Long John Nebel

by Way Out World

  After being born and growing up with all of these horribly unpleasant things floating about in the “reactive mind,” the lucky individual takes a crack at Dianetics, putting himself into the hands of an “auditor.” The “auditor” then proceeds to put the subject into “reverie.” In this state, an attempt is made to delve into the unconscious—possibly into even the birth experience itself—and root out the “impediments.” One by two and three they’re removed, that is if the “auditor” is successful. And, of course, they always are—since Dianetics always is. As the problems become fewer the person becomes “pre-clear”; eventually the subject is a “clear.” This means that he is “the equivalent” of a very superior person who can catch colds and all like that.

  To try to sum up the subject briefly, probably the best definition would be from the founder himself. It’s “a system of the analysis, control and development of human thought evolved from a set of coordinated axioms which also provide techniques for the treatment of a wide range of mental disorders and organic diseases.”

  Dianetics made L. Ron Hubbard famous, but that wasn’t enough. With one planet wheeling happily about the occult-therapy sky, he decided to give it a sun to go around. He built such a sun, intended to dominate the many worlds of healing. He called it “Scientology.”

  Now arises the question: what is Scientology? The “official” description, to be found in Hubbard’s publications, runs as follows: “Scientology is a system of organized axioms resolving problems of life and thought, developed through the application of the methodology of the exact sciences to the humanities by L. Ron Hubbard, American engineer and philosopher.” In equally vague, but somewhat different, terms, it’s classified as a branch of psychology, which is pretty interesting since its author displays an obvious contempt for psychology and psychologists in other areas of his writing. At least, however, Hubbard admits that it is another version, or an “extension,” of Dianetics. Among the sacred writings it is pointed out that this mechanical occultism is to be “used by the trained and untrained person” to improve “the health, intelligence, ability, behaviour, skill and appearance of people.” Naturally, like its forerunner, it’s a “precise and exact science.”

  Like Dianetics, Hubbard’s second pitch employs an “auditor” (now described as a “Scientology practitioner,” instead of a “Dianetics practitioner”). But now the auditor, who used to work with individuals, has expanded the operation. Imitating the competition, they now have group therapy. The advantages of this are pretty obvious, since this way an auditor can take care of many times as many patients as before.

  In some of the Scientology literature, and there’s an awful lot of it, it’s claimed that the method is successful in curing about 70% of human illness. In an earlier Dianetic text the assertion was made that Dianetics could cure any patient of anything. Hubbard’s explanation of why he makes such high claims for his new “science” is that it’s the most completely and thoroughly “tested” subject on earth, except for physics and chemistry.

  Although most of the claims for Scientology are pretty strong, some people are really jarred when they discover that the Scientologists also claim that their bit will cure illnesses diagnosed as incurable, measurably increase intelligence, and alleviate burns received from “Atomic Bombs.” Or, to quote directly from one pamphlet, “Scientology is the only specific (cure) for radiation (atomic bomb) burns.”

  Scientology, which began as Dianetics as a fairly localized, kind of far-out bit for insiders, reached a great number of people. This was no accident, but came about because Hubbard extended it into every field of operation. The religious, the psychological, the academic, the sociological, the mystical, and so on. On a piece of stationery with a letterhead reading “Scientology, United States,” and below “The Congress of Scientologists,” the left hand margin lists a number of “scientological” organizations and/or enterprises. The following are listed.

  Founding Church of Scientology of Washington; Founding Church of Scientology, New York; Church of American Science; The Academy of Scientology; Society of Consulting Ministers; Hubbard Assn, of Scientologists, International; Hubbard Guidance Center; Scientology Consultants, Inc.; Congress of Scientologists; Hubbard Dianetic Research Foundation; Hubbard Research Foundation; American Society for Disaster Relief; Scientology Consultants to Industrial Efficiency; Committee of Examination, Certification and Services; Hubbard Communications Office; ABILITY Publications; and Distribution Center, Inc.

