The End of the World, when it finally came, was unconvincing. We were
not warned by comets or sulphurous glowing on the horizons. There were
no strange inexplicable fires or spontaneous crowds of looters or troops of
horsemen foreshadowing our imminent annihilation.

There was only one sign, one subtle ominous signal: for some time man
had forgotten to be concerned with his own demise.

At the moment when we stopped imagining the End, we quietly loosed
our hold on life.

Through the ages we lost our imaginative ability to sense ina present
world the seed of its destruction--and recognizing that seed, to alert
ourselves consciously or unconsciously, to the element it contained or
implied which opposed or countered life.

We took our life for granted. We assumed inertia was an arguement in
favor of existence. We forgot that the apocalypse would be heralded by
trumpets, comets, supernova, mass suicide and the rending of the
heavens. And it was not.

The End of the World, when it finally came, was anti-climactic. It was
very quiet, not multitudes in panic or a handful of children wailing. It was
just one small voice, exhaling slolwy, perhaps--and perhaps even now we
exaggerate--perhaps sighing.

from A History of The End of the World: Rubinsky and Wiseman Quill
Books, NY 1982

2007-11-05