All Hail Xenu

I just had a bit of an open-eyed visual. Some scientologists might tell me that this is a "whole-track" memory fragment from a long-dead alien. 

Yes, and pineapples make excellent sexual partners.

I have only met one self-proclaimed scientologist, and I could not begin to fathom the levels of deep-seated gullibility that permeated her entire worldview. I mean, if you want to join an enriching, life-changing organization that will occupy years of your life, why not volunteer for the Peace Corps? It's cheaper, more fulfilling for you, beneficial to others, you get to keep your identity, and you don't have to read the shitty sci-fi that L Ron Hubbard pretends to be scripture. 

I earnestly tried to read some of his works just to say that I have some clue as to what is going on with the "church." Honestly, the infamous Battlefield Earth was not too bad despite some things based in science from the silly dimension. Sure, it was flat and firmly rooted in the sort of turn-your-brain-off freneticism akin to the Transformers franchise, but that's fine for pulp sci-fi written by a college dropout. (Believe it or not, I love many "uneducated" authors. Whitman, Melville, and Faulkner never completed university.)

 Dianetics, on the other hand, is pseudo-philosophical pineapple wankery at its weakest. It is at once intentionally dense and vague. Prenatal memories,  reincarnation, and a very (very) loose understanding of Freud's theories are present in the book. I can't tell you much more beyond that--I stopped paying attention after the third syllogistic fallacy ostensibly borrowed from psychoanalysis. For a "religion" that believes psychology kills, their daddy baked a ton of it in there.

In all, Dianetics reads like a middle-school kid wanted to merge philosophy, psychology, technology, and religion into a land of fantasy where he was popular and smart and no one wanted to pour rubber cement down his pants, anymore. It is a very sad, sophomoric attempt at an ideology. Hell, Whitman didn't attend school past age eleven, but his philosophical ideals are immeasurably more valuable and infinitely less convoluted. 

If Hubbard wanted the sort of "spiritual healing technology" to be real, he should have simply developed an electric enema that costs four thousand dollars.