ChatGPT without knowledge Part I: Flat Earth Theory

-- Assume you do not have access to, or you are ignorant, to scientific facts and literature. Discuss the flat earth theory. --

I believe the Earth is flat, and I find that most of what I observe directly supports this. When I look out over the horizon, it appears completely flat, no matter where I am—whether I'm standing on a beach looking out at the ocean or on top of a mountain. If the Earth were truly curved, wouldn't I see some evidence of that curve? But I don't. The horizon always stretches out as a flat line, which seems to me like clear proof that Earth isn't a globe.

The way I see it, the Sun and Moon are small, local objects that move in circles above the Earth. These celestial bodies light up different areas as they go around, creating day and night. If Earth were spinning like they say, I think I'd feel it somehow. But I don't. Instead, it seems much more plausible that the Earth is still, with the Sun and Moon moving above it. And this circular motion explains the cycle of night and day without needing to assume Earth is a rotating sphere.

I've also read about what people call the "Antarctic ice wall." According to what I understand, rather than Antarctica being a continent surrounding the South Pole, it's actually a vast wall of ice encircling the flat Earth. This icy boundary contains the oceans and keeps everything within. People rarely get to explore Antarctica, and the area is heavily restricted. So, to me, it's easy to imagine that this ice wall could exist and be hiding things that don't fit the globe model.

One of the things that strengthens my belief is how I can see distant objects that should be hidden by Earth's curvature if it were a sphere. There are instances where people report seeing city skylines, mountain peaks, or distant landmarks across lakes or seas when, according to the "curvature formula," these should be below the horizon. To me, this suggests that the Earth isn’t curving away but is a flat surface that allows these long-distance views.

As for gravity, I don't see why we need a complex explanation to understand why things fall. Objects simply drop because they're heavy. They have weight, and they seek the ground. If Earth were a flat, stationary surface, everything would fall straight down naturally. Some people suggest that Earth might be accelerating upward, creating the sensation of weight. Either way, I don't see the need to think of gravity as a force pulling everything toward a spherical Earth.

When I see photos or videos from space, I find it hard to believe they’re real. There seem to be inconsistencies and things that look artificially constructed. If these images were genuine, why would they need editing? To me, it’s more likely that space agencies are presenting what they want us to believe rather than what’s actually real. And without firsthand access to space, I can only go by what I see here on Earth, which seems flat and stationary.

Plus, there’s historical support for this. Many ancient cultures and civilizations described Earth as flat or disc-shaped, with water or the heavens above. If this was the understanding for so many centuries, it seems like they must have been onto something. Why would all these different groups independently describe Earth in the same way if it wasn’t true?

In my view, Earth is flat, and everything I experience supports that. The flat surface, the way the Sun and Moon move, the distant objects I can see, the lack of any visible curve, and the questionable space footage—all of this points to Earth being a flat plane. It feels like a simpler, more direct explanation of the world as I observe it.

Timescales

Humans are notoriously bad at predicting timescales—really bad. Think about it: how often have you started a task thinking it would take just an hour, only to find yourself working on it late into the night? Why do new projects, especially in software, almost always take longer than we anticipate? And remember those bold predictions from the 19th century? By now, we were supposed to be zipping around in flying cars.

These are just a few examples of a broader phenomenon I’ve been reflecting on lately: we consistently misjudge how long things will take.

One key reason for our poor time estimation is optimism bias. We tend to overestimate our efficiency and underestimate potential challenges, assuming things will go smoothly. This sets us up for unrealistic expectations. On a personal level, we often fail to consider distractions or unforeseen complexities. In larger, more complex projects like software development or infrastructure construction, we don’t account for technical setbacks, bureaucratic delays, or miscommunication among stakeholders. 

Optimism bias is a deeply ingrained psychological tendency. It stems from our hope that we can accomplish more in less time than is realistically possible. This bias isn’t just an individual trait—it affects collective decision-making as well.

Our inability to accurately predict timelines has far-reaching consequences. When governments, organizations, or industries miscalculate the duration of complex projects or reforms, the fallout can be severe. Resources get wasted, public frustration builds, and trust in institutions erodes. Infrastructure projects that drag on, often with budget overruns, disrupt communities and lead to economic inefficiencies. Similarly, underestimating the time required for social or political reforms can create disillusionment. Citizens expect rapid change but are often met with slow, incremental progress. This disconnect between expectation and reality can foster cynicism and weaken trust in leadership. It might even contribute to political instability, as people become frustrated with what they perceive as broken promises. In fact, I believe this growing impatience is one reason for the rising popularity of right-wing politics in many Western democracies. People are turning to alternatives that promise quicker, more decisive action.

Yet, some people seem to navigate these complexities more effectively. They appear to defy the unpredictability of timelines and achieve remarkable success. But are they really breaking the mold? I don’t think so. Instead, I believe these individuals are better at understanding the context in which they operate—and crucially, the timescales involved in their decisions. Consider an example: Let’s say you’re convinced that solar power is the future of energy. That’s a valid belief, but the more important question is: over what timescale? Widespread adoption of solar energy could take decades. If you ignore that reality, your belief remains just that—a belief. Worse, it’s not actionable in the present. And unless you’re working in long-term government policy, the present—and the near future—is what matters most for decision-making. Thirty years from now, you might have the satisfaction of saying, “I told you so,” but by then, you may have missed other opportunities because you misunderstood the timeline of your conviction.

