Few people today doubt that history is moving toward some sort of climactic catastrophe... 

hat better time to worry about the end of the world? People throughout history have agonized over the earth's demise by flood, fire, war, plague, intervention of gods, or the evil actions of other human beings. Just as people have asked, Where did it all come from? They have also pondered, How will it end? Ancient stories, from the tale of Gilgamesh through the accounts of Genesis, have claimed to reveal how the universe and humanity originated. There are also stories about the final days when, for whatever reason, life will cease to exist. Just as nearly all cultures have a creation myth, they likewise have some idea of how their world is to perish. 

Today, many fundamentalist Christians -- and a surprisingly diverse and large portion of other people -- believe that we are approaching those final days, the end times. Some speak of a widespread sense of dread, a confluence of events and processes foretold in prophetic utterances in everything from Bible or the writings of Nostradamus, to alleged warnings from long-dead civilizations, or even scientists. From television preachers to Internet prophets, to the tabloids at the supermarket check-out counter, murmurs about the end of the world are suddenly going mainstream. 

For evangelical or fundamentalist Christians, those end times are the fulfillment of biblical prophecy foretold in apocalyptic writings such as the Book of Daniel and the Apocalypse (Revelation). Wars, famines, earthquakes, accidents, and other calamities are increasingly viewed as signs and portents that humanity is indeed barreling down the Apocalypse Road, with the pedal to the metal. Beyond the next turn -- maybe -- are such dramatic unfoldings as the Rapture, Tribulation, the appearance of the dreaded Antichrist, and the Second Coming of the Messiah. 

There are other travelers on the Apocalypse Road, too. As the year 2000 approaches, it isn't just the regular viewers of The 700 Club who seem to be tapping into a cultural wellspring of anxiety and expectation that something momentous and cataclysmic is about to happen. Since the 1970s, western culture has been mushing its brain with a steady diet of new-age faddism. Combined with the contemporary quest for spirituality rampant among the generation of baby boomers, this is producing a confluence of bizarre hybrids fusing traditional religious metaphors with pop-culture, new-age kitsch. As with many biblical fundamentalists, the year 2000 is laden with millennialist potential -- everything from the landing of wise, benevolent aliens in flying saucers to the revealing of a "Cosmic Christ" (best described as a blissed-out Jesus on Prozac), with perhaps the "transformation" of humanity into a race of "higher beings" possessing telepathic abilities and other wondrous talents. 

There are theopolitical apocalypticians traveling the road as well. For them, the millennium promises to be the long-awaited eschatological confrontation and shoot-out, the ultimate fighting match between the Forces of Good and the Powers of Darkness. The enemy -- Jews, Freemasons, blacks, Atheists, whore mongers, gays, race-mixers, race-traitors, "false Christians" -- will receive their due. It is a long enemies list, indeed. God's chosen children will be waiting out the floods, plagues, and other calamities unleashed in the final days, standing by to reclaim the earth from the wicked and finally usher in the "New Jerusalem" foretold in prophetic literature and visions. For these apocalyptic warriors, Jesus isn't on Prozac as much as he is pumped-up on steroids -- with an attitude. Variations on this theme run deep in the culture, from the fortified encampments of white racist survivalists to hard-scrabble biblical literalists. There is evidence that now this dark vision of the near-future is a world populated by technotribalists, killer cultists, organized doomsday storm troopers, juju warriors, and self-appointed apocalyptic agents of Chaos. As the centrifugal forces of modern society become more pronounced, nation states threaten to disintegrate into competing tribal gangs. Fueled by ecological catastrophe, economic collapse, and a host of other factors, this peculiar branch of eschatology is already flexing its muscle. 

For the Western World, scenarios about the end times originate mostly in the body of apocalyptic, eschatological writings of the New and Old Testaments. It is in the final book, Revelation, that most striking and symbolic representations about the end of the world are said by many to be depicted. It has been dubbed the "American International Pictures Version" of the end; and pop-culture writer Stanley Young reminds us that while it is definitely worth the read, most of it is obscure beyond even the lyrics of Bob Dylan. 

It is a difficult work to comprehend. Probably no other piece of writing in history has been examined more thoroughly and interpreted more widely. It is the end-of-the world legend, a doomsday tale on crack cocaine, 3-D with wrap-around multisound and special effects. It has been the inspirational fountainhead for mad prophets, pulpit-pounders, frothing apocalypticians, knaves, credulous fanatics, grade-B movie hustlers, and more. 

