Scientology Rare Book Library Dr. Christopher Evans - Cults of Unreason
Table Of Contents

From Psychotherapy to Religion

WE HAVE EXAMINED in detail the historical development of Scientology from its earliest and somewhat mysterious beginnings in 1949 or thereabouts when, as Dianetics, it was hailed as a breakthrough in psychotherapy, to its present turbulent existence as an organized cult striving to be accepted, in popular terms, as a formal and valid religion. I've have also paid some attention to the interesting and controversial personality of the man who created the movement and shepherded it from its initial boom, through a period of depression, and up again to its more recent renaissance.

Scientology would have been nothing without Hubbard. It is his personal, unequivocal brainchild, and he has nursed and enlivened it for over half his adult life. Its concepts, jargon, logics, its rules and regulations are the product of his own thoughts and have been implemented only through the power of his will and the magnetism of his personality. Of the millions of people who have at one time or another involved themselves, whether flirtatiously or committedly, with Scientology precious few have made a major or durable contribution, political or ideological, to the structure and function of the movement. If one is to trust the statements of those Scientologists who once held positions relatively high in the movement's hierarchy but subsequently dissociated themselves from it, creativity and signs of originality are not welcome in Hubbard's entourage. Those who show any soon run into trouble.

This is attested by more than one ex-Scientology notable who found that their own rise to prominence in the movement attracted Hubbard's baleful attention. The only people with a vestige of real power have been his present wife, Mary Sue, and to a lesser extent his firstborn child, Nibs. The latter, of course, is now in disgrace having testified on behalf of the FDA in their case against the E-meter, but his married sister, living in Los Angeles, is still a keen Scientologist, and all Hubbard's children by Mary Sue are deeply involved. The oldest daughter was recently married, incidentally, aboard the Apollo to another young Scientologist, both proud parents being very much in evidence at the ceremony.

There are a number of reasons for the dramatically pyramidal structure of the Scientology Orgs - an effective dependence upon Hubbard which could well cost them dear in the event of his demise. The simplest reason is that Hubbard is himself, undeniably, a man of considerable intelligence, boundless enthusiasm, one hundred per cent conviction of his own rectitude and, very possibly, with the unshakeable zeal of a man who believes that he is a figure of destiny. Friends and acquaintances from the early pre-Dianetics days recall that he stood out at the time as a remarkable figure, bursting with personality and seemingly equipped for great deeds of one kind or another. A fellow SF writer, Damon Knight, believes that Hubbard was gifted beyond the ordinary as a writer and might have become a major literary figure had he been capable of imposing more self-discipline in his work. Other areas where Ron might have excelled would seem to be politics, the theatre or cinema, perhaps even some footloose scientific topic such as anthropology. But it was not to be. Dianetics and Scientology were to be the major fruits of his talents. Little wonder, therefore, that in an organization not particularly attractive to those of academic or scientific bent, Hubbard stands out like a beacon.

The second reason is probably a more pragmatic one. Hubbard must be aware, when he can bring himself to think about it, of the flaws in the principles and practice of Scientology, of its numerous contradictions in word and deed, some of which have been brought to the fore in this book. No amount of decorative jargon can disguise the fact that the original claims of Dianetics, made twenty years ago, have not been met. The simple concepts of that time - engrams cause most of Man's ills, and their erasure will bring him to an emancipated state of power - have now become hopelessly clouded. The proximity of too many sharp-minded and critically inclined individuals would, one suspects, cause Hubbard to dwell unduly on the gaping flaws in the fabric of Scientology and their presence would thus be unwelcome.

