Part I - Secular Apocalyptic Thought

1 The Hazards of Studying Secular Apocalyptic Thought

It is not uncommon for studies of apocalyptic thought to open with an apologetic tone. In his history of apocalyptic belief in America, When Time Shall Be No More, Paul Boyer starts by relating awkward encounters he had while researching the book. During his travels, Boyer’s choice of reading material – popular prophecies on the rapture and Antichrist – would prompt strangers to share their predictions regarding the end times, as well as eagerly ask for his.¹ Such anecdotes reinforce the impression that the beliefs studied by scholars of apocalyptic thought are, well, a bit nutty. Some may wonder whether these beliefs are worth anyone’s time. Sensing this skepticism, Boyer goes out of his way to offer a defense “for devoting so many pages to a belief system seemingly so marginal and fantastic.”² Like Boyer, those who study apocalyptic ideas find that a hazard of their research is encountering friends and colleagues puzzled by why anyone would dedicate so much time to such a bizarre topic. Inevitably, there is skepticism to overcome in persuading others of the value of studying apocalyptic beliefs.

On that front, researchers appear to be having some success. Many disciplines – from theology to literary studies to political science – now take an interest in apocalyptic thought, and literature on the topic continues to proliferate. Apocalyptic thought’s enduring influence in various secular and religious contexts, including politics, makes it difficult to dismiss as a fringe phenomenon unworthy of serious scholarship. With apocalypse seemingly everywhere, those who study it are finding audiences interested in their research and its connection to contemporary challenges, such as terrorism and the threat of nuclear war.³

But though scholars are keen to counter skepticism about the value of studying apocalyptic thought, other hazards of their research receive less attention. In particular, there has been insufficient reflection on what methods and approaches are best for studying secular apocalyptic thought. The very nature of such thought poses a dilemma for researching it. On the one hand, secular apocalyptic thought departs in important ways from religious thought – after all, that is what makes it secular and distinct. On the other hand, calling secular thought “apocalyptic” implies that it retains some connection to the religious traditions that gave birth to apocalyptic ideas. These two aspects of secular apocalyptic thought exist in tension with one another and prompt the question: How strong of a connection must secular thought have with religious apocalyptic traditions for it to count as apocalyptic? When scholars fail to address this question, they end up with haphazard approaches that leave the concept of secular apocalyptic thought vague and ill defined.

More than a half century ago, two prominent theorists – Judith Shklar and Hans Blumenberg – recognized this danger.⁴ They criticized the idea of secular apocalyptic thought for blurring important distinctions in the history of ideas. Rather than clarify, the concept too often functioned as a rhetorical weapon against certain ideologies. Unfortunately, the study of secular apocalyptic thought largely has proceeded as if these critiques were never raised. As a result, the concept of secular apocalyptic thought has become so expansive that it risks becoming a largely empty one with little value in tracing the development of different traditions of thought. Though there are potential strategies for overcoming Shklar’s and Blumenberg’s concerns, research on secular apocalyptic thought suffers so long as it ignores their critiques.

To better understand these critiques, this chapter first examines the context in which they arose. It specifically looks at some of the early pioneers who studied secular apocalyptic thought, such as Eric Voegelin, Karl Löwith, and Norman Cohn. They all took an interest in the topic during the mid-twentieth century, at a time when potent political ideologies like communism and Nazism prompted growing fears that apocalyptic aspirations were invading politics. For many, this research captured the disruptive political forces at the time, but it also prompted critiques from Shklar and Blumenberg. After discussing these early studies and criticisms of them, the chapter turns to more recent treatments of secular apocalyptic thought. Studies today often fall victim to the very problems Shklar and Blumenberg identify: reading into texts apocalyptic themes that are not there and using the concept as a rhetorical weapon. To address these concerns, the chapter concludes with a modest proposal. Despite its current shortcomings, research on secular apocalyptic thought has the opportunity to put itself on more solid ground. It can do so by limiting its focus to cases where religious apocalyptic thought’s influence on secular thinkers is clear because they explicitly mention such thought and its appeal. In this way, research can avoid much of the speculation that currently leaves it vulnerable to criticism.

Early Pioneers

Today there is clear interest in secular apocalyptic thought. That is evident in the three-volume Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism, which dedicates six of its forty-three articles to the topic “Secularization of Apocalypticism.”⁵ Current research on secular apocalyptic thought builds on a longer tradition going back at least to the first half of the twentieth century. There one finds burgeoning interest in secular apocalyptic thought, not coincidentally after the rise of communism and National Socialism. As these movements emerged, a number of scholars identified what they saw as apocalyptic hopes bursting into politics and taking secular form.

One of the first thinkers to bring attention to secular apocalyptic thought during this period is Voegelin. In The Political Religions – published in Vienna in 1938, the year Nazi Germany invaded Austria – Voegelin points to the secularization of religion, and particularly apocalyptic thought, as part of the appeal of fascist and totalitarian regimes. Apocalyptic thought helps satisfy people’s desire for perfection and transcendence. When religion loses its hold, Voegelin argues, political ideologies step into the void as a source of meaning. The apocalyptic symbolism of the Middle Ages, which envisioned a perfect empire on the horizon, “lives on in the symbolism of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries: in … Marx and Engels’s philosophy of history, in the Third Reich of National Socialism, and in the fascist third Rome.”⁶ For Voegelin, apocalyptic thought takes secular form and, in the process, unleashes disruptive effects on politics.

A decade later, Löwith in his influential work Meaning in History draws a connection between apocalyptic thought and modern conceptions of history and politics. For many, Löwith’s analysis hits closer to home because he sees apocalyptic thought’s influence not only in fascist and communist ideologies but also in the widespread faith in human progress. Löwith makes the bold claim that a concept central to modernity, progress, has its roots in Jewish and Christian eschatology: “We of today, concerned with the unity of universal history and with its progress toward an ultimate goal or at least toward a ‘better world,’ are still in the line of prophetic and messianic monotheism; we are still Jews and Christians, however little we may think of ourselves in those terms.”⁷ According to Löwith, Jewish and Christian thought’s conception of linear time moving toward an ideal end grounds modern understandings of history. The secularization of apocalyptic thought produces the widely held belief in human progress, while leaving many unaware of its religious heritage.

Cohn’s 1957 classic Pursuit of the Millennium also contributed to heightened interest in secular apocalyptic thought in the mid-twentieth century. The study focuses on medieval apocalyptic sects and the chaos they caused. Cohn ends it, though, by noting similarities between these sects and revolutionary movements such as communism. Like apocalyptic sects of old, modern revolutionaries are motivated by “phantasies of a final, exterminatory struggle against ‘the great ones’; and of a perfect world from which self-seeking would be for ever banished.” Cohn continues: “The old religious idiom has been replaced by a secular one, and this tends to obscure what otherwise would be obvious. For it is the simple truth that, stripped of their original supernatural sanction, revolutionary millenarianism and mystical anarchism are with us still.”⁸ So after detailing the death and destruction perpetrated by past apocalyptic sects and the sad ends they met, Cohn closes with a somber warning – similar threats remain with us today. His history serves as a cautionary tale of the dangers society faces when apocalyptic sects flourish.

Together, Voegelin, Löwith, and Cohn represent an earlier generation of researchers who brought attention to how apocalyptic thought becomes secular and its continued influence in the modern world. But though some greeted their research with enthusiasm, it also had its critics, which we turn to next.

Neglected Critiques

Early researchers of secular apocalyptic thought made bold and sweeping claims about its impact. They argued that some of the most influential and disruptive forces of the twentieth century – communism and National Socialism – had apocalyptic beliefs at their core. The 1960s, though, produced two important critiques that pushed back on these claims and cast doubt on whether secular apocalyptic thought even made sense as a conceptual tool for political theorists.

The first critique comes from Shklar’s 1965 essay “The Political Theory of Utopia.” Here she makes the case for emphasizing distinctions rather than continuities between political ideologies and apocalyptic thought. She writes: “It has of late been suggested that the radicalism of the last century was a form of ‘messianism,’ of ‘millennialism,’ or of a transplanted eschatological consciousness.” Shklar resists this claim on the grounds that political movements like communism do not make promises of eternal salvation, which for her is an essential element of millennialism.⁹ She thus concludes:

Neither the view of history as a dualistic combat of impersonal social forces nor the confident belief in a better future which would at last bring rest to mankind was a “millennial” fancy, nor was either really akin to the chiliastic religious visions that inspired … apocalyptic sects … . The desire to stress similarities, to find continuities everywhere, is not always helpful, especially in the history of ideas, where the drawing of distinctions is apt to lead one more nearly to the truth.¹⁰

Looking for connections between religious apocalyptic thought and secular political movements strikes Shklar as misguided – an approach liable to lead theorists astray by pushing them to make spurious links among very different traditions of thought. Her argument implies that political theorists might be better off abandoning the concept of secular apocalyptic thought altogether.

