Inside Scientology/Dianetics How I Joined Dianetics/Scientology and Became Superhuman by Robert Kaufman (1995 revision) The first work ever to disclose the secret Scientology materials. Foreword: Son of Scientology Epigraph Endorsements A message from the author Robert Kaufman A Letter in Scientologese Preface Introduction: Dianetics, the Ultimate Do-It-Yourself Book PART I: The Franchise Raw Meat Preclear Marty The New York Org Saint Hill The OT II The Dianetics Course Auditing Live Preclears A Scientology Party Life on the Outside An Evening at the Franchise Scientology Cognition PART II: The Hill The Manor The Power Process Solo Audit Class The Tapes OTs and Other Superhumans Solo Packs A-D Bruce Twin Checkouts The Bank The Sea Org Albert Ward Practical Drills Final Preparations and Solo Audit Out-Going Lines PART III: The AOUK The Upper Levels The Special Briefing Course PART IV: In the Wog World Scientology Sickness Beyond the Wall of Fire Life in Present Time Postscripts APPENDICES: Scientologiana A. Dramatic Personae Update B. English Translation of "Scientologist's Letter" C. Scientology Today D. The High Cost of Infinity E. Processing Revisited F. A Message from L. Ron Hubbard, May 9, 1984 G. From Hubbard's Axioms H. Success Stories I. Security Checks J. The Clearing Course Materials (1968 and Perhaps Subsequent) K. A Tempered Word for Scientology L. Whither Scientology? M. Scientologese N. First Abridged Unapproved Dictionary of Scientologese Robert Kaufman died of cancer on 29 July 1996. During the final years of his life, Robert Kaufman revised the manuscript of his book, Inside Scientology (published in 1972), but could not sell it to a publisher. (The extent of revision may be roughly guaged by comparing the Tables of Contents.) In late 1995, with his health failing, he gave a copy of the WordPerfect files to Keith Spurgeon <[email protected]> for distribution on the Internet. In August 1996, Keith emailed the files (which are in somewhat haphazard form) to Dean Benjamin <[email protected]>, who edited the manuscript and formatted it for the World Wide Web in November 1997. Robert Kaufman was eulogized on alt.religion.scientology by his friends Paulette Cooper and Monica Pignotti. Foreword Son of Scientology (Life May Get Even Stranger When You Write an Expose) This is my account of my several years immediately following breaking with a cult group, focusing especially on events about the time of and subsequent to my publishing a book about my experiences in the group. Definitions of "cult" abound. The word began to undergo some change in usage several decades ago. At one time it suggested a rather innocuous interest in or adherence to some subject or belief (though even then there was, typically, a charismatic leader on the scene). Nowadays, "cult" implies something onerous, sinister and threatening. Anti-cult factions sometimes use the epithet "destructive" with "cult," just to make sure that it isn't the old relatively easy-going groups under consideration. The anti- (counter-) cult associations of the past few years have identified many signs and symptoms of "cultishness." Organization such as C.A.N., the Cult Awareness Network, often refer to the revealing list of cultish qualities drawn up by Professor Robert J. Lifton, in his Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism, a Study of Brainwashing in China, such as a propensity to distort language and to limit probative thinking. For me, the word "predatory" says a lot about destructive cults; the organization, or guru in charge, exacts money, administrative services and sometimes sex from its members. An all-influencing leader (guru) is practically a requisite of these groups. As good a short definition as any is framed in The Guru Papers by Joel Kramer and Diana Alstad (Frog, Ltd., Berkeley, California, 1995): "(cults are) authoritarian groups with a leader who has few constraints ... is unchallengeable and considered infallible." Around the early summer of 1968 I flew to England to take the so-called Scientology secret processes. I had just turned age 35, what may seem like an advanced age for such a dubious adventure, and my course from being totally ignorant of Scientology to pursuing it's founder and leader L. Ron Hubbard's "stratosphere" was wayward. I had first heard of Scientology from friends in the mid-'60s, and later befriended and came under the influence of "franchise owners," who ran their own auditing establishment, though still affiliated with the central organization, who guided me through Hubbard's elementary courses while seeking to avoid the excesses of what they freely acknowledged was a fanatic group. Somewhere