The Dangers of an Unchanging Foe

Like so many other things regarding End-Times speculation, apocalyptic enemies are full of paradoxes.  They are at once particular to the Final Days – such as the Antichrist or al-Dajjal – yet are also composed of perennial foes – heretics, schismatics, hypocrites, violent oppressors, non-believers, demon-influenced, etc.  Some traditions and sub-traditions emphasize some of these more than others, and the identification of serious threats often changes, though some groups (unfortunately often Jewish people) are frequent targets of accusations of satanic involvement.  Yet above and beyond merely attributing nefarious intentions to a single group across centuries, some people excited by the idea of apocalypse take the idea of a perennial threat a bit further.  To them, there are not many threats but, in fact, only one.

The idea behind an unchanging foe pairs with those who believe that those who are good, righteous, and virtuous have been isolated to a single group throughout history as well.  Righteousness, to such people, has not entailed historical change, illumination, and development but has been complete and crystal clear from the beginning.  Morality was fully developed and comprehensible 4,000 years ago, and nothing since has added to it, and nothing must in any way be taken away from it.  This is an extreme view even among the Abrahamic faiths, since Jewish, Christian, and Muslim religious thinkers recognize historical change and in-time revelation.  But if such be the case, that a single, obvious, unchanging morality has always existed, then immorality must be equally timeless and comprehensible.  And if there has always been a group of divinely blessed individuals abiding by the eternal moral code, according to such belief, it only makes sense that all the evil throughout time shares not only the same moral failings endemic to humanity but an organized will hell-bent on opposing divine goodness.

Certainly Satan has frequently been invoked in these speculations as the demonic mastermind behind human evil.  But this is not what I mean.  I mean, and so do those who frequently espouse such ideas, a very human threat.

Since even before the Protestant Reformation, the pope has been called an (or the) Antichrist.  After Martin Luther in the 16th century helped establish the many Protestant churches, the entirety of Catholicism came to be seen as in league with Satan (of course, Catholics would say similar things about Protestants).  But accusations of wickedness and heresy were not new.  By definition, no Christian heresy could trace its origin before Pentecost, though one might be accused of having Jewish or pagan influence.  But in the mid-19th century, a new argument emerged.  What if the Catholic Church were older than Jesus Christ and had its origin not in Judaism but in satanic paganism?  That is what Alexander Hislop, a Scottish minister, argued in his work, “The Two Babylons: Papal Worship Proved to be the Worship of Nimrod and His Wife” (1853).  Hislop wrote that Nimrod, the king in Genesis responsible for building the tower of Babel in mockery of God, founded a pagan religion that survives to the present day.  Its deities, ceremonies, festivals, organization, goals, methods, and (especially, despite the anachronism) anti-Christian beliefs were preserved after the fall of Babel in many pagan cultures.  A core part of its followers, however, were always aware of its origins and held an immortal hatred for “true” godliness.  After Christ came and departed once more, this “Babylonian” religion first tried to destroy Christianity.  When that failed, it instead became Christianity in the form of the pope of Rome and the Catholic Church.  For over a thousand years, the Church was actually an anti-Christian organization.  Any opposition to the hierarchical church before 1517 was not based on historical pressures particular to the time and place they occurred but rather the elect of God, hidden among the ungodly, trying to break free.  Though that finally happened with Martin Luther, the Catholic/Babylonian Church continued to exist.  Why?  Because it is the Babylon spoken of in Revelation 17, that is, the ultimate foe for Christians at the End of Time.  Thus, according to Hislop, a secret war has been waged by Babylon for thousands of years against God.  Though many are ignorant of the true purpose of Babylon, its leaders are not.  Its form has altered, but its essence has been unchanging since the Beginning and will remain so until the End.