Blumenberg raises similar concerns in his book The Legitimacy of the Modern Age, first published in 1966. Part I focuses on the ever-growing list of features of modernity that purportedly reflect the secularization of theological concepts. Blumenberg criticizes the loose way in which theorists apply the idea of secularization. As scholars continue to draw one tenuous connection after another, the result in his words is “secularization ‘run wild.’ ”¹¹

One of the many examples that Blumenberg objects to is the “fashionable pastime to interpret expectations of political redemption, like those typified by the Communist Manifesto, as secularizations either of the biblical paradise or of apocalyptic messianism.”¹² In particular, Blumenberg takes issue with Löwith’s characterization of the modern idea of progress as being a vestige of Jewish and Christian eschatology. According to Blumenberg, Löwith overlooks critical distinctions among different traditions of thought: “It is a formal, but for that very reason a manifest, difference that an eschatology speaks of an event breaking into history, an event that transcends and is heterogeneous to it, while the idea of progress extrapolates from a structure present in every moment to a future that is immanent in history.”¹³ For Blumenberg, Christian eschatology presents a dramatically different vision for the future – marked by abrupt supernatural intervention – than that offered by the idea of progress, which envisions the gradual perfecting of what is already present.¹⁴

In addition to sharing Shklar’s concern that the concept of secular apocalyptic thought blurs important distinctions, Blumenberg makes the further critique that it often serves as a rhetorical weapon. Secularization, he writes, is among “the weapons with which the legitimacy of the modern age is attacked.”¹⁵ This line of attack argues that modern ideologies and political traditions are the “inauthentic manifestation” of religious beliefs. Though indebted to these beliefs, modernity purposefully avoids acknowledging them. That charge leaves modern political ideologies with a taint of illegitimacy that they have difficulty escaping.¹⁶ The label “apocalyptic” undermines the legitimacy of modern ideologies by associating them with bizarre and seemingly irrational beliefs. Blumenberg worries that many claims about secularization, while popular ways to express discontent over the present, ultimately provide a misleading account of the relation between religious concepts and modern thought.¹⁷

To summarize, Shklar and Blumenberg level two criticisms against the concept of secular apocalyptic thought: (1) it blurs important distinctions in the history of ideas and (2) it functions more as a rhetorical weapon against modern ideologies than as a device for clarifying their development. Their critiques identify potential dangers that can undermine the study of apocalyptic thought. To ensure the credibility of their research, scholars of secular apocalyptic thought have good reasons to address these concerns. But in practice, they rarely do. As the next section discusses, too often studies repeat the errors Shklar and Blumenberg warned against.

Apocalypse without Bounds

In his wide-ranging study Heaven on Earth, Richard Landes uses the term “semiotic arousal” to describe how many with apocalyptic beliefs interpret the world. Their anticipation of the apocalypse colors everything they see. Developments near and far reinforce one another as further evidence of the coming apocalypse. Even events with little ostensible connection to the end times – at least from an outsider’s perspective – take on significance for believers.¹⁸ In short, those anxiously looking for the apocalypse can find traces of it wherever they turn.

What Landes fails to add is that those holding apocalyptic beliefs are not the only ones in a state of semiotic arousal. That description also seems apt for many scholars on the lookout for apocalyptic thought. Primed to see apocalyptic influences, they claim to find them in all sorts of unanticipated contexts. From their perspective, apocalyptic thought not only migrates into secular contexts but also pervades them. Such heightened interest among scholars has the benefit of bringing to light examples of secular apocalyptic thought previously overlooked. But it also runs the risk of drawing tenuous connections and making questionable claims about the far-reaching influence of apocalyptic thought.

Vague and overly broad conceptions of apocalyptic thought by their very nature give the impression that it is everywhere. Some scholars raise this concern, especially as more disciplines outside theology and religious studies take an interest in apocalyptic thought. “Millennialism has perhaps appeared ubiquitous,” notes church historian James Moorhead, “because scholars have been reluctant to explain precisely what they mean by the term.”¹⁹ Rather than provide clear criteria for what constitutes millennialism or apocalyptic thought, the trend has been to multiply their meanings. Literary critic Frank Kermode goes so far as to equate apocalypse with any sort of ending.²⁰ Armed with such an expansive understanding of the apocalypse, scholars can find traces of it in just about any narrative.

Indeed, it is common for scholars to adopt understandings of apocalypse that stretch its meaning. Consider Alison McQueen’s recent study Political Realism in Apocalyptic Times. In it she focuses on what she calls the “apocalyptic imaginary.” The apocalypse is best understood as an imaginary, according to McQueen, because it emphasizes that the concept is more than just an ancient genre of literature. It persists today in images, narratives, and sets of meanings that influence how people interpret their world.²¹

On its face, that approach makes sense. Apocalyptic ideas take various forms today and are not just confined to ancient religious texts. It is important to note, though, that McQueen’s characterization of apocalypse as an imaginary lowers the bar for identifying apocalyptic thought and its influence. She cautions against limiting “ourselves to overtly scriptural expression” of apocalyptic ideas when tracing their “trajectories … in the works of modern and purportedly secular thinkers.”²² Because its influence often operates in insidious ways, the apocalyptic imaginary “rarely rises into complete awareness by those who draw upon its resources.”²³ It thus can “resonate for people with no knowledge” of apocalyptic texts like “Daniel and Revelation” in the Bible.²⁴

As with all ideas and images, those derived from the apocalyptic tradition certainly can influence people in unconscious ways. But in such cases, if even the person being influenced is not aware of it, one wonders how often later interpreters will be in a better position to make that determination. More generally, in cases where individuals make no explicit reference to apocalyptic texts or figures, it can be difficult to know with any certainty whether they are in fact drawing on those sources. After all, imagery in non-apocalyptic sources – say, accounts of war – can resemble imagery in apocalyptic literature, which creates obstacles to knowing whether the former, the latter, or both influence a particular text.

Ultimately, these obstacles do not deter McQueen and others from identifying apocalyptic thought in the midst of ambiguous evidence. Their approach certainly broadens the scope for potential research on secular apocalyptic thought, but also leaves itself vulnerable to criticisms that it relies on questionable and spurious claims.

An example from McQueen’s study illustrates this point. To show apocalyptic thought’s influence in politics today, McQueen points to President George W. Bush’s speech announcing military strikes in Afghanistan after the September 11 attacks. In the speech Bush says: “Initially, the terrorists may burrow deeper into caves and other entrenched hiding places. Our military action is also designed to clear the way for sustained, comprehensive and relentless operations to drive them out and bring them to justice.”²⁵ McQueen sees in this statement coded references to Revelation 6:15–17, which speaks of God’s wrath against the unrighteous at the end of time:

Then the kings of the earth and the magnates and the generals and the rich and the powerful, and everyone, slave and free, hid in the caves and among the rocks of the mountains, calling to the mountains and rocks, “Fall on us and hide us from the face of the one seated on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb; for the great day of their wrath has come, and who is able to stand?”²⁶

McQueen recognizes that the “apocalyptic undertones of Bush’s speeches may not be … obvious,” but stresses that “they are there for those able and willing to hear them.”²⁷

This interpretation by McQueen revives an earlier one by Bruce Lincoln from his book Holy Terrors. Lincoln shares McQueen’s confidence that there are references to Revelation 6:15–17 in Bush’s speech, which are “plainly audible” to those familiar with the Bible’s apocalyptic texts.²⁸ In fact, despite no explicit references to scripture, Bush’s short speech contains several biblical references according to Lincoln. He also points to one phrase Bush uses for terrorists – “killers of innocents” – as “surely gestur[ing] toward Herod’s slaughter of the innocents in Matthew 2.”²⁹ Stories of the killing of innocent people are virtually endless throughout history. Lincoln, though, is certain that these three words by Bush indicate that he had Herod on his mind when announcing military action against the Taliban.

It is safe to say that these alleged biblical and apocalyptic references in Bush’s speech would come as a surprise to most Americans who watched or read it. Even for many familiar with Christian apocalyptic beliefs, the phrase Lincoln and McQueen focus on – “terrorists may burrow deeper into caves” – fails to register as apocalyptic imagery. After all, the caves mentioned in Revelation 6:15–17 are by no means one of the images most commonly associated with apocalyptic thought. Revelation’s images of plagues, two beasts, and Christ’s millennial kingdom are far more distinctive and better suited for bringing to mind apocalyptic hopes and fears. Bush’s speech lacks such imagery. The most straightforward interpretation of the cave reference is that, rather than convey some deep apocalyptic meaning, it merely emphasizes that the Taliban’s practice of hiding in caves will be futile against American military might.

