Conversations in Management
John
Hardouin is the great granddaddy of conspiracy theories. An
eighteenth century French scholar, numismatist and theologian,
he wrote prolifically and enjoyed a large measure of respect.
Hardouin was, however, a mixed bag. One of his biographers
charitably noted that he had, “extremely original opinions.”
That’s putting it mildly. Drawing on his study of coins, he
put forth the novel hypothesis that virtually all the writings
of ancient Greece and Rome were forgeries. He made exceptions
only for Cicero, Pliny’s Natural History, Virgil’s
Georgics, Horace’s Satires and Epistles and
scattered works of Homer, Herodotus and Plautus. Everything
else, so he claimed, had been written by thirteenth century
monks. If this wasn’t enough, he also imprudently questioned the
authenticity of many of the early Christian writers and
challenged the chronology of the New Testament. The Church,
never overly fond of having its core theology questioned, urged
Hardouin to recant his admittedly peculiar position. While he
consented, the sincerity of his eye opening was
questioned—in true conspiracy theory style—by those in the know.
Following Hardouin’s inaugural
efforts, conspiracy theories rapidly proliferated—although most
had a homespun, cracked-pot feel to them. All that changed with
the rise of modern communications—particularly the internet.
Today conspiracy theories have a degree of sophistication that
can draw in even the most discerning folks. Of course
discounting a conspiracy theory brings its own set of risks.
Some argue, for example, that Princess Diana’s troubles all
started when she discovered that the members of the royal family
were actually reptilian, shape-shifting aliens from the Draco
constellation. If you want to check this one out, don’t bother
asking NASA—they don’t know as much about space as you might
think. It turns out that the Apollo missions never made it to
the moon. Instead, they were all filmed in a Hollywood studio.
That’s just as well, because the Nazi’s really landed on
the moon in 1942 and have established a thriving community up
there. (Can you picture American astronauts enjoying an
earth-rise with aging fascists over beer and brats?) Even if
they did, the whole thing might be erased by the conspiracy
theory that claims entire periods of history are fictional. One
that’s making the circuit now asserts that the early Middle Ages
never existed (so much for Charlemagne). But don’t worry—we can
probably disprove this theory by using some of the reverse
engineered alien technology that is more-or-less secretly being
developed at Area 51. (Actually, this conspiracy theory
is true...or so I've been told.)
Almost all
conspiracy theories start with circumstantial evidence, followed
by a formidable leap to an extreme conclusion and finally, the
assignment of some ulterior motive. They also attribute
extraordinary skill, cunning and power to the conspirators. Most
of these theories are simply laughable. They’re a modern version
of Greek mythology (or were those forgeries too?) that seeks to
entertain us by making reality a little less mundane. Spicing up
the daily routine is probably why there’s so much conspiracy
theorizing in the workplace. Let’s face it; when we see a couple
of folks whispering together or don’t quite grasp the rationale
of a new initiative, we tend to assume the worst and start
assigning those ulterior motives. By the time we figure
out that there was nothing to the theory, we’re distracted by
the next one. Too many of us never catch on to the fact that
there’s just not much clandestine activity actually happening.
So next time you feel a conspiracy coming on, remember, the
truth is out there—it just might not be as interesting as
you thought.
—Ebert
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