Ancient Apocalypses
The reality of evil is assumed by ancient apocalypses, though it might come in many guises (personal, corporate, or demonic) and under many names (the devil, Satan, Mastema, Belial, or Azazel, to name some of the most common appellations). But although the reality of evil suffuses ancient apocalypses, it is not always clear that the origin of evil, or understanding the origin of evil, is essential to the prophets’ understanding of God’s nature or the destiny of humanity. With some notable exceptions, reflection upon the nature and purpose of evil is missing from most apocalypses. What each apocalypse stresses in a variety of ways is the limited power of evil and, in light of God’s intended and coming end, evil’s now-limited lifespan. Implicit in this is the great power of God to deal with evil and the goodness that defines God’s nature. I want to return to this key point, but first let us explore some of the ways in which the apocalypses do discuss the origin of evil, when and if they do, and why this might not be a key consideration for apocalyptic thought.
Certainly, questions about why suffering and evil must exist were present in apocalyptic thought. First Enoch, cited by the canonical Letter of Jude and generally considered the earliest of all apocalypses, explains the origin of evil as arising from the improper mingling of angels, known as “the watchers,” who gazed upon human women and found them delightful and desirable. These fallen angels then came to earth to take these women as their wives and in so doing revealed information about many sorts of sinful activities. Adam and Eve are mentioned in the text, as Raphael explains to Enoch: “This very thing is the tree of wisdom from which your old father and aged mother, they who are your precursors, ate and came to know wisdom; and (consequently) their eyes were opened and they realized that they were naked and (so) they were expelled from the garden” (1 En. 32:6). Yet this fall account is not discussed again. Attention to the spread of evil throughout humanity focuses on the discussion and the expansion of the Genesis 6:1–4 account of the sons of God who looked upon the daughters of men. First Enoch sees the starting point of human evil in both human action turned away from God and the acts of fallen angels who reject God’s order, but the author concentrates most fully on the angelic source of sin. In both cases, however, the fallen angels and the fallen humans breach the boundaries set by God.
The human or angelic origins of sin are the two options most apocalypses consider and are largely implicit in most texts. The book of Daniel focuses largely on the human and corporate nature of evil, describing the human kingdoms that war against the righteous and the kingdom of God. Yet the origin of human sin is not discussed. Perhaps one can work backward through the text from the later apocalyptic chapters to the first six chapters and see that Daniel and his faithful friends in Babylon are living lives in tune with God when they adhere to the limits of the covenant and the law, but beyond that there is little speculation. When Israel is punished, Daniel states that it is because Israel “transgressed your law and turned aside, . . . so the curse and the oath written in the law of Moses, the servant of God, have been poured out upon us, because we have sinned against you” (Dan. 9:11). This basic Deuteronomic evaluation of sin and punishment does not take us to the origin of sin, only to its current breaches of divine law and God’s response. But while this might explain Israel’s situation of woe, Daniel also sees that the nations are not just acting as God’s righteous arm of judgment but in addition are breaching the limits set for them. The nations will fall with the advent of God’s kingdom. There is, however, little particular speculation about the nature of human sin among the nations, the gentiles, except that they war against God’s righteousness. Arrogance is named as a particular sin of kings (Dan. 7:8, 11), which speaks of the presumption of usurping God’s place in human affairs; yet the limits of gentile behavior are not defined, except perhaps in terms of emperor worship or emperors demanding that their subjects worship the gods. This is a strong possibility if we associate the “horn” in Daniel 7 with Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Daniel does not describe the angelic fall. The name of Satan does not appear in the text, nor does any other name of a chief demon or fallen angel. However, we might assume an angelic fall for one specific reason. In Daniel 10:13, 21 and 12:1, Michael is described as the prince of Israel, who contends against the princes of other nations—the prince of Persia is mentioned specifically—and who fights on behalf of Israel in the battle at the end of time. This points to an angelic battle and thus to an angelic fall. Yet what is theologically troubling, at least for those seeking to understand the universal nature of the fall and the origin of sin, is that Michael is basically a geopolitical warrior who fights on behalf of Israel and indeed on behalf of God, but these passages seem to suggest salvation only in a Jewish context. Yet it might not be universal salvation even in a Jewish context: “At that time your people shall be delivered, everyone who is found written in the book” (Dan. 12:1, emphasis added).