Finally, Hubbard is, like any other creative man, justly jealous of the material wrought from his brain. There is evidence that he has always feared that certain individuals or groups, for one reason or another, are persistently out either to steal the ideas built into Scientology or to destroy it. In fact, in this strange world of ours, there is almost always a basis of truth in even the wildest paranoid fantasy. Scientology and its founder have, from the word go, been under sustained pressure and assault from the outside world. Sometimes the pressure is benign, as when the millionaire Purcell attempted, in the early days of Dianetics, to put the subject on a serious business and scientific footing. Sometimes dissidents have attempted to form `rival' Scientology organizations of their own. Such breakaways are known to loyalists as `Squirrels', and most fade away into ignominy or oblivion through simple lack of talent, panache or both. Occasionally the squirrels are individuals of real ability - such as the science fiction writer A. E. Van Vogt who runs his own version of Dianetics in California. Van Vogt seems relatively happy without L. Ron and publishes a little magazine chatting on about Dianetics, rather as if it were still 1953 and Scientology and its later flowerings had never come into being. Others, less self-confident, somehow manage to remain only parodies of the Master. Jack Horner, a former high priest of the movement, fell out with Ron some years ago and now runs his own tiny circus under the drearily unimaginative banner of `Dianology'. Its impact on the world psychological scene at this time must be counted as minimal. Sometimes squirrels (and these are the interesting ones) deviate so far from the old line that the origins of their movements appear to have been forgotten by public and adherents alike. One such movement is `The Process' about which a few words must be said.

The Process was the brain child of a Mr Robert de Grimstone and his wife, Mary Anne. Both were at one time Scientologists (hence the carry-over of the word `process') who left the movement for ideological reasons which today have vanished into the mists of forgetfulness. At first they appeared to be practising fairly straight Scientology, using `processes' out of the auditor's manual, and even maintaining the practice of staring people in the eyes with a long and unblinking gaze, an aggravating habit much in vogue among Scientologists and amateur psychologists the world over. At first they operated from a small flat in Wigmore Street, charging modest fees of three or four guineas an hour. As their following grew they moved to larger premises - a complete house in Balfour Place, one of London's most exclusive residential addresses. The reported rental of over £3,000 per annum gives some measure of their financial standing at the time, as does the rumour that the lease of the house cost £40,000.

Meanwhile a strange change was being wrought in Mr de Grimstone. His hair grew and grew and grew, and the expression on his face, to judge by photographs, became exceedingly pious. By 1968, some years after parting from L. Ron & Co., he looked, one cannot deny, like a Hollywood version of Jesus Christ. Perhaps this explains why The People reporters, who infiltrated The Process at their headquarters in 1970, found that he was actually known to other members of the cult as `The Oracle' or, more simply, `God'. His wife was known as `The Goddess'. This aura of sanctity spread over lesser members of the group as well, and individuals who had previously laboured through life with names like Smith, Brown or Robinson, suddenly sprouted beards and were metamorphosed into Brother Micah, Alban, Lars, etc. There were even to be found `Sisters' flitting around the place, all wearing The Process's unisex outfit of black jeans and sweaters. The next development - predictably - was the shift of the organization into a formalized religious body under the slightly ominous name of `The Church of the Final Judgement'.

Interested visitors to The Process's headquarters at Balfour Place in the late sixties must have asked themselves where the Church of the Final Judgement got all its money. The building, which occupied four or five floors, was expensively furnished and decorated in a style which can best be described as tasteful opulence. An engraved metal plate on the front door bore the organization's emblem, a square with radiating arms, vaguely like a modernized version of the swastika. The money can hardly have come from profits on the organization's little coffee bar, selling nut-and-watercress sandwiches, in the basement. Nor can any really large sums have been raised, one would have thought, from the street canvassing undertaken by the more ardent members of The Process, who, wearing flowing cloaks, would invite members of the public passing by to `subscribe to animal welfare'. Anyone who felt inclined to ask what kind of animal welfare was implied before parting with his coin, would be told that the supplicants belonged to a Church which actively opposed vivisection. Thus, money going to the Church would ultimately support animal welfare. Nor yet could much revenue come from sales of The Process's slick and professional magazine which, richly endowed with photographs, colour illustrations and expensive artwork, must have cost six or seven times its selling price to produce.

The most likely clue probably comes from the pages of the magazine itself, wherein people were invited, in the most open-hearted way imaginable, simply to dispose of their fortune to the Church. Issue number 4, for example, thanks readers for their `magnificent response to the appeal which appeared in our last issue for fortunes to dissipate'. `However', the magazine continues, `we have successfully dissipated all of them in absolute record time and are eagerly awaiting more.' Those readers who had not quite left themselves destitute were adjured not to `hold out on us'. Anyone unfortunate enough to have `millstones of money hanging round their necks' should relax and let The Process remove the same. It would be only too delighted to do so. A photograph on the same page shows a group of black-garbed people, eight male, two female and two indeterminate, seated around a table with a globe on it. `Invest in the end of the world' reads the discouraging caption .

