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Consider it an interlude, something always found in Chinese novels. Consider it a change of pace to rest the mind. This is also a way of stating my credentials, which are unconventional, of necessity. I belong to no organizations. I have no affiliations. I was once in academia, and had a promising career in philosophy, but I became disillusioned, and felt that I was complicit in a fraud, one that took the money and time of our nation’s youth, and gave very little of value in return. Specifically, I objected to teaching classes of 100, 350, 450 or 800 students. I did not create an institute, or a new age business. I don‘t travel around giving seminars. My autobiography must serve as my credentials, since it shows that I have experienced many of the things I write about. When my mother was pregnant with me, the doctors said she had cervical cancer. Both the GP and the oncologist agreed that she must have an immediate hysterectomy, with the inevitable abortion of me. Vanished too would have been my younger brother, the one who saved me in midlife, after I had fallen into the dark night of the soul. After my birth, the doctors checked her again for cancer. It was gone. She never had cancer. My mother only told me this when I was 57 and she was 79. I suppose she was afraid I would get a bad case of grandiosity. It did make me believe in miracles, though not in prayer. My mother was not religious. In 3rd and 4th grade, I was a kind of prodigy. I was reading high school books. I was the teacher's pet. But I didn't have any friends. For the next few years, I became the teacher's bane, the class clown, and the class cutup. By the time I hit 8th grade, I was back to being a serious student, but unfortunately for me, not of textbooks. They were just too boring. My grades were barely B's in high school and in college, but I was showered with scholarships and fellowships anyway, because I did well on the SATs and the GREs. Sometimes my teachers in HS would bring me books from a College library. I loved those, because they weren't textbooks. At 15, I read Plato's REPUBLIC, bought for me by my brother Ted. After that, I became a utopian dreamer. I had always been a daydreamer, but now my daydreams took on more focus. I also read the Mentor classics on science and philosophy, the History books of H.G. Wells, and the popularizations of 20th Century science by George Gamow. It was a crisp October night of my sophomore year in college, as I wandered alone across a deserted quad, when the question came to me, soft as a feather, whether social controversies could be resolved by experiments, the way disputes are settled in science? I pursued this question, not steadily, but now and then, despite uniform rejection and discouragement from all my professors, all my colleagues, and all my family. Edison said, “Genius is 2 percent inspiration, and 98 percent persistence.” At least, that is what he meant. I don't claim to be a genius, (nor do I deny it) but I do have one foot in the Western tradition, which proceeds by means of the occasional genius.
It took me 30 years of working on the problem, off and on, going down many blind alleys, before I finally solved it. Once solved, it looks simple. It looks obvious. It even looks trivial. Please remember that this was an "impossible" problem, so I make no apologies for taking several decades to solve it. The heart of that solution I have included in this book. I was never in a hurry. I wasn’t worried about being the first to publish. I knew there were no competitors. If I didn't succeed, centuries or millennia might pass before we had a science of civilization. We certainly need one. "Technology must not outweigh our humanity," said Albert Einstein. But that has already happened. By the time I was 50, I had figured out the basis for a science of civilization. By the time I was 60, I had figured out the basis for a paradox free physics, and had discovered that anti-matter has antigravity, which in turn allow us to dispense with "dark energy." But you will read about that later. This is an unorthodox biography, because I now wish to return to childhood, because I am more than a scientist, more than a philosopher. I am a mystic. I want to explain how that came about without any conscious intent on my part. I grew up on a primitive farm, without electricity, central heat, or indoor plumbing. We drank water with a pail that we all used, drinking water out of a bucket that I carried from the well down by the barn. We didn't heat the whole house, only the living room, with a wood burning stove. I carried the wood into the house each night. I went to school in a little town (pop. 300), and neither the school nor any of the houses had indoor plumbing. Thus, knocking over outhouses was one of our pranks on Halloween night, along with letting a cow into the school building, shooting out the few streetlights with BB guns, and throwing eggs into or on the cars of anyone we had a grudge against. We also built barricades down Main Street, with hay bales or huge empty oil drums. This kind of hooliganism was traditional and tolerated. I am not complaining. I am exulting. It was a wonderful life, vanished now from the American scene. There was nothing cozier than to sit on one side of my mother, my older brother on the other, while the stove reached a red heat, and the kerosene lanterns put out a soft golden glow, as the wind howled around the cornices, and my mother read us books. This is my fondest memory of childhood. Do you remember the laconic "Plainsman" of the movies, played by Gary Cooper? This is authentic. Country people are comfortable with silence. It is rude to break another's reverie. I was always free to go inward, to my luminous day-dreams, or outward, to immerse myself in the south wind and the moonlight. Nostalgic indescribable feelings filled me with ecstasy and Noesis, an intensity and richness of experience, untranslatable. I was living a certain mystical path, that of "carrying wood and water," and did not know it. I assumed everyone had these wonderfully luminous experiences, but that it was like sex, something no one talked about. I loved solitude in nature so much that I always volunteered for the really boring jobs, like plowing, or herding cows, because my body could do those automatically, letting the mind go free. One of my many careers was pot washing after hours at a rib joint. I loved that job. I could do it all on automatic and day-dream without interruption for hours.
