It Is the Worst of Times...

For those of us who troll around in the darker sides of the blogosphere, it's easy to see that there are a lot of people who firmly believe that these are the worst of times, violent and savage, and there is no hope. That our country and our cities are ridden lawless violence, marauding barbarians, and a general collapse of civilization. 

And, of course, they all agree that we're just one step away from the Apocalypse. To which I reply, "Same as it ever was..." That or, "Sure, I figure in ten years we'll all be busy battling the mutant insects out of our caves..."  In certain circles, I am taken as someone who is seriously unserious, and they are so right. Except when they're wrong.  

Many years ago, yours truly posted a blogpost (Apocalypso) in which I wrote at great length about old predictions about the end of the world.  So far, there's been a 100% inaccuracy rate.  But predictions continue!  You never know!  This could be it!  

And so Nostradamus is hot again:

According to British author and Nostradamus commentator Mario Reading, 2024 will bring about the abdication of King Charles III due to 'persistent attacks on both himself and his second wife', and Harry replace him, rather than William or any of his children, as the man who has 'no mark of a king'.

And Pope Francis will die and a much younger Pontiff will be elected: 'Through the death of a very old Pontiff, A Roman of good age will be elected, Of him it will be said that he weakens his see, But long will he sit and in biting activity.'  (Daily Mail) 

Quatrain 5/23 reads: “The two contenders will unite together / When most others unite with Mars / The African leader is fearful and trembles / The dual alliance is separated by the fleet.” Reading's son, Laurie, says this is all about Elon Musk and his colonization of Mars.  (Sadly, Laurie's decided it means he won't go to Mars.  And here I had $5 to chip in on the paperwork.)  (Guardian)  

As is Isaac Newton:  

Newton, in a couple of his unpublished "occult" works, mathematically predicted the end times as coming in 2060:  

Prop. 1. The 2300 prophetick days did not commence before the rise of the little horn of the He Goat.

2 Those day [sic] did not commence a[f]ter the destruction of Jerusalem & ye Temple by the Romans A.[D.] 70.

3 The time times & half a time did not commence before the year 800 in wch the Popes supremacy commenced

4 They did not commence after the re[ig]ne of Gregory the 7th. 1084

5 The 1290 days did not commence b[e]fore the year 842.

6 They did not commence after the reign of Pope Greg. 7th. 1084

7 The diffence [sic] between the 1290 & 1335 days are a parts of the seven weeks.

Therefore the 2300 years do not end before ye year 2132 nor after 2370. The time times & half time do n[o]t end before 2060 nor after [2344] The 1290 days do not begin [this should read: end] before 2090 nor after 1374 [sic; Newton probably means 2374][26]

(Wikipedia)

(If this makes sense to you, consult a psychiatrist immediately.) 

And check out this old PBS Nova Episode, "Newton's Dark Secrets".  

Of course, it's important to remember that both Nostradamus (1503-1556) and Isaac Newton (1642-1727) were both alchemists and occultists, which was fairly common among scientists, doctors, and astronomers [remember Elizabeth I's court astronomer/astrologer John Dee (1527-1609)].  And alchemy / occultism (much less astrology) has never gone away.  Half the crackpot theories that are currently being promoted on various websites as "the real truth" about everything from vaccines to a flat earth go back to the alchemical theories and practice.  "I've done the research!" says the person who has just been poring over various websites and given you a remedy that's as weird as Newton's cure for the plague:  

"a toad suspended by the legs in a chimney for three days, which at last vomited up earth with various insects in it, on to a dish of yellow wax, and shortly after died. Combining powdered toad with the excretions and serum made into lozenges and worn about the affected area drove away the contagion and drew out the poison"  (The Guardian)  

I'd almost rather drink bleach. 

Why are we so fascinated by this stuff?  Well, I think there's multiple reasons.

We like to think we're "in the know".  The minute you tell somebody something's secret, their ears perk up.

We like to think that there really is a plan.  

It's a nice distraction from one's ACTUAL problems.  "Well, this won't matter when the end times come..."  

