| Scientology Rare Book Library | Dr. Christopher Evans - Cults of Unreason |
IN ITS RELATIVELY long history, neither Dianetics nor Scientology ever found itself brushing with the establishment - either in the form of government or the law - on any significant scale until the FDA raid of January 1963.
The Food and Drug Administration is one of the Federal agencies which flourish within the powerful Department of Health, Education and Welfare of the United States. Its function, which stems from its original association with the Department of Agriculture, is to look after the interests of Americans by keeping a careful watch on the standards of the food which they buy and the drugs which they are prescribed. The link with the Health Department gives the FDA a wide brief - rather too wide for some people's tastes - and has led to its campaigning on such matters as cigarette smoking as well as more obvious targets like the illegal dilution of milk. It is particularly unpopular with the big drug companies for its frequent tirades against the habit of taking vitamin pills, a hobby much cherished by Americans. It is also interested in quackery in all its forms - bogus doctors, phoney tonics and cure-alls - and all gadgetry used in unorthodox medical or psychological treatment.
As far as the controversial raid on the Washington Scientology headquarters is concerned, the E-meter was the principal target and the seizure of books and pamphlets was merely to provide reading matter to back up the FDA's investigation. The raid seems to have come as a complete surprise to the Scientologists, who by all accounts were simply going about their business auditing each other, or attending to the routine administration of the establishment. The press, however, who had been tipped off in advance by the FDA, were present in large numbers and we are thus favoured with photographs of solemn-looking US Marshals trudging out of the building with armloads of E-meters. (They can't have been very selective in what they took, for after filling two trucks with E-meters, books and pamphlets, they had to send for two more, ending up with a reported total of three tons of literature and equipment.) After this haul the agents, who with their Marshals numbered over two dozen, roared off back to their depot in Baltimore with an armed police motorcycle escort. Presumably someone was then landed with the unenviable task of reading through the three tons of Scientological literature which had come their way.
The raid was clearly a tactical error of the first order, and gave the Scientologists just the kind of ammunition they enjoy. FDA RAIDS CHURCH is the headline in a Scientology account of the event in which it is stated that the agents burst into the church offices `...with their armed Marshals, and loudly if incoherently demanded and threatened all in sight....Showing no legal warrant the agents and heavy deputies pounded their way up stairways bursting into confessional and pastoral counselling sessions, causing disruption and violently preventing the quiet pursuit of the normal practice of religious philosophy.'
The reference to `confessionals' in the above paragraph is an interesting one, for it was an early instance of the phrase to describe the practice of auditing or processing. Today the word is freely used in Scientology publications and highlights even further the movement's partly controlled swing towards a formal religious structure and function. A recent pamphlet, The Character of Scientology, for example, explains that `A Scientology Minister is called an Auditor, as this names his prime function', and that `He gives Confessionals and in Scientology the Confessional is called Auditing'. Later it adds: `The confessional in Scientology is not solely the recounting of sins or wrongs that the person has done. The purpose of Auditing is to make the person more spiritually able, more aware, more free.'
Anyway, in 1963 Scientologists made the most of their status as a registered church in pounding back at the FDA for religious intolerance. To many the argument might seem a bit stretched, but on one point there is no doubt - the FDA were unable to come up with anything to provide them with a useful case. In fact, after a rather embarrassing silence lasting four years, they finally produced a belated and unconvincing case against the E-meter, conscious perhaps that the `Church' itself could not be charged under the famous First and Fourth Amendments.
Their real trouble, of course, was that the E-meter, as used by Scientologists, is a more or less innocuous gadget, and it should by now be clear that it is not, as many people - possibly including the FDA - seem to have assumed, a device for treatment of illnesses, whether physical or psychological. At its worst it is an unreliable aid to diagnosis, which might just bring it within the purlieus of medical malpractice. At the public trial in Washington, in which the FDA made their case against the E-meter, just about the hardest thing that could be said about it was that it was totally unscientific. The most mysterious thing was felt to be its price. When the question was aired as to whether Scientology was a business, religion or both, the Court Commissioner thought that the selling price of the E-meter might serve as a good guide. Its cost to manufacture was estimated at about L5, and its selling price was quoted as about L50. `Such profitability', the Commissioner drily reported, `while not at all conclusive, is indicative of a commercial operation.'
With these exceptions Scientologists emerged from the aftermath of the FDA raid with few battle scars. The same was not to be the case following the famous Anderson Commission in Australia.
