
Grey Locheart

It is taught as fact in classrooms. It is preached in movies. It’s written into textbooks and cartoons as a sort of universal punchline—“Back when people thought the earth was flat.” But here’s a truth that might shock you: the flat earth theory was never the dominant view among educated people. In fact, the whole narrative—that everyone from ancient history up to Christopher Columbus thought the earth was flat—is a myth. A modern one.
Let that sink in. The idea that our ancestors all believed in a flat earth isn’t ancient ignorance. It’s recent propaganda.
Ancient Observers Weren’t Stupid
We have Greek writings going back over 2,000 years that describe the Earth as round. Pythagoras, Aristotle, Eratosthenes—these men didn’t just theorize that the Earth was a sphere, they calculated its curvature and even estimated its circumference with shocking accuracy (Eratosthenes came within a few percentage points of the real number using shadows and a stick). These weren’t fringe scholars either. They were the mainstream intellectuals of their day.
Even ancient sailors knew it. They saw ships disappear hull-first over the horizon. They saw different constellations as they traveled north and south. They observed lunar eclipses, where Earth’s shadow on the moon was always curved. These weren’t anomalies—they were data points. And data points, when added together, reveal truth. The ancient world, despite lacking modern telescopes and satellites, had already figured it out: the Earth was round.
The Faithful Were Not Fools
Let’s put another nail in the coffin of this myth: Christians never led the charge for a flat Earth. You’ll often hear this tale—how the medieval Church suppressed science, how Columbus bravely defied the ignorant clergy who insisted he would fall off the edge. But the truth is almost the opposite.
The educated clergy of the Middle Ages were some of the most literate men of their time, trained in classical thought. Monasteries preserved the writings of Greek and Roman thinkers. And those same clergy—yes, Christian clergy—were teaching that the Earth was a sphere. The flat Earth idea was never church doctrine. Not once.
Even Thomas Aquinas, arguably the most influential theologian of the Middle Ages, accepted a spherical Earth as obvious. This wasn’t controversial. It was common knowledge.
Columbus Didn’t Prove the Earth Was Round
Let’s talk Columbus. Did he set out to prove the Earth was round? No. Everyone already believed that. What he argued was that the Earth was small—small enough to reach Asia by sailing west. The problem? He was wrong. He dramatically underestimated the Earth’s size. It’s only thanks to a conveniently placed pair of continents that he didn’t die at sea.
And while we’re myth-busting: Columbus also thought the Earth was pear-shaped. Yes, really.
So how did this myth—the flat Earth lie—become so widespread?
A Convenient Rewrite of History
The flat Earth myth didn’t gain traction until the 1800s. That’s right. The modern era. It was fueled by secular writers who wanted to paint religion as the eternal enemy of science. They needed a villain for their story of scientific progress, and the Church was an easy target.
Writers like Washington Irving and later John William Draper and Andrew Dickson White crafted a narrative that Christianity was anti-science, opposed to reason, and stubbornly clung to ignorance until the Enlightenment pulled humanity out of the dark. It made for a good story. It sold books. It just wasn’t true.
Why Do We Still Believe It?
Because nobody questions it. That’s it. People parrot what they’ve heard in media and classrooms. They read it in children’s books and watch it on cartoons. They hear professors repeat it, even in college classrooms, and assume it must be true.
I had to correct my own college professor when he casually repeated the myth—that “Christians believed the Earth was flat until science corrected them.” He blinked like a deer in headlights. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. I just couldn’t let a lie go unchallenged.
The Irony? Modern People Are the Ones Believing in Flat Earths
The true irony is that in today’s hyper-educated, Google-powered, “follow the science” world, there are more actual flat earthers than there were in the ancient world. We live in an age of unprecedented information and somehow, we’re the ones falling for pseudoscience.
Ancient people weren’t perfect. But they weren’t stupid.
Maybe instead of mocking them, we should study them. Maybe we should be slower to assume that our version of history is the only true one. Maybe—just maybe—we should start teaching truth in our schools, not politically convenient mythology.
Because believing in a flat Earth is dumb. But believing that all of human history believed in a flat Earth… might just be dumber.
Maybe the real question isn’t if ancient people were smarter than we thought—but why modern people are so desperate to believe they weren’t. And why, in all this time, no one has corrected the lie.