I could enter the luminous world of the nature mystic, or the collective super-conscious, while doing chores. That weren’t enough chores for me. I would get on my bicycle and ride round and round the yard (not the lawn, but a barren area between barns and corral). This must have seemed eccentric, but not by word or gesture was it discouraged. When the hands are busy, the mind is free, and can go where it will. Often it will roam the realm of Genius, Oceanic Consciousness, not to be confused with the collective unconscious. Other times I would merge with the wind, the trees and the sky. This is the essence of meditation, at least of the "carrying wood and water" school of mysticism. One must spend many thousands of hours “bathing in the waters” (advanced day-dreaming) and many thousands of hours immersed in the mood-feelings of nature before one is ready for the Illumination of Fire. I experienced it at age 31, after a particularly intense period of nature mysticism and “bathing in the waters.” The Illumination of Fire is more commonly known as Cosmic Consciousness. Some lesser mystical states prepare one for the greater. In that sense, there is a path that one may follow accidentally, as I did, or deliberately, in which case we can speak of a path. Note that this kind of meditation is nothing like that taught by Buddhists. The hero must first survive the trip through the "dark wood," as Dante described it. Later one finds a Mentor. Mine was a mild mannered soft-spoken linguist named Bill Coates. He introduced me to the classics of psychical research and mysticism (two quite different topics). There is a mythic quality to the life of mystics. It is the life of the hero of the inner world. Only then was I ready for my transcendental encounter with the ONE. There I saw, as one recognizes a face, everything I knew, everything about history, everything that happened to me, fit into a single pattern. It is a pattern running through all things, animate or inanimate. If it is the divine purpose, and we are each droplets of divinity, then we can accept the divine purpose as the meaning of life, since it gives meaning to the tragedies and the obstacles, or at least some of them. We may live in accordance with the divine purpose, or not, or be completely ignorant of it. Because of the illumination of fire, I know life can have a purpose, and may even have a plan that we create for ourselves in the “between.” This does not mean that everything that happens is some god’s plan. The gods are myths. Every kind of sentience is part of ONE. My views are quite compatible with Darwinian evolution. When I was a freshman in college, I saw the three Norns, deciders of fate in Nordic mythology. This was an apparitional experience in the moment of waking, a moment of transition between two worlds. Divinity comes in threes. There are three judges in the Chinese underworld that decide the next lifetime, and under hypnotic regression, everyone (not just Chinese) can remember having to go before the three judges, during the “between.” The three Norns looked like three respectable middle-aged ladies, sitting there at my desk or standing around it, looking at me as if to say, "So this is the One?" I blinked my eyes and they were gone. This was an apparition, and I can say from my own experience that apparitions are real. It is a different sort of reality. When I was ten, in the summer of 1950, I saw a UFO, in full daylight, at close range (about 200 feet) and had it under continuous observation for what seemed like a long time, but may have been
a minute or two. Nobody in my family believes this story. I don't blame them. They weren't there. Everyone but me was either in the house or the barn. My chores took me outside to feed the hogs and calves and gather eggs and carry up a pail of water, and bring in an armload or two of firewood (in winter). I was feeding the calves, looking at nothing in particular, facing west, where the sun had just set. It was still full light, as summer evenings usually are. Coming up over the tree-lined creek that lay downhill a hundred yards to the West was a pitted sphere, covered with a flame-like greenish aura. It came silently about 15 mph, due East, at a constant height of about 200 feet, close enough to judge distance by the powers of binocular vision. Overhead it made an instantaneous right-angled turn without banking or slowing down and went off due south at the same leisurely pace. No one else in my family saw it, but it was in the papers the next day, and seen over large areas of Texas and Oklahoma. After that, I always knew the textbooks were wrong, but I kept that to myself. I kept a lot of things to myself. In high school, at Monica's birthday party in Perry, I saw table tipping. It was late autumn, the house was overheated, there wasn't room to dance, and we were too young to drink. What I'm trying to say is that the party was getting boring; we were getting sleepy, and thinking about leaving. Besides, both