The Conspiracy Heuristic Is a Bug
There’s a widespread habit of dismissing claims based on their resemblance to what we’ve learned to call “conspiracy theories.” This habit is so deeply entrenched that many treat it not just as a social instinct, but as a mark of epistemic hygiene: a way to protect the mind from error, noise, manipulation, madness.
But this habit is not a mark of rigor. It is a shortcut masquerading as one. It makes us worse thinkers, not better ones. It doesn’t help us reason. It helps us avoid reasoning while believing we’ve done our due diligence.
The problem isn’t just that the term “conspiracy theory” is vague or stigmatizing. The problem is that using it as a heuristic—as a reason to disengage—reliably does epistemic damage. It bypasses the very tools we’re supposed to be cultivating: observation, inference, modeling, testing, refinement. It replaces questions with vibes. It licenses retreat.
And worst of all: it hides itself. It pretends to be caution, but it functions as containment. It trains us to mistake unease for refutation, and social consensus for proof. That’s why I say the conspiracy theory heuristic is not just overused. It’s a bug.
The Illusion of Triage
In principle, heuristics are supposed to help us triage our attention. We can’t investigate every claim. We have to allocate finite time and trust. So we reach for filters: shortcuts, rules of thumb, ways of saying, "That’s probably not worth my time."
And there’s nothing wrong with triage. But there’s everything wrong with pretending that a semantic category is an epistemic tool. "This sounds like a conspiracy theory" is not reasoning. It’s pattern recognition mistaken for proof.
In fact, the more confidently we dismiss a claim, the less likely that a heuristic is doing the work. Real triage depends on active reasoning and assessing coherence, context, evidence, and incentives. A good filter doesn’t end thought; it directs it. But the conspiracy theory heuristic is used precisely when people don’t want to direct thought at all.
It says: “This smells like other things that turned out to be false. Therefore, it’s not worth checking.”
But this is backwards. Bad ideas don’t fail because they "feel off." They fail because they don’t hold up. And if a theory is bad, there is always a better reason to reject it than the way it sounds. Bad theories are fragile. They fall apart under pressure. Maybe they rely on internal contradictions, unverifiable claims, implausible mechanisms, or statistical incoherence. Whatever the flaw, there's almost always direct evidence that can be marshaled against them. And that reason is both more accessible and more reliable than the vague aesthetic cue that the idea is “conspiratorial.”
By its very nature, a falsehood should find itself in conflict with reality, which is why it is so difficult to keep your proverbial story straight when you are spinning a yarn to your parents to conceal the party you threw last weekend. One suspicious napkin is enough to collapse the whole thing. Similarly, it is quite easy to identify murderers because the lies that they tell to establish their alibis, false as they are, conflict with some data, somewhere. Solving the crime is just a matter of gathering the relevant data. Institutional will, detective competence, and other pragmatic concerns come into play, but, in theory, ample data should be available to do the trick. A determined truth-seeker with access to the tools of the state should be able to reach a high level of confidence in the guilt of the true murderer.
In fact, I would go further: “easier” and “more rational” are the same thing. A reason that is easier to explain, test, and falsify is a reason that is epistemically stronger. That’s why the conspiracy theory heuristic is a bad tool. It’s only ever used when it’s superfluous. When better reasons exist, it adds nothing at best and may even make the negative case seem flimsy. When no better reasons exist, it does active harm.
The less my own heuristic (i.e., “dismiss only when you have a real reason”) applies to a given idea, the more that idea deserves consideration. And by the same token, the less a claim can be refuted by real argument, the more unjustified it is to call it a "conspiracy theory." So even judged by its own logic, the conspiracy label fails to track what it pretends to.
This is why I argue that the idea of a "conspiracy theory" as a cognitive category is a bug. It’s not that there are no false or outlandish theories. It’s that the label functions not as a judgment, but as a substitute for judgment. It discourages asking the very questions that would reveal whether something is true or false, plausible or incoherent, grounded or speculative.
A rational culture should not be asking, “Does this idea resemble a conspiracy theory?” It should be asking, “What is the best available reason to believe or disbelieve this claim?” If the answer is compelling, you don’t need the label. And if it’s not, the label is a smokescreen.
False Valor: When Heuristics Steal Credit from Evidence
To see the bug clearly, look at the most common defense of the heuristic: the Flat Earther example. People say, "You wouldn’t engage a flat earther, would you? Of course not. Hence the heuristic."
But this example cheats.
We don’t dismiss flat earth theory because it sounds weird. We dismiss it because it has been definitively falsified—empirically, mathematically, physically, visually. The dismissal is earned through data, history, geometry, physics, and lived experience. The heuristic plays no role.
The example works rhetorically only because it smuggles in the real reasons we already know the claim is false, then pretends those reasons came from a vibe-based heuristic. It's a sleight of hand.
This same move is common in other examples:
The moon landing hoax? Rejected because of mission telemetry, engineering records, third-party verification, and direct physical evidence.
Holocaust denial? Refuted not by tone or vibe, but by an overwhelming historical record—survivor testimony, Nazi archives, demographic data, forensic documentation.
In every case, the rejection is evidentiary. The heuristic is retrospective theater. It pretends to justify what has already been documented by better means.
This is not rationality. It's a victory lap performed at the start of the race.
The Heuristic Rubric: Use Sparingly or Not at All
We need a better way to assess heuristics themselves. Here are a few candidates for a better rubric:
Parsimony – Does this heuristic simplify reasoning, or add clutter? More filters mean more chances to preempt valid claims.
Non-Redundancy – Can the same conclusion be reached more reliably through direct reasoning?
Motivation Resistance – Can the heuristic be applied symmetrically, or does it serve to selectively avoid inconvenient ideas?
Escape Hatch – Can a claim recover once the heuristic has been applied? If not, it’s not a heuristic. It’s a blacklist.
Trigger Transparency – Is it clear when the heuristic applies, or is it deployed arbitrarily, based on tone or social risk?
By these standards, the conspiracy theory heuristic fails. It’s not a tool. It’s a trap.
A Rule for Honest Dialogue
Here’s a better rule: before you deploy any dismissal heuristic, go two real rounds.
Ask the person to state and justify their claim. Let them explain in their own words.
Offer your strongest objection. It must be a direct response to what they actually said, rather than an alternative argument that runs parallel to theirs.
Listen to their reply.
If, after two rounds, you’ve found no new evidence to test AND you’re not curious to continue, go ahead and walk away. You’re human. Time is finite. But don’t call that move rationality. Call it what it is: bounded cognition making peace with its limits.
The Real Goal Isn’t Dismissal. It’s Contact.
Cognitive biases make us look away from uncomfortable truths. Rationality is supposed to help us resist that pull. But a culture built on heuristics, vibes, and preemptive dismissal doesn’t protect truth. It protects comfort. It trains us to flinch faster, and to feel good about it.
But truth doesn’t always feel good. And contact with truth is often what heuristics are designed to help us avoid.
So here’s the final test:
Did the heuristic help you engage with the claim? Or did it help you get away from it?
If the latter, then the heuristic isn’t doing epistemic work. It’s doing emotional work while pretending otherwise. And that’s not a tool. That’s a bug.