Icarus and Noah

Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight. For the greatest tragedy of them all is never to feel the burning light. – Oscar Wilde

Icarus, from Greek mythology, has often been associated with youthful carelessness. Donning wings of feather and wax, his demise came from flying too close to the sun. Not paying heed to caution, he became enraptured by the sensation of flying and ached to go higher. Rising too high, his waxed wings began melting, sending him plunging toward the sea.

But what if Icarus was more pioneer than fool? Pioneers often meet harsh judgment in the midst of their exploration. Yet the pioneering spirit surges within each of us, an inherent propulsion that tugs and invites us into mystery and discovery. Left unexplored, we may never leave the radius of what’s familiar.

It is critical to discern what is childlike - a pure willingness to be available to discovery, from what is childish. Childlike does not mean foolish; it means open. And yet, after failures or ridicule, we often disconnect from that rapturous sense of childlike awe. We may hesitate to try again, fearing the sting of past falls.

In the flood parable, Noah released the dove again and again. Sometimes it returned with nothing, sometimes with only a small olive twig. Only after repeated attempts did it finally not return, having found a place to rest.

The dove becomes an emblem of creative expression. How often have we released our own “doves” - ideas, art, prayers - only to see them return unnoticed or unwelcome? It is tempting, after a few failed flights, to box up the dream and declare it unworthy. But Noah didn’t stop. He sent the dove again and again, and eventually it found its place.

The correlation between Icarus and Noah is striking. To some, Icarus was reckless; to others, he embodied a daring vision. To minds trapped more by practicality than vision, repeated creative attempts are foolish; to some who’ve managed to untangle losses and collapse from personal worth, they are the only way forward. History may call it failure. The indomitable spirit calls it flight.

Whether wings of wax or the wings of a dove, our expressions may falter, may return with little to show. But if we restrict our flight because of the past, we silence the very current of discovery that moves through us. As poet Jack Gilbert reminded us: “Everyone forgets Icarus also flew.”

And so, like Noah, we keep releasing our doves. Like Icarus, we dare to rise. For the creative impulse within us is not meant to be caged by caution or history. It is meant to soar, again and again, until it finds its resting place