Arthur Ronald Conway Hubbard

The Wild Mind – part XIX

Scientology 1.0.0 – chapter 26

“Sic itur ad astra” (“Thus one journeys to the stars.”) – Virgil, The Aeneid

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While we wait for a technology to help soothe our troubled minds and souls, hard science continues apace with its own projects.

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To the stars

Going farther, among other things, means going to the stars. That was always the plan, I’m pretty sure, ever since our oldest ancestors looked to the night sky and felt awe. (Okay, sure, maybe it wasn’t always “the plan” plan, but I think, possibly, in some ineffable way, it was.)

Ever since the earliest developments that would eventually give us the momentous scientific method, more people have seen the possibilities of how far we could go. From Galileo’s first observations through his little telescope, recorded in his book The Starry Messenger (great title, that), to the geniuses who designed the James Webb Space Telescope, we’ve been pushing our observations further and further outwards from Earth, which can only increase speculation as to the prospects for man’s ascendance into this vast, virtually limitless, frontier.

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Science art

The story of art influencing science is long and fascinating. Think what you might of science fiction writers; such geniuses as Jules Verne and H.G. Wells began to write popular books about man’s technological prospects in the 19th century, and people like Hugo Gernsback (1884–1967) further popularised the notion of space travel, exploration, and settlement by publishing the first science-fiction periodicals after being inspired by Percival Lowell. Percival Lowell (1855–1916) was an interesting guy—an American businessman, author, mathematician, and astronomer—who had a theory: that the markings he observed on Mars were in fact canals, urging further speculation regarding life on other planets, an idea utterly inconceivable in earlier eras.

Eventually, over time, from the late 19th century into the 20th, the wider public began to catch on to this new genre of storytelling, especially the exciting tales about how people might actually go about exploring outer space with rockets for instance, inspiring many youngsters to enter the STEM fields.
 
Any aficionado will also know that as science fiction gained an audience, another category of writing was growing in popularity: fantasy fiction. Fantasy has a direct link with the spiritualism and mysticism movements of the late 19th century and had a profound effect on many artists and writers of that time, including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (who also wrote science fiction and whose famous detective Sherlock Holmes had an influence on forensic science).

Science fiction and fantasy books, magazines, and comics played no small role in getting the Jet Propulsion Laboratory founded and the United States into the rocket game under the auspices of a number of inspired young men. Through the 1930s through the 1950s, clubs were formed around the science fiction genre, many members of whom were physicists, mathematicians, engineers, and chemists, and much more than favourite stories and plots were discussed; these groups became virtual laboratories of creative, outside-the-box  thinking.

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Scientific pessimism

Four days after my father died, the Space Shuttle Challenger blew up a minute after launching, killing its crew and the first civilian into space, Christa McAuliffe, a schoolteacher. It was a terrible tragedy and, as it would turn out, a damper on space exploration at that time. My father was extremely interested in seeing man get into outer space, and this event, besides being a shock for the world, saw a slide into public disenchantment with such projects, which fact would have been a great personal disappointment for him.

Over the next few decades, despite some excitement over information technology, mankind would more or less forget about space and get more earthbound and trapped—a great boon to the pharmaceutical and war industries, I’m pretty sure.

Science fiction took a dark turn, too. Stories about the dangers of space exploration, dire warnings of alien contact, and dystopian futures lorded over by evil technocrats or robots became increasingly popular fare.

Possibly as a result, certainly coincidentally, space travel and exploration haven’t seen any major developments in a while, such as new forms of escaping Earth’s gravity besides the rocket or impressive and inspiring landmark achievements such as landing actual people on the moon.

Personally, I think it would be really great for all mankind if this would change soon, which, if a certain billionaire has his way, just might.

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Scientific optimism

Because of the exponential increase in scientific discoveries and inventions and the rise of science fiction, the late 19th century through the 1960s saw public interest and support for miraculous inventions and landmark accomplishments become a cultural phenomenon. Flying cars, teleportation, and colonies on the Moon and Mars were thought to be inevitable by the end of the twentieth century.

(1908 futuristic cityscape by William Robinson Leigh)

From the late 1950s to the early 1970s, the United States raced the Soviets into space. This project both inspired and reflected a public optimism that, despite a seemingly endless nuclear threat, a series of assassinations, and a disastrous and demoralising war, persisted well after the moon landing in July of 1969.

