The Cryptoterrestrials

by Mac Tonnies

  To my cats, the red dot possesses its own vitality. It exists as a distinct entity. While they may see me holding the pointer, they can’t (or won’t) be distracted by such things once the button is pressed and the living room is suddenly alive with luminous vermin. So they chase it. And, if they get close enough, even take swipes at it—I make the dot “flee” or disappear in what seems like a concession of defeat (which, of course, only further arouses the cats’ predatory curiosity).

  All the while I’m controlling the red dot, I’m taking pains to make it behave like something intelligible. Just waving the pointer around the room wouldn’t be any fun. So I make it “climb,” “jump,” and scuttle when cornered, even though the laser’s impervious to obstructions.

  This sense of physicality seems to be the element that makes chasing the laser so engaging—both for the cats and for me.

  I can’t help but be reminded of our continuing search for assumed extraterrestrial vehicles. UFO sightings demonstrate many of the same aspects of a typical feline laser hunt: mysterious disappearances, “impossible” maneuvers, and a predilection for trickery—the apparent desire to be seen despite (or because of) a technology presumed to be far in advance of our own. More than one UFO researcher has noted that UFOs behave more like projections or holograms than nuts-and-bolts craft . . . an observation that begs the nature of the intelligence doing the projecting.

  According to astrophysicist Vallee, UFOs are part of a psychosocial conditioning system by which perceived “rewards” are doled out to reconcile for the dearth of irrefutable physical evidence. The phenomenon—whatever its ultimate nature—obstinately denies itself, thus enabling the very game it’s intent on playing with us.

  We see that sudden spark of red light; we pounce. This time we’ll catch it for sure.

  *

  My interest in UFOs crystallized in elementary school upon the discovery of Gary Kinder’s Light Years, an account of the alleged contacts of Swiss cultist Billy Meier. I wasn’t entirely sold by Kinder’s book, but my interest was piqued (even though the emphatically human-looking extraterrestrials described by Meier troubled me on some unspoken level).

  Later encounters with books about exobiology only made Meier’s stories sound all the more absurd. Not only did I find the commonly depicted “Grays” more convincingly alien, I considered the body of “abductee” literature infinitely more compelling than tales of sage galactic emissaries. Even if most accounts of “bedroom visitations” could be explained in terms of sleep paralysis, there seemed to be a genuine signal embedded in the pop-cultural noise.

  Throughout high school and college I refined my study of UFO-themed literature and came away thoroughly disillusioned—but oddly invigorated. Classic narratives such as John Fuller’s The Interrupted Journey and Jacques Vallee’s Dimensions—an expanded version of his seminal mythological analysis Passport to Magonia—convinced me that the “believers” had it wrong, as did the majority of self-proclaimed skeptics.

  I’ve since waded through hundreds of books about the alleged alien presence on our planet and come away largely convinced that we’re sharing our world with an advanced form of intelligence. While not necessarily extraterrestrial, this intelligence is certainly not human in any normal sense. Yet it interacts with us in a manner that, at times, seems comprehensible—which isn’t what one would expect of dispassionate observers or mere extraterrestrial anthropologists.

  That we’ve seen traces of its existence at all alludes to either its technological fallibility or its concerted desire to be seen. Both possibilities are disturbing from conventional exobiological and ufological perspectives. The aliens—whatever they are—aren’t simply visiting. They’ve quietly taken up residence.

  The more I researched the history and morphology of “alien” contact, the more I became convinced the reigning Extraterrestrial Hypothesis (ETH) was profoundly lacking. But even the most lucid opponents of the ETH, aside from offering vague (albeit endlessly enticing) references to “other dimensions” and “parallel universes,” seemed dumbstruck by the phenomenon’s absurdity; I had yet to read of a plausible means by which the “aliens’” home world could intersect our own, allowing a steady stream of ufonauts.

