2030,Apocalypse today and the role of the sociology of religions

Abstract

We live in an Apocalyptic Era, in frustrated disappointed and enraged societies that have lost the future. Eternity has become an outcast and salvation in the afterlife is no longer a leading quest. In short, we live the end of the centrality of the concept of theodicy. The conjunction of the crisis in religious socialization mechanisms and those of secular socialization is what largely generates this widespread disappointment. The idea of Apocalypse, historically related to condemnations and Manichean visions, has returned with force to our contemporary societies through new forms of exclusion and discrimination in populist regimes relating to popular religiosity. The role of sociology of religions is to assess the current social disappointment and demystification of the future and at the same time distinguish and warn about the political processes of reproduction and representation of contemporary apocalypses.

Introduction. Apocalyptic times

We are living in an apocalyptic era. The end of the world, or at least as we know it, is being announced almost daily: famine, wars, violence, pandemics, the temporary victory of evil, until the day of judgment when perhaps only a few will be saved. Today’s ‘revelations’ have various sources; there are some based on science, while others are rooted in biases and condemnations. Some prophets today base their claims not on dreams and premonitions, but on scientific data (and apparently, in some cases, quite precise and solid data) that predicts global catastrophes. Are they apocalyptic messages or reliable warnings? Should we treat them as contemporary real menaces to our world or can we make a distinction between moral judgments (translated into political polarizing strategies) and logical readings of our future? Maybe contextualizing (historically and in contemporary politics) one and the other we can find the nature of both messages and the reason of their rapid expansion.

In fact, we have clear dates for some imminent dangers to the human species. On 7 November 2022, during the United Nations Conference on Climate Change held in Egypt, Secretary-General Antonio Guterres declared, ‘We are on a highway to climate hell with our foot on the accelerator. And our planet is quickly approaching a deep point that will make climate chaos irreversible. We are dangerously close to the point of no return’ (The Secretary-General of the United Nations, 2022). The date of this irreversible point, which would be the beginning of the end in the history of our species, is clearly established: 2030. Climate change is not our only problem. According to the Pentagon’s annual report to Congress in 2021, China could have 1000 nuclear warheads ready by (again) 2030. It does not matter that the United States has 5500 of these warheads or Russia has 6255 (Cooper, 2021). War, in any case, is present, even in Europe, with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and although remote and unlikely, we do not know when it may escalate into a major conflict, even a nuclear one. If we talk about the prospects of world hunger, mass migrations, growing inequalities, injustice, attacks against minorities, violence from drug cartels, and systematic human rights violations worldwide, certainly this apocalyptic vision, we could say, prevails in our daily lives. We can add, of course, the COVID pandemic, which has been deadly enough to paralyze global economies and has shown humanity the not-so-distant possibility of an even more dangerous and deadly pandemic. Other menaces, even more threatening, are already announced, such as avian influenza (notably the H5N1 strain). To these visions of the end of the world, other more recent components are added, but with equally catastrophic possibilities. Let us consider, for example, the global fears triggered by the ‘unexpected’ arrival of Artificial Intelligence, for which a halt is already necessary, according to some experts in the field. In short, the horsemen of the apocalypse are galloping strongly in our time. They are perhaps propelled (as news) by the expansion of the globalization of social networks. I mean that if a train derails in India, a river overflows in Germany, a volcano erupts in Indonesia, or a forest catches fire in California, we all automatically know about it. At the same time, we still do not know all the daily ailments and injustices experienced in so many regions of the world. In any case, the end of the world, I insist, at least as we know it, is approaching, and the end of our species could be a component of it.

One can agree or disagree with this apocalyptic vision, but the question remains: what role does religion, or religions, currently play in these worldviews? And what is the role of the sociology of religions in the face of what is happening in the world, apocalyptic or not? Do we have something to say about it? Can we examine contemporary societies and diagnose (let alone predict) a given situation?

