Long before smartphones, social media, and comment sections full of people arguing about whether a hot dog is a sandwich, humans were already making memes. They simply used slower distribution networks: handwritten books, newspapers, graffiti, traveling exhibitions, television, and that terrifying prehistoric technology known as email forwarding.
The word “meme” was coined by evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins in 1976 to describe an idea, behavior, style, or cultural unit that spreads through imitation. By that broader definition, memes do not need bold white captions or pictures of grumpy cats. They need only three ingredients: recognition, repetition, and people who cannot resist sharing something strange.
Some historical memes traveled astonishing distances despite having no algorithm to promote them. Others mutated as people copied, redrew, embellished, or commercialized them. In other words, the basic machinery of internet culture was operating centuries before the internet arrived. The loading speed was terrible, but the human urge to repost was already running at full power.
What Made Something “Viral” Before the Internet?
Modern virality can happen in hours. Historical virality might take weeks, years, or generations. Yet the underlying process was surprisingly familiar. A memorable idea appeared, people copied it, new audiences added their own variations, and eventually nobody could remember where the original came from.
Church manuscripts functioned like exclusive illustrated feeds. Newspapers created mass-distribution networks. Touring attractions transformed hoaxes into shareable public spectacles. Soldiers carried jokes across continents. Early computer users forwarded files through email and online forums. Different technology, same irresistible button in the human brain labeled, “You have to see this.”
The following five examples were selected because they behaved much like modern memes: they were repeatedly copied, widely recognized, adapted by different communities, and shared partly because they were funny, shocking, absurd, or all three at once.
1. Medieval Killer Rabbits and Knights Fighting Snails
The original unhinged animal memes
Imagine paying a highly trained artist to decorate a sacred manuscript. The artist paints saints, scripture, gold leaf, and delicate vines. Then, apparently after lunch, the same artist adds a rabbit executing a hunter and a fully armored knight preparing to fight a snail.
This was not an isolated act of medieval doodling. From roughly the 13th through the 15th centuries, European illuminated manuscripts frequently contained humorous marginal illustrations known as drolleries. These images featured animals behaving like humans, hybrid monsters playing instruments, monkeys imitating clergy, and rabbits committing acts that would get them permanently banned from a petting zoo.
One famous recurring motif showed knights confronting enormous snails. The British Library notes that medieval manuscript margins are filled with variations of this peculiar battle. In some scenes, the knight approaches confidently. In others, he kneels, retreats, or appears to surrender to a creature whose main combat skill is arriving several hours late. Scholars have proposed many interpretations, including social satire, parody of cowardice, criticism of particular groups, and symbolic reversals of the natural order. No single explanation has been universally accepted.
Killer rabbits were equally popular. In the 14th-century Smithfield Decretals, rabbits shoot a hunter, capture him, drag him before a rabbit judge, and punish him. The joke relies on reversal: animals normally hunted by humans suddenly control the legal system and possess weapons. It is essentially the medieval version of a “how it started versus how it’s going” meme, except the second panel involves rabbit-administered justice.
These images spread because manuscript artists borrowed recognizable motifs and reinvented them. A reader encountering another snail duel would understand the visual joke, just as a modern viewer recognizes a familiar meme template. Each artist could change the pose, characters, weapons, or outcome while preserving the basic concept.
The copying process was slow and expensive, but it was unmistakably memetic. Medieval scribes had no “share” button. They had parchment, pigment, months of labor, and an apparently urgent need to draw rabbits with swords.
2. The Great Moon Hoax and Its Fabulous Lunar Bat-Men
Fake news with wings, telescopes, and excellent circulation
On August 25, 1835, readers of the New York newspaper The Sun encountered what looked like an extraordinary scientific report. Astronomer Sir John Herschel had supposedly used a revolutionary telescope to observe life on the moon.
The discoveries grew more sensational across a six-part series. The lunar surface allegedly contained forests, beaches, lakes, enormous crystals, unicorn-like animals, walking beavers, and humanoid creatures with bat wings. These “lunar bat-men” were described in enough scientific-sounding detail to make the story feel plausible to readers excited by recent advances in astronomy.
There was one minor problem: none of it was true.
The series, probably written by journalist Richard Adams Locke, became known as the Great Moon Hoax. By attaching impossible claims to a respected astronomer and surrounding them with technical language, the newspaper created one of the 19th century’s greatest viral media events. The stories were discussed, reprinted, translated, illustrated, and circulated far beyond their original New York audience. Herschel himself reportedly became irritated by questions about the fictional discovery.
The hoax also produced striking illustrations of moon creatures, including winged humanoids and fantastic animals. A surviving popular print recorded by the Library of Congress shows how the story escaped the newspaper column and became visual culture. Once the bat-men received pictures, they gained the 1835 equivalent of reaction-image potential.
The Great Moon Hoax resembles a modern viral fabrication because it mixed authority, novelty, emotion, and visual absurdity. Readers did not merely consume the story. They repeated it, debated it, and carried it into new social circles. The newspaper benefited from attention while the audience enjoyed participating in a shared cultural mystery.
