Alec Nevala-Lee

Thoughts on art, creativity, and the writing life.

Posts Tagged ‘Jon Atack

Hubbard and the Little Its

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In his very peculiar memoir Monitors, the pulp writer and occultist Arthur J. Burks shares three significant stories about his friend L. Ron Hubbard. One is the discussion of Hubbard’s supernatural protector, whom I’ve identified elsewhere with Saint Helena; the second is the anecdote about his supposed past life as a pirate; and the third is an incident so strange that I’m frankly not quite sure what to do with it. It all started in the early forties, while Burks, his wife, and their spiritual partner, whom he calls the Dominicana, were staying with some friends on Long Island. One evening, the Dominicana awoke to hear a noise like “a ball being bounced in the sitting room,” along with “big shoes being dragged about the floor.” When they asked their monitor, or spirit guide, what it was, he responded through automatic writing that they were being visited by “kobalds” [sic], or earth spirits:

They are to be attached to you, if you do not object—you always have free will—for some education…Whenever people think, feel, talk, or do anything, there are always invisibles waiting to learn something. They assemble with the speed of thought, as to a great class in school. The difference here is that you know it, and that your pupils are not human…They are of Mongol derivation.

The monitor informed them that the kobalds were “thousands of years, many thousands of years” old; that they would go by the nicknames Blackie and Whitie; and that they were “very small.”

After Burks and the two women returned to New York, the kobalds, who were also known as “the Little Its,” came with them as well, and they had allegedly had an encounter there with Hubbard, whom Burks calls the Redhead:

One afternoon the Redhead walked in on us. We hadn’t seen him since the “appearance” of the kobalds. He was in uniform. He sat on the couch. We waited to see whether he would be aware of The Little Its. Suddenly something in the middle of the bare floor caught his attention. He began to laugh. “What are they?” asked the Redhead. “Little men?”

The fact that Hubbard was “in uniform” points to a period sometime after July 1941, after he had returned from Alaska and succeeded in obtaining a commission in the Navy. Burks continues:

We tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. He was holding out two forefingers, pointing at each other, but a foot or two apart. We gathered from him that the “little men” were using [his] forefingers as parallel bars. Redhead chucked over The Little Its with great delight, and since he could “understand” them, they sometimes served him as messengers to us.

Hubbard’s involvement in the story ends here, leaving a number of intriguing implications. Jon Atack, the author of the excellent biography A Piece of Blue Sky, has suggested that the Little Its were precursors to the “body thetans” who appear later in Hubbard’s teachings. Their first known appearance is a recording of an auditing session that Hubbard underwent with his new wife, Mary Sue, in April 1952, in which he describes them as invisible entities who have been sent to earth for reeducation: “These things have mutinied, so let’s put ‘em all in one place and lock ‘em on to earth. They gotta stay on earth till we get ‘em straightened out.” (He describes them later as “body holders, horse holders, boot polishers.”) Eventually, he redefined them as the disembodied beings who were blown up in a volcano during the Xenu incident, of which Hubbard wrote:

One’s body is a mass of individual thetans stuck to oneself or to the body. One has to clean them off by running incident II and Incident I. It is a long job, requiring care, patience and good auditing. You are running beings. They respond like any preclear. Some large, some small.

Hubbard went on to explain: “Body thetans are just thetans. When you get rid of one he goes off and possibly squares around, picks up a body or admires daisies.” And while they aren’t exactly the same as the Little Its, the concepts are similar enough that it’s tempting to draw a line from one to the other.

Yet I think that the real takeaway here is less about the specific arrow of influence—which would be hard to demonstrate in any case—than about the general shape of Hubbard’s development. It’s a theme that I don’t emphasize in Astounding, mostly because I got to thinking about it fairly late in the process, but I think it’s helpful for making sense of his career. Hubbard’s life can seem episodic and disorganized, but it had a hidden continuity that even his most diligent biographers have difficulty bringing forward. From the beginning, he was interested in such esoteric figures as Saint Helena and Sir Richard Francis Burton, and regardless of the accuracy of Burks’s recollections, there seems to be little doubt that the two men explored the occult together at length, and that Burks provided Hubbard with much of his mystical vocabulary. (In the “Affirmations,” Hubbard refers repeatedly to the “All Powerful,” which is a term that appears frequently in Monitors.) In this light, Hubbard’s sojourn in Pasadena with the magician and rocket scientist Jack Parsons, which can otherwise seem like a bizarre detour, only represents a return to a line of experimentation that he had explored half a decade earlier. During the development of dianetics, these elements retreated into the background, possibly because of John W. Campbell’s presence, but they returned to the forefront as soon as Hubbard went off on his own, with the addition of space opera themes that he took from his initial circle of followers. The Little Its can best be understood as part of the reservoir of ideas on which Hubbard drew whenever he was running low on inspiration. If the kobalds eventually returned in another form, it was simply because they never left.