Perhaps Bush and his advisors purposefully chose subtle imagery so that they could plausibly deny charges of apocalyptic influences in the speech, while still speaking to fundamentalist supporters. Politicians do sometimes employ subtle messages that speak to portions of their base while aiming to avoid the attention of others. In some cases, we can be pretty sure that hidden motivations were at work because the architects of the ads and speeches later say so.³⁰ In other cases, it is easy to recognize, say, racist dog whistles because they appear in a long-standing pattern of speech that includes less subtle messages (e.g., the demonization of certain racial and ethnic groups).³¹ Such explicit admissions and patterns provide compelling evidence to confirm suspicions about the presence of coded messages in political speech.

Lincoln and McQueen, however, offer no evidence along these lines. When the apocalypse is understood as an imaginary, the discovery of any phrase or image resembling those in apocalyptic texts can become the basis for making claims about apocalyptic influences in politics. Sometimes there may be truth to these claims. Perhaps Bush really did draw on Revelation in his speech announcing military action. But it is hard to have confidence in that claim – other interpretations of the speech seem just as plausible, if not more so. By focusing on ambiguous imagery rather than more explicit references, Lincoln and McQueen advance claims about apocalyptic thought’s role in politics with only tenuous evidence to back them up.

This approach to studying apocalyptic thought often takes a polemical tone, as in John Gray’s Black Mass: Apocalyptic Religion and the Death of Utopia. There Gray mounts a wide-ranging critique of utopian projects in politics, while wielding the concept of apocalyptic thought as a rhetorical weapon. In particular, his book illustrates how motivations to discredit certain ideological views can lead to expansive claims about apocalyptic thought’s influence in politics.

Gray takes aim at a diverse array of historical and contemporary targets: Jacobins, Bolsheviks, Nazis, Islamic terrorists, neoconservatives, and just about any prominent supporter of the Iraq War. In his view, all these groups suffer from deluded and destructive utopian hopes. When faced with the reality that their impossible visions for politics cannot be realized, these groups resort to violence in a futile effort to realize utopia by force. Gray specifically sees apocalyptic beliefs as playing “a central role in state terror from the Jacobins through the Bolsheviks and the Nazis.”³² Now in the forms of neoconservatism and Islamic terrorism, “apocalyptic religion has re-emerged, naked and unadorned, as a force in world politics.”³³

It certainly is possible that apocalyptic ideas are present in many of the ideologies singled out by Gray. But it often takes little evidence for Gray to reach sweeping generalizations about apocalyptic thought’s role in politics. As a case in point, he approvingly cites Lincoln’s interpretation of Bush’s speech announcing military strikes in Afghanistan as evidence of apocalyptic influences in the war on terror.³⁴ Highlighting such examples in his brisk tour of modern ideologies, Gray sees apocalyptic beliefs as a potent force wherever he turns. In one of his more hyperbolic remarks, he writes: “If a simple definition of western civilization could be formulated it would have to be framed in terms of the central role of millenarian thinking.”³⁵ Clearly no fan of apocalyptic beliefs, Gray is more than ready to attribute their influence to everything he finds wrong with politics today.

Together, these studies highlight that current approaches to secular apocalyptic thought often involve expansive understandings of it. First, many lower the bar for what counts as secular apocalyptic thought. Any imagery loosely resembling that found in religious apocalyptic texts can count as apocalyptic thought in secular form, even when the imagery appears in a context with no explicit religious references and there are other plausible explanations for it. Second, the desire to undermine the legitimacy of certain ideologies leads some to see secular apocalyptic thought everywhere in politics. Calling a secular ideology apocalyptic taints it by association. Shklar and Blumenberg identify both these moves as pitfalls common to the study of secular apocalyptic thought. The following section explores why these approaches prove so problematic.

Problems with Current Approaches

Though critics like Shklar and Blumenberg have concerns with expansive understandings of apocalyptic thought, some may push back and attribute their concerns to a matter of taste. One way to categorize historians (as well as scholars in other fields) speaks to this difference in taste: some are “splitters,” others “lumpers.” Splitters look for opportunities to draw distinctions among different thinkers and traditions of thought, whereas lumpers look for opportunities to make connections.³⁶ Historical evidence is often ambiguous, and when scholars encounter it, some lean toward lumping ideas together while others have the opposite inclination. For whatever reason, many lumpers find their way into the study of secular apocalyptic thought, and their style may not be to everyone’s taste. Understandably, some may be skeptical of methodological critiques of lumpers and see them as merely reflecting a difference in taste.

I hope to overcome that skepticism and show how expansive understandings of secular apocalyptic thought mislead. When secular texts contain imagery similar to that found in religious apocalyptic texts, many treat it as evidence of apocalyptic thought in secular form. That conclusion, though, rests on a flawed argument:

1. (1) If a religious apocalyptic tradition influenced a secular text – whether directly or indirectly, consciously or unconsciously – the text will use images or language resembling those found in that tradition (e.g., images of catastrophe).

2. (2) A secular text uses images or language resembling those found in a religious apocalyptic tradition (e.g., images of catastrophe).

3. (3) Therefore, a religious apocalyptic tradition influenced the secular text in question.

The problem, of course, is that this conclusion does not follow from its premises. The argument commits a common fallacy known as affirming the consequent. An example is someone who says that, if it rains, their neighbor’s driveway will get wet, and when they see that their neighbor’s driveway is wet, they conclude it must have rained. Perhaps it rained, but it could also be the case that there’s not a cloud in the sky and the driveway is wet from a sprinkler.

Similarly, just because a text uses catastrophic images does not mean that apocalyptic influences are at work. After all, the apocalyptic tradition that emerged from religious belief has no monopoly on catastrophe. Fears of wide-scale catastrophe are common throughout human history, and it is easy to experience such fears absent direct or indirect contact with religious apocalyptic traditions. Histories of war, for instance, can inspire a writer to use catastrophic imagery. For this reason, simply looking for the apocalyptic imaginary, as McQueen calls it, sets an insufficiently low bar for identifying secular apocalyptic thought.

McQueen’s discussion of apocalyptic influences in Thomas Hobbes’s political thought illustrates how this approach can result in questionable claims. During the English Civil War when Hobbes wrote, clergy, scholars, soldiers, and government officials often drew on Christian apocalyptic texts as a lens to understand the political upheaval around them. Hobbes finds many faults with these interpretations, especially when they use apocalyptic belief to justify rebellion.³⁷ McQueen argues that, to counter apocalyptic prophecies, Hobbes adopts a strategy where he “fights apocalypse with apocalypse.”³⁸ In her view, Hobbes specifically carries out this strategy through his imagery of the state of nature and the state that emerges in its place, described as a powerful Leviathan that keeps violence at bay.

Famously in Leviathan, Hobbes describes life outside of government as “solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short,”³⁹ and uses this dismal portrait of the state of nature to motivate obedience to the civil sovereign. McQueen sees in this political argument the staging of “a secular apocalypse, in which the terror and chaos of the state of nature are the narrative prelude to an enduring commonwealth ruled by a mortal God.” She then adds: “Hobbes does not reject the apocalyptic imaginary. He redirects it.”⁴⁰ McQueen goes further than just pointing out similar imagery in Hobbes’s writings and Christian apocalyptic texts. She makes the stronger claim that Hobbes draws on apocalyptic thought when formulating his description of the state of nature: “Both the imagery and narrative structure of [Hobbes’s] secular political argument appropriate elements of the seventeenth-century English apocalyptic imaginary.”⁴¹

What evidence, though, is there that apocalyptic influences contribute to Hobbes’s account of the state of nature? In his various descriptions of the state of nature – in The Elements of Law, De Cive, and Leviathan – he never directly references Christian apocalyptic texts, contemporary interpretations of these texts, or distinct concepts from these texts.⁴² Moreover, Hobbes explicitly names several sources for his understanding of the state of nature, all of which fall outside the apocalyptic tradition. Conditions resembling the state of nature, according to Hobbes, characterize how “savage” peoples in America live and how “inhabitants of Germany and other now civil countries” used to live.⁴³ In addition, the Latin Leviathan mentions the Genesis story of Cain’s killing Abel to illustrate the anarchic violence characterizing the state of nature.⁴⁴ So Hobbes does not leave his readers in the dark as to the sources that influence his thinking about the state of nature.⁴⁵ This textual evidence undermines rather than strengthens the claim that apocalyptic influences play a central role in Hobbes’s account of the state of nature.