along the way I got "hooked." The Lower Grades, the Scientology pathway I traversed in '67-'68 in New York, are rather innocuous, dealing with earthly fodder, such as problems, guilt and communication. It was only after I'd passed through all five Grades, and was taught to draw other people to the Franchise and audit them myself (act as a Scientology practitioner), that the cultist's bug bit me, and I was persuaded by my "in" friends that I should seek the Golden Fleece, specifically the "Clearing Process," then available only at a training school not far from London. My experience with the Scientologists, both in England and later in Edinburgh, Scotland, was a disaster. (I've described it in detail in my book Inside Scientology/Dianetics, also available on The Internet.) The powerful suggestions I was given via Hubbard's tapes and bulletins advising me that Scientology was my only hope for happiness were at odds with the frightening things I observed around me. After just two weeks in England, a violent struggle ensued within me that I kept submerged out of my awareness, causing me sleepless nights, bad nerves, and a touch of paranoia (which runs strongly in Scientology and I suspect other cults as well). When my better senses, or guardian angel, warned me I was wasting away, I managed to break from the group and return to New York ("escape" would not be inappropriate, since my return flight ticket was being held as "security" and I had to pass through a gauntlet to get away). I did not recover once away from the group; my symptoms persisted unabated. My New York Scientology friends tried to help me, but their efforts, consisting largely of more auditing, only had the effect of keeping me stuck to Scientology concepts -- like using a poison as an antidote to itself. After a few weeks back in New York, I became so scared, depressed and suicidal that I presented at a psychiatric ward, where I stayed for five more weeks. Out of the ward, I took up with the same nonsense once again, letting my friends audit me on the latest techniques they'd picked up while I was institutionalized. Just when I was about ready for more incarceration, I visited an M.D., a regular internist, who I hoped would give me a sleeping potion. Unbeknownst to me, he happened to be a "Doctor Feelgood," who solved all of his patients' problems with injections of methamphetamine (liquid speed) and vitamins, a highly addictive and dangerous concoction. The doctor stayed open seven days a week, and had a nurse on duty most of the time to administer the shots. He would never inform me what precisely he was giving me. When I did find out about a year later, from a magazine article about "fashionable doctors," it took me no great leap of reasoning to conclude that my doctor was about as wicked as L. Ron Hubbard himself. However, my drug addiction did pull me away from Scientology. With the relief from the injections, I lost interest in auditing, and my mind was free to scrutinize it. My big jump towards a measure of freedom occurred when two friends, not in any group, convinced me to write up my Scientology story from beginning to end. I embarked on this task with fervor, since it seemed a way to exorcise the demons that were lurking just below my drug-induced feeling of security. As my friends put it, "There's a lot there hiding beneath the surface and you've got to get it out of your system." At first I didn't think I had enough material for more than an article; once I'd made an outline, however, I knew I had the makings of a book. I was soon carried away with the compulsion to speak my mind, for I felt that my right to free speech and thought had been denied me for the three months I had spent at Scientology headquarters in Britain. I barely started the text, using a kind of speedwriting system, when it was announced that the ballet company I played piano for was going on their summer tour. Terrified, I pleaded with the doctor to give me a syringe and injection ingredients to take with me on my travels. He steadfastly lied, insisting there was nothing wrong with the injections, and that I didn't need them. I'd discovered that if I went without a shot for one day I had withdrawal symptoms that probably made heroin seem like cottage-cheese. As the ballet company flight descended to the Vienna airport, demons sprang in my mind and body. I spent the next ten days in that lovely town with nothing on my mind so much as getting a flight back to the States and visiting the doctor's. What kept me going was my job and writing my book. I'd awaken each morning unable to go back to sleep, so I'd take my manuscript to a coffeehouse and work on it.