Dire Warnings from Heaven: Abundance Year Episode 1942: (audio: nox...

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Monday 20, April 2026
Abundance Year Episode 1942
Noxsoma Life Camp:
Dire Warnings from Heaven

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Dire Warnings from Heaven
End-Times, Inc.: Seven Apocalyptic Scares That Made Believers Do Crazy Things (and the People Who Profited).

From Orson Welles' Martians to Harold Camping's Rapture, a century of dire warnings from heaven has led to mass panic, mass suicide, and a whole lot of merchandise.

It was Halloween Eve, 1938, when millions of Americans reached for their radios and heard the end of the world. The broadcast—a dramatization of H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds—was so convincing that listeners jammed police switchboards, grabbed their guns, and prepared to fight off Martians with heat rays. But the panic wasn't real—at least, not as real as the newspapers claimed. And that tension between genuine fear and manufactured hysteria has defined every major apocalypse scare since.

Here are seven events since 1900—plus one critical precursor—that scared believers into doing crazy things, complete with the money trail and legal fallout left behind.

The Precursor: The Great Disappointment (1844).

The Prediction: Jesus Christ would return on October 22, 1844.

William Miller, a Baptist preacher, convinced thousands of followers—the Millerites—to sell their possessions, don white robes, and ascend to heaven. When Jesus failed to appear, the day became known as the "Great Disappointment."

The Crazy: Followers sat on rooftops in their robes, waiting for the rapture that never came. Some wept through the night.

The Ramification: Instead of abandoning their faith, many Millerites invented the "Investigative Judgment" theology—claiming Christ had entered a heavenly temple rather than Earth—which birthed the Seventh-day Adventist Church. This psychological template of "explaining away" failed prophecy would repeat for generations.

Money? Mostly lost. Followers had given away their possessions. But the Adventist movement would grow into a wealthy denomination with hospitals, schools, and publishing houses.

The War of the Worlds (1938).

The Prediction: Martians were invading Grover's Mill, New Jersey, with deadly heat rays and poison gas.

Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air produced a radio adaptation that used fake news bulletins to interrupt what seemed like a regular dance music program. For listeners who tuned in late—missing the disclaimer that it was fiction—the realism was terrifying.

The Crazy: In Concrete, Washington, a power failure plunged the town into darkness right as the Martians were supposedly attacking. Believing this was the end, men grabbed their guns to shoot the aliens. A New York City woman ran into a church screaming that the end had come. Police in Newark received nearly a thousand calls. The New Jersey Bell telephone company reported 75,000 to 100,000 extra calls during the 8:00 hour alone.

The Ramification: The FCC launched an immediate investigation. Trenton's City Manager wrote a furious letter complaining that the broadcast had "completely crippled communication facilities of our police department for about three hours". Congress demanded laws to prevent such broadcasts.

Ultimately, the FCC closed its investigation in December 1938 after CBS promised to avoid making fiction sound like breaking news. No fines were issued. However, the FCC later adopted a formal "hoax rule" (Section 73.1217) that today would likely result in massive fines for such a broadcast.
Accountability: Orson Welles apologized publicly, claiming he didn't know the broadcast would cause panic—though internal evidence suggests otherwise. H.G. Wells, author of the original novel, told the New York Times that CBS had "far overstepped their rights".
Money? Welles became a household name, launching his film career. CBS saw its audience skyrocket. The Mercury Theatre gained national attention. While no direct profiteering occurred, the "panic" narrative sold a lot of newspapers—the New York Times front page story is now considered a significant overstatement of the actual hysteria.

The Cold War "Duck and Cover" (1950s-60s).

The Prediction: Nuclear annihilation at the hands of the Soviet Union, interpreted by evangelicals as the biblical Armageddon preceding Christ's return.

The Crazy: School children practiced "duck and cover" drills—huddling under wooden desks that would have done nothing against an atomic blast. Families built fallout shelters stocked with canned goods and firearms. Some evangelical preachers identified Soviet leaders as the Antichrist.

The Ramification: The nuclear threat never materialized as predicted, but the Cold War ended only after decades of near-misses (Cuban Missile Crisis, Able Archer 83). The existential fear reshaped American civil defense policy and popular culture.

Money? A booming industry of survival gear, shelter construction, and canned food suppliers. Civil defense contractors made fortunes. The evangelical prophecy industry—books, conferences, films—grew substantially.

Heaven's Gate (1997).

The Prediction: The Comet Hale-Bopp was hiding a UFO that would take their souls to "The Next Level" before Earth was "recycled."

Led by Marshall Applewhite, the Heaven's Gate cult believed their bodies were mere "containers" that needed to be shed to board the spacecraft behind the comet.

The Crazy: On March 26, 1997, police entered a rented mansion in Rancho Santa Fe, California, and found 39 bodies—all dead by suicide. They were dressed in matching black Nike sneakers and armband patches reading "Heaven's Gate Away Team." Each had consumed a fatal mixture of phenobarbital and vodka.

The Ramification: The largest mass suicide on U.S. soil. Applewhite had convinced followers to sever all ties with family, sell their possessions, and dedicate their lives (and deaths) to the cause. The cult funded itself through a web design business called Higher Source.

Accountability: Applewhite died with his followers. No one was prosecuted. The event sparked national debate about cults, religious freedom, and warning signs.

