Principalities of Darkness

By Xlibris US

Is it twenty-first century hysteria?

Or has the Apocalypse finally arrived?

Dave Harrigan follows a trail of delusion and dementia but ultimately finds he must confront the demons within.

A number of local ministers suffer psychotic episodes in a sleepy rural stretch of south Delaware. The incidents are random, striking across all denominational lines, but too frequent for coincidence. In one stricken town named Harrington, the Progressive Church of the Millennium, led by self-proclaimed visionary Reverend Arthur Moley, claims that the incidents are God's punishment of churches gone astray. Consequently, many of the local faithful fl ock to the PCM. Is it divine wrath or a scam? Computer specialist David Harrigan will unearth the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499035377

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Joseph A. Domino.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Scriptures taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/23/2014

Xlibris LLC

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www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

EPILOGUE

As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all

the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the

slaughter.

Nay, in all these things we are more than

conquerors through him that loved us.

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor

life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers,

nor things present, nor things to come,

Nor height, nor depth, nor any other

creature, shall be able to separate us from the

love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:36-39

CHAPTER 1

Daring Darla Doxbury felt a tightening in her chest as she quietly scrambled down the fire escape. Daring is what her friends would have called her if they could see her now. Darla convinced herself she was doing the right thing; her only apprehension lay in being caught. There was a glint of the full moon in her eye on this unusually hot April evening. Earlier there had been thunderstorms, lightning, gusts of hail, and a queer red sky. Although it had cleared, a balmy and sodden hush lingered. The ends of her long straight blond hair were dripping wet and plastered to the back of her neck.

A classmate named Estelle at school had led Darla to the Progressive Church of the Millennium. After a couple of preliminary meetings, Estelle grew bored, but Darla began to see it as a possible way out. This interest in matters of the spirit followed a period of several weeks indulgence in the flesh when Darla and a boyfriend, Gerry Stern, a nineteen-year old high-school senior, stayed out all hours and tried stuff. One night Gerry drove them half way across Delaware to Slaughter Beach. They did grass, a microgram of coke once or twice, and Gerry even filched some Quaaludes from his mother, who worked in Packaging at the Loveco Pharmaceutical Corporation just outside of Harrington.

Darla’s parents had enough of this gallivanting as they referred to it, but the last straw came when they caught her in Gerry’s crap-brown Camaro as Gerry was about to demonstrate Loveco’s new foolproof condom. At least, a good old American car, her father kept muttering. As staunch fundamentalists, they threatened her with counseling, and there was even talk of institutions, of special schools. Feeling she could no longer bear the hostile atmosphere which dominated the Doxbury household, Darla simply disappeared one night.

At first, Estelle told her that the people at the Progressive Church of the Millennium were saints on earth. After attending a few meetings, she soon convinced Darla that not only would they help, but they would also keep her hidden from their guilt-ridden and vindictive parents. Estelle gave Darla a furtive ride to Reverend Moley’s twelve-acre estate, which served as the church’s headquarters. Darla, who hoped all her needs would be fulfilled, brought no earthly possessions (how would she manage without her cell phone and watching American Idol?). Uniform-like gray blouses and skirts were provided, but little else. She never got to meet Reverend Moley during her brief stay. But he soon came to know her by name.

It was two confusing weeks of orientation. Someone vaguely described plans for Darla to set up a card table and distribute literature at the Wilmington airport with a sleeping bag in a rusted-out ’03 Dodge van. A kiosk at the mall would have made more sense, although prohibitively expensive at the present. Also, the church’s website was not fully operational. They needed to recruit someone who had the requisite skills. Anyway, if Darla did well on her proposed twelve-hour shifts at the airport, they might send her to Philadelphia.

Meals at the Moley estate were given at irregular intervals. The food is skimpy, Darla had said at first with her dark eyebrows furrowed, frowning at the drab surroundings of the communal kitchen. There wasn’t even enough to barf on. She had noticed, oddly enough, a thriving community of rats. Someone made a glib comment about plagues of rats and other vermin as a sign that the Rapture and ensuing Tribulation were nigh. Right now, Darla was only interested in her own tribulation. Still, another member carried a laptop logged into a site with a countdown panel, but he would not share the information, only quote: I will come on thee as a thief, and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee.