The events precipitating the now famous inquiry seem to have started in November 1963 when the Hon. J. W. Galbally, an Australian MP, alleged before the Legislative Council of the Parliament of Victoria, that Scientology was being used for blackmail and extortion. It was a statement that kicked off a chain of action leading to the rapid appointment of a formal Board of Inquiry into Scientology, commissioned on 27th November 1963. This was the movement's second brush with government power, and quite definitely its unhappiest to date. It threw Scientology into the spotlight of world publicity at a time when its growth rate was steadily rising.
The Board of Inquiry, conducted by Mr Kevin Anderson, QC, at the request of the Governor of the State of Victoria, was appointed to study the aims and objects of Scientology, the people involved in it, its methods, practices, equipment, etc. Particular attention was paid, to quote the official wording of the brief, to: `the illnesses or ailments, mental or physical, treated in the course of carrying on, practice or application (of Scientology)...and whether such treatment is in any and what way harmful', `the nature and amount of fees charged' and `whether persons or organizations (in its practice)...have indulged in any and what unlawful, improper or harmful or prejudicial practices or activities'.
It proceeded to subject Scientology to the closest scrutiny it had ever received, and after hearing over four million words from 151 witnesses in 159 days, it published a report in 1965 which constituted a `damning indictment' of the principles and practices of Scientology, and led to the outlawing of its teaching, practice and advertising within the State Boundaries. It is also a document which has been widely quoted around the world, the most memorable phrase being that describing the cult as `evil', and it is one which Hubbard and the Scientology organization have been working hard to live down ever since. They have had a hard job, for the Anderson report, which filled out 202 pages, refused to mince its language. For example, in one sensational paragraph, it says:
`Scientology is evil, its techniques evil; its practice a serious threat to the community, medically, morally and socially; and its adherents sadly deluded and often mentally ill. Its founder is Lafayette Ronald Hubbard, an American...who falsely claims academic and other distinctions and whose sanity is to gravely doubted.'
In its devastating conclusion the report declares: `If there should be detected in this report a note of unrelieved denunciation of Scientology it is because the evidence has shown its theories to be fantastic and impossible, its principles perverted and ill-founded and its techniques debased and harmful....
`Its founder, with the merest smattering of knowledge in various sciences, has built upon the scintilla of his learning a crazy and dangerous edifice....
`The HASI claims to be "the world's largest mental health organization". What it really is, however, is the world's largest organization of unqualified persons engaged in the practice of dangerous techniques which masquerade as mental therapy.'
These were strong words and Hubbard who had refused to give evidence at this inquiry unless his personal expenses and return fare from England to Melbourne were met by the Commission (he was consequently not seen), was clearly enraged. In a venomous rejoinder against what was described as the `Kangaroo Court', a special Scientology publication reminds readers that the residents of Victoria are almost entirely the descendants of convicts, `the riff-raff of London's slums - the robbers, murderers, prostitutes, fences, thieves - the scourings of Newgate and Bedlam'. It adds, `A society organized for criminals will eventually be run by criminals, who will seek in turn to turn decent people into criminals and enjoin criminality upon them.'
Despite the terrifying material in the Anderson Report there was no evidence that the movement suffered immediate practical damages - except obviously in the State of Victoria itself where 250 Scientologists packed up their bags for fairer fields. Interestingly enough, the Anderson Commission did not recommend the banning of Scientology itself, feeling that this would be ineffective as the cult would simply pop up again in a different guise. Rather it proposed a law forbidding unqualified people from practising Scientology, hypnosis and mental therapy and the setting up of a council to register practising psychologists and hypnotists. In fact the Government of Victoria went the stage beyond the Commission's recommendations and specifically banned Scientology with fines of from L100 to L250 for first offences connected with its practice, and jail sentences of two years for second offences.
In England the indignation of Scientologists knew no bounds, but with the label of martyrs now firmly strapped around their necks they continued to move on, seemingly from strength to strength. But what of Hubbard himself? One feels sure that he, of all men, could least relish the role of martyr. In fact, more than once, in following the history of Scientology one can detect signs of his incipient boredom with his creation. His jaunts abroad, while providing a change of scene, nevertheless simply served to dump him down among another bunch of Scientologists and there must have been times when he wished that he could have found himself in some un-processed, un-audited world where conversation revolved around topics other than preclears, E-meters, Thetans and Orgs. In the early days at Saint Hill he seems to have made one attempt to break loose without any lasting success. Over five years later the indications are that he tried again, and once again was frustrated.
