People who recover through 12-step programs often fashion for themselves a patchwork spirituality of homespun gods that they prefer to the cosmic etiquette guides and codes of spiritual procedure catechized by major religions. Bush's recovery, by contrast, was catalyzed by a frank discussion with the Rev. Billy Graham, godfather of established religion in America. That's not to denigrate the spiritual process by which he quit drinking; it's just to say that in his case the establishment saved his life.

Church basements are cheap, safe, well-equipped and centrally located, so they often are the locations of recovery meetings. Through using their rooms and doing business with church officials, even the atheists among us come to see churches as useful institutions and not the oppressors of free thought that from an intellectual standpoint they may seem to be.

But while contact with them instructs unbelievers on the practical utility of churches, two aspects of Bush's advocacy of faith-based social programs are troubling. For one thing, such a program could easily become a cynical network of Republican ward heeling. For another, Bush's bias toward established religion may blind him to the anarchistic spirit of the 12-step movement and ill serve those who have been turned off to organized religion by its authoritarianism. Thus the government could pour billions of dollars into faith-based inner city programs that would, by suspending federal hiring laws, potentially discriminate against the very people they're supposed to be helping, alienate many others and turn churches, those long-standing bulwarks of community for the urban poor, into branch offices of the Republican Party.

When faced with the question of how to give itself the minimum structure that would allow it to survive over generations as a formal organization, Alcoholics Anonymous initially considered taking large grants of money from nonprofit organizations and charities in order to build clinics and maximize its usefulness in society. But its founders wisely concluded that to avoid the dilution of its primary purpose, it should refuse all such offers, and restrict its income to only the voluntary contributions from its members. This stands as a good lesson for any faith-based organization.

Bush's tendency to surround himself with competent advisors echoes another thing one learns in recovery: Shut up and listen to others. While such training may have helped in his campaign, it may hinder him in the exercise of power on the world stage. For there are times to consult with advisors, and wait for that little inner voice to tell you what to do, and there are times to boldly seize an opportunity. In fact, when you consider that presidents have to think a dozen steps ahead, and that Bush has to match wits with the world's most cunning and powerful leaders, it's all a little frightening. His simplicity and ignorance are indeed alarming at times, as when he said in an interview a couple of months back that he had no idea how many decisions he would have to make as president! All day long, little decisions, big decisions. Decisions, decisions, decisions!

What about the course of empire? What about the Constitution? What about when his advisors are wrong, or are lying to him? Let's hope he really does have God on his side. And let's hope it's a God we can live with.

How the art of politics and the reality of recovery coexist in Bush remains a fascinating paradox. For a man who found in the drinking life a perfect setting for glib nonchalance to excel in politics only after giving up the bottle is exceedingly strange. Yet there it is.

But all that notwithstanding, I don't care if he is the president; to me he's just another drunk and so I wish him well. I hope he's celebrating his anniversary with some good sparkling cider.

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