Deconstructing conspiracy theories

Some people are convinced that the Earth is a disc. All those photos from space? Faked. The physics behind them? Made up. Pilots, astronomers and scientists around the world? In on it and sworn to secrecy. Absurd as that sounds, this historical example, disproved long ago, lets you examine the structure of conspiracy narratives as if under a microscope.

You will find three building blocks in almost every such narrative:

1. The secret plan: A small, powerful group supposedly controls events in secret – deliberately deceiving the rest of the world. In the flat-Earth narrative, these are space agencies and ‘science’, which have supposedly been faking evidence for decades.
2. Nothing happens by chance: Everything is interpreted as part of the plan. Every contradiction and every everyday inconsistency is turned into ‘proof’ – coincidences, mistakes and simply complicated connections have no place in the narrative.
3. Disproof is treated as proof (immunisation): The cleverest building block. Show a believer satellite images, and they say: ‘Faked – that just proves how powerful the fakers are.’ The narrative is constructed so that no evidence against it can ever shake it: every attempt to disprove it is reinterpreted as confirmation. This is called immunisation against criticism.

The third building block is exactly what distinguishes it from a scientific theory: a real theory states what observation would disprove it – and submits to that test. A conspiracy narrative, by contrast, has an answer to everything and cannot be shaken by anything. An explanation that nothing can disprove is not a strong explanation – it is no longer a testable explanation at all.

Incidentally, real conspiracies do exist – such as secret price-fixing agreements between companies (the cartel in “Competition: monopoly and competitive markets”) or cover-ups in sport. But real conspiracies are small and specific – and they are exposed: by journalism, courts and people who leave them. Conspiracy narratives, by contrast, claim there are vast plans spanning decades and involving millions of people, none of whom ever credibly reveal what happened.

If conspiracy narratives are so easy to see through, why do people believe them? Not because those people are stupid, but because the narratives meet three real needs:

1. A simple explanation for a complex world: Reality is often complicated, contradictory and full of coincidences. That is tiring – and sometimes frightening. A narrative in which everything has a hidden meaning and someone is to blame can feel like a sofa for your brain: comfortable and easy to make sense of.
2. A sense of insight: ‘I see what the others can't see – I've recognised the truth.’ That feeling is flattering. People who have ‘woken up’ feel cleverer than the ‘sleeping’ majority – yet it is the narrative that deliberately sells them this feeling.
3. Belonging: Believing the narrative makes you part of a close-knit community of people ‘in the know’ who confirm each other's beliefs. That feels good – and makes it hard to leave: anyone who starts to doubt risks losing not just a belief, but their group.

Then there is the technology: from “Media and how opinions are formed”, you know how feeds work – algorithms favour content that triggers strong reactions, and in a filter bubble you mainly see things that confirm your view of the world. That is exactly what the video is about: how constant repetition in a feed gives a narrative the appearance of truth – along the lines of: ‘If I see it this often, there must be something in it.’

You do not need specialist knowledge to challenge conspiracy narratives – three checking questions can take you surprisingly far. We will apply them to the second historical example: the claim that the Moon landing of 1969 was staged in a film studio.

1. Who would have to keep quiet? Around 400 000 people worked on the Apollo programmes – engineers, technicians and suppliers. The Soviet Union, the great rival in the race to the Moon, also tracked the lunar missions' radio communications using its own antennas. If there had been a hoax, the rival would have been the first to shout about it – nothing would have been more valuable to it. The larger the alleged conspiracy, the less likely it is that everyone would keep quiet for decades.
2. What could disprove the claim? Ask a believer directly. A testable statement has an answer (‘If X were measured, my claim would be wrong’). With a conspiracy narrative, the answer to every piece of evidence against it is ‘faked’, ‘bought off’ or ‘part of the plan’. If nothing – absolutely nothing – could ever disprove the claim, you are dealing with an immunised narrative, not an explanation.
3. Who benefits from the narrative? Conspiracy content is also a business: channels make a living from clicks and advertising, while books, talks and products are sold. Within the group, the narrative also brings status: whoever ‘sees most deeply’ ranks highest. This question does not expose every narrative, but it explains why someone might have an interest in keeping it alive.

The three checks from “Media and how opinions are formed” also work here: check the source, use reverse image searches and look for second sources – a narrative that circulates only within a closed bubble has already failed the most important test.

Finally, the most important point for everyday life: if someone you know believes something like this, mockery is the least helpful response – it confirms their feeling of being laughed at by ‘those people’ and binds the group more closely together. Calm, sincere questions work better: ask the three checking questions without trying to score a victory. You will not win every discussion – but a respectful question stays in someone's mind longer than any lecture.