Conspirituality

 George Monbiot has a compelling theory to explain what makes people believe conspiracies.

"Those who believe unevidenced stories about hidden cabals and secret machinations tend to display no interest in well-documented stories about hidden cabals and secret machinations. Why might this be? Why, when there are so many real conspiracies to worry about, do people feel the need to invent and believe fake ones? These questions become especially pressing in our age of extreme political dysfunction. This dysfunction results, I believe, in large part from a kind of meta-deception, called neoliberalism. The spread and development of this ideology was quietly funded by some of the richest people on Earth. Their campaign of persuasion was so successful that this ideology now dominates political life. It has delivered the privatisation of public services; the degradation of public health and education; rising inequality; rampant child poverty; offshoring and the erosion of the tax base; the 2008 financial crash; the rise of modern-day demagogues; our ecological and environmental emergencies. But every time we start to grasp what is happening and why, somehow this understanding is derailed. One of the causes of the derailment is the diversion of public concern and anger towards groundless conspiracy fictions, distracting us and confusing us about the reasons for our dysfunctions. It’s intensely frustrating."

He spoke to one conspiracy theorist, Jason Liosatos, who called Covid a fraud and "called doctors promoting Covid vaccines 'Mengele medics'." Yet Monbiot aligned with him in some ways: 

"Weirdly, this triggered a strong sense of guilt by association: as if, because I agree with him in some respects, I am also responsible for the gross antisemitism and other fictions he has spread. He spoke fluently about how we internalise the oppressive nature of a system 'based on short-term greed, fear, profit, power, debt and slavery'. People, he told me, 'pretend they’re OK. And that’s part of the problem. There’s an amazing capacity in each person to endure suffering, pain, boredom, punishment, work that they don’t want to do.' I couldn’t have put it better myself. . . . This is what I kept bumping up against throughout our conversation: the rhetoric used by people in the green and left movements - people like me - had been repurposed to justify grotesque libels against Jews and other groups. Liosatos uses the language of liberation to rationalise falsehoods that reinforce oppression. . . . In reality, he simply recites discredited claims. . . . When I tried to persuade him to see that he was channelling outrageous lies, Liosatos started rambling, waving his arms, speaking in broken sentences, suddenly diverting into unrelated subjects. I began to suspect that he saw himself as a martyr, persecuted for following his beliefs. . . .

I wasn’t scheming to bring him down. But I felt it was worth interviewing him, or someone like him, because conspiracy fictions, even – perhaps especially – when promoted by people who claim to want a better world, can have deadly consequences. They inspire terrorism and attacks on Jews, Muslims, immigrants, legislatures and other targets. Anti-vaxx myths help spread infectious disease. Some of the most common falsehoods also target the public sector and civic life, spreading lies about public health, schools, traffic calming, urban planning, climate policy, university courses, taxes. They reinforce the assaults of neoliberalism. When such falsehoods are spread by powerful interests, you could see them as conspiracies to spread conspiracy fictions. They bamboozle people, disempower them and distract attention from the crimes and strategies of states, oligarchs and corporations. People who recite these fables might imagine they’re sticking it to The Man. In reality, they’re serving him. Almost invariably, this litany of false stories leads people towards the far right. Conspiracy fictions are the fuel of far-right politics: It cannot operate without them. . . . 

It must take quite an effort to see the false stories but not the true ones. For example, there’s a widespread fiction that 'chemtrails' – the term conspiracy fantasists give to aircraft contrails – are a dastardly scheme to spray us with toxic metals (barium and aluminium compounds), to alter our minds. There is no evidence for such claims – but toxic metals in aircraft exhausts could indeed be altering our minds. In the UK, the fuel used in piston prop aircraft still contains tetraethyl lead. At sufficient doses, lead reduces IQ and mental performance, and can cause irrational behaviour, delirium, nightmares and hallucinations. A paper in Public Health Challenges estimates that more than 370,000 households (about 900,000 people) living close to aerodromes in the UK are “at risk of being exposed to damaging levels of lead”. . . . . I asked Liosatos about the scandals I mentioned at the start of this article: Post Office, Windrush, VIP lane, Cambridge Analytica, Panama and Pandora Papers. In every case, he told me he didn’t know enough about them. 'It seems to me,' I told him, 'that you focus on the things that aren’t true, and not on the things that are true.'. . . It seemed to me that Liosatos genuinely wanted to create a better world. How can the journey to that better world involve spreading antisemitism and defending stalkers? . . . 

Could it be, I asked, that he focuses on conspiracy fictions because he can’t face the real horrors we confront? . . . I see conspiracy fictions as a form of reassurance. This might sound odd: they purport to reveal 'the terrifying truth'. But look at what they’re actually saying. Climate breakdown? It’s a hoax. Covid? All fake. Power? Just a tiny cabal of Jews. In other words, our deepest fears are unfounded. These fictions are highly conservative. Several of Harry Vox’s libels would have been familiar in England 800 years ago. Suspicion of science and technology, to judge by the widespread association of blacksmithing with dark arts, goes back to the iron age. Anti-vaxx myths in Europe are as old as vaccination. Conspiracy fictions tell us nothing has changed, the same bastards are in charge, this is an evil we know. Perhaps this is why some fantasists become so attached to their stories: they’re a place of safety. Conspiracy fictions also tell us we don’t have to act. If the problem is a remote and highly unlikely Other – rather than a system in which we’re deeply embedded, which demands a democratic campaign of resistance and reconstruction – you can wash your hands of it and get on with your life. They free us from civic responsibility. This may be why those who take an interest in conspiracy fictions are so seldom interested in genuine conspiracies. . . . . 

Jason Liosatos and I have the same desire for a better world, the same anger towards those who thwart it. What differentiates us, I think, is rigour. I think he is insufficiently rigorous in choosing what to believe. As a result of this lack of rigour, his instinct for justice and his potent sense of his own persecution have taken him to a very dark place. This has led someone trying to be good to spread great harms. It’s a warning to us all."

The world is getting more and more frightening and unhinged. The very thing that could stop this shift - a clear and nuanced understanding of the problems with the system and an organized effort towards change that helps the weakest among us and repairs some of the damage done - are dismantled by easy slogans and quick scapegoating (F--- Trudeau does both!) that enable people to sleep at night in the belief that burning a witch or two will save us all. If they win, they might come to recognize their solution didn't work, but may be too late for change at that point. It's likely too late now.