On the web and just about anywhere else one cares to look these days, there’s an awful lot of loose talk about paranoia, about people 'seeing conspiracies everywhere,' and the like, and all of it just keeps bringing my mind back to one nagging question: In theory, is it possible for someone to hold a paranoid belief that coincidentally happens to be true? Or should 'truth' even factor into it when we evaluate someone’s beliefs as 'reasonable' or 'paranoid'?
Let me put the question another way with a hypothetical case: Suppose there’s this guy who believes that God is personally out to get him. For the sake of argument, let’s say the guy is right, and God actually is out to get him (never mind all the perfectly reasonable but irrelevant arguments we might get into about whether God even exists, and/or whether He would have better things to do with His time than waging personal vendettas against His creations, etc.).
Now, suppose the paranoid guy is pretty sure he’s got good reasons for his suspicions about God, but as imaginary observers, we’re in a better position to evaluate the guy’s reasons objectively, and we find them lacking in many respects. Some of his reasons are valid (God really did arrange it so the guy’s high school sweetheart would leave the prom with his best friend), but others are completely invalid (it’s purely a coincidence that it always rains when he leaves his umbrella home). In any event, his conclusion—that God is out to get him—can’t be derived inexorably from the reasons he cites, and yet, we know independently that his conclusion is correct.
Now, in the scenario I’m suggesting, is it fair to regard the guy’s belief that God is out to get him as paranoid or not? How we choose to answer this question reveals a lot about the implicit connections we make between perception and reality, as well as how we evaluate the reasonableness of others’ beliefs.
Suppose we decide to say that this guy’s belief does qualify as paranoid (even though it coincidentally happens to be accurate) on the grounds that any belief that casts God as engaging in personal vendettas is inherently paranoid (not to mention potentially blasphemous). In other words, suppose we say one would have to be paranoid to believe such a thing were possible even if it turned out to be true, because on its surface the belief is so glaringly improbable that no reasonable person would consider it.
If we follow the line of reasoning proposed above, we implicitly assume that the veracity of a claim or belief has no bearing on its reasonableness. What, then, should we use instead as our criteria for determining if a belief is reasonable or not? The temptation is to say we can evaluate a belief as reasonable or not based on the soundness of the reasoning that supports it (which is, after all, literally what we mean when we say a belief is ‘reasonable’). The problem with this approach, however, is that in most cases there isn’t a necessary relationship between a particular conclusion and the reasons that support it. We could easily imagine more than one valid argument for a particular conclusion, and there are no hard and fast standards for evaluating the relative rigor of competing arguments (nor any objective methods for determining the soundness of an argument’s premises). Without going too far afield into a discussion of all the epistemological questions involved, determining that a particular argument is invalid doesn’t necessarily invalidate the argument’s conclusion, if the same conclusion could potentially be reached by other means.
In describing the methods of theoretical science, Einstein once offered an analogy that might be instructive here: Imagine the universe is like a pocket watch, and the theorist has been tasked with describing in detail the inner workings of that pocket watch based only on observations of the hands and face of the watch (that is, without being allowed to remove the back cover of the watch to observe the inner workings directly). Obviously, there are many different ways to configure and assemble the mechanical components of a watch to achieve results consistent with observation of the watch-face. To some extent, all beliefs and arguments operate according to the same principles. Whatever reasons we might supply for our beliefs, the likely underlying reason we hold onto any particular belief is because we consider it useful for some purpose (in the case of theoretical science, we hold onto beliefs that are useful for making predictions and we reject beliefs that are not; in the case of religious faith, we hold onto beliefs that provide us spiritual comfort and reject those that do not).
Which brings me back to a modified version of my original question: Is it possible that certain beliefs, true or not, are inherently unhealthy because they can only be reached via unhealthy processes of reasoning? It’s hard to imagine anyone explicitly arguing for this position, and yet, it’s a position we seem to routinely assume in our day-to-day discussions—for example, when we dismiss a disagreeable comment with a glib sentiment like ‘you’d have to be crazy to believe that’ or ‘that’s just too absurd on the face of it.’ The implication is that some ideas are too dangerous or pointless even to consider, which comes uncomfortably close to the logic of totalitarianism.
