If you travel to the edges of the Earth, you might find the great Ice Wall that holds the oceans in. Beyond it lies the unknown. At least, that’s what some believers in an old-new idea imagine. In a hotel conference room, a charismatic speaker clicks to the next slide of a presentation. The screen shows NASA logos crossed out with red Xs, and grainy photos that purportedly reveal secret “truths.” The audience – a mix of curious first-timers and die-hard enthusiasts – nods and murmurs. They have come to hear the Flat Earth gospel. There is a thrill in the air: the excitement of sharing a grand revelation, of being in on a cosmic secret that most of the world either laughs at or ignores. Welcome to a Flat Earth convention, a gathering that could be mistaken for a parody – except it’s real, and the attendees truly believe the Earth is flat.
Ancient Knowledge of a Round World
The notion that Earth is flat was dispelled long ago – so long, in fact, that it’s often surprising to learn just how far back our ancestors knew the truth. Contrary to popular misperceptions, people haven’t universally believed in a flat Earth in the past. The ancient Greeks understood Earth’s spherical nature over two millennia ago. As early as the 6th century BCE, Greek philosophers (like Pythagoras) proposed a round Earth. By the Hellenistic period (3rd century BCE), the spherical Earth was widely accepted among educated people. In one of history’s great scientific feats, the scholar Eratosthenes around 240 BCE measured the Earth’s circumference with remarkable accuracy using sun shadows and geometry. His measurement was the first of many confirming observations. Greek and later Roman astronomers noted how ships disappear hull-first over the horizon and how Earth’s shadow on the Moon during eclipses is round – classic evidence of a globe.
Through the ages, this knowledge persisted. Medieval scholars and navigators did not, contrary to myth, think we’d sail off the edge. In the 13th century, for instance, Thomas Aquinas casually mentioned Earth’s roundness as common knowledge among the learned. By the Age of Exploration, explorers like Magellan (whose crew circumnavigated the globe in the 16th century) and scientists of the Enlightenment further cemented what the ancients knew. By Isaac Newton’s time, not only was Earth understood to be spherical, but scientists even predicted it would bulge at the equator (an oblate spheroid) due to rotation – a hypothesis later confirmed by measurements. In short, for over two millennia, an immense body of evidence and observation has upheld the fact that our planet is round. This is the scientific consensus that has survived through every advancement of astronomy, physics, and space travel. Today, we have photographs of Earth from space, satellite data, and endless empirical proofs. The round Earth is as solid a fact as any in science.
It’s important to state this clearly, because the story we’re about to explore involves people rejecting this fact. So let us be absolutely unambiguous: the Earth is not flat – it is an oblate spheroid (a nearly perfect sphere), and this has been known and demonstrated beyond any reasonable doubt. The flat-Earth notion is a false idea, a long-discarded misconception. Yet, like a dormant spore sprouting in the dark, it has somehow come alive in the modern era, cultivating a following. How did that happen?
A Joke That Got Out of Hand?
For much of the 20th century, “flat Earth belief” was virtually non-existent in mainstream discourse – it was often assumed to be a relic of the ignorant past. In reality, a Flat Earth Society did exist, founded by English eccentric Samuel Shenton in the 1950s and later led by Charles K. Johnson in the 1970s. This small group kept insisting the Earth was flat, mostly drawing chuckles. Johnson famously told reporters that if Earth were a spinning ball, Australians would be hanging upside-down by their toes. His society at one point claimed a few thousand members and waged quixotic campaigns denying the Moon landings and other space achievements as hoaxes. Still, flat-Earth belief remained a fringe curiosity – a punchline more than anything. By the 1990s, after Johnson’s death, the Flat Earth Society dwindled.
Fast forward to the age of the Internet. In the mid-2000s, the Flat Earth Society found new life online. At first, much of its online presence had a tongue-in-cheek flavor. On forums, some participants treated flat Earth as a kind of thought experiment or satire – a way to flout conventional thinking or poke fun at conspiracy theorists. In internet culture, there’s even a principle called Poe’s Law which states that without a clear indicator, it’s hard to tell parody apart from sincere extremism online. The flat Earth idea became a perfect embodiment of that. In the late 2000s, if someone on a message board earnestly argued “Earth is flat and NASA is lying,” readers were left scratching their heads: Is this person serious, or is this an elaborate joke?