Absolutely nothing in Hislop’s theory is historically accurate, so I will not trouble disproving it here.  Nevertheless, Hislop’s ideas (both regarding Catholicism in particular and conspiracies in general) have endured.  An older, equally absurd, yet still persistent and harmful conspiracy involves Jews as secretly in constant, universal contact, plotting various crimes.  In both the distant past and more recently, accused groups have included members of the Masonic Lodge, pagans, witches, communists, Knights Templars, and the always ambiguous Illuminati.  In popular culture, Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code has made the Priory of Zion, the powerful but secretive keepers of the knowledge of Jesus and Mary Magdalene’s child, a similar type of organization.  For the Ubisoft game series Assassin’s Creed, the Knights Templar (historically formed in the 12th century but, in-game, dating back far longer) fill the role of eternally nefarious secret organization.  The Templars are opposed by the equally undying and virtuous secret order of Assassins.  And in Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins (2005), Ra’s al Ghul reveals to the hero, “The League of Shadows has been a check against human corruption for thousands of years. We sacked Rome, loaded trade ships with plague rats, burned London to the ground. Every time a civilization reaches the pinnacle of its decadence, we return to restore the balance.”  One-world-governments frequently play into such conspiracies, both expressly fictional and those repeated in earnest.  Though Hislop was merely peddling religious bigotry, it is easy to see why he gained fame for it: conspiracy makes entertaining stories by weaving historical events together into a larger pattern of absolute good against absolute evil.

Of course, that is the problem.  When something is obviously a story, it can be fun.  But when a real life group is cast as an eternal enemy, a foe that has remained true to its secretive and evil plans – plans that are antithetical to any sense of morality and goodness – for hundreds if not thousands of years, terrible things happen.  The salacious anti-Semitic hoax known as “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion” (1903) was used to grave effect against Jewish peoples in the 20th century and still finds advocates of its lies to this day.  But perhaps you think that conspiracies like that are quickly spotted these days and easily dismissed?  Sadly, that is not true.

On the political stage, since his declaration of candidacy for president in 2015 to the present, Donald Trump has cultivated the myth of an eternal, unchanging enemy.  In these efforts, he has found many targets: Mexicans, Muslims, the European Union, Democrats, journalists, socialists, the “deep-state,” and a host of others.  Don’t be confused: he does not simply target these groups as enemies but as “eternal” enemies.  Trump frequently gives way to exaggeration (when not outright lies), especially superlatives.  But he also tends to dilate the length of a grievance.  Note how he uses “always” or any reference to “for a long time now.”  He uses such words and phrases frequently when talking about his enemies.  He does not place (even valid) grievances in an historical context but into a vague perpetuity.

The Orwellian line, “We have always been at war with Eastasia,” (or, “We have always been at war with Eurasia”) is apt.  This line is often quoted to mean one is to think a former ally is now an enemy because the state says so.  The “always” is unconsciously thought to mean “you were mistaken if you believed we had been allies last week.”  But “always” is also very vague.  This bit of propaganda from Orwell’s 1984 does not give any details.  Why should it?  Details are harmful to propaganda.  It does not say, “We have been at war with Eastasia since we were attacked on such-and-such a date.”  Eastasia is not a new enemy with historical reasons for enmity with Oceania (us).  It is a perpetual enemy – until it becomes an ally, in which case it has always been one, while Eurasia has always been the enemy.  Saying what caused the war or when would only lead to thinking, which would interfere with obedience.

Trump’s vague language about grievances is in perfect lock-step with ideas regarding an eternal, unchanging foe.  It is no surprise that he also casts these foes (whomever they happen to be) as the worst of all possible enemies, whose very existence threatens the life of this country.  Eternal, unchanging foes are inherently powerful and apocalyptic.  Any violence against them is justified.  Any accommodation with them is treason.  Their defeat must happen, or else all is lost.  When they are defeated, a great evil will pass from this world.  What could be more apocalyptic?

And of how much evil has such thinking been the cause?

Heresy and Apocalypse: Then and Now

“A man that is a heretic, after the first and second admonition, reject.”  -Titus 3:10

In Orléans, France, 998 years ago, heresy became punishable by death for the first time in Europe for more than half a millennium.  For centuries after 1022, people accused of heresy would continue to be persecuted and subjected to capital punishment.  But just because heretics had not be executed for hundreds of years before 1022 does not mean authorities, both religious and secular, had not thought of heresy in that time.  This was especially the case within apocalyptic and eschatological literature.

I suspect most people have heard of the so-called Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse mentioned in the 6th chapter of Revelation.  While they are usually seen as destroyers today, they have been interpreted in many ways for the last 2,000 years, including eras of history.  In fact, the first who rides a white horse was seen in many commentaries from the early Middle Ages as Jesus Christ himself.  The other three – one a red, black, and pale green horse, respectively – were seen as perennial threats to Christianity: bloody red persecutors, false brethren whose black actions harm their fellow Christians, and heretics who abide with death, often portrayed as sickly, pale green.  These early medieval commentaries, however, did not think Revelation applied only to the End Times but to all Christian times.  Nevertheless, heresy, like violence and hypocrisy, was a tool of Satan that would be used by both antichrists throughout history and the Antichrist at the End of Time.

