Salvation and Gender in the Flood Narrative

Over the years I have spoken about this project with many people. I explain to them that I am trying to understand the significance of circumcision in Judaism given the fact that one half of the Jewish people are not circumcised. One colleague, a learned and intelligent woman, at first reacted with the words, ‘I did not know that so many Jews were uncircumcised!’ After a long pause she said, ‘Oh, you mean women.’

Shaye J.D. Cohen in Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised

There is a way of reading Genesis that treats it as a just-so story, approaching it primarily as a narrative that is meant to explain how the week came to have seven days, why the humans wear clothes, or, supposedly, how the snake lost his legs.

This is a very bad way to read Genesis (or any part of Scripture), as it risks over-simplifying the text. In treating it as a children’s story, the reader only ever leaves with the very conclusions that were folded away in the suitcase of expectations with which he entered. 

Gender is often a victim of this approach. The thinking goes something like the following. Humans are gendered. Genesis includes the origins of humans. Therefore, Genesis must include some creative explanation of human gendering. 

But the role of gender in the narrative of the Torah is far deeper and richer than this approach permits. As I have written elsewhere, gender is deeply woven into the entire creation narrative, functioning not only as an anthropological reality but also as a cosmological principle. In this paradigm, gender is not primarily about origins or roles. Rather, it is timber within the narrative frame, providing deep, embodied connections between the world from which we come and in which we live. 

Yet at its core, Scripture is a story not only of creation, but of re-creation, the grand narrative of the redemption of the world. Humanity – in its full gendered beauty – is central to this redemption. And if gender is an ordering principle in the creation of the cosmos, then we should expect it to also be an ordering principle within the re-creation of the cosmos. 

But what does such an assumption even mean? What would it look like for the re-creation of the world to be gendered? I admit that such a question may feel foreign to many readers. We are not accustomed to thinking of the world in this way. But such is not the case with ancient literature. Ancient myth incorporates gender as cosmological across cultures, as seen in Hesiod’s Theogony, the Enuma Elish, and Inanna’s Descent into the Underworld. In this regard, the literary technique of the Bible is no different. To explore this in reference to the theme of redemption and re-creation, we will look at the story of the flood. 

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Genesis 6 opens with a gendered story that is predicated on the preceding narratives. The world is in ruin. And this ruin is the result of cosmic disorder resulting from the Sons of God taking what they were not given by God, namely, the daughters of men. Their offspring are the Nephilim, god-men who pursue fame through violence. This pattern of male, female, and offspring is a repeated motif within the opening chapters of Genesis and plays a key role in its earlier stories. 

As expressed in the table above, the parallels within this motif present intriguing points of increasing departure from the original ideal as well as a chiastic symmetry. 

Before going further, I want to emphasize that I do not aim to present any defense of the associated imagery of these gendered parallels. I simply wish to say they are there, and that it is difficult to pretend that they are somehow accidental or artifactual, especially given what appears to be evident literary intentionality and structure. For now, and for the sake of argument, we will accept that they are evident and matter of fact in order to make some observations based on the parallels. Readers who would like further explanation can read my previous article linked above. 

I also want to emphasize that Scripture is not presenting an Aristotelian view of the masculine and the feminine, and neither am I. Aristotle’s view is based on his own philosophy and biological theory, and has no place in Scripture. Scripture’s view is based on the shared imago dei that belongs to every human, man and woman, and what Pope John Paul II has called the nuptial meaning of the body. Aristotle only sees men as participating in the feminine through mutilation or subjugation, whereas, as we shall soon see, scripture shows each of us (male and female) as properly participating in hierarchies of the masculine and the feminine within the greater cosmos.

Returning to the parallels above, we can note first, that there is increasing disorder from generation to generation that is depicted in gendered forms. To see the increasing disorder, one can consider the worsening violence from Adam to Cain to the flood narrative, or the increasing oppression and loss from Eve to the wives of Lamech to the daughters of men. This disorder plays on the gendered interactions of successive generations and is experienced differently by the masculine and feminine representations within the text.   