It didn’t help that some flat Earth forums themselves joked about their own sincerity. One Flat Earth Society leader, Michael Wilmore, admitted that “at least some of our members see the Flat Earth Society and Flat Earth Theory as a kind of epistemological exercise… or kind of ‘solipsism for beginners.’ …There are also probably some who thought the certificate would be kind of funny to have on their wall.” But, he added, many members (including himself) were truly convinced in their belief. In other words, even within the community there was a blend of irony and reality – some half-joking, some dead serious. This mix set the stage for confusion. Outsiders might treat the whole thing as an absurd parody that didn’t need to be taken seriously. But on the inside, a core of believers were indeed building a conspiracy narrative in earnest.
Around the mid-2010s, the situation shifted dramatically. What had been a mostly obscure or satirical subculture grew into a full-fledged conspiracy movement. Several factors converged: social media platforms like YouTube, Facebook, and Reddit gave flat-Earth ideas a megaphone and an audience well beyond the old forums. Conspiracy theories in general were on the rise, and flat Earth piggybacked on that trend. A few charismatic individuals began producing polished videos and podcasts claiming to “prove” the Earth is flat, often weaving it into a grander narrative of distrust in authorities. By 2015, there was a notable resurgence of flat Earth belief spreading online. People searching for quirky content might stumble on a flat Earth video and find themselves drawn into a rabbit hole of related conspiracy content.
Some trace the trigger to around 2014, when a faction of the Flat Earth Society (then led by a man named Daniel Shenton) broke away and launched their own forum and outreach efforts. These proponents explicitly encouraged people to dismiss scientific evidence and trust only personal observation. The Flat Earth Society’s FAQ even told newcomers that the best way to find truth is by “relying on one’s own senses” and to “distrust science completely”. This anti-science stance resonated with a growing segment of people who felt alienated or suspicious of scientific elites and mainstream media.
A turning point in raising public awareness came when a few celebrities openly toyed with flat Earth ideas. In early 2016, rapper B.o.B took to Twitter to declare the Earth flat, engaging in a public spat with astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson. Not long after, NBA player Kyrie Irving casually stated in an interview that he believed the Earth might be flat (though he later clarified and semi-retracted). These high-profile endorsements (sincere or not) acted like fuel on the fire – suddenly flat Earth was trending. Google searches spiked, media outlets ran bemused explainers, and YouTube saw a surge of videos tackling the topic. Each wave of attention brought more people into contact with flat Earth arguments, some out of curiosity, some for laughs. But in the bizarre bazaar of the internet, some of those people kept going further down the path, coming to believe it.
The Internet’s peculiar dynamics played a huge role. Online, it is “impossible to differentiate a joke from a deeply held belief” in many cases, and this ambiguity creates a fertile ground for fringe ideas to thrive. A parody video and a sincere video about flat Earth look identical if you don’t know the creator’s intent. Social media algorithms, which feed users more of what grabs their attention, don’t care if something was satire – they only see that flat Earth content was engaging you, so they show you more of it. Before long, someone who started by watching a funny flat Earth debunk video might find the platform auto-playing a serious flat Earth “documentary” filled with conspiracy claims. It was a perfect storm of irony and credulity. What started as a fringe (even comical) notion metastasized into a true-believer movement.
By late 2010s, the flat Earth community had tens of thousands of active adherents around the world. They held conventions in the U.S. and U.K., inviting speakers to give lectures “exposing” the round Earth “hoax.” They created slick websites and social media groups. Many believers concocted elaborate models of a flat Earth – with a central Arctic region, a ring of Antarctic ice at the edges, the Sun and Moon as spotlights moving overhead, etc. – resurrecting or tweaking ideas from the 19th-century flat Earth proponents. To an outsider, the level of detail and apparent conviction is bewildering. How could this happen in the twenty-first century, the age of space travel and satellite internet?