As such, the search for and condemnation of heretics often went hand in hand with apocalyptic excitement.  When writing about the heretics executed in 1022 at Orléans, the chronicler Rudolphus Glaber saw the event as one of many that presaged the apocalypse.  Heretics were the primary servants of the Satan, a sign that he had been released after a thousand years of captivity (due to Christ’s earthly mission), and important allies for the Antichrist when he revealed himself to the world.  As such, when some were burned in Orléans, Glaber was glad to see that “the follow of these wicked madmen had been rooted out” (Glaber, Histories, 3:31, Blum trans.).

Not all those who looked on the fires in Orléans with approval expected to see the Antichrist in their lifetimes, but they certainly thought they saw the power of Satan and a foretaste of hell for the damned.  To them, what burned were not humans exactly.  Not anymore.  They were carriers of a malignant disease who were unwilling to accept a cure that could only be administered to a willing patient.  If the disease of heresy spread, which could damn those who contracted it, it could bring eternal harm to an entire region.  This is precisely the kind of language used in the Middle Ages when speaking of heretics.  But as scholars have shown, language of disease was and has since been used to dehumanize victims of oppression and violence.  Humans deserve support and sympathy, even if they have sinned.  But vectors for disease are a public health threat.  A sinner may atone for their sins over time and emerge a paragon for others to follow, but an unrepentant heretic who infects the minds of Christians with damnable beliefs will do nothing but harm.  It was for the common good, therefore, that heretics be burned, or so it was thought.

Such dehumanizing and apocalyptic fears surrounding “heretics” are not limited (nor were they universal) to the Middle Ages.  Disease-language continues to be used for minority and at-risk populations whose very existence is seen by the majority and powerful to destructive of society as they conceive it.  The implicit (and sometimes explicit) suggestion that society will tumble to ruin in an apocalyptic cataclysm “sooner or later” because of them reinforces the same idea that calling them vectors of social diseases does.  It makes it easier to justify the unjustifiable, to undertake violence against a few for the supposed good of all.

Heresy accusations, however, are different than other attacks aimed at minorities in this regard: the heretic is someone who might under different circumstances be seen as an insider rather than an outsider.  Immigrants, different ethnic groups, followers of another religion: all of these are seen by oppressive groups as outsiders who might disrupt “our” society.  Heretics, on the other hand, were part of “our” society until their voiced an opinion in a manner that was perceived as threatening to the overriding authorities.  In more just societies, they would simply be said to have differing opinions.  But to more oppressive powers, these “traitors” should not voice dissent but instead support those who rule and their neighbors who do the same.  This dissent, more than any other perceived threat from without, can be the cause of intense fear and recriminations.  A shared enemy is one thing, but for the paranoid powers, an ally voicing opposition is the stuff of apocalyptic doom.  Or at least, presenting such dissent as apocalyptic is useful.

Yet for those who voice dissent, for the “heretic,” overturning society is seldom a founding goal.  As Malcolm Lambert showed years ago, “Reform and heresy are twins” (Medieval Heresy: Popular Movements from the Gregorian Reform to the Reformation, p. 390).  What he means by this is that both heretical and reform movements spring from a common desire to see something wrong in society be changed for the better.  Movements that express themselves and act in a way that find approval come to be called reforms, but those that receive disapproval are condemned as heresies.  Sometimes the only things that differ between a reform and a heresy are its relationship to power – not its means, not its goals, and not its rhetoric.

Heresy, therefore, can be another word for an attempted reform that has drawn the ire of those in power.  And as history shows, that ire, when combined with language that dehumanizes and implies societal collapse, leads to violence.

“In reality, bias against ‘heretics’ is felt today just as it used to be. Many give way to it as much as their forefathers used to do. Only, they have turned it against political adversaries. Those are the only ones with whom they refuse to mix. Sectarianism has only changed its object and taken other forms, because the vital interest has shifted. Should we dare to say that this shifting is progress?”  -Henri de Lubac, Paradoxes of Faith (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1987), pp. 226-227

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Human Hubris, and Doubts about Our Self-Sufficiency

“The spirits I have summoned I cannot now banish.” –Goethe

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is known to most due to the musical short in Disney’s Fantasia starring Mickey Mouse. The story has an older pedigree, however, dating back 2000 years, though it was a poem by Goethe 200 years ago that established the primary form we know today. For those unfamiliar with the tale, it can be told briefly as follows.