  We typically assume interdimensional travel must involve arcane cosmological machinery such as a wormhole or “stargate.” But I became increasingly drawn to the idea that our visitors’ method of travel is less flashy (from a technical perspective) and more understandable in terms of earthly—if bizarre—paranormal influences.

  This led to my growing suspicion that the “aliens” typically attributed to extrasolar planets are less advanced than they lead us to believe. In fact, I think a case can be made that we’re dealing with a surprisingly vulnerable intelligence that relies largely on subterfuge and disinformation to achieve its goals, a theme I attempt to address in later chapters.

  And as outlandish as it may seem, I’ve been forced to wrestle with the notion that our relationship with these “others” is far more widespread and intimate than even paranoid dramatizations of the UFO spectacle would have us believe.

  These dawning suspicions are borne out, at least in part, by world folklore (with its preoccupation with “little people” in our midst) as well as by recent discoveries that suggest the history of our species is more enigmatic than we’d like to admit. We may well share our planet with cryptohominids that have mastered the art of camouflage in order to coexist with us. More portentously, their agenda might be within our ability to grasp. But to do so, we must suspend the assumption that we’re dealing with something as quaint as ET astronauts.

  The truth, unnervingly, seems much closer to home, threatening to displace our sense of self in a most unexpected manner.

  *

  I sometimes see my name used in conjunction with the word “ufology.” Loosely defined, ufology is the study of the UFO phenomenon. This includes disciplines ranging from metallurgy to psychology, from neuroanatomy to string theory. The best UFO literature benefits from the reasoned inclusion of as many perspectives as possible, even those that would seem to refute the very phenomenon under investigation. (The pronounced lack of such books is predominantly why it’s fashionable for intellectuals to adopt a scoffing, can’t-be-bothered approach when addressing UFOs—a most intriguing reaction, given that “UFO” simply denotes an aerial object of unknown origin.)

  Am I a ufologist? I don’t know. Maybe. If I am, I should probably qualify the “U” word with “theoretical.” There are theoretical physicists and literary theorists; why not theoretical ufologists?

  The ufological “community” suffers from creative anemia. It has a disheartening tendency to refute dissenting voices—even those within its own ranks—with tired screeds that unnecessarily polarize the debate (such as it is) between cautious advocates of the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis and know-nothing science popularizers who seem genuinely incapable of considering the UFO inquiry outside the cognitive barriers posed by decades of cheesy sci-fi cinema and the legacy of myriad True Believers.

  So it’s no real surprise why ufology is marginal. While its luminaries might noisily claim otherwise, ufology collectively wants to be marginal. With the lamentable exception of a few spokesmen who feel the need to “explain” the phenomenon’s intricacies to a wary public (often in the guise of would-be political discourse), the ostensible UFO community remains afraid of stepping into the rude glow of widespread public attention.

  And it has a right to be be afraid. Having dotingly constructed a theoretical house of straw, many ufological proponents secretly prefer the tenuous camaraderie of their peers to the much more exciting prospect of being taken seriously by science. (This isn’t to condemn UFO research as anti-scientific; perhaps the only reason the field remains afloat at all is the pioneering effort of scientists such as James McDonald, J. Allen Hynek, and Jacques Vallee.)

  But the era of genuine hypotheses seems to be nearing an end. The “old guard,” inexplicably enamored of
the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis, is now engaged in little more than ideological turf-wars. The boons of speculation have been quietly set aside in favor of models that make just enough sense to allow their defenders to issue brittle proclamations with semi-straight faces.

  Meanwhile, the enigma persists—as always, seemingly just beyond our comprehension. And we have the nerve to wonder why.

  CHAPTER 3

  UFOs and the ETH

  What do we know about the UFO phenomenon? What can researchers agree on, if anything? I certainly don’t expect them to hop on the cryptoterrestrial bandwagon. Neither do I expect ufologists to agree on the ever-nebulous Interdimensional Hypothesis, which raises at least as many reality-altering questions as it purports to answer.