Blatant appeals to people to dissipate their fortunes may seem like undergraduate whimsy, but there is some evidence that the joke was on anyone but The Process. More than one exceedingly well-to-do young person, and some with connections in upper-crust British society, saw this strange outfit as providing spiritual or psychological haven, and more than one hearty cheque has been written out to the Church. There is of course nothing illegal in a religious organization appealing for funds, all one can say is that one hopes that the donors got good value for their money.

A study of the pages of The Process's magazine gives a fairly clear picture of the movement's philosophy and makes it evident that it is more than simply an intellectually upgraded Scientology, which is how a number of critics have attempted to dismiss it. Traces of Scientology remain - an obsession with the idea that Life is a game played by fallen Gods, a preoccupation with communication for its own sake, and a distinct tendency to be paranoid about psychiatry, electro-shock therapy, cortical surgery, etc. On the other hand the frenzied tub-thumping of Scientology is gone, as is the uncritical adulation of leadership, so typical of many modern cults. The focus is sharper, the mood cooler, the view of the outside world sardonic rather than jaundiced, and there are traces of self-criticism and an ability to laugh at oneself, which are very sparse in Scientological literature.

What exactly is the philosophy? Well, members of the Church of the Final Judgement are, as you can imagine, enormously interested in the forces of Good, the omnipotence and totality of God and his various messengers on Earth - Christ, Buddha, Krishna, etc. But to complicate matters (for outsiders) the Church is also interested, and no less so, in what one normally takes to be the forces of Evil, the virulence and power of Lucifer and his various henchmen. There are, in The Process's theology, three Great Gods of the Universe, Jehovah, Satan and Lucifer, who, when welded together into one, become a super-cosmological entity called, for want of a better word, GOD. Life is the interplay of the forces of the three master players, and human beings are the pieces - pieces which can, however, choose the side they will play on, and who may by one means or another (mainly joining the Church of the Final Judgement) even rise ultimately into the role of players. The really important thing, The Process believes, is that one must be firm in one's alignment and one's commitment. It doesn't matter in absolute terms whether one allies oneself on the side of Christ or Satan for no one is `better' than the other. One side is Black and the other White. The only real sin, the one essential corruption, is to fail to take up a positive position with either Black or While forces, and thus become Grey, an advocate of compromise and indecision.

The world, as it turns out, is at present run by the Greys. Photographs in the magazine indicate who these are - The Pope, Mr Harold Wilson, the TV personality, David Frost, etc. The Whites include Jesus Christ and the Blacks are represented by such charming chaps as Adolf Hitler. If you, like most people, would find H. Wilson and D. Frost very much preferable to A. Hitler, then you are either one of the Greys yourself or have rather missed the point of The Process's message. Jehovah and Lucifer, you must understand, work not against one another, as all other religions hold, but hand in hand. Both have returned to earth with a very singular purpose - to root out the Grey forces utterly from every sphere of society and destroy them. Or, as the magazine puts it: `To bring every grey government to its knees and to replace it either with utter chaos and anarchy or with a militant dictatorship.'

This is the message of The Process. The extremes of viewpoint inherent in the Black/White division of forces is reflected not only in the editorial matter of The Process's magazine, but also in its readers' letter page. `The picture of Robert de Grimstone sent me reeling', writes J. Smith of Leeds, `I've never seen a face with such impact. It's Christ come again was my first thought.' On the other hand, `Anon' of London writes, `I want you to know I think you're evil, straight from the devil. Whenever I see your magazine anywhere I make the sign of the cross.' There are other examples in both veins. Perhaps one should leave the last word to `Valerie' of London, who seems to have it all summed up pretty well when she writes: `Ooh, you lovely lot, beards, long hair and all. I don't know what you're talking about but I'm with you. Can I have the one that looks like Rasputin?'

In the past year or so the Church has somehow or other pulled up its roots from Balfour Place and has shifted its base to America. A major Chapter has opened in Chicago with a number of English emigres, including the wealthy daughter of at least one peer of the realm, in residence. The Chicago group have philanthropic pretensions, raising money for sick children, etc., and appear to be moving rapidly towards a commune kind of existence. They wear black tights, silver pendants and bracelets and have the emblem of The Process emblazoned in red on their clothing. Wherever members of the Church go, large Alsatian dogs (known as German Shepherds in America) are to be found in attendance. Not just one or two Alsatians, but lots of them. The dogs lead fairly uninhibited social and domestic lives and are taken to be symbolical of something or other - perhaps it is the Church's devotion to the cause of animal welfare. At one point in its history the movement acquired a centre in Mexico, at a seaside spot called Xtul. Photographs in the magazine show it to be a place of sun, palms, sand, surf and Alsatian dogs and it has to be admitted that everyone looks as though they're having a pretty good time.