I want to clarify from the outset that this is not simply about secularizing the apocalypse, although there are many attempts to do so. Nor is it about being for or against these new ‘revelations’ of today, as the foundations of the old and contemporary ones are, in principle, different. However, upon closer examination, there are also points of commonality. The aim is therefore to understand what is old and what is new in a situation that seems to hark back to one of our most ancient concerns as human beings. In other words, how can we confront uncertainty, anxiety, and the intolerant restlessness that is a shared trait of our societies, whether economically developed or not? What can we do to ‘save ourselves’? What must we do to transcend? Are we perhaps in a new era of critical change, akin to the Renaissance? A sort of new moment of discussion between revealed truth and problematic truth? (Lafaye, 2022: 25–33).

Eternity; The great outcast

Before delving into the sociology of religions, perhaps it is necessary to engage in general sociology, with a little help from philosophy. I will focus on what some sociologists and philosophers have reflected upon regarding the current state of our societies, for at least the past 20 years. According to Zygmunt Bauman, for instance, a modern society, which he calls ‘liquid’, is ‘one in which the conditions under which its members will have to change occur in less time than it takes for modes of action to solidify into habits and routines’ (Bauman, 2013: 7). Thus, ‘Liquid life, just like liquid modern society, cannot hold its shape or stay on the right track for long’ (Bauman, 2013: 7). For this reason, ‘liquid life is precarious, experienced under conditions of constant uncertainty’ (Bauman, 2013: 8). We ‘emphasize the need to forget, to discard, to let go, and to replace’ (Bauman, 2013: 10). In this society, ‘nothing can claim exemption from the universal rule of disposability, and nothing can be allowed to last longer than it should’ (Bauman, 2013: 10). Clearly, we do not have to buy into this interpretation of our reality (although the success of Bauman indicates that his explanation resonates in many places), but we can reflect on what it would eventually mean (following the reasoning) in terms of, so to speak, ‘liquid beliefs’. Bauman himself makes a few suggestions, although he is not really interested, more than marginally, in the religious theme. For example, he emphasizes that in a liquid society, like ours is supposed to be, it is speed and not duration that matters: ‘With the right speed, one can consume all of eternity within the continuous present of earthly life. That is at least what the spiritual lumpenproletariat tries and hopes to achieve’ (Bauman, 2013: 15). And he also tells us that in a previous world, where

time passed much more slowly, and where it resisted acceleration, people tried to bridge the cruel gap between the poverty of a brief and mortal life and the infinite richness of the eternal universe through hopes of reincarnation or resurrection. In our world, which knows or admits no limit to acceleration, one can dispense with such hopes. (Bauman, 2013: 17)

That is why he states that in this situation, ‘Eternity is obviously the outcast’ (Bauman, 2013: 17). We would witness a society that would emerge as ‘the militant against sacrificing present satisfactions in the name of distant goals, and thereby against accepting prolonged suffering in the name of salvation in the afterlife’ (Bauman, 2013: 76). In short, the end of the centrality of the concept of theodicy, which according to Weber was inherent in salvation religions, is evident. Have we truly moved beyond the axial age of such religions? Furthermore, if we cannot maintain the norm and stay on the right trajectory for long, if we live in conditions of constant uncertainty, if we emphasize the need to forget, suppress, let go, and replace, if everything is disposable and nothing is allowed to endure longer than it should, what role can religion play in these circumstances? Indeed, religions have become increasingly disposable, commodified in a sense, interchangeable and obsolete. The old description of religious bricolage, as presented by someone like Danièle Hervieu-Léger half a century ago, already showed the beginning of this phenomenon (Hervieu-Léger, 1993, 1999; Hervieu-Léger and Champion, 1986).

In the same vein, other intellectuals have reflected on the current state of our society. Gilles Lipovetsky, for example (who is not a pessimist), has contemplated this. Quoting Ruth Benedict, he speaks of a shift from cultures of shame and guilt to what he calls ‘cultures of anxiety, frustration, and disappointment’ (Lipovetsky, 2006: 20). According to him, beyond recent situations such as financial crises or the effects of neoliberalism, the modern era has also contributed to ‘increase the number of embittered discontent individuals due to a reality that fails to align with democratic ideals’ (Lipovetsky, 2006: 19). ‘In our era, bitterness, disappointment, disillusionment, and anxiety thrive’ (Lipovetsky, 2006: 27). We would be facing a ‘society of disappointment’, which would explain many recent phenomena. The question is who or what are we disappointed with? God? Churches? Men? Political systems? Everything?

