SpaceX's Starship is the most ambitious engineering project in human history. Standing 120 meters tall, fully reusable, capable of carrying 100 people to Mars—it represents humanity's serious attempt to become a multiplanetary species. Elon Musk's stated goal is to build a city on Mars with a million people. It's audacious, expensive, and technologically challenging. It's also, some Christians argue, a modern Tower of Babel.
The comparison seems apt on the surface. The Tower of Babel was humanity's attempt to "make a name for ourselves" by building a tower reaching to heaven (Genesis 11:4). God responded by confusing their language and scattering them across the earth. The passage is often read as a warning against human ambition, technological hubris, and attempts to achieve by human effort what only God can accomplish.
If Babel was wrong because it was a grand technological project aimed at human glory, then Starship—another grand technological project—seems similarly problematic. Both involve building tall structures, pushing technological limits, and unifying human effort toward an ambitious goal. Case closed, right?
Not so fast. The problem at Babel wasn't technology or ambition per se. It was the motivation behind them. "Let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth" (Genesis 11:4). The builders were resisting God's command to fill the earth (Genesis 9:1). They were seeking security and significance through their own efforts rather than through obedience to God.
Contrast this with other biblical building projects. Noah built an ark through immense labor and technological sophistication. Solomon built the Temple, one of the ancient world's architectural marvels. Nehemiah rebuilt Jerusalem's walls. These projects were blessed because they aligned with God's purposes, even though they required ambitious plans and technological skill.
The question isn't whether a project is technologically ambitious. It's whether it serves God's purposes or human pride.
So what about Starship? Is colonizing Mars an act of faithful stewardship or prideful rebellion?
I believe it depends entirely on the motivation and implementation. If Mars colonization is driven by the belief that we can save ourselves, that human ingenuity makes us gods, that we don't need divine grace because we have rocket science—that's Babel. If it's accompanied by exploitation of workers, disregard for safety, or contempt for Earth's stewardship—that's Babel.
But if Mars colonization is understood as an extension of the creation mandate to fill creation and exercise responsible dominion, if it's done with humility recognizing that all technological skill is ultimately a gift from God, if it's accompanied by justice and care for both Earth and any new worlds we inhabit—that's fundamentally different.
The distinction matters because fear of "playing God" can lead to rejecting legitimate uses of human creativity and capability. God gave us intelligence, curiosity, and problem-solving abilities. Using these gifts to explore creation, to ensure humanity's long-term survival, and to extend life to lifeless worlds isn't presumption. It's fulfilling our design.
Moreover, unlike Babel's builders who sought to avoid dispersion, Mars colonization embraces it. We're not gathering in one place to make a name for ourselves. We're spreading across the solar system, increasing redundancy and resilience. This aligns with God's command to fill creation, not resist it.
There's also the practical consideration that Earth faces real risks: asteroid impacts, supervolcanoes, nuclear war, pandemics. Having a backup location for human civilization isn't lack of faith; it's wisdom. We don't refuse medical treatment because we trust God to heal; we use medicine as a means of God's provision. Similarly, we can pursue Mars colonization as a means of securing humanity's future while trusting God's ultimate sovereignty.
The autistic part of me appreciates the systematic, long-term thinking behind Starship. It's not about quick profits or immediate gratification. It's about multi-generational planning, solving complex engineering challenges, and working toward a goal that won't be fully realized in our lifetimes. This reflects being made in the image of a God who works on cosmic timescales and creates with patient craftsmanship.
What I think distinguishes legitimate ambition from Babel-like hubris is this: Are we pursuing this to secure ourselves apart from God, or are we pursuing it as an exercise of stewardship and creativity within God's creation? Are we motivated by fear and pride, or by wonder and responsibility?
When I watch Starship launches, I see something beautiful: humans cooperating to solve immensely difficult problems, pushing the boundaries of what's possible, working to extend life beyond our home planet. That impulse—to explore, to build, to create—comes from being made in God's image.
The danger is always that we'll forget the Source of our abilities, that we'll think our technological prowess makes us independent of God. But the solution isn't to reject ambition or technology. It's to pursue them in humble recognition that all our abilities are gifts, that our ultimate security comes from God not from our own efforts, and that we're stewards not owners of creation.
Starship isn't inherently Babel. But it could become Babel if we lose sight of why we're building it and who gave us the capacity to build at all. The solution is to pursue Mars with both boldness and humility—boldness to attempt hard things, humility to recognize we're only able to attempt them because we're made in the image of a creative, generous God.
When the first humans stand on Mars, they should echo the Psalmist: "Not to us, O LORD, not to us, but to your name give glory" (Psalm 115:1). That's how you avoid Babel while still building toward the stars.