We hear a lot about addiction: its prevalence, the social costs: lost hours of productivity, increased incidence of homelessness, skyrocketing costs of prosecution and incarceration, the dearth of adequate treatment and misguided social policies that accelerate rather than prevent rampant substance abuse. We read about the economic and psychological costs to families, the burden addiction places on schools as they deal with the children of addicts and young addicts themselves. And after a decade of war in Iraq and Afghanistan, we have grown accustomed to the hidden toll reported Thursday in New York Times:
Veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder are more likely to be prescribed opioid pain killers than other veterans with pain problems and more likely to use the opioids in risky ways, according to a study published Wednesday by the Department of Veterans Affairs.
The study, published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, also found that veterans returning from Iraq and Afghanistan who were prescribed opioids for pain – and particularly those with post-traumatic stress disorder — had a higher prevalence of “adverse clinical outcomes,” like overdoses, self-inflicted injuries and injuries caused by accidents or fighting.
The Department of Veterans Affairs and the Department of Defense have for years been trying to reduce the use of opioid pain therapy among active duty troops and veterans amid reports of overmedication, addiction, rampant drug abuse and accidental deaths caused by overdoses or toxic mixing of medications.[1]
Meanwhile politicians decry a national addiction to oil: a disabling and dangerous dependency imperiling the planet while propelling many a service member into the path of those highly addictive narcotic prescriptions. Addiction plunges the addict, be it an individual or a nation, into what appears an inescapable abyss where rationality succumbs to obsession, compulsion and the inability to choose.
But for all the talk about addiction: from the pathetic exploits of celebrities to tell-all TV shows a forty year national war on drugs that has wrought no victors, we hear little about the spiritual dimensions of addiction and recovery. Statistics abound but spiritual aspects are squishy, not quantifiable therefore difficult to parse scientifically. But at the core of any addiction, be the substance alcohol or other drugs, sex, gambling, sugar, shopping or oil, is a spiritual disconnectedness from self, others, and whatever one finds sacred. That’s why the best known model of recovery, though certainly not the only one, declares itself a spiritual program.
People outside Alcoholics Anonymous and the other twelve-step programs that have spun off from it, ask why do alcoholics and addicts need God to get and stay sober? What’s religion got to do with it? Isn’t depending on a higher power just a replacement for booze or Percocet? Indeed cognitive behaviorial approaches to abstinence and recovery omit any spiritual connotations. But inherent in the twelve-step model is an understanding that addiction strips one of the ability to sustain, or some cases create, abiding connection, and thus to restore that connection, one must reckon with and recognize one’s spiritual being, not just the electro-chemical workings of the brain.
There’s a aphorism in AA: it’s always 3:00am in the heart of an alcoholic. This speaks to an existential loneliness one attempts to fill in the absence of spiritual connection—not necessarily to God but to the interdependent web of existence. When we are fully present to that connection how we consume oil matters. Whether we as a nation allocate resources for incarceration over treatment matters. Whether we as a congregation choose to serve alcohol matters. Whether we have non-sugary snacks at coffee-hour matters. All of it matters because the willingness to grapple with what constitutes right relationship and the desire to restore individual and collective well-being lies at the heart of every religion and wisdom tradition. It lies at the heart of each addict’s journey toward wholeness as well.
This morning, three people in our congregation have generously and courageously agreed to offer a testimonial about the intersections of addiction and spirituality in their lives . . .
If I were to ask for a show of hands who has not in some way, directly or tangentially, been affected by addiction: your own or someone else’s, I suspect the air would be filled. Fortunately, not everyone has first-hand experience; but we all suffer the effects of the spiritual bankruptcy addiction perpetuates. And such spiritual disruption is of course, not the exclusive domain of addiction. The self-seeking and self-centeredness, the ungrounded fear, the compensatory pride and ego that mask insecurity and a lack of self-worth, the propensity to rationalize or deny—anyone can grow spiritually isolated on a steady diet of these, and so too, anyone can find spiritual nourishment by consciously adopting a practice of humility, honesty, openmindedness, continuous self-inventory, the making of amends, along with some form of intentional connection with whatever we deem sacred and sustaining.
In the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, of the twelve steps laid out, eleven make no mention of alcohol. Instead they offer evidence “the spiritual life is not a theory. We have to live it,” and thus provide tools. The book tells the alcoholic or addict: “We are not cured…What we have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition.”
The same could be said of being human: the inherent foibles and limitations are not subject to a cure though they invite us into deeper connection with all: with a God of our understanding or misunderstanding, or no God at all if we prefer it. A connection then to the microorganisms that hitch a ride on us, the stars that spawn our elemental matter, the trees that give us oxygen, the earth that sustains our being and the people, plants, animals who companion us, feed us, love us and prevent us from succumbing to the arrogance that we are ever truly alone.
Thus, the plight and the reprieve, the failure and the flourishing matter, if not belong, to us all.
Closing words:
We close with the promises of Alcoholics Anonymous. Good spiritual fodder for everyone:
We should be sensible, tactful, considerate and humble without being servile or scraping… If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.
Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.