By most scholarly accounts, Revelation was probably written between 90-96 C.E. by someone named John. It is not entire certain that this was the same John of the apostles, especially given the lack of historical evidence for even the existence of Jesus. Some records suggest that Revelation was set down after John had been tortured, boiled in oil, and exiled to Patmos, an island in the Aegean Sea about seventy miles from Ephesus. Whoever wrote the text of Revelation, though, probably lived during the reign of the emperor Domitian, a formidable persecutor of the early Christian church. 

Revelation is composed as prophetic vision, and divided into six parts replete with symbolism and numerological code. The number seven which traditionally has represented perfection, is used 54 times. Twelve, identified with the tribes of Israel appears 23 times. The numerical references to beasts, seals, horns, churches and other artifacts found in Revelation harkens back to the ancient practice of gematria. Religious mystics of the Greek and Roman times assumed that many sacred texts, including the bible, had both a literal meaning and a deeper sub-textual significance revealed through numerical analysis of letters and names. 

This book also boasts a cast of players like no other -- the Harlot, beasts, angels blowing trumpets and opening scrolls, the 144,000 followers, and of course Satan himself who ends up being subdued, set loose, imprisoned yet again, and finally consigned to eternal fire after the cataclysmic battle of Armageddon. Revelation turns out to be a work of fantastic, even demented proportions. When the sixth trumpet sounds, for instance, 200 million horsemen pour out of the east to slay one-third of the earth's people. Their mounts spew forth fire, smoke, and sulfur, but even this blood-fest does not stop the heathens from worshipping idols of gold, bronze, and silver. A giant mountain crashes into the sea (a comet or asteroid?), and a third of the ocean life dies. A third of the light of the sun, moon, and stars is extinguished; water is poisoned, plagues of locusts descend, and there are monstrous winged-beasts lead by Abaddon, angel of destruction. Even Godzilla doesn't have a prayer in this cosmic upheaval. 

Conflict and devastation persist throughout the verses of Revelation. In its sheer imagery and traumatic prophecy, it puts to shame anything of modern times, from the gruesome images of Poe and Clive Barker to the Wagnerian apocalypticism of the Ring Cycle. It is the Mother of All End-Times Visions, a near-bottomless pit filled with raw material for the human imagination, so rich and at times incoherent that the symbolism can be construed to depict anything lurking in our deepest fears or longings. 

It was not very long after the writing of Revelation that people began interpreting its verses according to their own expectations and psychological requirements. 

Early Christians believed that the end of the world and the reappearance of their Messiah were immanent. Christ's return ticket had been punched for their lifetime. In this context, say many biblical scholars, eschatological literature such as Revelation was not describing a distant star-wars battle pitting Jehovah against Satan, but instead depicted the persecution of the early Christian church by villains like Nero or Domitian. Indeed, Revelation cautioned: "do not seal up the words of the prophecy of this book for the time is near..." 

Even the church father Irenaeus, in the second century C.E., wrote that there was to be a Kingdom of Heaven soon, and on earth. He criticized heretical groups like the Gnostics who chose to interpret eschatological literature and prophecy strictly in terms of being spiritual events. Not so, insisted Irenaeus -- the end would take place soon, and the way to know the truth concerning this event was to patiently listen to and believe in those who constituted the unbroken church hierarchy going back to the apostles. Already, a party line was being established. 

From the earliest days of the church, anticipation of millennium -- the thousand-year reign of the returned Christ -- were beginning to conflict with certain established ecclesiastical policies. In what is today Turkey, a man named Montanus claimed to have experience a vision of a heavenly New Jerusalem about to descend to the earth. This utopian prophecy was quickly perceived as a threat to ecclesiastical authority, though, and Hippolytus, writing in 215 C.E. accused the Montanist believers of heresy, including listening to revelations from female seers. Montanism continued to spread, especially after Tertullian -- the brilliant legal scholar who had been born in Carthage and converted to Christianity in 196 C.E. -- joined the movement. He too reported a vision of this heavenly city descending from the sky, a metaphor which persisted for centuries. 

Hippolytus did his own calculations about the end times, based mostly on writings found in John. He believed that the evil empire of Revelation was Rome, and that the Christian church still had a couple of centuries left to fulfill its mission of spreading the gospel before the world ended. 

Early Christians, though, were impatient. What would the heavenly kingdom be like? they wondered. How would the righteous live after years of torment and persecution once Satan and his minions have been vanquished? For followers of a Gnostic prophet name Cerinthus, it would be a time to reap the benefits of unconditional faith. 

