spring of every
action."

"Pleasure" seemed kind of a frivolous goal, but if I could substitute
"happiness" or "satisfaction" for "pleasure," I could buy even that concept.
And, looking back, hadn't I come to terms with giving up drinking because, in
the long run, it would mean more happiness for me? That was a selfish emotion.
Maybe every facet of my life could be subjected to the same formula as staying
away from the first drink. If I deluded myself that I was doing anything purely
for the benefit of someone else, pop went my serenity--and eventually maybe my
sobriety. So maybe I could come to terms with everything else in life if I could
recognize a selfish motive.

If I could say to myself about the big party that I didn't want to go to, "Look,
Buster, you went to that party because, if you had stayed home, you'd have felt
guilty and miserable. By going, you had a short period of discomfort, but
afterward you could feel good about it. So don't tell me you went for your
wife's sake. You went because in the long run it would yield more emotional
reward to you than sulking at home."

If I could say to myself about that missed opportunity in the office, "Okay, so
you got passed over. But don't give me that martyr role. If you thought you were
going to be better off at some other company, you'd quit. You're staying in your
present job because, in the long run, it's more comfortable for you. You always
have the option of quitting, so you must be staying for your own
reasons--whatever they are."

If I could say to myself about the deep-of-night Twelfth Step call, "You went
because you'd have been eaten by guilt if you hadn't gone. So don't dust off
your halo yet. You went for yourself."

I have come to the conviction that, whether my motive is a momentary
gratification or the lasting reward of constructive action, the motive is
self-interest. It seems to me that the longer I am in AA, the more I am
motivated by lasting rewards, rather than momentary gratification. But both are
for me.

So today, when I start to feel "unselfish," when delusions of nobility creep up
on little cat feet, I know that this will eventually lead to a resentment
against the person toward whom I am being unselfish. Resentment spells
unhappiness and leads to anger. Anger can lead to another first drink.

So I try to take the time and effort to unearth my own selfish motive. When I
do, the resentment sort of shrivels away. . .and I'm at peace.

"What do they mean--'a selfish program'?" I think they mean just that.



B. F. P.
New York