Her attitude resulted in further alienation. A house elder ordered her to memorize Scriptural passages without interpretation while she sat on the floor in an empty room. This same individual accompanied her whenever she had to go to the bathroom. While various unidentified members (Darla thought of them as zombies) kept preaching the renunciation of the world, they warned that failure to cooperate at this stage of her new life would result in penalties, which could take the form of sexual rituals—for illustrative purposes only. Submission to a doctrine of male supremacy had to be accepted without question. Failure to do so, Reverend Moley maintained, had in fact undermined the fabric of American society.

During those two weeks she also noticed little pills being offered almost daily to other robot-like recruits. These recruits seemed harmless, although they only conversed about matters going on within the PCM, like how everyone had to be ready cause the Devil himself could enter the gates at any time. When the other recruits began to debate what form Satan would take, Darla excused herself quietly.

She found it eerie to pass the small rooms and makeshift study cells and hear the recruits at all hours, often four or five bedded to a room, chanting scripture so rapidly, without inflection or natural pauses. They sounded a little like the end of the radio commercials for Delmar Corners Chevrolet (where her Daddy sold cars). The ones where the announcer recited the lending-rate terms so fast all the words could not be understood. Later, in what was explained as a symbolic ceremony, Darla witnessed three young women kneeling before three men of about the same age. The men stood rigidly with their legs apart, their hands placed on top of the women’s heads. You are the vessel. We are the seed. Amen and praise to Reverend Moley. Darla failed to understand the other recruits’ display of commitment. It was as though they had walked in off the street and knew exactly what to do.

One day, Darla inquired about an open storeroom she passed one evening. All those boxes with LOVECO printed on the side. When she asked about it, one of the senior recruits told her it was nothing and quickly shut the door. Donations, added Johann Hartmann just as tersely, when Darla later repeated the question. Hartmann, who called himself an assistant pastor, served as Moley’s right-hand man and specialized in funding and contributions and managing the church’s finances. Darla finally came to a decision, knowing she had made a mistake. She knew what she had to do, even before she heard members discussing a serious re-examination of Old Testament animal sacrifice.

Why did Estelle get me mixed up in this? Darla mumbled aloud as she searched for a way off the Moley property. She hoped she would not be going from the frying pan to the fire, but she had found the skillet hot enough. All these people had on their minds was the broiling brimstone of hell and the fiery passion of their loins, and in some cases couldn’t tell one from the other. Every time she inquired about her future plans, the zombies for the Lord mumbled something about preparing for the cleansing.

All this very nearly made her wish for the church she had attended while growing up. First Community Baptist always sounded like a bank or hospital. The Progressive Church of the Millennium seemed so threatening by contrast when she recalled the heightened yet innocuous babble of Reverend Ferguson at First Community. He seemed simple-minded and out of touch; he annoyed Darla and not a few others with his incessant anticipation of various events, both great and small, but mostly small. Events like potluck suppers, or someone’s video of their Alaska vacation. Great things always lay ahead (come join us for a covered dish affair following a glorious performance by the Jesus Reasons Madrigal Singers). Ferguson’d bore the chrome off a bumper, confided Cindy Tanner during study hall. Apparently no church could offer what Darla needed. They could all be crazy, only some more so.

There were no two ways about it. Darla was born to be a worldly girl, and she would take to the streets if necessary. She convinced herself she would enjoy sex if she got paid for it. Well, she thought, only as a last resort. Last she had heard they were hiring at Wal-mart. But where could she stay? Armed with these cluttered thoughts, she made her way across the grounds of Reverend Moley’s estate and eventually found a woodpile, which enabled her to climb over the eight-foot high fence, which encircled the complex.

As she plunged through what seemed endless cornfields, clad only in cutoff shorts, a light pullover sweater, and sneakers, she made out in the distance the light of the Earthly Delights Condo Development. On the edge of the cornfields, she nearly turned an ankle on the skull of a cat. Mouth open, teeth intact, it appeared to be laughing at her. She kicked at it and stubbed her toe.

