It's a new year and no doubt readers have heard their fair share of predictions. That kind of thing is a pundit's stock in trade. But hey, I'm a relatively new columnist. I'm thinking maybe I should join the big leagues and pontificate.

Now, I can't tell you when the next federal election will be called. Nor who will be the Republican or Democratic presidential candidate in the U.S. Nor can I predict whether the American troop surge in Iraq will pacify that country or whether Pakistan will become a failed state with its nuclear weapons divvied up among unscrupulous terrorists.

But because my areas of interest encompass some pretty wonky territory, I could inform you about the apocalypse.

Now, I don't mean something cataclysmic when I use the word apocalypse. That's the dictionary definition and our common parlance. So, I will offer no predictions of rising sea levels due to climate change. I'm taking the high road and going straight to the Greek.

In the original Greek (I don't speak the language, but I appreciate the food), apocalypse means "lifting the veil." It refers to an uncovering or a disclosure of what had been hidden.

This uncovering can be sudden — like an ah-hah experience. It can also be subtle: "Oh, so that's what it's like."

Lifting the veil is part of all great literature, from Lear's anguished cry to Proust's interior self-talk. But we in North America have become so accustomed to our infotainment culture that we seem to prefer our apocalypses to be on the noisy side of the ledger.

The next voice you hear

Over the years, movies have helped us understand the nature of revelation. You have no doubt seen (or zipped by) several biblical epics over the holidays. Though there is one 1951 film that never seems to get on today's tube.

In The Next Voice You Hear, Joe Smith, an average American who works in an aircraft factory, hears a voice cut in on a radio program he's listening to. "This is God, I'll be with you for the next few days," Smith is told.

Joe Smith listens with his wife (played by Nancy Davis, the future Mrs. Ronald Reagan) while God takes over the worldwide airwaves for the next six days.

What He says, of course, is already available in print: He talks about peace and universal harmony. But when it comes out of the radio — a mass medium — and not just an old book, the message has immediate audience impact.

The Smiths, for example, start patching up their shaky marriage (this is a family values drama), though we are never told how presidents, prime ministers and dictators react to the message. In that sense, the movie is something of a political cliffhanger.

This corny old movie is, in the end, all about apocalypse, down-home style. God lifts the curtain and speaks (we react through the eyes of an all-American family).

And, sure, what He says are platitudes. But lifting the veil and dusting off the commonplace is often what you get in a great revelation. You are supposed to remember something that you have forgotten, with a good smack in the face to make sure the message is driven home.

That's the value of lifting the veil: We see what we've seen before, but with new eyes.

What's next?

But what happens to the Smiths when God no longer hogs the airwaves? Do they start bickering again? More than likely. That is why apocalypse and revelation need to return again and again in different guises.

Of course, not everything about apocalypse is captured in this ancient notion of remembering what we've forgotten.

To fully understand the meaning of the word we often need to a peek at what we haven't seen before, ever.

The American dramatist and screenwriter David Mamet recently said that of all the lessons he learned in Hollywood this one sticks most: Movies are about "what happens next."

Forget character, or subtle back-story, he says, even though he writes great dialogue and skillfully creates context. Tell me what's going to happen next. Apocalypse.

In this regard, Ira Flatow, the popular science host on National Public Radio in the U.S., likes to point out that he has received more mail from one household experiment than from almost anything else he has talked about on air.

The experiment? It is that Wint-O-Green lifesavers give off sparks when chewed in a dark room. (Something to do with the voltage in the sugar crystal. That, at least, is the scientific consensus among his listeners.)

Human curiosity is one of the glories of our species, especially when it allows us to discover the unexpected.

Living with commentary

Ask a scientist if he would want to live forever, with his consciousness downloaded onto a chip (they're working on that). And he would likely say, yes, but only if that piece of silicon can keep his curiosity intact. Just the apocalypse, if you please.

Lift the veil on the unknown. Uncover even a tiny bit of nature, that's the challenge of science.

In another 1950's movie, The Day the Earth Stood Still, Michael Rennie plays an alien who lands on earth to warn earthlings to stop all their awful fighting.

He is the epitome of the philosopher king: Tall and handsome, he wears a sleek silver jumpsuit (he always reminded me of a young Pierre Trudeau with his good looks and upper class manners). He lifts the veil with panache.

Like God in The Next Voice You'll Hear, Rennie does not bring news but preaches old truths — albeit with a warning. Of course, people are still fighting today, as they have been from time immemorial. Rennie's message clearly didn't take.

With that in mind, I make no predictions about peace accords or any of the world transforming ideals currently making the rounds. With only a few hundred words at my disposal, in any event, I can only lift the veil just a little.

So I will take my cue from the great Rabbi Hillel who, when asked to explain the Torah while standing on one foot (the ancient equivalent of a sound bite), said: "That which is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbour. That is the whole of Torah; the rest is commentary."

Unlike God or Michael Rennie, I won't preach to you about the Golden Rule. But as a columnist, I am sure glad the rest is commentary. It gives me a lot to talk about as I lift the veil to see what's underneath.