Money? The cult had assets, including a $7,000-per-month mansion lease. Their web design business generated revenue. After the suicides, the remaining estate was tied up in legal battles. Nike famously tried to distance itself from the brand association.

The Y2K Bug (1999-2000).

The Prediction: On January 1, 2000, computers would crash because of a two-digit date coding error. Planes would fall from the sky, power grids would fail, and society would collapse.

The Crazy: Survivalists moved to remote compounds. Families stockpiled water, generators, ammunition, and dehydrated food. Some dug wells and drilled for natural gas. The recommendation to stockpile toilet paper as a barter item became a running joke.

Southern Baptists and Pat Robertson's Christian Broadcasting Network openly viewed Y2K as a recruiting tool. "If some banks fail, if the grocery shelves are bare and there's no heat in the winter many people will turn to the church for help," the network said. "Indeed, the church can redeem 'Y2K' for Jesus Christ".

The Ramification: Nothing happened. The new year arrived with barely a flicker. Millions of food buckets sat untouched in garages for years.

Accountability: The experts who predicted catastrophe largely disappeared from public view. Some admitted they got it wrong. Most simply moved on to the next scare.

Money? This was the big one. Y2K became a $600 billion global industry. Consultants billed fortune. Lawyers prepared for lawsuits. Survival gear companies saw massive spikes. Walton Feed's dehydrated food business doubled. Emergency Essentials saw sales rise 40%. Books flooded the market—including Everyone's Guide to Making a Million Dollars on the Year 2000 Crash for $44.95. One observer called Y2K "the biggest money-making hoax in my lifetime".

Harold Camping's 2011 Rapture.

The Prediction: The Rapture would occur on May 21, 2011, followed by the end of the world on October 21.

Using complex biblical numerology, the 89-year-old Christian broadcaster spent millions on billboards worldwide declaring "Judgment Day: May 21—the Bible guarantees it."

The Crazy: Followers sold their homes, quit their jobs, and drained their retirement accounts to spread the message. Some spent their life savings on advertising. When May 21 passed without incident, Camping claimed it was a "spiritual" (invisible) judgment. When October 21 also passed quietly, he admitted he "couldn't understand the Bible properly."

The Ramification: Family Radio, Camping's organization, had spent approximately $100 million on the campaign. Most of this came from selling a television station and an FM station, but significant donations also came from followers who sacrificed everything.

Accountability: The Freedom from Religion Foundation asked the California Attorney General to investigate fraud. Legal scholars said lawsuits were almost certainly doomed under First Amendment protections. The Supreme Court's 1944 United States v. Ballard decision ruled that courts cannot declare religious beliefs true or false. "To determine that such statements were intentionally false," one professor explained, "a civil court would have to go deeply into evaluating religious judgments and religious states of mind".

Camping refused to take responsibility. "We're not in the business for money," he said. "Every nickel has been spent as fairly as possible". He noted that Family Radio never advised followers on financial matters.

Money? Family Radio retained most of its assets. Charity Navigator had rated it a 4-star charity. The $100 million was spent exactly as promised—on advertising the end. Legally, that made it difficult to claim fraud. But for followers who lost their life savings, the distinction was cold comfort.

The 2012 Mayan Apocalypse.

The Prediction: The Mayan Long Count calendar ends on December 21, 2012, bringing catastrophic Earth changes or total destruction.

The Crazy: People flocked to "safe zones" like Bugarach mountain in France (believed to be a Noah's Ark-style refuge) and Sirince, Turkey. Survival gear sales skyrocketed. One survival company reported a 400% increase in pandemic kit sales.

The Ramification: The sun rose on December 22. The world continued. Most Mayan scholars had said all along that the calendar's end simply marked the beginning of a new cycle.

Money? Global box office for the movie 2012—starring John Cusack and massive CGI destruction—was $770 million. The Stevens Point Brewery sold a "2012 Black Ale" with Mayan calendar labels. CafePress sold tens of thousands of doomsday items: thong underwear reading "Time's up! 12/21!" and T-shirts with the planet Earth saying "Expiration Date: 12/21/12". Tour companies charged $5,000 per person for trips to Mayan ruins on the fateful date. Hotels offered "Party Like There's No To-Maya" packages.

A religion professor noted the cycle: "People quit their jobs and give away all their earthly possessions. So what happens the next day, when this pesky world is still around? Rather than abandon all the huge investment they've put in, they adjust, and form, often, a new kind of religion".

The Pattern: Profit, Panic, and No Accountability.

Seven events, seven cycles of fear, and one consistent outcome: someone always makes money.

The profiteers fall into three categories.

The Legitimate Opportunists: Y2K consultants, survival gear sellers, movie studios, and breweries selling apocalypse-themed products. They didn't create the fear, but they happily capitalized on it.

The True Believers: Harold Camping, Marshall Applewhite, and the Millerites genuinely believed their predictions. Their followers' financial losses were collateral damage to sincere (if delusional) faith.

The Legal Escape Hatch: The First Amendment's protection of religious belief makes fraud claims nearly impossible. As long as the predictor genuinely believes—or can convincingly claim to believe—their prediction, they cannot be sued for being wrong. The Supreme Court has ruled that juries cannot determine the "truth" of religious claims.

The pattern endures because the human need for meaning—and the human capacity for self-deception—remains unchanged. Whether it's Martians, nuclear war, computer bugs, or comets, the apocalypse is always just around the corner. And someone is always selling tickets.

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