Reverend Moley and Assistant Pastor Hartmann were quite perturbed when they learned Darla had fled into the night, primarily because no recruit had ever done that before. Also, they foresaw the negative publicity, should the event make the local papers, a likely occurrence Moley believed. Hartmann found himself at a loss. Reverend Moley required no more than several minutes of prayer and inspiration to view the situation as an opportunity rather than a problem. He believed the PCM’s best course of action was to win her back—permanently this time. A real recruitment coup, as far as local affairs were concerned, he said. There would be no question of her defecting a second time. Moley wanted to portray her as a lost sheep. They would pray and influence her to see the error of her ways and return her to the fold. Although Hartmann doubted this strategy, he declined to comment, knowing from the Reverend’s distant gaze that he had chosen his path on this matter, as Darla had chosen hers.

. . .

In Building 3, unit 304, plump and pudgy Dave Harrigan had been spending a routine Saturday evening. He struggled to, in his terms, avoid terminal boredom in this sleepy, no, comatose DELMARVA burg of Harrington, population of 2500, some of whom were breathing. Dave had a likable smile and was generally friendly, although he had little patience for incompetence, especially when those who were afflicted by it tried to take charge of things. Dave was often impatient at the Loveco Pharmaceutical Corporation, the area’s largest employer, where he worked as a computer network specialist. When Dave laughed, which he liked to do a lot (after all, there wasn’t much else to do in Harrington, Delaware), his eyes would transform into thin slits and he would bear an uncanny resemblance to the Pillsbury Doughboy. For the area, it was a lucrative salary that enabled him to afford the two-bedroom condo. He needed the space for all his hardware: two personal computers, a 50-inch plasma TV (hooked up to the Development’s satellite dish for a monthly fee), and a state-of-the-art DVD recorder and player. His hobby was film, particularly collecting old science fiction classics. About the only live television he watched was the Battlin’ Bitches wrestling tour direct from the Verizon Center in Washington. He always tried to catch that telecast. His stepsister, Sandy Pierson (aka Lady Killer), won most of her matches. He also dabbled online with investments. And he was able to work at home for Loveco, accessing the corporate network and email through the company’s Virtual Private Network. Dave breezed past CNN online to check his investments.

The stock market had dipped another thirty points Friday owing to the growing tension overseas. Saudi Arabia was on the verge of joining the Republic of Arab States. The R.A.S. had been advocating still higher oil prices. If Saudi Arabia became part of the alliance, its vast stores of crude oil would fall under R.A.S. jurisdiction. German Chancellor Franz Folker of the Mediterranean Confederacy (MedConfed) had just endorsed the move, following a cool if cordial phone conversation with the President of the United States. Saudi Arabia’s move would also mean the expulsion of all remaining U.S. military personnel from that country—some stationed there since the end of the Iraqi War. Israeli Prime Minister Efraim Eitam cited the de-stabilizing nature of this planned move. The MedConfed was comprised of a select number of European nations, some of which bordered on the Mediterranean Sea. Their collective agenda focused on economic issues with a keen eye on mideast oil reserves, cross-pollinating and fueling a low-grade anti-Semitic buzz. Presently German chancellor, Franz Frederic Folker, served as Chairman.

The R.A.S. was hardly a unified republic in the classic sense. More like a loose conglomeration of factions, allegiances shifting like the desert sands, which comprised much of their native topography. Rather than to America, the R.A.S. looked to many European nations as cooperative partners, effecting and furthering mutual interests, paradoxically mixing global economic imperatives with Islamic fervor.

Dave hadn’t paid much attention to this unfolding story. The plunging stock market was about the only news he had time for in his busy schedule. Loveco kept him so busy, he couldn’t even check out CNN online. Dave also liked gadgets. He especially liked his top of the line microwave oven, blenders, food processors, and even an intercom so he could speak to visitors at his front door. About the only time he used his cell phone was to take calls from his annoying boss at Loveco, mostly during off hours. He eschewed PDAs, the Blue Tooth (which everyone at work wore), compulsive emailing and text messaging, drawing a line, thinking he was sufficiently wired in. Tonight, wrestling had ended and Dave was going to try to catch up on the news at eleven.