  Unfortunately, the descriptions of the buildings and offices of each and all of these organizations were not immediately available, nor was very much other information about them to be found. But the impression is that they’re all very much interrelated and that many may only exist primarily, if not exclusively, on the tops of stationery.

  At least one exception to the last thought is the little eight-and sometimes twelve-page publication titled “Ability.” This pamphlet, which has reached over 125 issues, is very cheaply produced and is filled with puffs (praise pieces) for Hubbard and his various enterprises, announcements of lectures and Hubbard lecture tapes for sale, occasional case histories, a few truisms, and very little else.

  “A Brief Biography of L. Ron Hubbard,” covering some eight small pages, including one full-page photograph, presents to the faithful a highly “copywritten” publicity-conscious, legend-making picture of the great bright father of Dientology, that is, Scientetics,…it makes a pretty good pitch no matter how you spell it. The most interesting thing in the entire brochure is the part that tells how Hubbard has been immortalized in modern literature. It states that Hubbard was the character of “Mister Roberts,” famous hero of book, stage and screen, and that that story of his war experiences had been fictionalized without his permission. It also refers to several other fictional personalities who were, in reality, L. Ron Hubbard.

  The scientological philosopher claims that $2,000,000 has been spent trying to destroy his creations, Scientology and dianetics; he doesn’t mention how much has been spent by the customers on them. Whatever the amount, it’s up in the many figures. Few offbeat ideas of our times have been so patently successful as these. They’ve scientifically drawn in and measured out thousands of people; but, unfortunately, unlike this writer, they didn’t say: “I don’t buy it.”

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  When the pendulum swings all the way in the other direction of modern offbeat theories of therapy, it crashes right into one of the weirdest bits in the history of “healeology.” It’s the thousand and one cures of Eli Greifer. This odd gentleman, who asserts that he’s a practicing pharmacist and attorney, is unique among pseudo-medical practitioners. He’s the author of “Poems for What Ails You,” “Remedy-Rhyme for What Ails You,” “Philosophic Duels with the Master Poets,” “Psychologic Duels with the Master Poets,” “Greifer’s Quizzer on the Law of Evidence,” and, the topper, “How I Cured My Incurable Ailments.”

  In his “Alphabetic Contents for Curability,” to be found in the last of these books, Greifer notes a great number of disorders with his suggested cures for said problems. For “acidity” he recommends “friedfoodtherapy.” For “age and rejuvenation” he offers “lovetherapy,” and weighs the effect of “jobtherapy” on “hobbyosis.” And as you wade forth into the deeper waters of Greiferisms, you encounter things like sleeptherapy, nightowltherapy and nightowlosis, potatofrytherapy, cafeteriatherapy, egomagnificationtherapy, frownosis, goodism and walkawayosis.

  “How I Cured My Incurable Ailments” is a highly biographical volume describing in considerable and vivid detail the apparently endless and complicated disorders of the author, and hundreds of diagnoses and cures for such difficulties. One gets the impression that Greifer has spent his entire life being ill, but here he’s offering himself as the only man with the true knowledge of how one can return to health. His style takes two main forms: First person singular diary-type writing, and verses. Little “poems” pop in and out of the pages like symptoms. Much of what
he says and suggests is completely sensible and reasonable, such as his passages on “nightowltherapy,” “nightowlosis,” and other nightowlogical subjects. The main point of this section merely points out that some people by their basic natures are “night people” and others, the majority, are “day people.” He argues that it’s very unwise and completely pointless for a person to take a “poisonous overdoseage of barbiturates to force a conventional-houred sleep rather than yield to instinctual shifts to nightowlism.” Greifer believes that many people who haven’t recognized their “natural” pattern become sick insomniacs or bums (because they can’t keep jobs) simply because they should be working and living at night and resting during the day hours.