The sociology of religion has long remarked the point:

Although faith in God does not disappear, everything indicates that religion no longer has the same consoling power... Faced with disappointment, the individual no longer has ready-made religious habits or beliefs capable of soothing their sorrows and resentments... To combat disappointment, traditional societies had religious consolation; hypermodern societies use the constant encouragement to consume, enjoy, and change as a firewall. (Lipovetsky, 2006: 22–33)

However, when specifically asked about the resurgence of the religious, Lipovetsky states,

The resurgence of the religious is based more on the expiration of grand universalist utopias, the decline of faith in major ‘historical’ utopias, and the dissolution of communal structures... The renewal of faith is less about commercial hypertrophy and more about a lack of collective meaning and community integration. (Lipovetsky, 2006: 53–54)

All of this, we sociologists of religion have known for a long time. There is a crisis of ‘religious socialization mechanisms in hyper-individualistic societies’ (Lipovetsky, 2006: 22). And regarding the increase in disillusionment, he argued,

In the secular history of modernity, the current moment is characterized by the loss or demystification of the future... Science and technology have nurtured the hope of irreversible and continuous progress: today, they generate doubt and concern in the face of the destruction of major ecological balances and the threats posed by transgenic industries. (Lipovetsky, 2006: 26–28)

These concerns are not new. As many authors have noted, Auschwitz and Hiroshima, among other historical nightmares, cast significant doubts on the hope of reason and techno-scientific progress.

The conjunction of the crisis in religious socialization mechanisms and those of secular socialization is what largely generates this widespread disappointment. Apocalyptic visions, which have indeed accompanied us throughout history, feed on this conjunction of betrayed expectations. Over 40 years ago, Hervieu-Léger, in defining secularization, emphasized this point:

Secularization is not the disappearance of religion confronted with rationality; it is the process of the ongoing reorganization of the role of religion in a society that is structurally incapable of fulfilling the expectations it must arouse to exist as such. The analysis of this reorganization process could constitute the main task of a sociology of belief that, for our modern societies, remains largely unfinished. (Hervieu-Léger and Champion, 1986: 227)

I do not intend to delve into the vast subject of secularization here. However, I do recognize the central idea that the sociology of religions has been discussing for decades: the increasing inability of religions and various beliefs to ‘fulfill the expectations’ of humanity. Religions and philosophical beliefs (such as the belief in progress) can no longer play the role they once had. This may be related to what is happening in society at large. Lipovetsky, citing Albert Hirschman in his book Private Happiness, Public Action, states that according to the above mentioned author,

non-durable goods (typified by food) hold a privileged place in our societies as they are capable of providing us with intense and constantly renewed pleasures, proof of disappointment. On the other hand, durable goods systematically disappoint consumers because they only provide pleasure at the time of purchase or during their initial use (refrigerator, car, electric razor). (Lipovetsky, 2006: 45)

In this line of thinking, we have traditionally considered religion to be a durable good. However, since eternity has ceased to be part of our hope, it no longer seems to hold the same appeal as before or meet the expectations of the past. Religion becomes a substitutable good, as do the hopes and expectations it elicits. The speed of change we now see in the religious market likely plays a role in this, but in reaction, there is also a search for theoretically more enduring identities (and in this sense, linked to religion) that give meaning to our personal lives. Eternity may have become a pariah in our society, but this very fact has triggered a search for other forms (secular or spiritual) of transcendence or, at the very least, happiness.

The apocalypse and its role

What role do contemporary revelations or apocalypses play in all of this? Perhaps a historical reminder will help us better understand those of our time. It is important to distinguish between the productions and representations of the apocalypse that have evolved over the centuries, and their interpretations, which have also become diversified.

