Sunday, July 7, 2019

What Will Modern Noahs Build?

"The Gadget": Manhattan Project nuclear bomb prototype awaits
testing, summer of 1945.(Image: Nuclear Weapon Archive)


This is the story of Noah: Noah was a good man, a man of integrity in his community. Noah walked with God. Noah had three sons: Shem, Ham, and Japheth.

As far as God was concerned, the Earth had become a sewer; there was violence everywhere. God took one look and saw how bad it was, everyone corrupt and corrupting -- life itself corrupt to the core.

God said to Noah, "It's all over. It's the end of the human race. The violence is everywhere; I'm making a clean sweep."

"Build yourself a ship from teakwood. Make rooms in it. Coat it with pitch inside and out. Make it 450 feet long, seventy-five feet wide, and forty-five feet high. Build a roof for it and put in a window eighteen inches from the top; put in a door on the side of the ship; and make three decks, lower, middle, and upper."


- Genesis 6:9-16
(translation from The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language by Eugene H. Peterson)


When I heard this story as a boy, I wondered about such a peculiar command coming from out of nowhere. (I mean, who's ever heard of an "ark"?)

In later years, I wondered at the specificity of it all -- "eighteen inches from the top"? --  and I wondered at whether I would be able, if given a similar command, to follow instructions.

But now what I wonder about is this: what if the clear command and the specific instructions weren't the first thing Noah perceived? What if the first thing was Noah sensing that something was wrong, and that danger was coming, and that he needed to do something? And how many possible solutions did he have to sift through before he got to the one that was right?

Yes, that's definitely it! I'm now not so interested in the building of the ark, per se -- and I notice the biblical account doesn't dwell on it, either. (Once the concept is in place, it just ... happens.) No, if we have learned anything by now, it's that people can build anything.

The real question is: what's the right thing to build?

Earlier this year, I watched the series MANH(A)TTAN on TV. It's a series about the Manhattan Project and the creation of nuclear weapons. It helped me understand the degree to which many people -- confronted with a worldwide war spinning out of control -- believed that building bombs of unprecedented size would be "the" way to put an end to war once and for all and save humanity.

Part and parcel of the physical invention of the bomb was the invention of a social construct called "deterrence" -- the idea that with enough nuclear weapons, people could prevent other people from engaging in war. Ironically, the deterrence construct has always circled back to construction in the material world: more and more programs to build bigger, more lethal, and more numerous nuclear weapons. (The US is now in the midst of a $1 trillion nuclear weapons upgrade.)

And then there's the problem that the idea of building an "ark" consisting of nuclear weapons is that it leaves a lot of us on the outside.

During the early part of my life, ordinary Noahs struggled to find a way to preserve life even if a nuclear war happened. There was a fad for family fallout shelters.


Family fallout shelter: "This free-standing, double-hulled steel shelter
 was installed beneath the front yard of Mr. and Mrs. Murland E. Anderson
 of Ft. Wayne, Indiana." (Image: National Museum of American History)

A significant number of people built them, and everybody was talking about them. (You can read more about the diverse opinions on fallout shelters in this article by Matt Novak.)

Today, interest in fallout shelters has waned; people don't talk about them as much these days as when I was young. I'm hoping it's not because people have grown complacent about the nuclear threat, but because they realized those shelters aren't much of a solution.

What's the polar opposite response to the nuclear threat -- compared to a reinforced concrete-lined hole in the ground? A structure called a "council ring" comes to mind.


Council ring (Image: Lance M Hatleli)


I have frequently encountered beautiful circular structures in Chicago's beautiful parks designed by the landscape architect Jens Jensen. These "council rings" are a signature element of Jensen's designs -- a place for people to sit together in a circle, in emulation of Native American tradition.

How different these council rings are from fallout shelters! Above ground instead of below ground; in the open instead of sealed up; made for sharing instead of made for escaping; designed to facilitate communication and growth rather than to prevent contact.

As I have worked on the "Back From the Brink" campaign to prevent nuclear war, I have realized that what we must build, if we can possibly figure out how, is a construct for civic engagement, a way for more and more of us to take a role in dismantling the nuclear threat. Perhaps the way to do so won't be as obvious as building a boat out of teakwood and pitch; but the spirit of the endeavor is very much of a piece with what Noah did.

How might we build an ark for the 21st century in the form of a container for social action to prevent nuclear war?  Social structures are not always as outwardly impressive as soaring skyscrapers, powerful machines, sleek ships ... or thundering bombs. But, if measured in terms of potential impact, nothing could be more effectual.


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Related post:

The decision about whether to live with the threat of nuclear annihilation is our decision. And that is why the entire country is mobilizing for mass action for nuclear disarmament in 2015. Are we capable of making sure the messengers -- Obama, Putin, the other agents of government -- hear their instructions from us clearly?

(See NEEDED: Heroes to Bring About Nuclear Disarmament )

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