Peace, Security and Sudden Destruction: Waiting for Armageddon

By Dr George Locke

George Locke is a member of our editorial team and a volunteer with Faith to Faithless, a Humanists UK programme that supports individuals leaving high-control religions. She is part of the programme’s research team and also organises social support groups, both online and in person. In addition, she gives talks on the lived experience of growing up in a high-control religion and the work of Faith to Faithless.

I grew up in the 1980s, waiting for Armageddon and convinced the world would end before I left school. According to Paul's first letter to the Thessalonians:

“Whenever it is that they are saying, ‘Peace and Security!’ then sudden destruction is to be instantly upon them just as the pang of distress upon a pregnant woman; and they will by no means escape.” 1 Thessalonians 5:3 (New World Translation)

The author grew up waiting for the cry of “Peace and Security”, and the destruction that would follow.

This was read alongside Matthew 24, where the disciples ask Christ about the signs of his presence and the conclusion of the system of things. Christ lists wars and reports of wars (v.6), famines and earthquakes (v.7), the Good News being preached worldwide (v.14), and the “great tribulation” (v.21).

For Jehovah’s Witnesses, these scriptures are not read as metaphor; they are tied directly to world events, political shifts, and social movements. We were trained to view headlines through an eschatological lens, filtering every earthquake, war or summit meeting as a potential indicator of the end: the Cold War; the hole in the ozone layer; the Catholic Church naming 1986 as the “International Year of Peace”; Ethiopian famine and “Feed the World”; and the new environmental fear of “the greenhouse effect”, were all interpreted as evidence that the end of the world was at hand.

Armageddon, in Witness theology, is understood as the climactic battle between divine forces led by Jesus Christ against the collective world powers under Satan's influence. It will bring the current world system to an end, based on a literal reading of apocalyptic scriptures such as Revelation 16:16, Daniel 2:44, and Matthew 24. Armageddon itself is not framed as a chaotic global disaster, but as an intentional, surgical act of judgement carried out by God to eliminate wickedness and establish true peace under divine rule. Nevertheless, the lead-up to Armageddon could well include global catastrophes.

Jehovah’s Witness teachings outline a specific sequence, where Armageddon is preceded by a detailed prophetic timeline: First, the destruction of “Babylon the Great” (that is, all religions outside of Jehovah’s Witnesses); then a global attack on Jehovah’s Witnesses as God’s representatives; followed by divine intervention, when Jehovah, through Jesus and his angelic forces, steps in to defend His people; the war of Armageddon itself will occur; and then a thousand-year reign of peace for the faithful. During this Millennium, Jesus rules as king, the dead are resurrected, and humans gradually restore the Earth to paradise conditions. At the end of this thousand-year reign, a final test occurs when Satan is briefly released. Those who fail are destroyed and those who remain loyal will be granted eternal life on a perfected Earth, free from sin, death and suffering.

Growing up as a Jehovah’s Witness, I lived with a quiet, ever-present dread cloaked in the language of faith and righteousness. We didn’t know how this world would end, but end it must. When we lived tucked away in South West Wales, my parents told me that the Royal Air Force base at Brawdy and the nearby refineries would be in the first wave of bombings, so at least we wouldn’t suffer if there was a nuclear attack. And once the governments and evil people were gone, the world could be made a paradise.

I consumed the news in the same way as I read the Bible, searching for signs and warnings. The Cold War between the US and USSR was a constant undercurrent in the worldview of the 1980s. Jehovah’s Witness or not. Headlines about the arms race, Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD), CND marches, and Greenham Common protests, ensured the fear of a nuclear strike was ever-present.

At the same time, environmental concerns were intensifying. In 1985, British scientists reported a dramatic seasonal depletion of the ozone layer over Antarctica, which sparked widespread alarm about rising cancer rates and ecological collapse. Acid rain, caused by industrial emissions of sulphur dioxide and nitrogen oxides, was devastating lakes, forests and fish populations across Europe and North America. Haunting images of skeletal trees and lifeless lakes in Scandinavia and Germany appeared. In Wales, the damage felt closer to home, with tree loss in parts of Snowdonia and acidic soils threatening sheep pasture.

Effects of acid rain in Jizera Mountains, Czech Republic. Photo by Lovecz, Creative Commons licence.

And then came Chernobyl. In April 1986, when Reactor 4 at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant exploded, radioactive fallout spread across Europe. In Wales, radioactive rain brought contamination to the hills and farmland. Restrictions were placed on sheep grazing across large parts of North and Mid Wales, with government monitoring and controls that in some areas lasted for decades. Soon afterwards, in 1988, NASA scientist Dr James Hansen testified before the US Congress that the “greenhouse effect” was already changing our climate.

Even in our remote corner of the UK, humanity was ruining the Earth, proving that divine intervention was necessary and inevitable. Though international cooperation eventually led to successful regulation, phasing out CFCs and reducing acid rain, the very idea of such unity and co-operation was, in my indoctrinated worldview, not a source of comfort but a sign: “Peace and security” were the prophesied precursors to destruction, and so each act of progress only deepened my conviction that the end was near.

