The apocalypse has gone mainstream

From books to movies to memes, why have we become fascinated by the End of Days?

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On a drizzly gray afternoon in June 2006 I stood in line to see An Inconvenient Truth, the controversial documentary chronicling former Vice President Al Gore’s quest to raise awareness of the looming planetary environmental disaster. Back then, climate change was a semi-fringe topic that wasn’t getting a lot of media attention or interest. As a semi-fringe thinker who had become casually aware of recent oddities in the weather, I was curious to see the film because I thought Gore might be onto something.

Years later, I would learn that Gore may have succumbed to fear porn by exaggerating the role of human induced climate change. I would also learn that climate change was just one small part of a much bigger story unfolding all around us.

Yes, it was an inconvenient truth that the climate appeared to be changing — call it global warming, global cooling, man-made or natural, or whatever your political stripe allows you to accept. But the real inconvenient truth was that humanity was also experiencing many other profoundly destabilizing changes. And in the last 18 years those changes have intensified. Setting aside heat waves, droughts, super-storms, flooding, wildfires, and ice sheet melts, this is just a sampling of the non-climate-related stuff that’s been wreaking havoc on our lives for the past two decades:

• National debt has reached numbers we can’t begin to wrap our minds around, and global economies hang by a thread;

• Terrorism and assassination attempts occur often enough that we often don’t bat an eye when we hear about them;

• Record numbers of adults and children in the U.S. are falling into drug addiction;

• Trust in all institutions, and especially our media, is at an all-time low;

• Most Americans believe our elections are “rigged” to favor the rich and powerful;

• Corruption among political and business elites is so blatantly obvious they don’t bother to hide it anymore;

• Inflation is eviscerating our ability to find shelter or food;

• The food we can afford is slowly poisoning us with chemicals and additives, leading to chronic disease;

• The health care we require to treat those diseases is becoming unaffordable;

• An unprecedented number of people are homeless (and an alarming number of them actually have jobs but no homes);

• Pandemics-in-waiting and lockdowns lurk around every corner.

Fifty years ago, any single item on this list would have set off alarm bells, but now they’re occurring simultaneously — and with such regularity — that we’ve become almost numb. Another trillion in debt every 2–1/2 months? Skyrocketing rates of cancer in people under 30? $11 eggs? Meh.

Rarely do we grasp the scope of what’s happening or how unprecedented it is. Instead, we yawn, swipe left, and move on with our lives.

I don’t think this is what we should be doing now.

I think we should be paying closer attention to these accelerating and intensifying changes because I suspect they’re not occurring in a vacuum. I think they’re all connected. And if we’re completely honest with ourselves, I think we all “know” this — because we can feel it.

Many cultures have anticipated the times we find ourselves in now. The Hopi warned of them in oral prophecies, the ancient Sumerians left clues in their petroglyphs, the Mayans documented them in their calendar, and the Christians topped off the final chapter of the Bible describing them in gritty detail. Countless soothsayers and mystics from Nostradamus to Edgar Cayce have also had vivid visions of what the “End Times” will bring.

My relationship with religion (like my relationship with political parties) has always been sketchy, at best, because I can’t resist asking questions. I was raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, but by the time I was in high school and old enough to opt out of organized religion I didn’t hesitate to jump ship. Still, many fundamental Christian tenets are etched in my mind like ragged claw marks on an elementary school chalkboard, which is probably why I’ve always been weirdly fascinated by eschatology.

My mom talked a lot about the End Times when I was growing up, but she was always vague about what, exactly, would be “end”-ing. Would it mean the end of the world? The end of the universe? The end of all life as we know it? Although she never gave a convincing or compelling answer, she dispensed a lot of details about how we would know the End Times were upon us. There was a laundry list of coming attractions — economic collapse, social collapse, famine and starvation, plagues, violence and unrest, wars and rumors of wars, government oppression, earthquakes in strange places, and on and on. They all sounded horrible, and it was unthinkable that they could all happen at the same time.

Yet as nasty as the End Times sounded, it seemed as though my mom was, in some perverse way, almost looking forward to those dark days. When I got a little older I finally asked her why.

“Mom, it all sounds so scary. Aren’t you afraid of the End Times?”

She would just smile peacefully and get a faraway look in her eyes.

“No. Because it will lead to an end to suffering. You can’t get to the light without going through the dark.”

