From Babel to Washington: The March of the Immortal Empire

Last time, we named Babylon for what it is: not a city, but a spirit. A pattern of domination that repeats through history. A system where wealth, war, and pride rule the nations.

Babylon never dies because its king never dies. The same serpent still whispers, “You will be like God,” in the ears of rulers and empires. Each one believes it has the divine right to rule, and each crowns itself chosen. And behind every throne, the false trinity smiles: Mammon, the god of greed; Mars, the god of violence; and Hubris, the god of pride.

They build new towers, raise new armies, and write new myths, but it’s always the same story.

The First Empire: Control Through Unity

It started at Babel. Humanity’s fear of scattering led them to say,

...“Come, let’s build a great city for ourselves with a tower that reaches into the sky. This will make us famous and keep us from being scattered all over the world.” — Genesis 11:4 NLT

The first empire began not from malice, but from fear. But fear and pride always become control. God scattered them, but the seed of empire had been planted.

Then came the Akkadians, the first recorded empire in history. Their kings called themselves “King of the Four Quarters of the World.” They conquered through language, roads, and taxes; the first to imagine a unified world under one ruler. The model was set: dominate, centralize, expand.

The Divine Right: God-Kings of the Nile and the East

Egypt refined the design. Pharaoh was not just a ruler; he was a god. His monuments scraped the heavens, store-cities rose from the sweat of enslaved people, and the blood of the Hebrews mortared the walls. The state became religion; worship and obedience became one act. Mammon gained temples. Hubris wore gold.

Assyria perfected empire through fear. Terror was policy; intimidation, art. Reliefs from Nineveh boast of flayed captives and burning cities. Samaria fell, Jerusalem barely survived, and whole peoples were uprooted and replaced to erase resistance. They broke nations by breaking their memory. Mars learned organization.

Babylon added spectacle to the system. Nebuchadnezzar raised a golden statue ninety feet high and demanded that the world bow. Empire had found its liturgy: worship at the altar of power. The Temple burned, Jerusalem fell, and God’s people were marched east beneath the banners of a false god. Their names were changed, their songs silenced. Faith was tested by the fire of foreign kings.

Persia followed, promising justice and tolerance. Cyrus freed captives and paved roads for peace. It was empire with a smile: the first to conquer through order, not chaos. The whip was traded for the decree. The Temple was rebuilt, but not from devotion. Posturing, not piety. The throne would do anything to keep ascending.

The Civilized Beasts: Greece and Rome

Greece perfected pride by calling it wisdom. Alexander died dreaming of godhood. Philosophy replaced faith, beauty was virtue, the human form itself became divine. When they reached Jerusalem, their ideas disguised their swords: reason as revelation, culture as salvation. But with their enlightenment, they brought idols. One was placed directly in the Temple and Scripture was outlawed, demanding worship in the king's image. Empire had learned to seduce before it struck. Hubris wore a laurel wreath and called itself light.

Rome took Greece’s ideals and forged them into law and legions. It gave the world “peace,” but peace enforced by crucifixion. Its gods were patriotic; its citizens pledged loyalty to Caesar as the son of god. Rome didn’t just rule bodies; it ruled imagination.

Rome was Babel with marble columns and better marketing.

The Baptized Empire: Cross and Crown Entwined

When Byzantium rose, it declared itself Nova Roma--the New Rome. The cross replaced the eagle, but the crown remained. The Church, once hunted by emperors, began crowning them. Power was baptized.

Then came the Crusades: holy wars where Mars wore the cross and Hubris marched under the name of Jesus. Conversion came at the point of a sword. Empire had learned to call conquest “mission.”

By the Inquisition, even belief itself was policed. The gospel of grace became a ledger of control. Babylon’s throne stood inside the Church, and the smoke of sacrifice rose from sanctuaries, not battlefields.

The Age of Exploration: Gold, Gospel, and Gunpowder

As Islam’s Caliphates rose, empire adapted again, this time under new prophets and new banners. The Ottomans and Mongols' industrialized conquest; their dominion stretched from China to Vienna. Each claimed heaven’s approval.

Then came Spain and Portugal, carrying the cross beyond the sea. They discovered new worlds and filled them with old sins. The Bible and the sword arrived together, and gold flowed homeward in the name of God. Priests marched beside conquistadors; baptism became conquest by another name. Mammon wore priestly robes, and Mars sailed under a crucifix.

Britain followed, globalizing the model. Trade replaced tribute. Progress replaced piety. Now two churches vied for the king’s hand, one Roman, one Protestant, both convinced they alone were God’s chosen. The empire no longer needed to conquer by force; it conquered through commerce, education, and the illusion of enlightenment. Hubris learned the King's English.

And for a time, it worked. The world spoke its language, drank its tea, and bowed to its manners. Babylon had learned civility.

The American Revelation

Then came America: born in rebellion, swearing off Kings, claiming freedom and equality. For the first time, humanity told itself it had outgrown empire.

But empire didn’t end; it evolved.

The founders kept Rome’s "peace," Greece’s reason, Britain’s sophistication, and baptized them in the rhetoric of liberty. “Manifest Destiny” replaced divine right. Expansion was no longer conquest; it was providence. “One nation under God,” though no one asked which god.

We were taught that America was a revolution against empire. But maybe it was just a succession; a torch passed, not extinguished.

We didn’t reject empire; we perfected it.

We learned to rule by consent instead of coercion.

We discovered that if you give people a vote, they’ll never call it captivity.

We told ourselves we were the shining city on a hill, never realizing the hill was made of bones.

The False Trinity Still Rules

Empires still rise under the same three gods:

• Mammon tells us success is salvation and that blessing can be measured in profit.
• Mars tells us peace requires perpetual war.
• Hubris tells us we are chosen, exceptional, indispensable.

They don’t care what flag we wave or what hymns we sing. They just need our worship. As Satan offered our Lord:

“I will give you the glory of these kingdoms and authority over them,” the devil said, “because they are mine to give to anyone I please. I will give it all to you if you will worship me.” - Luke 4:6-7 NLT

The offer still echoes in our politics, our pulpits, our patriotism. The devil doesn’t care if we claim to follow God or gods.

He knows God’s road is narrow and his is wide.

He doesn’t need our confession, only our direction.

He doesn’t care which road we take, as long as it leads where he wants.

A Quiet Lament

We were taught that America was the antithesis of empire. Maybe it was only empire perfected.

We traded thrones for ballots, but still crowned ourselves righteous.

We called ambition “calling,” wealth “blessing,” and domination “destiny.”

Maybe Babylon endures because we no longer see it as Babylon.

The old gods have gotten subtle, but they live on. The serpent doesn’t need to roar when a whisper will do.

In the Capitol Rotunda, (pictured above) we painted our creed in fresco.

Washington seated among the gods while Mars and Mammon look on, renamed “War” and “Commerce.” Our democracy is crowned by the same spirits we swore we’d left behind.

It may not be a golden calf, but they are idols all the same.

Closing Confession

I no longer trust the kind of power that calls itself righteous while crushing the powerless beneath its progress.

I’m trying, imperfectly and slowly, to live like someone whose king chose the cross over the crown.

Because Jesus is King. And President — I mean, Caesar — is not.

From the March,

R. A. Fen