Strategists talk about missiles, maritime routes, energy straits, and other topics. Some prefer to invoke prophecies. Geopolitics now mingles with eschatology. On some screens, the sound of missiles happily mixes with the trumpets of the Apocalypse.
Among other examples: in an article published in early March, The Guardian reported that American military personnel were concerned about the language used by some officials to describe the war against Iran, presented in certain briefings as part of the “divine plan” and as a step towards Armageddon.
Armageddon. No, it’s not just the title of an old Hollywood disaster movie, but also centuries of stories about the final battle supposed to announce the end of times: the ultimate fight between the forces of good and evil preceding the return of Christ and judgment day.
Interestingly, supporters from both sides seem to share at least one belief: this war is not just geopolitical. It is primarily theological.
Videos abound on social media predicting, with crimson colors and music worthy of a thriller trailer, the imminent appearance of the Dajjal. A figure of chaos and deceit in Islamic tradition, one-eyed in his state, he would be able to speak to the dead, make rain fall, and make vegetation grow.
“The only thing truly certain, pending the Great Tribulation, is that we are already, very prosaically, in the middle of chaos.”
To this apocalyptic imagery are added other supposed signs. Sacred geography is redrawn in accordance with speculations.
Some claim that the peoples of Gog and Magog, trapped behind a mysterious barrier for centuries, are about to be released – some even placing them, according to the latest data, not in the Caucasus or Central Asia, but somewhere in the ice of Antarctica. Or perhaps they are underground, according to Hollow Earth believers, somewhere between its concentric spheres.
Others examine the level of the Sea of Galilee, convinced that its drying up would announce the imminent release of mythical hordes who would drink the remaining water in one gulp.
Meanwhile, signs are scrutinized in the sky. A solar eclipse, a blood moon, a comet, a star alignment: sudden celestial events are reinterpreted as warnings, accompanying the call of the banners of Khorasan.
In times of crisis, preachers resurface, armed with mysterious chronologies and ancient texts.
Added to this anxious anticipation is the hope for the coming of the Mahdi, the promised guide and redeemer, opponent of the impostor and restorer of the original faith, whose arrival would precede the return of Jesus.
“The Hour will come; there is no doubt about it. But who can claim to know its mysteries or determine its moment?”
The only thing truly certain, pending the Great Tribulation, is that we are already, very prosaically, in the midst of chaos: intersecting missiles, threatened maritime routes, blocked straits, rampant inflation, and the specter of a long war with all its effects.
That being said, do a few barrels of oil or a powerful recession matter in a matter of salvation or damnation?
When war is infused with theology, nuances are abandoned. After me, the deluge.
History offers some precedents. In 1209, during the capture of Béziers in the Albigensian Crusade, as several Cathars were being mixed with the population, the Papal Legate asked how to distinguish them from good Catholics.
Answer: “Kill them all, God will recognize his own.”
Whether the phrase was exactly spoken this way or not ultimately matters little. The main thing is perhaps to be wary of wars that promise salvation: history shows that they mainly produce cemeteries and destruction.