Other notables have at times tried seizing Scientological limelight, and their heads have rolled as a result. Hubbard's second wife, Sarah Northrup, was apparently accused of seeking to take over Dianetics and use it for selfish and evil reasons. An equally bitter family quarrel later arose when Hubbard, for one reason or another, parted company with his son Nibs who had achieved some prominence within the movement.

Hubbard also believes that major forces within the world are gathering in an attempt to crush Scientology, and much of his more recent writing reflects this persecution complex. Many Scientologists consequently believe that a sinister international group is out to sit on them, this group being made up of a motley association of crooked politicians, psychiatrists (of course), greedy businessmen and various insane and malevolent journalists. As we have said, in a weird way this paranoia is justified. The world, or some vocal and powerful sections of it, is out to suppress Scientology, as the action of the FDA, the British Parliament and the State of Victoria, to name but three, demonstrates conclusively. The open question is, how justified this persecution really is?

Persecution is a loaded word. To some extent it implies wrongful suppression by a big and powerful body of some relatively blameless minority. When the Germans set out to eliminate the Jews from the continent of Europe they were clearly guilty of persecution. On the other hand, if a country acts through its legal forces to eliminate an undesirable minority - let us say professional pushers of heroin - then we are all disinclined to use the word `persecution'. Though we are talking here of two extremes on a continuum it is important, if we are to get Scientology in perspective, to decide which of the two extreme cases cited above most clearly fits the case of Mr Hubbard and his followers. Does society, which to some extent penalizes them, do so justly or unjustly?

 

This is a crucial matter. Western societies set much store by - or at least pay lip service to - the concepts of religious freedom and tolerance. If Scientology is, as it claims to be, a religion then why should its free practice not be permitted in society? The simple answer put forward by its opponents is that it in fact only pretends to be a religion, and in any case it is a harmful organization. How reasonable is this point of view? Is Scientology (a) a religion, and (b) harmful?

These very issues were raised in an interesting way during a recent remarkable High Court action in which the Church of Scientology of California sued the MP for East Grinstead, Mr Geoffrey Johnson Smith, alleging that he had libelled them in an interview on the BBC TV programme, 24 Hours. They claimed that statements he had made on the programme had meant that they were a `harmful organization, acting in an improper way towards members'. After an incredibly lengthy action (the longest in recent legal history), when no fewer than thirty days were given over merely to hearing evidence, the jury found that the words spoken by Johnson Smith were not defamatory of the sect and the case was dismissed. The Church of Scientology was ordered to pay the immense costs involved - which were estimated as being as much as L70,000.

The action is important, for, as was pointed out at the outset by the Scientologists' counsel, Mr Ronald Shulman, issues of great significance, some relevant to the whole basis of religious freedom within the country, were implicitly raised. In fact, Mr Shulman remarked, it was `surprising that in the twentieth century such a right as the freedom of religion should be challenged in court'. The trial was `probably the freedom trial of the century'. Scientologists were not different from anyone else. They believed in an Almighty and in the immortality of the human spirit. Scientology was not a joke, nor was it a `trumped-up religious enterprise'.

In fact the Scientologists made a somewhat braver showing in court than many had anticipated, and witnesses were brought from all parts of the world to support their case. The most dramatic of these was probably the evidence of an American, William Benitez, who stated that through Scientology he had broken free of a history of nineteen years of drug addiction, which had included thirteen years in prison for drug offences. He was now the founder of an organization for the cure and rehabilitation of drug addicts which, using some of the principles of Scientology, claimed `85% success in dealing with addicts'. There was also some medical testimony from doctors who had used Scientology in their practice, and even one Californian psychologist who stated that he included some of its principles in his introductory lectures on psychology. But to most observers the debit side must have loomed largest. Much discussion centred around the oft-quoted `disconnect orders' and the infamous policy order indicating that selected opponents of Scientology were labelled `fair game'. Mr Shulman did all he could to argue that the horrendous phrase `may be lied to, cheated or destroyed' merely implied that the defaulters were no longer granted the protection that Scientologists normally gave to each other, and that the words `lied to, etc.' were not to be taken literally. Neither judge nor jury looked convinced.

