To name the animals is to master the wild by rendering it intelligible, and the man who can do this stands at the height of a certain kind of order. Yet the naming does not complete him. Something is still missing, and the deficiency is precisely that his order has no counterpart, no voice that can stand against it and speak for what it has left out. Adam's world is competent and incomplete at once.
What arrives to fill the lack is not more of the same. Every established order, every rod of tradition, has its accompanying serpent, the living spirit that first raised it and can question it again. The help meet is that answering presence. A structure with no one to complete it, to voice its exclusions and its vulnerable edges, hardens and dies. The man who has ordered everything still needs the one who can complete him.