How to Survive the Apocalypse, Part 10: Should I Start a Cult?

The world has ended. Society is in ruins. Resources are scarce, people are scared, and you’re standing in the wreckage, wondering:

Should I start a cult?

A reasonable question.

After all, history tells us that when the world feels like it’s falling apart, people start looking for answers. And sometimes, those answers come in the form of a charismatic leader, a tight-knit community, and a few mildly concerning group rituals.

So let’s break it down. Is starting (or joining!) a cult a good survival strategy, or are you better off just hoarding beans and keeping a low profile?

The Case for Cult Leadership: Why You Might Want to Become the Supreme Prophet of the New World

There are plenty of upsides to running your own doomsday cult—uh, I mean, running your intentional survivalist community with a strong leader.

Starting with: instant power and loyalty. Because when resources are limited, being in charge is better than being at the bottom of someone else’s hierarchy.

Cult leaders get:

• First dibs on food and supplies

• A personal security force (loyal followers)

• An audience that actually listens when you talk

In addition, it would be extremely useful to be able to influence (or control) a workforce that doesn’t question you. Need a bunker built? Need some zombies battled? Need someone to scavenge supplies while you stay safe inside?

If people believe in you, they’ll do the hard work so you don’t have to.

After all, survival is easier in groups. If everyone else is out for themselves, your followers provide a ready-made community with protection, shared resources, and extra hands to fend off threats.

It’s the apocalypse—people expect weird behavior anyway.
Pre-apocalypse? Walking around in robes declaring yourself “The Chosen One” would get you some funny looks.

Post-apocalypse? That’s just Tuesday.

The Downside of Cult Leadership: Why You Should Maybe Reconsider

Before you start assigning titles like “High Priest of Canned Goods,” it’s worth considering the inevitable problems with running a post-apocalyptic cult.

For starters, cults require energy. A lot of It.

Running a cult means constant manipulation, performance, and decision-making. If you’re just trying to chill in the wasteland and eat your secret stash of peanut butter, this is a full-time job. On the other hand, maybe manipulation is your secret superpower. In which case, it might not be that difficult after all.

Even if your followers love you, other survival groups probably won’t love that you have an army of devoted zealots. Whether it’s a power grab or just annoyance at your “visions,” expect enemies. Potentially lots of them. And the bigger your following gets, the more enemies you’ll have too.

I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention the Waco Problem. Governments (if they still exist) and bigger, stronger warlords tend to not love the idea of independent, well-armed, organized groups that worship a singular leader. They will show up. And it will probably not go well for you.

Unless your zealots are stronger than theirs.

What Kind of Apocalypse Best Supports Cult Formation?

I should point out that not every end-of-the-world scenario is cult-friendly. Some are ideal, while others just make you look like a guy in a robe yelling at an empty field.

Best Cult-Friendly Apocalypses:

• Slow Societal Collapse: When things get bad gradually, people cling to strong, confident leaders who seem to have answers. Perfect recruitment conditions. (Sound familiar?)

• Nuclear Fallout/Post-War Chaos: When governments fail and survival depends on tight-knit groups, cults thrive.

• Supernatural End Times: If the apocalypse involves demons, aliens, or mysterious omens, convincing people you “understand the signs” is way easier.

Terrible Cult-Building Apocalypses:

Zombie Apocalypse: Hard to run a cult when your followers keep getting eaten. Also, zombies don’t care about sermons. On the other hand, you’d have a lot of bodies to put between you and the zombies.
Mad Max Wasteland: Warlords > Cults. If the dominant survival strategy is “biggest guy with the most guns wins,” your faith-based society is getting steamrolled.
AI Takeover: The robots do not care about your prophecies.

So… Should You Start a Cult?

Maybe.

If you’re charismatic, organized, and willing to maintain absolute control over a group of desperate people (despite the dog-awful ethics of doing so), running a cult might actually increase your survival odds.

But if you’re just looking for companionship, security, or food? You’re probably better off joining an existing survival group rather than reinventing the wheel (or the oppressive spiritual hierarchy).

At the very least, if you’re going to start a cult, aim for something low-maintenance. A chill survival commune with light worship and minimal ritual sacrifices seems good. Maybe colorful shirts and some fruit would be nice.

And if all else fails? Just call it a “leadership training program” and see what happens.

In The Forest I Am Me

There’s something about being outside that feels different than anywhere else.

Specifically, I don’t mean doing outside; I mean being outside.

The ability to just sit or ride or exist in the outdoors is a privilege I will always be grateful for. Because every time it happens, it’s like years are added onto my life. Like weight is released from my soul.