She described the End Times the way we experience the darkness, danger, and uncertainty of night before the dawn of a bright, new day. And while that made some sense, I didn’t understand why the process of living through the night had to be so painful. Did we really have to experience famine, wars, unrest and all the other nasty things on that list just so we could see the light of another day? What was the point of this nighttime adventure-in-suffering, anyway?

I didn’t have the makings of a good little Christian back then (and still don’t), but now I think I have a better sense of where my mom was coming from. By the time I hit my late-20s I could see just how much suffering and injustice there was in the world. I could understand why my mom desperately wanted to get through this “night”, even if things got worse before they got better.

But you don’t need to be a good little Christian to realize that humanity is on a path that’s leading us deeper into darkness. What I find incredible is that ancient civilizations apparently had the same understanding of our predicament, which implies another inconvenient truth: our planet has been careening off course for at least a few thousands of years, and it’s only gotten worse —faster. It’s unsustainable, and we know this because we can feel it.

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What’s the first thought that comes to mind when you hear the word “apocalypse”?

Nuclear holocaust? Pole shift? A cyber or EMP grid attack? Catastrophic earthquake or pole shift? A viral plague or zombie outbreak?

Whatever comes to mind, it probably involves massive destruction, wide-scale suffering or death and general shit-hitting-the fan conditions. Google and Merriam-Webster offer similarly dystopian interpretations. We’ve been conditioned to recoil when we hear someone mention the apocalypse. Like “conspiracy”, it’s a word that comes with an awful lot of baggage. But like “conspiracy,” “apocalypse” is one of the most misunderstood words in the English language. It turns out the fear of apocalypse is overblown. Apocalypse isn’t an event we should dread; to the contrary, we should welcome it with open arms.

a·poc·a·lypse

/əˈpäkəˌlips/

Greek: ἀποκάλυψις apokálypsis

lifting of the “veil” or “revelation”; disclosure of something hidden from the majority of mankind in an era dominated by falsehood and misconception, i.e. the veil to be lifted.

The ancient Greek definition of “apocalypse” isn’t horrific after at all. It merely signals a time when the truth that has been hidden from humanity would finally be revealed. Does this sound like a bad thing to you?

When I think of the apocalypse in this context, one movie comes to mind and it isn’t Mad Max, I am Legend, or The Road.

It’s The Wizard of Oz.

Remember how great and powerful everyone thought the mysterious green ruler of Oz was? In reality, he wasn’t great or powerful at all, but he didn’t reveal his true character by choice. He had to be exposed, and that only happened when Dorothy and her friends yanked (literally) the curtain — the “veil” — that hid him. That’s when the poor people of Oz realized the “Wizard” was really just a completely ordinary, manipulative little man who had managed to stay in power by deceiving everyone.

That was the apocalyptic moment in the land of Oz.

The apocalypse worked out well for the people in Oz, and everyone lived happily ever after. So if apocalypse is such a good thing, why is the word associated with such fear and ugliness? Why would unveiling the truth lead to all the nasty things that the Apostle John talks about in the book of Revelation?

I think it’s because the stakes in our world are so much higher than they were in Oz. We’re not talking about a veil that hides a frumpy, middle aged who fancies himself the “great and powerful” ruler of Emerald City. We’re not talking about a place where the biggest threats are flying monkeys and bad witches who can be taken out with a bucket of water.

We’re talking about a veil that hides something much bigger: a System that controls economies, media, food, health care and drugs, and even the roofs over our heads; monitors our movements with state-of-the-art surveillance; and makes laws that determine what we can or can’t say, and what we can and can’t do. A System that is ultimately controlled by a small group of elite interests who aren’t elected by us or accountable to us.

This is what’s been hidden from us for years, and you can be sure it’s taken a lot of effort to keep it that way. It’s also understandable that the people who rely on the veil to hide their control won’t want things to change. In fact, they’ll probably try really, really hard to keep the veil in place.

I think this is what John was trying to convey in the Book of Revelation. I think he was warning us that when the time came for the truth to be “unveiled,” it would not be easy or painless. It would get ugly because the people who have hidden the truth from us for so long would struggle against those who have awakened and try to rip the veil away.