  At the same time, the Null Hypothesis, maintaining that UFOs can be universally ascribed to misidentified natural phenomena and sightings of unconventional earthly aircraft, has grown decrepit and toothless. Fashionable debunking aside (up to and including the brittle posturing of self-styled “alien experts” such as the SETI Institute’s Seth Shostak), something absolutely fascinating is happening.

  Taking stock of the situation, I’m tempted to reduce the UFO riddle to a few guiding tenets which I think can be reasonably supported by the evidence provided since the “modern” era of sightings began more than 60 years ago. A list of pertinent characteristics might go like this:

  1.) Regardless of their origin, UFOs are physically real.

  2.) UFOs are sometimes observed engaged in behavior which can only be described as intelligently directed.

  3.) The psychological and sociological impact of the phenomenon is especially enduring and should be a topic of paramount interest for scholars and researchers in fields as disparate as cultural anthropology, aeronautics, and neurology.

  4.) The sometimes theatrical behavior of unidentified flying objects suggests the possibility of some form of dialogue, whether directed by ourselves or orchestrated by the phenomenon itself. Likewise, certain military encounters in which weapons systems have been apparently manipulated in intelligent fashion invite the prospect that the UFO intelligence is at least partially amenable to understanding in terms of human psychology.

  If the UFO intelligence is indigenous to this planet, then the pronounced extraterrestrial flavor of so many of our most hallowed (if controversial) beliefs may be an attempt to convince us the answer to the UFO riddle lies somewhere in the stars.

  So we gaze upward in wonder and fear while the phenomenon continues—unabated and overlooked.

  *

  UFOs cruise our skies with an implacable arrogance. If our visitors are indeed extrasolar aliens, then they have a most curious penchant for drama. If, on the other hand, we’re observing the activities of a cryptoterrestrial civilization, the apparent desire to be seen can be readily explained in terms of misdirection.

  “Alien” imagery is the perfect cover, as our own military understands all-too-well. Greg Bishop chronicles just one example in Project Beta, a devastating critique of the black-ops underworld and its readiness to exploit ET mythology in order to deflate serious interest in secret Air Force projects.

  By utilizing our innate fascination with interplanetary visitors, the cryptoterrestrials have ensured that any accidental sightings of their craft will be ascribed to the ETH. The mainstream media, quick to “debunk” for fear of inciting ridicule, thus ignores credible sightings and inadvertently assists the cryptoterrestrial agenda. And if by some chance the sighting is undeniable, its cultural connotations will almost certainly relegate it to our collective fortean attic.

  In a related vein, I don’t think it’s accidental that so many UFOs are adorned with mesmerizing flashing lights. While one can always argue that conspicuous lights indicate the presence of some truly unearthly propulsion system, it’s just as possible that they’re a deliberate (and relatively low-tech) attempt to make a rather ordinary conveyance look unearthly, thereby eliciting the excitement of the very ET enthusiasts whose sightings are certain to be ignored . . . or, at best, published in some obscure journal or website.

  As Vallee has astutely noted, many accounts of UFO landings have the undeniable flavor of staged events. The controversial events at Rendlesham, for instance, seem to make sense only if they were intended to be witnessed, perhaps in an attempt to further impress us with the extraterrestrial meme. In the same vein, the famous Washington National sightings of 1952, in which objects were tracked over Washington, D.C. with ground-and air-based radar and confirmed visually by multiple witnesses, smack of an orchestrated event intended to arrest our attention.

  Intriguingly, the objects over Washington were limited to inexplicable sources of light—not the “structured craft” described in other notable cases. Could the UFO intelligence use a form of holography to trick us into thinking we’re observing tangible vehicles? The possibility can’t be discounted. Michael Talbot supports the holographic theory in his book The Holographic Universe, noting that some UFO displays have more in common with sophisticated projections than spacecraft.

