Of all the ancient mysteries people cling to like life rafts in a sea of mediocrity, none is more stubbornly buoyant than the lost civilization of Atlantis. If you believe the breathless podcasts and badly animated documentaries, was technologically superior, spiritually enlightened, and somehow still forgot how to build boats that could float.
The legend, born from a morality tale by Plato, was meant to warn against arrogance and hubris. Somehow, it’s morphed into a multi-million dollar industry of books, conferences, and “scientific expeditions” consisting largely of grainy underwater photos of sandbars.
Modern Atlantis seekers claim the lost city is hidden somewhere — pick your favorite — under the sea, under the ice caps, in the Caribbean, under the Sahara Desert, or maybe, depending on which corner of YouTube you’re lost in, underneath a strip mall in Ohio.
I once attended an “Atlantis Discovery Summit” during my travels — three surreal hours of PowerPoint presentations starring low-resolution sonar images, wild speculation, and enough laser pointers to stage a mediocre Pink Floyd tribute show.
The highlight was a particularly passionate speaker insisting that Atlantis harnessed crystal energy to power flying temples — and that today’s “crop circles” were coded messages from their descendants.
He had no evidence: just a lot of blurry images and the solemn declaration that “science isn’t ready to accept the truth yet.”
Translation: “We have no proof, but please buy my self-published book.”
Atlantis isn’t a lost civilization. It’s a found business model — one that proves, yet again, that human beings will always prefer a glittering fantasy over a disappointing reality.
If Atlantis truly existed, perhaps they were wise enough to sink themselves before the fan conventions started.