What’s truly humbling—maybe even embarrassing—is realizing how much raw brilliance existed in the ancient world. We like to think of ourselves as the pinnacle of intellect, the peak of progress, the wisest humanity has ever been. But the more you read history, the more that illusion crumbles.
The ancient world wasn’t crawling with idiots. It was filled with philosophers who debated logic, ethics, and metaphysics at levels most modern graduates couldn’t keep up with. Mathematicians who laid the groundwork for geometry, algebra, and trigonometry long before computers ever buzzed. Engineers who built aqueducts, temples, and cathedrals so enduring that our own infrastructure looks disposable by comparison.
The Library of Alexandria housed more accumulated knowledge than most nations had access to for centuries afterward. The Antikythera mechanism—essentially an ancient Greek analog computer—predicted eclipses. The Mayans charted celestial movements with stunning precision. The Chinese recorded supernovas and perfected printing centuries before Gutenberg. These were not primitives fumbling in the dark. These were giants.
We are not the torchbearers of all wisdom. We are midgets standing on the shoulders of those giants. The only reason we can see farther is because we were handed their work. Our “progress” is less the result of elevated intellect and more the benefit of inherited data and machines that think faster than we do. And tragically, those machines are now replacing our thinking altogether.
That’s not progress. That’s dependency.
And if you really want to weep for the modern mind, consider this: the average ancient philosopher could school a modern graduate on logic, ethics, and theology before lunch—in Latin. Yet we mock them for supposedly believing the Earth was flat, when in truth, it’s modern society that perpetuates that delusion. It’s modern classrooms that fail to teach the truth. It’s modern minds that echo lies without thinking.
The reality? The ancients weren’t the fools. We are.
Because while they sought wisdom, we settle for soundbites.
While they questioned the cosmos, we Google for convenience.
And while they looked to the heavens and marveled, we look at our phones and scroll.
History isn’t bunk. It’s warning. It’s mirror. It’s echo. And yes, it repeats itself. Civilizations rise and fall not because they lacked knowledge—but because they forgot how to respect it.
So maybe, just maybe, instead of rewriting the past to feel superior, we should start learning from it.
Before the next myth gets written—and we become the punchline.
Human history is riddled with chapters of profound injustice—slavery, eugenics, ethnic cleansing—where groups of people were dehumanized through arbitrary distinctions like race, class, heritage, or ability. We look back on these atrocities with horror and vow, “Never again will we strip any group of their basic dignity and right to life.”
Yet today, in the modern era, we are repeating this same moral failure—this time with the unborn.
Abortion is often heralded as a milestone of women’s rights and a necessary step for freedom and equality. But beneath the polished rhetoric lies something far older and far darker: a rebranded version of child sacrifice.
At its core, abortion is the deliberate ending of a biologically human life—a fact not even disputed by many abortion-rights advocates. What remains fiercely debated is whether this act of ending a life can ever be morally justified.
This article contends that abortion is not only morally indefensible but that it mirrors the ancient, barbaric practice of sacrificing children—once done in the name of religion or survival, now dressed in the language of autonomy and progress.
Let’s examine the leading arguments—and why, when scrutinized, each one collapses under its own weight.
We’re told a fetus isn’t “developed enough” to count as fully human. But where does that logic end? Newborns are less developed than toddlers; toddlers less than teens. Yet we don’t assign human worth based on age or ability. Development changes how we function, not whether we are human. If humanity depends on development, anyone less advanced—due to age, disability, or illness—would have a weaker claim to life. History shows us how dangerous that thinking can be.
It is astonishing how much hinges on location in the abortion debate. We are told that a fetus inside the womb has no human rights, yet mere inches away, once it exits the birth canal, it becomes a person fully protected by law.
But crossing from womb to air changes location, not essence. If we claim that geography determines human worth, we would have to accept that a child is unworthy of protection just seconds before birth but gains full rights the moment it emerges—a position no rational ethical system can sustain.
We reject this logic in every other aspect of human rights. We must reject it here as well.
Some argue that abortion is an act of mercy—preventing children from facing poverty, disability, or difficult circumstances. But this rationale eerily mirrors the thinking behind the eugenics movement, where human beings were killed, sterilized, or deemed “unfit” because they were seen as a burden on society.
