For most of human history, gods did not descend from the heavens, they rose from human imagination. Civilizations carved figures from stone, cast them in bronze, and wove elaborate stories to give them personality, power, and purpose. These deities reflected the culture that produced them: warrior societies forged warrior gods, agricultural societies exalted fertility gods, seafaring peoples feared and revered gods of the sea. Each generation inherited the image and mythology of its fathers and treated it as sacred reality. What began as explanation hardened into tradition.
Though these gods were spoken of as eternal, their origins were traceable to human hands and human minds. They bore the marks of geography, politics, and collective fear. Their authority did not arise from demonstrated power but from shared belief and repetition. Temples were built, names were invoked, and legends were preserved, but the source of the god was always the same. Man created the image, then bowed before it.
In reality, all the prayers and worship directed toward these gods produced no measurable intervention in the forces governing the world. The rituals were sincere, the sacrifices costly, and the devotion intense, but outcomes followed natural law and human decision-making. Weather did not change in response to chants or offerings; it followed atmospheric systems and seasonal cycles. Rain came or failed according to pressure and climate, not according to how fervently people danced around a fire or cried out to the heavens.
The same was true of war and survival. Victories were determined by strategy, numbers, terrain, discipline, and strength, not by which god received the larger sacrifice. Crops rose or failed based on soil, labor, pests, and climate. For all the blood, incense, and prayer poured out, events unfolded through human decisions and natural forces, and only afterward were they attributed to divine favor or divine wrath.
Mankind has not progressed far from those of antiquity. Many cultures still bow down and pray to images, still practice rituals of observance, and still believe that the gods imagined by their forefathers influence everyday life. The human instinct remains the same: when faced with uncertainty, danger, or need, we reach for something beyond ourselves, something greater. Humanity wants assurance that a higher power is guiding events, protecting us, or tipping outcomes in our favor.
As time has passed, societies have become more modern and secular, yet that instinct has not disappeared. It has shifted. The language may no longer be religious for many, yet the search for something greater remains. People still look for an authority that can see further than they can, decide better than they can, and provide answers when they feel uncertain.
For those who reject belief in God or gods, science often becomes the primary source of guidance. Just as mankind once looked to carved deities, science is now looked to for explanations, solutions, and predictions about the future. Research, data, and expert consensus are treated as the final word on what should be done and how society should move forward. The object of trust may have changed, but the pattern is familiar: humanity continues to place its confidence in something it believes is wiser, more capable, and more reliable than itself.
When confidence is placed in something, investment follows. Throughout history, worship was never cheap. People did not honor their gods with words alone; they brought their wealth. Gold was melted and shaped into idols. Silver was laid at temple thresholds. Livestock, grain, oil, and wine were poured out in sacrifice. The altar was not symbolic; it was costly. What a society valued most—its resources, its labor, its treasure—was carried upward and surrendered to the power it believed governed its fate.
Temples rose as monuments of devotion and dominance. They were often the grandest structures in a city, built with immense manpower and sustained by steady streams of offerings. Entire economic systems formed around priesthoods and sacred centers. To serve the god was to support the structure that represented him. The greater the fear, the greater the gift. The more uncertain the future, the more wealth was poured into securing favor.
This was not casual belief; it was investment driven by trust. Treasure flowed toward the altar because the god was believed to be the ultimate source of power. Across cultures and centuries, the pattern has remained consistent: whatever humanity trusted to secure its future received its gold.
When we look at ancient civilizations up to the modern era, a clear pattern emerges. Mankind consistently directs its trust, devotion, and resources toward whatever it believes will secure its future. Here, “god” is not limited to an object of ritual worship. It describes the object of ultimate functional reliance—the system or power believed to determine survival and dominance.
That pattern is not random; it reveals how humanity responds to power and uncertainty. When we carry that pattern forward and then look carefully at the prophetic record from the book of Daniel, especially the language of chapter 11, a striking possibility begins to take shape about what the future “god” of mankind may be.
Daniel 11 outlines a prolonged struggle between two dominant powers described as the King of the North and the King of the South. As the prophecy progresses, it narrows toward its final phase, where the King of the North emerges with unusual boldness and effectiveness.
In that end-time setting, Daniel introduces a decisive detail. Rather than honoring the gods of his ancestors, this ruler turns to something described as a “god of fortresses,” a god unknown to his fathers. Daniel 11:37–39 states:
(Da 11:37-39) “. . .And to the God of his fathers he will give no consideration; and to the desire of women and to every other god he will give no consideration, but over everyone he will magnify himself. 38 But to the god of fortresses, in his position he will give glory; and to a god that his fathers did not know he will give glory by means of gold and by means of silver and by means of precious stone and by means of desirable things. 39 And he will act effectively against the most fortified strongholds, along with a foreign god. Whoever has given [him] recognition he will make abound with glory, and he will actually make them rule among many; and [the] ground he will apportion out for a price.”
