- [Narrator] Boston, 1839.
Not a single person of faith in the United States
was safe from the scolding and scoffing
of the "Boston Investigator,"
a self-described infidel or anti-religious journal.
The "Investigator" declared itself a periodical
that valued logic over superstition,
and woe betide any Christian
whose Bible fell into the paws of correspondent Samuel Snow.
The Connecticut native said he found the Bible foolish,
and occasionally trampled it under his skeptical feet,
which is exactly what he planned to do
with William Miller's book.
An unconventional preacher,
Miller was becoming known for a radical theory
that the Second Coming was due in the next five years,
and when Snow finished Miller's book,
he became a believer in a glorious future
where Jesus Christ returned to earth.
Unfortunately for Snow,
this revelation didn't secure him a place
in the Kingdom of Heaven,
but rather ensured that he'd be eternally remembered
as the man responsible for the Great Disappointment.
(lively music)
Thanks so much to World Anvil
for helping us forge today's historical tale.
(whooshes)
Real quick up top, please welcome back the creator
of the hilarious history podcast "Something True,"
Duncan Fyfe, who guest wrote this episode.
Thanks again, Duncan.
Samuel Snow was a man of reason,
but what made William Miller so convincing was so was he.
Miller had never understood the Christian Bible
and the leaps of faith that it demanded.
He preferred instead the principles of deism,
that nothing more than observation
and investigation should be required
to divine the mysteries of the universe,
but in the War of 1812,
Miller's infantry unit triumphed
over terrifying odds in battle,
and what could explain that besides divine intervention?
Miller's deist friends teased him.
Surely he couldn't now believe in the Bible,
with all of its irrational and contradictions?
Not to worry, Miller assured them.
With a little time,
his rational mind would make sense of it all.
So he worked through the text,
deducing a rational explanation for every parable.
It took seven years,
in which time he had come to see the Bible
as a system of revealed truths
to be rigorously analyzed and decoded,
which he knew he had done correctly, by the way,
because he was a man of reason.
And one truth he uncovered was so important,
he would devote the rest of his life
to spreading the news of it.
Miller keyed in on a line in Daniel 8.
"And he said unto me, unto 2,300 days,
then shall the sanctuary be cleansed."
Now, Miller made two assumptions.
First, that the word days here actually meant years,
and second, the sanctuary being cleansed
referred to the Second Coming
and God scouring the world with holy fire,
meaning Christ would return to the earth 2,300 years after,
um, when, exactly?
Oh, 457 BC, Miller decided,
when Jerusalem was rebuilt by Artaxerxes I.
2,300 years from then, using the rabbinical calendar,
would put Christ's return between March 21, 1843,
and March 21, 1844, only about 25 years away.
Huh, but Miller knew his discovery was complicated.
So wanting to make sure it was as clear as possible,
he put it in a form everyone could understand.
Ta-da!
With this chart, huh?
Miller preached the Second Coming across New England.
He was a dry public speaker, but,
nobody had ever prophesized Christ's return
with such compelling math.
And there was just something irresistible
about the idea that the Bible had always been a puzzle
intended to be solved.
Plus, Miller didn't claim to be a prophet,
just a man who'd worked out what the Bible really meant.
Heck, if anyone else did the work themselves,
they would surely see the same thing.
And then bam, he'd throw up that chart,
and the audience would strain their eyes at it
for about an hour or two.
Miller persuaded thousands with his message,
but his work was dismissed by mainstream Christian leaders,
who were not going to tell people Christ was coming back
on the word of some guy with a chart
who said that actually, days are years.
Miller felt under attack from scoffers,
so he urged his followers to keep spreading the word,
and eventually, they financed and published
their own newspapers and pamphlets.
Then once in print, Miller's work spread around the world.
At their peak,
Millerites numbered anywhere between 50,000 and 500,000,
depending on whose numbers you believe,
including one Samuel Snow.
After reading Miller's book, Snow joined the Millerites,
and labored to fund their operations.
Snow was excited.
Miller was such a fresh, disruptive thinker
that his message transcended denomination.
All were united in wait for the Second Coming,
and y'all, here it finally was.
March 1843.
Miller had predicted Christ would arrive
within the window of a year.
Now of course the Millerites wanted something
a bit more concrete than that, but Miller wouldn't budge.
There were so many possible chronological errors
in recorded history, he said,
that it was impossible to predict the Second Coming
with any greater accuracy.
So he counseled patience, which came in handy,
because the year passed with no sign of Jesus.
"Okay, okay," Miller said.
"Maybe let's, um, you know, give it an extra month. Eh?"
Then that went by too.
Pretty disappointing.
Miller admitted he had miscalculated,
but if he looked back at his work, he just couldn't see how.
He was still convinced in his analytical powers,
and therefore his overall conclusion.
Christ was coming, and soon!
"Okay," the Millerites pressed, "but when?"
"Well," Miller said, "it will be the next major world event.
How about that? The next big headline!
In the meantime, don't lose faith, because if we do,
it might start looking like we based this whole thing
on a poorly laid-out eye chart."
Now we kid, but this had serious repercussions.
Many Millerites had put their lives on hold,
assuming that Christ was about to scour the world
with holy fire.
And if that wasn't imminent,
they had a lot of replanning to do.
Like for instance,
should the farmers bother plowing their fields
if Christ would be back by winter?
Again and again, Miller just told them to be patient,
and that didn't sit right with Samuel Snow.