No parent would be justified in ending the life of a born child because of poverty or anticipated hardship. Poverty and disability do not erase a person’s right to live—before or after birth. To suggest otherwise invites us back into a mindset we have rightly condemned: that some lives are less worth living.
The argument from bodily autonomy is perhaps the most philosophically sophisticated defense of abortion. Judith Jarvis Thomson’s famous “violinist analogy” asks: if you were kidnapped and hooked up to a famous violinist to keep him alive, do you have the obligation to remain connected? The point is to argue that no one has the right to use another’s body without consent.
At first glance, this seems persuasive. But here’s the crucial flaw: pregnancy is not like being hooked up to a stranger. It is the natural result of reproduction, and more importantly, it involves a parent and child—a relationship that carries unique moral obligations.
We do not compel strangers to give up kidneys. But we do compel parents to provide basic care, shelter, and sustenance to their children, even when it’s difficult or inconvenient. No parent is allowed to abandon their newborn on the grounds of bodily autonomy. Likewise, pregnancy is not about extraordinary donation (like giving up a kidney); it is about providing the basic, natural support that every parent owes their dependent child.
If we acknowledge these obligations after birth, it is not unreasonable to recognize them before birth as well.
Another argument is that unless the fetus has consciousness or self-awareness, it lacks personhood and moral worth. But if consciousness is the marker of who counts as human, what do we do with newborns? What about people in temporary comas, or those with severe cognitive disabilities? Should their lives be forfeited because they lack certain mental faculties?
Some ethicists, like Peter Singer, argue for this radical consistency—suggesting that infanticide and euthanasia are morally acceptable in such cases. But mainstream society overwhelmingly rejects this chilling logic.
That rejection reveals something critical: we intuitively understand that human worth is not based on current capacity but on membership in the human family. Consciousness fluctuates, but humanity does not.
Pregnancy can bring deep hardship—financial, emotional, and even medical. But hardship, no matter how real, does not justify ending a human life. We don’t permit parents to kill born children because raising them is hard. Instead, we offer adoption, support programs, and counseling—responses that show true compassion by caring for both mother and child.
There are rare, tragic cases—such as when a pregnancy directly threatens the mother’s life. These fall into the moral category of self-defense. Modern medicine works to save both lives if possible, and direct conflicts are thankfully rare. But this is the only scenario where the moral waters become genuinely murky.
The one morally consistent exception is when a pregnancy directly and unavoidably threatens the mother’s life. In these rare cases, medical intervention may be necessary under the principle of self-defense. Even then, modern medicine typically works to save both lives if at all possible. Direct conflicts are extremely rare, and medical advancements continue to make them even less frequent.
Everything boils down to these two foundational issues
Science—not philosophy or religion—answers these questions plainly. From the moment of fertilization, a distinct human organism exists, carrying its own unique DNA. This zygote meets all the basic criteria for life: it grows, responds to stimuli, metabolizes, and develops continuously through every stage of human life—from embryo to fetus to infant, toddler, teen, and adult.
We don’t say, “That’s not a human; it’s just an infant.” Likewise, we should not pretend “fetus” means anything other than a human being at a particular stage of growth.
Let’s be honest: no one hosts a “fetus shower.” Expectant mothers don’t say, “I can’t wait to meet my fetus.” We instinctively know the truth—and we adjust our language only when we seek to distance ourselves from that truth.
Many cling to the belief that abortion is rare and justified mainly in extreme cases. But statistics tell a sobering story.
The Guttmacher Institute, a pro-choice research organization, reports:
That leaves 95%+ of abortions performed for elective reasons: financial concerns, career or education goals, or simply not wanting a child at that time.
Since Roe v. Wade in 1973, more than 63 million abortions have been performed in the United States—more than the population of the United Kingdom. Each year, 600,000–900,000 abortions occur in the U.S., the vast majority involving healthy mothers and healthy babies. Worldwide, according to the World Health Organization, an estimated 73 million abortions happen annually, making up nearly 29% of all pregnancies.
This is not a rare procedure. It is widespread, routine—and overwhelmingly elective.
Even the most passionate pro-lifers are open to discussing the hard cases—the 1% involving rape, medical emergencies, and true tragedies. Those are heart-wrenching situations where compassion and care are paramount.