It lets people off the hook.  "Don't worry about recycling, honey, the end times are coming!"  "Go ahead and buy that ____.  Don't worry about it, the end times are coming!"  OR

"Let's get ready!  The End Times are coming, and we want to have our bomb shelter fully stocked, so we can keep all the riff-raff / mutant insects / invaders at bay!"

We like to feel we're important:  it's like a hypochondria of society.  We can't just be going through a bad patch, this has to be the worst of times! And don't try to tell me it isn't!  

100% inaccuracy rate.  And, if that bothers you, we all get to experience the end times when we die.  That should cheer people up.  

Return of the Native

by Leigh Lundin

Last Tuesday, Janice Law broadcast her take on writing as a reality television event, (which the French l’Oulipo actually does). As I was starting to comment, I recalled Monty Python ran a radio skit of Thomas Hardy writing as a spectator sport.

You can listen to Monty Python's sketch 'Novel Writing' and follow along with the transcript.

(Eric Idle) And now it’s time for novel-writing, which today comes from the West Country from Dorset.

(Michael Palin) Hello, and welcome to Dorchester, where a very good crowd has turned out to watch local boy Thomas Hardy write his new novel The Return of the Native on this very pleasant July morning. This will be his eleventh novel and the fifth of the very popular Wessex novels; and here he comes, here comes Hardy walking out toward his desk. He looks confident, he looks relaxed, very much the man in form as he acknowledges this very good-natured bank holiday crowd. And the crowd goes quiet now as Hardy settles himself down at his desk, body straight, shoulders relaxed, pen held lightly but firmly in the right hand. He dips the pen in the ink and he’s off! It’s the first word, but it’s not a word. Oh no, it’s a doodle way up on the left-hand margin. It’s a piece of meaningless scribble and he’s signed his name underneath. Oh dear, what a disappointing start! But he’s off again and here he goes, the first word of Thomas Hardy’s first novel at 10.35 on this very lovely morning. It’s three letters, it’s the definite article and it’s “the”, Dennis.

(Graham Chapman) Well, this is true to form, no surprises there. He’s started five of his eleven novels to date with the definite article. We’ve had two of them with “it”, there’s been one “but”, two “at”s, one “and”, and a “Dolores”. Oh, that, of course, was never published.

(Michael Palin) I’m sorry to interrupt you there, Dennis, but he’s crossed it out! Thomas Hardy here on the first day of his new novel has crossed out the only word he’s written so far, and he’s gazing off into space. Oh dear, he’s signed his name again.

(Graham Chapman) It looks like Tess of the D’Urbervilles all over again.

(Michael Palin) But he’s, no he’s down again and writing, Dennis. He’s written “the” again and he’s written “a” and there’s a second word coming up and it’s “sat”. “A sat …”, doesn’t make sense, “a satur …”, “a Saturday”, it’s “a Saturday”, and the crowd are loving it. They are really enjoying this novel. And “this afternoon”, “this Saturday afternoon in … in … in know … knowvember”, November is spelled wrong, but he’s not going back. It looks as if he’s going for a sentence and it’s the first verb coming up, the first verb of the novel and it’s “was”, and the crowd are going wild. “A Saturday afternoon in November was” – and a long word here – “appro … appro …” Is it “approval”? No, it’s “approaching, approaching…” “A Saturday afternoon in November was approaching,” and he’s done the definite article “the” again, and he’s writing fluently, easily with flowing strokes of the pen as he comes up to the middle of this first sentence. And with his eleventh novel well under way and the prospects of a good day’s writing ahead, back to the studio.

(Eric Idle) Wasp Club, introduced as usual by Ronny Thompson.

(Terry Jones) Hello, and welcome to Wasp Club where we…

(Eric Idle) We interrupt the sketch to take you straight back to novel-writing from Dorchester and the latest news about that opening sentence.

(Michael Palin) Well, the noise you can hear is because Hardy has just completed his first sentence and it’s a real cracker, just listen to this: “A Saturday afternoon in November was approaching the time of twilight, and the vast tract of unenclosed wild known as Egdon Heath embrowned itself moment by moment,” and that after only three hours of writing. What a Hardyesque cracker.