After the result had been announced Mr Gaiman stated that in his view the evidence produced at the trial had served to clear the air on certain important misunderstandings and had merely reinforced their belief that the previous government (Wilson's 1964-70 administration) `did act against us without proper investigation'. This, Gaiman told a newspaper, is `the most vital point to have emerged from this hearing'. Although this chirpy pronouncement probably reflected no more than the usual Scientological optimism and super-confidence, the action, while financially unpalatable, may have yielded certain fringe benefits for the movement. In the first place, as we have said earlier, they put up a better showing than their unkindest critics might have predicted. Some of the witnesses impressed the court with their honesty and general demeanour, and at the very least anyone who had seen the trial through from end to end must have been left with the impression that Scientology could, in certain circumstances, actually do some good. If one is to retort that there are very few things in the world that do not do some good, then that is probably fair comment. It is, nevertheless, true to say that Scientology's PR front has been consistently so bad that evidence that it can do some good must inevitably improve its image. Furthermore, one was left with the undeniable impression that Scientology was evolving out of a murky past into a somewhat more balanced and creditable future. The question now arises as to what are the benefits which people report as the result of taking Scientology courses or after becoming involved in the movement.

Scientologists themselves wax eloquent over the great improvement that they feel as the result of `processing', and at this level one has to admit that the treatment probably has some specific benefit. If so it may well be a benefit very much akin to the spiritual lift and heightened sense of well-being that comes from achievement in any field, in particular when this is hitched to a religious experience of some kind. Like all such subjective experiences, which resist any kind of quantification, that lift is often temporary - particularly when for one reason or another the individual is unable to proceed any further up the endless ladder of grades and qualifications that Scientology puts in front of its adherents.

A study of some of the personal success stories by Scientologists themselves, as given in The Auditor, No. 12, reveals only too c]early the subjective nature of the improvements as the results of processing. For example, Bob Musack, who had been on the Clear Course, writes: `Here's a rundown of my gains since Power Processing. With most of my old habit patterns broken up (thank God) it took a while to get reoriented in the environment. Not that the environment in any way seemed dangerous to me, in fact I found it contained scarcely any significance unless I put something there, but a certain reluctance in creating any effects unless I was certain I would take responsibility for them. This is a definite gain as I formerly did things on pretty much of an impulse basis. My postulates on making money are working better than ever. Another gain is recognizing and confronting entheta characters around...' Etc., etc.

Even more obscurely, John Lawrence writes: `The gains and wins I have made since power processing are many and the nature of my gains is such that there is only one gain worthwhile to me and that is becoming me as I know I can be. The gain is just being more me and having it be alright with me and have it this way and knowing I will continue to progress.' Gertrude Brown has this to say: `Since my Power Processing I am becoming more and more certain. I am more able to Intent. I have more and more ability to validate myself. Stage V was where I had my big win. With the exception of R6 Solo auditing, Power Plus Processing was the best auditing I've ever had. For me they truly were orientation processes. I am doing fine.'

It all sounds fine, even if a bit like an advertisement for a new kind of petrol, but not, as far as one can see, in substance, distinguishable from the kind of testimonials one reads to the successes of nerve tonics, relaxation belts, win-friends-and- influence-people courses, lucky charm necklaces or yogic meditation. And it is, of course, far more expensive than any of the above. But subjectivity itself is no crime. If people feel better and say so, or declare and believe that their life state has been changed for the better by Scientological methods, then Hubbard and his followers are entitled to face their critics with these successes. A reply that most successes are only transient is not really enough - why should they occur at all? In other words, what is there about the techniques that works, if only at a restricted level?