  The same can be said of many close encounters of the third or fourth kind in which witnesses report anomalous spatial effects. Some witnesses have described the interior of apparent alien vehicles as considerably larger than the craft as seen from outside; this odd detail, so bizarre when considered in isolation, might be explained as a perceptual trick enacted by the “aliens” to render their vehicles more impressive than they actually are. Upon exiting, a witness would be more likely to describe the experience in otherworldly terms.

  *

  The UFO debate has become undeniably polarized, especially in the United States. Jacques Vallee has attributed the fixation with the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis to the urge to “kick the tires,” which seems to suggest that Americans are skeptical of alien visitation. Rather paradoxically, polls show that Americans’ acceptance of alien visitors in nuts-and-bolts spacecraft is alive and even thriving, with the end of the 20th century’s rash of abduction reports fueling belief in both ETs and a probable government cover-up.

  This predisposition to address the UFO enigma in predominantly “aerospace” terms has starved objective research by alienating mainstream scientists (bored with unsubstantiated tales of close encounters or odd lights in the sky) by implying the phenomenon is necessarily physical. If physical, argue debunkers, the alien presence should be self-evident, especially in our era of automated surveillance.

  Equally lamentable, little or no effort is expended trying to fathom the psychology of ETs. SETI, for instance, remains largely a technological effort, with hypothetical aliens governed by the same conceits and prejudices that influence the field’s guiding researchers.

  This casual anthropomorphism undermines the mainstream’s dealings with ET intelligence. Needless to say, it completely bypasses the idea that some form of nonhuman intelligence may already be in our midst. If nonhumans are in fact at our doorstep, it stands to reason that they would exploit our predilection for “space aliens.” If they possess a technology even slightly more advanced than ours, staging “extraterrestrial” landings may prove irresistible.

  But the extraterrestrial bias is even more damaging in scope. Its assumption that the cosmos will inevitably yield its secrets to our ever-improving instrumental capability lures us from other, equally enticing, models of reality that may have much more bearing on the prospect of nonhuman life and consciousness. Shamans of so-called “primitive” cultures have long relied on altered states to communicate with otherworldly intelligences. Psychedelic drugs commonly facilitate or heighten this communication, implying a deep-rooted neurological mechanism. The various altered states described by “abductees” suggest a common origin, allowing the possibility that “others” might exploit mind-to-mind communication as casually as we use cellphones and broadband internet.

  If a shadow race of earthly humanoids has achieved some form of telepathy, we may be well on the way to bridging the gulf. Powerful computers hav
e already been set to work simulating the interactions that define “thought” on the sub-cellular level. Electron microscopy has revealed “protein microtubules” thought to make use of quantum effects. British mathematician Roger Penrose, an early collaborator with Stephen Hawking, has claimed that our brains’ quantum nature prohibits the construction of artificial minds—the stated aim of artificial intelligence research. Although the verdict certainly isn’t in—and may not be until scientists unravel the mind-brain dichotomy—it’s interesting to note the role of parallel universes in a world governed by quantum mechanics.

  Physicist David Deutsch, for instance, advocates the still-controversial Many Worlds Interpretation (MWI) of quantum theory, in which our universe bifurcates each time a subatomic event’s wave function “collapses.” Taken to its dizzying extreme, the MWI allows for a near-endless pageant of universes to encompass all conceivable outcomes. Deutsch bases his verdict, in part, on the prospective success of quantum computers, devices that may one day appear to perform calculations by harnessing subatomic processes in other, closely related, interdimensional worlds.

  Could the human brain, suitably “tuned,” produce comparable results? Given reports of humanoid beings “materializing” and “disappearing,” it’s tempting to speculate that our visitors have mastered a technology of consciousness, able to manipulate their own wave functions and skip back and forth between multiple universes at the speed of thought. This is one (admittedly colorful) explanation for the lack of physical evidence; “they” might lurk in “hyperspace” as well as familiar, 3-D space-time. Moreover, this form of travel might be accomplished without the need for energy-intensive machinery; if shamanic experiences are any indication, the ability to transcend space and time might be a more fitting subject for parapsychologists than theoretical physicists.