When I am in a people-centric place, a city or a highway or a mall, where people-ness rises up and severs my connection to the outdoors, I become agitated and anxious. There are too many sounds and smells and lights and color; noise and chaos and filth.

But when I am outside, despite the fact that there are MORE sounds and sights and smells and chaos, it feels soft. Comforting. As though I am in a place where I can truly feel safe.

People require a significant amount of mental and emotional energy from me. They are always there, potentially noticing or interacting, and I am always aware of their presence.

But in the forest, I am simply a part of it. I am no different than a bird or a bear or a badger. I can burrow or flit or growl, but the size of me is utterly subsumed by the essence of the forest. All of it is exponentially, maybe even infinitely bigger than me.

I am a blip and nothing more.

An inconsequential passerby in the life of a centuries-old tree, a forest of a millennia of years.

Because of this, i am safe to exist exactly as I am.

In the number of days, my life might be greater than that of a bird, an otter, or a bear, but my life is inconsequential compared to a tree. And nothing in relation to the days of a stone, or to the Earth itself.

When you take a step back and see the Earth floating in the cosmos, a pale blue dot as Carl Sagan described it, you see all of humanity as one. But when you step even further back, and see the passage of time—I am not even a thought, a memory, a mote.

I am nothing except myself.

And there is no lost honor or sadness in this. It is the way of all things. And it is the way of being alive in this universe, in this time.

I exist. As do the whales and the unfathomable expanse of the ocean and the moose being devoured by an orca on the shore.

We all exist for a blink in the lifespan of the universe. My life is naught but a grain of sand in the ocean. A single pebble in the Earth’s crust. A drop of water in a thunderstorm.

But without me, the universe would not be as it is.

The Complexity of Thought

Life has always been complex, but our understanding of exactly how complex has not always been, in and of itself, complex. Some people have a complex understanding of the complexity of existence; other people have a simple understanding of the complexity of existence.

As societies learn more about the world, our understanding doesn’t just expand—it becomes more complex, because knowledge itself creates new layers of uncertainty, debate, and possibility. This has the effect of creating a moving needing for just about everything, but in particular, what we consider “baseline knowledge.” What does everyone accept to be true, without question? Without fully understanding?

The shape of the planet. Germs. The existence of computers. Fractions. Atoms and molecules and distant galaxies. All things that were once, largely unknown.

Perhaps an apt analogy is that of an iceberg. This iceberg represents all knowledge.

Humanity is in a fleet of boats, sailing rapidly toward the iceberg. The fleet represents the social limitations of our collective knowledge. As all of society works to a.) acquire more knowledge and b.) provide access to said knowledge, we all draw nearer to the iceberg, which enables us to see it more clearly both as individuals and as a group.

But, from a distance, all we can know is the way the tip of the iceberg looks.

As we collectively draw nearer to the iceberg, the closest ship in the fleet sends explorers on a rowboat to learn more about the iceberg. They discover that it is safe to walk on and that it is very cold. Perhaps they learn there are penguins on it, or geographic features.

Then they return to the fleet.

Those on their own ship believe them wholeheartedly. But on other ships in the fleet, the reception of the information is varied. Some claim it is a hoax. Some are too busy fighting off scurvy to care. Some are mutinying. Others listen but have questions. Some receive false information—the telephone game effect.

At this point the collective knowledge of the fleet as a whole begins to diverge, and sub groups emerge. Each sub group has their own version of the Truth. Each group also contains individuals who become at least partially separate from the group; those who are willing to drift from group to group.

These are the arbiters of the information, who lend credibility or dissent to the rest of the group. They either leave the group to seek out new information or verify what’s been learned; or, they remain in the group and work to create ideological filters or barriers that prevent others from learning about the iceberg. This would be presented as “in the best interest of the group.” The sub-group would tend to view the person with respect and trust them to deliver and assess any new information based on their collective definition of Truth or reality.

Eventually, more explorers are sent to the iceberg, even as information continues to be shared or debated among the fleet. Some members of the fleet support the explorers and some do not.

As the explores dig deeper in their efforts to understand the iceberg, they realize that what they can see is only… pardon me, but… the tip of the iceberg. What they thought was just ice flotilla, is in fact an upside-down mountain range, most of which is invisible beneath the ocean’s surface.

This floating hunk of ice is far more complex than they’d realized. What’s more, is that while they now understand that the iceberg is far more than what it initially appeared, they don’t actually know what else it actually is. They only know that there is more to learn.

Their understanding itself has grown more complex.

Now they bring their new understanding of the iceberg back to the fleet.

