Showing posts with label The Driver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Driver. Show all posts

Friday, 13 November 2020

Monkey Brains


MAN LOOKING AT GRAPH: 
There's a contaminant in The System!

(Cancer Man looks at the graph in HORROR --)

Cigarette-Smoking Man : 
Mulder has The Vaccine!




If it fooled you, it will fool The Cybermen. 

They're robots, but they've got Monkey Brains. 

You can always fool a Monkey Brain with a little bit of Theatre.



Let’s go in there and give Them something They cannot digest. 
Something They cannot process. 

Something So Toxic, 
So Dangerous, So Powerful.. 

That it Will Breed, 
and 
Destroy Them UTTERLY.

Not Destroy Them – turn Them into Us. 
Because That’s What We Want

We want everybody to be cool. 

We don’t want to go in and think: 
“That guy over there’s gonna kill me; that guy hates me; that guy’s got some fucking weird agenda.”

Don’t we just wanna talk? And let it all go, and just say: 
“Hey, I’m interested in you; 
What have you got to tell me?”

That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? 
We communicate; 
We join up; 
We make networks; 
We make things happen.

And there are Some People in The World 
Who Don’t Wanna Do That.

So let Us infect Them.

Infect Them to the point where They become Us.
Where there’s nothing left in This World, but Us.

And then some kid’ll come up and fuck that as well.
And that’ll be exactly what we need at the time.

And that’s me finished, so thank you very much.












SCENE 20 
HOSPITAL

FROHIKE: 
What are you doing?

LANGLY: 
Reading his chart.

FROHIKE: 
Put it down.

LANGLY: 
I'll put it down when I'm ready.

BYERS: 
I think he's coming out of it.

LANGLY: 
He's coming to.

(The screen now shows a close-up view of our boys, The Lone Gunmen, as they hover over Mulder's hospital bed. Mulder is being fed oxygen through a tube in his nose, his head wrapped in bandages.)

FROHIKE
Hey, Mulder? Mulder?

MULDER
Oh my God. 
Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, Toto!

Frohike's not pleased with the joke, 
but at least his friend is all right. 

Mulder tries to sit up and winces in pain, holding his head.

MULDER: 
What am I doing here?

BYERS: 
The bullet grazed your brow and (by itself?) your temporal plate.

LANGLY: 
A few centimeters to the left and we'd all be playing harps right now.

FROHIKE: 
You've been unconscious since they brought you in.

MULDER: 
(shooting up in the bed) 
Where's Scully?!

BYERS: 
We put together you called 911. 
That call must have been intercepted.

FROHIKE: 
Scully had a reaction to an Africanized honeybee 
we found in your hall.

Frohike holds up a vial containing the bee.

MULDER: 
I've got to get to her.

(Mulder attempts to stand up, is woozy and staggers a bit before sitting right back down. His door opens and Skinner walks in, going quickly to the staggering Mulder and helping to hold him up before he falls on his butt.)

SKINNER: 
Mulder, easy, easy. Look, you're staying right here.

MULDER: 
You don't understand, 
This goes all the way back to Dallas.

SKINNER: 
Tell me where she is, I'll find her.

MULDER: 
I don't know where she is! 
But I can think of someone who might.

SKINNER: 
You leave here unprotected, how far will you get? 
How far will they let you get? 
Because they'll know the minute you walk out of here!

LANGLY: 
What can we do?

(Mulder half-looks around at Langly, thinks a minute then formulates a plan.)

MULDER: 
You can strip Byers naked!

BYERS: 
What?!

Mulder reassures him they haven't slipped into a gizzie-penned fanfic! 
[An old atxf newsgroup joke! ]

MULDER: 
I need your clothes.

Mulder begins to tenderly remove his head bandage, 
wincing again. 

Next we see Langly, Frohike, and Mulder, disguised as Byers, exit the room. 

The guard outside the room looks in and sees "Mulder" 
lying on the hospital bed and Skinner pacing beside him talking into his cell phone. 

The three men walk down a hallway, Mulder's suit just a teeny bit too small for him and he picks up his cell phone.

MULDER: 
(into phone) 
It’s Mulder.

Langly closes the exit door behind Mulder. 

Next we see Mulder running down a nighttime street, 
ditching his jacket as he runs. 

