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[Let this article serve as an example to persuade you to purchase The Tree
of Lies by Christopher S. Hyatt, Ph.D. Publisher: New Falcon Publications, 655
East Thunderbird, Phoenix, Arizona 85022, USA. Phone: (602) 246-2546. You are also highly
recommended to visit Robert Anton Wilson's website -- http://www.rawilson.com.]
I remember the first time I entered Alternate Reality and
accepted a lie as fact. I was five or six years old at the time and my parents had taken
me to see a wonderful movie called The Wizard of Oz. Toward the end of the film there was
a scene in which the Wicked Witch of the West, riding her broom, wrote in the sky like one
of the mysterious skywriting airplanes that I was accustomed to seeing. The airplanes
always wrote the same strange message-I.J. FOXFINE FURS-but the Wicked Witch wrote
something far different and absolutely terrifying. She wrote:
SURRENDER DOROTHY
I was so frightened that I burst into tears. My parents had
a hell of a job quieting me down, and I must have annoyed all the adults in the theater.
Today, over 50 years later, I understand better what had happened. Sitting in the dark,
staring at the movie screen, I had crossed the line between "reality" and
"fantasy"-a line that is not nearly as firm for a child as it is (or seems to
be) for an adult. Dorothy's danger, up there on the screen, was more "real" than
my safety, down in the dark audience. This may or may not qualify as an imprinting
experience in the Lorenzian sense, but it was traumatic in the Freudian sense. Even today,
as I typed the terrible words "Surrender Dorothy," I felt a reflex shudder pass
through me.
Well, a few years later I was able to distinguish movies
from "real" reality. I watched the Frankenstein monster wreak havoc on the
villagers, King Kong run amok in New York, Lon Chaney Jr. turn into a werewolf, and none
of it fooled me. I was amused at the younger kids who screamed during these films, or
closed their eyes "in the scary parts." Still-only my conscious ego, or
forebrain, was immune to the hypnosis. I still jumped when the director pulled his shock
scene.
Watching adult audiences these days, none of whom believe
literally in Indiana Jones or the Temple of Doom, or even in Batman and Joker, I see that,
whatever they think they know, parts of their old brain, and of their bodies, still enter
hypnosis easily. That's why they gasp, and cringe, and breathe hard, and have similar
physical reactions, when things get rough up there on the silver screen. I can still see
these reactions in myself, too, of course.
Only a small part of our brains, or our "selves,"
is able to resist the lies of a good artist. Nobody can sit through Alien, I would wager,
without at least one sound of fear or distress escaping their lips during that
"ordeal"...which consists only of looking at pictures projected on a screen...
A movie theater is the best place to learn the true meaning
of Plato's parable of the prisoners in the cave, who accept shadows as reality. Every
artist who moves us, from a movie maker to Beethoven or Shakespeare, is a bit of a
hypnotist.
In this sense that seemingly stupid and mechanical
contraption we call "society" must rank as the greatest artist on the planet.
For instance, when I was seven or eight, and feeling superior to the kids who closed their
eyes "during the scary parts," I was entering a deep hypnosis created by another
Virtual Reality called language. This hypnosis was a worse nightmare than the Wicked Witch
of the West or King Kong or the Wolf-Man or any of their kith and kin, but it made me a
"member of society"-and "a member of the Body of Christ" as well.
The hypnosis was performed by the good and pious nuns at
the school to which my parents sent me. Every day, school began with a prayer. After
lunch, there was another prayer. When lessons were finished for the day, before they let
us go, there was another prayer. Five days a week, September to June every year, for eight
years, these prayers formed my consciousness into a Catholic mold. They were reinforced by
Religious Knowledge class, in which we memorized the catechism, containing all the dogmas
of the church. We had to pass examinations on that, just like we did in arithmetic, as if
the two subjects were equally valid.
The result of all these prayers and all that memorization
was that I came to do well in a Virtual Reality in which a nasty old man living on a cloud
a few miles above Earth was watching me all the time and would probably charbroil me or
roast me or toast me if he ever caught me doing anything he didn't like. He was called
God. He had a partner, even nastier, called Satan, who presided over the charbroiling and
roasting and toasting, in caverns that honeycomb the hollow Earth. Between the two of
them, God and Satan, life was far more terrifying than any "horror movie."