Although Gnosticism had spiritualized events foretold in Revelation, there were still those who insisted that paradise could exist on earth. Cerinthus embraced chiliasm, a form of apocalyptic vision that depicted the millennium as a physical and material period. Cerinthus said that after the resurrection there would be an earthly kingdom of Christ, and that the flesh, that is men, again inhabiting Jerusalem would be subject to desires and pleasure. He added, "The kingdom of Christ would ... consist in the satisfaction of the stomach and of even lower organs, in eating, and drinking and nuptial pleasures."  

No wonder that this vision of sensual ecstasy moved one writer to describe Cerinthus and his followers by noting, "there was great enthusiasm among his supporters for that end..." 

Many chiliasts believed that in the millennium all manner of physical craving would be satiated, that men would find all women beautiful, and willing to partake in carnal delights. Others taught that women would bear many children, but without the pain of childbirth or even the inconvenience of sex. Indeed, there is a colorful streak in the millennialist vision which through the centuries has focused on the matters of sex. Often the males (especially those in leadership positions) are enticed with visions of seductive and willing women, "brides of Christ" on earth, chosen to receive "the seed" of a charismatic prophet, even if his name is Joseph Smith, Rajneesh, or David Koresh. This preoccupation with "seed" resonates today with dystopian, apocalyptic sects, especially those of a racialist bent intent on "protecting the seed" from "pollution" inflicted by other groups. 

The cranky theologian Origen, however, was quick to condemn the chiliasts, who had described the New Jerusalem as a place paved with gold and precious stones, where believers would be rewarded by having their pagan persecutors as slaves (along with the bonus, presumably, of "willing women"). "Flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kingdom of God," declared Origen. For the institutionalized church, spirituality -- not full bellies or exhausted loins -- was to be the salvation of souls. Origen was true to his word, castrating himself in order to avoid temptation or suspicion while spreading the gospel to (potentially "willing") women. 

These anticipations rampant in early Christian communities resulted in considerable problems for church fathers who busied themselves codifying dogma and constructing a far-flung ecclesiastical movement. Too many of the flock were waiting for the end rather than living the kind of life and having the sorts of beliefs that the bishops demanded. End-times fever simply would not go away, and much of it remained centered on the hedonistic New Jerusalem, a salvationist Las Vegas with rewards, luxury, happiness, swollen bellies, and fiery loins. In North Africa there arose the Donatists, led by Tyconius, who predicted that the world would end in 380 C.E. Augustine, then Bishop of Hippo, took aim at the sect in an effort to disprove what he termed "out-dated and inappropriate dreams of an earthly paradise." After his death in 430 C.E., a council of church leaders meeting at Ephesus condemned the literalist vision of a physical, worldly millennialist utopia. 

After so many centuries, though, the Second coming wasn't even a postponed cameo role -- it was an out-and-out no-show. Jesus did not return, and the Parousia, as it was termed, was routinely being postponed and rescheduled due to technical prophetic difficulties. Apocalyptic movements rose and fell, and by the end of the first millennium, the fascination with the end of the world persisted in the public imagination. Many Christians eagerly sought signs befitting the template of last-days prophecy. Otto III, with the cooperation of Pope Sylvester II, was busy extending his rendition of the Roman Empire. The emperor's coronation regalia depicted imaginative scenes from the verses of Revelations. Sylvester, who had received much of his knowledge through eastern occultists, was busy applying the lore of the kaballah and esoteric books, in an effort to comprehend the present and future. 

In the twelfth century came Joachim of Flore (1130-1202), a Cistercian monk who devised a system of saecula, or ages. Joachim interpreted human events as unfolding within distinct temporary periods; people thus began to consider themselves as living "in an age," with all of these saecula accumulating until the millennialist last days. In Joachim's trek down the Apocalypse Road there were to be three successive stages: the Age of the Father (Old testament), the Age of the Son (New Testament), and the Age of the Holy Spirit. The New Catholic Encyclopedia notes that after the culmination of these ages, "hierarchy and sacraments will disappear, monasticism as the essence of the primitive church will become the vehicle of the new-age." The Cistercian set the year 1260 as the date of the Messiah's return, but even when this prophetic timetable failed, a veritable cottage industry of trying to predict the apocalypse continued to thrive. 

