written on July 13, 2026
I feel that some vibecoded software changes somewhat randomly and unexpectedly. That made me think about Bruegel’s “The Tower of Babel” which shows an already quite chaotic depiction of the Tower of Babel. The story is usually told as one about pride and ambition and ultimately why people no longer speak the same language. But it is also a story about the unity that makes technological progress work.
The text begins with a technology upgrade:
And they said one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them thoroughly. And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for morter.
They use it for a civilizational project:
let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven
But when God assesses the situation the bricks are not what concern him:
the people is one, and they have all one language, […] and now nothing will be restrained from them.1
The source of their power is coordination. They share a language and with that shared language they can combine their work into something no one of them could build alone. God does not take away the bricks or their knowledge of how to make them. He takes away their ability to understand one another, and construction stops.
There is the appealing idea that AI-assisted programming means better tools which lets us build more ambitious software. That is certainly true at the level of the individual and without doubt a developer with an agent will be dramatically more capable of changing a codebase. But large software projects have never been limited only by how quickly an individual can produce code. They are limited by how well people can coordinate their understanding of the system they are changing.
The shared language of a software project is not English or Python but it is the common understanding of what its concepts mean, where the boundaries are, which invariants matter, who owns what, and why the system has the shape it does. This language is rarely written down in one place. It lives partly in documentation and code, but also in code review, conversations, arguments, and the experience of having to explain a change to somebody else.
Before agents, some of this shared understanding was maintained by friction. If I wanted to change your storage layer, I usually had to read your code, ask you questions, and perhaps coordinate with another team whose service depended on it. This was slow, and much of that slowness was waste but not all of it was. Some of it was the process by which your understanding became mine, and by which both of us discovered whether we still agreed about how the system worked. This friction synchronizes people.
Agents remove much of that friction. I can ask an agent to add OAuth, you can ask one to add caching, and somebody else can ask one to rebuild the database from first principles and make the UI pink. Each change can be reasonable in isolation. The code can compile, the tests can pass, and the explanations can be generated on demand. None of us necessarily has to talk to the others, or even acquire the part of the shared model that the change once would have forced us to learn.
As I said many times before: agents do not feel pain, only humans do. Agents now let us act in parts of the system where we would previously have needed other people and in code bases where the people would have revolved.
When I look at some vibecoded scaled-up projects the codebases become Babel not because nobody can communicate, but because nobody needs to. Every developer has a tireless translator that can explain a corner of the tower and make whatever local alteration they ask of it. The changes keep landing, even as the architectural language that would let the humans reason about them together disappears.
But it’s not the biblical story. At Babel, the loss of common language stops construction whereas in AI-assisted engineering, construction can continue after shared understanding has already collapsed. The lack of an immediate failure is what makes it curious and a bit disorienting. The tower does not fall, and so we do not notice what was lost. It just keeps rising.