There are probably two major reasons for the successes when they occur, one of which must, in fairness, be credited to the philosophy of Scientology. This is linked to their notion of improving the effectiveness of interpersonal communication. Hubbard has always stressed the importance of communication as one of the most fundamental principles in the operation of the universe. Thetans are effective in what they do the extent of their ability to communicate with each other and also with other objects in the world around them. Without such communication nothing useful can take place and individuals become moribund, inward-looking creatures, stagnating intellectually and physically. Really bad communicators, according to Hubbard, may even `believe themselves to be' things like rocks, etc., and may remain thus for millions of years in gloomy self-induced seclusion. Vast improvements in personality, intellectual ability and general human effectiveness can be brought about by sharpening up the individual's talent for communication, and thus introductory Scientology courses concentrate heavily in this area. Students are given a series of drills consisting largely of question-and-answer sequences, some of which may be apparently trivial or nonsensical, such as `Do birds fly?'. The answers given to the questions are generally counted as more or less irrelevant, the important fact being that an answer is given at all. `Two-way communication' has been set up and from this step all the subsequent techniques of Scientology can begin to take effect.

From a psychological point of view it must be admitted that exercises aimed at inducing introverted individuals to become more `outgoing' could be of real value. For many a lonely, shy and mildly neurotic individual the introductory Communication course might work wonders, and no doubt has done.

The second major reason for Scientology's successes, when they occur, is probably its reliance on a stratagem which is as old as the hills and known to soothsayers and quacks as well as to reputable ministers of religion and qualified psychoanalysts. This is the blazingly simple technique of giving people some undivided personal attention. In our society the neurotic individual dives for such systems as yoga, health food fads, Scientology, etc., simply because the orthodox doctor has neither the skill, the time nor the patience to spare for the chronically insecure individuals who frequent his surgery with their burden of neurotic complaints. The average psychiatrist, similarly, can do little for these victims of the malaise of our own society and can only offer the affluent few the lengthy course of psychoanalytic treatment, which occasionally can produce permanent improvements in personality. The only `free' treatment remains the comforts of orthodox religion, with prayer and spiritual guidance from the priest or minister, but with galloping speed the decline in the credibility of orthodox religious philosophy is cutting the power from these quarters.

Scientology, even in its present confused state, seems to offer a real and, to a certain type of person, entirely plausible alternative to either psychoanalysis or orthodox religion. It produces a superficially watertight belief structure with clear-cut boldly spoken answers to questions of the `Why are we here?' and `Where are we going?' variety which human beings, understandably, seem to need to ask. Furthermore, it phrases these answers, which are of a generally mystical kind - eternal life being, as always, firmly stressed - in a language more suited to the second half of the twentieth century than any of the major religions of the world. It is a language with a technological and psychological ring, with phrases drawn from science fiction, from psychoanalysis, from computer technology, yet subtly blended with the spicy flavours of Eastern mysticism. This language appeals most directly to that section of society which finds itself most affected by the collapse of religious belief and the failure of modern psychology to make more comprehensible the workings of the human mind.

This is not for the older, poorly educated working class, whose problems are still largely economic and social and who have little time for `the mind' and even less for neurotics. Nor is it for that growing band of highly trained and intelligent professionals whose intellectual sophistication is sufficient to allow it to ignore (or repress) the awesome mysteries posed by the gaps in our scientific knowledge, and whose interest in the mind will most generally be channelled into the crossword puzzle of psychoanalysis.

Rather it is for the moderately intelligent, reasonably well-read and self-aware individuals who by reason of lack of opportunity of one kind or another are denied higher education or who are temperamentally unsuited for it, that Scientology makes is strongest pitch. For them the self-assurance of Scientologists, the rapid induction into a private jargon and the acquisition of Certificates, Diplomas, etc., the immediate feedback from others of their kind, and the promise of achieving miraculous goals, provide a glowing beacon of hope. Once within this movement, with the feeling of identity with a cause building up, it would be odd indeed if major personality changes failed to take place. All along the line in Scientology, from the lowest rung to the misty heights of Operating Thetan, the willing individual may get attention at any level - provided that he pays his way - and there is nothing that the unsettled souls of our society require more desperately than the personal, unqualified, unjudging attention of another human being.

The auditing session in Scientology is called the `Confessional' and it is no misnomer. For, if the truth is faced, the auditor with his magical E-meter is a workable substitute for the rapidly outdating confessional of the orthodox church. The ritual progression of the `process' is more likely to be effective in the second half of the twentieth century than the act of praying to a God who shows so little sign of hearing and in whom so few people today really believe.