We all know that the apocalypses of the Hebrew Bible (such as those of Daniel or John) are linked to the persecutions suffered by the people of Israel or the disciples of Christ in the Babylonian (Chaldean) or Roman empires. The texts of these revelations are a way of dividing the chosen ones, the saints, who will attain salvation, from all those who do not accept this revelation. It is, so to speak, a way of engaging in theodicy, but also of moral politics, where the chosen ones can condemn those who have not accepted the truth.

Specialists of the late Middle Ages and early modern period have explored some of these aspects. For instance, a young Argentine historian, Constanza Cavallero has proposed an intriguing interpretation of the representations of the Antichrist and the end of the world in Castile (Spain) during the 15th century, as seen in the work of Franciscan friar Alonso de Espina, who served as the confessor to King Henry IV of Castile and authored the book Fortalitium fidei (Cavallero, 2016, 2023a: 146). According to Cavallero, ‘the Christian apocalyptic tradition adapted to the interests of the most intolerant figures of the time and their fervent anti-Jewish and anti-converted activism’ (Cavallero, 2016: 146). In her studies of the early modern period (15th–18th centuries), she similarly observes ‘a close link between apocalypticism and religious polemics, and between apocalypticism and the construction of social otherness’ (Cavallero, 2016: 146). The author also delved into the work of Luis de Maluenda, ‘a practicing Franciscan of Jewish origin and a fervent defender of the Catholic faith during a time of great upheaval for Christianity due to the growth and expansion of the Reformed Churches’ (Cavallero, 2016: 146). What interests us in this study is that the discourse of the Franciscan ‘appears closely articulated with his hostility towards Lutheranism and Alumbradismo [a highly internalized Christian sect and later with Protestant influence] and even his defense of the integration of converted Jews into the Hispanic society of the time’ (Cavallero, 2016, 2023a: 146). The author adds that ‘Maluenda uses the apocalyptic imaginary to criticize the social hierarchy, both ecclesiastical and secular, and to present strong egalitarian demands in social terms’ (Cavallero, 2016: 146; Cavallero, 2023a). In short, the various interpretations of the apocalypse have led, on more than one occasion, to the pursuit of religious purification, but also to the condemnation of different groups, heretics, Jews, Muslims, converts, and others:

Throughout ancient times and persistently, it was primarily the Jews who seemed to be repeatedly identified as progenitors and followers of the Antichrist. There were also early associations between the Antichrist and Muhammad, as well as between the ‘filius perditionis’ and heretical deviations. (Cavallero, 2023b)

Even more interestingly, many apocalyptic texts sought not only to condemn but also to discourage any form of tolerance toward believers of other religions. For instance, Cavallero (2023b) cites a text by Juan de Unay from 1520:

This writing on the end of the world not only admonished Jews and those who consented to ‘the cursed renegade dogs of the Jews’ having ‘synagogues in which demons gather at all times’, but also those who publicly consented ‘in their lands and dominions to the wickedness of Muhammad’ and allowed temples to be revered as ‘the devil Muhammad’.

Of course, the texts where Martin Luther was also designated as the Antichrist, and the texts and images from Protestants accusing the Roman pontiff of being one, are well-known. Cavallero (2023b) rightly emphasizes, ‘The pedagogical value of apocalyptic discourses, their role as a spur for the moral reform of the faithful, has been undeniable throughout the history of Christian societies’.

Therefore, one may wonder if in our time the apocalyptic discourse serves similar purposes and if the apocalyptic sentiment among the population has contributed to modern forms of exclusion and the polarizing tendencies in society, particularly in the political sphere. In other words, as mentioned earlier, in this conjunction of the crisis of religious socialization and secular socialization, the ‘enemies of faith’ are now those who refuse to accept the new path of salvation proclaimed by contemporary prophets. In this sense, it is evident that contemporary paths of faith in new condemnations and prophecies bear a clear ideological bias and political influence. By examining some of the new beliefs, one can understand their ideological slant and the convergence of interests that ensue.

Sociology of beliefs: Death to religion, long live faith!

