Babel in Prague

The book of Genesis, in its tenth chapter, tells the story of Babel, a place in the pre-historical Middle East whose people attempted to construct a tower that would have its top in the heavens. Yahweh comes down to see what these humans are up to and decides to scatter them in order that the tower of Babel may not be finished. How does Yahweh scatter them? Yahweh “confuses their language” so that they cannot communicate with each other. Thus are multiple languages born and humanity divided.

For someone who has lived in one linguistic sphere all of his life—as I had through high school—this story doesn’t have much oomph to it. But since I’ve walked into places where I don’t speak the dominant language—Montréal east of St Laurent, Portugal, Mexico, and now, Prague—the story of Babel has a good deal more meaning. Not to speak the same language is more than a grounding for antics like Rachel and Phoebe with the Italian guy on Friends. It is more than having difficulty finding what you want in the supermarket. Speaking different languages separates human beings at the very centre of their ability to express emotion, display logic, and enter into social culture. There is a very real sense in which we are what we speak, or are able to say, and what others understand us to say. The inability to speak the language of the social world in which one finds oneself is not only difficult, it is de-humanizing.

It’s not de-humanizing like scorn or contempt or making a people the focus of genocide. Crimes against humanity are also de-humanizing, but in a way that is intentionally evil. Not speaking the local language is de-humanizing in the sense that a full expression of who I am—and who I might be as part of this society—is impossible. I cannot have even a basic conversation with someone in Czech; this means that I cannot form a real relationship with someone who does not already speak English. We may be able to stumble around, repeating nouns and numbers or playing impromptu Pictionary until finally we realize we’re talking about the same thing. And that process can be quite entertaining and adventurous! But expression of the important things in life that are the real grounds for social relationship are impossible. It’s not just because I don’t have the vocabulary; since I don’t understand how to speak Czech, I don’t understand its thought-forms or symbols.

This is not to say it’s not fun wandering around Prague, seeing the sights, and taking in the rich panoply of sounds, smells, sights, textures, and yes, languages. This is great fun! But I am a stranger in a strange land. It’s not strange because they have weird trees that grow upside down or because they keep giraffes as pets or build entirely out of green cheese; it’s strange because I have no idea what these people are talking about. I don’t know what people laugh at or how they converse. We are statues to each other, occupying the same space by virtue of technology but unable to form a proper society. I am an outsider looking in.

Yahweh did a powerful thing in breaking up Babel. Language, when shared, makes all sorts of bonds possible. When language is fractured or unknown it makes all sorts of bonds impossible. Thus is the story of Acts chapter two, in which people of all nations are made able to understand each other, all the more powerful for its display of the Spirit’s power to bring humanity back together again.

If the afterlife is the kind of place where wishes come true, I think I'd like to speak Czech.

~emrys