'And In Came Riding A Pale Horse'

“ When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, “Come.” I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name of Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.” –Revelation 6:7-8; NASB.

Throughout the course of history, in eras of pestilence it has been declared that, just as John of Patmos saw in his vision, the Lamb of God had begun to break the Seven Seals and bring forth Judgment Day. It is also claimed to be a ‘punishment from God’ or the ‘beginning of the End of Days’ by other Christians. From here, those with these viewpoints will be classed as Futurists. This claim of a punishment from God is prevalent in both pandemic and apocalyptic literature. In H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds and Albert Camus’ The Plague it is regarded as striking fear into practicing Christians. In historical context of the bubonic plague, it was widely accepted that the Black Death was divine punishment. In both Islamic and Christian communities, it was argued that the pandemic was sent by God (Allah in Islam) as punishment for their sins. In reality, large scale pandemics like the Black Death have renewed religious fervor and fanaticism, as mentioned before, Futurists frequently attributed this as a punishment, cleansing of the wicked, or the start of the End of Days. This view is not limited to older pandemics, but also to the modern day at a lesser extent with these same claims being made towards the current COVID-19 pandemic. In modern literature, however, these religious claims are regularly critiqued as either unnecessary, fearmongering, unscientific, or all three.

Religious critique is not exclusive to pandemic and apocalyptic literature. It is also not exclusive to Western literature, either. In his famous manga series and its movie adaptation of the same name, Akira, Katsuhiro Otomo critiques religion in a subtle manner. The movie, having to compress the plot of the manga, shows a group of fanatics praising the titular Akira as a God and deeming the unrest in Neo-Tokyo as being precursory to his second coming. This is contrasted with the viewer’s knowledge that Akira is not a god but part of a secret government parapsychology project which produces the ESPers. This is more prevalent in Parts 4 through 6 of the Akira manga. He is found at the end of Part 3 by the anti-hero, Tetsuo, who forms the Great Tokyo Empire and uses Akira as a figurehead, who is worshipped as a god and praised for his “miracles”.

In science-fiction, a notable example is Ann Leckie’s Ancillary Justice. In Leckie’s novel, while waiting on Strigan to return, the protagonist Breq shares this exchange with her detoxing companion:

“You are where you are,” I said, in an even tone, “as a result of decisions you made yourself.”

Her spine straightened, her shoulders went back. “You don’t know anything about me, or what decisions I have or haven’t made.”

It was enough to make me angry again. I knew something about making decisions, and not making them. “Ah, I forget. Everything happens as Amaat wills, nothing is your fault.” (p. 71-72.)

Of all religious critiques, most notable is in video games; which are arguably a form of visual literature. The second installment of the trilogy, Halo 2, is an explicit critique of both organized religion and blind faith. In its most famous cutscene, the Gravemind makes these remarks about the protagonists John-117 and Thel ‘Vadamee the Arbiter.

This one is but machine and nerve, and has its mind concluded.

This one is but flesh and faith, and is the more deluded.

Following this point, there is a telling exchange between the AI 2401 Penitent Tangent and the High Prophet of Regret:

Regret: S-stay where you are! Nothing can be done until my sermon is complete!

Penitent Tangent: Not true. This installation has a successful utilization record of 1.2 trillion simulated and one actual. It is ready to fire on demand.

The Gravemind intercedes, making the statement:

Those who built this place knew what they wrought.

Do not mistake their intent. Or all shall perish as they did before.

During one of the penultimate cutscenes, Bungie drives their point home. We see this exchange between Thel ‘Vadamee and another AI, 343 Guilty Spark.

‘Vadamee: The sacred rings… what are they?

Guilty Spark: Weapons of last resort, built by the Forerunners to eliminate potential Flood hosts, thereby rendering the parasite harmless.

‘Vadamee: And those who made the rings? What happened to the Forerunners?

Guilty Spark: After exhausting every other strategic option, my creators activated the rings. They, and all additional sentient life in three radii of the galactic center, died… as planned.

As it has been noted above, critique of religion is not by any means relegated just to pandemic and apocalyptic literature. An overarching theme to Halo 2 is, in fact, the search for truth in a religion based on lies. Similarly, much of pandemic and apocalyptic literature commentary on religion is in that vein. While not outright defining the religion in those novels as being based on lies, it is made known that religion, or some sort of divine punishment, has nothing to do with the event(s) at hand.

Wells, in War of the Worlds, makes the connection of religion and fear in times of catastrophe very clearly. First, in “Book One: The Coming of the Martians, Chapter 13: How I Fell in With The Curate”. The narrator describes the curate with, “His face was fair weakness, his chin retreated, and his hair lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his low forehead; his eyes were rather large, pale blue, and blankly staring.” (p. 50.) Their exchange, shortly thereafter, details Wells’ criticism.

I began to explain my view of our position. He listened at first, but as I went on the interest dawning in his eyes gave place to their former stare, and his regard wandered from me.

“This must be the beginning of the end,” he said, interrupting me. “The end! The great and terrible day of the Lord! When men shall call upon the mountains and the rocks to fall upon them and hide them—hide them from the face of Him that sitteth upon the throne!”

I began to understand the position. I ceased my laboured reasoning, struggled to my feet, and, standing over him, laid my hand on his shoulder.

“Be a man!” said I. “You are scared out of your wits! What good is religion if it collapses under calamity? Think of what earthquakes and floods, wars and volcanoes, have done before to men! Did you think God had exempted Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent.” (p. 51, Tribeca Books edition.)

