We had several days of rain recently, and I don’t know about you but I was beginning to feel a little soggy. I suppose I could spout (so to speak) the usual platitudes about rain—it’s good for the crops, it knocks down the pollen, it has such a soothing sound, the gardens rejoice—but I’m sorry: I missed the sun.
The story of a great flood is as old as time. Literally. The deluge myth is an ancient and multicultural narrative in which a great flood is sent by the gods (or, if you prefer, by God) to destroy civilization in order to rebuild it better, purer. It’s an act of divine retribution for a world gone astray, a cleansing of humanity in preparation for its rebirth. Most deluge myths also contain, in addition to lots and lots of rain, a hero—someone who not only deserves to live but also must live so that humanity can be reborn. For many of us, that hero was Noah and, of course, his ark. For forty days and forty nights it rained and, according to Genesis, the waters covered the earth. Thankfully, in the end God relented and Noah, his family, and his two-by-two passengers survived to make a new beginning. To seal the deal, God displayed a rainbow—His promise to never again judge the earth by flood.
In fact, there may be some good science behind all the great flood stories. There is credible evidence of great flooding in Mesopotamia (modern Iraq) as far back as 3000 BC. Some scientists have speculated that around that same time, a giant meteor crashed into Earth in what is today the Indian Ocean and the resulting tsunami had disastrous effects on the surrounding coastal lands. Even before that, almost 9000 years ago, think of all the water left behind after the last Ice Age. As the glaciers receded and melted over the centuries, all that scree and rock and water scoured the earth, cleansing it if you will, creating an entirely new landscape like the one that we’re all very familiar with: the Chesapeake Bay.
Whether you’re inclined to myth or science, you must admit that any kind of apocalyptic story has a dreadful fascination to it—so much so, in fact, that it has even become the stuff of advertising. Think I’m kidding? Have you seen the current commercial for an automobile with so much cargo space that not even a meteor speeding toward Earth can deter a young married couple from desperately trying to stuff it full of all their millennial possessions before escaping? More provocatively and much more real, what about the Trump administration’s recent decision to move the American Embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, a sorely misguided political calculation which, although not technically a deluge myth, just might summon up a series of cataclysmic events that could well result in a modern-day version of Armageddon? Farfetched? Not to Palestinians who have nothing to lose.
But no worries: that scenario is a world away. Back here, we’re on higher ground, just stuck indoors, waiting for the sun to come out again so we can go back outside and play.
I’ll be right back.
Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer with homes in Chestertown and Bethesda. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy magazine. “A Place to Stand,” a book of photographs and essays about Landon School, was published by the Chester River Press in 2015. A collection of his essays titled “Musing Right Along” was published in May 2017; a second volume of Musings entitled “I’ll Be Right Back” will be released in June 2018. Jamie’s website is www.musingjamie.com.
Bob Moores says
What is coming out of Washington over the last year-and-a-half is not a deluge myth; it’s a deluge fact. Question is: Can our democracy (and civility) survive it? Good article, Jamie.
Robert Blake Whitehill says
Edward Hicks painted Noah’s Ark in 1846. Same fellow who painted so many versions of Peaceable Kingdom (1843). That guy, a Quaker, had hopes of a redeemed future. Excellent article.