The ARTE and Artline Films documentary series Evangelicals for World Domination (2023) dissects the improbable journey of evangelical Christianity from tent revivals to the corridors of power. Directed by Thomas Johnson, this three-part investigation charts how a once-fringe religious movement became a geopolitical heavyweight, shaping policies from Washington to Jerusalem. With a mix of archival footage and candid interviews, the series reveals a story of divine ambition meeting earthly power plays—a holy trinity of faith, money, and influence.

This article expands on the documentary’s key arguments, critiqueing political evangelicalism as a force in global power structures. It does not suggest that all evangelicals share the same beliefs, goals, or methods. Many evangelicals advocate for peace, justice, and compassion—and are likely just as horrified by the contents of this piece as anyone else.

Where to watch: The series is streaming on ARTE.tv until 30 August 2025.

The rise of evangelical power

The opening episode, The Great Crusade, positions Billy Graham as the movement’s original kingmaker. His 1950s revivals were not just spiritual events but ideological battlegrounds, framing Christianity as the antidote to communism. Graham’s genius lay in his ability to sell piety as patriotism, convincing American elites that God and capitalism were under siege. His 1955 Paris rally, was a failed attempt to export this model to Europe. Yet it set the template for evangelicalism’s later political plays: mass mobilisation, media savvy, and a talent for casting every election as Armageddon.

The documentary underscores how Graham’s alliances with politicians—most notably Richard Nixon—blurred the line between pulpit and podium. By the 1960s, evangelicals were no longer content with saving souls; they wanted to save the West.

The second episode, Evangelicals in Power, chronicles the movement’s metamorphosis into a political juggernaut. The 1970s brought panic over abortion rights, gay liberation, and “secular humanism”—a catch-all bogeyman for everything from school textbooks to disco. Enter Jerry Falwell Sr. and his Moral Majority, which turned Sunday sermons into voter drives. Ronald Reagan’s 1980 victory was their crowning achievement, proving evangelicals could deliver the White House.

The series highlights the irony of this alliance: Reagan, a divorced Hollywood libertine, became the movement’s unlikely messiah because he promised to legislate their grievances. Behind the scenes, televangelists like Pat Robertson built media empires that doubled as propaganda machines, while lobbyists ensured “family values” meant tax breaks for megachurches and crackdowns on everyone else. Europe proved harder to crack, though the documentary notes scattered successes—particularly in France, where Pentecostal churches grew by targeting immigrant communities with a mix of charismatic worship and social services.

Evangelicalism in the 21st century

The final episode, God Above All Else?, is a masterclass in surreal realpolitik. It charts how Donald Trump—a man who could not name a single Bible verse—became the movement’s chosen one. Advisors like Paula White and Robert Jeffress recast his presidency as divine will, with policies like moving the US embassy to Jerusalem framed as steps toward the Rapture. The documentary wryly notes the theological gymnastics required to square Trump’s personal life with evangelical morality, but the deal was simple: he delivered judges and Israel policy; they turned a blind eye to the rest.

The series also exposes the prosperity gospel’s role in this pact. Preachers like Kenneth Copeland and Joel Osteen peddled a gospel of divine capitalism, where faith was measured in private jets and tax exemptions. Critics within the movement, such as Shane Claiborne, argue this betrayed Christianity’s roots—but as one megachurch pastor shrugs in the film, “Jesus said render unto Caesar. He didn’t say Caesar couldn’t be a donor.”

Evangelicalism’s influence now stretches far beyond America. In Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro courted Pentecostal voters with culture-war rhetoric. In Israel, US evangelicals fund settlements, convinced that Jewish statehood hastens Christ’s return. Even in secular Europe, the movement has made inroads—particularly among African and Eastern European immigrant communities, where its mix of social support and strict morality holds appeal. The documentary follows French officials as they fret over “sectarian drift” in these congregations, though their warnings are drowned out by louder fears of Islamism.

Critiques and controversies

The series does not shy from the movement’s darker implications. Scholars interviewed warn of evangelicalism’s authoritarian streak, noting its leaders’ growing comfort with strongmen—from Trump to Hungary’s Viktor Orbán. The documentary cites Brazil as a cautionary tale, where Bolsonaro’s evangelical allies attacked voting systems after his defeat. In America, the January 6 Capitol riot featured prayer circles alongside gallows, a stark illustration of how messianic fervour can curdle into insurrection.

