D--- you, John DaltonI am currently writing in a voodoo-themed off-license liquor and absinthe dealer/restaurant/the-cheapest-cybercafé-in-York, having been in town for one full day, which I spent wandering the slim alleyways of Parliament Street, the Shambles, and (pick a natural object)-gate, gatan having been Old Norse for road and consequently the suffix is severally applied in Old York, often in the shadow of the staggering Gothic Minster. But that is not the story I have come to tell, not my wanderings in the culturally fructuose environs of York, but one nearly culturally deserted Tuesday in Manchester.
It was the day after I had arrived and I began to wander the streets in search of some museums I had read about: the Museum of Science and Industry and the People's History Museum, which were in the north- and southwest of the town, counterrespectively. The plays not being on until the evening, I had the afternoon to meander about and could easily see both museums, which happened to be accessible along the same route: John Dalton Road. Named in honor of the founder of modern atomic theory, the road was quite long and I set out from my hotel, which was a dormitory underneath an Australian-themed restaurant. As I proceeded I noticed that a building was going up in roughly the area of the road. Thinking nothing of it, I passed numerous workers, cranes, and piles of concrete blocks more voluminous than double-decker buses. I arrived at last at the Museum of Science and Industry, shadowed by its long brick wall with inlaid bronze titles. As I turned the corner to the entrance I read the following note on the door: In support of public works, the Museum will be closed on Tuesday, M---- 2-, 200-. Infuriated that I had walked this far in the downpour only to find failure, I set upon Mr. Dalton's Road yet again in the opposite direction, my teeth clenched and wet with sky and saliva. Placing my hopes in the other major Manchester museum not on the campus and thus accessible by foot, I journeyed upwards to learn the People's history. Upon arrival, I found myself again staring at leant girders, construction detritus blowing in the gale, and a sign which read In support of public works, the Museum will be closed on Tuesday, M---- 2-, 200-. Now livid and miserable, cold and damp, I set yet again along the Bl--dy Chemist's Byway to seek the succor and sweetcorn of the cinema. Four quid, one ticket, two hours and a disappointing adaptation later, I had seen V For Vendetta. After exiting again into the pluvial sheets and aeolian shears, I decided to turn off of John Dalton Road. En voltant, I was confronted by a striking marquee: bright blue with a yellow cruciform figure and letters reading The Church of Scientology. A posterboard read "Free Personality Tests!". I smiled and at that instant knew how I was going to spend the rest of my afternoon.
Composing myself with a look of awe and naïveté, which I thought would be irresistible to the purveyors of what I considered a swindle at best, a cult at worst, I crossed the threshold. Upon entry, I encountered a literal wall of books, easily twenty square meters of paper and print, with the spines prominently declaring their author, "L. Ron Hubbard" or "LRH" as the Church's literature often refers to Him. The rest of the office was relatively empty, with sanctimoniously sterile white walls and a desk on which piles of papers quaquaversally coated the entire surface. An exhausted-looking easy-faced woman with frizzy hair and a Northern accent gently guided me to a chair, after some courtesies and a pencil, where would I fill out a two hundred question quiz? and it takes about half an hour... Resolving that the initial outlay of effort in number two would be more than compensated by the entertainment of what would most probably follow, I filled out the personality tests. The questions on a three-point scale (one for agreement, two for maybe, three for disagreement) were odd, many concerning tics and body sensation, none concerning bad habits or disappointments, several concerning feelings in the wee hours of quietude and lonesomeness. Upon completion, the paper was whisked from me and brought to a computer and manual entry of all 200 answers was begun. I snarkily commented that they should get a computerized grading machine, like schools have, so numerous must their newcomers be. Midway through the sentence though, I modulated my inflections so that a little less of the disdain I had for their ridiculous operation leaked through my masque. She barely noticed the comment but swifter than I had expected finished entry and left, excusing herself that they had no more blank score sheets. While I awaited her, I perused the book What Is Scientology?, a heavy book, easily two kilos, 12" x 17", and five hundred heavily illustrated pages, costing, according to the reverse, £59.95. She returned, filled out the score sheet and handed it to a thick-set Manchester native named George, who invited me to follow him through the double-doors and upstairs. But I didn't get through the double-doors before my attention was grabbed by a stack of many large plastic packages, each containing six DVDs and associated material, each consisting of one "congress" of L. Ron Hubbard, in reality the video record of the annual meeting for Scientology for certain years, each given a snazzy name like Enlightenment Congress, Future Congress, Clearing Congress. I learned that 'the word Scientology literally means "the study of truth." It comes from the Latin word "scio" meaning "knowing in the fullest sense of the word" and the Greek word "logos" meaning "study of."' This is what was parroted to me by George; I later found the exact same wording on some Church materials. All eighteen congresses could be purchased for the low, low price of £1795.00, declared a sign.
