ON MEDITATION

When the AA book was first written, the word meditation did not carry the meaning it often bears today. They were not speaking of a technique for calming the nerves, nor of an exercise in watching the flow of thought for its own sake. They meant a quiet turning of the heart toward God. They meant a deliberate seeking. They meant the humble act of placing ourselves in a position where guidance might be received - Moving from control to reliance.

In those days, a person who said they meditated would likely have meant that they sat with Scripture, or in silent prayer, reflecting upon their conduct and asking what God would have him do. They were not trying to perfect their attention. They were trying to surrender their will.

In 1939 the emphasis was not upon the refinement of the self, but upon its relinquishment. Meditation was a companion to prayer. Together they were the means by which self-will might be laid aside and conscious contact improved.

As the years passed, our culture has changed. Confidence in religious forms has weakened. The language of surrender has grown unfamiliar. In its place the language of psychology and self-understanding has arisen. Meditation is increasingly described as attention to one’s inner life — observing thoughts, regulating emotions, cultivating awareness of the present moment. Much good has come from these practices. Many have found relief from fear and strain through them.

Where once the alcoholic sought deliverance from self through reliance upon a Higher Power, the modern seeker may aim to manage the self more skillfully. Where once we asked, “What would God have me do?” we are now more likely to ask, “What am I experiencing?” The direction of attention has subtly turned.

This is not to condemn other useful practices, but to clarify. For us, the trouble was never merely poor attention or unsettled nerves. Our difficulty was self-will run riot. No amount of careful observation could, by itself, relieve us of the burden of being our own authority. We required a Power greater than ourselves. Meditation in the spirit of the 1939 undersanding was one of the ways we consented to that Power.

When we sit quietly and let our thoughts pass, giving each one over to God as it arises, (See for example On Trust or On Expectations we are practicing the original meaning. We are not attempting to silence the mind by force, nor to master it by skill. We are acknowledging that we are not the final managers of our lives. Each surrendered thought is a small act of trust. Each return to reliance is a fresh admission that we cannot run the show.

In this way, meditation remains what it was meant to be: not self-absorption, but self-abandonment; not self-improvement alone, but self-surrender; not a turning inward to perfect the instrument, but a turning Godward so that the instrument may be rightly used.

When we persist in daily practice, we find that something unexpected occurs. The burden of constant self-reference lightens. The need to defend and direct every movement softens. A quiet peace comes — not because we have conquered the mind, but because we have ceased insisting upon being its master. And in that peace, we discover that conscious contact was never achieved by effort alone, but received in the measure that we were willing to let go.