A Tower of Babel

In the heart of Mesopotamia, in the city of Babyl, a mighty shape could be seen under construction rising above the horizon for many, many miles away. The Ziggarat, as it was called, was to be the tallest and most impressive structure the world had ever seen. Constructed under orders from the Babylonian's God King, Marduk, it had been a source of steady employment for many generations. Marduk was generous, and the people of Babyl spared no expense in training the best engineers, programmers, lawyers, architects, and other specialists to ensure its success. However, as years passed, construction slowed to a virtual halt, and Marduk demanded a top-level meeting to determine what the problem was, and find a solution.

The most regal and respected Arbiter in Babyl was asigned to the high-level meeting. As she had been taught, she began by praising the attendees. "You have every reason to be proud of yourselves," she began. "In the past thirty years, you have created and learned new technological disciplines to make this project possible. However, as you know, in the last ten years, production has nearly stalled; and Marduk is growing displeased with our progress. I have invited you all, our lead Architect, our head Electrician, in fact, representatives of all our departments, for this reason. Marduk has deduced the problem is not in any one of our departments. Rather, it seems apparent that it is the gestalt, the combination of us all, that must be somehow working in cross-purposes to what we all agree we wish to achieve."

Each face at the conference table looked eagerly at her for guidance. But not one face indicated its owner had the slightest idea of what her point was. She turned to the man seated nearest her at the right side of the table. "Well, why don't you start, Mr. Architect?"

The lead Architect rose. A tall man with sparse blond hair and a wispy moustache, he glanced at the other faces around the room and then nodded at the Arbiter. "We have encountered a critical path in our schedule," he said intently. "The masonry work has been progressing well, but we are experiencing difficulty with the project's seismic design. We must ensure that the structural integrity of the building is not compromised by any natural calamities. I'm told by the Lawyer that we cannot use the usual methods of construction in such a large building for some reason."

The Lawyer replied, "Not just some reason, the counsel provided by the Lawyer is prudent and well-founded. Indeed, Marduk's interest in the Tower extends beyond the mere facade of a mountain; it is a matter of reputation and status among the deities. Therefore, it is imperative that the Tower's construction meets the highest standards of safety and stability. Any failure of the structure that causes harm to visiting gods would not only be detrimental to Marduk's reputation but would also incur significant liability. In this regard, the indemnity clauses in the contract must be examined meticulously and updated accordingly to ensure that all parties are adequately protected from any potential legal repercussions arising from the Tower's construction and operation."

The Architect pointed at the lawyer, and yelled, "But what's that got to do with traditional methods of architecture? You tell us what we can't do, while you don't understand what we must do!"

An awkward silence was broken by the Programmer. "We are working on implementing a robust integrated project management solution. However, we have encountered challenges with our system architecture, which requires a comprehensive review of our database schema and the refactoring of our legacy codebase. Plus, the Architect has been very slow in responding to my requests for data from his department." She looked around at the blank faces staring back at her and smiled weakly before lowering herself back into her seat.

The Architect grumbled under his breath, "It's not like I have time to manage 30,000 builders and spend hours a day writing onto those stupid clay tablets you give us."

The Programmer took on a look of mock surprise. "Those 'clay tablets', as you call them, are the standard input to the computers Marduk has given us. We've been using them at least a thousand years. So, since you like traditional methods so well, you should be happy to fill them out."

The Arbiter tapped on the tabletop with her nails. "I think we're forgetting ourselves," she said. "Rather than blame each other, let's try and understand each other better. For example, Architect, I just heard you say you don't have time to fill out Programmer's forms—"

"It's not just the time," the Architect interrupted. "The questions on the forms, I don't know the answers to. I don't even understand what she wants with that information. What in Hades is an 'employee number'?"

The Electrical Engineer spoke. "We're facing a significant impediment in our work, a significant one, yes ma'am. And it's all due to the obstructive behavior of other departments. The nature of our work demands a high level of technical expertise, given us by Marduk himself, requiring a deep understanding of electrical circuitry, digital logic design, and semiconductor physics. Unfortunately, I say, unfortunately, other departments have been withholding essential software tools, resources, and materials needed to complete my tasks. This obstruction has caused significant delays and prevented me from making progress towards critical project milestones. It's frustrating, and I believe it's time for us to take swift action to resolve this conflict and allow me to continue my work without bureaucratic obstacles." He sat, stared a moment, then belatedly banged his fist on the table for emphasis.

"As the Lead Caterer, I face significant challenges in executing my culinary vision due to construction needs that impede my work. As a food engineer, I understand the complexities involved in food preservation, thermal processing, and recipe formulation, which demand access to essential equipment, ingredients, and facilities. Unfortunately, ongoing construction projects have limited my access to the required space and resources, causing significant delays and disruptions to my operations. The noise, dust, and debris generated by the construction have also created health and safety hazards for food preparation, impacting the quality and safety of our menu offerings. It's crucial for the relevant departments to coordinate and prioritize the needs of food service to ensure that we can deliver top-quality cuisine in a safe and efficient manner. Or, at least, keep the slaves fed."

And so it went. Expert after expert attempted to convey the issues their department was facing, but the terminology for each discipline was so specialized that, while the words were usually common ones, their meaning had been subverted by each group to the point they could no longer understand each other in any but the most basic of ways.

The final person to speak was the head of building management, known as the Janitor, who simply shrugged and said, "It's all shit."

And that seemed to be the final word. After hours of discussion, the dejected Arbiter realized that, no matter what Marduk might want, the project must be abandoned. It had simply grown too large for human minds to encompass. In the attempt, the specialties had developed specialized vocabularies to help them deal with the specifics of their fields; but in turn that separated them when language was intended to unite.

And so the project went dark. The Arbiter was required to spend many hours placating Marduk, who eventually admitted that he'd rather lost interest in the project several centuries before, but then he kind of just forgot to tell the workers to stop.

The Babylonians themselves were devastated. They had invested so much time and effort into this project, only to see it fall apart due to their lost ability to communicate effectively. The Babylonians tended to identify with Marduk; and the Ziggarat, intended to be a symbol of him, also symbolized his subjects' ingenuity and determination; and it would now forever stand as a monument to their failure.

Years later, people still marveled at the unfinished Ziggarat's towering structure. But it was also a reminder of the dangers of jargon and the importance of clear communication. It was a lesson that the Babylonians had learned the hard way, and one they hoped that the world would never forget.

At least, not until a mass media company discovered they could intentionally make use of this effect by re-defining terms like racism, and misogyny; and even simple words like woke and patriotism were weaponised by those intent on hiding their shame for past attrocities, and to controlling the narrative for future discourse.

But that's a story for another day.