Second, at least within the first three generations, there is a parallel sense in which all humanity lives, one might even say dwells, within the feminine. The earth is the dwelling place of man. Humanity’s future lives in Eve (“the mother of all living”). And Cain’s future/offspring becomes synonymous with the city (עִיר; ‘ir) that has thematically become his help or deliverance (עֵזֶר; ‘ezer); in essence, Cain’s city serves the dual function of wife and child. However, the feminine as a locus of life is increasingly attacked, such that Cain slays Abel, Lamech is a tyrant over his wives and the city, and the Sons of God rape women until the earth itself is ruined. Gendered dominance is thus depicted as a fruit of the fall and an aspect of the ruin from which the world needs purification.

Third, the goodness of the original masculine/feminine pair is mirrored by the corruption of the final pair. Just as there is no doubt in the goodness of heaven and earth by the end of Genesis 2, there is no doubt in the corruption of the heavens and the earth within the prologue of the flood. The Sons of God (בְּנֵי הָאֱלֹהִים; bene ha-elohim) are contrasted with the Elohim (אֱלֹהִים) of Genesis 1 and 2. And the devastation of the earth in Genesis 6 is in opposition to the fruitfulness and potentiality of the earth at the end of the creation narrative. 

Fourth, all of creation becomes compromised and in need of judgment, renewal, and redemption. Male and female. Heavens and earth. Parents and offspring. Fallen angels and fallen man. 

This is the backdrop to the flood story. Apart from observing the role of gendered imagery up to this point through creation and the fall, we cannot understand the role of gender in the redemption and re-creation to come. 

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After its prologue, the flood story proper begins by presenting Noah as an icon for the representation of the heavenly, living into the role of the image of God in the world. Like Adam in the garden, Noah walks with God. He is with the animals in peace. He is instructed about a tree (6:14; the Hebrew plays on the term עֵץ; ‘ets) and about what to eat (6:21). Yet unlike Adam, he obeys these commands (6:22; this is, of course, until he has his own fall narrative after the flood). Noah walks in obedience to God and seeks the good of creation. He images the heavenly to the world as a means of God’s gracious presence while also acting as a representative of the world to God, interceding on its behalf. 

Complementing Noah’s portrayal of the heavenly in the world is the ark as a representation of a new earth and a renewal of the feminine. She is the world of Genesis 1-2 in miniature. Her structure matches that of the world of Genesis 1-2 with three levels that are each filled with creatures (similar to the three domains in the creation narrative: the skies, the seas, and the dry land). And as in Eden, God places within her a man and his family to steward and care for her. She is filled with life and that which carries within it the breath of life. She is, quite literally, the “mother of all living” for the world to come. 

Yet the ark is also a world covered over, anticipating later developments in the Torah. Verse 14 makes this point through clever plays on the root for atonement or covering (root כפר; kpr). The words for cover and pitch (6:14 “cover it inside and out with pitch” ESV) share the same root (כפר; kpr) that appears throughout Leviticus for atonement, linking this concept to the image of the ark of the covenant. The point of this description is not to give a lesson in ship building, but to provide a picture for what it means that the future space of the tabernacle and the camp of Israel are atoned for (covered over) through sacrifice and what the nature of that space is compared to the world around it. However, the image also operates in retrospect. Like the blood of the sacrifices of Passover and Yom Kippur, through Noah’s ark, God has made a way for his saving presence within a corrupted world. Like the tabernacle, the ark is a place where the continued redemptive presence of God can still be found on the earth. Hence Genesis 6:14 talks about the covering (כפר) being applied to the bayit of the ark (בית; house, but properly here as a preposition describing within the ark), employing phrasing that imitates the construction of the ark of the covenant (Exodus 25:11). The ark of the covenant will become the place of God’s redemptive presence in the Torah. These images also resonate with the application of blood to the door of the house (בית; bayit) in the Passover narrative. 

But there are further reasons beyond its parallels to the earth for why the ark appears as feminine in the narrative. One simple reason is that, in Hebrew, the ark is grammatically feminine. The noun is a feminine noun. Every reference to it uses a feminine pronoun. This should not be strange to us. Even in English, the grammatical gender of a ship as feminine is a familiar construct. The English language has its own tradition of referring to a ship in the feminine. However, grammar alone is not a strong argument for the ark’s female nature. Simply because a noun is feminine does not mean it acts within the feminine framing Genesis has used thus far or that it is representative of the female archetype. 