Thirteen centuries of history had seen a radical transformation in the fate and status of the Christian church. It was easily the wealthiest and most powerful organization in its part of the world, and it was also the only transnational or international entity playing-off respective monarchies and principalities against each other while courting special privilege with all. The church managed to endure, even if Parousia (the Second Coming) was on temporary hold. But beneath the surface of ecclesiastical and feudal authority, there persisted an undercurrent of anxiety originating from the peasantry and other malcontents. Some resentments found their vent in witchcraft, or in the stubborn retaining of old nature-oriented cults. Still others discovered refuge in apocalyptic scenarios, or in covert opposition to the clergy and the church in general. While some later historians and social critics would praise the Middle Ages as a time when "there was a place for everyone, and for everyone a place," it was a time of ignorance, resentment, and periodic peasant uprisings followed by brutish repression. 

The western part of Czechoslovakia was once known as Bohemia; and by the late fourteenth century, a debauched and corrupt clergy owned nearly one-third of the land and as much of the treasury. To the local inhabitants, ecclesiastical overseers were a bloated and foreign Germanic ruling class in a predominantly Slavic region. One Jan Milicz proclaimed that the reign of the Antichrist existed in Bohemia in the person of the Emperor Charles IV, with the Roman Catholic Church playing the detested role of False Prophet. Many people quickly embraced this sentiment, including a philosopher at the University of Prague, Jan Huss. Huss publicly denounced numerous clerical abuses, including the sale of indulgences and positions by the pope (an objection later raised by Luther in the Reformation). Soon, a Hussite movement arose, joining the agrarian peasantry with townspeople and merchants in demanding immediate reform. A radical sect known as the Taborites wanted more -- they called for outright social revolution; and began establishing fortified compounds including one they named Mount Tabor after the mountain in the New Testament where Christ had foretold his second coming. In 1419, a Taborite preacher announced that between February 10 and 14 of the following year, fire would rain down upon every city and village which was not a Taborite community. Christ would then appear and take his rightful place as the Emperor of Bohemia, ushering in the long-awaited millennium. This would make another of Joachim's "ages," one without need of the institutional church. All people would be free and equal. Some thought that all property would be held in common, while others eagerly echoed the theme of women bearing many children without even the need for intercourse. 

Once again, the failure of prophecy did not dissipate either personal expectations or social discontent. By 1420, there were three major sides in the Taborite conflict, each with a large and belligerent army intent on ridding the world (or at least Bohemia) of sinners. Hussites, Taborites, and the papacy-supported Royalists engaged in a bloody civil war until 1471, when the Hussites emerged victorious and established their faith as the official church until 1620. 

By the 1500s, there was a steady flow of predictions about the end of the world, and a macabre game of "name the Antichrist" was in fashion. Hieronymous Bosch (1450? - 1516) had given Europeans a colorful and nightmarish vision of hell and the devil. Nine years after his death soothsayers were predicting February 1, 1524 as Doomsday, this time through deluge of water. Thousands of people, particularly in England, abandoned their homes for higher ground. Feb. 1 came and went, and astrologers quickly "revised" their calculations for yet another century. 

Along with the prophecy of the end times inevitably arose the claim of messianic inheritance. Biblical eschatology prophesied the Parousia, Armageddon (as the ultimate conflict of good and evil), judgment of souls, and millennium -- thousand-year reign of Christ on earth. Discovering signs of impending apocalypse required equally vigorous efforts to locate the Messiah who would usher in this period of the New Jerusalem. 

Self-messiahship had existed since the time Jesus is alleged to have walked the earth, of course. But the various "christs" of New Testament times were followed in subsequent centuries by men who linked their own destiny to the unfolding of apocalyptic prophesy. One such self-authored messiah was a Jew name Shabtai Zvi (Sabbatai Sevi), who in 1648 announced his godly status to a band of followers. He was driven from his home in Smyrna (Turkey) following this, but continued to insist that he would soon perform marvelous deeds. In 1666, he set off for Constantinople in a crusade to dethrone the Sultan. His followers were ecstatic, and Jews throughout Europe began selling their worldly goods and heading off to join the messianic army. The outcome, though, did not exactly fulfill the promise of the apocalyptic drama. In more a version of opera bouffe, the Sultan induced Zvi to convert to Islam, much to the dismay of the prophet's followers. 

