Fear of an apocalypse has gripped the imagination of man for as long as we can remember. The fall of ancient civilizations is emblazoned in our psyche and captured in our mythos through stories about places like Atlantis and Dwarka. It is also realized in the historical record with the destruction of cities like Troy and Carthage. The past has taught us that human societies progress through stages of life, just as individuals do. Some slowly rise and then gradually decline. Others reach a tipping point and then are abruptly destroyed. But so far, the cycle has continued on and new cities have been born from the ashes of those long forgotten.

Perhaps one of the most striking of such stories is that of the Late Bronze Age Collapse, an event historians place between the 13^th and 12^th centuries BC. At that time, a vast network of cultural and economic trade linked the kingdoms of the Mediterranean and Middle East. Such cooperation was needed for the production of bronze, an alloy of copper and tin, because these ores were rarely found in close proximity to one other. They generally had to be imported at great cost; but the strength of tools and weapons made from bronze justified the endeavor. From what archaeologists have been able to piece together, everyone was getting on well, and then a series of sudden events—some connected to natural disasters and others caused by humans—brought the whole project down over the course of a few decades. Much of the world was plunged into a sort of dark ages which would take centuries to recover from. For those who lived through this period, it must have surely seemed like the world had come to a screeching halt.

Some biblical scholars suggest that the tower of Babel in Genesis is a much later echo of this distant event. If this is correct and the tower represents the hubris of human civilization, then the historical collapse of Mesopotamia is an image of man-made apocalypse. They exalted themselves against God and were brought low in the end. Seen in this light, there have been many such Towers that God has toppled. Most shocking to Christians is that the Lord allowed this to happen to his own people. Just as Nebuchadnezzar brought down Jerusalem, so Odoacer brought down Rome, Mehmet II brought down Constantinople, and Lenin brought down Moscow. The residents of those holy cities surely thought their persecutor to be the antichrist, and in fact each of them was, even if not the final embodiment of evil. Although, for each antichrist there were also “two olive trees” (Rev 11:4). These were the saints who warned the people that their self-sufficiency would soon bring about the chastening of the Lord. Through such codas we are reminded “we have no continuing city, but seek the one to come” (Heb 13:14).

If we turn back a few pages in Genesis we find a more frightening and cataclysmic event: the great flood. This is entirely unlike the tower of Babel. Rather than seeing the fall of a given society, we are told of the destruction of all but eight souls. The justification for the flood is clear: “The earth also was corrupt before God, and the earth was filled with violence; so God looked upon the earth, and indeed it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted their way on the earth” (Gen 6:11-12). From our initial turning away from God, mankind had since devolved into utter madness, bloodshed and debauchery becoming our key characteristics. Though a tiny remnant would be saved, the remainder were beyond redemption. Hence the Lord unleashed the forces of both the firmament above and the abyss below, plunging the cosmos back into watery chaos.

When modern readers encounter the flood narrative they are often horrified. They envisage the tale as being about an angry deity who kills babies and baby pandas. But this is not how anyone would have read the account in antiquity. We are the bad guys in the plot, not God. It is humanity who has reached a point of no return; and yet, God has mercy on our species and offers us another chance to flourish (an AI would never be this forgiving). Thus the flood is an act of love, not vengeance. The waters are a symbol of rebirth and renewal, a type of baptism. In the end, God establishes a new covenant with man and promises to never again destroy the world by water.

But another sort of universal judgment lies in the future, an event much more frightening than the flood. The apostle writes:

But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night, in which the heavens will pass away with a great noise, and the elements will melt with fervent heat; both the earth and the works that are in it will be burnt up. Therefore, since all these things will be dissolved, what manner of persons ought you to be in holy conduct and godliness, looking for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be dissolved, being on fire, and the elements will melt with fervent heat? Nevertheless we, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells.