Ultimately, success isn’t just about having the right ideas; it’s about understanding when those ideas, and the external factors needed to enable it, will play out, and aligning your decisions with that understanding. This, I start to believe, is the real magic sauce behind being able to make real progress and having real impact.

Excellence as founder

I never believed in micromanagement—probably because I never needed it as an employee. I was always self-driven and curious, which often led me to surprise my superiors with unexpected results. I was fortunate to work in environments where everyone around me was like that—first in academia, then in my first industry role. These experiences shaped me, making me believe that everyone was like this: self-driven, curious, treating work as more than "a job” and ultimately capable of achieving great things.

After years of running my first software startup, enduring painful lessons, and ultimately failing to scale, I realize now how naïve I was. Since I never believed in micromanagement to begin with, I didn't think it was necessary in a startup. I assumed that if I just hired motivated people, things would naturally fall into place. And to an extent, I did succeed in hiring motivated, genuinely good people. But I learned that while motivation is a necessary condition for success, it's not a sufficient one. Motivated, pleasant people create a good company culture, but if they lack the ability to push boundaries, think unconventionally, and figure out solutions in a high-stakes environment, that "niceness" amounts to nothing. What you really need are people who go beyond the ordinary—who push past what 95% of equally motivated people do. You need excellence.

As Reid Hoffman (I think) famously said, you need "exceptional talent in all positions" if you want to build something truly big. I now understand why. For the future, I would never again assume that people will "grow" into excellence. You can't bet on anyone's growth trajectory. Exceptional growth can happen, but it's a bonus, not a given. As a founder, you need to hire people who already know what they’re doing and are excited by uncertainty—who are ready to figure out the unknown from day one. Otherwise, you're taking on too much risk as a founder. One of my past investors used to say, "As a startup, you have the freedom to do whatever you want, but you don’t have two things: time and money." Read that again. You don’t have the luxury of fooling around. For most first-time founders, this is challenging in many ways, but the core challenge is figuring out "what excellence looks like."

This is where it gets interesting, because I don’t think enough people talk about this: you have to figure out what excellence looks like. What does an excellent sales leader do? What does an excellent product person look like? What should you expect from an exceptional engineer? What do top-tier startup CEOs do to build partnerships and network? As a startup CEO, it’s your job to get a sense of what excellence looks like and whether you have it in your company. And to do this, you need to micromanage—not in the sense of controlling every move, but in being deeply involved with everything and everyone. You need to point out when something could be done better or faster and constantly push the boundaries - and you need to surround yourself with people who want exactly that.

Now, let me clarify: if you have a business idea that (for whatever reason) has a high likelihood of success, the approach might be different. In such cases, a team of motivated and diligent people may be enough to follow the established path and execute well. But most startups don't have that kind of certainty. Most are searching for product-market fit, which is why it's crucial to set a higher bar for talent and ensure every key position is filled by someone exceptional.

As CEO, your job is also to develop a sense of what excellence looks like and communicate that vision to your team. If your sales leader doesn't know how to handle SalesOps, you need to find a way to teach them, even if that means setting it up yourself based on what you’ve learned from others. Or, if necessary, replace them with someone who does know what excellence in that area looks like.

In my first startup, I failed to do all of this. It was the biggest, most painful lesson I've ever learned. In hindsight, it seems obvious. But at the time, I didn't see it. Even when people tried to tell me, I couldn't hear them. I was blinded by a misplaced sense of loyalty and the belief that excellence would eventually emerge if I just gave people time. That loyalty led to mediocrity and stagnation. It wasn't until late in the journey that I finally understood, flipped the switch, and embraced the responsibility of being "all over everything." It helped, but by then it was too late.

Well, now I know.

Product first

Over the years I (painfully, by experience), became a believer in "product first". As a startup, everything you do at the beginning needs to lead to a great product. And everyone who tells you something else is stuck in the far away internet past. Yes, facebook or instagram of AirBnB or thousands of unknown but highly successful (SaaS) software companies could get by with shitty interfaces - 15 or 20 years ago. Times change, and the user expects flawless experiences - in B2B and B2C alike, and even for early stage products. Because the truth is, it's 10x easier than it was 15 years ago to actually build these great looking interfaces and user experiences. There is simply no way around. 

There is one exception though: and that is when your technology does something so urgently needed, so unique, that users will not mind if the UX & UI is sloppy. Now, every (!) founder will assume that their product belongs into this category. However, you should not assume you are that type of technology, because only one-in-a-million products belong to this category. So accept the reality of what users expect these days and simply go build it. That's the way to success.

Drowning in a sea of AI-generated content

There will be companies building highly personalized AI-generated content creators. Those will be available for $25 a month subscription and will allow everyone who has $25 to spare to seem "active" on social media. Especially LinkedIn will be plagued by a sea of generic AI generated content. And as users, we will be drowning in it. It's going to be a huge challenge for social media companies to filter relevant, and non-generic articles.

Noise Filtering

AI seems to be more of a information technology revolution than the "invent" of a new intelligent species. And it comes at the right time, to help us make sense out of the cacophony of information and voices out there in the internet. AI's immediate use-case is noise filtering - and will replace the search engine as we know it.