“The task is not to fix the past, but to translate its wisdom into a language the living can understand.”
— George Steiner
“There Is a Solution” is the second chapter Bill Wilson wrote for the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. It tries to answer two questions: what is the real problem of alcoholism, and what kind of solution might actually work. Its enduring claim is that the problem lies not in the bottle but in the mind that convinces us to take the first drink, and that the solution requires a radical inner change—what Wilson called a “vital spiritual experience.” For countless readers since 1939, those two ideas have rung true: the helplessness before the first drink, and the hope that recovery can be shared from one sufferer to another.
Still, the chapter shows its age. The most obvious limitation is its language. Wilson leans heavily on the word alcoholic as a fixed identity, and defines the “real alcoholic” in dramatic, almost lurid terms—dishonest, selfish, anti-social, a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. That caricature was meant to help readers identify, but it can also reinforce stigma. For someone today with Alcohol Use Disorder (AUD), the word alcoholic may feel less like a diagnosis and more like a brand—reducing a whole person to their illness. Modern language like “living with AUD” acknowledges the spectrum of severity and separates the condition from identity, which can be crucial for people who already feel the weight of shame.
The chapter is also steeped in gender assumptions. The alcoholic is always a man—usually a promising professional who squanders his gifts. The long-suffering spouse is always a woman. The children are blameless and fragile. This reflected the domestic model of Wilson’s era, but it leaves out enormous parts of the modern picture: women, LGBTQ+ people, single parents, professionals who maintain a “high bottom” while drinking heavily. The fellowship today is far more diverse than the book that introduced it, but the text itself doesn’t reflect that reality.
Then there is the writing style. Wilson wasn’t a trained writer. He was dictating, improvising, and trying to hold together two camps: the religious Akron group and the more secular New York group. As a result, the chapter is long, repetitive, and sometimes contradictory. At its best, it is vivid—comparing recovery to passengers rescued from a shipwreck, or relapse to hitting oneself with a hammer to treat a headache. These metaphors endure. But the style can also feel rambling, preachy, and locked in the rhythms of the 1930s. Statements like “we have a way out on which we can absolutely agree” carry a confidence that may have reassured desperate men in Wilson’s day, but which can feel overstated or even salesy to modern ears.
The spiritual framing is another tension. Wilson tries to soften it—quoting William James to suggest that spiritual experience can take many forms—but the chapter still leans heavily on God-language. For many modern readers, especially those burned by religion, this can feel like a bait-and-switch: come for the fellowship, stay for the faith. And yet, thousands of agnostics and atheists have made it work in AA, interpreting “a power greater than ourselves” as community, nature, or conscience. The language may be narrow, but the door it opens has proven wide enough for many to walk through.
So how does “There Is a Solution” hold up? At its heart, it still speaks to the despair of repeated failure and the hope of shared recovery. Its diagnosis—that willpower and self-knowledge are not enough—still resonates. Its central promise—that recovery is possible and best carried from one sufferer to another—remains AA’s greatest gift. But the chapter also reflects its time: male-centered, Christian-adjacent, grand in its claims. For a modern newcomer with AUD, it may require translation—into language that is inclusive, pluralistic, and less stigmatizing. The spirit of identification and hope still works. The words themselves sometimes get in the way.
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Next: There Is a Solution (Reimagined) ⇢
This post is part of a larger project, A Fearless Inventory, where I walk through AA’s Big Book chapter by chapter. Along the way, I try to honor the spirit of the original while also offering critique, context, and a re-framing that speaks to our time. My hope is to open a conversation — not just about how recovery looked in 1938, but how it can be lived today.