Of course, there could be influences Hobbes fails to mention. Even so, it is far from clear that apocalyptic thought stands out as the most likely source for the catastrophic imagery in Hobbes’s state of nature. Though apocalyptic texts often include catastrophic imagery, other texts do, too. Accounts of war and their devastating effects provide rich resources for theorizing about catastrophe. Notably, Hobbes uses the term “war” to characterize conditions in the state of nature.⁴⁶ Given this evidence, Hobbes very well could have had in mind accounts of war, not the Christian apocalyptic tradition, when developing the catastrophic imagery in his state of nature.

McQueen notes that Hobbes translated Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War,⁴⁷ and that it “provided him with a rhetorical and visual vocabulary with which to both imagine and describe an apocalyptic moment of uncreation.”⁴⁸ This history certainly offers vivid accounts of catastrophe. Yet it fails to qualify as an apocalyptic text like Daniel or Revelation. Hobbes’s deep familiarity with texts like the History of the Peloponnesian War points to resources outside the apocalyptic tradition that could have shaped his vision of the state of nature.

Since it is impossible to know the full scope of influences left unmentioned by Hobbes, it could be the case that the apocalyptic tradition informed his account of the state of nature. Hobbes does explicitly reference apocalyptic concepts and texts in his writings.⁴⁹ But the specific claim that his description of the state of nature draws on apocalyptic thought is highly speculative, resting on a vague resemblance between imagery in Hobbes’s writings and imagery in the Christian apocalyptic tradition. And that is the problem with expansive understandings of secular apocalyptic thought: they treat mere speculation with greater certainty than it deserves. The root of this problem goes back to the low bar used by many to identify secular apocalyptic thought. If a text contains any imagery reminiscent of the apocalyptic tradition – say, it describes some catastrophe – that suffices as evidence that apocalyptic influences are at work.

Such loose criteria are ill-suited to meaningfully check the inevitable biases that affect scholars when studying secular apocalyptic thought. A long-standing methodological concern in the history of ideas is that scholars, when looking for a concept, read it into historical texts. They interpret any ambiguous evidence as confirmation of what they are looking for.⁵⁰ Confirmation bias gets the best of them and too often they fail to seriously consider alternative explanations. In the case of research on secular apocalyptic thought, additional motivations exacerbate that risk, as some use the label apocalyptic to undermine political ideologies they dislike. Such motivations, combined with lax evidentiary standards, lead to understandings of secular apocalyptic thought so broad that a clever interpreter can find it just about anywhere they want.

Tackling this problem is no easy task. Confirmation bias is well documented and no one is immune to it.⁵¹ Given its pervasive and stubborn nature, scholars are unlikely to ever fully avoid it. So they have to be on constant guard against confirmation bias and adopt strategies to minimize it. More rigorous criteria can advance that goal – such as requiring explicit references to religious apocalyptic traditions when looking for secular transformations of them. By relying on less ambiguous evidence, such an approach has the potential to limit opportunities for confirmation bias to influence interpretive decisions, as the following section explains.

A Modest Proposal

Shklar and Blumenberg raise legitimate concerns about the study of secular apocalyptic thought. Overly broad conceptions of such thought do mislead by blurring important distinctions. But though Shklar and Blumenberg identify real problems with the study of secular apocalyptic thought, their critiques do not necessarily doom it.

In fact, it is difficult to fully abandon the idea of secular apocalyptic thought. Too many thinkers with secular theories of politics directly reference religious apocalyptic texts, figures, or concepts while finding aspects of them appealing. Part II of this book focuses on such cases. For instance, Friedrich Engels praises Thomas Müntzer – a Christian apocalyptic figure from the Reformation – and interprets his vision of the kingdom of God as a communist ideal. The appreciation that an atheist like Engels has for Christian apocalyptic thought makes clear that it can offer resources for secular theories of politics. In light of such examples, it would be a mistake to dismiss secular apocalyptic thought as a confused concept. Studying these examples offers insight into why the apocalyptic tradition proves to be a persistent force in politics.

Given that apocalyptic thought clearly does influence some secular thinkers, the question then becomes how best to study it. My modest proposal is for a more focused approach that reins in some of the more ambitious claims about apocalyptic thought’s influence. By trying to find apocalyptic influences everywhere, scholars often end up making shaky arguments vulnerable to criticism. I suggest instead the following alternative: to focus on cases where secular thinkers explicitly mention religious apocalyptic texts, figures, or concepts, so that the link between secular thought and the apocalyptic tradition is clear.

This approach studies secular apocalyptic thought in a way sensitive to the critiques raised by Shklar and Blumenberg. Since explicit references to apocalyptic thought are necessary to make claims about its influence, there is no place for speculative claims based, say, solely on a text’s remark about catastrophe. By raising the level of evidence needed to make claims about secular apocalyptic thought, this proposal limits opportunities for reading apocalyptic influences into a text based on ambiguous evidence (e.g., the cave remark in Bush’s speech after September 11). Such constraints help check confirmation bias, a risk that scholars inevitably face when searching for secular apocalyptic thought in historical and contemporary texts.

Some might raise the following objection: this chapter’s proposal addresses one error only to heighten the risk of another. By raising the standard of evidence required, the proposal reduces the risk of a false positive – claiming to find apocalyptic influences that are not there. Yet this higher bar increases the risk of false negatives – not detecting apocalyptic influences because the evidence required is lacking. Certainly, some thinkers draw on apocalyptic thought without directly recognizing their debt to it. Isn’t it important not to overlook such examples?

Admittedly, the proposal suggested here limits the scope of cases that clearly count as secular apocalyptic thought. But in excluding cases that do not explicitly reference religious apocalyptic thought, this proposal does not mean to imply that apocalyptic influences are necessarily absent from such cases. It rather says that we cannot know. In these cases, scholars can note similarities between imagery found in secular and apocalyptic texts. Yet they should be careful to avoid concluding that the latter influenced the former. That claim would go beyond the available evidence. A key to ensuring the credibility of research is being frank about its limitations. Unfortunately, some of the more ambitious claims about secular apocalyptic thought overlook the limitations of available evidence, which undermines their credibility.

The negative connotations often associated with apocalyptic thought give scholars further reason to avoid applying this label to political thinkers and texts unless they have strong evidence of its influence. As Blumenberg points out, many claims about secular apocalyptic thought have the effect of casting doubt on the legitimacy of political beliefs. Since calling political thought apocalyptic can leave the impression that it is bizarre and irrational – even if that is not one’s intention – it is irresponsible to use that label loosely. Doing so risks damaging others’ reputation as a result of claims based on mere speculation. Scholars need stronger evidence before making claims about secular apocalyptic thought.

What follows in the text is an attempt to put into practice this modest proposal for studying secular apocalyptic thought. In particular, Part II adopts this approach as a guide for selecting cases that illustrate how apocalyptic thought makes its way into politics and takes secular form. But before turning to specific case studies, we first will try to understand more generally what draws secular thinkers to apocalyptic thought.

2 The Paradox of Secular Apocalyptic Thought

Christianity’s apocalyptic doctrines strike many – believers and nonbelievers alike – as its most bizarre elements. Despite apocalyptic doctrines’ presence in the Christian canon, there is a tendency to minimize their importance, which stretches all the way back to the early church. In the fifth century, the Church Father Augustine urged an allegorical interpretation of Revelation and criticized predictions of Christ’s imminent return to establish a millennial kingdom.¹ Today, many churches rarely include passages from Revelation in their services, evident from the book’s scant presence in the lectionary.² As Glenn Tinder puts it, the Bible’s apocalyptic themes are among the “most outworn vestments of religious faith.”³

Yet attempts to suppress apocalyptic thought’s influence never wholly succeeded. Apocalyptic prophecies and themes continue to emerge and impact various spheres of life, including politics. Part of apocalyptic thought’s potency in politics stems from its ability to migrate beyond the confines of religion and take on new, secular forms – a somewhat puzzling development. If many Christians are embarrassed by their faith’s apocalyptic heritage, why would thinkers hostile or agnostic toward Christianity find in its apocalyptic doctrines appealing tools for interpreting politics?

