Originally published 26 October 1992
Dear Noah,
Forgive this informal way of communicating, but I have a bad case of laryngitis and must curtail my thundering from on high. I have good news and bad news. First the bad news. The Earth has become corrupt, and filled with violence. I will send a great flood to destroy men, and with them all creatures of the Earth. Now the good news. You shall build an ark (see enclosed blueprints). You, your sons, your wife, and your sons’ wives will be saved. You shall also bring two of every sort into the ark, male and female. Of the birds, of the animals, and of every creeping thing of the ground, two of every sort shall come with you, to keep them alive. I have no intention of allowing the flood to diminish the number of species — the biodiversity — of my creation.
Yours,
God
Dear God,
Thanks for allowing me and my family to survive. We have begun building the ark according to your specifications. Can I make a suggestion? The idea of preserving what you call “biodiversity” is laudable. But, really, is saving every species the most sensible way to use space on the ark? Wouldn’t it be better to bring along larger herds of economically useful animals — sheep, goats, cattle, fowl? It would also be nice to have extra room for gold, silver, and practical raw materials, so that my family can live in affluence once the waters have receded. Who needs all those bugs, snakes, spiders, and flies?
Sincerely,
Noah
Dear Noah,
Sometimes I wonder why I bother. You humans are incredibly shortsighted. All you think about is your pocketbook. Do you really imagine that I made the Earth just for you? Do you think that butterflies, whooping cranes, and duck-billed platypuses were afterthoughts, to be brushed aside when they become inconvenient? A panther lazing in the sun affords more pleasure in my sight than a hundred men scrabbling after gold. A condor soaring on the wind fills my heart with immense satisfaction. Please don’t second-guess my creation. Get on with it, Noah. Load the ark, two by two.
Yours,
God
Dear God,
I don’t mean to be impertinent, but the task you have set us is impossible. Just figuring out how many animals must be provided for in the ark will take a colossal amount of time. Rounding up a pair from each species and loading them aboard will require more resources than my family can muster. And, my goodness, there must be a thousand different kinds of animals. How will we ever fit them all in?
Sincerely,
Noah
Dear Noah,
You don’t know the half of it. There are upwards of 50 million species of animals. Actually, I have lost track of the number myself. I recall having created 30 million kinds of beetles alone (I have an inordinate fondness for beetles). But don’t worry, I’ve worked this out carefully. The hundred or so largest species — the elephants, hippos, and giraffes, for example — will occupy more space on the ark than all the rest put together. A boat 300 cubits by 50 cubits by 30 cubits should be ample. Take my word for it, Noah, there is sufficient room for all of my creation — if you don’t hog it for yourselves.
Yours,
God
Dear God,
Forgive me for saying so, but the forthcoming flood may be a perfect chance to get rid of superfluous species. I mean, what’s the point of having 10,000 different kinds of birds, 100,000 kinds of spiders and their unpleasant kin, and a zillion kinds of bugs? I thought we humans were your favorite species? Less room for them, more room for us.
Sincerely,
Noah
Dear Noah,
OK, OK. I’m tired of arguing, have it your way. Take a vote with your wife, your sons, and your son’s wives. Decide for yourselves the value of snail darters, spotted owls, and tropical beetles. But don’t imagine that I created these species lightly. The atmosphere, oceans, rocks, and life are all of a piece. Keep those so-called “superfluous” creatures off the ark and you may find a change in the air you breathe, the soil you plant, and the weather that brings rain to your crops. Take care, Noah, lest you inadvertently destroy the very source of your prosperity.
Yours,
God
Dear God,
We’ve taken a vote — me and the wife, and the sons, and the son’s wives. It was unanimous. We’ll stock the ark with domesticated species only. When the waters go down, we will turn the Earth into one big cultivated farm, with lots of room for our burgeoning progeny. The idea of preserving biodiversity has a certain antediluvian charm, but the cost is too great. We’ll take care of ourselves, and let those 30 million kinds of beetles take care of themselves.
Sincerely,
Noah
Dear Noah,
It’s a good thing I’ve got laryngitis, because I really feel like thundering from on high. When I gave you humans more brains than the other species, I had in mind that you’d be responsible stewards for my creation. It turns out that even an Omnipotent Being can make a mistake. Take care, Noah. It has started to rain.