That incredibly short period, historically speaking, actually did bring about a whole slew of miraculous developments in technology as well as a whole new level of consciousness. Maybe not flying cars and teleportation but Satellite TV, GPS, laptops, telemedicine, and even virtual reality were all things invented and developed as the result of the space race.

Additionally, during that time, people started to view the planet as a single, interconnected system, which sparked important social advancements like the environmental movement (before Grumpy Greta and others co-opted it).

On September 21st, 2012, I was at a supermarket when I noticed all the shoppers excitedly rushing outside. Wondering what was going on, I joined them in time to see the final flight of the Space Shuttle Endeavour, piggy-backed on a 747 and escorted by fighter planes flying by so close that one felt you could’ve touched them. It was very impressive, and the crowd waved and cheered, possibly proof that it would indeed be an inspiring thing to keep humanity’s eye extroverted on space and dreaming of miracles.

Perhaps such extravagant games and projects as the space race are vital for mankind because, despite those that wish to keep him earthbound (if not actually six feet under), they place his attention on expansion, which is the essential nature of his spirit: to know more, to do more, to be more, and to “boldly go where no one has gone before.”

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Creation and courage

To do anything or go anywhere no one has done or gone before, especially anywhere requiring invention like outer space, is to be both courageous and creative.

You know, I keep repeating basic Scientology 1.0.0 things like “creation is the key,” “mankind is creative,” etc., etc., but when I gird myself to get my occasional (very occasional – I value my peace of mind) dose of mainstream media, their message is almost always the opposite: mankind is dangerously stupid and suicidally destructive, therefore “draconian regulation and heavy policing are the only solution to him.”

And advanced technologies? Things like AI? What do the experts say about that? Well, ultimately, after stealing all our jobs, leaving us drifting and purposeless and living on UBI (that’s Universal Basic Income—something for children; usually it’s called an “allowance”), then technology will take over entirely and, probably by means of some sort of Social Credit System, just do away with us for good because nobody’s perfect (bye-bye mankind, you rotten old so-and-so).

But I object! Creation is the key, and people are creative—most of us anyway. I don’t mean necessarily that we are each innovative or inventive geniuses, but the greater majority of us have particular interests and abilities that allow us, if we are so inclined, to contribute to society in creative and unique ways.
 
By the way, that word “genius”? Today, it means exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability. Originally, though, it meant “attendant spirit, or tutelary deity, present from one’s birth,” and “innate ability or inclination” (late Middle English from Latin), and comes from the root of gignere “beget” (cause, bring about). The original sense then evolved into “a person’s characteristic disposition.” It wasn’t until the mid-17th century that “a person’s characteristic disposition” led to the sense of “exceptional natural ability.” It’s not clear that the ancients thought each individual person had an attendant spirit or guardian deity protecting them from birth and also conferring upon them any innate ability or inclination, but maybe so. Some thinkers have proposed that each of us is born with particular goals and purposes to be achieved in life, but many of us have long forgotten such things, and others of us, quite naturally, resent such a notion, perhaps because they have forgotten so thoroughly. I don’t know, something to ponder.

Anyway. The whole history of man, where he has flourished and thrived, has been a history of useful productive creativity and the faith (courage) that it will improve his lot. Man regresses to the degree that these activities are interrupted or suppressed, either by nature (droughts, plagues etc.) or himself (bad leadership, wars, fake pandemics, economic depressions, etc.). That is really the only proper measure of man’s success, materially speaking: creativity and productivity.

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The future

As science advances technology, there will always be some confusion, but this is what I think will happen: people will become even more creative and productive than they ever have been before.

No machine or AI can replace the sheer joy of making stuff. From high art to crafts, the pleasure of inventing, making, building, or growing things by hand will return with renewed vigour, not out of necessity but because it’s beautiful.
 
Certainly robots, AI, and whatnot will continue to do things and manufacture stuff, but when you want a new set of flatware or, perhaps, a gown or cabinet, you’re going to get them from a person who made them by hand. The number of organic micro-farms (same as traditional farms of a hundred years ago but armed with better technology) will most likely multiply too, because food from these places usually taste better.

As for art, it took a real dive in the 20th century, especially in the area of architecture. In the centuries before, every part of a building was decorated, but this eventually came to be seen as “gauche,” even “kitsch,” but mostly “impractical.” So stupid. The main issue, though, was that the money-crunchers and the architects they hired (actually, not architects but engineers) considered decorating buildings to be an unnecessary expense. I mean, bas-relief, murals, and mosaics are always an additional cost, so now that so many of us live in unembellished boxes, we have to travel half way around the world to visit cities in Europe where just walking their streets and looking around will always leave one refreshed, edified, and inspired.