There have been all manner of blood-and-doom predictions concerning the end of the world, along with a flock of would-be saviors and messiahs. And there have been convulsive, periodic waves of apocalypse fever, along with ceaseless hunts for the Antichrist and other characters in the Revelation scenario. Especially in times of social uncertainty and dislocation, the quest for the Antichrist assumes the coloration of a bizarre historical parlor game. The bestiary identified by this game includes Frederick II in the thirteenth century, Napoleon, multiple popes, Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, Fidel Castro, Henry Kissinger, and the King of Spain, Juan Carlos. (Despite his command over a small and impoverished island nation, Castro was selected for Antichristhood thanks to a CIA covert operation, when that intelligence service attempted to instigate a revolt against the cigar-smoking strongman. The spooks in Langley created an instant "shake'n-bake"-style prophecy which said that the Virgin Mary was coming to save the world, but would by-pass Cuba as the people were "unworthy" and "sinful" for tolerating Fidel.) 

The eventual demise of Antichrist candidates, though, due to death, retirement, or other circumstances, does not stop the game or quench the thirst. New candidates are quickly discovered, just as new events are pounded into the procrustean mold of apocalyptic prophecy. Wars, famines, floods, momentous political changes, movements of planets, even solar eclipses, are all grist for the final-judgement mill. When Comet Shoemaker-Levy broke into fragments and crashed into Jupiter in 1994, for instance, everyone from new-agers to traditional Indian religionists perceived this to be an omen -- but of exactly what they could not agree. 

So what is supposed to happen when 2000 finally arrives? Some predict that we will have a repeat of the hysterics of a thousand years ago when the first millennium drew to a close, only colorized and with a better sound track. The historical record, however, suggests that there was not considerable apocalyptic dread specifically linked to the year 1000. It was not really 1000 years after the birth of Jesus Christ, anyway. His existence is problematic, and even those who believe in the historicity of the Christian messiah quibble over the exact year of his birth. There is also a convoluted history of how exactly calendric time was first assigned, and then altered, going back to one Dennis the Diminutive (Dionysius Exiguus). Struggling with the fact that Passover, when Jesus is said to have risen from the dead, shifted each year according to the lunar cycle, this sixth century abbot attempted to find an appropriate and fixed time to celebrate the holiday. 

Dennis' mathematics was fraught with errors, so that when 1000 C.E. arrived, it did so in different places at relatively different times. December 25 in Rome marked the new year, a holdover from the ancient holiday of Saturnalia. The early Christian church had grafted the celebration onto a "holyday" designed to commemorate the virgin birth of Jesus. Saturnalia, though, was a "solar" commemoration, marking approximately that time of the year when the sun reached its lowest point in the annual journey across the sky (winter solstice) and was "reborn" or "resurrected." In England, the new millennium didn't arrive until March 25, although Spain and Portugal waited until January 1. Even so, popular myths about the end of the first millennium tell us that farmers did not plant crops because the end was near, that famine resulted, that people abandoned their houses and property. Little of this actually happened, but the millennialist paradigm -- widespread fear and anxiety coupled with mass expressions of fervent religiosity -- persist. 

Just as people disagreed as to exactly when the first millennium ended, today a similar debate rages about when the third millennium arrives. Is it 2000 or 2001? In Israel, our year 2000 will be 5761. Muslims will count it as 1421, and for the Chinese it will be 4698. 

None of these problems about dating seem to weaken the band-wagon effect which already is building in anticipation of the year 2000. Apocalyptic belief is similar to other elements in the religious mind-set. It possesses incredible immunity to the truth, and manifests a plasticity which allows doctrines, phobias, and beliefs to reshape endlessly to support new millennialist perceptions. The fever will strike, in part because so many people expect it to happen! 

For many individuals, including tens of millions of fundamentalist or evangelical Christians, and blissed out new-agers, the millennium is pregnant with the promise that something momentous and significant is about to transpire. Those who stand believing on the threshold of the year 2000 are ready for the Last Tango on Planet Earth; and the choreography is found amidst biblical passages, artifacts of new-age kitsch, or a ready-mix, apocalyptic doctrine that has yet to hit the streets -- or perhaps all three.  

For Christians, especially those who accept the literal interpretation of biblical text, there are several end-times camps or interpretations; and there are peculiar mixtures which can be invented and popularized to fit one's perception of circumstances. Considering the popularity of his books, millions must agree with Hal Lindsey, pop-culture drum major for the apocalypse, that "few people today doubt that history is moving toward some sort of climactic catastrophe..." The sequence and details vary depending on whether you choose pre-, post-, or mid-tribulationist scenarios, or even believe in multiple-rapture theory, where the chosen (living and dead) rise to heaven. Lindsey, Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell, and much of the high-profile Christian right are considered dispensationalists who believe in the eras of dispensations of history. Within this category one finds a stable of end-times tendencies and camps. 