The Allure of Forbidden Stories
To understand, we have to view flat Earth belief not just as ignorance, but as a form of modern folklore or mythology that fulfills certain psychological and social desires. At its core, it is a story – a grand narrative about a conspiracy to deceive the world, and the intrepid truth-seekers who finally see through the lies. This narrative casts the believer in a heroic light: everyone else may be fooled, but I and my community have figured out something profound. There is an intoxicating sense of forbidden knowledge – the idea that you possess a secret truth that the powers-that-be (whether “Big Science,” governments, or shadowy elites) don’t want people to know. Such a feeling can be thrilling. It’s the same allure that old mystery cults or secret societies offered their initiates: we know something special; we have the real story of reality. In an era where many feel disenchanted or helpless, embracing a forbidden story can give a sense of empowerment and identity. A flat Earther might feel they are part of a small enlightened cadre in a world of sheeple.
Moreover, flat Earth belief provides a simple (if completely wrong) explanation for a wide array of frustrations and mysteries. Why would authorities lie about the shape of the Earth? Depending on whom you ask in the community, the motives might range from financial (NASA faking space programs to embezzle funds) to philosophical (hiding the truth of a divinely created dome above us). Whatever the specifics, it boils down to a classic us vs. them narrative – the ordinary people versus the corrupt elite. This theme resonates in times of social fragmentation and distrust.
Let’s break down a few key factors that have turned conspiracy theories like flat Earth into a form of folk belief:
Social Fragmentation and Echo Chambers: Modern society often feels fragmented. People gravitate into like-minded communities online, which can become echo chambers. A person who starts doubting official narratives can quickly find an online forum or YouTube channel that reinforces their doubts with a like-minded peer group. In these siloed communities, the flat Earth mythos grows and self-reinforces, insulated from outside correction. Anthropologically, this is akin to a folk group sharing and affirming its lore internally. The broader society might reject flat Earth, but within the group it becomes an accepted truth, passed around like an oral tradition. Online social media has turbocharged this effect – algorithms feed you more of what you engage with, so once you show interest in flat Earth ideas, you’ll keep seeing more, until it starts to feel like “everyone is talking about it.” This fragmentation means there’s less common “reality infrastructure” binding everyone; subcultures can incubate their own versions of reality unchecked.
Distrust in Authority and Expertise: The rise of flat Earth folklore is inseparable from a broader collapse of trust in institutions – government, media, science. Over the past few decades, various factors (political propaganda, institutional failures, the overwhelming complexity of modern science) have led many to suspect that “the authorities” do not have our best interests at heart, or are even actively deceiving us. In this environment, bold claims that “everything you’ve been taught is a lie” find a receptive audience. The flat Earth conspiracy explicitly piggybacks on this distrust: it claims that NASA, scientists, and educators are all “in on it.” That’s a staggering allegation, but for someone already primed to distrust officialdom, it’s not inconceivable. Sociologist Antonio Gramsci noted that during a “crisis of authority” – when the ruling class or experts lose credibility – popular bizarre beliefs (what he called “modern folklore”) can take root as people seek alternative explanations. Flat Earth believers frequently cite historical instances of scientific or governmental deceit to justify their skepticism. They will say, “If ‘the establishment’ lied about X, who’s to say they aren’t lying about Earth too?” The tragic irony is that this extreme doubt ends up rejecting centuries of genuine knowledge. Yet to the believers, it feels rational because trust has been broken. They prefer to “trust their own eyes” – misinterpreting, say, the flat appearance of the horizon as proof the Earth has no curve, while dismissing photographic evidence or physics as fabrications. This anti-authority stance is a defining feature of how a conspiracy theory becomes a folklore-like system: it doesn’t rely on external validation, only on the internal logic agreed upon by the group.
The Community and Narrative Allure: Believing in flat Earth is not just about the shape of the planet – it’s about belonging to a community and participating in a narrative that feels larger-than-life. Flat Earth gatherings have the atmosphere of a revival meeting or a fan convention. People share personal “conversion” stories – how they came to see the truth – which function almost like folklore legends or testimonies bonding the group. There’s also the thrill of debating skeptics, refining the narrative with each challenge. Every time someone comes up with a new supposed experiment (like weather balloons or long-distance photography) to “test” the curve, and shares those results, it’s like adding a new chapter to the lore. The community creates videos, memes, and blogs spreading their mythos, effectively generating a rich body of folk content. The narrative itself – of a grand cover-up and the virtuous rebel truth-seekers – is deeply alluring on a human level. It’s dramatic, it has clear good guys and bad guys, and it promises that the believer is on the side of truth and righteousness. In a time when many feel alienated, a narrative that says “you are special, you see what others can’t” can be psychologically rewarding. This allure of having secret knowledge and a tight-knit group of compatriots is a powerful social glue.
