The Banality of Conspiracy

Tell me what you want, what you really, really want...

One of the low-tier arguments against conspiracy theories goes: they can’t exist because they’re always found out eventually. And every time you prove another one is true, the sage normie only nods sagely. “See?” they say. “They’re always found out.”

They’re always found out? So what? They still worked. The Gulf of Tonkin Incident got us into the Vietnam War. So it worked. Even though it got found out.

See? It’s boring work, these conspiracy theories. That’s because there aren’t any theories, generally speaking. Just plain, boring, truth. It’s true that people have motives. Powerful people have powerful motives. Powerful people might even want to stay out of the public eye.

This is so boring.

The thing is, as I write any of this, there’s little to disagree with. Did we gin up the Gulf of Tonkin incident? Yes, and that got us involved in the Vietnam War. And what was the powerful motive for that? What was the motive of these liars?

Well, duh! — We don’t know! “But what do they want?” go the sheep. “But what are they doing it for?” Forced to the edge of the cliff with blunt facts they leap onto the end of the thinnest tree branch, begging, crying out for, demanding — conjecture.

And when we have none — as I often don’t, because I’m not interested in the closed path between here and the desire for world domination — they find our lack of a theory to be proof — of conspiracy theory.

It’s a strange, and boring, debate. And one that never happens explicitly, really. Backed into the corner with truth, with irrefutable facts, they leap to the final, desperate tactic, they call out on their Boromir’s horn for “Help!” For help from afar, or help from anear, they sound the panicked siren and cry out: “Conspiracy theory!” And “Conspiracy theory” is, of course, English for “Adios.” So the debate ends.

So you sit and have a straightforward and boring discussion with your friend in your apartment and then you go out and have a beer maybe mildly aware that things are afoot that have a big impact but don’t necessarily make the news or are actively kept out of the news.

In other words, you’re basically a terrorist.

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And therein lies the rub, really. Since when did telling the truth become a revolutionary act? Since always. A lot of our existence relies on ignoring parts of the truth. At a certain point you have to set uncertainties aside and go for the goal. Sometimes that goal is a bite of food with harmful bacteria on it. Yet adherence to the act of faithfully eating food still keeps us alive. You can’t always tell about the harmful bacteria, or the invisible toxin. You can take all the steps you want. You can spend a million dollars inspecting an apple before you eat it. You still don’t know it won’t kill you.

Groups tend to ignore the truth a lot. Sometimes that’s because the truth is nuanced and the goals of the group are not. But another reason is because groups are powerful, so they can ignore the truth. The river might be dangerous to cross, because it has crocodiles in it, but the fact is it’s safe for a group to cross. At least, it’s safe in the center of the group.

So, groups can make you crocodile-proof. That’s neat. You know what they can’t do? They can’t make you healthy. Your health depends on your individual decisions, regardless of cultural norms. Staying in the center of the crowd might protect you from crocodiles, but it won’t help against fungal pneumonia.

What is this strange analogy? We find protection from crocodiles but not from microbes by adhering to the group? Well… Sure. Why not? At a certain point, a group is comprised of individuals. That’s all there is to it. And those individuals have agency. And, like cells in a body, as long as they’re not harming anything, they’re generally left alone. They aren’t lorded over by some totalitarian regime that determines their every function. Theories pertaining to some of the very earliest development of cellular life, the nucleus-containing bacteria, invoke partnership in the very basis of our cellular structure. The predominant theory as far as I know is that one bacteria entered another and acted as its nucleus: a total partnership. It’s a total partnership. And I’m of the idea that it’s a total partnership all the way up. The nucleus showed up to be a nucleus. The specialized liver cells eventually showed up to do their liver functions. They’re on it. Sometimes they’re not. They’re left alone unless they fall into a state of senescence and start causing harm to nearby cells. That’s the point at which the harmful cell is destroyed.

It’s a pretty harsh analogy to human existence, but roughly equal. Really, it’s alright if people want to do whatever. Once it becomes a problem we make rules to eliminate the harmful behavior.

The behavior of telling the truth is always a threat to the ruling groups. Yet telling the truth is the very thing that connects us to reality, and is the very best a human being has to offer.

So, go on ahead with it. Say the sky is blue, if you think it’s blue. Tell me you still get four from two plus two. It’s boring, I know. It’s banal. And we can laugh at the leaders threatened by the banal. Once you’re thoroughly compromised, living a life comprised of lies, you lose your sense of humor because the truth is what makes a good joke fly. Humorless, haunted, bound by the desires of evil people, and threatened by the banal. These are the “elite” that people talk about. Have some compassion for them after all.

Cheers