It was then that Dave heard scratching and scraping sounds by the dumpster not far from his window. He thought of the bones from the four veal chops he had baked. It wasn’t quite enough racket to be a stray possum or raccoon, or even a cat.

He flipped on his intercom in the hallway by the kitchen. It’s probably some of the local teen-age goons with nothing better to do than throwing around trash and debris, tipping over the dumpster. Dave sympathized, agreeing there wasn’t anything better to do. But he thought he’d have a little fun with these hapless townies.

You vandals! began Dave trying to sound like Charlton Heston as Moses, if you continue disturbing the peace, you will be punished by the wrath of God!

Darla looked about for the source of the voice, and when she saw no one, she dropped the lid with a thunderous clap, turned to run, and fell over some boxes and stacks of newspapers. Striking her shin, she began to cry, more for fear than pain. Dave pressed the receive button and got all this loud and clear and decided to go outside.

All right, what’s going on out here? If this keeps up, it’ll wind up in the Kent County Police Gazette! This is front page stuff. He rounded the corner and found Darla seated on the sidewalk and rubbing her leg. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Sorry for the noise, mister, she whimpered. This your trash bin? Darla stood up and folded her arms so as not to tremble.

Well, yes. Dave was at a loss. An elderly couple had appeared with their trash, neighbors whom Dave knew on sight but could not name.

Merv, let’s go back inside, she said, tugging at her husband’s sleeve.

Goddam place really goin’ downhill, Ethel. Hey mister, got nothin’ better to do than mess with little girls in parking lots? Merv threw his shoulders back like he might want to challenge Dave.

Merv? repeated his wife.

Dave began to speak, but Darla moved forward, Would the two of you just mind your fucking business? Dave looked away, sensing the downward spiral of the situation.

Merv!

Goddam place going downhill. Big computer guy at Loveco, huh? Sits in his place every night and all weekend doing that computer stuff. Riff-raff all the same. No values. Merv and Ethel turned and began to shuffle away, but not before Merv turned and concluded, and, big computer guy, you got a shittin’ foul mouth to boot! As they continued on, Dave could hear Merv complain to Ethel about computer radiation and how that fries the brain.

Impossible, said Dave to the air, I’ll bet he’s never been anywhere near a computer. Dave and Darla stood frozen to the spot until the couple had completely vanished from sight. I don’t know why everyone’s so testy, began Dave, everyone’s sooo testy. He turned to face Darla.

So, what are you looking at? she snipped, wiping tears from her cheeks.

This may sound stupid, but just what are you doing here?

I’ve got nowhere to go, and I’m hungry, she said, glancing wistfully at the remains of a veal dinner that had been scattered. Those yours? For no reason Dave nodded. Wow, you really pick the bones clean, don’t you? Darla eyed Dave’s endomorphic form from head to foot.

Dave patted his stomach and said philosophically, I suppose I am wearing too many blueberry pies. I guess you’d call it a weakness. A vice. Gluttony—one of the seven deadly sins.

Who are they? A rock band or something?

Never mind. Listen, you a runaway? he continued, moving closer and lowering his voice.

I guess you could say that.

Well, you can’t stay out here. Why don’t you come in and get something to eat. And we’ll take a look at that leg. After pausing, he picked up the spilled trash, deposited it in the bin and added, Then we’ll decide what to do. I mean, you’re running away from something, but do you know where you’re headed?

I’ll take to the streets if I have to, said Darla.

What streets? There’s nothing here but Highway 13.

Dave led her into his apartment. He sat her down in the kitchen and went to look for some peroxide and cotton.

Are we alone in here? Darla’s eyes darted about. Is there another way out of here? I’m not as helpless as I might look, you know.

Just how old are you? asked Dave, returning from the bathroom with the needed supplies.

Eighteen—almost. In two and a half weeks.

That’s great. Dave grabbed a bag of miniature chocolate chip cookies and popped a few in his mouth. Here I am with a minor who’s run off, he garbled. Probably from some back road farmhouse.