This chapter aims to unpack that puzzle. A helpful approach for understanding apocalyptic thought’s appeal in politics is the lens of ideal theory – commonly understood as theorizing about the best, most just society, rather than just a marginal improvement over the present.⁴ When ideal theory aspires to have navigational value and be a moral guide to action, it faces a daunting task: outlining a goal that is both utopian and feasible. To be worth striving for, the ideal must be utopian and possess sufficient moral appeal to justify the transition costs needed to achieve it. Yet at the same time, the ideal must be feasible – otherwise, there is little reason to dedicate limited resources chasing after something outside the realm of possibility. These competing goals result in a catch-22 for ideal theory: a more utopian ideal is a less feasible moral goal, which diminishes reasons to strive for it and its normative force, but a more modest and feasible ideal is a less appealing moral goal, which also diminishes reasons to strive for it and its normative force. Within the apocalyptic tradition, a particular strand of it – what I call cataclysmic apocalyptic thought – proposes a way out of this dilemma. And that feature of apocalyptic thought contributes to its appeal in politics.

Specifically, cataclysmic apocalyptic thought identifies crisis as the path to the ideal society. It embraces a utopian goal and declares it feasible by pointing to crisis as the vehicle to wipe away corruption and bring the seemingly impossible within reach. This perspective has a prominent place in Christian texts like the book of Revelation, which envisions plagues and upheaval that precede the arrival of God’s perfect kingdom. Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought takes secular form with the belief that natural or human forces, not divine ones, will direct crisis toward utopia. That way of interpreting the world gives a particular crisis meaning and creates a sense of urgency to take advantage of the historic opportunity at hand. Some secular thinkers find this view especially attractive. For them, apocalyptic thought offers resources to navigate persistent challenges in ideal theory, show how utopia is possible, and make the case for urgent action in pursuit of a utopian vision for politics.

Cataclysmic Apocalyptic Thought in the Christian Tradition

Apocalyptic thought can take secular forms, but its roots go back to the Jewish and Christian traditions. For scholars of ancient religious texts, apocalypse refers to a genre of literature in which the author shares a divine revelation they received. Apocalyptic writers recount visions of a hopeful and just conclusion to history, and establish their authority by citing divine messengers as the source of their inspiration.⁵ Apocalyptic literature emerged in the Jewish tradition following the Babylonian exile,⁶ functioning as resistance literature during a period of persecution.⁷ Perhaps the most influential apocalypse, the book of Revelation or Apocalypse of John, continued this tradition but shifted to a Christian vision in which Jesus, the Lamb of God, would conquer the forces of sin and idolatry to realize his perfect kingdom, the new Jerusalem.

In Revelation and many apocalyptic writings, crisis plays a central role. Crisis has a redemptive quality due to its ability to bring about ideal conditions never before experienced and believed to be beyond reach. Though crisis prompts fear, it also opens up new opportunities. Rather than seeing crisis as something to avoid, the apocalyptic mindset welcomes it as a disruptive event necessary to wipe away corruption and perfect society. Crisis is part of a larger plan to overcome evil once and for all.

For this worldview, I opt for the term cataclysmic apocalyptic thought, which consists of four principal beliefs:

1. (1) Present corruption

2. (2) Impending crisis

3. (3) A divine force guiding crisis

4. (4) Finally, lasting utopia in the form of the kingdom of God⁸

A helpful illustration of cataclysmic apocalyptic thought comes from examining these elements in the book of Revelation.

(1) Present corruption. The apocalyptic mindset sees societal institutions and values as morally bankrupt and in need of radical change. There is desperate need for renewal, yet attempts to spark it seem unlikely to succeed. Nothing is how it should be: those deserving honor are powerless, persecuted by a ruling class motivated by idolatry, cruelty, self-glorification, and greed.⁹ In Revelation, the Roman Empire embodies this entrenched corruption. Revelation’s author, John, calls the Roman Empire the “beast” to communicate its overwhelming power. “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?” ask those who worship it (Revelation 13:4).¹⁰ In this environment of pervasive corruption, many become numb to it. Apocalyptic writing seeks to awaken people from blind acceptance of the status quo, so it is often gritty, shocking, and unrelenting in its attacks on social and political structures. John exemplifies this style, calling Rome the “ ‘mother of whores and of earth’s abominations’ … drunk with the blood of the saints” (Revelation 17:5–6). What should be revolting – killing the righteous – has become normal and widely accepted. Though New Testament scholars question whether Christian persecution was as widespread as Revelation implies, John certainly perceives it as ubiquitous.¹¹ This conviction leads to a damning portrait of Rome: its corruption has reached such a point that, for Christians, compromising with it is not an option.

(2) Impending crisis. Surrounded by corruption, believers hold on to the hope that, though the ruling authorities appear dominant, their hold on power is actually tenuous. A coming crisis will disrupt the status quo, rooting out corruption at its source. In Revelation, an angel proclaims that such a crisis will engulf Rome (referred to as Babylon): “With … violence Babylon the great city will be thrown down, and will be found no more” (Revelation 18:21). Rome’s persecution of the righteous has put it on a path that will culminate in its destruction. Importantly, the apocalyptic crisis awaiting Rome is distinct from far more banal crises – wars, famines, plagues, and the like – that have come before. For the coming crisis represents the one to end all others. Such knowledge encourages believers to remain steadfast in their faith, regardless of what they suffer. They know that the powers persecuting them ultimately will fall. By foretelling the impending destruction of Rome, John hopes to instill in his readers urgency to resist its earthly power. As John Collins explains, “[A]pocalyptic language is commissive in character: it commits us to a view of the world for the sake of the actions and attitudes that are entailed.”¹² Revelation’s prediction of crisis serves the role of spurring action.

(3) A divine force guiding crisis. A key element of the crisis to come, which helps guard against despair, is the promise that God will direct it. Despite the fear and chaos associated with the looming crisis, believers take hope knowing that God has control over it. When the forces of the beast “make war on the Lamb,” John assures his readers that “the Lamb will conquer them, for he is Lord of lords and King of kings” (Revelation 17:14). It will be a moment of justice, in which God “judge[s] the great whore who corrupted the earth with her fornication, and … avenge[s] … the blood of his servants” (Revelation 19:2). All eventually will recognize God’s authority. Even those engaged in idolatry will cry out to the mountains: “Fall on us and hide us from the face of the one seated on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb; for the great day of their wrath has come, and who is able to stand?” (Revelation 6:16–17). For believers in the midst of the crisis, they are assured that it will result in the fulfillment of God’s ultimate plan for history and creation. This hopeful view differs from what Jürgen Moltmann calls “exterminism,” which anticipates mass extermination of life due to war, economic collapse, or environmental destruction.¹³ Exterminism lacks hope because it anticipates devastation without redemption. Christian apocalyptic beliefs, in contrast, embrace the hope that God will realize his perfect kingdom through crisis and upheaval. Without such intervention, society’s corruption would continue indefinitely.

(4) Lasting utopia in the form of the kingdom of God. Crisis wipes away corruption and prepares the way for God’s kingdom. Rather than a marginal improvement, God’s coming kingdom embodies perfection and surpasses all others. In Revelation, this promised kingdom is the new Jerusalem, where “[d]eath will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more” (Revelation 21:4). John’s vision taps into deep human hopes. Death, sorrow, pain, and all that has tormented humankind will end when Christ returns to “reign forever” (Revelation 11:15). This hope motivates believers to prepare themselves for the coming kingdom, which requires sacrifice as Revelation reminds its readers: “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 … . Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life” (Revelation 2:10). Sacrifice resulting in martyrdom and apparent defeat represents, from God’s perspective, victory over sin and corruption.¹⁴ Such knowledge consoles believers facing persecution, who see God’s perfect kingdom as having transcendent value and thus worthy of sacrifice.

Secular Apocalyptic Thought

Even in religious form, notes J. G. A. Pocock, apocalyptic thought often operates as a “powerful instrument of secularization.”¹⁵ With this remark, Pocock highlights apocalyptic thought’s power to heighten the importance of social and political events by infusing them with transcendent meaning. Apocalyptic thought can give the divine concrete form in the present. This war, this uprising, this religious revival, or this natural disaster, proclaims the apocalyptic prophet, is God’s plan unfolding before our eyes. By interpreting change in this way, apocalyptic thought confers significance and meaning to the forces causing upheaval, while also undermining the authority of institutions resistant to change.

Established church authorities have long recognized the potentially explosive and destabilizing nature of apocalyptic thought and, not surprisingly, worked to disarm it. From a pragmatic perspective, a certain level of social stability facilitates routine church activities – weekly services, administering the sacraments, providing aid to the poor, and the like. Apocalyptic thought that fosters social upheaval and hinders these activities is cause for concern. So too are forms of apocalyptic thought that deify earthly events by proclaiming them to be God’s instruments for bringing history to a close. Traditionally, church authorities have cautioned against placing one’s faith in the world and its imperfections, emphasizing that it is beyond human understanding to know how sacred history may be unfolding in the present. In Christian thought, Augustine in particular played an influential role in undermining the authority of those claiming to know the hidden eschatological meaning behind world events. Notably, his monumental work the City of God closes by citing Acts 1:7: “It is not for you to know the dates [e.g., of Christ’s return]: the Father has decided those by his own authority.”¹⁶

The current Catechism of the Catholic Church takes a similar strategy and warns against “every time the claim is made to realize within history that messianic hope which can only be realized beyond history.” The Catechism specifically emphasizes the danger posed by apocalyptic beliefs that take “intrinsically perverse” form in denying God and trusting entirely in political forces to bring about earthly perfection.¹⁷ Beyond just its potential for disruption, apocalyptic thought worries the Catholic Church because, in deifying the political, it can jettison belief in God altogether.