Today, a claim about moon bat-men would be accompanied by blurry footage, dramatic music, and a caption reading, “Scientists don’t want you to know this.” In 1835, respectable columns of tiny print accomplished the same job.
3. The Cardiff Giant: America’s Ten-Foot-Tall Viral Hoax
A fake giant, a real crowd, and a copy of the copy
In October 1869, workers digging a well on a farm in Cardiff, New York, uncovered what appeared to be a ten-foot-tall petrified man. Word spread quickly. Spectators paid to see the enormous body, and arguments erupted over whether it was an ancient statue, a fossilized human, or proof that biblical giants had once walked the earth.
The giant was actually the creation of George Hull, a cigar manufacturer and skeptic. After arguing with a minister about a biblical reference to giants, Hull reportedly decided to demonstrate how easily people could be fooled. He purchased a massive block of gypsum, had it carved into a human figure, artificially aged it, and arranged for it to be buried on a relative’s farm. A conveniently directed well-digging project later “discovered” it.
The Cardiff Giant became a national sensation because it offered multiple narratives at once. Religious believers could see evidence of ancient giants. Skeptics could debate scientific credibility. Newspaper readers received a mystery. Showmen received a business opportunity. Everyone received permission to stare at a gigantic naked rock man.
Showman P.T. Barnum attempted to buy the attraction. After being rejected, he commissioned his own replica and displayed it as the genuine Cardiff Giant. The copy reportedly attracted larger crowds than the original. Hull’s partners complained that Barnum was displaying a fake, producing one of history’s greatest unintentional jokes: the owners of a fraudulent giant were upset that somebody had created a fraudulent fraudulent giant.
The episode behaved exactly like a modern meme economy. An original concept went viral, attracted monetization, inspired copies, triggered arguments over authenticity, and became more famous through conflict. Audiences did not lose interest after learning the truth. The exposure of the hoax became another chapter in the entertainment.
The Cardiff Giant proves that misinformation and memes often survive fact-checking because their appeal is not based solely on belief. Sometimes people share nonsense because nonsense is extremely fun.
4. “Kilroy Was Here” Conquered the World One Wall at a Time
The World War II doodle that appeared everywhere
During World War II, American service members repeatedly encountered a bald, long-nosed character peeking over a wall beside the words “Kilroy Was Here.” The drawing appeared on ships, walls, equipment, bridges, barracks, and locations across multiple theaters of war.
The exact origin remains debated, although a popular explanation connects the phrase to James J. Kilroy, a Massachusetts shipyard inspector who marked inspected sections of ships. The familiar character may also have absorbed features from earlier British and Australian doodles, including “Chad” and “Foo Was Here.” Like many successful memes, Kilroy appears to have evolved by combining previously circulating ideas.
Its meaning depended on context. To troops, the doodle could signal that fellow service members had already passed through an unfamiliar place. It provided camaraderie, boosted morale, and transformed anonymous military infrastructure into part of a gigantic shared joke. Finding Kilroy in an unexpected location was like discovering that somebody from your online community had already visited the same strange corner of the world.
The design was brilliantly shareable. It required no advanced artistic ability. The phrase was short, the face was recognizable, and the wall itself became part of the image. Anybody with chalk, paint, or a pencil could reproduce it in seconds. That low barrier to participation helped Kilroy travel widely.
After the war, Kilroy continued appearing in comics, movies, television, monuments, school notebooks, and public graffiti. The National World War II Memorial in Washington, D.C., even contains hidden Kilroy engravings, preserving a piece of unofficial troop culture inside an official national memorial.
“Kilroy Was Here” had everything a meme needs: a reusable template, mysterious lore, community ownership, endless placement possibilities, and a character who looks as though he has just overheard something deeply embarrassing.
5. The Dancing Baby Shuffled Across the Early Internet
The uncanny GIF that escaped from animation software
By 1996, memes finally had access to the internet, although downloading one could still take long enough to reconsider every decision that had led you to owning a computer.
The Dancing Baby, also called Baby Cha-Cha or the Oogachaka Baby, began as a 3D animation associated with software demonstrations. The clip showed a diapered computer-generated baby performing a surprisingly confident dance. It was technically impressive, strangely cheerful, and just unsettling enough to become unforgettable.
Users circulated the animation through online forums, websites, and email. It was converted into formats that made it easier to share, including the animated GIF, and was frequently paired with Blue Swede’s version of “Hooked on a Feeling.” Variations appeared, but the original baby’s peculiar combination of awkwardness and confidence remained the main attraction. PBS describes it as one of the earliest digital memes and viral videos.
The meme crossed into mainstream entertainment when it appeared on the television series Ally McBeal. Within the show, the dancing figure represented the title character’s anxieties about adulthood, motherhood, and her biological clock. For millions of viewers, however, it was primarily a computer baby dancing as though it had just closed a very profitable real estate deal.