the Principal and the Superintendent were present. That might seem strange, but it was a small school, and informal, and they were often involved in our social activities. Indeed, it was the Principal who "called" our square dances. He was the one who suggested that we do table tipping. Junior Riddle is what we called him. He was also the girls’ basketball coach. Thank you Junior Riddle, wherever you are. You were right about me. I didn't know everything, and not everything is in books. Sometimes I think he arranged this exercise just to deflate my intellectual arrogance, the sin of pride. I use the word "sin" in its original sense of "missing the target one has set for oneself." It was originally an archery term. It was a perfectly ordinary card table, with folding legs. I helped set it up. It certainly had no invisible wires. We were too poor in the fifties to buy the gadgets of illusionists, even had we known about them. We set it on a rug. Junior Riddle sat six people at three sides of the table, leaving one side free, with fingers lightly resting, thumbs to thumbs and little fingers to little fingers, making a kind of three sided circuit. One by one, those at the table said in a solemn voice, "Rise, Table, Rise." Time gradually slowed to a stop. An eternity passed, waiting for the table to rise. We were in our own bubble of time. After this eternity, the table did rise, or at least the free end rose, tilting back on the other two legs. It rose a good foot off the floor, and stayed there. Junior Riddle did not seem at all surprised. I'm sure our mouths were hanging open. He suggested we ask it questions, and give it a code, such as one tap for yes, two for no. In the excitement of the moment, we couldn't think of any really significant questions to ask. Is there life after death? Is there a God? Is there meaning to life? No, we asked how many dollar bills were in Ted's wallet. “Three,” said the table. Ted checked, and there were three dollar bills. We asked it if we were going to win an upcoming basketball game against Red Rock (see the movie "Hoosiers" and you will know what basketball means to countless small towns across Middle America). We gave it a code, one tap for yes, two for no. It very slowly tapped once, and then stopped, in the up position. By how many points? “Three,” it slowly tapped. In fact, we lost by about 20 points. We asked it how many days until Christmas. It very rapidly
tapped 25 times. We asked one another, "Is that right?" No one knew. In fact, it was wrong, as I found out when I got home and checked a calendar. It didn't matter whether it was right or wrong. What mattered was that it was a clear case of psycho-kinesis. I know. I was the skeptic, looking under the table to see if someone was lifting it with a foot. I passed my hand over the table checking for invisible threads, and checked fingers to see that all were resting their hands lightly on the table. They were. It is possible to pull a card table, but this requires pressing down hard, inverting the last digit, and turning the joint white. About half of the students in our high school were at the party. We believed it. The other half weren’t and didn‘t. I don't expect you to believe it either. I knew. Once again, I learned that the textbooks were wrong, or at least incomplete. These two experiences gave me the antidote to the religion of the scientists. I knew that on these two subjects, they were quite wrong. The books I read at 15 on history, science and philosophy set the course of my life. I knew I didn't want to do history. I had to choose between science and philosophy. In the end, I did both. In addition, this book has some contributions to science (mostly theoretical) and some contributions to philosophy. My invention of the science of Utopian Analysis made good use of my love of history, for it was in the political experiments of history that I found all the data I needed. I took a bachelor's degree in Physics, and a Ph.D. in philosophy. I had not lost any interest in physics. I stayed with it via Scientific American, which I have read since my senior year in high school, despite its steadfast allegiance to the religion of the scientists. When I was about 30, I had a chance to take undergraduate quantum mechanics again, just for fun. Once again, I had found a Mentor, an old professor who told us many tales out of school, many personal things about the great figures of the 1920s. When I taught philosophy at the University of Southern California, I had a friend who was a physicist, born and raised in India. We two bachelors often went out to dinner at the one Restaurant in LA at that time which had recipes from India, some taught them by my friend Rajaraman. Once when we were talking about quantum mechanics, he said rather vehemently that he wished he didn't have to crank out equations. The paradoxes of quantum mechanics bothered him. What he wanted was about twenty years just to contemplate the meaning of the