The text also frames the ark as female through wordplay, using common ancient literary techniques. The first time the Hebrew term for the ark is introduced in the text, it is introduced in its less used construct form, תבת (tevat). Throughout the rest of the narrative, the term for the ark is תבה (tevah). The variation hardly appears coincidental. In the later Exodus narrative concerning Moses’ birth, an ark again makes an appearance (and, again, carries significant weight as an image of the feminine). And the exact same linguistic tic recurs. The first use is the construct form tevat and all other uses are tevah. 

One explanation for this intentional variation that makes use of the nuances of Hebrew grammar is that it is expressly intended to clue us into associations within the text. Ancient writers used techniques like this specifically for such a purpose. In this case, the use of תבת (tevat) links the ark to the Hebrew word for daughter (בת, bat), which is spelled with the same final consonants as תבת. Through this linkage, the ark is reinforced, then, as a portrayal of a feminine offspring of the earth itself. She is the daughter of the earth who is to become the mother of the new world. Furthermore, the ark also becomes more deeply linked to בית (bayit) and the associations described above. Both connections are visually and aurally communicated by תבת (tevat), and תבה (tevah) looks similar to the Hebrew for “the house” and “the daughter” spelled in reverse. 

But there are yet further reasons for seeing the ark as an image of the feminine in the narrative. When God formed Eve, he took flesh from Adam’s side (צֵלָע; tsela‘) and closed (סגר; sgr) it. He then made what he took into the woman. In the flood narrative, Noah is instructed to make an ark with a door (פתח; petakh) in her side (צדה; tsiddah). Noah goes in that door, which is then closed (7:16, סגר; sgr) by God behind him. Acknowledging the variations in vocabulary compared to the narrative of Eve’s creation, the imagery is constructed in parallel. The changes in vocabulary themselves do not appear coincidental or merely for variation. The choice of word for side in the ark narrative is also the word used for hip, as in the place where a child is carried (cf. Isaiah 60:4, 66:12). 

Close readers, however, may recognize this point as counterintuitive. If the ark is feminine, why is the opening in its side and not in Noah’s? Doesn’t this argue against the ark as an image of the feminine? In the creation narrative, God makes an opening in the masculine to form the feminine. 

In the ark narrative, this inversion is an intentional reversal. It serves to both highlight birth imagery associated with the ark and develop the theme of the feminine as a deliverer. The opening is made in the feminine for the deliverance of adam (אדם; mankind). After all, Adam was formed from the earth before Eve was taken from Adam. Noah, an icon of the masculine, then enters with his household into the ark for the purpose of the preservation of humanity and the re-creation of the world. It is from the feminine in the form of this remade and redeemed image of the earth that adam, and indeed, the world, are born again after the flood. 

This birth imagery extends even to the chronology of Noah’s time within the ark. Though the Hippocratic tradition postdates the writing of the flood narrative, we know that the ancient Greeks estimated human gestation as an idealized set of seven periods of 40 days for 280 days total. Galen, writing several centuries later, recognized a period of 270-280 days. Today, physicians consider the period of 37 weeks and 0 days to 40 weeks and 6 days (259-286 days) as term for a pregnancy. We have no reason to doubt that the ancients were fully capable of calculating a similar gestational range. Accordingly, based on the dating in the text relative to Noah’s life, we can count from the day the flood begins (day 0) to the bird sequences that test for new life on the earth. This gives a period of 263-284 days. The raven departs at 37 weeks and 4 days (day 263), and, using the conventional assumption that the first dove is sent 1 week later, we get the 270^th day as the time of its departure. The dove is then sent again on day 277, and this time brings an olive leaf. Finally, it permanently departs on day 284. The proximity of these values to the period of human gestation is difficult to ignore, especially within the context of our prior observations. 

They become even more salient when placed within the context of the childbirth laws of Leviticus 12. The first creature sent from the ark comes in the form of a raven, a bird that cannot be eaten because it is considered detestable (Lev. 11:13-15, Deut. 14:14) through its association with death. This links the moment of emergence from the ark-as-womb with an initial period of uncleanness, fittingly represented by the carrion-eating raven, the assumption being that the raven does not return because it lands and feeds on the carcasses of the flood's victims. This initial period is then followed by a period of progressive purification charted in the dove flights and the abatement of the flood waters, culminating in Noah’s departure from the ark and subsequent burnt offering. Though the time frames vary, this sequence closely aligns with the prescriptions in Leviticus 12 for a woman who has given birth. The text commands a woman to observe an initial 1-2 weeks of ritual impurity (1 week for a male child and 2 weeks for a female child) before practicing a much longer period of purification (33 or 66 days depending on the gender) that concludes with a burnt offering. Notably, in the case of a poor woman, the text allows for the offering of two doves, the same clean bird that Noah sent to inspect for life on the earth. In the context of the ark and the earth after the flood, this patterning communicates a rebirth and renewal of the world with a restoration of God’s sacred presence. 