Perhaps what sociologists of religion should do is study less about religion and focus a bit more on beliefs, especially faith. Since we have not been able to agree on the definition of religion and whether it exists or is disappearing, perhaps (and I emphasize this) what we should do is concentrate on two concepts that are easier to grasp: beliefs and faith. This way, we do not need to define something as religious or secular. What we need to understand is what people believe in and have faith in. These are two similar concepts, but they refer to different issues. Faith opens the door to interpretations that go beyond what we typically define as religious and introduces us to the realm of beliefs and loyalties in other spheres such as the political or even the economic one. Faith, as we know, comes from the Latin word ‘fides’, which means ‘to believe in something without needing it to be confirmed by one’s own experience or reason’, or ‘to believe in the goodness, worth, value, truth, or effectiveness of something or someone’ (Moliner, 2007). We can do away with belief systems or the institutions that house those beliefs. In other words, it is more a matter of perception. What do we believe? In fact, many Italian colleagues have already taken this path, focusing more on faith than on religion (Cipriani, 2020; Garelli, 2020).

In this regard, let us revisit the theme of the conjunction of the crisis in religious socialization devices and secular socialization devices. Are we perhaps facing the non-fulfilled expectations of believers? But does that mean that we have a faithless world? Or, has our faith simply changed now? If we examine a phenomenon like QAnon, for example, one might conclude that it is a group of crazy people who believe in absurd things, but the reality is more complex. The mechanisms of belief are socially and politically articulated. For those who are unfamiliar with this conspiracy theory, its central idea is that there are progressive or simply liberal figures (such as the Clintons, George Soros, and Barack Obama) associated with the Democratic Party, Hollywood, and certain foreign powers, who have established a network of child sex trafficking through tunnels under Manhattan, connecting, for instance, US Navy ships to certain embassies and the Clinton Foundation. QAnon followers are convinced that this alleged pedophile network controls the world through politicians and the media. It is not necessary to closely examine the followers of this conspiracy theory, which is followed by hundreds of thousands of people worldwide, to understand that there are political constructions behind it. The hero who would save the world from this conspiracy is none other than Donald Trump, seen by many as an imperfect Christian but at the same time a messiah sent by God (Davis, 2020; Nguyen, 2020; Stanley-Becker, 2020). QAnon indeed incorporates millenarian and apocalyptic elements. For instance, its followers refer to an imminent event called ‘the storm’, during which ‘all enemies of Trump... would be arrested and executed as pedophile child-eating murderers’ (Rozsa, 2019). According to this thesis, Hillary Clinton and other personalities would be sent to Guantanamo, where they would be tried by military tribunals. All of this clearly refers to a sort of final judgment, preceding the beginning of a new era. Followers of this theory also talk about the ‘Great Awakening’, which encompasses both the ‘Make America Great Again’ slogan and the religious revivals of the 19th century. According to those who have investigated this phenomenon, based on videos from the movement, the battle between Trump and his enemies is described as of ‘biblical proportions’, a ‘fight for the world, of good versus evil’ (Ross, 2021; Vrzal, 2020). Some QAnon supporters claim that the upcoming judgment will be a reversed rapture: not only the end of the world as we know it, but a fresh start with salvation and earthly utopia for the survivors (Ross, 2019). How can we explain this new belief and its rapid popularity in the contemporary world? Some specialists refer to the classic essay by Richard J. Hofstadter, ‘The Paranoid Style in American Politics’, from 1964, to understand what is happening in the politics of the United States today. Hofstadter referred to the ‘style’ more as ‘a way in which ideas are believed’ rather than the truth or falsity of their content (Hofstadter, 1964). Significantly, this author began his essay with the following sentence, which seems to reflect our current socio-political environment: ‘American politics has often been an arena for angry minds’ (Hofstadter, 1964). Relating various forms of paranoid intolerance in the history of the United States, targeting Freemasons, Jesuits and Catholics, and the communist threat, Hofstadter, drawing on the work of historian Norman Cohn, links a tradition from medieval Europe with a series of characteristics (anxieties and fantasies) of this kind of followers:

