Incompleteness
Creation Story Two: 2:4b-25
Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone.” 2:18
As explored previously, the direct meaning here clearly relates to finding Adam a suitable wife. Though they may not be to everyone’s taste, the you complete me sentiments expressed in the film Jerry Maguire definitely capture this fundamental meaning...
Re-cue John Donne:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself
Right. But, why not? Why this curious dimorphic model for creation, this hankering co-dependence? What’s with the whole two-becoming-one business when just one self-replicating creature to start with would surely be more efficient - because self-sufficient? The words are they become one flesh (v 24) and not one soul. They’re clearly meant to retain their individual identities within the union.
Moreover, taken at face value, isn’t this a most curious phrase in the mouth of the Almighty? How can the man actually be alone if God is right there with him? And you can imagine the writers of Creation One wincing away. All that hard won imagery of total goodness built over seven glorious days through a (Pope Benedict XVI-esque) linguistic precision, and now (Pope Francis-esque) the Creation Two writers use the phrase not good!
Of course, this isn’t contradiction. These aren’t treatises. They’re stories, where such shifts indicate distinct theological visions. And, actually, the ‘not good’ isn’t so different from the meaning of the unaccountable watery chaos. It’s something like ‘a lacking’. At the very least, it requires managing in Creation One and here spurs a striving for completion that haunts Adam and, curiously, preoccupies God Himself.
Theologically speaking, there can be nothing lacking in God. He is the very definition of sufficient being. In that sense, he is not even a he. More like an is. Or just IS. Analogies are all we have before such mystery. But that’s the fun of it. Creation isn’t like God, in that it isn’t self-sufficient. It’s totally dependent upon Him. But why did God create if He didn’t need to? That’s a biggie. The traditional answer, of course, is love. God’s love isn’t about needs. But, creation itself is. Steeped in needs… because of this radical dependence. And this dependence is captured in the unfolding seven day frame of Creation One and the animal parade of Creation Two. It’s a continual striving for completeness. Which is why we’re literally created reliant upon others and upon God. Re-Cue St Augustine:
You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.
Thus, there’s a much deeper meaning to the words, “It is not good that the man should be alone.” than merely partnering. Like all good writing, it reverberates.
St Paul expresses it thus:
It was not for any fault on the part of creation that it was made unable to attain its purpose, it was made so by God. Rom 8:20-21
Wow! This restlessness, this sense of incompleteness comes as standard. It isn’t described as good exactly, but nevertheless has a profound purpose which appears to be purpose itself. Both creation stories have at their centre a state of journeying, (CCC #302). The words not good and alone bizarrely make sense even in paradise. The journeying character of existence is primordially hardwired. Bound by space-time, Creation itself has not yet achieved its final purpose let alone each of us within it. Notably, this isn’t simply a result of ‘the fall’. All’s not replete here even when seemingly complete.
It’s as though a quieter subtextual voice is whispering the warning that completeness isn’t everything. Because incompleteness duly recognised is dependence recognised and recognised dependence is actually wisdom. Which is why were not islands unto ourselves. This dependence upon one another and upon God creates a dynamic. The theological term is teleology ie inherent directionality, a goal-oriented groaning in creation. In simpler terms: life’s a shared journey. All stories reflect this in some way. If they’re authentic they’ll be inflected with ‘the fall’, but there’s still something pristine in the template. Space-time necessitates it. We’ve always been on the move.
This searching spirit and dislocating sense is often portrayed negatively and smothered by pseudo completions. That’s because it isn’t at all easy to bear. For many years, I was uncomfortable with my own company and loathed the idea of eating on my own, or visiting places solo, or encountering others whose lives seemed more complete than mine. It ran much deeper than merely missing an Eve. The feeling didn’t fit with the glossy self-certified world of mass marketing all around. I wished for nothing more than the extraction of its thorny awkwardness.
The writing journey changed this entirely. Now I crave the solitude that is the wellspring of creativity. It taught me to sit with the sifting silence. Yet, as a Christian writer, I know I’m never truly alone. Many times I’ve felt profound communion with heavenly writers or in timeless correspondence over a favourite poem:
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
Danse Russe by William Carlos Williams:
I don’t wish to underplay the genuine debilitation of hollowing loneliness but neither do I wish to discount the biblically-grounded reality of happy solitude.
So what exactly is all this groaning about? Is it a matter of completeness or incompleteness? Well, (don’t shoot the messenger), it’s both. St Augustine’s chosen word is ‘rest’ and that’s fair enough, but the Greek fathers had a slightly different take on it. Namely, perichoresis. Our more familiar word choreography carries something of its meaning. It seems God also isn’t keen on being alone in the uncreative sense and is actually a perfect community of persons in a state of infinite loving dance. And we’re invited to pop on the glad rags and join that never-ending VIP party.
And when, God willing, we’ve finally made it through the front doors, only then will everything be complete. Except for eternity.
Header photo: Ardian Lumi, Unsplash