Daniel does not describe how someone outside the bounds of Israel might be saved. It is confusing, then, to speculate on the nature of the fall and how it impacts Israel on the one hand and the nations on the other. Fourth Ezra, a text that emerges from the same historical period as the Apocalypse of John, wrestles with the same problems but in a more acute manner. Fourth Ezra considers the nature of sin as it affects all humanity both in an individual and in a corporate manner. The angelic messenger explains to Ezra that God gave instruction to all people: “God strictly commanded those who came into the world, when they came, what they should do to live, and what they should do to avoid punishment. Nevertheless they were not obedient and spoke against him” (4 Ezra 7:21–22; cf. 5:27–28). These people rejected God and God’s ways (7:23–24). The book does trace this sin back to Adam and his fall, which affected all his descendants (7:116–18). But Ezra challenges God to answer for the way in which humanity was created and to explain why only a few should be saved (8:1–3). Indeed, Ezra seems angered that God made human beings with a propensity to sin and blames God for this state of affairs (4:20–27). In this text, fallen angels are not blamed for humanity’s descent into sin; God is blamed.
At one point, Ezra is told that humanity’s situation is a test, a trial, to choose the righteous, however few they are, from among humankind (4 Ezra 7:127–31). In fact, Ezra is told that the world to come has been made for the sake of the few (8:1). Ezra is not satisfied with this answer, at least not initially, but his chagrin is particularly focused on why Israel, chosen from among the nations, faces such pain and sorrow (6:55–59). Sin is, after all, unfaithfulness to the law (9:36), but this seems to be the case for all people, not just the Jews (7:37–39). Sin results in alienation and estrangement from God (7:48). So perhaps the nations turned from God by rejecting either God’s covenant or some sort of natural revelation or law. Free will is affirmed in a few passages: it is said that all have turned from God (3:8; 8:56–58). In some ways this sin is due to Adam (7:118), who possessed an evil heart (3:20), in which a grain of evil seed had been planted (4:30); all Adam’s descendants have followed him (3:26). The seer asks pointed questions as to why the holy ones must suffer and why God has created humanity with a propensity to sin: “It would have been better for us not to be here than to come here and live in ungodliness, and to suffer and not understand why” (4:12). But ultimately Ezra accepts the ways of God and understands that some number will indeed be saved. Yet how the gentiles ought to be judged remains a peculiar issue that is not solved in 4 Ezra.
In my view, the Apocalypse of John solves the basic issue: the universality of evil, and thus the universality of salvation. The origin of evil is assumed to be the fall of the angels and Satan in particular (Rev. 12:9; 20:2). Human beings clearly engage in evil also, as seen in the behavior of Babylon, which opposes the holy ones of God. This is no different from the Jewish canonical or noncanonical apocalypses. Again, there is no difference in that evil is in some limited way a test that the righteous must overcome (3:10). The inscrutability of evil and suffering are apparent in the Apocalypse of John when it says that the devil “must be let out for a little while” (20:3). Endurance and faithfulness are essential for the righteous to overcome evil. What sets the Apocalypse of John apart, in my view, is not that the origin of evil is explained much differently than in the Jewish apocalypses, nor that there is much deeper reflection on the origin of evil. Fourth Ezra must be seen as the apocalypse that wrestles with this question most fully. Rather, in the Apocalypse of John the answer to sin and suffering is universal. It settles the problem of 4 Ezra and 1 Enoch and clarifies the meaning of the holy ones in Daniel: the holy ones are all those who follow Jesus Christ (Rev. 4–10). A universal reality demands a universal response.