The megalomaniacal vision of oneself as the chosen one, entirely good, abominably persecuted, but assured of ultimate triumph; the attribution of gigantic and demonic powers to the adversary; the refusal to accept the inevitable limitations and imperfections of human existence, such as transience, dissent, conflict, and intellectual or moral fallibility; the obsession with infallible prophecies... systematic, often crude, and frequently grotesque interpretations. (Hofstadter, 1964)

‘At the same time, the enemy is perfectly delineated: a perfect model of wickedness, a kind of amoral superman – sinister, omnipresent, powerful, cruel, sensual, and fond of luxury’ (Hofstadter, 1964). Very frequently, indeed, this enemy is credited with ‘possessing a particularly effective source of power: controlling the press; having unlimited funds; possessing a new secret for influencing the mind (brainwashing); having a specific technique of seduction’ (Hofstadter, 1964). But even more specifically, in relation to our central theme,

The paranoid spokesperson views the destiny of the conspiracy in apocalyptic terms – he deals with the birth and death of entire worlds, absolute political orders, complete systems of human values. He always erects the barricades of civilization. He constantly lives on the brink. Like religious millenarians, he expresses the anxiety of those who live in the last days and is sometimes willing to set a date for the apocalypse. (Hofstadter, 1964)

The author emphasizes that it is important to highlight that within these phenomena of intolerance, there exists an ‘apocalyptic and absolutist framework in which hostility towards the other is commonly expressed’ (Hofstadter, 1964). Hofstadter’s essay (like Cavallero’s work) allows us to once again emphasize that the production and interpretation of apocalypses do not occur in a vacuum but are immersed in a particular worldview characterized by a moralistic politics of condemning the enemy. Typically, it is the ‘other’, the diverse, and the minority groups who are accused of being the cause of social decay or the manipulators attempting to control or already controlling the world.

In this way, the phenomenon of QAnon and other contemporary forms of apocalyptic discourse transcends specific regions and spreads worldwide. It is not merely a manifestation of local politics, nor is it entirely explained by the paranoid tendencies of a particular society. It is a way of doing politics, one that is deeply rooted in history, combined with a moral evaluation (whether religious or not) of society. In essence, it is a moralistic politics that inevitably becomes moralizing in nature.

Popular religiosity and political populism

I come back here to my specific research case, concerning Latin America, a region that has become fertile ground for messianic movements and has historically experienced a good number of apocalyptic movements. The common feature of the apocalyptic movements we have analyzed previously is manifested in Latin America through various forms of populist politics. In fact, many of the characteristics of the so-called ‘paranoid style’ groups in North America, as described by Hofstadter, could easily be applied to Latin American populism. Federico Finchelstein, an author who has studied the transition between fascism and populism, even argues that one of the common traits of populisms is ‘an apocalyptic vision of politics’ and ‘a political theology founded by a messianic and charismatic leader of the people’ (Finchelstein, 2017: 103–125). In any case, there is clearly a close connection between populism and popular religiosity (Blancarte, 2023).

This leads us to the notion of ‘the people’, which is polysemous and, for the same reason, difficult to analyze (Laclau, 2005). However, it should be noted that in countries where half of the population lives below the poverty line, the correlation between this segment of the population and a specific religiosity (referred to as popular) provides important insights into the role of contemporary politico-religious messianisms (González, 2002; Gumucio, 2021: 257–272; Martin, 2021: 289–301).

It is important to remember that populism is essentially a form of ‘moral politics’. Since it tends to divide the world into two camps (the virtuous people who must be protected and led by an honest leader, against a corrupt and discriminatory elite), there is no room for intermediate positions. One is either on the side of good or on the side of evil (Anselmi, 2018; Boel et al., 2017; Mudde and Rovira, 2012; Mudde and Rovira, 2017). Therefore, populism is a form of moral politics, and populist politicians are often moralistic in nature (Blancarte, 2023: 19–21). Due to this reason, they tend to resort to religious formulas while keeping a distance from traditional ecclesiastical institutions. Nationalistic, anti-colonial, and alter-globalization political discourse becomes openly nativist, with a claim to indigenous cultures and religions (pre-Iberian in the case of Latin America), and sometimes even mixed with New Age elements or openly esoteric beliefs (Blancarte, 2022). This is a social phenomenon where the mechanisms of faith serve political ideologies.

