The Second Coming

Herb believed in the second coming of Jesus Christ. Had done all his life; at least, since he was old enough to know what the first coming was supposed to be. Furthermore, Herb was wedded to the idea that the second coming would happen during his lifetime. As such, like many people, Herb had what psychologists call a self-serving bias.

Most of us show this at some time or other. My favourite example of it is watching post match interviews with football managers. The manager of the winning team almost inevitably praises certain players, the team tactics and the skill of his side overall. The manager of the losing team cites refereeing errors, bad sportsmanship from the opposition and bad luck as the explanations for failure. It helps.

So Herb’s identity and self-esteem really rested on his conviction that not only would Jesus return to the Earth in human form (conveniently; he’d probably be captured and locked up in Area 51, forever covered up, if he came looking like an extra-terrestrial), the second coming would bring on the end of the world and the entry into heaven of all the chosen people. Herb strongly believed that God was and is just and merciful, yet he thought that you had to believe in him and follow certain doctrines and traditions to get into heaven. God, apparently, could not forgive the slight of not believing he was real.

To be fair to Herb, it would seem a little off if you were an omnipotent being, immanent in your creation, but some people didn’t even thing you were real. God is like a lion, Herb would tell people: not believing in lions doesn’t make it any less likely that they’ll end it for you given the chance. God’s chance to sort out the faithful and unfaithful would come after the second coming.

My father, who’s a doctor, once had a patient who genuinely believed he was Jesus. He said so to my dad, who thought they were having quite an ordinary sort of conversation up to that point. He said: ‘You do know I’m Jesus, don’t you?’ I’m pretty sure my dad did not say yes.

Herb had heard about people like that, but was satisfied that he had the powers of perception to tell a fake Jesus from the real one. A little bit more of that self-serving bias. Plus, the apocalypse didn’t follow that patient’s announcement, so there was the proof. Not that Herb ever met this poor patient.

Herb did meet a minister who preached that the second coming was guaranteed to happen in September of 2121. Helpfully, the minister and anyone who had heard him speak would be dead by them, so they couldn’t verify whether he was right in this or not. The prophecy had been made during a lecture, rather than a service, in a windowless hall more used to hosting Pakistani wedding receptions. Herb had left the room in an ill humour, allowing himself to ignore the compelling arguments made by the minister and thinking up reasons to discredit him – his trousers were a little too short, for instance. Here, Herb made use of a helpful reverse halo effect.

Since Herb lived in a tolerant, pluralist society, his views were rarely disparaged or condemned as dangerously derivative. Such a backlash was only permitted for religious views without the backing of a two–thousand year history and incomparable wealth. So, when Herb talked about the second coming in the tea room at the office, colleagues listened graciously and complimented him on the strength of his principles.

Now we join Herb at his annual review meeting with his manager, a man named Gary, filthy of mouth and sexual preferences, but in a modern, pluralist society, not to an unacceptable extent.

Gary worked hard to curb his prefixing for Herb’s sake, for although he was a flawed man, he was not high enough in the company to be a clinical psychopath.

‘Herb, would it be correct to say that you are quite fervent in your beliefs?’

‘Certainly, Gary. I’d be happy to explain them…’

Gary interrupted. ‘That’s ok thanks Herb. I just wonder…’ Delicacy wasn’t Gary’s strong suit; his wife had still not quite forgiven him for the clanger about her weight loss during his speech at their wedding. ‘I just wonder, not everyone wants to hear about Jesus during their tea break, Herb.’

‘Gary, I am trying to save people.’

‘Herb, how about you just stick to asking people if they’d like to know more… before you go on to tell them everything they can expect when the apocalypse comes?’

Gary kept using Herb’s name. Notice that he said it four times in the conversation already. This is something people do to persuade people and make them feel good. It acknowledges they exist, firstly, and shows that you know who they are, which is to show them respect. Oh yeah, kind of like the recognition that God seems to be after – according to his followers anyway. Who claim that no-one can know the mind of God. Never mind, I’m rambling now.

‘Fine,’ said Herb. ‘I’ll cool it.’

The problem for Herb was: cooling it at work meant that his own convictions weakened, because of course, when you speak to convert others, you continue to confirm your own perspective. In fact, an opinion on any topic, including things more and less frivolous than beliefs about the second coming, is usually made quite instinctively. It is afterwards that we come up with reasons for feeling that way, and make the dangerous assumption that the reasons came first and we are a logical rational computing machine when we need to be.

This went on for some months. Herb continued to go to church, but found that he thought about the second coming less and less.

What happened next was that Herb became one of the greatest fundraisers of all time. Specifically, he campaigned to raise huge sums for prostate cancer research. The reason for this was that Herb developed prostate cancer. One in eight men gets it, after all.

Herb was diagnosed and realised that he had less time left on Earth now, meaning that Jesus had to hurry up. Consequently, to increase his chance of surviving until the second coming, Herb quit his job and joined a cancer campaign group. He wrote a blog about his experience of prostate cancer symptoms, diagnosis, his prognosis and so on. He was droll yet redemptive in tone; the papers recommended him to their readers. Herb ran giving campaigns and improved public education about the disease. In short, he became one of the great and the good of his modern, pluralist society, where becoming a moral giant lay in being seen to do good things for other people. He was interviewed on daytime TV, where he came across as a beatific gem – an overnight national treasure. What an endorsement!

The hilarious contradiction, however, was that Herb was only in it for himself (‘self-serving’ seems an appropriate term once again). After his diagnosis, he began to panic more and more about the second coming. In spite of his confidence in his view that he would witness the second coming, there was unsanctioned doubt in Herb’s mind. This was his attempt to prolong his life; even though he had a guaranteed slot in paradise.

You see, the promise of heaven wasn’t enough for Herb; like anyone, he wanted to live here on Earth. For secretly, squashed into an almost forgotten nook of his brain, was the insidious notion that maybe, just perhaps, he was wrong about the whole thing. But of course, same as anyone, Herb had a whole arsenal of psychological tricks to protect him against such inconsistencies. Just like the Lord God, in whose image he was made, Herb needed verification for his beliefs, but, unlike God, Herb got it from within. God needed the validation from millions of believers, Herb did ok on his own. Thus, like all human beings, Herb was greater than God!