Sin and suffering are universal realities, and the Apocalypse of John, like most apocalypses, accepts that reality, accepts the nature of the human condition, and then proposes the answer. The ancient apocalypses, canonical and noncanonical, deal with the reality of suffering and the presence of evil in our midst and mince no words in their presentation of the current suffering of the elect and the fortitude necessary to withstand it: “Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Beware, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison so that you may be tested” (Rev. 2:10). But the reward for perseverance is also clear: “Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life” (2:10). There is redemption, gained by the Lamb who was slain (cf. Rev. 5:6–14), and those who persevere regardless of the terror and persecution they experience in this life will have “every tear” wiped from their eyes and see “all things new” (21:4–5).
The apocalyptic imagination is concerned more with how to conquer sin, and with its inevitable destruction, than with why there is sin. The origin is located in the fall, first of angels and subsequently of human beings; of this there is no question. But the focus is on God’s response to the inevitable human question: Given that this is the reality of all our lives, what, God, have you done about sin, and how are you going to resolve this problem? In each case, however, regardless of the number chosen—few in 4 Ezra, multitudes in the Apocalypse of John (Rev. 7:9)—God acts to eliminate evil and suffering and to reward the righteous.
The apocalypses are guidebooks both to the solution of the problem and to how one shares in the solution. This is especially apparent in the Apocalypse of John. Most apocalypses, it is true, focus little attention on specific sins, or on what precisely constitutes the good life. For instance, there are no lists of commandments. There is indeed a clear sense that these texts are written for those who have already come to share in the communal life of either Israel or the church. One is told, broadly, to remain within the covenant life of the community, to remain faithful, and to avoid idolatry. The issue of idolatry is a key. The life in tune with God is a life in proper order. It is a life constituted by proper worship of the one, true God, not of lusts, material goods, power, or empires. In the midst of suffering, pain cannot be eased by greater wealth or power. In the seeming triumph of sin, victory is not found through participation in its fruits. The hope that apocalypses offer, especially the Apocalypse of John, is the hope to be found in a life shaped in obedience to the Lamb who was slain. Not only will God conquer all evil; God has already conquered. It is evil that is transient. The origin of sin is so little considered, I believe, because ultimately God did not intend a sinful life for us. The reality is paradise. God is good and intends for us only goodness.
Hollywood Nightmares
This is a short and perhaps unsatisfying expression of the heart of apocalyptic thought, but it places the major questions before us in conversation with a number of the products of modern cinema. Movies that take as their basis these ancient apocalyptic scenarios are so numerous as to give pause. Why would these most strange of visions find a home in the movies? Part of the answer may be that the strange visual, symbolic, and mythic images of these texts appeal to the imagination. But this is not the whole answer. One can certainly create a movie dealing with a battle between good and evil without dipping into Jewish and Christian prophecy. In a culture that has jettisoned so much of its Christian cultural heritage, these films point to a deep resonance with the themes of Christian apocalyptic thought in particular.
These movies rely on the acceptance of a couple of basic Christian truths, even if they are sometimes implicit. First, the reality of Christian prophetic literature is assumed; at least we can say that the reality of prophecy in general is assumed. This suggests the acceptance of a spiritual world, however ill defined it is. The content of this spiritual world as a battle between good and evil is also accepted, though the focus rests on Satan, the evil one, or some of his minions. However, God is often left out of the picture, quite literally. A coming end to the world is also understood, and the movies express this in several ways. Given, however, that God is absent from the picture, this coming end becomes the heart of the problem as presented in these movies. The coming end in apocalyptic texts, and in particular in the Apocalypse of John, is about God bringing sin, suffering, and evil to an end; in the case of Christian apocalypses, this is done through his Son Jesus Christ, and in the case of Jewish apocalypses, through the coming Messiah. But if God is absent, what do these films imagine is the fate of sin, evil, and suffering, and who will battle against them?