Over the past year, he'd been doing his own math,
and thought Miller's numbers were off.
Of course, Millerite leaders didn't pay much attention,
in fact, they publicly dismissed his conclusions.
But after Miller's two predicted deadlines came and went,
Snow was increasingly confident in his analysis.
Mr. Miller had found most of the clues, but not all.
So one night in August, Snow rode into camp on horseback,
and cried, "October 22nd!"
Displaying elaborate math,
Snow announced that Christ would return on that date,
in just two months.
To the Millerites. This sounded awesome.
They'd now been promised the Second Coming
not just in their lifetimes, but this year.
Now, to be clear, Miller did not sign off on this.
These weren't his calculations, he doubted Snow's reasoning,
and look, he didn't even have a chart, so...
But Snow's movement began picking up steam,
so eventually Miller got on board,
figuring that if they were all so excited,
it must be the will of God.
Besides he couldn't really do anything
to dissuade it anyway.
The Millerites spent the next few weeks
settling their earthly affairs, paying their debts,
or offering to pay the debts of others,
whatever it took to meet their lord and savior
with a clear conscience.
Which they didn't.
Meet their lord and savior, that is,
because on October 22nd,
the Millerites sat around in quiet, anxious prayer
until it was time for bed, and in the morning,
the papers didn't tell of the Second Coming,
but rather of the Great Disappointment.
It was the Millerites' worst fear.
Scoffers had won the day.
"Well, it must be October next year," Snow said,
"or one of the years after that,"
but in truth, there's only so much great disappointment
one can take,
and the Millerites couldn't keep collectively
putting themselves through this.
The group fractured,
with thousands abandoning Miller and Christianity entirely,
while others started puzzling out
how despite the world not ending,
their beliefs could still be correct.
Snow never admitted to a mistake.
Perhaps the Second Coming did happen,
he suggested, and now the door to heaven was closed.
Oo, or perhaps Jesus Christ had just delayed the apocalypse,
ordained Snow as his prime minister,
and tasked him with preparing the world for his descent.
But regardless of the message,
Snow never recaptured the electricity
of his horseback proclamation,
and the former skeptic died decades later,
declaring to anyone who would listen
that he was the prophet Elijah.
Miller, for his part, apologized.
Clearly he'd made a mistake somewhere,
but he went to his grave certain
that he was still basically right.
The Second Coming would happen.
He was to his core a man of reason,
convinced that there were no mysteries in the world,
only puzzles, and if one looked hard enough,
the truth was out there.
I mean if it wasn't, he just spent seven years of his life
coming up with Bible fan theories.
After the Great Disappointment,
not all of the Millerites abandoned his ideas.
Some set off on their own and founded new churches,
most notably, the Seventh-Day Adventists,
who flourished under their own direction,
with 21 million members today.
They still believe in the Second Coming,
but if they've learned one thing
from the Great Disappointment, it's this.
Manage expectations.
"Yes, Jesus Christ will return to earth," they say,
and if you ask when you'll get a firm answer.
"When he's good and ready."
See you next time, everyone.
But you know what I'm ready for
now that we got this episode in the can?
Jumping back into my campaign planning
with the awesome toolsets over at World Anvil.
As I'm sure you know by now,
a bunch of us at "Extra Credits"
have been crafting our own imaginary worlds for years,
be they RPGs, novels, or video games.
And if you're like us, you know how much work it is
keeping all of the disparate elements
of your worldbuilding project organized,
and that, my friends,
is precisely where World Anvil comes in.
World Anvil is an award-winning toolset
used by millions of worldbuilders, writers, and gamers
that helps you create, store,
and organize your world setting.
You can use it to craft entire RPG campaigns,
tracking timelines, family trees,
and diplomatic relationships,
create interactive maps to help bring your story to life,
and then once your world is forged,
you can easily share what you've built
with your readers players, patrons, or whoever.
In other words, it's exactly the tools
that let you focus on the fun parts of worldbuilding,
and with over 25 stunning visual themes at your disposal,
it's perfect for all genres, from sci-fi to fantasy,
space opera to historical fiction,
which have all been invaluable to me
across my multiverse-spanning "Rifts," "Elden Ring,"
"Gungeon," "Stargate," "Kingdom Heart,"
17th century romcom mashup campaign I've been running.
After becoming Elden Lords all,
our intrepid band of misfit heroes
seems to wanna stick with that whole ring theme,
and now has teamed up with Sonic and crew
to mess with Jim Carey
and hunt for those Chaos Emeralds.
Eesh, this is getting a bit convoluted.
Oo, but good thing World Anvil just released
their new whiteboard feature,
where I can explore all of this in freeform
and link it back to articles, characters,
or even sticky notes to remind me to write simpler stories.
So if you wanna up your worldbuilding game,
and honestly just have an awesome time doing it,
you can check out World Anvil absolutely free.
And, for a limited time,
you can receive 40% off any annual membership
by using the code ExtraCredits.
Then, not only will the awesome worlds you dream up
come to life faster,
but you'll also be helping out us at EC in the process.
Once again, that's code ExtraCredits
for 40% off any annual membership,
and thanks so much for your support.
We can't wait to see the worlds you build.
The most legendary thanks to Ahmad Ziad Turk,
Alicia Bramble, Angelo Valenciana, Arkhalight Games,
Casey Muscha, Dominic Valenciana,
Joseph Blame, and Kyle Murgatroyd.
(lively music)