At the end of 1965, with the clamour of the Anderson Commission still ringing in his ears, L. Ron Hubbard visited South Africa and, after a brief stay in that country at the Johannesburg Org, he moved on northwards to Rhodesia, at that time building up to its Unilateral Declaration of Independence. Here he showed signs of beginning to make himself at home and he is alleged to have bought a luxurious house in Salisbury for L16,500. He is even believed to have said that he was considering launching or financing several factories.
According to a former close associate of his, who spent some time with him in Rhodesia, Hubbard seemed unusually happy in Salisbury. For the first time for years he widened his circle of acquaintances enormously to include many non-Scientologists and in various other ways launched into the kind of social life that one might expect a talented and wealthy writer to lead. Parties were thrown at which the leading lights of Salisbury society were to be seen, including many politicians and people of influence in the community. On at least one occasion the founder of Scientology met Mr Ian Smith, the Prime Minister, though it is not known whether they talked about Scientology or politics.
Before long L. Ron was saying some rather curious things which, when relayed by various sources to Saint Hill, caused some surprise. For example, he is stated to have said that he was a Rhodesian. He also apparently appeared on television there and announced that he was planning to live in Salisbury permanently and, most interesting of all, that he was no longer active in Scientology. This latter comment in particular, assuming that it was correctly reported, must have sent a quiver through Scientology Orgs across the world. It was a tense moment.
But the best laid plans of mice, men and even L. Ron Hubbard sometimes go astray. In early July he was staggered to find that the Rhodesian authorities had tersely rejected his request for an extension of his visitor's visa and that he must leave the country by 16th July, just six months after he had arrived. Thus, enigmatically and with a few strokes of an official pen, was ended the brief career of L. Ron Hubbard, Rhodesian business magnate.
The news of his impending return to England was greeted with great excitement amongst the faithful, and two hours before his 'plane was due hundreds of Scientologists, many of them with children and babes-in-arms, had gathered at London Airport. The East Grinstead headquarters itself provided several coachloads. There was also a large number of banners, which could not be unfurled following a directive by the airport police. While awaiting their leader's arrival, the Scientologists busied themselves handing out leaflets and taking photographs, and showed themselves to be on the whole an extroverted, smiling bunch with a large smattering of attractive-looking girls among them. A few were dressed in unconventional style, forerunners of the flower people that were just beginning to appear on the scene.
For many of the press on hand it was their first glimpse of Scientologists en masse and an indication that the movement was beginning to acquire a newsy feel. It was also many people's first introduction to the idea of Scientology as a religion, for leading the crowd of supporters was an American sporting a dog-collar and silver crucifix who indicated that he was the `Chaplain' of the headquarters organization.
As Hubbard emerged from customs a great cheer and shouts of `Welcome back, Ron!' went up and police had to restrain the crowd, which had surged forward in excitement. Smiling broadly Hubbard granted brief interviews to the press, denying that he had been thrown out of Rhodesia. Nevertheless, he told the reporter of the Sunday Telegraph, `I'm normally a cool man, but the last few days have been unnerving'. Then, a portly figure in a huge sun hat, he gave a final wave and, stepping into a large yellow American convertible, was swept off to his mansion at East Grinstead.
His return was the signal for the biggest burst of expansion that the movement had known since its early days. To meet the growing flood of students more space was needed at the Manor. As far back as 1962, when Hubbard had barely left the East Grinstead Road Safety Committee, the Council refused permission for classrooms to be built at Saint Hill. The plans had called for three linked buildings, comprising single- storey classrooms, two-storey offices and administration area and also a `postgraduate' training school. Plans were agreed, however, for a chapel, a reception office and changing rooms in the `pleasure garden' and subsequently the Minister's Inspector allowed the Scientologists' appeal against the Council's original refusal.
Shortly after this an incredible structure began to arise in the grounds near the Manor. As the months went by this gradually revealed itself as a kind of Norman castle in miniature, complete with turrets and battlements. There are many stories which attempt to explain this curiosity - the most popular is that Scientologists had discovered some ancient regulation stating that no one could be refused permission to build a castle, so a castle was built. The building needs to be seen to be believed, and whatever motivated its Robin Hood style of architecture, it is built of solid stone and will probably last a very long time.
Slowly but surely the influx of Scientologists began to cause unease among the townspeople. There were complaints to the police about wild parties and excessive noise, and a house which was being used as a hostel by Saint Hill students became the subject of a public inquiry.
