Why We Love Conspiracy Theories

More than any time in history, America is saturated in conspiracy theories. It seems almost every aspect of society and pop culture is touched by the idea of a conspiracy of some sort. There are the classics, such as the moon landing being faked, filmed in a basement by Stanley Kubrick, to more bizarre ones like the flat-earth theory and the claim that the Beatles never actually existed, to the dangerously delirious - the Sandy Hook shooting never happened, 9/11 was an inside job, vaccines contain tracking technology, and JFK Jr. will appear in Dealey Plaza to claim the Presidency for Donald Trump (despite the younger Kennedy being dead for 22 years).

It's almost as if conspiracy theories are en vogue. If it was 1997, conspiracy theories would be the Billy Corgan ZERO t-shirt. Why do we embrace them? Why do we cling to them?

The answer is disappointingly simple - they excite us, and they comfort us.

We can look to the biggest conspiracy theory in all of American history for the perfect example: the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Theorists have long rejected the idea that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone in shooting JFK, that the whole thing was a plot by the CIA, Vice-President Lyndon Johnson, or other powers that be. Many more far-out ideas have been posited, such as Kennedy was killed because he planned to reveal the existence of extraterrestrial life.

The facts are, unfortunately, much more boring - Oswald, a young Marxist loner with delusions of grandeur, shot the President to make a statement, to be somebody for once. I write "unfortunately more boring" because a great leader such as John F. Kennedy deserved a better end - a man of his accomplishments deserved a better assassin, as morbid as it sounds. Even a rogue government and/or alien-related conspiracy would have been a more fitting means to such a great man's tragic end: it's disheartening and disappointing to accept that one of our greatest Presidents was simply slain by a born loser - who in turn was slain by another born loser, with no mob connections, no secret CIA motive. The true backstories of Lee Harvey Oswald and Jack Ruby are too real - but the fantastical explanations, the intricate and complex, the convoluted, take us away from such a reality. A nice, exciting conspiracy overshadows the tragedy with grandeur. Therefore, aliens and the CIA.

The outlandish and wondrous, bluntly put, make us feel better. They give us a noble quest, to expose the truth. They add adventure and intrigue, put us in a James Bond-like role, a covert mission to gather intelligence and expose the Deep States and Pizzagates of the world. Conspiracies take us from our glum place as mourners to freedom fighters for truth. And when they send us on a spiral of violence and fanaticism, they make us martyrs - heroes even - when we storm the Capitol shirtless, wearing face paint and a horned helmet. 

Meticulously compiled evidence that dashes these conspiracy theories brings us back to Earth. Back to the grind of the mundane and terrifying. It's terrifying to think that an ordinary nobody in our midst could take it upon themselves to kill the President - it's exciting to think it was the work of an ominous boss-level boogieman. 

Inside, we're too horrified - and inconvenienced - to accept that there's a new virus beyond our control that's killed millions of people worldwide, that we don't have as much reign over nature as we think. So, the virus must be a hoax, one we have a duty to expose; if not a hoax, a plot by Anthony Fauci and his cronies to force people to wear masks, so they can receive hefty kickbacks from the big mask industry. 

We're too delicate to consider that our candidate lost an election fairly. We're too dogmatic to learn the intricacies of elections, because that knowledge might prove us wrong. We hate being wrong. We don't like things that dash our narratives, so they must be false. It must all be fake news - "Fake news!" being code for "I'm too fragile to handle that."

Maybe my armchair psychology is my own way of romanticizing why we love conspiracy theories. Maybe the truth is even more humdrum than human insecurity -

maybe we're just bored. Maybe we can never be satisfied as the needy humans we are: not even a global pandemic satisfies our lust for action. 

Or, maybe we've seen too many movies.

The Semantics of Suicide

For some, it's become inappropriate to use the term "commit suicide." The reasoning behind this is that the word "commit" implies a crime or a moral wrong - i.e. committing adultery, committing murder. Of course, emotional and psychiatric duress should never be classified as something morally reprehensible. So, alternate terms are suggested: "died by suicide," or the somewhat and confusing morbid "completed suicide."

Being a career mental patient, under consistent psychiatric care since I was 14 (I'm now 35), and having attempted to take my own life at least once in the past, I feel I have an authority to speak on the subject, and the right to give advice to anyone else who's struggled with such things:

If you ever confide in someone about your personal experience, and they correct or rebuke you for using the term "commit suicide," should you choose to phrase it that way, you have every right to tell that person to bugger off. To go fly a kite, to suck an egg, to die mad about it. Anyway you choose to phrase it: this is your story, your experience, your struggle. You are under no obligation to adhere to the vocabulary of anyone's else's ideology. 

There's enough anxiety in life as it is, for both mentally healthy and unhealthy people, without adding to it by walking on eggshells to placate others. Don't go out of your way to offend people - but if mental health matters, as we say every May, be good to yourself and don't allow others to burden you with more tension than what's already necessary in daily life.

Sincerely,

a chronic mental patient

Permission To Plagiarize Me

I noticed something interesting on the Twitter recently. A fellow expressed his concern and disapproval of  preachers who plagiarize other preachers' sermons. I honestly had no idea this was such a problem in Christian ministry. But I do admit there was a time when I myself was very concerned about my own religious writings being stolen. 

Years ago, when I still held the heady but modest title of "lay chaplain," I published a book of sermons, Sheep Named Spike. I'd be happy to autograph it for if you buy a copy. Most of what's in the book is based on my cheaply produced YouTube sermons, but there was also plenty of material that simply came from a flow of creative writing. 

I decided not long ago, however, that I shouldn't pursue "Christian writing" anymore, at least not until I overcome my tendency toward vanity. That is, I noticed so much of what I wrote to proclaim the Gospel was dangerously close to becoming "The Captain Bud Sturguess Show." I found much more of an emphasis on the absurdity and self-deprecation that I used to illustrate whatever point I was making, to the point that Christ was almost a background Player in the sermons. 

So, though I feel the things I published as religious works are still solid proclamations of the truth of Jesus Christ, I think it's best I don't continue writing straight-up sermons, lest I put myself at the forefront. 

Having said that, if in those sermons I wrote something pure, something Gospel-centered, something aligning with Scripture, something with the true zeal of preaching Christ, then I have to acknowledge that it came not from me, but from the Holy Spirit. The front of the book may list my name under the copyright notice, but it's far more accurate to say that anything truly good I wrote is the intellectual property of the Spirit. 

I certainly don't speak for other preachers, but it can only follow that if someone copies my sermons, even word for word, I have no more room to object than I would if a musician rips off Back In Black - Back In Black is not my intellectual property, not the product of my creativity, therefore only AC/DC and their lawyers have a right to file suit against the plagiarist. 

It's the same with my sermons. Again, I emphasize that I only speak for myself, not only as part of the royal priesthood of believers, but also as a writer. If another Christian desires to proclaim our Savior from a genuine conviction and longing to bring the Gospel to others, I have no qualms if they Xerox my work and recite it in their own diatribes. Reaching the hearts of our neighbors is far more important than letting everyone know how clever, creative, and original I am.

So, let this blog be a binding contract of sorts - I will not sue, I will not complain that my genius has been ripped off. If something I wrote or recorded for Christ is found to be pure and unadulterated truth, it makes no difference if my name is attached to it. The Name above all Names must be first, and mine not at all. I'm content being a creation rather than a creative.

I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't rather preachers be creative and labor over their own sermons rather than recite someone else's work. But truth is truth, and I claim no copyright for it. Let truth abound.