The phrase deserves precision. Daniel does not describe a god of harvest, sea, or sky. He speaks of a god of fortresses. A fortress is a hardened structure built for defense, protection, and command. It is where leadership is shielded, where strategic decisions are made, and where strength is consolidated. Fortresses preserve and project power.
Some interpret this phrase as referring simply to military strength. That interpretation must be considered. Yet Daniel distinguishes between fortresses and the god associated with them. The king does not merely rely on military might; he honors a distinct object connected to fortified power, unknown to previous generations, and funds it with gold and precious things.
This shifts “god” away from ritual and toward infrastructure. Whatever this god represents, it is inseparable from hardened systems where authority is secured and defended. It is tied to structure, funding, and strategic effectiveness.
If Daniel’s language is taken seriously and grounded in structural reality, the image of a fortress aligns closely with what modern AI data centers have become.
These facilities are not simple office buildings. They are massive, highly secured complexes with reinforced structures, controlled access, perimeter security, surveillance, and redundant power. Many are strategically located near major energy sources due to extraordinary electricity demand. They are designed for resilience against physical attack and cyber intrusion. In practical terms, they function as modern strongholds.
More importantly, they house systems that increasingly guide military targeting, intelligence analysis, logistics optimization, financial modeling, and national security planning. Unlike previous technologies such as gunpowder, nuclear weapons, or radar—which amplified human decisions—AI systems are increasingly used to generate strategic recommendations, predictive models, and operational priorities before human decisions are finalized. The differentiator is not raw destructive force; it is predictive and decision-shaping capability.
Power is no longer concentrated only in war rooms or government buildings. It is concentrated in computational hubs that shape outcomes across nations. If a fortress is where power is secured, defended, and projected, then large AI data centers fit the structural description with precision.
Daniel does not describe ritual sacrifice. He describes gold, silver, precious stones, and desirable things flowing toward this god. That language speaks of large-scale allocation. The wealth serves a functional purpose.
In modern terms, advanced AI infrastructure requires enormous investment. Hyperscale data centers cost hundreds of millions to billions of dollars. Semiconductor fabrication plants cost $15–20 billion per facility. Governments subsidize these projects with public funds because control of advanced compute is viewed as strategic dominance. Precious metals such as gold and silver are embedded in high-performance electronics. Rare earth minerals are extracted for semiconductor production. Energy grids are reshaped to sustain these systems.
In the ancient world, wealth flowed toward temples because people believed their security depended on the god housed there. Today, wealth flows toward hardened computational complexes and fabrication plants. The pattern remains consistent: what humanity believes will secure its future receives its treasure.
There is a structural shift taking place. In ancient times, gods existed in myth and were sustained by belief. What Daniel describes is tied to fortresses, funded with wealth, and used as a source of strength.
For the first time, a system exists that not only symbolizes power but actively shapes strategic outcomes before they occur. It is consulted before decisions are made. It is relied upon in uncertainty. It is strengthened with resources because it increases advantage.
A God That Helps
Dan 11:38 — But in his place shall he honor the god of fortresses; and a god whom his fathers knew not shall he honor with gold, and with silver, and with precious stones, and pleasant things.
Dan 11:39 — And he shall deal with the strongest fortresses by the help of a foreign god: whosoever acknowledgeth him he will increase with glory; and he shall cause them to rule over many, and shall divide the land for a price.
The decisive phrase is “by the help of.” This god is not credited after victory; it assists in producing it. The king funds what strengthens him. Those who acknowledge it are elevated. Authority expands.
Whether one sees this as definitive fulfillment or as a structurally precise candidate, the alignment is striking. Wealth flows toward fortified computational systems because they deliver strategic advantage. Influence is redistributed through those who control them. Power is projected through hardened infrastructure.
The pattern of worship has not disappeared. It has evolved. Humanity still directs its gold toward what it believes secures its future.
When the pieces are considered together, the resemblance is difficult to dismiss. Daniel speaks of a power unknown to previous generations, honored with vast wealth, tied directly to fortified structures, and relied upon in securing advantage over the strongest strongholds. That description does not resemble the religious systems of antiquity; it resembles a modern infrastructure that is hardened, funded at staggering levels, and increasingly embedded in the decisions that shape military, economic, and political outcomes. The alignment is not forced—it emerges from the pattern itself. A system built within fortified complexes, sustained by gold and precious materials, and actively assisting those who control it is no longer theoretical; it stands in concrete, steel, and silicon.
If that identification is correct, then the issue is larger than technology. It would mean that mankind is once again placing its confidence, its resources, and its future into something of its own making, believing it to be the key to security and dominance. And if this is truly the “god of fortresses” Daniel foresaw, then the real question is not whether the system is powerful, but what it means for humanity when its ultimate trust rests in engineered intelligence rather than in the One who stands above it.