  Like almost all amateur, or at least unorthodox, therapists, Eli Greifer seems to assume that there are no illnesses, disorders, or diseases which are too complicated or difficult for him to offer curative opinions on. For example, one line from the Greifertext-therapy runs as follows: “One of my earliest successes as a poemtherapist was the case of a psychopathic personality…If you’ve forgotten, the author of that reminiscence is, by his own definition, a pharmacist and attorney. One of the implied excuses for his venturing into the field of mental therapy, for which he hasn’t been trained, is that there are “4,000 psychiatrists against 72,000 dentists.” The technique employed by Greifer in dealing with the psychologically disoriented include “poemtherapy,” during which patient and therapist read and create poems to and for each other; “musictherapy,” which is about the same when he uses it as it is when most other therapists use it; “coddle-cudgel-therapy,” having to do with the contrasting harsh and affectionate treatment of patients.

  Eli Greifer’s “medical writings” are a fantastic combination of obvious common sense and apparent madness. A mixture of fairly deep thoughts expressed in pretty poor poetry. A concoction of old and new wives’ tales and esoteric references. Among the many allusions to be found in his texts are ones from top medical and scientific journals, and quotes from many historical and contemporary figures.

  There can be little doubt that Greifer is an intelligent man, and when you speak with him you’re almost forced to agree that he’s sincere about his extravagant assertions. And yet, they’re just a little too wild. Undoubtedly, many new discoveries have come from men with ideas that seemed pretty curious at the time, but this time they’re just a foot or two beyond my reach. Which may explain why I don’t buy the Greifer bit.

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  Sometimes, as in the case of Nikola Tesla, who’s mentioned early in this book, a great creative or scientific mind achieves considerable heights—only to slowly, or suddenly, seem to “flip” completely. These thinkers, after having been rational, zoom off in some totally illogical direction. A perfect, or imperfect, example of this was the internationally eminent psychoanalyst and onetime friend of Sigmund Freud, Wilhelm Reich.

  Reich, who loomed as one of the giants of psychoanalysis, was associated with Dr. Freud for some years. Later the two had a permanent disagreement. Going off in his own direction, he built his reputation higher and higher, along with others who had independent ideas about mental therapy, like Carl Jung and Theodore Reik.

  An Austrian who turned to Communism in the early Thirties, the analyst brought out a book titled The Function of the Orgasm. This very widely-read volume took the position that the only thing wrong with neurotics was a “lack of full and repeated sexual satisfaction.” None too wise politically, he found that his works were completely rejected by the Party as nonsense.

  Proving even less popular with the Nazis than he was with the Communists, Reich fled from Germany to Denmark shortly thereafter. He wasn’t well received there, and he moved on to other Scandinavian countries—finally ending up in the capitol of, Norway. In Oslo, he lived for a while and continued his works, but with an almost unfailing talent he made himself loathed there also, and was driven from that liberal little country. As was the case with so many European intellectuals, Wilhelm Reich finally landed in the United States. Soon after his arrival, he created and presented to a small specialized public his “Orgone Institute,” which he referred to as an experimental effort. He also started a private publishing operation to translate and publish the works of “Wilhelm Reich.”

  During this period several important psychoanalytic books became available to the American reader: The Function of the Orgasm, The Mass Psychology of Fascism and Character Analysis.

  After having established the healthy sex life as being the very foundation of a happy social and political culture, Reich began the development of his second dominant theory—the theory of orgone energy. This was a really far-out biophysical idea which might be related to “the ether” which was so widely discussed at one time—even to the point where it was considered the essence of nature. There was also a German named von Reichenbach who devoted many years of his life during the last century to the investigation of what he called the “odic force.” This “energy” was supposed to be very fundamental and also to have great healing power. The Baron’s theories bore a close relationship to the latter offerings of Reich. (All claims of partially reincarnated names will be rejected.) But back to the orgone theory.