“There’s more,” they say.

“More what?” they’re asked.

“Just… more.”

The word spreads. Some groups believe it and adjust their world view. Others don’t change. Still others lie to create a version of the story that aligns with their version of reality.

More information emerges. It’s all ice. About 90% of it is submerged; only 10% is visible to those in the fleet. It is made of fresh water, despite the fact the ocean is salty. The varying degrees of melting and breakup of the ice makes them very dangerous, liable to tip or roll at any moment.

And still, the researchers and explorers know there is more to learn. They haven’t discovered every detail, but their understanding has grown immeasurably.

And then… one of the ships discovers a second iceberg.

Now their ability to conceptualize doubles. The complexity of their iceberg world expands exponentially. If there are two icebergs, why not three or four or five or a hundred? If there are penguins on this iceberg, what other species might they discover?

The new knowledge of what IS, feeds the understanding not only of what could be, but of what probably is. Their ability to comprehend all that they don’t know is growing more rapidly than what they do know.

It’s like the mysterious they always say: "The more you know, the more you know you don’t know.”

The complexity of the world is inescapable—but whether our understanding deepens depends on whether we’re willing to let knowledge flow freely, even when it reshapes what we thought we knew.

How to Survive the Apocalypse, Part 9: Real Survival Tips We Should Probably All Know Anyway

Most people live their lives blissfully unprepared. Power outages turn into existential crises. A flat tire feels like the beginning of the end. Grocery stores run out of milk before a snowstorm, and suddenly, people are fighting over the last loaf of bread like it’s a medieval siege.

But here’s the thing: you don’t need the apocalypse to justify knowing how to function when things go wrong.

The apocalypse isn’t the only reason to learn survival skills.

So before society crumbles, before you have to rely on a survival manual written by a guy named “Mad Dog Rick,” here are real survival skills everyone should probably know anyway (besides starting a fire, filtering water, and basic first aid—read those here).

How to Navigate Without a Phone

If your phone dies and GPS stops working, could you still find your way home? Or would you just wander in circles until someone made a Netflix docuseries about your disappearance?

What You Should Know:

• Use the sun and stars. The sun rises in the east, sets in the west. At night, find the North Star. Hot tip: it’s in the north.

• Learn basic map reading. It’s useful to understand contour lines, landmarks, and how to orient a map. In fact, it might be worth it to buy a map of your local area so you know where everything is, not just your usual haunts.

• Use natural landmarks. Rivers flow downhill, moss grows more heavily on the north side of trees (usually), and roads tend to lead somewhere.

Bonus Skill: Next time you go somewhere new, try getting home without GPS. If you end up in another state, congratulations! You just failed the survival test.

How to Open a Can Without a Can Opener

Picture this: you’ve hoarded all the canned food. Beans, soup, tuna—you’re set. But there’s a problem.

Your only can opener broke. Now what?

What You Should Know:

• Use a spoon. Rub the spoon’s edge along the can’s rim, pressing down. Eventually, the lid will wear through.

• Use concrete. Flip the can upside down and grind the lid against rough concrete, then pry it open.

• Use a knife (carefully). Jab the tip of the knife into the lid and work your way around.

What NOT to Do:

• Don’t stab wildly at the can. That’s a great way to add tetanus to your apocalypse problems.

Bonus Skill: Try opening a can with a spoon before you actually need to. It’s harder than it looks.

How to Make a Quick & Dirty Shelter

In most situations, you probably don’t need a full-blown wilderness cabin built from locally sourced apocalypse logs and wattle—just something to keep the rain off and stop the wind from stealing your body heat.

What You Should Know:

• The A-Frame Shelter: Lean sticks or branches against a fallen log or rock, then pile leaves, grass, or even trash on top for insulation.

• The Tarp Tent: If you have a tarp or poncho, tie it between two trees for instant rain cover.

• Use What’s Around You: In an urban setting? Carboard boxes, abandoned vehicles, even doorways with overhead coverage are better than nothing.

What NOT to Do:

• Don’t build in low spots where water will pool.

• Don’t assume “a few leaves” will keep you warm. Insulation is key.

Bonus Skill: The next time you go outside, look around and ask yourself: if I had to sleep here tonight, where would I do it? And how?

How to Make Yourself Invisible When You Don’t Want to Be Found

Maybe you’re avoiding looters. Maybe you don’t want to be a target. Maybe you just regret making eye contact with someone too chatty. Either way, blending in is a useful survival skill.

What You Should Know:

• Move at night. If stealth is key, stick to the shadows. Stay low, move slow.