(2 Pet 2:10-13)

For some, this is the stuff of nightmares, of mushroom clouds and nuclear winters. Yet the Scriptures are not speaking about another man-made catastrophe, but rather of divine action. The fire of God’s glory will engulf all of creation, renewing and reworking it. This is what Jesus Christ spoke of when he warned “the hour is coming in which all who are in the graves will hear his voice and come forth—those who have done good, to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil, to the resurrection of condemnation” (John 5:28-29). This will be the moment when “each one’s work will become clear; for the Day will declare it, because it will be revealed by fire” (1 Cor 3:13). After this, God will be “all in all” (15:28), all things subsisting in him, even if “through fire” (3:15). There will be no more societal cycles. The world will indeed become “never-ending.”

Many of us sense that our contemporary epoch is quickly coming to a close. Anxiety is high as we consider the possible outcomes of global conflicts, and of the breakdown of existing economic systems and political alliances. Environmental changes and cultural upheaval are threatening to tear apart nations. The disintegration of personal identity coupled with the temptation of transhumanism point towards the erasure of human nature itself. And perhaps more terrifying, the possibility of being destroyed by our own technology looms heavy on the horizon. Albeit, we did not arrive at this historic juncture overnight: like the Late Bronze Age Collapse there have been a number of factors leading to our present situation. The seeds of discontent have been sewn for centuries and only now are beginning to sprout. It may in fact be quite some time before all of these issues converge to bring about the fall; or it could happen tomorrow. Only time will tell.

As experts and average folk debate the causes and conclusions of our current mess, it is best for Orthodox Christians to ask a more important question: What moment are we in? In other words: Do we find ourselves moving towards the end of an era, or towards the end of the age? Or to frame our worldview through the testimony of Sacred Scripture: Are we moving towards another tower of Babel moment, or towards that fiery flood that marks the end of the world as we know it? The answer may surprise us: It does not matter.

Every societal collapse is itself a tiny apocalypse, in the true sense of being a “revelation.” It is an opportunity to once again realize what is important, to return to our “first love” (Rev 2:4). No man knows the day or time when it all comes crashing down. So whether we are seeing the end of an era, or the end of the age, we are commanded to respond in the same way: “And what I say to you, I say to all—Watch!” (Mk 13:37). This is because, as we proclaim in the Nicene Creed, Jesus Christ is the “one coming” (erhomenon). He is always coming and on the verge of coming to visit his people and to rain down justice and mercy upon all the earth’s inhabitants. Only when time is finally unwound will he separate the sons of God from the sons of Adam. Yet he is already doing this daily as he reigns from his throne in the heavens.

We may be tempted to interpret the dominical saying as a command to passiveness. We “watch” a film or a football match. Is our Lord asking us to sit back and watch it all burn down? This would certainly contradict what he says elsewhere. The Church has been given both an evangelical and a ministerial injunction. “Go,” he tells us, “and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you” (Matt 28:19). This commandment remains in effect “until the end of the age.” We must go into the highways and byways to bring Christ to our neighbors. And to this is added a charter for charitable works: “Amen, I say to you, inasmuch as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me” (25:45). Those guilty of violating this latter admonition “will go away into everlasting punishment” (v. 46).

To watch, then, is to serve the Lord. It is to foster a constant remembrance of God and be acutely aware we stand before him every second of every day. When we are cognizant of this, we are alert to every opportunity to be his hands in this world through our many interactions with others. The Neptic Fathers referred to the primary stage of spiritual life as praktikos or “active.” On the one hand, we are enjoined to limit our desires and focus on God through prayer and fasting; but to this we must add good works, activities enacted by God through us and infused with his divine grace. This is how an Orthodox Christian prepares for the end, whether that be a transition into a new cycle or history’s denouement.

It is time we take our calling seriously, for “the night is coming when no one can work” (John 9:4). The night is always coming. Everyday is apocalypse now. But it is not the coming fall we should fear, it is the one who awaits us beyond. Time is running out; we must redeem it before it’s too late. For those who do, they have nothing to fear.  “Yes,” the Lamb assures us, “I am coming quickly” (Rev 22:20). Even so, come Lord Jesus.