The organization at Saint Hill became increasingly authoritarian, with a kind of internal police force, the `Ethics Officers', wielding considerable power. Hubbard himself was often abroad, gradually acquiring the little fleet of ships which were to provide the next step in the saga of Scientology, but a ceaseless flow of telex messages passed back and forth between him and the headquarters where his wife, Mary Sue, reigned in his place as `Guardian'.
Then came a series of scandals, all of which attracted national press coverage, and which varied from simple allegations that Scientologists were infiltrating local schools, to suggestions that they were deliberately brainwashing people to the point of madness. One local school for autistic and maladjusted children fought vigorously against the Scientologists' plan for expansion by informing a planning inquiry that `the presence of about a thousand Scientologists in the area has already threatened the work of the school and training centre in trying to restore normality to maladjusted young people'.
They added that the school could no longer allow its young people to go outside on their own for walks because they would be accosted by Scientologists who, they feared, would try to process or audit them.
By now local MPs, notably Mr Peter Hordern, member for Horsham, and Mr Geoffrey Johnson Smith, member for East Grinstead, were being pestered to take action, and on a number of occasions questions were raised in Parliament.
In the meantime other sensations continued, some alarming and some just ludicrous. On the silly side, one local caterer, Mr William Harewood of Tunbridge Wells, who ran a mobile canteen which used to provide snacks for Scientologists, was declared a `suppressive person' for running out of apple pie. On the seamy side, a twenty-year-old youth, who was reported as `suffering from latent schizophrenia' and who was stated to have been interested in Scientology, was found semi-conscious in the street at East Grinstead and died later in hospital from an overdose of barbiturates. On another occasion a girl who had been under psychiatric treatment and was subsequently taking a course in Scientology, suddenly turned up at her mother's house in the middle of the night. After an emotional scene she took off again, this time to the police station where a doctor, recognizing that she was in a hysterical condition, gave her sedatives before admitting her to hospital.
By this time there was enough smell in the air for some official government statement and on 6th March 1967 the then Minister of Health, Mr Kenneth Robinson, blasted out against Scientology in the House of Commons, describing it as `a hollow cult which thrives on a climate of ignorance and indifference', and stated that Scientologists tended to `direct themselves deliberately towards the weak, the unbalanced, the immature, the rootless and mentally and emotionally unstable'. He refused, however, an official inquiry into the Cult, but added that he would be keeping his eye on it.
In early 1966 the first `Clear' (new style) had been announced, a South African named John McMaster. Within weeks others had followed and within months the number of Clears had risen into the hundreds. As might be expected the announcement of the breakthrough spread across the world and caused an unprecedented flood of students to batter on the doors of the Manor.
On 31st March 1968, or `A.D. 18' (the 18th year Dianetics to use Hubbard's new calendar), The Auditor proudly announced the clearing of Mr Lyle Sudrow, a New York `Film and TV actor'. It was an historic moment as the journal explained: `A mere two years and two weeks since the announcement of John McMaster as the world's first Clear, 1000 Scientologists have achieved this state of Clear.'
This wonderful achievement cut little ice with the British Government, however, and on 25th July, the Health Minister, following questions in the House of Commons from Mr Horden and Mr Johnson Smith, announced sweeping restrictions on the entry of Scientologists into the country, which were c]early designed to clip the movement's wings. Commenting on Scientology in the House he said: `It alienates members of families from each other and attributes squalid and disgraceful motives to all who oppose it; its authoritarian principles and practice are a potential menace to the personality and well-being of those so deluded as to become its followers; above all, its methods can be a serious danger to the health of those who submit to them.
In this same statement Mr Robinson announced that Scientology centres would no longer be recognized as educational establishments, foreigners arriving for courses would not be given extensions of stay, and no work permits to foreigners working at its centres would be granted or extended.
This was intended to be a painful blow, and so it turned out to be. Almost immediately `students' found themselves being turned back at Southampton and at London Airport, and various odd aliens who had attempted to evade the new restrictions were later unceremoniously turfed out.
At East grinstead a great flap began. Hubbard seems to have chosen this moment to be difficult to find, although cables flashed out to his last recorded location - a boat somewhere in the Mediterranean. Mrs Kember, the `Deputy Guardian' at East Grinstead, told a Telegraph reporter, `Mr Hubbard is abroad. I don't know where he is and if I did I wouldn't tell you.' One suspects that they were looking for instructions on what to do next.