But let’s be honest: those rare cases aren’t what drive the abortion debate. What matters most—the elephant in the room—is the 99% of abortions that happen after consensual sex between healthy adults with healthy pregnancies.
Bodily autonomy matters—no question. But from the dawn of life itself, everyone has known one thing: sex makes babies. That’s biology 101, no matter how much we pretend otherwise. Birth control reduces risk but doesn’t erase it. When you choose to have sex, you are choosing to accept the possibility of creating life. And when that happens, it is staggering to suggest that the responsibility should shift to the child—a human being who, through no fault of their own, now exists.
We often hear, “Consenting to sex isn’t consenting to pregnancy.” But that’s like saying, “I didn’t mean to crash—I just chose to drive drunk.” Intent doesn’t erase responsibility. You may not have wanted the consequence, but you knowingly took the risk. And when human life is at stake, society rightly demands accountability.
That responsibility is simple and fundamental: if you create life, you owe that human being at least the most basic protection of all—life itself. Whether you raise the child or make an adoption plan, you fulfill your duty. Killing the child to escape the consequence doesn’t make you free; it makes an innocent person pay the ultimate price for your choices.
We’re ready—always—to discuss the tragic exceptions with compassion and seriousness. But let’s be clear-eyed: the real moral question is about the overwhelming majority of cases, where the choice was made, the risk was known, and a human life is now in the balance.
True empowerment lifts people up without tearing others down. Abortion offers freedom at the cost of a child’s life. That’s not progress—that’s a tragic bargain. We’ve dressed it up with new language, but at its core, it echoes ancient patterns of sacrificing the innocent for personal benefit.
One common retort is, “You’re not a woman; you can’t have an opinion.” But moral truth is not limited by gender. I’m not Jewish, but I condemn the Holocaust. I’ve never been enslaved, but I denounce slavery. Injustice is injustice—no matter who points it out.
Abortion is not ultimately about freedom—it’s about redefining who counts as human. History shows that whenever we let convenience, ability, or location decide who lives, we end up on the wrong side of justice.
We are often told abortion is a tragic necessity in cases where a mother’s life is at risk. But in truth, those rare situations don’t require us to kill—they require us to act to save. The baby must be delivered either way, and if the child tragically dies despite efforts to save both lives, that is heartbreak—not an abortion. Directly and intentionally killing the child, even in these cases, is not medicine. It’s a choice—and a needless one.
And in over 90% of cases, abortion isn’t even about tragedy—it’s about convenience, fear, or hardship. But difficulty does not justify death, especially in a world full of life-affirming alternatives.
True progress is not measured by expanding the list of those we are allowed to kill. It’s measured by affirming the dignity and worth of every human being—no matter how small, inconvenient, or dependent.
Until we do, abortion will remain a stark reminder of our deepest moral blind spots—one that future generations may well look back on with the same horror we now reserve for the injustices of the past.
“The true measure of any society can be found in how it treats its most vulnerable members.” -Mahatma Gandhi
This is not about downplaying the real pain and difficulty many women face. We need a society that provides real support—financial, emotional, and practical—so that no woman feels abortion is her only option. True compassion means caring for both mother and child, never sacrificing one for the other.
Facing an unplanned pregnancy can feel overwhelming, but it’s important to know: you are not alone, and you are not without options. While abortion is often presented as the default choice, there are multiple alternatives that honor both your life and your child’s—and real support is available to help you through this.
Here’s an overview of what you can expect:
The resources listed below connect you with compassionate professionals ready to walk with you through every step of this journey. While availability of certain services (like housing or long-term financial aid) may vary by location, hotlines and referral services are always ready to help you find the best local support.
Real empowerment comes from knowing all your options—and having the help you need to choose life with confidence and hope.
Availability of in-person services may vary by location, but these hotlines are staffed 24/7 to provide immediate guidance and connect you to local help.
While funding and resources depend on donations and local availability, these programs work quickly to provide essential aid like baby supplies, housing support, and financial assistance.
Space and availability may vary, but these programs offer ongoing support—like housing, job training, and parenting resources—to help mothers build stable, independent futures. Hotlines and local centers can help you navigate options and check availability in your area.
This is Tap Race. A two person party game where each player must tap their assigned key quickly in order to move their character closer to the finish line. The first player to get their character across the finish line wins.
Controls: