When asked why he hung a horseshoe over his door, Nobel Prize-winning physicist Niels Bohr replied, “I am told that they bring luck even to those who do not believe in them.”

I think there is an analogous position for all of us “spiritual, not religious” people and atheists today: We do not believe in the Christian prophecy of End Times — the final, tumultuous period characterized by severe global tribulation before the resurrection of Jesus Christ — but when we read daily news headlines we feel as if we’ve been cast as extras in the latest blockbuster armageddon movie.

We grew up believing in science, progress, democracy, and better living through data. Now our quotidian realities have algorithms devouring our attention, monopolies syphoning our wallets, democracies wobbling like IKEA bookcases, weekly catastrophes, natural disasters, wars, and public executions, along with disinformation straight out of the dystopian novels we read in high school.

We don’t call it Revelation; we call it “the news,” but from 40,000 feet they look eerily similar: the sense that we’re living in hyper-speed, that the ground beneath our feet is hemorrhaging, something catastrophic is unfolding, and that we, personally, are far too insignificant to do anything about it.

Last week, The Guardian diagnosed it as “Political Depression.”

Believers don’t seem to fret much. They have their prophecies and reckon that God knows exactly what he’s doing. The rest of us have to resort to push notifications and dubious recommendations from Andrew Huberman for self-care. We have no evacuation plan, just a surplus of podcasters spewing pseudo-scientific opinions while hawking productivity-optimizing supplements. Productive for whom?

As opposed to self-righteous New Agers trying to smuggle ancient spirituality back in new bottles, our survival kits are psychological and social. We need to generate meaning without ethereal overlords and guaranteed happy endings. We all know that the only place to get a happy ending is Disney.

There are two ideas in play here: 1) Civilization is disintegrating, yet 2) complete catastrophe is not 100 percent inevitable; nor is it evenly distributed.

Nor is it improved by our incessant frittering, distractions, or worrying.

We must let data inform us, but refuse to let catastrophe-porn become a lifestyle. It’s a balancing act. We stay informed enough to do our part even if it feels as if we may be shuffling deckchairs on the Titanic. We allow ourselves to register that the world feels apocalyptic and still appreciate the realities of a delicious meal, a funny blog, and a friend who texts back in a timely manner.

We must…

Organize our days to make them as meaningful as possible.
Understand that language creates reality, so we are impeccable with our diction.
Realize that being of service to other people — particularly those less fortunate than ourselves — is the only durable currency.
Defend the future of the planet as if someone will inherit it, even if we will never meet them or they may never exist.
Cultivate authentic, meaningful relationships.

From the outside, this might resemble an absurd leap of faith, but from the inside, it feels like the only way to maintain deliberate even-keeledness amidst catastrophic conditions. Chaos does not relieve us of responsibility; instead, it makes our small, local responsibilities more impactful and important. Civilization as we know it may or may not be ending. Our task is the same either way: to behave as if it isn’t, within the tiny radius where we can actually make a difference.

It may sound as much fun as an anarchist collective, but it’s the secular upgrade of Pascal’s Wager (believing in God is the most rational decision from a cost/benefit analysis).

And, of course… there’s no Plan B. We have to be the change we want to see in the world.