The documentary reserves special scorn for the movement’s obsession with sexuality. In Uganda, US evangelicals backed harsh anti-gay laws. In Britain, conservative churches funnel money into anti-trans campaigns. France’s Miviludes agency warns of conversion therapy and faith-healing scams proliferating in unregulated congregations. The series interviews LGBTQ+ Christians who describe being ostracised by their own families—a reminder that theology has human costs.

Perhaps the most damning segment follows the money. Megachurches operate as spiritual franchises, with pastors living like CEOs. The documentary tracks US evangelical funding of European far-right groups and Israeli settler movements, all while enjoying charitable status. One interviewee dryly notes that Jesus threw the moneychangers out of the temple—he did not suggest they set up a 501(c)(3).

A kingdom of this world

Evangelicals for World Domination leaves viewers with an unsettling question: Can a movement built on otherworldly promises resist the temptations of earthly power? The documentary offers no easy answers, but its footage of Trump-era prayer rallies—where flags outnumber crosses—suggests the heavenly kingdom may have to wait.

Evangelicalism’s appeal lies in its ability to address perceived gaps in secular systems—emotional, communal, and existential—while its structural and psychological characteristics simultaneously create vulnerabilities among its adherents.

Fulfilment and fragility in a collapsing world

Evangelicalism’s appeal lies in its ability to address what secular liberal societies so often neglect: the emotional, communal, and existential hungers of modern life. But embedded within its structure and worldview are traits that foster deep psychological dependence, ideological rigidity, and systemic abuse. What begins as a refuge from alienation can, for many, become a trap. A double-bind, or rather multiple bind. It’s ingredients?

Certainty in a chaotic world

Modernity is confusing. Institutions contradict each other, science offers probabilities rather than moral clarity, and truth itself has become a negotiable commodity. Evangelicalism slices through the noise with a sword of absolute claims: the Bible is inerrant, sin is real, and salvation is necessary. It transforms political anxiety into cosmic drama—Trump isn’t just a politician; he’s a Cyrus figure. Israel isn’t just a country; it’s an eschatological countdown clock.

This “apocalyptic lens” becomes a comfort mechanism. It is not unlike conspiracy theory thinking, where perceived disorder is reorganised into a hidden but intelligible plan—complete with villains, heroes, and a final reckoning. In both cases, the unknown becomes narrativised, and ambiguity becomes intolerable.

Community and identity

Evangelical churches don’t just preach; they socialise. Through small groups, mission trips, and shared rituals like altar calls or testimony nights, they create an immersive micro-society. In a fragmented world where neighbours are strangers and loneliness is endemic, such belonging is powerful.

But there’s a cost. Dissent is framed as rebellion against God. Questioning the pastor, theology, or church politics risks exile—spiritual or social. Identity is fused with conformity. This often pushes people into double lives: outward orthodoxy, inward doubt.

Charismatic authority

Where secular liberal democracies elevate process, evangelicalism elevates personalities. The pastor becomes not just a teacher but a father-figure, CEO, and prophet. The dominant model is patriarchal and often militarised—“spiritual warfare” becomes a real, emotional battle, and leaders adopt a style that is part preacher, part general.

In times of cultural anxiety—over immigration, gender roles, or secular “decay”—these strongmen fill a vacuum. They promise moral clarity and social cohesion. And because they are presumed to be divinely chosen, criticism becomes sacrilege.

Moral agency and purpose

Evangelicalism offers meaning with a capital M. Believers are not just saved; they are commissioned. Life is a mission. Struggles are tests. Every choice is a testimony. This counters the nihilism that can seep into secular life, where human beings are simply carbon arrangements trying to pay rent.

But this sense of purpose is often externalised into visible obedience. Being “on fire for God” is measured not by compassion or humility, but by enthusiastic participation in moral campaigns—against abortion, LGBTQ+ rights, or public education. Righteousness becomes a performance, not a practice.

Why people are vulnerable

Psychological manipulation

Evangelical theology begins with the premise that you are inherently broken—born sinful, damned without intervention. The solution is submission to God, mediated by the church. This creates cycles of guilt and forgiveness that mimic abusive dynamics: the very institution that wounds also offers the balm. Revivalist preaching amplifies this, using emotional crescendo to engineer conversions and “rededications” with the cadence of an altar call every few weeks.

