Il Codice Temesvar: Art of Conspiring

Dec. 30, 2024

Recently, I read Il Codice Temesvar by Umberto Eco, one of my favorite authors and a renowned expert on conspiracy theories. Eco dedicated much of his work to dissecting the mechanisms behind conspiracies and their irresistible allure. In this particularly rare book, he explores how conspiracy theories are born from esoteric interpretations of art, crafting a narrative around hidden messages and secret meanings supposedly encoded in Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper.

In many ways, Il Codice Temesvar is a playful and parodic response to the phenomena popularized by books like The Da Vinci Code. Where the latter dives headfirst into grandiose speculation, Eco takes a step back, holding up a mirror to our collective obsession with uncovering “hidden truths” and turning them into elaborate stories.

Let’s face it: conspiracy theories are one of humanity’s oldest pastimes. Living in a chaotic and unpredictable world isn’t enough; we crave something more intriguing. What’s more captivating than a secret plan orchestrated by shadowy forces? Unfortunately, most of the time, it’s just our brains having fun at our expense.

• Confirmation Bias: This is our personal reality filter, ignoring anything that challenges our beliefs. A conspiracy theory is a puzzle we complete using only the pieces we like. For example, if someone says the picture doesn’t make sense, they simply don’t understand our genius.
• Agent Detection Bias: This turns every coincidence into a signal. Two people standing in line at the store? They’re definitely plotting something. A lightbulb goes out suddenly? Clearly sabotage. It’s the same part of us that, as kids, imagined monsters under the bed—except now the monsters wear suits and run multinational corporations.
• Proportionality Bias: When something big happens, there must be an equally big explanation. A citywide blackout? It must be a hacker attack. Or a secret government test. It couldn’t possibly be a faulty cable; that’s too boring. Our brains love epic stories, and a broken cable just isn’t one.
• Frequency Illusion: Once we believe in a conspiracy, we start seeing evidence everywhere. If I decide the world is controlled by a secret society, suddenly every symbol, gesture, or ambiguous phrase becomes proof. And if the society doesn’t exist? Well, their nonexistence is the ultimate proof of their skill at staying hidden.
• The Dunning-Kruger Effect: Why trust experts when I can watch three YouTube videos and become a global authority? This bias fuels every conspiracy worth its salt. The less we know, the more convinced we are that we’ve uncovered something no one else has.

The real masterpiece of conspiracy thinking, though, lies in what Eco calls the metastasis of interpretation — the way meanings multiply endlessly. Every detail spawns a new branch of speculation. It’s like a sprawling family tree of suppositions, growing and expanding without end. A little scary, sure, but also profoundly human.

So maybe conspiracies aren’t just mistakes or collective delusions. Maybe they’re a testament to our imagination’s power. Whether they’re true doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re interesting. And isn’t that what sets us apart from machines? Our ability to see patterns, craft stories, and find meaning even where none exists.

The next time you come across a conspiracy theory, take a moment. Not to believe it, but to appreciate its beauty. Because, at their core, conspiracies are tiny works of collective art. Instead of tearing them apart right away, we might learn something about ourselves and our need to make sense of a world that often doesn’t make any.