I explored a number of these films in my study The End of the World: The Apocalyptic Imagination in Film and Television.1 Here I will speak of these films in general terms. Some of them are excellent, some are poor, but Hollywood never ceases to release them and has been doing so since at least the late 1960s, starting with Rosemary’s Baby and continuing with the release of Constantine and beyond. It can be established that these films, with one or two exceptions, share a particular worldview regarding sin, suffering, and evil in much the same way as the ancient apocalypses do. This cinematic worldview, however, does not express the theodicy of Jews and Christians. Rather, the Hollywood worldview reflects modern (or postmodern) disquiet with the nature of evil and the power of the good and unease primarily with human salvation and redemption.
The unease runs through the center of these films. In film after film, evil is seen as the power of the apocalypse. The apocalypse is not the act of God to destroy evil, suffering, and sin and to return humanity to its intended state in paradise, but it is the power of Satan come to earth. In one film, End of Days (1999), the priest, Father Kovak, challenges the character Cane, a former policeman who has been drawn into the apocalyptic scenario against his will, to accept the reality of God. He states, “If you don’t believe in God, how can you understand his Adversary?” Cane is now given support by Father Kovak, and he realizes that Kovak is well aware of what is soon to take place, as he has a book called The Return of Satan. Later we find Cane praying for strength to defeat evil and for help as he meditates on Christ crucified. On the other hand, Kovak offers perhaps the most theologically dubious statement ever attributed to a practicing priest: “Our God, he doesn’t say that he will save us, he says that we will save ourselves.” This is the dilemma these films create, for themselves and for filmgoers: God’s existence is accepted, to some degree, but God has become an ineffectual bystander, powerless to stop the march of evil. The fate of the earth rests not in God’s hands but in human hands. The character Cane in End of Days must act to save a world abandoned by an ineffectual God, a No-God.
Although these films do not define evil well, they accept the reality of malevolence in this world and the spiritual reality of the evil one. Part of the reason is that goodness is either absent or corrupted. God does not take an active role in the defeat of evil; human beings are left to do this on their own, while God perhaps smiles benignly on their efforts. In the 2005 film Constantine, God seems to have made a pact with the devil, called in the film “the balance,” in which a certain number of souls seems to be set aside for each. In this case God and the devil are equals playing on the field of our souls; God is not the omnipotent God of Christianity but perhaps the good god of Zoroastrianism locked in fearful battle with evil but unable to conquer evil alone. Those who are supposed to represent God on earth—priests, the church—are cast either as incompetent, fearful, and theologically inept or as actually in league with the devil. In the films The Omen (1976, remade in 2006) and Lost Souls (2000), for example, priests play an active role in bringing Satan or his spawn, an antichrist figure, to earth.
Those who oppose evil, then, are defined not by their moral goodness but by fate or happenstance: they happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If this was meant to show that God can use the basest of human material, all is well: Abraham, Jacob, Moses, David, and Peter all showed themselves as weak human material whom God could mold to procure his providential end. Instead, these cinematic human opponents of the devil work alone, without God, to outwit the devil and his schemes. There is often nothing good about them, their lives, or the way they live except that they accept responsibility for battling evil. This is not insignificant, of course, except that evil itself seems often to be presented as bringing about the end of human life here on earth. The cinematic apocalypse is not the redemption of the world but simply the devil’s attempt to end human life. Sin, suffering, and evil are a part of human life, but God does not present an answer to them, and human attempts to stop Satan in these films do not propose an answer to them either. If Satan is stopped, it is for a short time only; we do not know when Satan might return. And when Satan is stopped, life continues as it had before. If the good is absent or ineffectual, evil is a constant presence that can be held at bay for a while, but its defeat has no notable impact on people or how they lead their lives. Both good and evil are contentless. The apocalypse as nihilism is now being screened at the local Cineplex.
