In Genesis 11, our camera pans across an open plain where we see a gathering of all humankind.
The powerful elite issue their decree to the masses: “Come, let us make bricks . . . Come, let us build a city with a tower that reaches to the heavens . . . We will make a name for ourselves” (11:3-4). In response, God issues His decree. He tells His angelic army, “Come, let us go down and confuse their language” (11:7).
It’s like a battle scene where two impressive forces rush the field from opposite sides, except in this case, the battlefield is vertical. It’s heaven v. earth. Earth is advancing on heaven to annex new territory for itself, but heaven counters in a surprise attack, falling upon man’s headquarters, infiltrating their tower and confusing communications. The people scatter and leave the tower in disarray. God and His great army of angels return home, victorious. The credits roll and Psalm 89 plays...
Let the heavens praise your wonders, O Lord,
your faithfulness in the assembly of the holy ones!
For who in the skies can be compared to the Lord? . . .
The heavens are yours; the earth also is yours;
the world and all that is in it, you have founded them.
Maybe that’s how I would pitch Babel: The Movie. But you know, Genesis 11 is an awesome drama no matter how you cut it. The real thing is even better than the movie.
In Genesis 11, man has devised a clever plan. The powerful few plan to effectively recreate Adam. With all humanity concentrated in a single structure under one headship, speaking one language, then in theory they would wield as much power as Adam once had. Under such a model, even God says that nothing would be impossible for them (11:6). Unfortunately, their aim is not Come let us glorify God. Instead, their rallying cry is Come let us make a name for ourselves.
My favorite insights about Genesis 11 come from Rabbi Hirsch and Rabbi Daniel Lapin. I think you’ll find them as thought provoking as I have.
Writing in the 1800s, Rabbi Hirsch observes that, when we’re reading Genesis 11, we’re standing at the threshold of world history, when post-flood man has come to recognize the great power of the collective and its ability to master nature. The tower is a symbol: it symbolizes the preeminence of the collective over the individual. Without safeguards in place to keep the collective in check, the individual is gradually nullified.
Hirsch writes, “If the community presents itself as an end instead of a means to an end, then mankind’s whole moral future is lost . . . The individual is expected to sacrifice his life for the collective, and the collective renounces its allegiance to the individual.” Had Hirsch lived to see WWII, he certainly would’ve pointed to the way Russia treated its solders in battle. Many times, Russia’s strategy resorted to “just throw more bodies at the problem until it goes away.” One soldier’s death meant nothing; what mattered was the glory of Mother Russia, whatever the cost.
Rabbi Lapin adds flavor to Hirsch’s observation, calling Genesis 11 an ancient warning forwarded to all future citizens of history. In Lapin’s words, the tower represents the State when it suppresses the individual for the sake of its own glory. In a brilliant conversation, he contrasts bricks and stones. Bricks are manufactured to be exactly the same. They are interchangeable, easily positioned, and, if necessary, easily replaced. The State (once corrupted) would mold its citizens into bricks. When the bricks have been made, all effort can be devoted to the tower which will never be finished.
The citizens of the kingdom of heaven are not bricks but stones––living stones (1 Peter 2:5). Stones are each unique; their composition, shape, and texture vary widely. As a building material, each stone makes its own contribution, a contribution that’s retained among the whole, not lost among sameness. This is God’s intention for the individual even as He calls them together. He doesn’t want sameness; he wants a mosaic that reflects His creativity and zeal for diversity.
On the topic of stones versus bricks: If this idea interests you, then consider the two man-made structures we find between the flood and Abraham. Compare them:
- One is made of stones; one is made of bricks.
- One is made by an individual; one is made by a collective.
- One is built to glorify God; one is built to elevate man.
You might say it was the tower in Genesis 11, but no––God had to go down from heaven to reach the tower. It was the other man-made structure––Noah’s altar––that actually rose higher, because it reached God all the way in heaven (8:21).
Now unrelated to bricks and stones but connected to the Tower of Babel, here’s something to chew on. Let’s put two puzzling verses side-by-side and see how one lends light to the other. First, go and read Genesis 3:22-23, then read Genesis 11:6.
Notice:
- If God does not intervene in Genesis 3, then man will live forever.
- If God does not intervene in Genesis 11, then nothing man proposes will be impossible.
Living forever? Accomplishing the impossible? Both seem like positive things, so why does God intervene to prevent them from happening?
Context is clutch.
- In the context of 3:22, sin has corrupted our being with selfishness and shame. To live forever in this pitiful condition is to be forever separated from the life God wanted us to experience.
- In the context of 11:6, the collective has secured its dominance over the individual. In this situation, the individual is powerless and without agency. Nothing will stop the collective from getting what it wants, and ultimately the collective wants whatever the ruling powers set their eye on.
- God separates man from the Tree of Life so that we may escape our fallen state.
- God separates man from man so that we may escape a fallen State.