otwo Attempts: Scientology


In a vain attempt to reassert its personal intelligence, otwo meandered down to Abbey Street and into the Dianetics Centre…

I am converted! Sing it from the hilltops. Preach it to the people. Stop children on their way to school and berate them with nonsensical drivel. Batter it into their heads with a pool cue from a young age so they don’t know any different!


xenuOf course this is all obvious rubbish. I am not, nor will I ever be, a Scientologist.

Nevertheless, I dropped this bomb on myself. I pulled the trigger. This game has always been a pet peeve of mine. It fascinates me that such blatant disregard for human intelligence can quite easily weasel its way into the psyches of millions, preying on the weak-minded and exploiting the ignorant wealth of blundering idiots who have too much cash.

Scientology is indeed a religion based on a book, which was the conclusive result of L. Ron Hubbard’s ambiguous studies into the realm of the psyche. According to the man himself, our unhappiness is based upon our lack of understanding. Unfortunately, this motto also doubles as a blanket retort to anyone who questions Scientology. Based on practices outlined in his book, Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health, Hubbard sought to make people aware of their ‘Reactive Mind’, which, when explained to me, bore striking similarities to the subconscious.

Realising one’s reactive mind, apparently, helps improve one’s life – but not before handing out bucket loads of cold, hard cash for courses and seminars.

This all seems oddly benevolent, right? It’s not. Through his messy dismissal of the science of psychology, Hubbard gives introspective and phony validity to his methods. These methods, right down to his oddball terminology, are all heavily reminiscent of basic psychological practice. The idea of Dianetics is then a simplified, pilfered, and morally dangerous idea.

So, into the belly of the beast I went.

Firstly, they got to know about me – or rather, the version of me I peddled to them. Realistically they were trying to figure out what my purpose for being there was. “I’m having a crisis of faith… Nothing makes any sense to me anymore…” etcetera. As I sold them this initial crock of shit that constituted a fake personality, the surrounding became strikingly apparent.

This is a room that emanates comfort. Hospitality oozes from every crack in the floor. From their plush leather couches to their over-compensating flat screen, this area is tailor-made to lure you into a false sense of security. However, the grim reality of their emphasis on aesthetics does not stop at inanimate objects. The people I talked to were well dressed, meticulously groomed, and erratically vacant.

Upon convincing them that I was a genuinely susceptible individual, I was led to a small room that was decorated with copies of Hubbard’s book and pictures of the modern day saviour. I was made comfortable and given two steel rods to hold in a relaxed manner. These were to read my stress levels and give insights into my mental wellbeing according to my ‘Reactive Mind’s’… well, reaction.

Let’s get one thing straight right here. This machine is an electronic weighing scale. If you apply pressure to it, the indicator shoots up. If you relieve pressure, the needle goes down. There is nothing else to it. Nothing. So, between that and the fact that it resembles a Fisher Price toy designed for a toddler, I was not convinced.

The plot thickens.

According to the Auditor I am a happy, stable individual. Sounds good? Bollox. I’m not stable in the slightest. I’m an erratically anxious degenerate who has the personality complex of a budding obsessive compulsive. Regardless, I could do with some Dianetics counselling to iron out a few creases.

The long and the short of it is this: the people in this specific centre are passive wellwishers, who probably haven’t got a bad bone in their body. Sure, the idea resembles a bad science fiction plot, but that’s all these people seem to want when it comes down to it. We all know the brass tax of the situation. Hubbard was a writer of science fiction; a mad scientist of the imagination. That is it. His sense of self-worth verged on fascism and his regard for the common man was nothing short of patronising.

Unfortunately, Scientology operates on the basis of those that have gone before it. Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Mormonism, Scientology… all insist that they are right, and all are reasonably fictitious.

However – and this is a big one – while other religions more or less started out with a genuinely benevolent cause and were corrupted by humanity at a later date, Scientology was started by a corrupt nutjob and perpetuated to a gullible society.

These people could have been subscribed to any ideology or faith had it made itself present at a vulnerable stage in their lives. It just so happens that the backward army of Hubbard’s minions got there first.

Now that there are words on the page, I’m off to join the Cruiser and Johnny Boy on the runway for some first class circle-jerking, and maybe some light gay bashing.

Happy Christmas everybody!