Once there was a sorcerer of great power who had a young apprentice. Despite wanting to learn how to perform all the magic of his master, the sorcerer gave his pupil few lessons in casting spells. Instead of casting great spells, the apprentice spent his days and night sweeping floors and fetching water, tasks he thought beneath him not to mention pointless since he knew his master capable of performing all of these things through magic with hardly any effort.

One day the sorcerer retired from his enchantments to rest while leaving his apprentice to finish bringing in the buckets of water to put in the enormous caldron. The apprentice, however, had a different plan. As soon as his master had left, the young man, who had been peaking at the sorcerer’s book when he wasn’t looking and listening closely to his incantations, decided it was time to show how powerful a wizard he could be. He cast an enchantment on a broom, bringing it to life, and commanded it to do his chores for him of fetching water. The spell worked and soon the caldron was full. The apprentice was very pleased with himself.

Unfortunately, the enchanted broom continued pouring water into the now overflowing caldron, causing the sorcerer’s chamber to be damaged. The apprentice tried to stop the animated broom but realized he had not learned the counter-spell which would have stopped it. Desperate to stop the broom before the room was flooded (and thinking he could still hide the fact he had been performing magic against his master’s will), the young man took up a nearby ax and struck the broom, splitting it down the middle. The apprentice sighed in relief, but his ease was short-lived. Suddenly, both halves of the broom stood back up and began carrying water even faster than before. The apprentice was at a loss, knowing there was nothing he could do and fearing how this disaster would end, if it ever could. But just as the room was becoming floored, the sorcerer returned. The apprentice cried out in fear and hope for his master’s rescue. The old wizard quickly perceived what had happened. With a single word, the enchanted broom halves froze and fell over, lifeless once again. The sorcerer surveyed the destruction caused by the water and his apprentice’s rash folly. The apprentice, ashamed for his presumption, returned to his chores.

This tale is not specifically apocalyptic in any sense of the word. Nevertheless, the general plot does a good job of outlining a type of apocalyptic narrative. Seen in eschatological terms, the Sorcerer’s Apprentice is an example of human hubris resulting in our (near) total destruction which can only be prevented by the intervention of the Divine or some other wise and powerful force which takes pity on mankind. If the apprentice represents humanity as a whole, then the lesson is we will cause our own destruction. This will not be through willful violence but because our misplaced pride in our own abilities. Examples of apocalyptic stories with this theme include Forbidden Planet, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and many others. Most of these modern stories use scientific advances rather than magical spells, yet the misuse of poorly understood power to make life easier is the same in either case.

The presence of the sorcerer at the beginning and end of this story is, I believe, very important for the stories endurance in the Western world. Though the original version came from pagan Rome (where the sorcerer was simply an educated Egyptian mystic and the apprentice a young friend of his), the form that Goethe and Disney adopted buzzes Christian overtones. The relationship between the two characters is very exact with multiple dichotomies: master and pupil, old and young, wise and foolish, restrained and impulsive, powerful and weak with the illusion of power, and so forth. It takes little effort to see these characters as potentially representing divinity and humanity. The fact that the sorcerer leaves but ultimately returns to save his apprentice when all hope is lost can be taken as the Christian conception of God’s return, either to rescue an individual from sin or Christ’s return during the End Times.

Curiously, there is no villain in this story. The enchanted, unstoppable broom is a threat to the apprentice, but it does wish harm on anyone though its actions, which are merely the results of the apprentice’s deem, will cause devastation. If there is no real villain, then how can this be seen as a Christian apocalyptic scenario? Where is the devil, the foe of mankind? The answer, however, is that, while much of Christian eschatology is often framed as a pitched battle between the forces of good and the forces of evil, that is not always the way it has been conceived. In many ways, the end of the world in the New Testament is not even a fight at all. Though John of Patmos speaks of wars in heaven and on earth in Revelation, Jesus in the Gospels speak of harvest time. In these cases, evil is not a foe but a weed. It poses no real threat as an armed enemy might, and someday the master or harvester will simply come to remove the evil and pitch it into the fire to be consumed.

