[We] Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
[We] were….
This Step stands out as the only Step not based on an active verb.
Although this Step is often treated as though it reads, “We became entirely ready…,” the verb conjugated in the first person, plural, past tense, is simply be, not become. Become indicates a change from a former state, while among the definitions of be is one quite the opposite: to remain in the same state.
Neither is this a case of what grammarians call the passive voice. While the subject we is not doing anything, neither is anything being done to the subject, as in this example of the passive voice from Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions: “Sure, I was beaten, absolutely licked.” The subject—“I”—performs no action, but is acted upon—“beaten, licked”—by something unstated, which can be understood from context. Restated in the active voice: “[Alcohol] beat me, absolutely licked me.”
Instead of either of these, Step Six employs a particular use of the verb be called a copula; there is no action, one way or another: the copula serves only to connect the subject with its description—with a description of its state of being:
Skies are blue.
The water will be cold.
John is unhappy.
We were ready.
This phrasing—“we were ready”—presents something of a quandary, because there is no action to take: no start, and no finish. How can we possibly know if we’ve completed—or not completed—a Step that isn’t about doing anything?
Once, when boarding a flight, the line happened to stop and leave me standing for a time at the end of the jetway, just outside the aircraft. I was able to see through a window into the cockpit, and I noticed a sheaf of papers attached to the yoke in front of the pilot. It appeared to be a list. “Ah, that must be the pre-flight checklist,” I thought to myself. I was no stranger to commercial flight, but it was the first time I ever saw such a thing “in real life.”
Sometime after that incident, I envisioned the Twelve Steps like a pre-flight checklist; a list of instructions for me to check off as I did them. I had either done a Step, or not. I was either prepared to go to the next Step or I was not.
An aircraft can have a number of checklists to perform, depending on its complexity and the situation. The pre-flight checklist is normally the longest and is written in either of two forms, or a combination of them: the listed item can be an action to take to ready the aircraft, or it can be a state of readiness to confirm.
Window heat……………………………………..on
Exterior lights…………………………………….set
Fire Warning………………………………………test
Flight Recorder…………………………………..test/set
In each task, outcome is either yes or no, success or fail, complete or incomplete. (This simplistic binary state is the foundation for the computers which allow monumentally complex aircraft to fly.)
As a checklist item, Step Six is not an action, but it is a state of readiness to verify, like “gear pins and covers: removed.” Either they’ve been removed, or they haven’t: yes or no, true or false. But Step Six says, “entirely ready.” Maybe I’m ready, but not entirely…. Well, let’s say those gear pins and covers have been partly removed, but not entirely: then, the pilot doesn’t check that off as yes/true/complete. Either the pins and covers have been entirely removed, or they have not.
Can we possibly read down the whole list of Twelve Steps in such a way? Yes or no, true or false, complete or incomplete? The book, Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions seems to tell us no: “Only Step One where we made the 100% admission that we were powerless over alcohol can be practiced with absolute perfection. The remaining Steps state perfect ideals.”
A distinction about Step One is being made by these two lines, which are not part of Step One’s actual wording: “100% admission,” and “practiced with absolute perfection.” The action to be performed (or practiced) in Step One is very much like a flight checklist item: either one admits a thing, or one does not admit that thing; there is no partial admission. Yes or no, true or false.
It may seem puffery in such a case to describe the completion as “absolutely perfect,” but, on the other hand, there is no partial—no “imperfect, nonabsolute”—completion. There is only 100% admission, or 0% admission.
With that in mind, let’s examine Step Two: can we posit that one either believes a thing or one does not believe that thing? There is a tendency to more readily grant quantity or quality to belief than to admission. Is such a distinction warranted?
My friend would say, “I don’t believe in ghosts; I don’t disbelieve in them, either.”
This is a completely understandable statement which seems to prevent “belief” from being a yes or no, true or false, proposition. My friend seems to stand in some middle ground, however wide or narrow. It is his way of saying his mind is open: he is not convinced of the existence OR non-existence of ghosts. He is indicating that he may become convinced of the existence of ghosts, while he presently does not believe in the existence of ghosts.
A checklist is more like a snapshot than a video: what is the condition of the aircraft right now, as it prepares to depart? Given experience or evidence of their existence, my friend will come to believe in ghosts. If we were to present this as a checklist item to him, right now, before he has that evidence
Came to believe in ghosts…………………………………….true
he would not verify it; the condition is not so at present. Can the condition change? Of course.