Art is always an unnecessary expense for materialists (except as an investment). This is penny-wise but pound-foolish, however, because art is the embodiment of the soul in another form. The unfettered spirit is the wellspring of all technology and the actual source of all riches.

I think art will eventually see another renaissance, though, and then there will be the proper attention given to making everything amazing and beautiful again, but in whole new ways, of course.

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Beginning times

Before anyone accuses me of being unrealistically optimistic (a grave but all too common indictment usually levelled at persons considered to be all too fey or unsophisticated), I should say that my views are rooted in history. At least, I think they are.

History is not very well taught in our time, so when the mainstream and other pundits mewl and bark on and on about the end of it, the end of history (we are always at the end of history, snore), I just roll my eyes.

The “end is nigh!” is simply clickbait; good news does not attract the attention of unhappy people, and since “it bleeds, it leads” has always been the policy of any news organisation wishing to sell advertising space, tootling on about how we’re all going to die is good business.

As science and technology have advanced, they have become an additional scapegoat for whatever may befall us all. “There are 60 million nuclear warheads just waiting to be launched!” and “fossil fuels will kill us all!” and the like are not-uncommon statements meant to prove that we are all under the perpetual threat of mass extinction. With the tensions in places like Ukraine, Russia is once again being painted with a black brush with warnings of WWIII everywhere, and so it goes.

But here’s the thing: mankind is always under existential threat of one kind or another. Every generation before had its reasons to quail, but most of the time, most of the time, devastating disasters either didn’t happen or were solved before it was too late. Recently predicted events like global freezing by 1990 and Y2K didn’t materialise, and ever-evolving agricultural technologies have prevented global food shortages and starvation. (In fact, the greater availability of nutrition to all people has helped raise the overall IQ of the whole planet.)

I believe in humanity, and I like people (in general anyway; there’s plenty of specific individuals I’d like to see suffer exposure and trial), so I tend to be optimistic without failing to recognise the risks. I also understand that as the games of man become more complex and interesting, the stakes always rise at the same time. There’s no way to have exciting games without risking catastrophe. Being safe is the same thing as being dead.

The basic premise of the scientific method is so logical and sane that it can and is used to notice when things are actually going right or wrong in the world and, therefore, discover what to help or hinder. We do not use it perfectly, especially in politics, but we’re getting better at it.

We are at the very beginning of history all the time, not the end.

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The Cosmos

As a man climbs a mountain, he can see more and more of the whole world. Well, his whole world, not the whole world; that wouldn’t happen until December 11, 1966. (Perhaps more famously, everyone can remember the December 24th, 1968, photograph of planet Earth as taken by Apollo 8 astronaut William Anders, shown here.)

So shall it be for the entire universe. Man got to the Moon, will get to Mars, and, eventually, potentially, to every galaxy in the Cosmos.

Cosmos, by the way, means the universe seen as a well-ordered whole, or the world or universe regarded as an orderly, harmonious system. The word comes from Greek kósmos, “order, form, arrangement, the world or universe.” The key here is that “order” is natural in the universe and not chaos, as it is viewed by many of today’s experts. Chaos is simply what things look like if one cannot see the whole pattern, which we can’t and never will, because that would be cheating—a “no-game” situation, sort of like peeking at the other guy’s cards. In ancient times, chaos was what there was before there was a world, a universe, or anything at all to look at. It’s a whole different conceptualisation.

Actually, it was this idea that creation itself was comprehensible, potentially understandable, that got us to where we are now. The Greeks went from a paradigm where the gods were hopelessly random and capricious (human) to thinking that maybe there was more to know and getting to work on it. Later, Christianity took up the project and played a massive role in setting up the original universities that were organised around this notion. They would never have bothered if they thought God’s creation was mere chaos.

I’d say it’s when one gets too stuck “inside” the universe (called “interiorisation” in Scientology 1.0.0), the sheer scope of the whole thing becomes so overwhelming that it prevents any perception of order, and it all becomes a mish-mash mess. That is, essentially, what the Cosmos looks like from a materialist’s point of view.

There will be no properly knowing the Cosmos, though, until man recognises that there are things even bigger than it and that he can know this too. Of course, that’s the domain of religion, and it’s imperative that we get it back into the mix.

Then, perhaps, science, awe, art, mysticism, and all the rest of it—could team up again.

And, in my not-so-humble opinion, that would be real science.

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