End of Days

As you know, I am not a believer, or not a true one, anyway. I do have fierce convictions, or did. I had to check lately, examining my political philosophy over the role of the State in the preservation of life, and of the Constitution, which I view as secular, but holy, writ.

I am for national security, and took up the sword to defend it for three decades. I am against terrorism, and willing to countenance extraordinary methods to combat it. But our opponent in that war is possessed of a conviction that is quite extraordinary, sufficient to make the suicide-martyr local heroes.

There are apparently true believers among us here, too. I am not opposed to that, since tolerance is a core value in this democracy. I have always honored Barry Goldwater’s maxim that, at the end of the day, “Extremism in Defense of Liberty is no Vice.”

The phrase did not get him elected, but the words formed the core of the resurgence of the party of the Right. But the flowering of that political flower has produced some strange blossoms. There are those who are quite fervent in believing that their spiritual beliefs should be better represented in our secular life, and that morals should be reflected in the foundation of the state.

Barry mellowed at the end of his days, but I always liked him. Coming from the Libertarian end of the spectrum, the debate makes me uncomfortable. I want less interference by the state in my affairs, not more, and the war on terror and the digitization of modern life has put my personal privacy at risk.

I was sitting in the wash of the portable fan last night. Big Pink has not turned on the central air conditioning yet. It got to ninety degrees yesterday, and I now see the golden humid days of summer marching toward me. I was half-watching dramatic television as I tried to sort through the office e-mails that arrived while I was in the lock-down, off-site conference. There were a series of lectures by luminaries from the Government who outlined the problems and challenges of the future.

There was a theme about change, and it was a scary one. We Americans pride ourselves in our prowess on the battlefield, our ability to get inside the enemy’s information and decision loop. The word from the podium was that our system of budgeting precludes our institutions from adapting as fast as the terrorists, who operate in focused, flat organizations that are quite adaptable.

I found myself considering the notion that while we might have the advantage on the battlefield, the terrorists might enjoy a similar advantage against us, learning faster, and applying the lessons to the next generation of tactics.

With football and college basketball finished for the year, I have been forced to find entertainment programming that contains no objective outcome. I have settled on just a couple shows to watch.

On Mondays, I am pleased to be distracted by Kieffer Sutherland, as he confronts the terrorists on “24.”

He is not doing so well. The Bad guys shot down Air Force One last week, and this week they secured a loose nuclear warhead and the launch codes from the Presidential football. This is more than vaguely unsettling, but all in good fun. I have every confidence that things will be resolved in a satisfactory manner by the end of the season.

It worked out that way the first two seasons, anyway.

On Wednesdays, I have always enjoyed the venerable “Law and Order,” though I am unsettled by the recent death of Jerry Orhbach, who played the wise-cracking detective. I’m reserving my judgment on the show, though at the end of the day I will probably continue watching. The writing is good, and there is a reflection of the ambiguity of life in it.

The TV was set to NBC, which owns the crime franchise. I was doing something else when the show before it came on. It was called “Revelations,” and apparently it is a six hour mini-series depicting the rise of the anti-christ and the end of the world.

Bill Pullman, who played the President in “Independence Day,” is cast as a Harvard astrophysicist. He is paired with a nun played by the lovely Natascha McElhone. She looks like the Irish actress who was on “Touched by an Angel,” but is apparently not.

The two are looking for a mystery baby, who is, if you are better on your scripture than I am, either really good news or really bad news.

The scene that got me to turn away from the computer was on an airliner, as Bill and Natascha fly to Greece in search of revealed truth. Two lovely women are seated just behind them, in what appears to be First Class seating. I had no idea that the Church and Academia traveled so well, but perhaps they are like the United Nations. Bill looks at the women, lithe and lovely, and as the cabin lights flicker, their eyes gleam bright orange in the darkness.

“Fashion models,” says the nun.

I resolved to follow this show and find out more about fashion models and their role with the end of the world.

Before I shut down the computer, I opened an e-mail from a friend in North Carolina . It was an ambiguous note, and at the end of the day, required me to click on a link. Drawn to the television, but resolute in my determination to clear all the messages, I clicked on it and got some bad news.

Apparently Nostradamus did not act alone in his prophesies. The link described a fellow who was beatified as Saint Malachy in 1190, and previously known as Malachy O’Morgair.

While in Rome in 1139 he received a vision showing all the Popes from his day to the end of time. He wrote poetic descriptions of each of the pontiffs, presenting the manuscript to Pope Innocent II. It was forgotten in a dusty Vatican archive until recently; or at least recently by Vatican time.

In 1590 it surfaced, and has been the topic of vigorous debate ever since. Vigorous is a relative term, I suppose, since I had been blissfully unaware of the controversy. St. Malachy was reported to have possessed the powers of levitation, healing, and clairvoyance.

And ambiguity.

His little Latin descriptions of the Pope’s can be interpreted in a variety of ways, and there are those who swear he was right on the money all the way.

I watched the fashion models on the television stalking the Professor and the Nun. They kept walking past things in the back ground, burned churches, inverted crucifxes, and I began to talk to the characters from the safety of my brown chair.

“Look out!” I said, waving my cigarette in anguish. “Something is going to happen!”

The episode ended in a cliff-hanger, and with some scriptural words on the screen.

I waited to see what sort of crime “Law and Order” was going to deal with tonight, and it turned out to be the murder of a porn star. I didn’t watch it all the way through, since I really miss Jerry Orhbach, and it will take some time for the grieving process.

But as I turned off the lights to end the day, I turned over Malachy’s prophecy in my mind.

It is not so much whether it was accurate as to the exact personalities of the Popes. It is more the disquieting idea that Benedict the Sixteenth is the next to last one .

The last Holy Father is supposed to be a fellow named “Peter the Roman.” According to St. Malachy, we aren’t going to like him very much. At first, though, he is supposed to be pretty ingratiating.

Handsome, too. Almost like a fashion model.

Copyright 2005 Vic Socotra

www.vicsocotra.com

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