equations. He never had that luxury. I did. I eventually realized that de Broglie's wave (though not his interpretation of them) frees quantum mechanics from paradox. I have also recognized in published data the evidence that antimatter has anti-gravity. I also know of data that suggests that gravitons are absorbed or emitted by the Earth, changing its spin vector. In addition, I have an alternate theory for the acceleration of the Hubble expansion. It doesn't require "dark energy.” That is the sum total of my potential contributions to physics. Physicists pay no attention to the ideas of amateurs, and not very much to the ideas of their colleagues, so it is hard to say whether these ideas will ever have any impact on physics. My philosophical contributions consist in the founding of sciences, for that is the point and function of Western philosophy, as well as its crowning glory and only accomplishment. It took me 30 years to learn how to distinguish the essence from the accidental in existing science, and to learn how to apply the essence of scientific method to other problems and other realms of experience. That
sounds very dry and abstract, but there is nothing dry and abstract about my writing. Do you want to know about free will? Beautiful cities? Capital punishment? The meaning of life? It is all here. There was a time when I thought I was supposed to start a new religion. There was a time when I thought I was supposed to be a guru. Fortunately, I came to my senses and realized that I could hardly pursue a path that I have explicitly rejected, for good and sufficient reasons, as I have both of those. No, if you are impressed with my writings, don't try to become my disciple, and don't start a religion in my name. Start or continue one of the sciences I have created, altered or renewed. The one I created, taking up where Hobbes and Locke left off 300 years ago, is Utopian Analysis, the science of civilization. This science will never come into full existence unless there are followers, people who become Utopian Analysts and publish their work. A science is a communal affair, continuous from generation to generation. So if you wish to be my follower, follow me in this. There already exists a science of Psychical Research, with journals, Ph.D.s, and the various SPRs (Societies for Psychical Research). This science has bogged down, come to a complete stop, under the attacks of the SKEPTICAL INQUIRER (those blasted psi-cops), and for internal reasons as well. I know the history of worldviews and I believe I can help Psi research past this hurdle. The reincarnation work of Professor Stevenson proves that the mind and the body are completely different things, made of different substances. The mind has no EM interactions and that is why it is invisible and intangible. The NDE data and the reincarnation data confirm this. I propose that we re-define Psychical Research as "the rigorous study, using scientific method, of rare and spontaneous events or talents that shed light on the mind, a real entity quite different from the body, and in no way created by the body." The other thing that has brought Psychical Research to a dead stop is the absence of a testable theory of the mind as a natural object. I have provided one in the chapter "Mind as a Dark Object." For this, one must understand 20th Century physics, as well as 20th Century Psychical Research. So if you wish to be a follower, follow me in this: do the scientific tests of my theory of the mind as a natural object. Revive the newly re-defined Psychical Research and spread it to every university. Fight off the Psi-cops with the tools I have given you. The media should not accept the Psi-cop's claims to be experts on Psi or UFOs, when the Psi-cops have never tried to reproduce a single study of psychical phenomena or of UFOs. They reject them for the same reason Galileo's Paduan colleagues rejected his discoveries -- they just couldn't believe such things were possible. Finally, we come to the scientific study of mystical and symbolic experiences of mankind. Among mystics and students of symbolic revelations, none but me think that scientific method has any place at this bounteous table. I say, unless the real discoveries of metaphysics are grounded in scientific method, they are like dust in the wind. They will make no permanent contribution to the knowledge of mankind. These experiences are reproducible and that is the first requirement of science. One can be a scientist and a mystic, using the universal language of Jungian symbolism rather than calculus. So if you wish to follow me, follow me in this: help to make metaphysics a science. Do so with full involvement in symbolism and the mystical path, not standing back and
viewing mystics like lab rats. Be your own experiment. Study the alphabet of symbolic elements and learn to interpret Mandalas and other symbolic expressions. Learn the New Tarot. Become a Seeker. The day that happens, the world will have changed.