I ran away from a church.

Dave stopped munching. You live in a church?

Well, that was after I ran away from home.

Maybe I should just wait this out. I mean, how long does this running away usually take? Darla looked away and rubbed her leg. How about I call the police before I get charged with kidnapping?

Please, not just yet. You seem like a decent semi-normal person. I’m hungry and so tired… . Darla seemed on the verge of crying again.

Dave checked his watch. The sheriff probably went home hours ago anyway. All right. Let’s get something to eat. I have a pullout sofa. We’ll sort this out in the morning. First thing I want to sort out is why I’m doing this.

After Dave cleaned the abrasions on Darla’s leg and put on a couple of Band-Aids, he warmed up some leftover beef stew and put out some dinner rolls.

Can I have a beer?

You’re getting milk.

And cookies?

I ate all the cookies.

Oh. Can we have popcorn later?

This is not the movies, said Dave wearily. So tell me about yourself. So I know something about you when Sheriff Fargo hauls me off.

My parents are the pits. They won’t let me do anything. I didn’t want to finish high school. I wanted to get a job, but they said no. They’re Baptists. Pretty strict. I got in trouble a couple of times lately—

For example?

I was with some friends behind the school one night and one of the guys was passin’ around a joint and—

Sheriff Fargo swooped in?

Sheriff Fargo goes to our church. First Baptist Community. That’s my parents’ church.

So, began Dave, setting down the cookies, you ran away from First Community Baptist?

No, from the Moley estate, west of the highway—

Yeah, said Dave rubbing his chin. He’s been in the news. Runs that post-millennialist, dominionist church, or so the local media says. How’d you get mixed up with them?

Well, this friend of mine—

A boyfriend? Let me guess. He works as an auto mechanic and lifts weights in his spare time. He’ll show up with Fargo wanting to kick my ass because I was messing around with his girl.

No, a girlfriend. She got me involved with Moley’s church. She kind of lost interest, but I saw it as a way out. She dropped me off there one night in secret.

What about your parents? They must be worried sick.

Yeah, well, they’ve been asking for it. The PCM encourages new members to cut off their past. Moley says they create a new family relationship and that the old family must be renounced. Anyway, I was there two weeks. Couldn’t stand it any more. Darla stared at him, wide-eyed, plaintively.

Dave stifled a belch and responded by shaking his head, placing his hands flat on the kitchen table. We’re going to have to call the police.

I thought I could get a job, find a place to stay.

Listen, you’re under age.

Oh yeah, well I look old enough. I buy beer and cigarettes at the Seven Eleven all the time and no one says anything.

Dave winced knowing that this young lady felt she had just presented her credentials for adulthood. It’ll never work.

Darla relented, feeling tired all of a sudden as the stinging throb on her leg worsened a bit. Can we figure something out in the morning? I’m pooped. You know, this is pretty good chow. Thanks.

You’re welcome. Say, I don’t even know your name.

Darla. Darla Doxbury.

My name’s Dave Harrigan.

Dave Harrigan in Harrington?

Confusing isn’t it?

Do you have a cigarette? Dave glared at her. I like Marlboro Lights.

Nothing to smoke around here, unless you want to roll some corn silk. Dave nodded at the window in the direction of the cornfields.

I saw smoker’s tooth polish in the bathroom.

That’s for the blueberry stains.

You know, Mr. Harrigan—

Call me Dave, please.

Okay. You seem different than a lot of the people here.

So I’ve been told.

I’ll bet you’re from Jersey.

Well, yeah, but don’t hold that against me.

How long you been down here?

Quite a while actually. I was born in a town called Nutley and lived there until I was eight. My father died in a car crash. My mother had suffered depression for years. Anyway, she’s been in a hospital up north all these years. So, I went to live with friends of theirs who had moved down here. They were Baptists too, but pretty even-keeled. They had two daughters. We got along okay.

Why’d they move down here?