In this sense, the infamous battle of Armageddon may not be a physical confrontation between the forces of good and evil so much as a showdown between the forces pushing for truth to be revealed and those fighting to keep humanity cloaked in ignorance. Imagine a fierce tug-of-war between a set of hands attempting to lift the veil and another set trying to keep it in place — pulling it tighter and tighter, straining every fiber in the fabric until it finally rips apart.

This is the apocalypse. It’s not a one-time event; it’s a process. It will take many years to play out, and in all probability it will get very ugly along the way. But regardless of how painful and unpleasant it gets, always keep this in mind: the apocalypse isn’t about fear or vengeance or catastrophe.

The apocalypse is all about enlightenment and liberation.

But I also think there’s more to the apocalypse than an awakening to the hidden forces that control our lives.

I’ve probably read or watched virtually every eschatological film or book ever made or produced. I used to attribute my macabre interest in the End Times to some deep-seated, doomy fatalism, but lately I’ve come to realize this isn’t the case at all. Like my mother, on some level I secretly harbored a longing for the apocalypse because I can see that humanity is in dire need of a “reset,” as ugly and painful as it may be. And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.

There’s a primal sense deep within us that knows/suspects/feels something “big” is coming —that we can’t possibly continue on our current course. Much of what’s happening in our world now makes no damn sense and is clearly unsustainable. More and more, we are asked to believe the unbelievable and accept the unacceptable. The world as we know it is shaking apart, and problems we’ve ignored and that have quietly accumulated for decades are quickly coming to a head.

Granted, these aren’t thoughts most of us consciously acknowledge; we don’t discuss “what’s coming” with friends and neighbors over coffee cake and lattes. But we sense it. And so do the people who entertain us.

The day after Christmas my partner and I were ready to “downshift” from holiday cheer and entertain ourselves with thought provoking content. There was no shortage of doomy titles to stream, and we settled on Earth Abides, a TV adaptation of the 1949 novel by George R. Stewart.

Earth Abides documents the almost predictable fall of civilization from a deadly disease. The story is told through the eyes of Isherwood “Ish” Williams, a man who emerges from isolation in the Northern California mountains to discover that almost everyone on the planet has died. It sounds like the plot of at least a couple dozen other dystopian books and movies, but what sets this story apart is that it’s not doomy. There are no zombies, roving gangs of thugs-turned-cannibals, or lab-made monsters. Told over the span of more than 20 years, Ish’s journey is one of the rebirth of humanity and the emergence of a new society and culture. Unlike virtually any other tale of the End Times, Earth Abides taps into the deep longing I believe many of us have for what lies on the other side of apocalypse.

Hope.

Early on, Ish meets another survivor, Emma, who becomes his partner. Together, they start a family and slowly welcome other survivors into their tribe. Eventually, they build a small community that flourishes and whose progeny adapt easily to the de-modernized world. The members work together to grow their own food, make their own clothes, and craft simple tools. Crumbling libraries become founts of knowledge to help rebuild their new world. When electricity provided by the nearby automated hydro power station eventually fails and the residual comforts of civilization recede, the younger generation steps up and fashions a workaround by using local streams.

Another cycle is completed, and a new one begins.

After we binged the series it lingered in my mind for days. Initially, I assumed this was because the tone and characters were so clearly distinct from others in the genre. Most End Times movies and books don’t carry the theme of hope or rebirth or feature protagonists who are more focused on building community than fending off marauding hoards of zombies, thugs, or other nasties. Violence was sparse; there were no shootouts or blood-soaked scenes filled with dismembered or mutilated bodies. Decisions to extend kindness to strangers were more often rewarded with gratitude than betrayal. I kept bracing myself for something horrible to happened…but it never did. Life simply continued in a new landscape with new challenges. Earth Abides is a vivid reminder of how much modern culture has bastardized the apocalypse, stripping it of the humanity that potentially makes this one of the most powerful periods in our evolution.

Ironically, the humanity that distinguishes Earth Abides from its predecessors is also what prompted me to look more deeply into what all “post-civilization” stories have in common. Why do they fascinate us?

Have we become so desensitized to our pain and suffering that we subconsciously crave our collective demise? Are we so resentful of civilization that’s betrayed us that we secretly delight in seeing the cities and societies we’ve created reduced to rubble and erased from memory? Do we believe humanity is a virus that’s thrown the earth out of balance, and that nature’s reckoning is at hand?