Regarding this broad subject, I would like to highlight two aspects. The first is that within populism, there is a personalistic conception of power, the use of religious symbols to legitimize their authority, a tense and ambiguous relationship with established religions, and a diffuse personal religious bricolage. Simultaneously, populist leaders share the idea of a moral mission:

They see themselves as fighters against corruption and immorality of the elites or the establishment, while simultaneously sacralizing ‘the people’ whom they claim to represent. In doing so, they paved the way for their own sacralization through the cult of the leader. This connection between leaders and popular religiosity (even though the personal beliefs of the leaders may range from atheism to agnosticism to profound religious devotion) is crucial to understanding their bond with the masses, at least in Latin America. (Blancarte, 2023: 31)

The second element I would like to emphasize is that since populist governments divide the world into two, any form of criticism of their governance is seen as a threat to the regime. The result is a frontal battle against any potential counterweights, whether they come from the media, the legislative or judicial branches, private entrepreneurs, religious groups, unions, or civil organizations. Thus, a form of increasingly authoritarian and intolerant governance is generated, where any opposition is suppressed. Similar to Hofstadter’s description of the ‘paranoid style’, forms of exclusion and persecution arise, turning dissenters into enemies of the regime and ultimately eroding democracy and minority rights.

What are the connections that explain this affinity between popular religiosity and political populism? As I have argued elsewhere, popular religiosity has been explained through various concepts that revolve around salvation goods, the diverse forms of mediating these goods, control over rituals and sacraments, as well as struggles over different modes of belief. I would like to emphasize here popular religiosity as a subordinate religiosity that has resisted institutional controls for centuries. In this sense, one could hypothesize that the success of populism in Latin America is explained, at least partially, by the rejection of an elite or ‘establishment’ both in the religious and political spheres. This helps us understand the return of traditionalist, bucolic, anti-modern, and nostalgic positions typical of populism, rooted in a form of religiosity that prioritizes hope over outcomes, emotion over reason, and above all, the demands of the people over those of the elites and enlightened knowledge. The hope of religious salvation or temporal redemption prevails over earthly change, regardless of material evidence or elements that could validate political expectations.

Another aspect that allows us to understand the close link between political populism and popular religiosity is the idea of ‘protection’ offered both by saints and virgins in this form of religiosity, as well as that which clientelist political mechanisms establish through social programs linked to political figures or parties. In none of these cases is the efficiency of these mechanisms really put to the test. They may not offer strong or even marginal results. But both the hope and the idea of ‘protection’ achieve their purpose, beyond the actual results. The feeling and impression of well-being go beyond verification. The generation of a ‘secular mysticism’ around political projects expressed in a prophetic or openly messianic manner is therefore not surprising. The apocalyptic or messianic hope for redemption and salvation takes precedence over the promise of earthly change, beyond material evidence or proof that validates political expectations. Hope, always renewable, centered on the promise of change around a charismatic figure, often constitutes the main substance upon which the antidote to the uncertainty of the future is built.

Conclusion

We live in an enraged world. People are angry, bitter, anxious, discontented, and disappointed. We exist in constant uncertainty and precariousness, both materially and spiritually, in our lives that Bauman referred to as ‘liquid’. Nothing lasts long, and everything is disposable, including religion, which is no longer a lasting good as it used to be. It has caused consumer disillusionment. Since speed is what matters, not duration, we do not even have time to reflect or wait. Eternity is too distant. It is no longer what it used to be. Hope in the afterlife transforms into the anticipation of the imminent. But in the immediate, we only experience bad omens and inherent uncertainties. Theodicy is dead.