After a few days of ghastly hush, there came a dramatic telex message from `Somewhere at sea', to be followed by a second a few hours later. The first message apparently announced Hubbard's retirement or abdication and read:
I have finished my work; now it is up to others. I retired from Scientology directorships over two years ago and have been exploring ever since.
I gave Scientology to the world with hopes of good usage. If it is a decent world, it will use it well. If it is a bad world, it won't. I finished my work; now it is up to others.
The second message, slightly reiterative, said:
I retired from directorship in Scientology organizations two or more years ago to explore and study the decline of ancient civilizations and so learnt how this current one is going.My conclusion is that they declined because of intolerance and inhumanity to man. Efforts to stamp out philosophy and bar our students is a shadow of the injustice soon to be visited on all.
Readers detecting a touch of pique in the above cable will not be surprised at its conclusion: `England, once the light and hope of the world, has become a police state, and can no longer be trusted.' The cable was signed, `Love, Ron'.
If Hubbard was annoyed at the Health Minister's removal from Scientologists of their status as students he must have been even more offended when, a day after his rejoinder, the Home Secretary, Mr Callaghan, used his powers under the Aliens Act to refuse him re-entry into England. Within twenty-four hours every immigration officer in the country had been told of the ban.
A third telex now arrived at Saint Hill, in which Ron indicated, if obliquely, who it was he really felt was getting at him. It was not, after all, the British Government.
There is no Government attack on Scientology. What appears to be an attack is only an attempt by private groups of older practices to protect their governmental appropriations, as the public, having long since lost faith and confidence in them, no longer supports them.
Presumably, the `private groups of older practices' are Hubbard's old enemies, the psychiatrists. The cable went on:
Perhaps it is out of fear that the Government will cease to contribute such vast sums of money that these older practices use the Government to protect their vested interests. Their motive is not evil, it is only self-protective and greedy.
It was a grave moment for Scientology. Within a week, from being a thriving, though controversial, movement it had lost in two sharp strokes its recognized status as an educational organization and had seen its beloved founder branded as nothing more or less than an undesirable alien. The headquarters organization pulled itself together and called a private meeting at the Cafe Royal in London for four hundred leading followers of the cult. Few reliable details about the meeting are available, but the movement's chief spokesman, Mr David Gaiman, later told the press that he had reassured those present that the ban did not mean the start of a witch hunt. Afterwards, at an informal press conference, Gaiman defended charges that Hubbard had made a fortune from the movement by saying that if he had `made fifty million pounds from it he would have been entitled to it'.
After tottering momentarily against these knocks from the establishment, Scientologists seemed to rally rapidly, all things considered. In a timely PR move, Saint Hill Manor was thrown open to the public for an `Open Weekend' in August. Considerable crowds took advantage of this to satisfy their curiosity by a visit to the mysterious Manor itself. What they were expecting is hard to imagine, but most were probably disappointed. The zaniest thing in sight was probably the new castle, and the most alarming the difficulty of finding somewhere to park. All visitors were asked to register and could take, if they wished, a `free ability test'. Outside the chapel, a smiling young man in clerical garb invited all and sundry to attend services.
Earlier, in that same chapel, in which a bust of L. Ron featured prominently, tape recordings of some of his speeches were relayed through hi-fi speakers. In these one could detect some of the strain that Hubbard must have been going through in the previous turbulent years.
Apart from the usual statements about the progress of his research and a few brief anecdotes about the trials and tribulations of these researches (such as when he first broke through `the wall of fire', a fearsome barrier on the route to Operating Thetan), much of the tapes were devoted to petulant assaults on politicians and newspaper barons, including the then Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, and Cecil King. According to Hubbard, Scientology is the victim of a concerted attempt to squash it by a small group of intensely powerful and evil men. Mr Wilson and Mr King were not in this group - they were just its uncomprehending puppets.
The service which followed began with the chaplain reading the `Creed' of Scientology. This turned out to be a completely innocuous, if slightly windy, set of principles with the ring of the Declaration of Independence about them. After this came an address by Mr Gaiman pointing out how unreasonable people were to attack L. Ron and Scientology. Finally came the reading of some poems by John McMaster, the movement's first Clear, which sounded on first hearing like very early Auden or possibly late Hardy. All seemed totally harmless, and many of the curiosity seekers must have wondered what all the fuss can have been about.
Meanwhile, somewhere out at sea, the Founder himself surveyed his shrinking world.
| The Master of Saint Hill | All At Sea |