The point I am making is that despite all its faults, Scientology is making a serious bid to become one of the significant religious movements of this decade, perhaps even of this century. Its evolution seems to be demanding this, and there is some evidence, while Hubbard still firmly holds the reins and will continue as the Messiah figure for years to come (and certainly after his death), that the movement now has enough momentum to keep rolling on its own, modifying itself to fit the mood of the time as it does so.

Today, twenty years after its inception, it has swung full circle from claiming to be psychotherapy to claiming to be a religion. Like all young religions, it considers itself, with some justification, to have its martyrs. Indeed, until quite recently it had been getting progressively less house-room in English-speaking countries and were it not for Hubbard's brilliant idea of forming the Sea Orgs, it might be in dire accommodation difficulties. It has its seamy past and no doubt its seamy present too. It charges heavily for its services and a measurable portion of its income, there seems little doubt, has gone to swell Hubbard's personal fortune. But these are both criticisms not only of Scientology but also of many supposedly respectable business operations today. The cult is - or used to be - ruthless in disciplining its malcontented supporters and urges indoctrination of the children of its adherents. But so do numerous other cults - the Jehovah's Witnesses, for example, who push their singleminded beliefs to the point of danger, as with the controversial blood-transfusion ruling. Furthermore, outlandish though many of Scientology's theories are, it is doubtful if they are any stranger than the belief held by the Witnesses in the absolute truth of the Bible and in the coming intervention of Jehovah on earth.

To those who argue, with some justification, that (a) Scientology behaves more like a business than a religion, (b) it began as a pseudo-psychoanalytical system, and (c) it appears to have had, for at least one period recently, a history of harsh internal autocracy, it can be replied that these things, if true, nevertheless do not detract from its present role. One knows very little about the birth pangs of religious movements - even the more ancient and respectable ones - and the motives and personalities of their founders are unlikely to be those of `normal' or `average' men anyway. The main point seems to be whether their philosophies or practice have a vital spark of some kind within them (it need not be a truthful spark incidentally, just a vital one). If this spark is present, and the founder has enough personal dynamism and a sufficiently simple-minded view of the world to believe that he can change it overnight, then the system will grow and persist, modifying steadily to meet external and internal criticisms as it does so. Scientology's future, at the time of writing, is very uncertain, but it seems that it has probably passed the low-water mark of public unpopularity. The report of the recent Parliamentary Commission into the movement, conducted by Sir John Foster, considered the restrictive measures taken against them by the Labour Minister of Health, Mr Robinson, to be unjustified to some degree, and recommended a relaxation of those regulations which seemed to discriminate against Scientologists entering the country simply because they were Scientologists. On the other hand it had little specifically favourable to say about Hubbard and his followers and, in fact, made a strong recommendation that the practice of psychotherapy for reward should be confined to recognized organizations. It also made noises about the unique fiscal privileges accorded to religious organizations in this country. The publication of the report has been hailed by the Scientologists as a victory for their cause, and as an omen of better times to come. Close reading, however, suggests that they can draw less comfort from it than has been assumed, and the report, which quotes large slices of Hubbard's more eccentric prose with a few dry comments, is really a classic example of subtle British plonkmanship.

The extravagant claims made for Scientology's worldwide membership are very likely exaggerated, and are probably based more on all who have at some time taken an interest in it, rather than those who remain actively involved. At the time of writing, there are something between three and four thousand Clears (the figures are announced regularly in The Auditor) and this figure seems to average out at between five and six hundred newly cleared individuals per annum - indicative of steady, rather than growing interest in the cult. At this rate of expansion it is going to be a long time before Hubbard's declared goal of `clearing this planet' is achieved and it should be remembered that the drop-out rate in Scientology is not confined to the rank and file. Clears themselves often leave or defect - to the organization's understandable dismay. The most staggering departure in recent years has probably been that of the much vaunted first C]ear, John McMaster. McMaster, an intelligent and cultured individual, with much poise and an excellent platform manner, became the movement's unofficial PR expert and in the late sixties toured the world lecturing to enthusiastic audiences. Although he has severed all ties with Hubbard, he still holds (as do a number of ex-Scientologists) that the techniques of auditing or processing have something to offer mankind.

