Athens
- Apr 2
- 5 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
the rise and fall of empires
Who’s next?
A faint air of grandeur streamed through the colossal pillars of the Parthenon as the ruin lay bare before us like a whale skeleton’s rib cage. Stranded atop an outcrop in the middle of Athens, the cluster of marble bones was surrounded by others—devastated remains of the Acropolis, the once pulsating citadel in the heart of Ancient Greece.
The cranes next to the eternal landmark were a fit reminder of how it had been hoisted up without those. Remarkably, the lack of modern technology hadn't stopped the old Greeks to build the Parthenon in eight little years, eons ago (447 BC – 438 BC). I don't know how they did it, and I prefer to skip the research on this one to keep it locked in my mystery drawer, labelled as "unfathomable ancient accomplishment." Leveraging such buff skills, it is no wonder the Greeks reigned over the region for hundreds of years.
Empires fall for many reasons, unforeseeable at their zenith and only evident with the generous benefit of historic hindsight.
So how did it all fall apart for that wealthy, grown empire whose descendants descended all the way to the bottom of the European Union's economic rankings, and—like a curious Benjamin Button case—became the region's financial problem child? Was it a similar fate that caught up with technologically advanced civilizations like the Aztecs, Incas, and Maya, who live on in indigenous populations that often struggle to get by in today’s world, looked down upon while selling produce in the streets of Latin America? What happened to the mighty Mongol Empire, grown by Genghis Khan into the largest contiguous land empire of all times, where the lifestyle of some nomadic tribes remains almost unchanged until today? Why did the Babylonians see their day in the sun end, despite their vast medicinal, mathematical and astronomical knowledge?
Division. War. Revolution. Religion. Migration. Economy. Disaster. Politics. Succession.
Empires fall for many reasons, unforeseeable at their zenith and only evident with the generous benefit of historic hindsight. The one reliable lesson history teaches is that they will crumble. They always have. The question is never if, but always when, for none have lasted—from the Egyptian to the British Empire. To bother with the “why” is foremost an analytical playground for historians. To assume such investigative games could prevent the collapse of future empires, would be naive. Given the constantly changing dynamics of uncertain environments in a complex world, the more reasonable assumption is that the demise can be slowed at best, the doomsday only ever delayed.
Empires might have traded some of their swords for pencils, yet the battlefields remain and the greedy war for expansion and power goes on.
Today, the classic empire seems extinct. But maybe the sands have merely shifted, the way dinosaurs live on disguised as birds. Empires might have traded some of their swords for pencils, yet the battlefields remain and the greedy war for expansion and power goes on. Aggressive geopolitical pursuits and GDP growth strategies differ from former imperialistic ambitions only on paper, if that: in this very moment, the US is fighting a global trade war, putting its own interests first and promoting divide over union; Russia has annexed Crimea and is meddling in elections around the globe to strengthen its own position; and China is investing feverishly in worldwide infrastructure as part of its Belt and Road Initiative to advance a global agenda that might boost it from superpower to ultrapower.
predatory pricing and hostile takeovers are the weapons of business empires that fight merciless battles on Wall Street.
The private sector isn’t any less belligerent. If anything, the competition has gotten fiercer since the days of Venice merchants and Singaporean spice traders: predatory pricing and hostile takeovers are the weapons of business empires that fight merciless battles on Wall Street. And just like the old empires, they rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall. Some gain or lose momentum quicker than others, but eventually they all pass the torch to their successors. Death by bankruptcy. Reincarnation by acquisition. Reinvention by merger.
Today’s winners, the Amazons and Googles, will be tomorrow’s runner ups, before they drop out of the race altogether—even if that's hard to believe right now, given the run they are having. The more adaptable an empire is to its own growth and the environment it feeds on, and the more efficient or lucky in its decision making under uncertainty, the longer it might rule. But eventually...eventually it will be swallowed by a bigger fish. "It’s just business," that shark will say, but really it’s a law of nature.
Dazzled by the sheer size, power and reach of contemporary business empires—firmly reigning over billions of consumers—it’s easy to overlook their tender age: Amazon is only 25 years old (founded 1994), Google is just about to turn 21 this year (founded 1998) and Facebook is a 15 year old teenager (founded 2004). The Roman Empire, which is often considered the longest lasting empire in history, was 1,480 years old on its deathbed.
Survival, by nature, lives off balance.
Sober historic facts suggest that empires are not meant to survive. And probably that is a good thing. After all, their expansion is fueled by a metastasizing greed for growth that cannot be sustainable in the long run. Empires thrive on exclusion, on fighting enemies along frontiers, on wresting territory away from one another.
Survival, by nature, lives off balance. No one group should permanently dominate a given territory, in order for life to flourish. In the grand scheme of things, survival is inevitably a matter of transformation.
Once we apply a greater scale of measurement to appreciate the bigger picture, everything becomes more inclusive than exclusive: human empires might not last, but humanity as a whole is still going strong (even though it hasn’t had much time to prove itself and is working hard on its self-sabotage); Homo Sapiens has survived and ruled for about 200,000 years now, which, of course, is negligible in comparison with our predecessor Homo Erectus, who stuck around for almost 2 million years; mammals have wandered this earth for 65 million years, the dinosaurs' dynasty lasted nearly 200 million years, and life itself is a staggering 3.5 billion years old. Life has had a good run because it promotes transformation and balance.
Nature leads by example, and if we follow it, we can learn to embrace change instead of clinging on to something that will inescapably fade.
At the end of a heyday, those in power have to wonder: are we next? And the answer has been echoing loudly throughout history: yes...yes...yes. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for a hundred years, but someday we are all next, starting our turn on the other side of an empire.
And looking at refugees in the streets of Athens, fleeing from wars foreign empires are fighting over their heads, one thing is death-certain: someday, we will be knocking on their doors, hoping for a warmer welcome.