As a result of all the lies the nuns told me, I became a
pretty good liar myself. When it came time for high school, I convinced my parents I
wanted to be an engineer. That persuaded them to send me to Brooklyn Technical High
School, and I didn't have to listen to the nuns drone on about God and Satan and Hell and
all that horror movie stuff anymore. That was my real goal-getting out of the Catholic
nexus. I didn't want to become an engineer at all.
At seventeen I became a Trotskyist. That was hot stuff in
New York in the late 1940s. We Trots were more radical than anybody, or we thought we
were. Of course, I was lying to myself again. Who the hell knows enough, at seventeen, to
make an intelligent or informed choice among competing political ideologies? I had picked
Trotskyism because one part of my mind was still Catholic and needed a hierarchy; the
Central Committee made a good substitute for the Vatican. It allowed me to feel modern,
scientific, "altruistic," brave, rebellious etc. and it did all my thinking for
me.
At eighteen I quit The Party just before they could expel
me. I pledged allegiance to the principles of individualism, free thought and agnosticism.
From now on, I said, I will not by hypnotized by groups: I will think for myself.
Naturally, I then spent over 20 years following various intellectual and political fads,
always convinced I had at last escaped group conditioning and finally started
"really" thinking for myself. I went from Agnosticism back to dogmatic atheism,
and then to Buddhism; I bounced from Existentialism to New Left Activism to New Age
Mysticism and back to Agnosticism. The carousel turned around and around but I never found
a way to stop it and get off.
All this, mind you, occurred within the network of
language-the Virtual Reality created by the strange symbol-making capacity of the upper
quarter inch of our front brain. Language created God and Satan and Hell, in my childhood,
and it created Liberty and Equality and Justice and Natural Law and other fictions that
obsessed me at other stages of my "development." Language creates spooks
that get into our heads and hypnotize us. [emphasis added]
It is obvious, once one considers the subject at all, that
our eyes cannot see the whole universe. They can't even see the whole room in which we
happen to be sitting (they only see what is front of us, and not all of that...)
Similarly, our stomachs cannot swallow the whole universe, and our brain cannot
"know" the whole universe (they only know the signals they have received up to
this second, and do not remember all of them consciously...)
Nonetheless, language programs us to try to speak, or to
accidentally give the impression that we are trying to speak, as if we possessed the kind
of infallibility claimed by the Pope or the Central Committee of a Marxist party. That is,
language allows us to say things like "The rose is red," and in the mild
hypnosis of this Virtual Reality we then promptly forget that the rose is more and other
than red- that it is fragrant, for example, and that it is temporary and will wither soon,
and that it is made of electrons, which are made of quarks, and that it "is"
only red to creatures with eyes like ours, etc.
Every over-simplification becomes a lie quickly (if we are
not very cynical about language); ergo, language always lies, just because it
over-simplifies. From "The rose is red" to "The National Debt forces us to
raise taxes again" to "ARKANSAS MOM RAPED BY MIDGETS FROM MARS" to
"Pornography is murder" (A. Dworkin) we proceed from one fiction to another,
every time we open our mouths to speak.
(See my Quantum Psychology, New Falcon Publications, 1990,
for further examples of how language creates a Virtual Reality experienced as just as real
as a bottle of beer and a ham sandwich.)
Is it is possible to use language to undo the hallucinations
[emphasis added] created by language? The task seems impossible, but Zen riddles, Sufi
jokes, the works of Aleister Crowley, and a few heroic efforts by philosophers such as
Nietzsche and Wittgenstein seem able to jolt readers awake-shake them out of the hypnosis
of words. The following book by Dr. Hyatt [The Tree of Lies] also makes that
gallant effort to use words to transcend words. Success in this field does not depend on
the author alone, however. It requires not only the right words, but the right reader at
the right time, before the shock and awakening can occur.
Will it work for you? I don't know, but the odds of a
favorable outcome increase if you do not "browse" or "skim" but read
and re-read carefully, meditating all the while on the following two propositions:
1. Words can never say what words can never say.
2. With the right reader at the right time, words can, in
fact, say what they can never say.
One of those propositions is the most dangerous lie in this
book. Can you see which one it is?
Robert Anton Wilson
Los Angeles, CA
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