The conjunction of the crisis in religious socialization mechanisms and those of secular socialization is what largely generates this widespread disappointment. People are disillusioned and no longer believe in divine justice as they did before. This is what Lipovetsky calls ‘the demystification of the future’. Religions have become disposable consumer goods, like religious ‘bricolage’ and à la carte religions, as Hervieu-Léger predicted. But if we have moved beyond the era of salvific religions, hope must be focused on the present rather than the future. The apocalyptic visions, which have indeed accompanied us throughout history, thrive on this conjunction of betrayed expectations. Therefore, contemporary apocalypse looms, accompanied by its faithful companion, messianism. But we should be able to distinguish between these moralistic omens and more reliable data about our near future.

One thing that sociology can help us understand is that the apocalypse does not emerge out of nowhere. We can demonstrate the various forms of production and representation of this social phenomenon. And we know that there are constant elements in the production of apocalypses: it is a way of dividing the chosen ones (the saints) from the rest of the population. The key lies in accepting or rejecting the revelation. Specialists of the Middle Ages, like Cavallero, clearly demonstrate that ‘Christian apocalyptic tradition adjusted to the interests of the most intolerant figures of the time and their vehement anti-Jewish and anti-convert militancy’ and that there is ‘a close connection between the apocalyptic, religious polemics, and the construction of social otherness’ (Cavallero, 2023a). The various productions of the apocalypse have led to the search for internal purification among believers, but also the condemnation of those who are different.

We may wonder if in our time the apocalyptic discourse serves the same purposes and if the apocalyptic sentiment of the population has contributed to modern forms of exclusion and the polarizing tendencies of society. Contemporary prophets seek scapegoats for the expiation of the people’s sins. This is not a new religion, not even a secular one. However, beliefs of all kinds and faith in a project or a certain political figure abound. That is why we should focus less on the concept of religion and more on notions like belief and faith. Faith goes beyond the religious realm because it can be applied to economic or political events without necessarily categorizing them as religious. Furthermore, a phenomenon like QAnon shows us that mechanisms of belief do not emerge out of thin air but are socially and politically articulated. They develop within a specific context that allows followers to believe or have faith in something or someone. In contemporary politics, especially in the realm of populism, the adversary is seen as the epitome of evil, as politicians depict reality in terms of conspiracy and apocalypse. This moralistic politics of condemning the enemy is a common trait among all forms of populism, which originated from fascism but have evolved, by renouncing violence and playing within the framework of democracy.

One of the intriguing aspects of this populist political expression is the close connection it establishes with popular religiosity, often giving rise to apocalyptic visions of politics and political theologies centered around messianic leaders. The sanctification of the people also entails the sanctification of the leader. Populism, as a moralistic politics, tends to demonize its opponents and any potential counterbalance or opposition to its power. As a result, authoritarianism and intolerance become common, and new forms of exclusion and persecution, based on messianic visions, emerge. The people support these endeavors because the earthly apocalyptic or messianic hope for redemption and salvation, plus the promise of protection given, outweighs the promise of change in the hereafter.

This populism takes root in the Latin American tradition but has also found its own ambiguous forms in relation to religion, firmly rooted in new forms of faith and belief in other regions of the world. The question is whether these apocalyptic and messianic forms, which promote intolerance and persecution, will be able to permeate enduringly within diverse political and religious traditions.

Furthermore, it is evident that not every warning about a possible future is necessarily an apocalyptic message. We should hope that we are capable of distinguish between scientifically grounded warnings (such as those from the Secretary-General of the United Nations) and the messianic-apocalyptic messages coming from religious or political leaders, which often involve condemnations and assignation of blame. Apocalyptic visions, which eventually divide societies in two parts (the condemned and the chosen ones), are indeed the consequence of enraged and frustrated societies. Other omens based on scientific data could be perceived as similar, although they are not, because they lack a moral Manichean vision of the world. At the end, in this case of apocalyptic messages and scientific forecasts, the role of the sociology of religion is simply to assess the current social disappointment and demystification of the future and at the same time distinguish and warn about the political processes of reproduction and representation of contemporary apocalypses, and the dangers they potentially entail.