Ends of the Earth

By Thomas Quinn

There’s one thing all end of the world predictions have in common: they’ve all been wrong. But throughout history there’s always been some fanbase that gets strangely jazzed about the end of the world. This is not good. If you think The End is near, you tend to do things that help it along and you ignore long-term problems that ought to be addressed. Obviously, you don’t want such people in charge. But their mixture of delusion and paranoia can be very entertaining. Here are just a few of the hundreds of alarmists who got it wrong over the centuries.

Raoul Glaber: This monk from Burgundy interpreted a famine, earthquakes, the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in AD 993, and the death of Pope Gregory V in 999, as ominous portents of The End. His forecasts had pilgrims to the Holy Land dropping to their knees in fervent prayer over every shooting star or black cat.

Joachim of Fiore: In the late 1100s, this guy launched the tradition of applying verses in Revelation to contemporary events instead of to ancient occurrences. During the Third Crusade he told Richard the Lionheart (Robin Hood’s king) that Jesus was coming soon to battle the antichrist—who happened to be the pope.

Emperor Prester John: Around 1219, European Christians heard tales of a warrior prince who was vanquishing their Muslim enemies in the East. He was thought to be Prester John, a Christian hero whom legend said would emerge in the Last Days to reunite the Lost Tribes of Israel. He turned out to be Genghis Khan. Oops.

The Flagellants: Around 1260, this Italian doomsday cult went from town to town publicly beating themselves into spiritual ecstasy with iron-tipped leather whips. They wanted to assure their salvation by sharing the sufferings of Christ. At least, that was their excuse. Apparently, they were very naughty boys.

Christopher Columbus: Sure, he was a hard-headed navigator, but he also imagined that the gold he might acquire in the New World could finance the rebuilding of the Jerusalem Temple and thus hasten the return of Christ. The guy was always looking for a shortcut.

Girolamo Savonarola: In the late 1400s, this Dominican friar became a strident moral reformer and one of Europe’s most pious pains in the ass. The Joe McCarthy of his day, he saw enemies everywhere and he believed the flourishing city of Florence would be the site of the New Jerusalem—as soon as he finished destroying everything that was good about the place. Savonarola puked up rage against the opulence of both the city and the Church.

He denounced sexual pleasures, naturally, along with makeup, perfume, and most anything that made you attractive in public. He sparked the famous “Bonfire of the Vanities” that called for the incineration of fashion accessories, gambling doodads, “lewd” artworks (including a Botticelli or two), and even musical instruments. The man was a fart in a sack.

He slammed the Church so hard for its excesses that the pope offered to make him a cardinal just to shut him up. Instead, he spent three years revving up intolerance, outrage, and violence, until he ticked off so many people that he was finally accused of heresy. He was excommunicated, tortured, hanged, and then burned. Nobody seems to miss him.

Martin Luther: Only a bit less annoying was the father of the Protestant Reformation, who said, “For my part, I am sure that the Day of Judgment is just around the corner…” That was in the early 1500s.

John van Leiden (a.k.a. Jan Bockelson): This actor turned panic-peddler joined the radical Dutch Anabaptists and, in 1534, established a messianic little kingdom in Münster, Germany. He claimed everyone but his own followers were about to be wiped out, and he launched his messiah gig by running naked through the streets, then falling into a trance for three days. Somehow it worked. He demanded everyone’s silver and gold and advocated strict sexual behavior—until he became a polygamist. Under his regime, the people were milked for every dime and anyone who objected was beheaded. After a year of this, his rivals finally rose up, sentenced him to death, and then had him shackled to a stake, burned with hot pincers, and finally de-tongued.

The Puritans: These religious extremists established early colonies in the New World and they added a new wrinkle to apocalyptic fear-mongering by being so happily enthusiastic about Doomsday. After all, it would see the demise of all non-believers and no one would be left to interfere with their joy-killing.

In Leeds, England back in 1806, a small panic broke out when a hen started laying eggs bearing the words “Christ is coming.” Turns out someone wrote on the eggs, then stuffed them back into the poor chicken. Note: This doesn’t work with sheep.

William Miller: In the 1830s, this character built up a huge following across the U.S. by preaching Jesus’ imminent return. On October 22, 1844, thousands of his followers prepared for The End; some even waited beside their own freshly-dug graves. When Jesus was a no-show, the day became known as The Great Day of Disappointment. Miller’s following fizzled, but a few diehards stuck it out and morphed into the Seventh Day Adventists.

Rev. Jerry Falwell: Founder of the now-defunct Moral Majority, the right-wing reverend was among those fundamentalist frauds who had millions believing the Cold War was a preamble to Armageddon. In the introduction to his 1983 book, Nuclear War and the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, he wrote, “…the one brings thoughts of fear, destruction, and death, while the other brings thoughts of joy, hope, and life. They almost seem inconsistent with one another, yet they are indelibly intertwined.” Falwell also suggested the attacks of September 11, 2001 on New York and Washington D.C. were God’s punishment for America’s tolerance of abortion, homosexuality, or anything else that personally bugged him. He could get like that.

David Koresh: Born Vernon Wayne Howell, which makes him sound like he lived on Gilligan’s Island, this self-serving guru conned a softheaded crowd of believers in 1993 into burning themselves alive rather than surrender the weapons they collected on their compound in Waco, Texas. Personal theory: No good ever comes from a compound.