This is the type of eschatology on display in the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Sin (or ignorance) are and have been part of humanity’s character, which has caused them to make terrible mistakes. Like Adam whose downfall came from a tree (what else is a broom made of if not wood?), the apprentice thought that he could be like his master, like a god. His rash actions soon caused a flood, much like what befell Adam’s descendants. The apprentice was doomed because he did not know the right word to end the spell; for Christians, mankind is doomed without the Word to save them. But whether one tells the story in religious or secular terms, the message is that of a cautionary tale. We all want to run, but it is necessary to walk first. If we trip and fall in our excitement, hopefully there will be someone to pick us back up. If there is not then caution is all the more necessary because we may not be able to stand back up on our own.

For the text of Goethe’s poem, in German and English: http://germanstories.vcu.edu/goethe/zauber_dual.html

I encourage you to rewatch Disney’s Fantasia with the above in mind.

One final note. This post comes shortly after the theatrical release of the Avengers: Age of Ultron. I briefly cited that movie above as embodying themes of human hubris and impatience. The movie itself references Disney’s Pinocchio multiple times, but for those who have seen or will see it, I challenge you to decide whether the movie actually owes more of its inspiration to the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Pinocchio is about a wooden boy brought to life, though not because of his creator’s powers. The broom is also a piece of wood brought to life, but the apprentice stole this ability from another. Watch the film. Is Ultron Pinocchio turned evil or the broom simply doing what it was told?

Postmillennialism: how to work your way to the end of the world

Those familiar only with present-day forms of American Evangelical Christianity will likely have heard of things like the Rapture, the Tribulation, and the Second Coming.  One term perhaps less well-known is “the millennium” which refers to a thousand years of peace and harmony, whether in a literal or symbolic sense.  Perhaps one of the reasons this term is not familiar to many people is because the other words have become so common-place.  Why is that?  Because the idea of the Rapture, the Tribulation, and other apocalyptic terms denoting a cataclysmic End Times represent one particular form of Christian eschatology known as premillennialism.  It is an idea most people, religious or otherwise, are familiar with even if the word is foreign.  Very briefly, premillennialism is based off of passages in Revelation mentioning a thousand years of peace on earth.  Specifically, the view is that terrible things (the rise of Antichrist, the Tribulation, terrible natural, supernatural, and man-made disasters, Armageddon, etc) will happen before Christ returns and ushers in this new Golden Age.  But it is only with the Second Coming that all of the problems on Earth can be solved.  Premillennialism is probably the most common American view of this era (at least among those who know anything about it), and therefore the violence and destruction occurring as a build up towards the thousand years gets most of the attention among both believers and the culture at large.  The Left Behind series by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins, with its world-engulfing conflict between good and evil, is a prime example of this, both in the views it expresses and as a reason why American culture popularly believes horrible things inevitably must happen before peace will come (at least when talking about the End of the World).

So, what is the alternative?  It seems only natural to think that the world should end in a bang.  Or else, if there is evil in the world, doesn’t the evil have to be removed somehow before there can be peace?  And wouldn’t the evil go down fighting?  So, again, how can one have an apocalypse without an Armageddon?  As you might have guessed, the answer is postmillennialism.

While postmillennialism is by no means extinct, it has severely declined in popular prominence from its height in the 19th and early 20th centuries.  Postmillennialism states that the thousand years of peace will occur first followed by Christ’s return.  I other words, unlike in premillennialism, the evil of the world will cease to exist long before the Second Coming, and this period of peace will be achieved through the works of humanity alone.  Thus instead of as someone rescuing man from his endless sins, Christ returns as the capstone of human self-perfectibility.  It was an idea that had its heyday during the height of Progressive-era campaigns in the 19th and 20th centuries and was closely associated with movements like abolition, universal suffrage, prohibition, public education, urban sanitation, workers’ rights, and other public morality efforts.  The goal at the time was to create a world that would be perfect, morally and technologically, each helping the other.  The driving ideology behind it was that humanity itself was perfectible.  Though we might have erred in the past, now at last we had new technologies, new innovations, new access to scientific truths, and (as was believed) a better understanding of morality than any previous generation.  The ignorance and technologically deficient past had slowly evolved into a happier world, and this progress would never be interrupted (now that we knew what we were aiming at).  This belief in the inevitability of Progress, which was an outgrowth of Enlightenment philosophy, needed only postmillennialism to vindicate it theologically as building towards a new, perfect world that would be worthy of Christ’s return.

