The Flood: God’s Genocidal Water Park

Ah, the Great Flood. A beloved story for children—because nothing says “bedtime tale” like mass genocide, ecological collapse, and an ark bursting at the seams with every species under the sun.

If we’re to take this story literally, it’s essentially a divine temper tantrum that makes humanity look downright sane in comparison. Let’s unpack this absurdity and shine a spotlight on why this story might just be one of the most ridiculous tall tales ever told.

The Eco-Apocalypse

Imagine the logistics: rain falling for 40 days and 40 nights to flood the entire planet. This would require water levels to rise high enough to submerge mountains like Everest, which stands at over 29,000 feet. Where does all that water come from? And where does it go afterward? The Bible glosses over such trivial details, because, apparently, physics is a nuisance when you’re writing mythologies.

Now, let’s talk ecosystems. A global flood would obliterate habitats and devastate food chains beyond repair. Coral reefs? Dead. Freshwater species? Gone, drowned in saltwater. Forests and grasslands? Annihilated, leaving the soil waterlogged and lifeless for decades. Yet somehow, life bounces back in the biblical narrative with a Disney-esque flourish. Birds chirping, plants regrowing, lions frolicking with lambs. Science? Nah, just vibes.

The Titanic… Times a Million

Noah’s Ark is often depicted as a large wooden boat, maybe the size of a football field. Impressive, until you consider the task: housing two of every species. Let’s crunch some numbers. Scientists estimate there are around 8.7 million species on Earth today (and that doesn’t even count extinct ones like dinosaurs). Even if we’re generous and say Noah only had to bring land animals, you’re still talking millions of creatures.

And let’s not forget food. Carnivores need meat, herbivores need plants, and omnivores need a bit of both. How do you store enough for a year-long voyage without refrigeration? Did Noah have a state-of-the-art composting system? Did he figure out animal waste management better than modern zoos? And what about diseases? Did Noah have two mosquitoes carrying malaria? Two rats with bubonic plague? The ark would have been a floating biological hazard.

Genocide on a Divine Scale

Now, let’s get to the core of the story: God’s solution to humanity’s wickedness is to drown nearly every living thing on Earth. Not just the humans, but animals, too. That’s not justice; that’s overkill—literally.

This act of divine wrath has eerie parallels to other genocides in history, including the Holocaust. Imagine if Hitler claimed his actions were justified because people were “too wicked” to live. Sound familiar? Yet when God does it, we’re supposed to call it righteous judgment? No, it’s just genocide with a celestial rubber stamp.

And let’s talk about the method of execution: drowning. Slow, painful, terrifying. Imagine the billions of people—children, babies, the elderly—struggling for breath as the waters rise. Imagine animals, unable to understand what’s happening, fighting to stay afloat before succumbing. This isn’t justice; it’s sadism. If God were truly omnipotent, couldn’t he have found a less horrifying way to hit “reset”?

The Aftermath: A Divine Oopsie

When the waters finally recede, what’s left? A barren, soggy wasteland. Noah and his family—all eight of them—are now tasked with repopulating the Earth. Forget incest taboos; it’s a genetic bottleneck so severe that humanity would be lucky to survive a few generations before collapsing from inbreeding-related diseases.

And what about the animals? Once they’re off the ark, they’re expected to replenish their species with just two individuals. Conservationists will tell you that such a small gene pool spells doom for any population. But in the Bible, it’s all sunshine and rainbows. Apparently, divine magic fixes everything, from ecological collapse to genetic diversity.

The Moral of the Story?

So, what are we supposed to learn from this tale? That when humans mess up, God’s first instinct is to kill almost everything? That mass murder is a valid form of conflict resolution if you’re powerful enough? The Flood isn’t a story of redemption or hope; it’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked power and a reminder that even gods can act like tyrants.

In the end, this story holds an uncomfortable parallel: one figure with ultimate power decides to erase an entire population for their perceived “wickedness.” The Holocaust remains one of humanity’s darkest chapters, where Hitler sought to exterminate the Jewish people, claiming his actions were for the “greater good.” God’s flood story follows the same disturbing logic: collective punishment on an unimaginable scale.

If we condemn genocides orchestrated by humans (as we should), why should we revere a deity who does the same, but on a planetary level? The Flood raises more questions than answers. If this is divine justice, perhaps humanity’s flawed systems, for all their imperfections, are still leagues ahead in morality. At least we’re striving to do better.