This form of apocalyptic thought, which functions not only as an instrument of secularization but is itself secular, is the focus here. Apocalyptic concepts that originated in religious thought can migrate into new ideological frameworks where they become disconnected from belief in God and his providence. In such instances, apocalyptic thought places its trust in non-divine rather than divine forces.

So when cataclysmic apocalyptic thought takes secular form, it consists of beliefs similar to those found in the Christian tradition – present corruption, impending crisis, a divine force guiding crisis, and lasting utopia – with certain modifications. In secular form, cataclysmic apocalyptic thought anticipates a crisis guided by human or natural forces that will wipe away corruption and bring about the ideal society, while denying any role for the divine. This view puts some constraints on its vision for utopia. In religious form, cataclysmic apocalyptic thought imagines a utopia free from various constraints found in the natural world, like mortality. Divine intervention throws off these constraints. By forgoing appeals to divine power to explain the transition to the ideal society, secular apocalyptic thought offers visions of utopia that are less supernatural. Still, such thought has lofty expectations for the ideal society. It envisions a transformative crisis that will eliminate the ills that have long plagued human society, such as strife, poverty, and violence. The resulting utopia will be stable, since any utopia that quickly collapses hardly counts as ideal. Both secular and religious varieties of cataclysmic apocalyptic thought foresee a lasting utopia in humanity’s future.

Apocalyptic Thought as Ideal Theory

The apocalyptic worldview, both in Christian and secular forms, sets its sights on more than a mere improvement over the present. It puts forward a vision of the most perfect society. Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought specifically emphasizes crisis as the vehicle for reaching the ideal society. Through this vision, the apocalyptic tradition theorizes about the ideal society and the path to it. We thus can understand apocalyptic thought as a form of ideal theory.

Some may object to this claim and dismiss any equation between apocalyptic thought and ideal theory as an anachronistic mistake. Indeed, political philosophers today rarely if ever connect the apocalyptic tradition with ideal theory. Part of the reason why is the ahistorical nature of the debate over ideal theory in contemporary political philosophy. It sometimes gives the impression that ideal theory suddenly emerged in 1971 with the publication of A Theory of Justice.¹⁸ Here John Rawls argues that “the nature and aims of a perfectly just society” play a fundamental role in a theory of justice: one must understand what justice requires under ideal conditions to understand its requirements under nonideal conditions.¹⁹ Rawls’s distinction between ideal and nonideal theory sparked a flurry of philosophical debate, but sometimes lost in this debate is Rawls’s place within a broader tradition of theorizing about the ideal society.

Utopian thought has long been concerned with the nature of the ideal society and goes all the way back to Plato,²⁰ as Lea Ypi and Gerald Gaus note.²¹ The work that coined the term utopia reminds us of that point. In Utopia published in 1516, Thomas More compares the ideal society that he describes to the one outlined in Plato’s Republic, thus situating his work within a tradition of ideal theorizing that long preceded him.²² The apocalyptic tradition shares this interest in theorizing about the ideal society, and at times has influenced utopian literature.²³ So ideal theory is not entirely distinct from utopian and apocalyptic thought, but it overlaps with these traditions in important ways.²⁴

In The Tyranny of the Ideal, Gaus speaks of “models of utopian-ideal thought” to emphasize the continuous tradition shared by utopian thought and contemporary ideal theory.²⁵ “Utopian” and “ideal theory” are contested terms,²⁶ so it is important to be clear on their meanings here. One common understanding of ideal or utopian theory is an approach within political philosophy that aims to identify the best, most just society rather than merely a better, more just society.²⁷

Sometimes utopian implies the impossible,²⁸ but that view is far from universal or even standard.²⁹ Here our focus is on utopian or ideal theory that sets forth a vision of the best, most just society with the potential of being realized at some future point – what I call navigational ideal theory. In many cases, ideal theory takes this form and aims to present a goal within the realm of possibility, even if a vast gulf stands between this goal and the imperfect present. Rawls captures this idea with his understanding of ideal theory as an attempt to offer a “realistic utopia” to strive for.³⁰ If, as is commonly assumed, ought implies can, ideal theory must present a goal that is feasible to preserve its role as a normative guide to action. By setting forth the most just society possible, ideal theory serves as a navigational guide: it provides a normative end goal to guide efforts toward greater justice.

When thinking about ideal theory’s navigational role, some mistakenly assume a sharp divide between ideal and nonideal theory. Ingrid Robeyns takes this view – specifically, that ideal theory tells us what the end goal is and nonideal theory tells us how to get there or at least closer to it. For Robeyns, it makes little sense to object to ideal theory on the grounds that it fails to provide guidance on moving us closer to a far-off ideal. Such an objection fails, argues Robeyns, because it is not the ideal theorist’s task to map a path from the present to the ideal. That work instead falls to nonideal theory.³¹

This neat distinction between ideal and nonideal theory proves problematic because it obscures an important point: those interested in offering a persuasive account of navigational ideal theory must also engage in nonideal theory. A common metaphor for ideal theory – identifying the tallest mountain³² – helps explain why. If we think of the most just society possible as the world’s tallest mountain and lower peaks as less just societies, an ideal theorist primarily errs in one of two ways: (1) identifying as the tallest mountain a peak that, though perhaps the tallest in a particular region, is not the tallest in the world (say Denali); or (2) identifying as the tallest mountain a peak that, though taller than Mount Everest, is nowhere on earth (say, a mythical peak 50,000 feet above sea level). Accusing ideal theory of one of these errors is to raise what, respectively, can be called the utopian and feasibility objections:³³

1. (1) Utopian objection: criticizing ideal theory for being overly pessimistic and embracing an end goal that is insufficiently ideal.

2. (2) Feasibility objection: criticizing ideal theory for being overly optimistic and embracing an end goal that is too ideal.

To give a compelling defense of ideal theory, then, one must overcome both these objections. And doing so requires engaging in nonideal theory. If a critic argues for an ideal superior to that outlined by the ideal theorist, the theorist can ask the critic to explain a possible path to this superior ideal – that is, engage in nonideal theory – and then challenge this account of nonideal theory. Conversely, if a critic doubts the feasibility of an ideal theorist’s vision, the theorist can defend it by engaging in nonideal theory to show a potential path to this ideal.

So when doubts arise about the path to an ideal, the ideal theorist cannot simply respond: “Not my problem! Ask someone doing nonideal theory.” This response leaves ideal theory without an actual defense and gives others little reason to believe it. To avoid this pitfall, a compelling account of ideal theory also engages in nonideal theory. The ideal theorist need not do all the work of nonideal theory and specify every step from the present to the ideal. But the ideal theorist at least should work to allay skeptics’ doubts by sketching potential, general paths to a particular ideal.³⁴

Since considering paths to the ideal takes on such importance in ideal theory, apocalyptic thought – with its emphasis on crisis as the vehicle to utopia – proves relevant to such theorizing. Robeyns’s characterization of ideal theory, which limits it to describing an ideal endpoint, would render many elements of apocalyptic thought irrelevant to this manner of theorizing. But a closer look at ideal theory reveals the importance of outlining both the ideal endpoint and the path to it. While some understandings of ideal theory ignore the latter, cataclysmic apocalyptic thought gives considerable attention to the path to the ideal. According to this strand of apocalyptic thought, crisis opens the way to a seemingly impossible ideal.

The Catch-22 of Ideal Theory

To review, the ideal theorist has to guard against formulating a vision of society deemed either insufficiently ideal (the utopian objection) or too ideal (the feasibility objection). When one of these objections is valid, responding to it in isolation is straightforward. One can temper the goals of a vision that is too ideal and infeasible. And when a vision is insufficiently ideal, one can revise it to make it more utopian and appealing. But ideal theorists face a dilemma: both the utopian and feasibility objections loom over their projects as potential criticisms, and attempts to avoid one objection render them more vulnerable to the other.