Culture was awash with doomsday imagery: films, books, video games, music videos. As a child raised in the Jehovah’s Witnesses, the idea of a cataclysmic end wasn’t science fiction or distant theology. It wasn’t Blade Runner, Mad Max, or even Max Headroom. It was imminent, certain, and vividly portrayed in the organisation’s literature.

AI image based on Jehovah's Witness imagery of Armageddon

The eschatology of Jehovah’s Witnesses has attracted significant criticism from scholars, former members, and mental health professionals. They argue that it fosters a rigid, exclusionary worldview, dividing humanity into those who will survive and those who will not, with salvation reserved almost exclusively for Jehovah’s Witnesses and a handful of sympathetic outsiders. Sociologist Andrew Holden, author of Jehovah’s Witnesses: Portrait of a Contemporary Religious Movement (2012) has observed that this dualistic “us-versus-them” mentality promotes social isolation and psychological inflexibility. Similarly, former Governing Body member Raymond Franz, in his memoir Crisis of Conscience (1983) critiques the organisation’s demand for absolute doctrinal conformity and its suppression of internal dissent. The belief that Jehovah’s Witnesses are the sole custodians of truth (indeed they refer to their faith as “the Truth”) can create deep emotional dependency. Questioning belief can be traumatic, with the loss of spiritual certainty and the severing of social and familial ties.

Psychologists who study high-control religions have echoed these concerns. Dr Marlene Winell, a psychologist who coined the term “Religious Trauma Syndrome”, argues that apocalyptic belief systems, especially when internalised during childhood, can cause long-term psychological harm. The constant fear of destruction, coupled with black-and-white moral messaging, can contribute to anxiety and panic disorders. Children raised in such environments often experience complex trauma as they struggle to reconcile innate curiosity and critical thinking with doctrinal conformity. Similarly, Dr Janja Lalich, a sociologist specialising in cult dynamics, identifies a pattern of “bounded choice” among Jehovah’s Witnesses: that is, individuals may appear to choose their beliefs freely, but in reality, every decision is constrained by fear of punishment, expulsion or eternal death. This can foster spiritual elitism and create immense psychological pressure, particularly on children, through a fear-driven moral system where obedience is less about love or altruism and more about avoiding punishment and annihilation.

The literalism with which Jehovah’s Witnesses interpret Armageddon leaves little room for nuance or reinterpretation, making doubt or personal questioning deeply dangerous. It is the literal, divinely orchestrated war that will annihilate all human governments and non-believers. These beliefs shaped everything. As a child, I was discouraged from forming long-term plans; higher education, a career, even friendships outside the faith, were seen as distractions from the urgent work of preaching. School was treated as a temporary formality – a stopgap until paradise arrived. I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, because I wasn’t going to grow up in this world. I left school at 16 to preach, despite teachers encouraging me to apply for university.

There was a perverse comfort in the idea that the end was near. It meant justice. It meant pain would cease, and we would be with our loved ones in paradise. But it also meant that the world and everyone in it was disposable unless they conformed. Friends outside the faith? Marked for destruction. Charitable work? Distracting. The only tasks that mattered were spreading the message, warning others, and keeping spiritually alert.

Emotionally, the effects of expecting Armageddon were profound. Fear of destruction echoed around every disobedient thought or rebellious impulse. Images in Jehovah's Witness publications often depicted the wicked being swallowed by earthquakes or consumed by fire. This was not allegory – it was my expected reality. I internalised a sense of surveillance, not just from elders or parents, but from God himself, who could see into my heart and judge me as wanting.

Leaving the faith came at a great cost. Coming to terms with mortality and grief for loved ones, alongside the realisation that your entire worldview was built upon fear, control, and conditional love, was shattering. Jehovah’s Witnesses practise shunning, and those who disassociate or who are “removed” from the congregation are often cut off entirely from family and community. The psychological toll of such ostracism can be devastating, with studies linking the experience to anxiety, depression, and symptoms of religious trauma syndrome. Former Witnesses like Ali Millar and Amber Scorah have publicly documented these experiences, providing a language for what I and many others endured. Their memoirs echo a shared story, one of internal conflict, guilt, awakening, and painful liberation.

But healing is possible. For those leaving high-control groups such as the Jehovah’s Witnesses, a growing network of support exists. There are organisations such as Faith to Faithless (part of Humanists UK), the Family Survival Trust, and the Council of Ex-Muslims of Britain, as well as online communities such as Reddit’s r/exjw subreddit and various Facebook, Discord and Meetup groups. Books such as Marlene Winell’s Leaving the Fold (revised edition 2006), Janja Lalich’s Take Back Your Life (2006) and Gillie Jenkinson’s Walking Free from the Trauma of Coercive, Cultic and Spiritual Abuse (2024) can be invaluable. There are also therapists with expertise in coercive relationships and high-control groups.

I grew up waiting for the cry of “Peace and Security”, and the destruction that would follow. It never came. The world is not safe, and the articles in this issue of Humanistically Speaking consider some of the reasons for that. But whatever happens in the future, it won’t be divine retribution. I left faith behind and whilst I miss living with the certainty that God will step in and solve our problems, I prefer a life where morality doesn’t require dogma, joy isn’t deferred to an imagined paradise, and what we do as humans will decide the future.

Leaving faith and looking forward