The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

“But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only.”
—Matthew 24:36 (KJV)

As a Christian, I believe apocalyptic thinking is heretical. Claiming to have unique eschatalogical knowledge that the Bible explicitly says no human possesses, is essentially claiming to be God. Sure, we can speculate generously on what ends Christianity serves, both “ends” as purposes, and “ends” as prophesied conclusions. But God has reserved true knowledge of apocalypse for God’s self singularly, not for humans.

But perhaps we’d profit from considering what “apocalypse” means. The word itself derives from two Greek roots: apo-, a combining verb form meaning “to lift” or “to remove,” and kaluptein, “a shroud.” Apocalypse means lifting a concealing cover to disclose the truth hidden beneath. In Latin, the same construction gives us “Revelation,” removing a veil. In both cases, it means exposing hidden realities.

Under current conditions, it’s difficult to avoid believing we’re witnessing secular eschatology. As huge swaths of America burn, discharging toxic smoke into Earth’s upper atmosphere; as several of humanity’s largest democracies fail to grapple with COVID-19; as the world’s major nuclear-armed power descends into autocracy, I’m tempted to think the world is ending. I’m falling victim to my own despised heresy.

Yet watching events unfold, I’ve begun realizing apocalyptic thinking isn’t necessarily heretical. If we believe, as LaHaye and Jenkins do, that we’ve uniquely unlocked future events, found ourselves justified, and now expect God’s favor, yes, that’s heretical. But pausing such messianic dribble, there’s still the sense of apocalypse as revealing the truth. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what our generation is living to witness.

Nearly a decade ago, science fiction opened my eyes to something stained-glass religious language had clouded. Reading several end-of-the world novels in quick succession, I noticed contrasting patterns. Most such novels featured beleaguered protagonists who understood society’s innate corruption, stood fast, and were vindicated. We were expected to laud their countercultural heroism. Not all these novels were religious, but many were.

Opposite these novels, one book, China Miéville’s Embassytown, featured many references to the world ending. However, not once did anyone imply the planet would die, humanity would face purgation, or some theological (or quasi-theological) force would separate the sheep from the goats. Instead, Miéville states, the world ends when our accumulated illusions die. “The world” ends when truth begins, or at least is revealed.

That, I propose, is happening right now. Truth, long concealed, has made its presence known again. But what truth do we witness, and what lessons do we learn? That’s our real test.

For nearly three centuries, industrialized Western civilization has used our oceans as a toilet, our skies as an ashtray, and money as a shield. We’ve conquered distant nations and enslaved populations as tools to ensure constant supplies of cheap labor and natural resources. We’ve assured ourselves that we’re morally justified in these actions because they create aggregate wealth and  physical comfort.

But, like the rich man in Christ’s parable, we’ve built high walls to keep poor Lazarus invisible. Often literal walls, from medieval castles to contemporary gated communities. Sometimes we’ve created fortresses to keep the unclean and impoverished inside, as with lepers’ colonies and tubercular hospitals. Mostly, though, we’ve kept the disenfranchised outside, while heaping up feasts inside, which poor Lazarus helped harvest.

Biblical Sodom is so associated with sexual immorality that we say “Sodomy” to describe certain sexual acts. But the Hebrew prophets disagreed. Ezekiel wrote: “Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.” This, too, is probably why God destroyed Jericho, because it barred its gates against the wandering Israelites.

America has barred its gates against refugees. We’ve stolen our neighbors’ harvests, shit in their houses, fucked their daughters, then turned around and locked the gates. In consequence, our house is now literally on fire. Like Jonah’s Ninevah, we have one opportunity to recognize our sins, repent, and set our feet on the right course. Sadly, it appears a powerful minority is refusing the opportunity.

Writing this essay, I’ve used God-language and Biblical references. But one needn’t believe in a literal God to understand the message; many Jews today consider “God” strictly metaphorical. Even without God, we have an opportunity to open our eyes, witness the truth we’ve previously concealed from ourselves, and act appropriately. We’re witnessing a secular apocalypse. Will we take this opportunity to make it right?