An even more disturbing aspect of all the recent anti-‘conspiracy theory’ talk is that its effect has been to marginalize and/or politicize the very concept of a conspiracy. The term ‘conspiracy theory’ is now commonly used to dismiss any theory deemed as implausibly sinister or over-elaborate. Diluting the meaning of the term ‘conspiracy’ in this way is extremely dangerous, because it deprives us of meaningful terminology for describing a very real phenomenon: Remember, despite all the comforting suggestions to the contrary, criminal conspiracies actually do happen. That’s why we have laws against conspiracy. There’s nothing de facto ‘paranoid’ about entertaining the possibility of a conspiracy. The term ‘conspiracy’ signifies nothing more sinister or implausible than the possibility that multiple people were involved in the commission of a crime or unethical act.
Consider the following example from a NY Times article about recent revelations regarding Enron’s manipulation of energy supplies during the so-called “California Energy Crisis” (which just happened to coincide with Bush’s appeal to the public to support his administration’s controversial and extremely industry-friendly energy policies):
‘Company officials had long denied that they illegally shut down plants to create artificial shortages. In March 2001—two months after the recording showed how the Nevada plant was shut down—Mr. Lay called any claims of market manipulation "conspiracy theories."’
The NY Times’ article from which this quote derives discusses the discovery of yet another audio recording confirming that, indeed, Enron employees did engage in a conspiracy to manipulate energy prices (see original article here for details: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/02/04/national/04energy.html).
At the time, the fact that President Bush and Vice President Cheney both had close ties to Ken Lay and Enron, combined with the timing of the California energy shortages (and the fact that Bush and his ideological comrades make no secret of their irrational contempt for California, which they derisively call the “left-coast”), led many critics of the Bush administration to allege that the administration was actively conspiring with the energy industry to manufacture a crisis to bolster up the case for its new energy policies. Now that substantial parts of these claims are being borne out, it’s likely only a matter of time before further information emerges to implicate the Bush administration directly in the Enron conspiracy (and it’s a good bet that the smoking gun will be found somewhere among the confidential energy policy papers that Cheney still refuses to grant public access to).
So far, there’s been a lot of resistance to accusations that the Bush administration may have played some role in the Enron conspiracy. And here again is where it becomes important to think seriously about how we evaluate the reasonableness of our beliefs. Is it inherently paranoid to think that a sitting President of the United States could be involved in criminal conspiracy? Obviously, it’s not, since there’s ample historical precedent for such beliefs. History, however, doesn’t provide many previous examples of the situation America finds itself in today, in which a sitting President who may be involved in serious criminal activity has managed to concentrate enough power in the office of the Presidency to become all but unassailable.
Which leads me to a final thought: Maybe the reason we’re so quick to accept the casual dismissal of ‘conspiracy theories’ isn’t because we regard all these theories as unreasonable at all. Maybe our willingness to dismiss legitimate questions concerning the conduct of our leaders is motivated by a deep psychological need to be able to trust our authority figures in light of the profound cultural anxiety left in the after-math of the 9/11 attacks.
Maybe accepting the possibility that our leaders could be capable of the wholesale opportunism and moral bankruptcy some have suggested would cause far too much damage to our national psyche, and we’re better off living under the comforting illusion that our leaders couldn’t possibly sink to such depths of deceit and greed.
Or maybe, like responsible adults, we could try facing up to the less convenient realities of democratic citizenship, and recommit ourselves to the difficult but vital responsibilities of carefully examining our political beliefs based on all available information, and working together to arrive at solutions to the real problems confronting our nation, instead of looking at politics as a high-stakes sporting event or an opportunity to present ourselves as morally superior to others.
For now, the choice may still be ours to make; but if we wait much longer, the choice could be out of our hands completely.