Described in these terms – the belief in the inherent goodness (rather than sinfulness) of humanity, aided towards perfection by education and technology – it seems like many today, even among the non-religious portion of American society, would endorse such a concept.  So why is this view relatively uncommon compared to premillennial ideas?  Well, as stated, postmillennialism was popular in the 19th and early 20th centuries.  What happened?  To put it succinctly: two world wars, one of which included the attempted eradication of an entire religious minority as well as the creation and use of atomic weapons.  World War One seriously harmed European belief in postmillennialism, but Americans saw little of that war and never on US soil.  The true end of popular support of a postmillennial perspective came with the Holocaust.  The senselessness of such atrocities caused people then (and still today) to question how “good” humans are capable of being if one of the most advanced cultures on the planet could have done so much evil.  And was not Third Reich Germany itself postmillennial after a fashion?  It boasted at the time that it would last a thousand years under the control of a new race of perfect humans.  After which…what?  It would collapse?  Unlikely.  I do not pretend to know much about Third Reich propaganda, but more likely they would have claimed that a new era would emerge with a new Christ-like figure to congratulate them on their success – not quite a Christian postmillennial scenario but one based closely on those ideals.  But it did not last a thousand years, and the legacy it left was not one of peace and harmony.  The Soviet Union, likewise, was built upon a(n atheistic) conception of the inevitable progress of humanity, and yet after the war it and the Western world were enemies.  And the atomic bomb?  Aside from the many thousands of deaths merely two weapons created, the world soon found themselves in a deadly stalemate between two world superpowers, each armed with weapons a hundred times more deadly.  The post-war world was a time of fear and paranoia, of loss and confusion over the things humans were capable of doing to themselves.  Hope in human perfectibility receded, and so did the belief that the End would come peacefully as a reward for a long, happy, prosperous life full of nothing but good deeds.  Instead, the world saw that its End could come in nuclear fire.  Even if that did not happen, there could always arise a despot to subjugate, brainwash, and inflict all sorts of horrors on mankind, all in the name of “human perfection.”  So the world discarded postmillennialism.  And that is why the world “apocalypse” often conjures images of destruction and not progress.

The brief sketch of pre- and postmillennialism here is simply that: a brief sketch.  Many of the ideas are grossly simplified, and to say postmillennialism has been “discarded” is not, of course, strictly true.  Some of the ideas of inevitable progress and human perfectibility live on, changing and evolving with the times.  Transhumanism and the concept of a technological Singularity event both can be seen as part of a postmillennial paradigm, even if the religious aspect is gone.  Also, the historical connections and justifications for postmillennialism have a much richer and varied history than is expressed in this post.  For instance, Mormonism grew out of some of these beliefs, and it is still a strong and active faith.  There are so many more ideas regarding both of these two paradigms that I will not get into now.  For instance, it has been said that postmillennialism is inherently more active of a religious stance since it requires humans to work towards perfection while premillennialists simply wait around.  This, however, is not an inevitable conclusion, and there are premillennialists just as if not more involved with attempting to solve world problems than postmillennialists.  Again, I won’t go into it all here, but I wanted to suggest some of the concepts an examination of these ideas carries with it.

While postmillennialism was not on the lips of everyone in the 19th and early 20th centuries, I suggest the next time you come across Progressive Era images or ideas you consider the religious /apocalyptic ideas that may have under-girded their conception.  Also, try to imagine what a Progressive Era apocalypse might look like.  For those familiar with Fritz Lang’s 1927 Metropolis, you already have an idea.

Introducing the End, or, a Tour of the Stables

“And though St. John saw many strange monsters in his vision, he saw no creature so wild as one of his own commentators.”  -G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Hello and welcome to the Stables of the Apocalypse.  I hope in this first post to give readers an idea of what this blog is all about and a few examples of what can be expected in the future (no pun intended).

The English word “apocalypse” has its origin from the Greek, meaning to “unveil” or “reveal.”  That is why the last book of the Christian New Testament is variously named “The Book of the Apocalypse” or “Revelation.”  In it, the future history of mankind is explained, with the promise of a Last Judgment to reward the just and punish the corrupt, a final validation that living by a charitable code of morality will, in the End, win out over egocentric malice and injustice.  Prior to that End, when all is made clear, disasters will come to test the righteous and punish the wicked so that each has one final chance to embrace “the good” or fall to “the evil.”  In common parlance, this last aspect – utter destruction of humanity or the whole world, or at least the riotous overthrow of society – is generally thought of when the word “apocalypse” is mentioned.  The original meaning, the “unveiling” of hidden, transcendent truths, should not be forgotten.  This blog will investigate both meanings.  It will examine ways cultures around the world (not just those in the Western Christian tradition) have understood, pondered, debated, and expressed themselves on the topic of “last things.”  Indeed, apocalyptic ideas can be traced around the world and across time in many cultures:  Zoroastrianism, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Mormonism, as well as scientific understandings of the Big Crunch and the Heat Death of the Universe, and popular fears of world-wide epidemics, nuclear war, cultural suicide, and, of course, zombie uprisings.

As an aside, whether in the form of an apocalyptic finale for all humanity or simply what happens after one dies, the study of “last things” is known as “eschatology.”  The term is nearly interchangeable with apocalypticism, and will be so often here.  But it is also a much broader term, dealing with heaven, hell, and anywhere else in between.  If compared to the process of getting married, the Apocalypse would deal with all particulars of everything from the engagement to the grand ceremony of an enormous wedding.  The hopes for the future, the choosing of the wedding party, the tensions of planning and financing, the anxiety about the guest list, the fears and second guessing that might take place for the couple, the controversial choices one makes during a bachelor or bachelorette party, all building up to the pivotal moment when the two people are given the direct, unavoidable, unambiguous question, “Do you?”  Eschatology, on the other hand, deals with this and more.  Perhaps the couple merely elope or are married in a courthouse with little pomp and ceremony.  But not only does eschatology deal with the before, but it discusses the after.  What will the marriage be like?  How will the two get along?  Where will they live?  Is it doomed to failure?  The list can go on.  Though the metaphor is not perfect, it is also not entirely without precedent, for the Book of Revelation itself describes post-Apocalyptic existence not as a tragedy but as a marriage between God and humanity.  The image above is a medieval depiction of the marriage supper of the lamb from Revelation, chapter 19, commonly believed to be a symbolic representation of the union of Christ and His Church or the human soul.

Of course, marriage is hardly the first thing most people think of when they hear the word “apocalypse.”  More often they are likely to think of one or more of the many beasts, strange creatures, or terrible and horrendous harbingers of destruction mentioned in the last book of the Bible.  Naturally Revelation is full of angels and demons – some as beautiful as baroque paintings, some as ugly as frogs.  There are, of course, the Four Horsemen – often known as Conquest, War, Famine, and Death – commemorated in everything from woodcuts to professional wrestling franchises.  A bit more obscure for the common person, however, are the Four Living Creatures: a man, a lion, an ox, (all three with wings), and an eagle.  Though unexplained in Revelation, these four have been associated with the four authors of the Christian Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.  Then there are the legions of destructive beings, locusts and horses of bizarre proportions made of metal and causing pain and death with fire and smoke, or the inhuman races of Gog and Magog, known only as violent warriors from a distant land.  There is the monster known simply as “The Beast,” whose cryptic number, 666, has become short-hand for evil.  And, of course, there is the most terrible beast of all: the Great Red Dragon with seven heads, Satan himself.  The importance of associating the ultimate embodiment of evil and destruction in the form of a dragon needs no explanation.  Perhaps no single creature in John’s book has become so popular or captured the imagination of people who have never read it themselves more than this monster.  Even the Lamb, Christ, hardly has a stronger iconographic association.

Yet to explore even the least of the creatures listed here and its impact on culture, past and present, would be an enormous undertaking.  The purpose here is merely to present a single issue the Christian Apocalypse offers – the creatures it contains – to demonstrate how rich these images have been, are, and will likely continue to be.  Since this blog is entitled the “Stables of the Apocalypse,” it is only fitting that we started by looking briefly at the unusual animals contained within.  But the beasts of Revelation are simply one of countless things contained it its pages, and Revelation is itself one of many books that explores the idea of the End of the World.  We may return to these creatures again later so that they may have their due time.  But for now it is enough to say that we have simply scratched the surface.

Next time we will examine a more narrowly defined topic, now that the preliminary ground work has been established.  Future subjects will range anywhere from historical religions of men with swords powerless before supernatural beings to modern-day sci-fi video games where The End includes the destruction of all life in the galaxy by technologically superior aliens.  The two ideas are not as dissimilar as their surface elements suggest, for they both draw on questions and ideas humans have debated for a long time.  Hopefully you’ll join me wherever the future of this blog takes us.

“Now this is not the end.  It is not even the beginning of the end.  But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”  -Winston Churchill, 1942