- Phil Mollon.
Most people will have heard the term ‘conspiracy theorists’, usually used with derogatory connotations to refer to persons who hold beliefs that are obviously absurd. Such beliefs or speculations involve conspiracies by large organisations, such as commercial companies, covert global networks (the so-called ‘deep state’), or actual governments, or factions within governments.
The common pop psychology understanding of those who might entertain this kind of belief Is that they may show the following characteristics: being paranoid; delusional; uneducated; tending to see patterns in random and unconnected events; paying selective attention to events so that aspects that support a belief are highlighted and elements that do not support the belief are ignored or minimised; have low self-esteem and social status but find compensation in a sense of belonging to a special group with special knowledge; their intellectual confusion about the complex world, and ensuing anxiety, is replaced by a sense of certainty organised around a delusional idea; such people find each other on the internet and reinforce each other’s biased perceptions by the constant exchange of uncritical ideas and memes in the cyberspace echo chamber.
David Aaronovitch, in his book Voodoo Histories, on conspiracy theories, argues that “overarching theories are formulated by the politically defeated and taken up by the politically defeated” [p 326] However, he also claims that “conspiracy theories originate and are largely circulated among the educated and the middle class … It has typically been the professors, the university students, the artists, the managers, the journalists and the civil servants who have concocted and disseminated the conspiracies” [p 325]
Another problem with the popular caricature is that exploring alternative perspectives does not, in my experience, lead to a more tranquil mental state. Quite the opposite, since these theories are often highly disturbing, calling into question basic assumptions about the world, creating anxiety and uncertainty and a sense of dislocation from familiar shared frameworks. They can also evoke feelings of shame, since speaking of them to others typically results in responses of disbelief and mockery, and being rejected by the group, as a ‘mad conspiracy theorist’. The ensuing anguish can be enhanced by the difficulty of checking the veracity of claims and theories that are outside the mainstream.
Embracing a ‘conspiracy theory’ means exploring a perspective that is at odds, often radically so, with the dominant narrative of how the world is, a narrative presented by the mainstream media, such as the BBC – an entity that in Britain has been affectionately albeit mockingly dubbed “auntie”. It means questioning the consensus assumptions and paradigms. Moreover, it often means considering the possibility that people and organisations previously perceived as benign might in fact be deceptively malign. Such processes involve a cognitive shock, and may trigger primitive, previously transcended, infantile states of paranoia. Clearly then, the exploration of a ‘conspiracy’ demands a great deal of psychological work and resilience, and requires a considerable tolerance of uncertainty, ambiguity, anxiety, and cognitive dissonance. These qualities are required in order to avoid the pressing dangers of premature conclusion and certainty, whether these be in the direction of accepting the theory as truth or dismissing it as absurd.
The work of cognitive psychologist Jennifer Freyd is relevant. In her book Betrayal Trauma, she explores links between the cognitive and emotional shock of soldiers who feel betrayed by the parental army and that of children who suffer sexual abuse within the family. In both instances there is an automatic tendency to block the perception of betrayal in order to preserve the sense of trust within an attachment relationship. We might extrapolate to consider that our entire socio-cultural world functions as a kind of background parental object, in whom we, to varying extents, place our trust. Most of us tend, most of the time, to feel that the information we receive within this socio-cultural world, from our school days onwards, and the prevailing paradigms for making sense of it, are trustworthy and more or less true. Some, of course, will not have this trust, because of their particular experiences.
The consideration of a ‘conspiracy theory’, particularly if it concerns individuals and organisations normally considered to be benign, may present a cognitive-emotional challenge for which we are ill-equipped. In normal development, the infant and young child is faced with the challenge of modifying and integrating early images of parental figures as extreme and fantastic expressions of good and bad. Gradually, the child forms more realistic images, tolerating ambivalence, and recognising that the mother who is frustrating or angry is the same mother who is nurturing and loving. In this way, the child progresses from an original ‘paranoid-schizoid’ position to one that is more depressive (according to the insights of psychoanalyst Melanie Klein). Much of this depends on the child integrating his or her own loving and hating feelings. However, the child does not have the inherent cognitive and emotional equipment to make sense of a mother who is actually abusive and destructive whilst at other times appearing loving. Similarly, when adults are confronted by evidence of a conspiracy that is at odds with the prevailing assumptions and paradigms, we have difficulty assimilating this new and incongruent information. It potentially disrupts all our schemas by which we make sense of the world.
