Flat Earth Meltdown in Antarctica

Testing Conspiracy Belief Against the Midnight Sun

Two Modes of Conspiracy Thinking

When we think of conspiracy theorists, we often picture a disheveled figure standing in front of a wall plastered with newspaper clippings, maps, photos, receipts, and threads pinned between them like a scene out of some Netflix series. It’s a caricature, but like many caricatures, it reflects a real type. What’s less often recognized is that conspiracy thinking comes in different forms.

Broadly speaking, we can distinguish two modes of conspiracy thought: what I’ll call the hermeneutic mode and the empirical mode. These might sound like lofty academic terms to apply to conspiracy theorists, but they capture something essential about the mindset and method behind different strains of belief.

The Hermeneutic Mode

Hermeneutics is the theory and methodology of interpretation—traditionally of texts, especially religious ones, but more broadly of language, symbols, and meaning. It began with Biblical exegesis but has since branched into philosophy, literature, and even law. These days, you'll also see it on Reddit threads breaking down every detail of an episode of Severance.

In conspiracy thinking, the hermeneutic mode shows up in deep, often obsessive interpretation. Think of the "Paul is dead" believers decoding Abbey Road album art, or QAnon followers parsing every Q-drop for hidden clues. These people aren't testing claims—they're interpreting signs. The world, for them, is a giant puzzle to be spiritually or symbolically unraveled.

They conform neatly to our stereotype of the conspiracy theorist: eyes wild, hair even wilder, walls covered in string.

The Empirical Mode

But not all conspiracy theorists operate this way. Others can be viewed as the empiricists of the conspiracy world. They claim to rely strictly on observation and direct experience. Flat Earthers (or “Flerfers”) are perhaps the clearest example.

One self-proclaimed Flerfer describes himself as a “demonstrable realist.” The entry level for becoming a Flerfer is low. All you need is some household objects: ping pong balls, desk lamps, spirit levels, ceiling fans, Post-its, and of course your eyes.

The charm of the flat Earth model—if we can call it that—is its testability. It makes specific claims that can be directly evaluated. For instance, the flat Earth model predicts that a 24-hour sun in Antarctica is impossible. If the Earth is a flat disc surrounded by an ice wall (Antarctica), and the sun is a small light circling above, then parts of Antarctica might have sunlight, but certainly not all of it at once—and never for 24 hours straight.

Enter The Final Experiment

In 2024, a Christian pastor from Colorado named Will Duffy organized an expedition to Antarctica to test this exact claim. The trip, called The Final Experiment, brought together a mix of flat Earthers and globe Earthers to observe the midnight sun firsthand. The idea was simple: if the sun can be seen in the Antarctic sky continuously for 24 hours, the flat Earth model is wrong.

Despite many flat Earthers declining or canceling, the expedition went ahead. In December, at Union Glacier Camp, participants livestreamed the midnight sun for several days. It was visible. Continuously. Just as globe Earthers predicted.

So, how did the flat Earthers respond?

Those who were actually on-site admitted it: the midnight sun is real. One prominent Flerfer, Jeran Campanella, publicly said he no longer believes in a flat Earth. Another, Austin Whitsitt, acknowledged the phenomenon but held out hope for some future explanation consistent with flat Earth beliefs.

The broader flat Earth community, however, wasn’t so easily swayed. A student working with me gathered some of the more creative responses, which fall into a few main categories:

The whole thing was faked, filmed in a studio in Las Vegas with a hologram sun.

The participants were paid actors.

The midnight sun is an optical illusion.

And, the pièce de résistance: Satan himself morphed into a sun and circled the expedition.

For a group that prides itself on “trusting their senses,” these explanations are, well, incoherent—even the optical illusion claim doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. Still, Duffy has said that the flat Earth community is “imploding,” a sentiment echoed by YouTube debunkers like Professor Dave, SciManDan, and Dave McKeegan, who actually participated in The Final Experiment.

But is that really the case? Let’s check back in a few months.

Do Scientists Handle Disconfirmation Any Better?

This whole episode raises a fair question: are scientists really better at letting go of cherished beliefs?

Consider psychologist Mickey Inzlicht, who once strongly believed in the theory of ego depletion—the idea that self-control draws from a limited pool of mental resources. But the theory’s predictions couldn’t be consistently replicated. In a blog post, Inzlicht described the collapse of his belief in the theory as personally devastating:

“It left me hollow and apathetic, wondering if I had wasted twenty years of my life working on bullshit... I wallowed in these feelings for near a decade.”

Meanwhile, there are still psychologists who believe in it—something that made Inzlicht “almost choke on a White Russian” (for the uninitiated, I hasten to add that this is a cocktail).

So, are scientists any better than conspiracy theorists? I think that’s the wrong question to ask. What these stories show is that it’s hard—for anyone—to let go of deeply held beliefs, especially when they’re tied to identity, community, and purpose.

But here’s the crucial difference: science, as a system, has built-in mechanisms for self-correction. It allows for error, demands replication, and rewards disproof. Conspiracy thinking doesn’t. The people may be equally human, but the frameworks are not.

And that’s the real difference.