The Pope and Memories of Babel: The Failure of Technological Utopia
Humanity has already imagined the future. It has done so through mythical stories and science fiction. Religions have also imagined the future. That is why Pope Leo XIV has included the Tower of Babel story, as told in the first book of the Bible, Genesis, in his initial reflections in the encyclical Magnifica Humanitas. The Pope contrasts the story of Babel with the reconstruction of Jerusalem under the leadership of Nehemiah. The Tower is the emblem of human pride. The reconstruction of the Holy City represents a community that decides to work together in concord, not through domination.
Re-reading Babel gives us keys to see ourselves in the mirror of the builders of the Tower. Pope Leo XIV states in his encyclical that “Babel thus reveals the limits of any effort that, however grandiose, arises from self-affirmation, sacrifices human dignity for efficiency and aspires to reach heaven without God’s blessing.”
The Jewish tradition preserved in the Midrash and the Talmud has read the account of the Tower of Babel by decoding every word of the nine verses of this condensed chapter of Genesis. Humanity, after the Universal Flood, believes there is a way to avoid another catastrophe that would endanger its survival on Earth. It gathers in the Valley of Shinar to begin the construction of a great tower that will rise to the heavens.
The biblical account presents a failed epic with resonances to our current situation marked by language technologies: it introduces the notion of a global (universal) community made up of those who speak a single language; the construction of the Tower is based on a technical knowledge that proclaims itself “supernatural” (all-powerful) and even “supranatural” (beyond nature); the community expresses a desire for total dominion over Nature or God, which could be interpreted as “totalitarian” or absolute control of the totality; finally, the story reaches a deadlock because absolute control, as a manifestation of technological domination, fails. Global communication and community become impossible. Let us examine the account verse by verse with the respective interpretations from the rabbinic tradition.
Verse by Verse
The first verse says: “And the whole earth was of one lip of united words” (Genesis 11:1) (I follow here André Chouraqui’s translation, which seeks to preserve the literalness of biblical Hebrew).
A Midrash from the rabbinic tradition reads the text in this way based on another interpretation of “united words (ahadim)”. They pronounced sharp words (hadim) or also “severe” as it is likewise translated: “Every one thousand six hundred and fifty-six years the firmament trembles, so let us build pillars: one to the north, another to the south and another to the west; the east will use this one as support in the east.” The global or universal community is possible through unified communication. This communication is motivated by a desire for domination in order to prevent the firmament from overflowing and eliminating humans.
The second verse relates: “And when they departed from the East [the Orient, kedem], they found a rupture in the land of Shinar and settled there” (Genesis 11:2). The rabbinic reading of the Midrash asks: to go toward the East, did they move away from the East? In reality, says Rabbi Eleazar bar Shimon, this means they moved away from the Ancient One (Kadmuto, which comes from the root kedem, east) of the world, saying: We want neither Him nor His divinity! The birth of the city (Babel) implies a break with an order of things (the ancient order). In the rabbinic interpretation of the biblical text, the break with the ancient order is not only geographical (moving away from the ancient east), but also the rejection of its very implicit morality: the morality of the Ancient One of the World, the Primordial. The birth of the city implies new modes of human-human and human-nature interactions that cannot be normalized by the pre-urban ethical framework or by tribal morality. The new order of the “technology of a single language” creates an ethical void.
The third verse recounts: “And they said to one another: ‘Come, let us make bricks and bake them in the fire.’ Stone was for them brick and bitumen served them as mortar” (Genesis 11:3). The Midrash reads the verse in the following way: these peoples were destined to be expelled from the world by fire. Rav Huna commented: Their work prospered. Did they want to make one stone? They made two; did they want to cement two stones? They cemented four. The new urban order establishes the primacy of technology over nature. The biblical text affirms this by highlighting the opposition stone/brick. The Midrash emphasizes that the primacy of technique implies greater efficiency and greater productivity. But the rabbinic exegesis warns of the consequences of this domination: whoever fabricates with fire, by fire shall die. The Midrash reading focuses on a problem increasingly observable in environmental, biotechnological, and information technology spheres: the hidden and contained crisis, related to the unanticipated effects of technology, is already present in the very mechanisms of technological innovation in the risk society as approached of by sociologist Ulrich Beck. As a rule, the discourse of progress tends to exclude the possibility of its own dystopian consequences.
The fourth verse explains: “And they said: ‘Come, let us build a city and a tower whose top will reach heaven, and let us make a name for ourselves so that we will not be scattered over the face of the whole earth’” (Genesis 11:4). The rabbinic interpretation recalls an excerpt from the Mishnah (the first compilation of the oral tradition): “The generation of the dispersion has no part in the world to come.” What did they do? According to the school of Rabbi Shila, they said: “Let us build a tower: we will ascend to heaven and split it with axes; thus, all the water it contains will flow over the earth.” We laugh in the Holy Land at (this legend): if that were the case, they said, they would have built the tower on a mountain. In reality, says Rabbi Jeremiah ben Eleazar, they divided into three groups: the first said: “Let us ascend (to heaven) to settle there”; the second: “Let us ascend (to heaven) to worship idols”; and the third: “Let us ascend to heaven to make war against God.” Those who wanted to ascend to heaven to settle there, the Lord scattered them; those who wanted to ascend to make war, He turned into monkeys, evil spirits, demons, or night demons. As for those who wanted to ascend to heaven to worship idols, the Lord confused the language of the whole earth (Gen. 11:9). “Let us make a name for ourselves.” Rabbi Ishmael taught: Whoever speaks of ‘name’ (HaShem, a reference to God) speaks of idolatry (GR 38:8).
The Midrash illustrates different facets of this “supernatural” order that the builders of the Tower of Babel intend to create. The first—the one that arises from the story at which they laugh in the Holy Land—seeks pure and simple control of nature. The second—the one of those who longed to live in heaven—joins utopian thought that advocates a return to Paradise. The third—the one of those who wanted to declare war on God—and the fourth—the one of those who wished to worship idols—indicate that this supernatural will generates new values and new forms of life, breaking with the old prescriptions. And this search for new values, through the very evocation of war, is carried out with violence.
Another aspect raised by the biblical text is the memory of the catastrophe (the Flood) as motivation to found the supernatural order and thereby “make a name for ourselves,” to become famous and influential. The story of Babel affirms that awareness of their fragility has generated a desire for domination among the humans of the generation of the dispersion. The fragility of the human condition is therefore responsible for two contradictory movements: one toward the expansion of means to compensate for this fragility in the face of the unknown; the other toward the limitation of human action so as not to tempt the unknown.
The fifth verse describes the following: “YHVH-Adonai descended to see the city and the tower that the sons of the earthy one (man) [Adam] had built” (Genesis 11:5). According to the Midrash, Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai said: this is one of the ten descents mentioned in the Torah (made by the Holy Blessed One to Earth). “That the sons of man had built” (ibid.). Oh, and what would have been said, exclaimed Rabbi Berekhia, that they were sons of a donkey or a camel! In fact, they proved to be worthy sons of Adam: the latter, after all the good I did for him, said to me: “It is the woman whom You put at my side… who gave me [to eat] from the tree” (ibid. 3:12), so barely two years passed between the generation of the flood and that of the division, for the earth has “one single tongue.”
The biblical text reminds us that those who founded the city and built the Tower are “the sons of the earthy one,” of the one who comes from the earth, the first man, Adam (the name Adam comes from the Hebrew adama, earth). In this way, the narrative introduces the notion of responsibility, a notion that situates the human being as the main actor of the order he founded. There is no autonomy of the technological sphere. It is a direct consequence of human action. Furthermore, the human being is responsible by a duty of kinship. This filiation with the first human has a universal scope, because kinship with Adam places all human beings on the same level. But the notion of responsibility requires memory, as the Midrash says. When the Talmudic commentary points out that there is a period of two years between the generation of the Flood and that of the Division, it could be interpreted as a complaint against the short memory of those who survived the disaster. Another Talmudic source says: “(according to Rav) the very atmosphere of the Tower causes one to lose memory” (TB-Sanhedrin 109a). Without memory it is impossible to build a new ethic. Fear of the unknown will have to be complemented by fear of what is already known.
The sixth verse recounts: “YHVH-Adonai says: ‘Behold, one people, one language for all. And so they begin to do it. Now nothing will prevent them from doing what they propose’” (Genesis 11:6). According to the Midrash, Rabbi Yehuda points out: “Since it is a united people, with one language, if they repent, I will receive them with open arms.” Rabbi Nehemiah said: “Why do they rebel against me? Is it not because they are a united people, with one language?”
The rabbinic exegesis takes up the theme of the commentary on the first verse. Global communication (“one lip of united words”) opens two possibilities: the birth of a just and unified community (“if they repent, I will receive them with open arms”) or the imposition of domination by the mere fact of their capacity for total control (“Now nothing will prevent them from doing what they propose”). This phrase from the biblical text also has another connotation. Communication, enhanced by technology, possesses enormous potential. Thanks to it, humanity will be able to deploy an almost supernatural power. However, the consensus made possible by technology is not good in itself, since perfect communication does not guarantee ethical behavior. On the contrary, forced or even imposed consensus could be a sign of moral decay.
The seventh verse indicates: “Let us offer, let us descend and mix there their lips, so that man may no longer hear the lips of his companion” (Genesis 11:7). The Midrash plays with the meaning of the words in Hebrew: “And there confuse (navla) their language (sefatam)” (ibid.). Commentary by Rabbi Abba bar Kahana: “By their lips (sefatam) I will produce corpses (nevela). One said to his friend: ‘Give me an axe,’ and the other gave him a pickaxe. Then he struck him, smashing his skull. This is the meaning of the verse: ‘By their lips I will produce corpses.’”
The Midrash doubts that unified communication is sufficient cause to establish the “community of the just.” When “perfect communication” comes to an end, the community ceases to exist. Even more worrying is that, as soon as communication becomes confused, injustice spreads. It seems that the inhabitants of Babel could not coexist with dissent. On the other hand, “perfect communication” had a utilitarian purpose: they communicated to build the city and the Tower. As long as communication is efficient, there is balance in the community. As soon as it ceases to be efficient, it ceases to serve the purposes of domination and loses meaning. When words cease to have meaning, the global or universalist enterprise fails.
The eighth verse relates: “YHVH-Adonai scatters them from there over the whole earth; they stop building the city” (Genesis 11:8). Rabbi Yehuda said according to the Madras: The inhabitants of Tyre went to Sidon, and those of Sidon to Tyre. As for Mizrayim (Egypt), it took possession of its land. Rabbi Nehemiah said: Each one took possession of his land, each one returned to the place where he had originally been established. What does “YHVH scatters” mean? All the nations gathered at the top of the mountains, and each country reabsorbed its inhabitants.
The failure of the project of global domination provoked a return to the initial state: borders, division, multiple languages, as presented in Genesis 10 (“From these the islands of the nations were divided in their lands, each according to his language, according to their clans and according to their peoples” – Genesis 10:5) before presenting the Babel project. Utopia, as a particular and fragile moment, cannot serve as the foundation for an ethic, but rather constitutes a utilitarian morality for a “transition” toward a supposed “ideal state.” In its ethical incapacity, the end of the utopian project implies a return to the initial situation, even to dystopia. But, as we will see in the next verse and its rabbinic interpretation, this ethic is not necessarily eschatological (in reference to the End of Times). It is situated at the antipodes of utopia; it is anti-utopian.
The ninth verse concludes: “Therefore its name is called Babel, because there YHVH-Adonai confused the language of the whole earth, and from there YHVH-Adonai scattered them over the face of the whole earth” (Genesis 11:9). The Midrash relates that a disciple of Rabbi Yohanan was sitting before him. Rabbi Yohanan gave him an explanation, but he did not understand it.
“Why don’t you understand?” Yohanan asked him.
“Because I am exiled,” he replied.
“Where are you from?”
“From Borsiph (a city near Babylon).”
“You should have answered rather Bolship, according to the verse: ‘Because there YHVH confused (balal) the language (sephat) of the whole earth.’”
The interpretation of the Midrash is very unique: the one who is exiled does not understand, but, despite his limitations with “language,” he tries to communicate. In the paradoxical situation presented by the exegesis, the one who is in search of an ethic (of an explanation) lives in exile, far from the Promised Land, the Land of Utopia. As if an ethic were only possible from a failure in “perfect communication,” in the acceptance of noise and dissent in the system. Exile thus acquires a new value in the constitution of an ethic of communication. The exiled person’s awareness of his own fragility, being uprooted from his community, obliges him to constantly question the very meaning of community.
Overcoming the Cybernetic Model
In the story of Babel, communication can be seen mainly as a cybernetic process of control and manipulation that conceives society as a mechanistic network, ignoring that human beings are creatures of needs and desires that must confront some notion of the good.
Furthermore, the very aspiration to perfect communication contains its own fragility: when noise interferes with communication (for example, misunderstandings, polarization or disruption), the community is no longer capable of managing its contradictions and then dissolves into fragments. Noise breaks the consensus toward the common goal.
The exiled person will find meaning in fragile communication, not in perfect communication, which is nothing more than an illusion of harmony or a totalitarian imposition. Fragile communication is that of misunderstandings and contradictions, challenges that can be overcome through benevolent and responsible coexistence.