At root in many films, too, is the use of the Apocalypse of John, which stands as a monument behind The Omen. Though the Apocalypse is a book of the church, predicting the ultimate overthrow of evil, The Omen, by creating its own scriptural text, sees it at root as a story of evil’s triumph: “turning man against his brother, ’til man exists no more.”2 That this passage is not in the Apocalypse ought to alert us that the film has a purpose beyond that of the ancient Apocalypse. Of course, the ancient apocalypses do see the end time as fraught with terror and destruction, but this is not the end of the story. The end is paradise; the end is a new Eden. Travail will occur as a preface to the triumph of good. The Omen sees the Apocalypse basically as a guidebook for the devil, not for the church. This clearly speaks to modern anxieties about the weakness of organized religion and its supposed meaninglessness, and evil has only gained in stature. The real anxiety is about the absence of good and the overwhelming reality of evil. Although the Christian texts are found to have prophetic significance, the message of hope does not. Who will save us from death and destruction? The church? God? The Messiah? No one will save us. This is the message in a nutshell. Evil desires humanity’s demise, even if human life is seen as only chaos, torment, and meaninglessness.
Ben F. Meyer explains that at the heart of the crisis of our culture today is our absence of the sense of a God who cares for his people or who loves them without fail:
We have reverted to the Greeks; the dull Greek dread of the far side of the divine, an “ultimate” that was impersonal, implacable, and oppressive, has resurfaced in our world, diminishing and poisoning the imagination. We are not alone, says science fiction, so long as there are others—as good as us or maybe even better—somewhere out in space. Otherwise, it is implied, we are indeed alone. In this version the ultimate is neither benevolent nor malevolent, just empty. The near side of the Greek conception of the divine, that of the Olympians, has become one more affirmation of ourselves and our choices. Whether this near side of the divine is harmful or harmless is unsettled.3
Because of this reality, our place in the world is unsettled, and we are in an age of anxiety. How do we know whether what is “out there” is benign? We have no way of knowing. If we use ourselves as a model, the results are frightening or at best mixed. Without the sense of a God who cares, without the sense of a God who loves—the end of our world, its destruction, and our chaos or enslavement are beyond response. Like the gods of old, the new gods are inscrutable and unreliable. We, like the people of old, have no idea what to do. Our end might be justified or it might not be justified, but the necessary order for how to respond is missing. We look to our technology and science as our salvation, but we fear it is not good enough. We live at the edge of the precipice, and there is no clear map for how to walk back from it. The apocalypse is upon us, but the divine order is simply chaos. We are not certain what evil is or how to define sin, but we know we are suffering.
In sum, when we examine the (post)modern, (post)apocalyptic movies, we find a genre that retains the theological scaffolding of ancient Christian apocalyptic scenarios while jettisoning the hope of redemption, the resolution of suffering, and the conquest of evil. In many cases, apocalyptic films take seriously the notion of Christian prophecy, but they see this as the power of evil come to earth, which humans must act to stop. Where is God? God has become No-God—distant, silent, and implacable. The postmodern apocalypse is about humanity alienated, frightened, and alone. Yet these films admit the reality of evil and the need to stand against it. How do these films propose human redemption? How do they propose human transformation? Who will save us? The postmodern cinema offers not hope but the dread of the divine found in ancient polytheism: how do we placate and propitiate those whose ways we cannot understand?
The ancient Christians offered a response: God will not stand for evil, for whatever its origin, it offends God and his creation. God is good and will act to “wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more” (Rev. 21:4). Unable to define either good or evil, unable to imagine a God who cares for humanity, apocalyptic films offer a vision of the end that senses the reality of evil but does not have an answer regarding its true source or the power before which it cannot stand. The apostle Paul asks, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” (Rom. 7:24). His answer: Jesus Christ. The Messiah. The answer of the films? No-God.
1. John W. Martens, The End of the World: The Apocalyptic Imagination in Film and Television (Winnipeg: Shillingford, 2003).
2. This is a line from a “biblical” poem about the Antichrist by character Father Brennan in The Omen (1976) and used as a tagline in the 2006 remake.
3. Ben F. Meyer, “Election-Historical Thinking in Romans 9–11, and Ourselves,” Logos 7, no. 4 (2004): 171–81.