Cognitive Closure and Simplicity: There is a curious comfort in embracing a simple wrong answer over a complex right answer. The real world is full of uncertainties and unanswered questions, but the conspiracy folklore often provides a complete-feeling narrative: The Earth is flat, and here’s why they lied. It feels like closure. For some, this is more satisfying than the open-ended nature of real science (which always has more to discover) or real life (which often has ambiguity). Folklore and myths through history often provided clear moral or explanatory frameworks for the world. The flat Earth myth, bizarrely, gives a straightforward (if utterly incorrect) framework: a flat plane, a dome perhaps above, and an evil cabal hiding it. It’s like stepping into a cosmic drama where everything finally makes sense (to them). This psychological satisfaction can override obvious factual contradictions.
When we view flat Earth belief through these lenses, it becomes easier to see it as a form of modern folk belief – not in the sense of being true (it’s absolutely false), but in the sense of how it functions for believers. It operates much like an urban legend or a cult mythology: spreading in small groups, reinforced by storytelling and social bonds, largely independent of authoritative validation, and indeed thriving on counter-authority posture. Experts classify flat Earth belief as a form of “science denial”, which it is – but it’s also more than denial: it’s creation. The community actively creates a parallel knowledge system.
An Age of Fractured Reality
The flat Earth phenomenon serves as a cautionary tale about the power of narrative in the modern age. It shows that even in 2025, with all human knowledge at our fingertips, myth-making is alive and well – but now, myths can form in the shadows of social media and spread globally. Technology has in some ways taken the place of the village storyteller, but instead of one storyteller we have thousands, and instead of one village we have the entire internet-connected world. This means a fringe idea can find the few receptive ears in every town and knit those people together into a new “virtual village” sharing that story. In earlier eras, a person who thought the Earth was flat would have been isolated and likely corrected by their community; today, that person can find a global community that affirms the false belief. In effect, the fragmentation of information sources has led to pockets of society living in distinct imaginative worlds, each with their own folklore.
It’s crucial to emphasize: the flat Earth theory is false. No matter how many YouTube videos or earnest forums argue otherwise, the evidence for a spherical Earth is overwhelming and accessible. So the persistence of flat Earth belief isn’t due to a lack of evidence; it’s due to social and psychological factors that evidence alone struggles to overcome. That is why it’s so illustrative to treat it as folklore – something people believe because it fulfills a need, not because it’s correct.
Similar to how some urban legends persist even when debunked, flat Earth belief shows that repeating a narrative within a community can make it feel true. Each retelling adds credibility in the eyes of believers, in a loop of self-reinforcement. Sociologists might say flat Earth myth is a reaction to a “crisis of meaning” in a postmodern world – a grasp for a simple narrative amid chaos. It’s a form of meaning-making, however misguided.
The story of the flat Earth community, with its journey from satire to sincere conviction, underscores the double-edged sword of shared storytelling. On one hand, our capacity to weave narratives and share beliefs is a beautiful part of human culture, as seen with fandom mythologies in Chapter 1. On the other hand, when unmoored from empirical reality, that same capacity can lead us down paths of confusion and delusion. A conspiracy theory like flat Earth can be seen as a maladaptive folklore – a cultural virus that exploits the machinery of folklore (community, narrative, tradition) but to spread falsehoods that can erode trust in real science and evidence.
It’s important to note that many flat Earth adherents eventually do face cognitive dissonance. Some have left the movement after failed “experiments” (like a famous incident where flat-Earthers using a laser test accidentally proved a curvature). These moments can be seen as reality re-asserting itself into the bubble. But for others, any contrary evidence is just woven into the conspiracy narrative (e.g., claiming the laser test was sabotaged by hidden factors). The folklore adapts – much as a legend might change details to survive.
In a broader sense, flat Earth folklore tells us that modern society is not immune to the same forces that gave rise to myths and legends throughout history. The topics change… starships or secret NASA plots instead of Zeus or Thor… but the underlying human psychology is constant. We are storytelling creatures, and if mainstream culture doesn’t provide a narrative someone finds meaningful or trustworthy, they may turn to a counter-narrative that does, no matter how fantastical.