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 It is, then, only through the mutuality and union of these masculine and feminine representations,  that God accomplishes his deliverance from the flood. Neither on its own is sufficient for the salvation of the world. Each is necessary. Noah without the ark is an unrealized means of redemption in a world under judgment. He would cease to exist. Similarly, apart from Noah, there is no ark, and even if there were, it would be a barren shell, again, the unrealized possibility of deliverance. The re-creation of the world through the flood is achieved only through the mutuality and union of the masculine and feminine motifs that were first shown in the heavens and the earth. 

But Noah and the ark are not the only gendered pairing within the text. Turning to God and the earth, it is in this portrait of femininity as deliverance vis-à-vis the ark that we encounter the chief description of God’s redemptive action in the Torah on behalf of the earth he has made: his remembrance (זכר; zakhar). “But God remembered Noah and all the beasts and all the livestock that were with him in the ark” (Gen. 8:1, ESV). What Noah and the ark have modeled, God, himself, now enacts, bringing redemption through the heavenly action of remembrance. 

God’s remembrance sits precisely at the middle of the chiastic structure of the flood narrative, and within the context of the flood, his remembrance is the basis for the abatement of the waters of judgement. It is thus the turning point that leads to the realized re-creation of the earth out of the chaos of the deluge as the ruakh (רוּחַ) moves again over the waters, just as in Genesis 1. So, in chapter 9 we return to the blessing first given to Adam and Eve but now placed upon Noah and his offspring as they exit the ark into an earth washed new: “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” 

While Genesis 8:1 is the first time the text uses the term zakhar for the verb “remember,” it is not the first time Genesis has used a term built on the consonants זכר (zkr). The same triconsonantal root structure for remember appears in Genesis 1:27 and 5:2. This is because it is the same root structure for the word for “male” in the creation of Adam and in the poem that opens Genesis 5. These passages highlight mankind, individually and corporately, as being made in the image of God, male (זָכָר; zakhar) and female (נְקֵבָה; neqebah). Based on the prior uses of zakhar and the previously described gendered imagery and word plays of the flood narrative, the use of zakhar in Genesis 8:1 contributes a striking additional link and further emphasizes a cosmological gendering of redemption as God acts on behalf of the earth and the ark. 

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I opened this essay with an anecdote from Shaye Cohen’s provocatively titled book Why Aren’t Jewish Women Circumcised? What the title and the anecdote communicate is that the feminine is often perceived as either an unnoticed afterthought in redemption, or a passive tag-along. Circumcision is a good example for why this is the case. But what if the feminine is woven into redemption, albeit in a way that is distinctly feminine over and against (kenegdo; כְּנֶגְדּוֹ - see Genesis 2:20) the masculine? Perhaps we have simply failed to see it. As described above, within the story of the flood, the feminine is as essential to redemption as the masculine. No ark equals no redemption. There simply isn’t a story without it, or if there is, it ends very badly. 

The essential role of the feminine within the gendered redemptive framing of the narrative becomes all the more striking when we consider that all of redeemed humanity lives through participation within the ark. Eve came from Adam’s side, and in the poetry of Genesis 5, woman (ishah; אִשָּׁה) participates within man (ish; אִישׁ). But in the flood narrative, this participation undergoes a clever reversal, one that speaks to the way in which all of us, in a literal, physical sense, achieved life and deliverance through shelter within our mothers, just as Noah and his family found life and deliverance through the shelter of the ark. 

But the participation goes beyond the imagery of gestation and childbirth. The parallels and the participatory nature of humanity within the cosmic feminine frame provide mythopoetic imagery and theological underpinnings to the development of redemption within the New Testament. While it is beyond the scope of this essay to explore this development at length, I would be remiss in failing to draw a line to the description of the church as the bride of Christ. When Christ is pierced on the cross, the blood and water that come from his side constitute the church. These are her sacraments. This is the new woman made from the new man. All Christians live and participate in her. And it is within her, on Christ’s behalf and through his sacrifice, that God remembers us.