Pretribulationists believe that the rapture of the chosen will take place prior to a seven-year period of suffering to be known as the tribulation. At rapture, those chosen by god ascend into heaven. Dead bodies are reconstituted if necessary to facilitate this process. The seven-year period includes all of the terrors found in Revelation, including famine, war, pestilence, and the reign of the Antichrist. "Pre-tribs" are basically waiting for Christ and the cosmic cavalry to show up just in time to rescue the elect (in some interpretations believed to number 144,000), while others remain behind to endure the agony of the tribulation. Whether redeemed by good works or solid faith, the elect rise to heaven and avoid Satan's last grasp for power. 

There are midtribulationist rapturists, though for whom Christ chooses to wait three-and-a-half years before he rescues them, in the midst of persecution. By this time, the Antichrist has seized control of the world, and in the modern versions is conducting gruesome executions of believers, confiscating Bibles, promoting godless one-world government, and fluoridating the water supply. Those who refuse to wear the feared "Mark of the Beast" -- a tattoo or bar-code which some believe will be stamped on everyone's forehead or hand -- are ostracized and forbidden to do business of any kind. The "people of faith" endure persecution in a sort of reverse-Inquisition. Decadence and debauchery abound, and the "true church" is replaced by a secular or false religion presided over by the Antichrist's side-kick, the False Prophet. Some prophetic literature insists that the Antichrist is alive today, in his mid-forties, and will survive an accident which will bring him to public attention. 

Posttribulationists have been aptly described as the "hang-tough-through-disasters lot." They are believers who see plenty of suffering ahead as their god chooses to get even with sinners. The chosen must endure the entire tribulation, and its sink-or-swim doomsday promise appeals to right-wing survivalist types, especially those in the theopolitical orbit of movements like Christian Identity and Aryan Nations. "Post-Tribs" don't exactly see Star Trek in the near future. There's nuclear war, financial collapse, rioting (usually be testosterone-overloaded blacks), mandatory mixing of races, and molesting of children by degenerate homosexuals. Circle the Winnebagos! Stock up on the ammo and freeze-dried food! The Jesus of the posttribulationist crowd often sports swastika tattoos and Doc-Martin boots, and he'll be spending seven years whipping the ass of the human race. Everyone lucky enough to live must endure the suffering of the tribulation, and there is no guarantee that the chosen few will even survive. About the only hope which exists in some Post-Trib circles is that after about three-fourths of the population is dead (some by hanging and shooting), the chosen -- inevitably white folks -- will create some monochrome utopia free of collard greens and rap music. 

There is also a partial-rapture scenario where numerous raptures occur during the tribulation. Jesus returns, and there is finally a thousand-year period of peace followed by "eternity." But in all of these possible versions of the end times, the Antichrist and his legions run amok, and engage in one last slug-fest at the Battle of Armageddon. In the time of John, suspected author of Revelation, Armageddon was Har-Megiddon or "Mount of Megiddo," a small town fifty-five miles north of Jerusalem. Around the fifteenth century B.C.E., the Egyptian pharaoh Thutmose III defeated the Canaanites there. In 608 B.C.E., Megiddo was the scene of another battle between King Josiah of Judah and another Egyptian ruler. According to 2 Kings 23:29: "Pharaoh-nechoh king of Egypt went up against the king of Assyria ... and king Josiah went against him; and he slew him (Josiah) at Megiddo..." 

For biblical literalists and others, Armageddon is Satan's Last Stand. Despite his unlimited power, tribulationist persecutions, and supermarket bar-codes, he is nevertheless prophesied to go down for the count and end up vanquished for eternity to a burning lake of fire. 

Along with Hal Lindsey, these Omni-Max versions of Final-Days Follies are promoted by countless fundamentalist outreaches like that of Salem Kirban, whose books have found their way into drugstore and supermarket reading racks, and eventually yard sales and thrift-store shelves. 

"Sometime in the near future several million people will suddenly disappear from this earth in the twinkling of an eye," Kirban assures his readers. His books show a detailed, exciting timetable for events during the end times. By his reckoning, every symbol and metaphor in Revelation has a corresponding character or event in the future. The second seal, a rider on a red horse, rivers of blood -- all of this is real.  

Conrad Goeringer is an antiquarian bookseller and freelance writer who lives on the cape of New Jersey. A Frequent speaker at American Atheists national conventions, he is director of American Atheists On-Line Services and a contributing editor of American Atheist.