***
We began the ascent up the stairs to where L. Ron Hubbard's office was kept as well as the interview rooms. When I topped the landing, I heard shouts and song and applause emanating from the floor, only to find that some Scientologists were watching the L. Ron Hubbard Birthday Celebration in Clearwater, FL at the colossal Scientology center there. The celebration seemed a mixture between a televangelist revival and a corporate awards ceremony complete with trophies given for "expansion" in various world regions. In a nearby room was the recreation of L. Ron's office, containing a simple desk, with everything organized and a strange metal device on the table by the wall. I had little time to view it before George suggested we go into a side room. There he produced the graph of my personality, as revealed by the Oxford Capacity Analysis. He scrutinized it for a moment before reversing it and pointing to the left side, where highly negative scores in unwellness, depression, and anxiety were indicated. Haltingly, he inquired if that resonated. Internally, I said yes, thinking of the last few years and the turmoil I've gone through in my life with exactly those problems. How could he know? Was it that obvious? Had I betrayed myself in the questions? Were two hundred questions enough? But I said no, not really. I was still cynical, something in me burst though, and as he asked again, emphasizing that these traits are ones that dianetics and Scientology can help, I felt a cold flow within my belly and guilt bubbled up at having feigned lack of identification and falsified my information. It was the Impersonator's Curse. An urge to tell the truth, a longing for Truth emerged and before I could intercede intellectually I was spilling my guts as it were, everything that had happened to me, all my problems, what angered, delighted, disappointed, and irritated me about my life. What is the answer? I finally gasped. He settled back into his chair, pensive.
After a moment he responded, spirit. You are a spirit, not a body. This is the lie that psychologists and their ilk have been foisting onto the world for years. Man is an animal. Psychology is a chemical process, subject to stimulus and response. In 1950, L. Ron Hubbard revealed to the world the true nature of mind. It is in two parts, analytic and reactive. The reactive mind is constantly recording, every incident, every memory is crystallised into matter within the mind. The movements of this matter and energy mentally can be measured ona device he invented called an E-meter, or electropsychometer, which sends a small voltage through the body and into a meter which detects the positive or negative character of the thoughts. When something is resolved, the meter changes and a literal weight is lifted as the charge of the reactive mind unravels and releases the memory in the analytic mind. He told me a story about a woman who had asthma problems. Through dianetics, she realized that she had fallen into a pool as a young girl and heard her mother say, "She can't breathe". She internalized this as a command and when she neared water later, it triggered an asthma attack, once through Scientology, she realized the truth, she was freed. This and other amazing stories were rejected by my mind, I thought them silly, spurious, unreliable. But that was my reactive mind, reacting negatively to what was the hope for mankind.
George said that the goal of Scientology is a world without insanity, without war, without cruelty and that all of this is achievable once we realize our true nature. This is not our first life. All of the experiences of our spirit, or thetan, to separate it from other ideas about the soul, throughout our many lifetimes have made us react to the world the way we do.
You cannot understand what this realization meant to me. For so long, I have tried to treat my problems with chemistry and psychoanalysis. I have been through endless therapies and drugs, the experience of which grows wearisome. Suddenly, the scales fell off my eyes and I realized that I had been lied to, the truth lay within the new science of LRH and his dianetics. I am a thetan. I have lived before. The true enemies of mankind are psychologists and materialists who deny the thetan and Scientology which is meant to free us all and bring about a new civilization. The devils of history are not Hitler, Stalin, Mao and other tyrants, but Darwin, Freud, Wundt, and other materialists, especially John Dalton, father of the atom, who have caused all of the suffering in the world expereinced by those who are lied to by materialists and incomplete religions.
I pointed out that there was a street in Manchester named after Dalton, who had allowed materialism to proceed and take over science and chemistry and consequently psychology. He said that there was a campaign for name change which was working its way up through the municipal government. I nodded in concordance, knowing that little could do worse harm to a populace than revering a man unworthy of reverence (hence the title).
We went downstairs and arranged to meet again for an auditing session. I signed some forms which made me a member, and gave them my credit card number, so I could have easy access to auditing at any of the Churches in the US or UK, without needing to pay separately each time. The first session was only £40 and when an hour later I emerged, having clutched the cans of the E-meter, feeling the electricity flow, the thoughts rearranging energy and mass, my sadness dissolving in the light of L. Ron, who if not a god, was certainly a gift to all mankind.
In conclusion, I exhort you all to learn more about the summa religionis that is Scientology, how it has made possible the end of irrationality and insanity in the world for all of us. I have never felt so happy. I have never felt so certain of myself. I am at peace. I am a Scientologist.