Let’s look at each horn of this dilemma. The first is the utopian objection, which demands an appealing moral goal that is worth striving for. Yet the more utopian the ideal, the more disconnected it becomes from the present and the less feasible it seems. This concern raises the second horn of the dilemma – the feasibility objection – which also is important to overcome, since an unattainable ideal cannot be realized and thus is not worth striving for. But settling on a modest, feasible ideal risks depriving it of normative force due to its insufficient moral appeal. This concern brings us back again to the utopian objection. So, together, the utopian and feasibility objections create a catch-22 for the ideal theorist: a more utopian ideal is a less feasible moral goal, which diminishes reasons to strive for it and its normative force, but a more modest and feasible ideal is a less appealing moral goal, which also diminishes the reasons to strive for it and its normative force. Regardless of whether one moves in a more or less ideal direction, one risks diminishing ideal theory’s normative force (see Figure 2.1).

Figure 2.1 The catch-22 of ideal theory

Some may contend that this catch-22 represents an illusory rather than real dilemma for ideal theory. Indeed, there are political philosophers who dismiss some version of either the feasibility or utopian objection against ideal theory. It is important, then, to address this skepticism and show that the catch-22 outlined here does in fact pose challenges for ideal theory.

Skepticism toward the feasibility objection. This view stems from two related but distinct concerns: (1) feasibility assessments are often wrong and (2) feasibility considerations are irrelevant to ideal theory. David Estlund explains the first concern:

The great achievements in the development of human social life have typically been preceded by incredulity about their very possibility, much less their likelihood. If theoretical inquiry had limited itself to what was plausibly thought to be achievable, the achievements might never have happened. For at least this reason, we ought not to lower our gaze in a practical and realistic spirit.³⁵

Sometimes a theory deemed infeasible ends up being realized. Critics of the theory err because they fail to appreciate what is truly possible. For this reason, says Estlund, philosophers should not give up on a theory whenever concerns about feasibility are raised since defenders of the theory may have better foresight than their critics.³⁶ This argument provides reasons to reject feasibility objections that are potentially inaccurate.

A more fundamental critique of the catch-22 comes from a general rejection of feasibility considerations when engaging in ideal theory. G. A. Cohen takes this stronger view in defense of “fact-insensitive” principles of justice, which take conditional form: “One ought to do A if it is possible to do A.”³⁷ His approach opens the door for ideal theory to outline an ideal based partly or entirely on conditional principles that are impossible to carry out. Without feasibility constraints on ideal theory, the most perfect and just society could be a hopeless goal. That scenario leaves ideal theory without a feasible end goal to guide action.

Such varieties of ideal theory still count as moral, according to Estlund: “[A] theory can be normative in one sense by being evaluative, whether or not evaluation itself counsels action. ‘Society would be better like this’ might be true whether or not there is anything it makes sense to do in light of this fact.”³⁸ Unconstrained by feasibility concerns, ideal theory is free to explore what true justice consists of, and such inquiry has value even if it fails to guide action.³⁹

One can adopt Estlund’s approach and understand ideal theory as having a purely evaluative role, but it comes at a high cost. Most importantly, this approach leaves ideal theory vulnerable to the charge that it is irrelevant to promoting justice.

To illustrate this point, consider one of Amartya Sen’s criticisms of ideal theory and how its defenders respond. Sen sees little value for ideal theory in a world filled with injustice, since endless debates over perfect justice distract from the more pressing task of making incremental steps toward a more just world.⁴⁰ Normally, defenders of ideal theory have a counterargument available to them in response to this criticism: because of the path-dependent nature of social change, an ideal end point is needed to guide efforts toward greater justice.⁴¹ Without such an ideal to guide action, incremental steps toward justice could lead to a more just society, yet away from the most just society. To return to the mountain metaphor, someone in Anchorage, Alaska, trying to climb the highest peak but unfamiliar with world geography may think that traveling a few hundred miles north to Denali will accomplish this goal. Climbing Denali takes one to a higher altitude yet away from the highest peak, which is on a different continent altogether. As this analogy suggests, we need an ideal to guide the pursuit of justice and avoid paths that delay or block greater advances later.

This defense of ideal theory, however, loses its force when theorizing becomes disconnected from considerations of feasibility and takes on a purely evaluative role. Assuming ought implies can, an infeasible ideal fails to provide a moral end goal to guide efforts toward greater justice. In this case, ideal theory lacks the navigational value that the most powerful counterargument to Sen appeals to. Without navigational value, ideal theory could persist as an intellectual pursuit, but Sen would be right – it would be an intellectual pursuit irrelevant to advancing justice in the real world.

Uncomfortable with that conclusion, some still may try to salvage a navigational role for ideal theory that offers an unattainable ideal. Perhaps such an ideal can serve as a goal that we strive to get closer to, even if it will always be beyond our reach. But though reasonable on its face, this argument runs into a problem: there is no guarantee that moving closer to an unattainable ideal of justice will lead toward the most just society possible.

To illustrate this point, consider the following example. Some believe that future advances in artificial intelligence will lead to an ideal society that remedies a host of injustices common today. According to this view, ideal theory must set forth principles of justice to govern the development, distribution, and use of artificial intelligence. Now suppose the goal outlined by this ideal theory is impossible to achieve, both now and in the future. Perhaps human capacities cannot effectively control artificial intelligence, which if developed would exercise tyrannical power over humanity. Or, more prosaically, perhaps humans lack the capacity to develop artificial intelligence to the point where it becomes truly effective in remedying injustice.⁴² Either way, investing in and pursuing artificial intelligence would hinder efforts to advance justice. Instead of leading to the most just and perfect society possible, pursuing this unattainable ideal takes society down a path that wastes valuable resources and perhaps even fosters tyranny.

It could be the case that pursuing an unattainable ideal corresponds with the path to the most just society possible, but that cannot be assumed, as this example suggests. Demonstrating the navigational value of an unattainable ideal requires identifying the most just ideal possible and explaining how the paths to these two ideals correspond. So, ultimately, we cannot escape questions of feasibility when formulating navigational ideal theory. The feasibility objection presents a real challenge and, to overcome it, ideal theory must set forth an ideal that is attainable and a suitable guide to action, not a mythical goal that risks sidetracking efforts toward justice.

Skepticism toward the utopian objection. The utopian objection raises the concern that ideal theory puts forward a goal with insufficient moral appeal, and as such is not worth striving for. Some respond that whether people find an ideal appealing and strive for it says nothing about whether it is true. For example, Laura Valentini points out that individuals do not always follow moral principles, but that is a regrettable fact of life rather than an indictment of the principles themselves.⁴³ If no moral theory has perfect success in motivating individuals to act rightly, why should we single out ideal theory for criticism? For Valentini, ideal theory’s success in motivating action is irrelevant to evaluating its truth.

Valentini is correct that even true moral principles do not always motivate action. But the utopian objection, or at least the strongest form of it, does not stem from concerns that weakness of will prevents the pursuit of ideal theory’s goals. It instead levels a more serious charge against ideal theory: regardless of whether ideal theory actually motivates, there are compelling moral reasons why it should not motivate. According to the utopian objection, the insufficient moral appeal of ideal theory should preclude it from serving as a normative guide to action.

Importantly, the utopian objection presents challenges for both inaccurate and accurate accounts of ideal theory. Obviously, when ideal theory is overly pessimistic and specifies an ideal well short of the most perfect and just society possible, the utopian objection tells the ideal theorist to aim higher. But even when ideal theory identifies the most perfect and just society possible, the utopian objection can raise compelling reasons not to pursue it. On its face, this position seems odd. If ideal theory puts forward an ideal embodying the most perfect and just society possible, wouldn’t we have strong normative reasons to pursue it? Not necessarily. It could be the case that the ideal, while representing the most just end goal possible, lacks sufficient moral appeal to justify the transition costs to realize it.

Juha Räikkä emphasizes this concern when discussing the “moral costs of the changeover,” which come with transitioning to the ideal society.⁴⁴ If the ideal is distinct from the present in significant ways, achieving it likely will require dramatic societal changes. Such changes impose considerable sacrifices and disruptions on society. When the transition costs are steep enough, there can be compelling moral reasons to balk at pursuing the ideal society.

Take, for instance, an ideal theory X, which gives an accurate account of the most just and perfect society possible. In a hypothetical state of nature without obstacles from the past to hinder the pursuit of X’s ideal, individuals have good reason to strive for it. Yet, under actual conditions, advancing toward X’s ideal involves higher costs because of the need to alter existing institutions. In fact, at this point in history, X’s ideal only can be realized through a bloody conflict that wipes out society’s dominant class. The substantial moral costs involved in achieving X’s ideal prove too great to justify the transition, even if it would end various injustices (e.g., an entrenched wage and wealth gap between different groups). Other efforts short of wide-scale violence hold the promise of reducing injustice in society, and individuals may have compelling normative reasons to pursue those efforts. Yet that strategy always will fall short of achieving X’s vision and will lead society down a different path. In sum, X’s ideal has moral appeal, but not enough to justify the transition costs necessary to realize it.