Evangelicalism often prioritises feelings of spiritual ecstasy—“feeling the Spirit move” during worship, being slain in the Spirit, or receiving “words of knowledge.” This makes adherents susceptible to manipulation by leaders who know how to stage emotional catharsis. Charisma gets mistaken for anointing. Emotional intensity becomes theological proof.

Structural weaknesses

Lack of accountability: Many evangelical churches operate with minimal transparency. Elders are often hand-picked, not elected. Financial audits are rare. Abuse allegations are resolved internally—if at all. Boards exist to shield charismatic leaders rather than hold them to account.

This “accountability capture” is common in non-denominational megachurches, where the brand revolves around the personality at the pulpit. Challenging leadership becomes not just risky—it becomes heretical.

Gender and power: The theology of gender in evangelical circles often idolises patriarchal control. Books like Wild at Heart: Discovering The Secret of a Man’s Soul or Created to Be His Help Meet: Discover how God can make your marriage glorious glorify aggressive masculinity and submissive femininity. Women are spiritually infantilised, their roles limited to reproduction, childcare, or “support.” Abuse is often dismissed as a marriage problem, not a moral crime.

Cultural and economic grievances

For many white evangelicals—particularly in the US—religious identity is tightly bound to cultural nostalgia and perceived loss of dominance. They see themselves not just as a faith group, but as the rightful moral compass of the nation, now exiled in a land corrupted by liberals, feminists, and foreigners.

Thus, “law and order” politics, anti-immigration rhetoric, and opposition to anti-racism campaigns are framed not as policy disagreements but as spiritual warfare. Racism is dismissed. Structural critiques are demonised as Marxism. What begins as grievance hardens into ideology.

Cognitive dissonance

When evangelical leaders fall—from sex scandals to financial fraud—the instinct is not to reflect, but to retreat further into faith. The failure is spiritualised (“Satan is attacking God’s servants”), and the dissonance is resolved by doubling down.

This mirrors cult psychology. Leaving is not simply a change of belief—it’s an existential rupture. Former evangelicals report panic attacks, nightmares of hell, and loss of family relationships. The fear of divine punishment is so deeply embedded that even disbelief feels like a sin.

When the cure becomes the sickness

Evangelicalism’s appeal is no accident. It fills existential voids with purpose, replaces isolation with belonging, and soothes chaos with certainties. But in doing so, it often creates environments where critical thinking is a liability, emotional control is masked as spiritual leadership, and community becomes conditional.

To reform it—if it can be reformed—would require more than theological tinkering. It would mean dismantling the cult of personality, rooting out authoritarian structures, and disentangling faith from reactionary politics. That would mean confronting power, not just sin.

But for many inside, the stakes are too high. Leaving risks the loss of family, identity, salvation itself. And so, the movement continues: comfort and control, hand in hand.

For many outside the fold—and increasingly, many within—it is hard to distinguish between American evangelicalism and the political circus it has been cosying up to. The unholy matrimony with Trumpism, Christian nationalism, and assorted culture wars has driven a wedge between church and… well, just about everyone else. Surveys by Pew and PRRI show people fleeing churches not because they have lost their faith, but because they have lost patience. Hypocrisy, judgement, and the creeping scent of authoritarianism tend to have that effect.

The great exodus

A growing wave of former evangelicals—particularly women, queer people, and the quietly traumatised—are walking away. Not from faith itself, but from manipulative structures dressed up as “biblical.” Movements like Exvangelical, Empty Pews, and Deconstruction offer solidarity, dark humour, and a lifeline to those rebuilding after spiritual abuse. TikTok and YouTube are full of ex-members telling stories that sound more cult than church.

Evangelical churches are splitting faster than a televangelist’s hairline. Generational divides are stark. Younger believers are more likely to prioritise inclusion, justice, and actual teachings of Jesus. Older cohorts, meanwhile, are often welded to tradition, political conservatism, and Fox News. Cue endless debates over bathrooms, pronouns, and whether empathy is Marxist.

A word on fairness

Not all evangelicals are culture warriors, theocrats, or disinformation peddlers. Some actively resist those trends, and many quietly go about their faith with humility and care. This article addresses the structures and abuse, not the souls.

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