The Curse of Babel and the Shooting in Minneapolis

”Though we are all speaking English, we no longer are speaking the same language, because almost none of our meanings are cooinciding. The curse of Babel has fallen on us again”

In the streets of Minneapolis right now—amid tear gas, arrests, protests in subzero cold, and the echoes of fatal shootings by federal agents during massive ICE operations—people are shouting the same words: "justice," "safety," "rights," "law and order."

Yet those words mean radically different things to different people.

The fundamental problem dividing America today is not merely differing opinions on policy, but a deeper semiotic rift: words themselves carry radically different meanings depending on who hears them.

Semiotics, the study of signs and how they produce meaning, reveals that language is not a neutral tool for communication. Words function as signs—arbitrary connections between a signifier (the sound or written form) and a signified (the concept it evokes)—and these connections are shaped by personal history, cultural context, education, and media exposure.

What one person intends as praise can land as poison for another, turning dialogue into misunderstanding and, ultimately, conflict.

Consider the word "rose." For a native English speaker steeped in Western literature and culture, it arrives laden with associations: Shakespeare's "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," suggesting essence transcends naming; Bette Midler's song evoking love, beauty, and fragility; Valentine's Day romance; even the tyrannical Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland shouting "Off with their heads!" A newcomer to English might register only the literal flower—pretty, thorny, red.

The same four letters trigger entirely different mental landscapes.

Now extrapolate this to politically or socially charged terms.

Take "father." For one person, it conjures a nurturing, guiding figure who provided stability, instilled values, and modeled love—perhaps intertwined with religious imagery of a "heavenly Father" offering unconditional care and moral authority. For another, it evokes trauma: absence, abuse, abandonment, or patriarchal oppression. The word becomes a lightning rod—one person's source of comfort is another's trigger for pain.

Political discourse amplifies this language disparity. For example, conservatives often frame government or society through a "strict father" metaphor—emphasizing discipline, self-reliance, hierarchy, and protection from external threats—while liberals lean toward a "nurturing parent" model focused on empathy, communal support, and equity.

The meaning of words like "freedom," "justice," "family," or "rights" diverge sharply: one side hears "freedom" as freedom from government overreach and constraint, the other as freedom to pursue self-realization without barriers of systemic authority.

Though we are all speaking English, we no longer are speaking the same language, because almost none of our meanings are cooinciding. The curse of Babel has fallen upon us again.

These divergent connotations are not accidental. They are reinforced and entrenched through everyday mechanisms. Educational environments curate exposure to certain interpretations—schools, universities, and curricula emphasize particular historical narratives or ethical frameworks. Social media algorithms curate feeds that reward engagement, often amplifying emotionally charged content that aligns with preexisting views, creating echo chambers where alternative meanings are rarely encountered.

Friend groups and communities further solidify these semiotic worlds, rewarding conformity to shared interpretations and punishing deviation.

Over time, entire ideological camps inhabit parallel linguistic realities: the same news event, framed with the same words, produces opposite emotional and moral responses.

The result is a nation where genuine communication breaks down.

When liberals and conservatives debate "justice," one may envision restorative equity and addressing historical wrongs, while the other sees impartial rule of law and individual accountability—yet both assume their meaning is universal.

Misunderstandings accumulate into mutual suspicion: the other side isn't just wrong; they are speaking a different language, perhaps deliberately distorting "truth." This breeds affective polarization—raw animosity—beyond mere ideological disagreement. Studies show social media exacerbates this by facilitating extreme content and isolating users in value-aligned networks, though it is not the sole cause; elite rhetoric, partisan media, and cultural sorting play roles too.

This semiotic division threatens our Republic itself.

When shared language erodes, so does the possibility of shared reality. Compromise becomes betrayal, nuance becomes weakness, and dialogue devolves into tribal signaling.

To bridge the gap requires recognizing that meanings are constructed, not inherent. It demands humility: acknowledging that our own connotations are shaped by biography and bubble, and in many case not at all by the actual objective truth of reality.