Written by nevalalee

May 7, 2018 at 8:43 am

Hubbard and the Empress

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One afternoon in the early forties, the pulp writer Arthur J. Burks was seated in the lobby of a publishing firm in New York when he ran into his friend L. Ron Hubbard. The two authors had been close for years—Burks had seen Hubbard’s unpublished manuscript Excalibur, a work on the mind that he later called “the strangest book I ever read”—and their interests ran along similar lines. With the help of his wife and a second woman, Burks had been experimenting with spiritualism, and the three enthusiasts believed that they were in contact with a number of “monitors,” or spirit guides, who spoke by rapping on a table or through automatic writing. When Burks brought Hubbard home that day, it soon became clear that he was a promising addition to their group. In his occult memoir Monitors, Burks recalls of the man whom he calls “Redhead”:

Almost before we were able to explain anything that was happening to us, [Hubbard] told us this: “I was the first flier in the United States to gain a glider pilot’s license. I loved gliders. But sometimes I took too great chances and found myself in difficulties. I shortly learned, though, that when I was in danger, ‘someone’ looked after me. If I was trying to find the ground through the heart of a thunderstorm, and feared a fatal crash, and looked out to see a smiling woman sitting on one of my wings, I knew I would come through. She was always there, and visible, when I knew myself in great trouble.”

The others exchanged meaningful looks, and one of their “monitors” indicated that he had something to say. When Burks’s spiritual partner finished writing the message, it read: “His monitor is a saint. She was a woman. Tell him what has happened so far.”

According to Burks, they spoke with the spirit world for hours, with another guide providing “the name of Redhead’s monitor, together with historical data about her.” When they were unable to find the name in a dictionary, the monitor told one of the women to leaf through the volume with a pencil, which led to this dramatic moment:

Suddenly she stabbed down the pencil, holding several pages. The topmost page told the story. But the name indicated was an entirely different one! It was indeed the name of a saint, about whom much appeared in the big book. And at the very end of the biographical material appeared this line: “Also called…” And that name was that which had been given us, its middle letter holed by the lead pencil point.

Even if we don’t take Burks’s account at face value, we can add it to our limited stock of information about Hubbard’s guardian spirit. Years later, in the secret autobiographical document known as the “Affirmations,” Hubbard provided a few other details, including her name:

The most thrilling thing in your life is your love and consciousness of your Guardian. She materializes for you. You have no doubts of her. She is real. She is always with you. You love her very much. You trust her. You see and hear her. She is not your master. You have a mighty spiritual will of your own. She is an advisor and as such is respected by you. She is wise and worthy and never changes shape…She has copper red hair, long braids, a lovely Venusian face, a white gown belted with jade squares. She wears gold slippers. Thus you see her…Only Flavia Julia and then the All Powerful have opinions worth inclining toward.

Who was Flavia Julia, and what did she mean to Hubbard? There have been a number of efforts to fill in the blanks, beginning with a letter that the author’s friend Jack Parsons wrote to Aleister Crowley: “[Hubbard] describes his Angel as a beautiful winged woman with red hair whom he calls the Empress and who has guided him through his life and saved him many times.” Hubbard’s estranged son later claimed that his father referred to her as Hathor, while the biographer Jon Atack shrewdly associates her with the goddess Diana, whose name had a special significance to Hubbard. (He named his daughter after her, along with one of his yachts, and Atack even suggests that she also inspired the term “dianetics,” which was officially derived from the Greek roots meaning “through the mind.”) But I think that the one who comes the closest is the journalist Lawrence Wright, who writes in a note in Going Clear:

In the “Affirmations,” Hubbard explicitly names his Guardian Flavia Julia. He may have been referring to Flavia Julia Titi, daughter of the Roman Emperor Titus; or, perhaps more likely, to the Empress Flavia Julia Helena Augustus, also known as Saint Helen, mother of Constantine the Great, who is credited with finding the “True Cross.”

In fact, the association with Saint Helena seems exceptionally convincing. Her full name includes “Flavia Julia”; she’s often depicted in art as a beautiful young woman, although she was at an advanced age when her son converted to Christinaity; and she’s one of the few Roman Catholic saints who could be accurately described as an Empress.

And the clincher is hiding in plain sight. Hubbard spent much of his childhood in Helena, Montana, of which Russell Miller writes in the biography Bare-Faced Messiah:

Helena in 1913 was a pleasant city of Victorian brick and stone buildings encircled by the Rocky Mountains, whose snow-dusted peaks stippled with pines provided a scenic backdrop in every direction. The Capital Building, with its massive copper dome and fluted doric columns, eloquently proclaimed its status as the first city of Montana, as did the construction of the neo-Gothic St. Helena Cathedral, which was nearing completion on Warren Street.

The italics are mine. A few pages later, Miller adds: “Ron was enrolled at the kindergarten at Central School on Warren Street, just across from the new cathedral which, with its twin spires and gray stone facade, towered reprovingly over the city. Most days he was walked to school by his aunts, Marnie and June, who were at Helena High, opposite Central School.” A glance at Google Street View reveals that, even today, if you stand at the entrance of the old Central School and look northeast, you’ll be facing the cathedral’s twin spires, and the most direct route between Hubbard’s house and school would have taken him right by it. Hubbard, in short, spent much of his boyhood—from 1914 to 1921—in the shadow of a cathedral named for Saint Helena. He would have walked past it nearly every day, and if he ever ventured inside, he would have seen the Empress herself depicted in the stained glass window in the north transept. We don’t know why he was so drawn to her, but Saint Helena was best known for her search for relics in the Holy Land, and the story of the vision that led her to the True Cross may well have appealed to a man who would spend years looking for treasure that he had buried in past lives. Hubbard seems to have genuinely believed that she was his guide and protector, and from his point of view, he was perfectly right. She was the patron saint of new discoveries.

Written by nevalalee

April 19, 2018 at 9:47 am

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