The French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan noted that trigger points for onset of a psychosis often involve some kind of shock to the structure of a person’s fabric of meaning and their sense of their place in the social world – this, at least, is my understanding from his work. At such points, some people have no internal category or concept within which to assimilate the new information and form a viable revised identity. These problems are elaborated more in my new book Pathologies of the Self, where I also draw on the concept of the ‘totalitarian ego’ that seeks always to distort and selectively attend to information that supports the prevailing identity and cognitive structures. What this means basically is that we all have a tendency to avoid cognitive-emotional shock and instead seek to retain our existing paradigms, even at the expense of ignoring or distorting new information.
The challenge is to consider new and disruptive information without surrendering to the internal and external pressures to decide prematurely on its truth or falsehood. The cognitive processes of those who instantly assume the conspiracy theory is not true mirror those of those who unquestioningly assume its truth.
Of course we know that some conspiracies do occur. We know that global companies may seek to hide harmful effects of their products, whether these be pharmaceutical or automobiles. These are in the public domain.
We also now know that some conspiracy theories are generated by hostile powers with the aim of fomenting distrust and undermining the structures of western democracies.
There are some who seek to discredit conspiracy theories as an entire genre. A notable example is David Aaronovitch, in his Voodoo Histories (2009) and other writings. He examines a number of well-known theories, such as 9/11, the death of Diana, the moon landings, the Kennedy assassination, paedophile rings, the Illuminati, etc. He carefully debunks all of them. The problem is that in the end, he is doing what he criticises the conspiracy theorists of doing – i.e. he has clearly decided in advance his conclusions and accordingly weaves a narrative to support this. This is what journalists do - they try to create a coherent story.
I did once write to Aaronovitch. It was after reading one of his articles in The Times, in which he referred to the ideas of David Ray Griffin, a retired professor of philosophy, as “barking” (i.e. ‘barking mad’, like a mad dog). As it happened, I had read Griffin’s book The New Pearl Harbor, which explored various conspiracy theories regarding 9/11. What impressed me about the book was its careful and restrained questioning style of argument – just as we might expect of a philosopher. So I wrote to Aaronovitch, gently challenging his disparaging reference to Griffin and also briefly outlining my point about our natural resistance to embracing betrayal trauma. He did not reply. However, in his Voodoo Histories book, he does refer to my letter, saying a “British psychoanalyst wrote to me in very civil terms” and he actually quotes from my letter, where I wrote “There is perhaps an even deeper anxiety that can lead us to deny possibilities that that imply betrayal by those whom we expect to protect and care for us”. He acknowledges that this may have some validity, but then returns to his criticism of Griffin in such a way as to dismiss my point – arguing that Griffin’s book displayed “evasions, half-truths, and bad science” despite its “outward limbs and flourishes of scholarship”.
My own initial cognitive shock occurred many years ago when I worked in psychiatric services and worked with a number of patients who reported, with a great deal of terror and extreme disturbance, experiences of intense and sadistic abuse within extended families and networks. In the 1980s, these were matters of which I had previously known nothing. There was no concept in my mind for this information – and when I talked to colleagues about what had been reported, the blank looks and rapid shifts of attention indicated there was none in theirs either. My experience was a combination of anxiety and shame.
These states of cognitive shock were amplified further when I became part of a British Psychological Society Working Partly on Recovered Memories, which included a number of eminent memory scientists. We strove for a balanced position, taking account of research, clinical reports, and the experiences and views of lobby groups for falsely accused parents. Our report was pilloried in the media and by the lobby groups, all of whom preferred a simpler narrative. We found the data and evidence, and the media reactions to our report, profoundly confusing, murky, and frightening.
I wrote a book about some of these matters. It was the first UK book on working with people with trauma-based dissociative disorders. After it was published (in 1996), I hid the book and talked to no colleagues about it.
References
Aaronovitch, D. 2009. Voodoo Histories. How Conspiracy Theory has Shaped Modern History. London, Vintage.
Freyd, J. 1996. Betrayal Trauma. The Logic of Forgetting Childhood Abuse. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press.
Griffin, D.R. 2004. The New Pearl Harbor: Disturbing Questions about the Bush Administration and 9/11. New York. Arris Books.
Mollon, P. 2020. Pathologies of the Self. London, Confer.