Regarding belief, it seems we often ascribe unspoken qualification: strong to weak, full to empty. There are situations where degrees are relevant, and situations where they are not. A retort from generations past was, “No one’s a little bit pregnant.” Step Two is not an inquiry into the quality of my belief, only whether it exists or not–at the moment of inquiry.
In the fundamental analysis of Step Three, one either makes a decision or one does not. When we suggest that something less than a 100% decision can be made, we may be considering more than the decision, itself: we may be considering the results of our action (or inaction) based on that decision.
“We made a decision to go to the movies, to the eight o’clock show.”
“How was it?”
“There was no show. When we got there, the theatre had some kind of emergency, and they had to close for the night.”
“After I shut the alarm, I made a decision to go back to sleep, but my neighbor started cutting down a tree, and it was too noisy.”
When we add subjectively qualitative conditions to an action—like in Step Four—the job gets a bit harder, but the key is the subjectivity: “I made a fearless moral inventory, but it wasn’t searching.”
“Who told you it wasn’t searching?”
“Nobody, but I know it wasn’t.”
The individual need satisfy the conditions for only himself or herself, alone; the inventory can be returned to again and again, until the maker is satisfied that it is searching and fearless. The conditions are not stipulated for a one-time inventory. While it may be onerous, if one is not satisfied with the numbers for any reason, one may return to inventory the storeroom or warehouse again and again, until the results are clear.
Thus, we go down the list, task by task, checking off what’s completed:
We admitted √
We came to believe √
We made a decision √
We made a searching and fearless moral inventory √
We admitted to God √
To ourselves √
And to another human being √
[We] Were entirely….
Entire also has a static quality, compared with complete, which engenders the notion of something under construction for a time. Entire has the notion of whole, undivided, continuous. It is derived from the Latin for untouched, and so also has the sense of undamaged, unbroken, not mutilated. It is cased, here, as entirely, an adjective to modify ready.
[We] Were entirely ready….
While the word chosen, ready, can have a meaning and context of willing, willing has not been chosen.
Ready is sometimes used with willing or able or both. In colloquial use, this expression is not so much to differentiate terms as it is to emphasize the state of readiness: “Is Susie really going to take this job?”
“She’s ready, willing, and able.”
The original sense is a legal construct that does seek to differentiate: “Ready, willing, and able defines persons who are legally and financially able to complete any type of transaction. Authorization and approval are not necessary from any other persons or parties.”
It seems unlikely that one can be ready, but unable, yet a context can be drawn: “I was dressed and ready to go to the party, but then I wasn’t able: I got called in to work.”
Likewise, it seems unlikely, for one to be ready, but unwilling, yet such is plausible: “I was dressed and ready to go to the party, but I wasn’t willing to drive in that traffic.”
Willingness is not a consideration for inanimate objects. Something ready can be utilized immediately, as opposed to something unready. The difference can be quite palpable: if you’ve ever begun to dress for a date and reached for a chosen garment only to find it wrinkled or stained, you’ve experienced unready versus ready. If the garment were clean and pressed, hanging in your closet for your immediate use, it is ready to wear. It needs no further preparation to be placed into action.
There is a sense that time is a factor in ready. Whatever we are entirely ready for can happen immediately: to say “we are entirely ready,” is to say we need nothing more to prepare.
To be entirely ready, of course, does not mean the prepared for activity or event will take place, nor does readiness infer any control over the timing of what is so well prepared for. One aspect of safety is to be entirely ready for an emergency—an earthquake, fire, or flood, etc.—that never happens.
[We] Were entirely ready to have God….
It would seem an utter lack of humility to permit God or allow God to do anything. Such hubris is circumvented with the simple word have.
Primarily, the transitive verb have denotes possession of various sorts: I have something to do. You had a house. She has red hair. The car will have new tires.
Among other uses, have can be synonymous with allow or permit: We will not have smoking in this area. It can even come with a sense of command: Have your dog sit! Yet, it also can carry a sense of invitation: Let’s have them over for dinner.
It would have been just as understandable to state: “We were entirely ready for God [to do something],” but there is no sense of invitation: “We were entirely ready for them to come to dinner,” is not as (humbly) inviting as: “We were entirely ready to have them come for dinner.”
[We] Were entirely ready to have God remove….
Rather than repair, correct, erase or a similar action that might be used to eradicate a defect, remove has been chosen. The sense of remove is as much in keeping with its origin to move back or away (Latin movere “to move” and re- “back, away”) as in causing something to cease to exist. The thing removed may have disappeared from view or original location, but it still exists. “Let’s remove this old carpet and install new.” “Please remove your shoes before walking on the new carpet.”
