"Anonymity is the spiritual foundation
of all our traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before
personalities."
THE spiritual substance
of anonymity is sacrifice. Because A.A.'s Twelve Traditions repeatedly ask us
to give up personal desires for the common good, we realize that the sacrificial
spirit--well symbolized by anonymity--is the foundation of them all. It is
A.A.'s proved willingness to make these sacrifices that gives people their high
confidence in our future.
But in the beginning,
anonymity was not born of confidence; it was the child of our early fears. Our
first nameless groups of alcoholics were secret societies. New prospects could
find us only through a few trusted friends. The bare hint of publicity, even
for our work, shocked us. Though ex-drinkers, we still thought we had to hide
from public distrust and contempt.
When the Big Book
appeared in 1939, we called it "Alcoholics Anonymous." Its foreword
mad this revealing statement: "It is important that we remain anonymous
because are too few, at present, to handle the overwhelming number of personal
appeals which may result from this publication. Being mostly business or
professional folk, we could not well carry on our occupations in such an
event." Between these lines, it is easy to read our fear that large numbers
of incoming people might break our anonymity wide open.
As the A.A. groups
multiplied, so did anonymity problems. Enthusiastic over the spectacular
recovery of a brother alcoholic, we'd sometimes discuss those intimate and
harrowing aspects of his case meant for his sponsor's ear alone. The aggrieved
victim would then rightly declare that his trust had been broken. When such
stories got into circulation outside of A.A., the loss of confidence in our
anonymity promise was sever. It frequently turned people from us. Clearly,
every A.A. member's name--and story, too---had to be confidential, if he
wished. This was our first lesson in the practical application of anonymity.
With characteristic
intemperance, however, some of our newcomers cared not at all for secrecy. They
wanted to shout A.A. from the housetops, and did. Alcoholics barely dry rushed
about bright-eyed, buttonholing anyone who would listen tot heir stories.
Others hurried to place themselves before microphones and cameras. Sometimes,
they got distressingly drunk and let their groups down with a bang. They had
changed from A.A. members into A.A. show-offs.
This phenomenon of
contrast really set us thinking. Squarely before us was the question "How
anonymous should an A.A. member be?" Our growth made it plain that we
couldn't be a secret society, but it was equally plain that we couldn't be a
vaudeville circuit, either. The charting of a safe path between these extremes
took a long time.
As a rule, the average
newcomer wanted his family to know immediately what he was trying to do. He
also wanted to tell others who had tried to help him--his doctor, his minister,
and close friends. As he gained confidence, he felt it right to explain his new
way of life to his employer and business associates. When opportunities to be
helpful came along, he found he could talk easily about A.A. to almost anyone.
These quiet disclosures helped him to lose his fear of the alcoholic stigma,
and spread the news of A.A.'s existence in his community. Many a new man and
woman came to A.A. because of such conversations. Though not in the strict
letter of anonymity, such communications were well within its spirit.
But it became apparent
that the word-of-mouth method was too limited. Our work, as such, needed to be
publicized. The A.A. groups would have to reach quickly as many despairing
alcoholics as they could. Consequently, many groups began to hold meetings
which were open to interested friends and the public, so that the average
citizen could see for himself just what A.A. was all about. The response to
these meetings was warmly sympathetic. Soon, groups began to receive requests
for A.A. speakers to appear before civic organizations, church groups, and
medical societies. Provided anonymity was maintained on these platforms, and
reporters present were cautioned against the use of names or pictures, the
result was fine.
Then came our first few
excursions into major publicity, which were breathtaking. Cleveland's Plain
Dealer articles about us ran that town's membership from a few into hundreds
overnight. The news stories of Mr. Rockefeller's dinner for Alcoholics
Anonymous helped double our total membership in a year's time. Jack Alexander's
famous Saturday Evening Post piece made A.A. a national institution. Such tributes
as these brought opportunities for still more recognition. Other newspapers and
magazines wanted A.A. stories. Film companies wanted to photograph us. Radio,
and finally television, besieged us with requests for appearances. What should
we do?
As this tide offering top
public approval swept in, we realized that it could do us incalculable good or
great harm. Everything would depend upon how it was channeled. We simply
couldn't afford to take the chance of letting self-appointed members present themselves
as messiahs representing A.A. before the whole public. The promoter instinct in
us might be our undoing. If even one publicly got drunk, or was lured into
using A.A.'s name for his own purposes, the damage might be irreparable. At
this altitude (press, radio, films, and television), anonymity--100 percent
anonymity--was the only possible answer. Here, principles would have to come
before personalities, without exception.
These experiences taught
us that anonymity is real humility at work. It is an all-pervading spiritual
quality which today keynotes A.A. life everywhere. Moved by the spirit of
anonymity, we try to give up our natural desires for personal distinction as
A.A. members both among fellow alcoholics and before the general public. As we lay
aside these very human aspirations, we believe that each of us takes part in
the weaving of a protective mantle which covers our whole Society and under
which we may grown and work in unity.
We are sure that humility,
expressed by anonymity, is the greatest safeguard that Alcoholics Anonymous can
ever have.