In “Book Two: The Earth Under the Martians”, the narrator details how it is the curate’s fanaticism that becomes his undoing and that, “[s]lowly I began to realise the complete overthrow of his intelligence, to perceive that my sole companion in this close and sickly darkness was a man insane.” (p. 102-103.) The curate’s fanaticism is made clear by the contents of “his noisy babbling to himself.”

“It is just, O God!” he would say, over and over again. “It is just. On me and mine be the punishment laid. We have sinned, we have fallen short. There was poverty, sorrow; the poor were trodden in the dust, and I should have stood up, though I died for it, and called upon them to repent—repent! … Oppressors of the poor and needy…! The wine press of God!”

[…]

He talked with his voice rising slowly, through the greater part of the eighth and ninth days—threats, entreaties, mingled with a torrent of half-sane and always frothy repentance for his vacant sham of God’s service, such as made me pity him. Then he slept awhile, and began again with renewed strength, so loudly I must needs make him desist.

“Be still!” I implored.

He rose to his knees, for he had been sitting in the darkness near the copper.

“I have been still too long,” he said, in a tone that must have reached the pit, “and now I must bear my witness. Woe unto this unfaithful city! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! To the inhabitants of the earth by reason of the other voices of the trumpet----”

“Shut up!” I said, rising to my feet, and in a terror lest the Martians should hear us. “For God’s sake----”

“Nay,” shouted the curate, at the top of his voice, standing likewise and extending his arms. “Speak! The word of the Lord is upon me!”

In three strides he was at the door leading into the kitchen.

“I must bear my witness! I go! It has already been too long delayed.”

[…]

Then a heavy body—I knew too well what—was dragged across the floor of the kitchen towards the opening. Irresistibly attracted, I crept to the door and peeped into the kitchen. In the triangle of bright outer sunlight I saw the Martian, in its Briareus of a handlingmachine, scrutinizing the curate’s head. (p. 103-104.)

Camus takes a much less derogatory view of a cleric than Wells. While Father Paneloux incites some panic among the populace with his sermons during the Week of Prayer, unlike the Curate, he is portrayed as a benign, kind hearted, sensitive figure. Dr. Rieux writes of Father Paneloux’s sermon:

“My brothers,” he cried, “that fatal hunt is up, and harrying our streets today. See him there, that angel of pestilence, comely as Lucifer, shining like Evil’s very self! He is hovering above your roofs with his great spear in his right hand, poised to strike, while his left hand is stretched towards one of other of your houses. Maybe at this very moment his finger is pointing to your door, the red spear crashing on its panels, and even now the plague is entering your home and settling down in your bedroom to await your return. Patient and watchful, ineluctable as the order of the scheme of things, it bides its time. No earthly power, nay, not even—mark me well—the vaunted might of human science can avail you to avert that hand once it is stretched toward you. And winnowed like corn on the blood-stained threshing-floor of suffering, you will be cast away with the chaff.” (p. 96-97.)

This passage is bears a striking resemblance to the description John of Patmos gives for the fourth horseman; widely regarded as symbolizing plague as the rider’s name Thánatos is a form of the Greek word for plague, thanátōi. Though not mentioned by John of Patmos, artistic depictions of Thánatos frequently show him holding a spear or scythe characteristic of the Grim Reaper.

However, unlike the Curate, who’s fanaticism comorbid with fear directly led to his demise, Father Paneloux makes clear to the populace of Oran that he is not trying to strike fear into them, but rather give a message of “consolation.”

“ ... Much of it is alien to our more enlightened spirits, and yet it gives us a glimpse of that radiant eternal light which glows, a small still flame, in the dark core of human suffering. And this light, too, illuminates the shadowed paths that lead towards deliverance. It reveals the will of God in action, unfailingly transforming evil into good. And once again today it is leading us through the dark valley of fears and groans towards the holy silence, the wellspring of all life. This, my friends, is the vast consolation I would hold out to you, so that when you leave this house of God you will carry away with you not only words of wrath, but a message, too, of comfort for your hearts.” (p. 98-99.)

In further contrast to Wells’ harsh depiction of the Curate, Dr. Rieux writes the parting words of Father Paneloux’s sermon.

Never more intensely than today had he, Father Paneloux, felt the immanence of divine succor and Christian hope granted to all alike. He hoped against hope that, despite all the horrors of these dark days, despite the groans of men and women in agony, our fellow citizens would offer up to heaven that one prayer which is truly Christian, a prayer of love. And God would see to the rest.

Despite the fear Father Paneloux incites, he is nonetheless treated as a kind, ‘truly Christian’ figure. Moreover, the message he attempts to spread is that of consolation, hope, and insistence that this plague is evidence of God “unfailingly transforming evil into good.”

While religion has been regularly critiqued across all genres of literature, its presence is most notable in pandemic and apocalyptic literature. Religion is regarded in various ways, Halo 2 presents both a critique of organized religion and the dangers of blind faith. Leckie points of the tendency for things to be deemed ‘up to God’ and practitioners not taking personal responsibility. Wells offers a much darker critique, with the curate’s religion comorbid with fear being what leads to his death. Finally, Cumas portrays religion as being well-meaning but still causing panic and fear. The latter two of which show how religion persists in times of pandemic or catastrophe and typically intermingles itself with fear to create claims of current events being evident of the End of Days.