While remove can infer a sense of separation rather than a complete extinguishing, the latter use is well-known: we remove a stain from a garment, or remove a dent from a vehicle, so that it ceases to exist; we are certainly not moving it elsewhere.
It seems an important distinction to note, here as well, that “we” are not removing anything. Once again, this Step shows its passive tense. The subject, “we” takes no action in this Step; it is purely a description of the subject as: “We were wet.” “We were nearby.” “We were young.”
[We] Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects….
There’s no avoiding the notion that something’s gone wrong when it comes to defining defect. This word has remained true to its Latin origin: to fail, run short, weaken, lack. To properly utilize this word, though, one must somehow know the defective item in its flawless condition, else how is one to know it has a defect?
Defects is modified in ways easily overlooked with two simple adjectives: “all these.”
All is the whole—or entire—number, amount, or quantity of individual items referred to.
These is the plural of this, an adjective denoting “the person, thing, or idea that is present or near in place, time, or thought or that has just been mentioned.” Nothing else regarding defects has been mentioned, here, in this Step; what of the words “just mentioned” in the Step before? “We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.” Defects is not specifically mentioned in the previous Step, nor is the word defects used in any previous Step.
This can also refer to a nearness immediately following, though, rather than preceding: “Look at this: I can’t find the word.” “What does this mean—it isn’t here?”
In the immediately following Step are these words: “We humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.” Defects is not specifically mentioned there, either, and indeed, the word defects is not used, again, in any of the remaining Steps. Defects is not used before or after its sole appearance, here, in Step Six. Defects, therefore, have not “just been mentioned,” nor are they “present or near in place, time, or thought.”
There is another clue, however: defects is further described. Almost anything can be said to have defects. We discover “all these” are not defects in the paint or defects in the wiring or birth defects: “all these defects” are defects of character—character defects.
[We] Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
Those words—character defects—are the very definition of “shortcomings,” which is specifically mentioned in the next Step. Likewise, defect can also be defined as that which is wrong with a particular object or process; “wrongs” are specifically mentioned in the preceding Step.
Taken in context, these three references are consistent in describing the same objects: “our wrongs,” “all these defects of character,” and “our shortcomings.” These objects spring from the “searching and fearless moral inventory” of Step Four; they exist in the realm of morals: in our notions of right and wrong behavior.
Character has come a long way in English from its Latin and Greek origin, which was in keeping with one of its surviving definitions as character in a font set: a letter or other printed symbol. Character derives from Greek charáttein—to engrave—and originally meant either the engraving tool or the mark engraved. Today, the English word has layers of subtlety far beyond the character on a keyboard button.
In one meaning, every person has character. To get at this particular meaning, native speakers will more likely say everyone has “a character.” This is character as the sum of all the traits of that individual. If the individual is considered outlandish, eccentric, or the like, he or she “is a character.” If the person is considered moral, ethical, or honest, especially in a courageous or strong-willed way, English speakers may say he or she “has character,” not “has a character.”
In the meaning of a person “has a character,” character is not subject to defect in the way that “moral character” can be. One’s character is the sum of all one’s traits, without regard to the advantage or judgement of any of those traits in quantity or quality. Dishonesty, cowardice, peevishness can all be traits of a person’s character. The effect of those traits is not a consideration.
In the more idiomatic, “that person is a character,” character shows its reference to theatre, where a production is populated with characters—actors playing roles. When an individual is referred to as “a character,” it means that person acts in dramatic or outlandish ways in real life.
When it is said that someone “has character,” character is used with regard to morals, and it becomes more limited in its set of traits, referring only to those considered advantageous, good, or right, such as honesty, integrity, etcetera. If these limited traits are lacking, character in this definition can have defects or a negative quality: “poor character,” “low character,” “defective character.”
Quite clearly, in the instance of Step Six, character is used with regard to morals and notions of right and wrong, good and bad.
[We] Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
This Step strikes me as a wondrous halfway “checkpoint”–a sort of litmus test to determine progress in the Program. If we’ve gotten through the first half in good order, “we are entirely ready….” Just a matter of dipping that litmus paper: yes we are, or no we’re not. Yes: move on to the second half. No: take another look at the first half.
While the Step, itself, contains no action, I have to act similarly to the way I have with other Steps: to admit, or make a decision: is this statement true or false for me?
Personally, I suffered a long time from overlooking this “do-nothing”
Step. I recalled, many years later, the
metaphoric caution when I first got to the Program: this is a recipe for
recovery. You know what happens when you
bake a cake, but leave out some ingredients?
Doesn’t taste the same, right?
Maybe doesn’t turn into cake at all.