Apocalypse Now

Dallas, the state's mecca of materialism, is the global epicenter of doomsday theology? The end may be nearer than we think.

THE PUBLIC-RELATIONS FIRM THAT DALLAS recently hired to come up with a catchy new slogan for the city probably won’t pick “Athens of the Apocalypse.” Even so, the only thing that sets Dallas apart from other American cities similarly replete with designer museums, five-star restaurants, and edgy little theatrical troupes is its unique end-of-the-world industry.

The city’s eschatological infrastructure is perhaps most evident in its great faith factories, like the Prestonwood Baptist megachurch, in the northern suburb of Plano, where the authors of the best-selling Left Behind series, the Reverend Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, were recently taped by 60 Minutes II flogging their latest book beneath the live-action big screens in the arena-like sanctuary. But megachurches where millions anticipate the Rapture—the instant snatching-up of true believers to meet Jesus in the air—are familiar landmarks across a nation where Armageddon has become as American as baseball and apple pie. What distinguishes Dallas is that the end-times culture so avidly consumed there was also created there: The city that gave us America’s team holds almost exclusive intellectual property rights to a distinctly American-style apocalypse. What might be called the Parousia Prairie (“Parousia” is Greek for “Second Coming”) in and around Dallas is dotted with last-days think tanks, from Mal Couch’s Tyndale Biblical Institute, in Fort Worth, to Thomas Ice’s LaHaye-financed Pre-Trib Research Center, in Arlington, to the Dallas-based ministry of eschatological televangelist Zola Levitt.

These are only theological upstarts, however, compared with a nineteen-building campus in the heart of Dallas, minutes from downtown’s postmodern office towers. Founded in 1924, Dallas Theological Seminary is the Yale of conservative Christianity: DTS graduates preside over dozens of the nation’s top Bible institutes, and thousands more DTS alums head prominent churches. The house doctrine at DTS is a precise end-of-the-world formula known as dispensational premillennialism (because it divides all history into divinely determined ages, or dispensations, and predicts that the Second Coming will precede the Christian millennium, the thousand-year rule of Christ on earth). Almost miraculously, DTS faculty and graduates have transformed this arcane ism into a staple of American life and letters. Decades before the Left Behind series debuted, DTS graduates were selling last-days lit in numbers that presaged the advent of Harry Potter. The list is headed by Hal Lindsey’s The Late Great Planet Earth (one of the best-selling books of the late twentieth century) and the 1974 multimillion-seller Armageddon, Oil and the Middle East Crisis, by the late John F. Walvoord, DTS’s longtime president.

But DTS wasn’t the beginning of the end in Dallas. The story actually starts with the father of the American Apocalypse, a complicated and evidently conflicted man who came to the city in 1882, when the population had just passed 10,000 and a few of the muddy streets had just been paved with bois d’arc planks. Thirty-nine years old when he took over as probational pastor of Dallas’s tiny First Congregational Church, Cyrus Ingerson Scofield carried hefty baggage: Cashiered after a brief term as attorney general of Kansas amid rumors of influence-peddling, he began a downward spiral that included heavy drinking, allegations of forgery, and the abandonment of his wife and two young daughters. According to his as-told-to hagiography, in 1879 Scofield was challenged to accept Christ as his personal savior by a visitor to his St. Louis law office. Giving the matter “a moment’s thought,” Scofield fell to his knees and was born again—much like the warp-speed conversion of 747 captain Rayford Steele, the hero of the Left Behind series, who accepts Christ immediately after viewing a videotape explaining the instantaneous disappearance of millions throughout the world (it’s the Rapture, stupid).

Cyrus I. Scofield would have recognized the rest of the basic plot behind the twelve-volume series, because the story elements had been formalized much earlier in the nineteenth century by a disaffected Anglo-Irish cleric named John Nelson Darby. Alarmed by various historic assaults on the authority of the church and Scripture (including the American Revolution, which had eschewed a state church), Darby determined to prove that the Bible was not only a literal history of the world but that its apocalyptic books, Daniel and Revelation, were an accurate history of the future. Beginning with the Rapture, Darby detailed a mathematically exact countdown to the end of time.

Scofield, who had come under the influence of Darby’s theories in St. Louis, was an entrepreneurial sort, the kind of innovative merchandiser Dallas has always nurtured. Within a decade of arriving there, he had started his own nationwide Bible correspondence course and had welcomed into his burgeoning congregation many of the city’s most familiar names, including Dallas Morning News publisher George Dealey. But Scofield’s singular work of merchandising genius was a new package for Darby’s theories. Published by the august Oxford University Press in 1909, the Scofield Reference Bible has no real rival as the most influential book ever conceived in Texas. Of course Scofield didn’t write all of it, but the footnotes and commentaries he embroidered throughout the venerable King James text revolutionized the reading—and the marketing—of the world’s best-selling book.

Scofield wasn’t the first to annotate the Bible, but he was the first to do it in a splashy, graphically sophisticated (for the times) fashion, with Internet-like “chained” references that allowed readers to follow a theme or prophecy as it hopscotched from chapter to chapter and testament to testament. Paying particular attention to Darby’s prophetic timeline, Scofield stitched together thousands of scattered verses into what we would now call a “virtual” narrative: The Rapture, followed by seven years of catastrophic Tribulation, when the Antichrist will rule the earth and billions will die; the Second Coming and the victory over Satan’s minions at Armageddon, which will inaugurate the thousand-year reign of Christ on earth; the final defeat of Satan; and the Day of Judgment. While turn-of-the-century “modernists” insisted that the Bible was a meandering collection of stories, part history and part allegory, Scofield presented the carefully plotted work of a single divine author, dictated to 44 amanuenses over twenty centuries—a taut

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