The Empire Must Fall

Breaking Faith’s Imperial Chains. A Call for a New Ground up Faith, Part 1

Recognizing the Chains

The call for liberation from the Imperial Church is not new. Many have walked this path before, and I doubt this will be that last call for reformation. Once we learn to recognize the chains the institution binds us in that serves empire rather than the divine, we can free ourselves from their grasp. This journey often begins with whispers of doubt or quiet questions about teachings that demand obedience to power rather than love. For example, a local congregation might discover its leadership prioritizing institutional reputation over protecting the vulnerable. When questioned of challenged, they respond with something like: "Don't touch my anointed ones. Do my prophets no harm (Psalms 105:15, cf 1 Chronicles 16:22-24)." How this passage about violence against prophets has become an appeal to authority is beyond me. All it does is leave ordinary worshippers feeling voiceless under an authority they cannot challenge.

For centuries, resistance has taken many forms. It was found in the dissent of the Desert Fathers, who not only withdrew to the wilderness to escape a faith entangled in political ambition, but also openly resisted bishops and councils that dismissed their ascetic ideals as subversive. Their conflict with church officials highlighted a deeper tension between institutional authority and those who sought divine communion apart from imperial interference. It echoed in the mystics, whose divine encounters defied rigid orthodoxy.

In 367 CE, Athanasius of Alexandria issued his Festal Letter, forcefully denouncing what he judged as heretical or "unlawful" writings. Backed by imperial favor, his decrees ushered in a climate of fear and suppression among monastic communities. Groups that embraced or merely studied the so-called “gnostic texts” often faced severe penalties if they were caught. To protect certain sacred and alternative writings from forced destruction, believers hid them in sealed jars and buried them near Nag Hammadi. This act of concealment ensured the survival of ancient “gnostic scriptures” even as the Church consolidated its authority, ultimately revealing how imperial power and doctrinal uniformity combined to shape the religious landscape of the time.

It rang out in the voice of Pelagius, condemned for proclaiming that divine grace is freely given, not rationed by ecclesiastical decree. He was condemned for not accepting Augustine’s novel doctrine of original sin and human corruption. He taught like James that faith without works is dead (James 2:14–26). Despite the fact that Pelagius taught that grace comes to us in three forms, Augustine condemn him as an enemy of grace. Pelagius first type of grace is the grace of creation itself: the natural gift of life and free will, which lets us choose between good and evil. Then there’s the grace of revelation, which is the guidance we receive through sacred law, teachings, and the example set by Christ. Finally, there’s the grace of pardon, which is the forgiveness offered when we turn away from our mistakes and seek to do better. For Pelagius, grace was the help and encouragement we receive from God, setting us on the path, showing us the way, and offering forgiveness, while leaving the responsibility and possibility for transformation in our own hands. But that was not enough to satisfy Austine who continually fought for Pelagius’ excommunication.

After being acquitted of heresy at the Synod of Diospolis (415), Augustine continued to press for Pelagius to be condemned of heresy. In 418, the Councils of Carthage condemned Pelagianism as heresy, making it clear that denying original sin and downplaying the need for grace went against church teaching. Around the same time, Pope Innocent I excommunicated Pelagius, and his successor, Pope Zosimus, upheld that decision when pressed by church leaders. Finally, in 431, the Council of Ephesus officially declared Pelagius and his follower Caelestius to be heretics, settling the matter once and for all in the eyes of the Imperial Church. All of this was to consecrate the new and novel doctrine of original sin and human corruption.

The empire has tried to silence, erase, or assimilate every challenge to its authority. Yet those sacred sparks endure. The struggle for a faith unchained from empire lives on in secret prayers, in sacred groves, in the hearts of those who still dare to dream of something better.

Faith in Service to Empire

Empire thrives on division, submission, and fear. It seizes faith, reshaping it into a tool of control. Fundamentalism and dominionism become its agents, ensuring people remain divided, distracted, and disempowered.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the modern Fundamentalist movement took shape. It started as a reaction to emerging biblical criticism, the theory of evolution, and what it perceived as theological liberalism. This wave of strict literalism and moral absolutism soon tied itself to broader political agendas, reinforcing the imperial tendency to control thought and stifle dissent. Through mass media, revival campaigns, and coalition-building, Fundamentalism wielded significant cultural power, shaping political discourse and intensifying religious divisions.

By the mid-20th century, Dominionist Theology emerged as an even more direct attempt to merge religious law with civil authority. Figures like R.J. Rushdoony and Francis Schaeffer advocated for Christian-based governance, seeking to impose what they saw as biblical mandates on every aspect of society. This approach often fused evangelical zeal with partisan politics, reinforcing empire-like structures that used faith to justify social hierarchies and suppress dissent.