If, as in this case, the utopian objection succeeds, ideal theory finds itself in the same position it does when the feasibility objection succeeds: it lacks navigational value and relevance to promoting justice. Without sufficient moral appeal to justify the transition costs needed to realize its goal, ideal theory fails to specify an ideal worth striving for. So despite the skepticism voiced by some philosophers, the utopian and feasibility objections do present real challenges for ideal theory. It is necessary to escape the catch-22 posed by these objections to ensure ideal theory’s normative value in guiding action. The appeal of cataclysmic apocalyptic thought for politics, as the next section discusses, partly lies in offering motivational resources that seem to overcome this catch-22.

Apocalyptic Thought’s Appeal for Politics

Faced with the catch-22 posed by the feasibility and utopian objections, ideal theorists could just give up on trying to formulate an ideal with navigational value. In that case, ideal theory would merely have an evaluative role: specifying the best society in theory and abandoning any aspirations to formulate a feasible end goal to guide action. Some, like Estlund and Cohen, seem content limiting ideal theory to this role. Others, though, find this concession deeply unsatisfying – one suited for the ivory tower but not actual politics, a sphere that demands a more robust normative role for ideal theory. According to this view, one consults ideal theory not only to know what the ideal society is, but also for guidance on how to achieve it. As Gaus puts it, ideal theory is both about “what we should think” and “what we should do. They are not ultimately separable, for to think about justice is to think about where we should move, and how to engage in the quest.”⁴⁵ Especially for those who understand their theorizing as a contribution to bringing about the ideal society, it is essential for ideal theory to guide action.

But crafting ideal theory with navigational value requires overcoming the catch-22 and identifying a goal that is utopian and feasible. For those facing this challenge, the apocalyptic tradition – and cataclysmic apocalyptic thought in particular – offers a potentially appealing strategy. Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought refuses to be stymied by either horn of the catch-22 of ideal theory: it embraces a thoroughly utopian ideal while offering a narrative to explain its feasibility. Such thought brings together in a single ideal seemingly irreconcilable goals.

Let’s start with the goal of crafting a utopian ideal. Despite the criticisms leveled against apocalyptic thought, few complain about its being insufficiently utopian. Apocalyptic narratives envision perfection at the end of history, such as the new Jerusalem described in Revelation. The vision of what’s to come – a world finally free from strife, want, and suffering – stands in stark contrast to today. Without apology, the apocalyptic tradition sets forth a utopian vision as the destiny for God’s elect. Since it outlines an ideal embodying perfection, apocalyptic thought proves less vulnerable to the charge that its vision lacks appeal.

Now let’s turn to feasibility. Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought provides an explanation for how its utopian ideal could be feasible. Outlining a far-off ideal without any connection to the present naturally prompts the feasibility objection – how does one get there from here? Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought takes this concern seriously and attempts to address it: a coming crisis will open a path that links the present to utopia. Without such disruption, the apocalyptic ideal would be an impossible and foolish thing to strive for. Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought avoids this motivational dead end by predicting a coming crisis, unlike any before, that will wipe away corruption and bring about the ideal envisioned.

The appeal of cataclysmic apocalyptic thought makes further sense when considering the power of crisis generally in interpreting political events. Crisis often provides compelling grounds for indicting the status quo and developing an alternative vision of politics to pursue. Both the political right and left recognize the opportunities presented by crisis. “Only a crisis – actual or perceived – produces real change,” writes the conservative economist Milton Friedman. “When that crisis occurs, the actions that are taken depend on the ideas that are lying around.”⁴⁶ President Barack Obama’s first chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel, makes a similar point: “You never want a serious crisis to go to waste … . [The 2008 economic] crisis provides the opportunity for us to do things that you could not do before.”⁴⁷ This idea is far from new and, from the Age of Revolution to the present, appears in political tracts, such as The Crisis by Thomas Paine.⁴⁸ Of course, the idea stretches back even further, as apocalyptic texts and the events they inspired remind us. Across different eras, crisis has had the power to direct people’s attention to societal failures and instill a sense of urgency to take political action.

Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought harnesses the potent idea that crisis represents a transformative moment. It argues that the perfect society to surpass all others awaits just on the other side of crisis. Within this framework of thought, crisis will wipe away obstacles that have long blocked the path to utopia. This knowledge creates urgency to take advantage of the unique opportunity at hand. The appeal of cataclysmic apocalyptic thought lies in reframing crisis so that it no longer is a source of paralyzing fear, but an opportunity for transformative change.

A Strategy Not without Risks

Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought proves appealing for politics because of the promise it holds: overcoming the intractable catch-22 of ideal theory and motivating dramatic political action perhaps when it is most needed, in the midst of crisis. But political strategies that hold promise almost always come with risks, and that is true in this case. Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought as a lens for interpreting politics and stirring people to action can backfire in three ways: (1) lead to a quietist attitude toward politics; (2) prove unable to sustain hope and motivate action over time; and (3) exacerbate injustice by trying to force utopia under conditions of uncertainty.

To begin with the risk of quietism, this worry frequently comes up in the context of religious apocalyptic thought.⁴⁹ If it is foreordained that divine forces will wipe away corruption and establish a perfect society, what point is there for individuals to take action in pursuit of that goal? Given that divine plans are in motion, individual action seems insignificant and unable to impact the ultimate outcome. Secular apocalyptic thought faces similar concerns. If forces in history guarantee that society eventually will attain perfection, it can be tempting to conclude that one’s own actions are ultimately meaningless. So apocalyptic thought can breed such confidence in the future that a quietist attitude toward politics results. But it is important not to overstate this worry. A far more common barrier to political action is lack of hope. As research from psychology finds, people are more likely to support and consider participating in collective action when they have hope that political change is possible.⁵⁰ Utopian hope, in particular, can motivate collective action by highlighting the gap between the present society and the ideal – and the need to bridge that gap.⁵¹ Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought crafts a narrative that offers such hope, which highlights its potential to motivate political action.

It is sustaining hope that proves especially challenging. Instilling a particular crisis with historic importance creates, in the short term, a sense of urgency to seize the opportunity to radically improve society. This hopeful mindset, though, quickly can turn into disillusionment when crisis fails to produce redemptive change. That danger has long plagued apocalyptic thought. As Stephen O’Leary observes, “[T]he recurring fallacy of apocalyptic eschatology seems to rest in a human tendency to identify the particular with the ultimate.”⁵² Cataclysmic apocalyptic thought pins its hopes for renewal on a particular moment in history. If dramatic action in response to crisis never brings the desired change, discouragement often sets in – all the sacrifices people made were in vain. One finds this danger in Christianity when expectations for the imminent arrival of God’s kingdom go unfulfilled. It also is found in secular ideologies like Marxism, which struggles to explain how the inevitable collapse of capitalism has yet to occur and usher in the communist ideal.⁵³

Of perhaps greater concern, crisis sometimes motivates dramatic action that exacerbates rather than solves societal ills. Scholars on both the right and left note that crisis, real or perceived, often serves to justify troubling changes to state power.⁵⁴ When confronted with a crisis, people clamor for something to be done. This mindset can justify transition costs normally shunned, such as violence against those perceived as impeding the path to the ideal. Steep transition costs hardly guarantee utopia, especially given the world’s complexity and the impossibility of predicting the full repercussions of political action. Efforts to bring the ideal into existence by brute force can unleash a host of ills without bringing utopia any closer – a danger that looms over apocalyptic thought and ideal theory more broadly.⁵⁵

But despite these risks and its theological baggage, apocalyptic thought continues to prove appealing to a number of political theorists. For those interested in not just theorizing about the ideal society but in actually realizing it, they face the challenge of crafting an ideal worth striving for. Attempts to formulate such an ideal run into the catch-22 of ideal theory, and overcoming it requires outlining an ideal that is both utopian and feasible. Yet the immense tension between these goals seems to leave few if any options to realize them simultaneously. Instead of shrinking from this dilemma, cataclysmic apocalyptic thought proposes a solution: crisis will transform the world and finally make utopia possible. And that is perhaps why, as we’ll see in Part II, some thinkers critical of Christianity still find themselves drawn to its apocalyptic doctrines. The allure of the ideal society makes apocalyptic thought attractive even to secular thinkers, for such thought helps in imagining a path to this elusive goal.