And so given that the fundamental problem dividing America today is not merely differing opinions on policy, but a deeper semiotic rift of understanding, it becomes apparent that our problem is to be found in our epistemological foundations: where ultimate truth and authority reside.

These divergent meanings arise from competing sources of knowing.

One side anchors meaning in the transcendent God of the Bible, the Creator whose Word reveals objective reality, moral order, and human purpose. The other elevates humanism—human reason, experience, and collective flourishing—as the final arbiter, rendering truth provisional and self-constructed.

For the Christian, meaning flows from the God who is the Logos, the eternal Word through whom all things were made (John 1:1–3). In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. This divine Logos is not arbitrary or invented; He is the coherent, personal source of all rationality, truth, and communication.

Language itself reflects God's orderly creation—Adam named the animals under divine authority (Genesis 2), and human speech was unified until pride at Babel led God to confuse tongues as judgment on self-exalting rebellion (Genesis 11).

Babel reminds us: when humanity seeks to "make a name" for itself apart from God, meaning fractures, unity dissolves into confusion, and words become weapons of division rather than bridges of understanding.

Yet the gospel reverses Babel's curse. At Pentecost, the Spirit enables diverse tongues to proclaim the wonders of God in unity (Acts 2), pointing to the day when every tribe and language will worship the Lamb (Revelation 7:9). In Christ, the scattered can be gathered, the divided reconciled—not by human effort alone, but through submission to the true Source of meaning.

Beloved, this is our call in a fractured age.

Hear the Word of the Lord: In a nation where the same words—"justice," "freedom," "love," "rights"—evoke warring worlds, do not be surprised. The divide is not accidental; it is spiritual. One epistemology submits to the God who speaks truth infallibly through Scripture; the other enthrones autonomous man as its own god, inventing meanings to suit desire. When "father" evokes divine provision and covenant for one and oppressive hierarchy for another, when "compassion" means sacrificial obedience to God's design or unchecked affirmation of self, the rift exposes idolatry: humanity has exchanged the Creator for the creature (Romans 1:25).

As Christians we are called not to win semantic battles with sharper rhetoric, but to proclaim the Logos who is Truth incarnate. Jesus did not merely use words; He was the Word made flesh (John 1:14), dwelling among us to reveal the Father. In Him, meaning is restored: ultimate authority is not human consensus but the Father's will; justice is not invented equity but righteousness fulfilled at the cross; freedom is not license but liberation from sin's bondage.

Therefore, here is the way out of the Doom that is on our Doorstep:

- Humble ourselves before the true God of meaning. Confess where our own connotations have been shaped more by culture than by Christ. Pray for ears tuned to His voice above the noise.

- Speak the truth in love (Ephesians 4:15). When words divide, gently uncover the deeper presuppositions. Ask: "What is the foundation of your understanding here? Is it Scripture, or something else?" Point to the Bible as the unchanging plumb line. To do this, you MUST engage in humble dialogue with anyone, even among your enemies, who is not already lost in an animalistic “unreason.”

- Model reconciliation in Christ. Cross divides not to conquer arguments, but to embody the gospel: bearing with one another, forgiving as the Lord forgave (Colossians 3:13). Demonstrate that true unity comes not from enforced sameness but from shared submission to the Logos. I will write another essay on forgiveness soon.

- Proclaim the gospel unashamedly. In a Babel-like culture of competing meanings, announce the One who makes all things new. Invite hearers to repent of self-made gods and find rest in the Word who became flesh, died for our distortions, and rose to restore creation's coherence.

Dear friends, America may remain two nations divided by a common language, but the church is called to be one body under one Head.

In this hour of confusion, let us not add to the babble. Instead, lift high the cross where meaning was redeemed. Return to the Source: the God of the Bible, whose Word endures forever (Isaiah 40:8). For in Him alone—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—do words find their true home, and fractured hearts their healing.

May the Lord grant us grace to speak His language anew, that many might hear and believe.

Amen.