During the same era, another movement took root that stood in stark contrast: Liberation Theology. Originating in Latin America, it called for a preferential option for the poor and directly challenged oppressive systems by viewing social justice as central to the gospel. Proponents such as Gustavo Gutiérrez and Oscar Romero integrated faith with active political engagement on behalf of the marginalized, offering a sharp counter-narrative to dominionist and fundamentalist ideologies.

Around this same time, Creation Spirituality also began to gain momentum under theologians like Matthew Fox. Emphasizing original blessing instead of original sin, it sought to reconcile science, art, and faith by recognizing the sacredness of all creation. By centering cosmic awe, ecological stewardship, and a more inclusive vision of the Divine, Creation Spirituality championed a spirituality of interconnection and liberation, challenging frameworks that reduced faith to rigid doctrines or purely human-centered concerns.

Meanwhile, mid-20th-century Europe also saw the rise or revival of various Pagan movements like Wicca (developed by Gerald Gardner) and modern Druidry, each emphasizing a reconnection to ancestral and earth-based traditions. These communities grew alongside new Pagan-inspired paths, exploring ritual, seasonal festivals, and a more animistic worldview.

This imperial impulse isn’t limited to Christianity. It can and does seep into all traditions, including modern paganism and druidry. Whenever exclusivistic beliefs, ethnocetric, patriarchal meet and mingle, authoritarian instincts arise.

Throughout history, this pattern repeats. The Holy Roman Empire sanctified its conquests. The British Empire used missionaries as agents of cultural erasure. Today, authoritarianism rises under the banner of faith, enforcing conformity and preserving privilege.

Reclaiming Spirituality

Essentially, to reject imperial spirituality is to return to faith’s deepest roots. It is a turning away from hierarchical structures and a rediscovery of mystics, wanderers, and visionaries who thrived outside the halls of power. This is not about destruction for its own sake; rather, it is the forging of something both new and ancient.

Experiment with the following ideas, testing what resonates for you as you seek the call of Spirit, reconnect with God in the Earth, and nurture a living, community-based spirituality. They can help you anchor spiritual ideals in everyday practice, bridging belief and action:

Form a Compassion Circle: Gather a small group of friends, family, or neighbors for regular meetings. Spend a portion of the time reflecting on teachings of love and justice. Pick short readings, then brainstorm practical ways to carry those insights into everyday actions, encouraging everyone to share these ideas at the end so participants leave with clear next steps (for example, the parable of the Good Samaritan or a poem by Maya Angelou), discuss them openly, and share personal insights. Talk about how they resonate with everyday experiences, then record any key insights or questions as a group. This practice creates accountability and transforms abstract ideals into day-to-day habits.

Journaling for Clarity: Dedicate ten minutes each morning (or evening) to explore how you might embody these ideals in practical ways. Write about specific behaviors such as offering direct help to someone in need, choosing generosity over fear, or speaking kindly in tense situations. Revisit your entries weekly to track growth and challenges.

Community Check-Ins: In everyday interactions, whether virtual or in-person, initiate conversations about compassion and empathy. Ask a coworker or friend how they’re really doing. Gently offer a listening ear or a supportive word. Even brief, heartfelt exchanges serve as acts of resistance against the apathy and aggression of empire.

Language Awareness Exercises: Pay attention to words that trigger negative connotations like “Christian” or “religion.” When using these terms, reclaim their essence by emphasizing love, humility, and service. For instance, if you mention your faith, add a quick explanation that highlights empathy or justice (e.g., “I see my faith as an invitation to serve others”), reshaping the conversation toward healing rather than harm.

Acts of Service and Solidarity: Volunteer with local organizations that align with values of liberation and justice (food banks, community gardens, mutual aid networks). This grounds faith in tangible service. Instead of reinforcing hierarchy, aim to create reciprocal relationships. Learn from the people you support, invite them to share their stories, and incorporate their wisdom.

Personal Integrity Check: End each day by reflecting on how your actions did or did not reflect compassion and courage. This can be as simple as thinking back on one positive interaction and one you might handle differently next time. Practice offering yourself grace (meaning the unconditional, empowering kindness that fosters transformation, such as pausing to breathe during a heated moment and choosing a calmer, more empathetic response) while staying committed to growth, being honest about mistakes, focusing on what can be learned, and taking small steps toward positive change. In that spirit, you might seek out three distinct kinds of grace: the Original Grace found in nature, which reminds us of our deep interconnection with creation; the Grace of Forgiveness that liberates us from the burden of guilt; and the Grace of Illumination, guiding us toward deeper wisdom and renewed vision.

Remember: true faith does not lie in domination but in service and compassion.

As you weave love and justice into daily life, you help nurture a spirituality that heals and liberates. Reclaiming spirituality means actively choosing love and justice, even in small, everyday decisions, and refusing to rebuild the walls of empire in any new form.