• Dull colors blend in. Avoid bright clothing—earth tones are your friend.

• Be silent. No jangling keys, heavy footsteps, or talking. Listen before you move.

• Stay out of open spaces. The less visible you are, the better.

What NOT to Do:

• Don’t panic and run—it makes you way more noticeable.

Bonus Skill: The next time you’re in a public place, try moving without drawing attention. It’s harder than you think.

How to Signal for Help Without a Phone

If you’re lost or stranded, getting found is just as important as staying alive. But how do you get help when you can’t just text someone “uh oh”?

What You Should Know:

• Three of anything is a distress signal. Three whistles, three fires, three flashes of light—it signals “help needed.”

• Smoke is visible from miles away. A smoky fire (wet leaves work) is a great way to get noticed.

• Mirrors work better than you think. Even a small mirror can reflect sunlight up to 10 miles away.

What NOT to Do:

• Don’t wander aimlessly. Stay put if rescue is likely.

Bonus Skill: Carry a small mirror or whistle in your bag. It weighs nothing but might save your life.

How to Not Get Lost in the First Place

The easiest way to stay alive? Don’t put yourself in a bad situation to begin with. Prevention is the best cure, so they say.

What You Should Know:

• Tell someone where you’re going. Even if it’s just a hike, let someone know your route.

• Mark your path. Break branches, leave rocks stacked in noticeable ways—anything to make retracing your steps easier.

• Trust your instincts. If something feels off, stop and reassess.

What NOT to Do:

• Don’t just assume “I’ll figure it out.” You won’t.

Bonus Skill: The next time you go somewhere unfamiliar, pay attention to how you got there without using GPS. If you can’t remember, work on that.

Survival Isn’t Just for the Apocalypse

Knowing how to do basic survival things shouldn’t be a niche skill. You don’t need a doomsday bunker to justify knowing how to function when things go wrong.

• Learn to navigate.

• Know how to open a can without a fancy gadget.

• Pay attention to your surroundings.

• Don’t put yourself in a situation where you need rescuing.

Because whether it’s the end of the world or just a power outage, being prepared never hurts.

And if civilization never collapses? Hey—at least you won’t be one of the people fighting over bread at the grocery store.

Interlacement: An Essay About Thinking

A couple of years ago, there was this enormous (and kind of dumb) internet discussion about whether or not people have an internal monologue. Of course, some people do and some people don’t, but the most interesting thing that evolved from the discussion was a sub-discussion in which people began to describe how they think.

The discussion involved a lot of metaphors and descriptions of how people “see” ideas inside their minds, as well as a lot of increased visibility into aphantasia. Many shared that they thought in words or in images; many didn’t. Some people shared that often they didn’t have any thoughts at all.

I cannot fathom existing without thinking. Thoughts are ever present for me, even when I’m sleeping.

That said, I don’t always think in words, or images, or sounds, though sometimes I may think in any combination of these things.

And sometimes, I think in a different way, which I call Interlacement.

Imagine, if you will, the universe.

What visualization, if any, would your mind create?

Do you see stars, planets, and clouds of interstellar dust? Do you see blackness interspersed with tiny pinpricks of stars and solar systems and galaxies? Do you see words or hear sounds? Or envision a photograph of a galaxy from Nasa’s incredible collection? Or perhaps you see a holographic 3D map like you might find on a futuristic space-faring TV show.

That’s what I see.

And that’s how I envision thinking.

The ideas in my mind are a whole universe with galaxies and stars and planets. Sometimes I traverse it with images; sometimes with words; sometimes with sound; sometimes with all of the above.

Sometimes, I zoom in and sometimes I zoom out.

Sometimes I sit and let the movement and flow of my internal universe wash over and around me—I feel my thoughts.

It’s hard for me to imagine only thinking in one way. I think in many ways for different reasons. Sometimes thoughts rise to the surface in specific formats, because that’s the best way to understand the idea. Other times, it’s the connection between ideas that is more important. And that’s not experienced in words or thoughts or sound or monologue, but in thought-thought. The experience of understanding without translation.

The most fundamental unit of thought.

Sometimes, I pull up a song in my mind and listen to it in my head. I’m sorry, I don’t pay royalties on that. I can feel it in my ears.

Sometimes, I watch movies in my head. I can see images, events, movement, color, texture.

Sometimes, I just sit down and let my thoughts exist within me. As just … thought.

My mind isn’t empty. To the contrary, it’s full. The fullest.

Like an ocean of thought, in which everything is connected.

Interlaced.

I can focus in on a single drop of water; or, I can just let myself float.

Interlacement is the shape of my thoughts.