The Dancing Baby demonstrated how digital objects could escape their original purpose. It began as a technical animation, became an email curiosity, evolved into a remixable joke, and then entered television and advertising. That journey would become routine for later internet memes, but in the mid-1990s it was a preview of an entirely new cultural system.
It also established an important law of online life: technological progress will always be used to make something deeply weird dance.
Why These Historical Memes Spread So Successfully
These five phenomena came from different centuries and used different media, yet they shared several characteristics.
They were easy to recognize
A murderous rabbit, a moon bat-man, a stone giant, Kilroy’s enormous nose, and a dancing digital infant could all be understood quickly. Viral ideas rarely begin with a 40-page instruction manual.
They invited participation
Artists could redraw the medieval animals. Newspapers could reprint the moon story. Showmen could display giant replicas. Soldiers could add Kilroy to a new wall. Computer users could forward or modify the Dancing Baby. Each meme gave audiences something to do, not merely something to observe.
They mixed familiarity with surprise
Rabbits were familiar, but rabbits holding trials were not. The moon was familiar, but lunar beavers were a new development. Babies were familiar, but a computer-generated baby dancing through workplace anxiety was not on most people’s 1996 prediction lists.
They changed during transmission
Successful memes mutate. Images are redrawn, stories are exaggerated, origins become disputed, and copies acquire meanings the creators never intended. Cultural survival often depends on adaptability rather than perfect reproduction.
Conclusion: Humans Have Always Been Extremely Online
The internet did not invent memes. It accelerated them.
Centuries ago, manuscript artists repeated visual jokes across expensive handmade books. In the 1800s, newspapers and traveling exhibitions turned absurd claims into national conversations. During World War II, soldiers spread a simple doodle across continents. In the 1990s, email and GIF technology gave a dancing baby access to millions of screens.
Today’s meme cycle may move faster, but its emotional engine is ancient. People share things to laugh, belong, question authority, display insider knowledge, relieve anxiety, and briefly make the world feel smaller. The delivery system changes. The impulse survives.
Future historians may study our current memes with the same curiosity we bring to killer rabbits and lunar bat-men. They may develop complex theories about our politics, symbolism, and digital communities. Or they may look at several billion cat pictures and conclude that we had our priorities exactly right.
Experiencing the Strange History of Viral Memes
Exploring historical memes changes the way you look at both museums and the internet. At first, an illuminated manuscript may appear solemn and untouchable: carefully written text, religious imagery, decorative borders, and materials designed to survive for centuries. Then you notice a rabbit carrying a sword in the corner. Suddenly, the people who created the book feel less distant. They had deadlines, private jokes, social complaints, and moments when drawing an aggressive snail seemed more appealing than finishing the serious assignment.
Looking through reproductions of the Great Moon Hoax creates a different experience. Modern readers know immediately that winged humanoids were not discovered on the moon in 1835. Yet the newspaper’s confident language and detailed descriptions reveal why audiences were fascinated. The story exploited genuine excitement about telescopes, exploration, and scientific progress. Reading it is a useful reminder that misinformation does not always look ridiculous when it first appears. It often arrives dressed in the vocabulary people trust most.
The Cardiff Giant adds the atmosphere of a traveling attraction. It is easy to imagine visitors gathering around the enormous figure, exchanging theories and paying for the privilege of seeing it themselves. That desire has not disappeared. It now appears whenever a strange photograph or unbelievable video becomes popular. People may suspect manipulation, but they still click because participation matters almost as much as truth. Nobody wants to be the only person who has not seen the giant.
Kilroy creates a more personal connection. The drawing is simple enough to reproduce from memory, which explains much of its power. Re-creating it on paper produces the same basic lines copied by service members many decades ago. The experience highlights how a tiny symbol can connect strangers who never meet. Modern reaction GIFs, recurring emojis, and community-specific jokes perform a similar function: they quietly announce, “I recognize this, and I belong here too.”
Revisiting the Dancing Baby may be the strangest experience because it feels both ancient and modern. Its crude 3D appearance belongs unmistakably to the 1990s, yet its journey from technical experiment to shareable file to television celebrity resembles the career path of countless modern memes. Watching it today produces nostalgia, amusement, and mild concern about why the baby has better rhythm than most adults.
The most valuable experience is recognizing continuity. Historical people were not humorless figures waiting patiently for modern entertainment to arrive. They repeated jokes, remixed images, spread rumors, built communities around shared references, and turned absurdity into commercial opportunity. Studying these old viral phenomena makes history feel populated by recognizable human beings rather than silent portraits.
It also encourages healthier skepticism about current online trends. Every viral sensation feels enormous while it is happening. Yet most disappear, while a few become symbols future generations can recognize. Nobody can reliably predict which joke, phrase, character, or bizarre dancing object will survive. Cultural memory has its own mysterious algorithm, and unlike social media platforms, it does not publish the rules.
Note: The term “meme” is used throughout this article in its broad cultural sense: a recognizable idea, image, behavior, or joke that spreads through imitation and develops variations over time. Some examples predate both the modern internet and the word itself.