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<text id=93TT1242>
<title>
Mar. 22, 1993: Apocalypse, With And Without God
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
Mar. 22, 1993 Can Animals Think
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
ESSAY, Page 82
Apocalypse, With And Without God
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Charles Krauthammer
</p>
<p> It is not enough that the murderous ravings of David
Koresh and his apocalyptic religious cult have turned into a
terrible human tragedy. There seems to be a great desire to turn
it into a cultural statement. The siege at Waco has occasioned
a worldwide festival of commentary--and condescension--on
the subject of American primitivism. An Israeli TV interviewer
asked me to explain to his audience why it is that America seems
to throw up these weird religious cults at such regular
intervals. I pointed out that Israel sports the Ateret
Hacohanim, a group of believers so convinced of the imminence
of the Messiah who will rebuild the Temple of Solomon that they
spend their days studying the ancient laws of animal sacrifice.
That way they'll be--to borrow a phrase from George Bush's--ready on Day 1.
</p>
<p> Tut-tutting about American primitivism mixes easily with
that other sport, eye rolling about religious primitivism. You
know: There go those religious nuts again. In keeping with a
popular culture that gives serious religion no attention but
devotes endless prime time to crooked, hypocritical and
otherwise deformed religiosity, the Waco wackos are getting more
coverage in a week than religion does in a year.
</p>
<p> A front-page story in the Washington Post looked for
deeper trends. "The United States has become a land echoing with
the rumble of apocalyptic prophecy," it reported on Day 5 of
the siege. And the phenomenon is ecumenical: "The anticipation
extends across religious lines."
</p>
<p> True enough. But it also extends beyond religious lines.
What the endless media chatter about the Koresh phenomenon
misses completely is that millennial thinking is hardly the
property of the religious. Indeed, the most widespread and
historically significant outbreaks of millenarianism in our time
have been secular.
</p>
<p> For the past half-century more than a quarter of the
earth's people were controlled by political movements whose
pursuit of the millennium was as fanatical as that of their
religious counterparts--and far more destructive. Soviet,
Cambodian, Korean, Chinese communists relentlessly drove their
people to extremes of privation and repression in order to
hasten the arrival of full-fledged "communism," the millennium
as foretold by that 19th century prophet Karl Marx.
</p>
<p> In 1958, for example, Mao decided to skip the intermediate
stages of "socialist construction" and go right to full
communism. He called it the Great Leap Forward. It would take
a million David Koreshes to kill the number of Chinese who
perished (through famine, forced labor and civil unrest) to
satisfy that lunge for the millennium. Two decades later, the
Khmer Rouge murdered more than a million of their countrymen in
an attempt, explained Khieu Samphan, to "reach total communism
with one leap forward." Has any religious vision occasioned more
human sacrifice than "total communism"?
</p>
<p> As for the U.S., there are a handful of people who believe
Koresh's loony speculations about the end of the world. But not
a decade ago, tens of millions of Americans, including many who
should have known better, were in the grip of a national anxiety
attack about nuclear apocalypse. Jonathan Schell's panicked
anticipation of nuclear destruction, modestly titled The Fate
of the Earth, was rapturously received. The Day After, a
re-creation of the End, was the TV event of the year.
Psychologists were dispatched to help kids deal with its
anticipated psychological fallout. Hundreds of thousands took
to observing "Ground Zero Week," which featured the loving
re-creation of every detail of the apocalypse--in the weird
expectation that rehearsing the End would prevent it. Those who
refused to join the hysteria were diagnosed as suffering from
"nuclearism" or "psychic numbing."
</p>
<p> With the end of the cold war, nuclear apocalypticism has
gone out of fashion. The vacuum is amply filled by the
eco-catastrophists. The late '60s featured Paul Ehrlich's huge
best seller, The Population Bomb, an astonishingly wrongheaded
prediction of the End brought on by overpopulation--by 1983.
In the '70s, the Club of Rome predicted, with hilarious
imprecision, a coming doomsday of uncontrollable pollution, wild
overpopulation and resource depletion (by 1992, for example, no
oil).
</p>
<p> Today the Vice President of the U.S. writes a best seller
warning that if environmentalism does not become "our new
organizing principle," then "the very survival of our
civilization will be in doubt." And "the potential for true
catastrophe lies in the future, but the downslope that pulls us
toward it is becoming recognizably steeper with each passing
year." Familiar, isn't it? The yawning chasm--accompanied, as
for every apocalypse, by the death struggle between the forces
of light and the forces of darkness: "We now face the prospect
of a kind of global civil war between those who refuse to
consider the consequences of civilization's relentless advance
and those who refuse to be silent partners in the destruction."
</p>
<p> Some prefer their catastrophes more mundane. For them we
have economic apocalypse. It is hard to think of a time when
the best-seller list did not feature a Crash of
Nineteen-something book. A few years ago, it was The Crash of
'79. Then The Panic of '89. (Same author!) Today it is
Bankruptcy 1995. The idea is the same. Only the date gets pushed
back.
</p>
<p> The apocalypse recedes. Yet its fascination endures. It is
fine to look down one's nose at Waco. But Bible-thumping
psychopaths hold no monopoly on belief in the End. Before
casting stones at the easy targets, a secular society might
reflect on its own ample appetite for apocalypse.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>