While any or all of these could be true, I suspect the allure of doomsday is far more mundane. I think the futuristic struggle to survive simply reminds us of the value of life in a “civilized” world where life is rapidly losing meaning or purpose.

In some ways, humanity’s fight for survival is already underway. Today, billions of people are working harder than ever to make ends meet (I would wager that you and I are among them). Inflation is gutting our wallets, and jobs that pay a living wage are getting much harder to find. Moreover, technology is rendering many positions obsolete at a faster pace. By 2028, 14 million jobs worldwide will vanish due to advancements in AI.

But the struggle to survive looks a lot different in a post-apocalypse landscape, doesn’t it?

There’s a stark difference between fighting to get our resume in front of an employer or negotiating with the I.RS. to avoid wage garnishment vs using our wits to hunt and kill an elk to feed our families, or hauling firewood miles to our home to keep it warm. In both cases, there is tremendous stress, and the stakes are high. But the fight to survive in the civilized world has become detached, almost passive. In many ways, it feels as though we are almost going through the motions of survival now. Let me explain.

Most of us drive to work (or work from home, often with limited interaction with people or the outside world), and our work often involves sitting at a desk and staring at a screen. Our “reward” for working is receiving digits that we can’t touch or feel, which are deposited into a bank account that we can’t touch or feel. If we accumulate enough of these intangible digits, we can retrieve food from a grocery store and keep the heat on in our house (all provided by invisible “sources” we never see or meet).

Rarely do we experience the satisfaction of raising or hunting the food we eat, or exerting energy to provide the energy that heats our home. These are tasks that have intrinsic value and, by performing them, give value to our existence. Instead, most of us perform narrow and specific tasks assigned by our employer. As long as we perform our narrow and specific tasks that keep us employed, we have value in society, and our needs are taken care of. But the moment our job is no longer available to us, our value disappears, and our ability to survive comes to a screeching halt.

And we become powerless.

In this sense, the modern world robs us of the individual value, control, and self-efficacy that all human beings innately crave and desperately need.

Moreover, what little control and self-efficacy we have in our lives are evaporating. Driver-less cars will ensure we reach our destinations without thinking or lifting a finger, and electric vehicles could trap us in our homes if there’s a grid outage; climate initiatives will make us more dependent on centralized sources of energy; and we’re becoming more reliant on corporate food producers with little transparency or accountability to us.

We also struggle to connect with one another based on imagined differences and manufactured division. We spend more of our time alone or interacting with others on our devices. Our “virtual” world has expanded exponentially as our “real” world — and our relationships within them — have shrunk.

But in a post-civilization world, self-efficacy and community reign supreme.

The money that so many of us lack now becomes meaningless. It won’t matter how many digits are in our bank account if water stops flowing in our home; we’ll need the skills, wits, and determination to quickly find a new source. Conveniences and luxuries take a back seat; a fiberoptic connection is the last thing on our minds when we’ve missed a couple of meals and are laser-focused on finding the next one.

In the absence of civilization, we don’t look to the government or others to “fix” problems; we rely on our skills or barter or trade with someone to find a solution. Our relationships with friends and neighbors become paramount because they are often the thin line between danger and safety. Rather than being non-existent or superficial, community tethers us to ourselves and each other. Hard work is rewarded, and deadweight isn’t tolerated; our chances of survival are in direct proportion to what we contribute. We become more responsible for the consequences of our actions. We survive not based on the whims of markets or the decisions of lawmakers, but by the decisions we make ourselves. It’s Darwinism at its finest.

In a post-civilization world, life might be fragile, brutal and brief — but we’re keenly aware that it’s precious while it lasts. Every day is uncertain, which makes every day a gift. We’re thankful to be alive because we know each moment could be our last.

Ultimately, I think this is why we’re fascinated by the apocalypse.

Humanity doesn’t have a death wish. We don’t crave the destruction of all the beautiful and wonderful things we have built together, or the advancements we’ve made in our society. We are simply coming to grips with the realization that despite the many benefits and conveniences the modern world has gifted us, it has deprived us of what matters most to us as human beings: a visceral appreciation of life. In the words of Edgar Lee Masters, “To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness, But life without meaning is the torture. Of restlessness and vague desire — It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.”

Yes, the apocalypse may bring ugliness, destruction, and even madness. But to continue on our current course, with lives that increasingly lack meaning, purpose, and self-efficacy, may be even worse.