I often wonder why it is that I am so drawn to apocalyptic thought in my research, not to mention why people seem to be paying more and more attention to the topic generally speaking (e.g., see this upcoming conference). What I consider my “bad romance” with apocalyptic thought began in the summer of 2006 in a course on early Judaism taught by James VanderKam. I simply read 1 Enoch and it was like the intellectual engines turned on. But today, I read an article in the Washington Post (HT: James McGrath), that gave me some broader context for why my brain might be so drawn to this mysterious line of research.
In that article, Hank Stuever interprets the run of ABC’s epic and mysterious “Lost” as an indicator of our collective identity for the past decade. Steuver notes, “It was the perfect show for our frustrated ’00s era, in which no one had to answer for anything much — not for the real estate and Wall Street busts, the levee floods, the bad war intelligence.” Widening the net further, he assesses: “At its most essential, the show was about an airplane crash, told from every possible angle. That’s also our story — wounded by the events of 9/11 and the controlled chaos that came with new battlefields and the worst economy in 70 years.” And still further defining our decade with “Lost”: “We’ll go on living in the future; the people of ‘Lost’ will forever belong to the 2000s, which some are already calling ‘the lost decade.’”
I don’t know who these people are that call the 2000s “the lost decade” — when I googled it, I got some things about Japan and investments — but the idea strikes a chord with me nevertheless, even if for not all the same reasons it does with Steuver. Going back even earlier than 9/11, our culture’s understanding of the decade began with bewildering anticipation about whether the first moment of 2000 would bring about the end of the world. The fanaticism that surrounded Y2K served as one of the cultural backdrops of my first year and a half in college.
Still, I didn’t realize my intellectual calling (as an academic) until my senior year of college, which was indeed the year of 9/11 and the subsequent upheaval of global politics. Academically, I struggled to find a truly satisfying research area. Meanwhile, as our 2000s culture began to explore–for whatever reason–television shows and movies of apocalyptic import, my brain got sucked into it all. Replacing my teenage obsession with Friends (perhaps my deepest connection with ’90s culture), my imagination was drawn towards shows like Lost, Heroes, Jericho, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, and now V and FlashForward. “Lost” began the year before I entered seminary.
Without a doubt, I appreciate working with concrete social issues, such as gender roles or economic stratification, in my research. But in the deepest core of my intellectual passions, my ultimate academic search is for complex, hidden mysteries. There is something I love about living with more questions than answers. Is that “Lost’s” effect on me or my attraction to “Lost” or both?
In any case, when people are all concerned about whether we will be “satisfied” with finale, I have a difficult time relating. For me, “Lost” was an apocalypse — an invitation to a world of hidden mysteries. But to be honest, just as I found my attraction to apocalyptic literature by entering the world 1 Enoch, I am more satisfied simply entering the mystery than I am with any attempt at explaining the mystery. For me, the “Lost” finale need not connect all the dots. Rather, I will simply mourn the loss of my biggest cultural partner in my research. Thankfully, I don’t think our culture is done with hidden mysteries.