  Reich claimed that his orgone energy resembled “static electricity,” and originated from the sun. It was the essential life force, and had the power to heal and put humans into their proper living rhythm. Orgone energy is reportedly sort of blue, which is pretty nice, you have to admit, and is more or less a natural electricity. It’s related to all living organisms, and being the real life force, everything dies if it’s removed. It’s all over the place, and it gets into the system through the lungs and drinking water. This is obvious, since it’s in all air and water—getting into them through the rays of the sun.

  The way to health, according to the late offbeat psychoanalyst, was to have a free movement, to and fro through the body, of the orgone energy. Unfortunately, it seems that Reich found that the air and water didn’t have enough concentrated orgone force, and so he decided that it was necessary to discover a way of providing a concentrated supplement of the stuff. To achieve this end, he invented and designed a thing he called an “accumulator,” which I mentioned earlier. This curious compartment looked like an upright telephone booth, and it was composed of several layers of different materials. This multiple construction was supposed to “accumulate” orgone in the box. The theory was that if you have alternate layers of organic and inorganic material you established a controlled area where the orgone energy is collected from the atmosphere. In other words, although what goes up must come down, according to Reich, what goes in apparently doesn’t have to come out. And so, depending on how many layers were used to build the “accumulater,” various amounts of the mystical life force stuff was concentrated in the enclosure and the patient simply had to go inside and sit for a while to benefit from its glorious effects. A great many of these boxes were constructed and rented by the Reichian organization, all across the country.

  Of course, the size of the boxes made them impractical to some people, like those who lived in small quarters or were on the move frequently, and so another version of Accumulator was devised—the orgone blanket. Such blankets were often made at home by the patients themselves, since the basic construction was relatively uncomplicated. All you had to do to have one of your very own was lay one layer of organic material, such as most animal-originated fabrics, on a layer of inorganic material like metal mesh. You do this over again, two or three times; or you add other alternating levels; and then you sew the thing all around the sides, and if you want to keep everything in place sew criss-cross back and forth several times in each direction. This is an orgone blanket. Lie underneath it for an hour or so and it will help what ails you, if your powers of auto-suggestion are strong enough.

  But what is this stuff Reich raves about? What is orgone? Besides being a mystical, indescribable, all-, or at least semi-, powerful force? Well, as I mentioned before, it’s blue
and is found in all air and water—which obviously explains why the sky is blue and the ocean is blue. “Heat” that rises from the swamps, or deserts, or sun-pounded roadways, is not heat, but orgone. Static on your radio, or interference on your television set, or sun spots, or erratically functioning electric razors, or electrical storms, or streaked photographic film, and sometimes even so-called “spirit photos” are all caused by orgone. Will-o-the-wisps may be orgone, and fox-fire, and “ghosts.” As a matter of fact, almost anything can be, since it is, according to Reich, like God, everywhere.

  In the human being, it flows back and forth through his body, reaching every cell and corpuscle. It’s the entire basis of sexual energy, and during intercourse it is attracted toward the genital regions; at the orgasm it concentrates in the sexual organs. After the orgasm, it slowly flows back to every portion of the body once more.

  But that wasn’t the total of the Reich pitch. He also goes into the cancer cure bit, and, as a matter of fact, there were few healing hopes he didn’t play on. Almost all reputable psychoanalysts and psychiatrists had rejected him and his later theories long before, and now he was being attacked by most of the sciences, with medicine in the lead. Social and ethical groups condemned him. Eventually, his claims became so wild and his printed works so extravagant that the government stepped into his act. He was brought into court under the Pure Food and Drug Act, but he denied the court had any jurisdiction over him. He claimed that no one had the power to interfere with his “research” or prevent his spreading his particular brand of dangerous gospel. He went to jail for contempt of court, many of his books were destroyed, and his image was severely damaged in the eyes of the public. Of course, many of his more avid followers took the position that he had been martyred. When he died in prison, these disciples almost canonized him. However, the general public usually has a short memory and he passed out of common conversation fairly soon. Today, his works are still read by anyone interested in psychoanalysis, but the later writings stand as little more than curiosities to the serious student.