Well, they liked the area better than living up north. And they wanted to open up a Christian bookstore, which they did with a fair amount of success. So I grew up in Laurel. It was to no surprise pretty uneventful. I played a little football on the high school team. Then there was some money for me and I went to college back up north. Dave got up and poured a glass of apple juice from the fridge. After that there was nothing up there for me, and I’d had a good relationship with my stepparents, so I came back. Well, my stepfather had a massive heart attack and I suppose it was too much for my stepmom. She had, you might say, a crisis of faith, he said, looking away, I’ve never been lucky holding onto parents. He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. The girls were grown up, so my stepmom went back to family in Albany. The youngest one, Megan, is trying to make a go of that bookstore over in Laurel.

And the other one?

Oh, yeah, Sandy. Ever watch women professional wrestling?

Huh?

She’s ‘Lady Killer’ on the Mid-Atlantic circuit.

Oh. Ever visit your Mom?

Yeah. She doesn’t know me. She had always had bouts of depression, but the loss of my Dad really finished her.

That’s rough. I’m really sorry.

Dave wanted to tell this youngster to think hard and long about this running away business, but he decided not to, at least not now, remembering how good both sets of parents had been to him. Not everyone is so fortunate, though. Look, it’s getting late. We’d better get some sleep.

Dave fetched extra sheets, a blanket, and a pillow and made up the sofa bed. I’ll leave the bathroom light on.

Good night, Mr. Harrigan and thanks.

Seems like a fairly normal kid. For these parts, Dave thought as he closed his bedroom door. He lay on his back with all the lights out and the window shade up. The stars winked at him, distant acquaintances of a painful past.

Instead of considering the unexpected and urgent nature, not to mention consequences, of having a seventeen-year old girl sleeping in his living room, Dave’s mind drifted far away. Far from this unplanned responsibility. Instead, he lay awake and replayed the words, faint now, uttered by the ghostly remembrance of his sobbing grandparents almost a quarter of a century ago

Daddy’s gone to heaven.

God in heaven, he now said aloud in his bed. Not tonight. When Darla was his age, what would she remember?

They had lived

Reviews for Principalities of Darkness

[dubiousdisciple · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. –Ephesians 6:12This is a fascinating five-star book by a guy who believes in demons. He reasons that because belief in the spiritual world of demons and angels was prevalent among New Testament authors, we should believe the same today. In the preface, Arnold states “If we want help from the Bible for dealing with the problem of evil, we must be willing to take seriously what the Bible takes seriously: the intense involvement in life of a figure named Satan and his powers of darkness.” However, Arnold’s beliefs (other than the occasional call to take these things seriously) do not get in the way of excellent research into Biblical Demonology, and I thoroughly enjoyed his book.I think Arnold is correct in stating that virtually everyone in Jesus’ day believed in such powers, and in astrological signs. Witches, demons, magic, divination, these things were to be feared and opposed. Angelic battles in heaven drove the fortunes of the nations they represented on earth.By the time of Jesus, opposing gods were no longer considered on par with Yahweh, and were relegated to the level of demons or mere idols. The Serpent of Eden was unanimously equated with Satan by the early church (and still is today by many Christians). The church fathers strongly believed Satan himself animated the gods of the nations with his powers of darkness, based largely on the writings of Paul. (Note that Arnold takes the conservative approach of assuming Pauline authorship of all the letters traditionally ascribed to him, and that he leans quite heavily on the book of Ephesians.) Paul is not alone in emphasizing dark powers; the book of Acts records four instances of magic and divination, and Jesus often performed exorcisms, but Arnold’s study relates to Paul.Unless you’ve studied the topic, many of Paul’s references to dark powers may not be obvious. All of the terms Paul used for the powers can be found in Jewish documents of the Greco-Roman period, so scholars agree on what they imply. The Testament of Adam lists the angelic powers according to their various orders, from the lowest to the highest. The lowest order is angels, followed by archangels, archons, authorities, powers, dominions, and then the high orders, thrones, seraphim and cherubim. Paul seemed unconcerned about rank and order, but used many of these words.Only by really immersing yourself into first-century beliefs can the writings of Paul be put in perspective, and Arnold does this. His insistence that such dark powers surround us today brings Paul’s superstitious world even more alive. Great book.