Whatever form it takes, students of sociology, psychology and religious history will watch any development of Scientology in the next decade with increasing interest, not the least reason being the fact that it offers a splendid opportunity to watch the metamorphosis of a flash-in-the-pan psychotherapy cult into an embryo religion. Official Scientology publications tend these days to play down the psychotherapy angles and stress the religious ones. The 1968 booklet The Character of Scientology, for example, has a colour cover featuring a stylized Disneyland choir boy with a golden aura, and includes pictures of religious medallions and crucifixes of special design. Religious services are held with choirs (singing the `Factors' - see page 50), with sermons of a sort, and with the principal characters actually garbed in robes. When I have attended these services I have been impressed, it is fair to say, by the fact that they are only too clearly anything but PR exercises designed to pay lip-service to the movement's religious leanings. The audience, congregation or whatever, recite the `Creed' with apparent reverence, and the sermon (normally an informal talk on communication or something similar) is listened to attentively. Discussion with young Scientologists about the religious implications of their movement often reveals a certain amount of philosophical confusion, but most are united in declaring that Scientology offers them a `way of life' which is at least potentially all-embracing in the way that a religion is traditionally supposed to be.

This raises, I feel, a point of significance which has been almost exclusively missed by previous commentators on Mr Hubbard's newsworthy organization; that the time has probably arrived when one should concentrate on what Scientology is all about now, and not be too diverted by its tumultuous past. In the book mentioned above Scientology is described as `the first religious technology', and I am obliged to say that there is an element of truth in this. Perhaps a better description (from the point of view of an outsider) would be that it is the first science fiction religion; it has enjoyed relative success not because its techniques necessarily work any better than those of any other cults or systems of belief, but because it plays with the themes and terminology of this century in a way that few other systems do. One might even push this argument further and point out that Scientology seems to respond with immense readiness to the winds of fashion, and that this no doubt is another reason for its success.

In some cases it even seems to be anticipating public trends in a curious way. The involvement of the movement in the increasingly significant drug rehabilitation scheme in the USA - a number of former drug addicts appear to be facing life afresh through their association with Scientology - is one good example. There is also the matter of the current antipsychiatric backlash which is pulling in a certain amount of media support at the time of writing. Scientologists for one reason or another have tended to make a platform of Hubbard's views on lobotomy and ECT (electro-convulsive therapy), two aesthetically and emotionally disturbing facets of current psychiatric treatment, and while they have been plugging away on these lines for a decade or more, it is only recently that they seem to have caught a prevailing popular mood. Their relatively new newspaper Freedom, for example, one of their most literate, yet still staggeringly immoderate, publications has taken on an almost political slant on these matters and is currently involved in a wrangle with the former minister of Health, Mr Kenneth Robinson. If one were to try to sum up the flavour of Freedom in a word, one would describe it, I think, as anarchistic; indeed one can detect a hint of overlap between the pop anarchism represented by the readers of International Times and the more youthful citizens of Hubbard's empire.

Readers of the book up to this point may be surprised to find that after highlighting the absurdities, inconsistencies and smoky background of Scientology, I conclude without giving it a wholehearted thumbs-down. The reasons for this are quite straightforward. The closer I have looked at Scientology the more I feel that it is changing for the better, and the more eager I believe its leader and its adherents are to forget its past. Critics may reply that Scientology's past is so unpleasant that any change would be for the better, and they are entitled to this opinion. However, one asks oneself how much is really known about the founders and originators of the great classical religions of the past? How did they really begin? What were the true motives of their founders? What did their earliest supporters really feel they were getting for their sacrifices? Perhaps all successful and enduring religions in their early days go through sensational and controversial birth pangs, laced with wild talk, rash promises and extravagant behaviour designed to secure for the movement a precarious foothold in an aggressive world. It is only once a cult is established and its reality no longer questioned that the long haul to forget the failures of the past and glorify the successes of the present can begin. With this in mind one asks - in the most idle and speculative kind of way - a leading question. Supposing that the world rolls on for a thousand years and that people are still walking about on this peculiar planet, and supposing also that Scientology is still around (you may say `God forbid' if you please) what then will the mythology of Scientology look like? And what stories will people be telling of Mr Lafayette Ronald Hubbard, his teachings and his first disciples?


Narconon seems to be making headway; The Auditor No. 81, published late 1972, lists official affiliations all over the world. It is claimed that the Mexican and Swedish governments and the state of Delaware provide funds for the Scientology-based movement.  

 
Ethics The Coming of the Saucers