From One Illusion to the Next: Why People Jump from Blind Trust to Conspiracy Thinking
I had been at a lady’s place. I like and respect her a lot, not only for who she is but for what she represents. She stood firm when others bowed, kept her own counsel when the world demanded obedience, held the line when the tide of fear and conformity washed over lesser souls. She saw the cracks in the great façade before most dared to look.
But as the evening stretched on, so did the conversation. It began on steady ground—supplements, wellness, natural remedies. Perna canaliculus for the joints, Curcuma for inflammation. No cause for alarm, no great heresies yet. Then came a detox mineral with grand claims and little proof. And finally, a guy who believed water could hear prayers, that it formed elegant crystals under kind words and ugly fractures under curses. It was a notion beautiful in its poetry but void in its science, an experiment never replicated, a tale built on hopeful eyes selecting only what they wished to see.
I recognized the pattern. A person wakes up from one illusion only to walk, arms wide, into the next. They reject the hegemony's lies, but instead of quiet skepticism, they reach for a new faith—different symbols, same certainty.
They do not say, “I don’t know, let me search.” They say, “I have seen the truth, and it is here.” And I wondered, as I have many times before, why it is so rare for a man to awaken without immediately reaching for another dream.
The Shock of Betrayal: When the World Stops Making Sense
Most people trust by nature. It is easier to believe in a world where the leaders lead, the experts know, and the press tells the truth. The alternative is too unsettling: that the ship is without a captain, that those who claim to know are often guessing, that profit and power often hold the pen when history is written.
But there comes a day, for some, when the illusion cracks.
For most, this is slow—like a log rotting from within, collapsing only after years of decay. But for others, the break is sudden and violent. The pandemic was such a rupture. The world declared a state of emergency, and in its wake came contradictions, absurdities, naked power plays dressed as wisdom.
The media demanded obedience, not inquiry. The scientists turned prophets, their edicts not to be questioned. The officials imposed rules that defied reason and called it reason itself.
And so the faithful became doubters.
They saw the machinery behind the curtain, and what they saw was not wisdom but control, not guidance but manipulation. And once the veil is lifted, it does not fall again so easily.
They have lied to us.
They are not what they claim to be.
They are not here to protect us.
A man who wakes up to such a truth does not return to easy sleep.
But here the danger begins, because when the foundation crumbles, a man does not stand amidst the rubble and say, “I will rebuild from reason.” No, he looks for another shelter, another story, another truth to set upon the empty space where his old belief once stood.
The Overcorrection: When Skepticism Becomes Blind Rejection
The wise man, upon discovering a single lie, does not throw out all of history. He does not see rot in one beam and declare the house condemned. But wisdom is slow and caution is dull, and the world prefers motion to stillness, action to thought.
And so many take a simpler road.
If the system lied about one thing, then perhaps it has lied about everything.
If the news manipulates, then all news is false.
If the government serves power, then there is no truth in governance at all.
The same men who once trusted blindly now reject blindly. They do not see nuance, only sides. They abandon one dogma for another, trade their blue uniforms for red, kneel before a different altar, convinced that now, at last, they have found the truth.
But they have not gained wisdom. They have merely switched masters.
And so they sink deeper. If governments cannot be trusted, then perhaps secret cabals control the world. If Big Pharma deceives, then maybe all of modern medicine is a fraud. If history is written by victors, then perhaps nothing we have been taught is real at all.
And in this way, a man who once believed in the order of things now believes in David Icke, the Illuminati, Atlantis, flat earth, witchcraft, and the power of water to feel emotion. Not because he is a fool, but because he is still in search of a master, still chasing certainty, still unwilling to say the hardest words of all:
“I do not know.”
The Need for a New Tribe: Belonging in the Conspiracy World
A man alone in his convictions is a man at war. And so, when he leaves behind the comforts of mainstream belief, he finds himself on the outside, a stranger to his old world. He can no longer talk to his friends, his family looks at him sideways, the news does not speak for him.
And what is exile, if not a call to find a new home?
This is why the conspiracy world thrives—not because it offers truth, but because it offers a tribe.
They will say, “You are not crazy. We see it too.”
They will say, “They are asleep. We are awake.”
They will say, “The truth is ours, and we will not be deceived.”
And the man who once felt lost is now found. But he is not free. He has merely traded one flock for another.
The Addictive Dopamine of “Knowing the Truth”
There is another trap here, one more insidious. Every new discovery, every layer peeled back, every piece of hidden knowledge uncovered—it all feels good. It gives a sense of mastery, of understanding, of standing above the blind and unknowing masses.
Each revelation is a rush.
And so it is no longer about truth. It is about chasing the high of discovery. It is about the thrill of uncovering what others cannot see. It is about feeling chosen.
This is why the theories grow wilder, why men who once doubted a government policy now question the shape of the Earth. It is not a rational process. It is an addiction.
The Path to True Skepticism: Learning to Sit in Uncertainty
Not all who awaken fall into this spiral. There are those who see the lies, who reject them, and yet do not replace them with fantasies.
They do something much harder.
They say, “I am not sure.”
They are willing to walk through the ruins of their old beliefs without immediately building new ones. They do not need a complete explanation. They accept that some things remain unknown.
This is the rarest and most difficult stance to take.
Because uncertainty is uncomfortable.
It is easier to believe either that the system is good or that the system is wholly evil. The true answer—one of contradiction, complexity, and shades of gray—takes patience.
Final Thoughts: The Thin Line Between Awareness and Delusion
The pandemic revealed much. It showed who could think, and who could only follow—whether that meant following authority or following those who claim to fight authority. Some trusted blindly, refusing to ask questions. Others questioned everything, including reality itself.
The few who remained in the middle—questioning but not deluded, skeptical but not conspiratorial—are the rarest of all.
Because the real challenge of awakening is not rejecting the old illusions.
It is resisting the temptation to replace them with new ones.
In the end, truth is never found in extremes. It lives in the uncomfortable, messy middle.
And very few are willing to stand there.