I was raised with a deep respect for books. That came from my grandmother, who believed that reading wasn’t entertainment; it was a moral act. She told me early on:
“Before you start a book, consider it carefully, because you are committing to finish it.”
And I honored that. Through a lifetime of reading far above average, I’ve left only a handful of books in my lifetime, unfinished. Literally, four or five. When I do, it isn’t casual. It means a trust has been broken.
One of those rare unfinished books was General William Westmoreland’s memoir, A Soldier Reports, written after his military career to explain, justify, and defend his role in the Vietnam War. When I picked it up in the late 1970s, I fully intended to finish it. I respected the office, the burden of command, the enormity of history pressing down on him. I gave him enormous leeway. I was open to nuance, rationalization, defensiveness. Trauma does that to a writer; I understood.
But as I read deeper, something in my mind shifted.
It wasn’t that I disagreed with him. Disagreement is natural. It wasn’t even that he tried to justify his choices; every leader does that to some extent. What disturbed me, and ultimately stopped me, was when his narrative drifted away from reality itself.
As I'm writing this I'm watching a documentary on Netflix, COVER-UP. I'm about 30 minutes into it and the reporter says: "The whole army ran on body count. You measure success by how many kills you have. Westmoreland needed numbers. And so how do you get the kind of body count you want? You had to go into places like My-Lai and tell them that everybody there is a Viet Cong. Kill everybody."
That's, madness.
He's talking about the My-Lai Massacre incident where soldier slaughter an entire village of civilians, including children. I remember when it happened and it had massive news coverage. But not until this journalist tracked the story down. Fascinating documentary so far.
I had read widely. Since I was young, and I was at the time in the USAF with a secret security clearance. I knew the historical record, the reporting, the complexities, the moral ambiguities. Yet near the latter part of the book, I watched Westmoreland confidently build a world where facts bent to ideology, where uncomfortable truths were replaced with explanatory fantasies, where victory had been possible if only others hadn’t betrayed it, misunderstood it, distorted it. It wasn’t analysis anymore; it was an alternate psychological universe. Even in my early 20s I could recognize something wrong in a very well-seasoned soldier, and a General, with war experience, had jumped the shark.
And that was when I learned something essential about conspiracy thinking.
For notes on Conspiracy Theories:
Guide to researching conspiracy theories and mystery topics (University of Minnesota LibGuide)
For more approachable, practical guidance for (easy to use for a general audience):
PBS NewsHour Classroom: Conspiracy Theory and misinformation resources
It does not always come from the fringe. It does not always look like insanity. Sometimes it comes dressed in medals, authority, dignity, reputation, and the steady voice of a man who believes completely in his own story. Sometimes it comes not from delusion, but from the human need to protect pride, identity, ego, and worldview from collapse. Sometimes it isn’t born of madness at all, but of refusal.
That realization stayed with me. I didn’t finish the book. That decision wasn’t rebellion against authority; it was loyalty to reality.
I also didn't buy what he was selling. In researching his beliefs I came across the concept of conspiracy theory and rather than leap right down into that rabbit hole of a conspiracy itself, I studied the concept of conspiracy theory itself. And that, is the primary difference I see between those seemingly inured to falling victim to it and so many misguided conspiracy theorists, today.
Beyond knowledge and critical thinking, what really protects people from falling into conspiracy belief is the human foundation beneath their thinking. People who feel connected to real communities, who have purpose, emotional resilience, and a sense of belonging grounded in everyday life are far less likely to need conspiratorial narratives to make sense of the world.
Conspiracies thrive where trust collapses, where loneliness or alienation take hold, and where ego needs validation through “secret truth” identities. Humility, the ability to tolerate uncertainty, engagement with art and meaningful work, exposure to different people and ideas—these create an anchor in lived reality. When our emotional, social, and existential needs are met in healthy ways, the seductive pull of grand, simplifying falsehoods loses much of its power.
And it is important to acknowledge something honestly: conspiracies do exist. History has proven that powerful people and institutions sometimes lie, coordinate in secret, and abuse authority. But real conspiracies are rarely the omnipotent, world-controlling forces many people imagine. They tend to be smaller, messier, driven by greed, incompetence, or short-term advantage, and they almost always collapse eventually.
Secrets leak. People talk. Evidence surfaces. The larger and more elaborate a supposed conspiracy is, the less likely it is to survive reality. Healthy skepticism means questioning power while remaining grounded in evidence, not surrendering to fantasy.
Do not buy into a conspiracy until you understand where it came from, what it is actually claiming, and what you are really embracing beyond its surface idea. Many of these narratives are interconnected; one belief leads to another, and before you realize it, you are deep in a rabbit hole of manufactured nonsense. That is how we ended up with Trumpism, MaGA culture, and a whole ecosystem of unstable, shape-shifting “belief communities” built on anything but reality.
From Catholicism to Critical Reverence
I grew up Catholic. I served as head altar boy. I lived inside ritual, authority, certainty, and sacred structures. Eventually, I stepped away from that faith — not out of bitterness, but because my relationship to truth demanded it. I found myself resonating more with a Buddhist orientation toward life. Not ritual. Not cosmology. Not metaphysics. But clarity. Awareness. Responsibility for one’s own mind. A quiet reverence for reality.
Yet I never lost the sense of reverence itself. It didn’t disappear; it transformed.
Today, I hold books and musical instruments in a near-sacred category — not religiously sacred, but existentially meaningful. They represent the best of human engagement with the world.
Books are minds speaking across time. They demand honesty. They deserve sincerity. They are not disposable. Reading is an ethical act.
Musical instruments are vessels of human expression. They require care, discipline, devotion, humility. You don’t treat a violin or a guitar like a tool. You treat it like a responsibility — a conduit to something deeply human.
I don’t bow to these things. I respect them.
Reality as a Moral Commitment
In my life, I have come to believe this:
Reality deserves loyalty.
Not institutions. Not ideologies. Not powerful men writing history in their own image. A person can be decorated, intelligent, influential, and still build castles out of narrative rather than truth. Authority does not guarantee accuracy. Sincerity does not guarantee honesty.
That Westmoreland book was where this lesson crystallized for me.
It taught me that conspiracy thinking is sometimes just wounded certainty evolving into mythology. It showed me that some narratives aren’t created to illuminate the world, but to protect the self. It reminded me that reverence should never be for image or status — only for truth, creation, and honest engagement with life.
And it reminded me of my grandmother’s wisdom. Consider a book before you start it. Commit to finishing it. But if finishing it requires betraying reality, then set it down. Respect isn’t obedience; sometimes it is knowing when to walk away.
That book tried to ask me for reverence without truth.
And I couldn’t give it.
Instead, I saved my reverence for the things that deserve it:
facts, reality, music, literature, human integrity… and the lifelong discipline of staying awake to what is real.







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