The scene changes to an alleyway as Kurtzweil walks along, 
his senses alert to any footsteps behind him. 

He goes to open what we assume is the alleyway door to Casey's Bar 
and is shocked to be confronted by .... 
The Well-Manicured Man!



SCENE 21 
CASEY'S BAR

WMM: 
Dr. Kurtzweil, isn't it? 
Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil?

Kurtzweil backs away, turns around and begins walking quickly down the alley. 

A black car pulls into the other end of the alley, trapping him. 
The Driver gets out, Kurtzweil stares in shock and concern 
and we cut to inside Casey's Bar as Mulder bursts in the door. 

He looks around the bar for Kurtzweil, but doesn't see him. 

Mulder leaves through the back door, entering the alleyway. 

He sees WMM and His Driver slamming the trunk of their car closed. 

WMM turns to face Mulder.

WMM
Mr. Mulder.

MULDER: 
What happened to Kurtzweil?

WMM
He's come and gone.

MULDER: 
I want to know where Scully is.

WMM: 
holds up a small pouch 
The Location of Agent Scully 
and 
The Means to Save Her Life. 

(gesturing to the car

Please....

Mulder contemplates this offer for a minute, 
then figuring he has nothing more to lose, 
he walks to the car as he and WMM 
never take their eyes off each other. 

They each open their own doors and enter the car. 

It takes off immediately. 

As they cruise past The White House, 
WMM hands Mulder The Pouch.



SCENE 22 
INSIDE WMM'S CAR

MULDER: 
What is it?

As WMM speaks, Mulder opens the pouch 
and pulls out a small bottle of green liquid 
and a piece of paper with this written on it :

South 83 Deg Lat 
East 63 Deg Long

WMM: 
A Weak Vaccine against 
The Virus Agent Scully has been infected with. 

It must be administered within 96 hours. 

That leaves you little time to reach those coordinates.

MULDER
You're lying.

WMM: 
No. Though I have no means to prove otherwise. 

The Virus is extra-terrestrial. 

We know very little about it except that it was 
The Original Inhabitant of This Planet.

MULDER: 
(unbelieving
A Virus...

WMM
What is A Virus, but A Colonising Force 
that cannot be defeated? 

Living in A Cave, underground, 
until it mutates ... and attacks.


MULDER
This is what you've been conspiring to conceal? 
A Disease?

WMM: 
No. For God's sake, you've got it all backwards! 

AIDS, the Ebola virus, 
on an evolutionary scale they are newborns. 

This Virus Walked The Planet 
long before The Dinosaurs.

MULDER: 
(smiling in disbelief
What do you mean 'walked'?

WMM: 
Your Aliens, Agent Mulder. 

Your Little Green Men 
arrived here millions of years ago. 

Those that didn't leave have been lying dormant underground since The Last Ice Age 
in the form of An Evolved Pathogen
waiting to be reconstituted by The Alien Race 
when it comes to colonize the planet -- 
Using Us as Hosts.

 Against this we have no defense, 
nothing but a weak vaccine. 

Do you see why it was kept secret? 

Why even The Best Men, 
Men like Your Father, 
could not let The Truth be known. 

Until Dallas we believed The Virus 
would simply control us, 
that mass infection would make Us 
A Slave Race. 

Imagine our surprise 
when They began to gestate

My Group has been working cooperatively 
with The Alien Colonists, 
facilitating programs 
like the one you saw, 
to give us access to The Virus 
in The Hope that we might 
be able to secretly develop A Cure.

MULDER
To save your own asses.

Well-Manicured Man
Survival is The Ultimate Ideology. 
Your Father wisely refused to believe this.

MULDER
But He Sacrificed My Sister. 

He let Them take Samantha.

Well-Manicured Man
Without a Vaccination, the only True Survivors of The Viral Holocaust will be those immune to it - 
Human-Alien Clones

He allowed Your Sister to be abducted, 
to be taken to a cloning program, 

For One Reason...

MULDER: 
So She Would Survive

As a Genetic Hybrid.

Well-Manicured Man : 
Your Father chose 
Hope over Selfishness.
 
Hope in the only Future he had, 
His Children.

His Hope for You was that you would uncover 
The Truth about The Project

That you would stop it, 
that you would 
Fight The Future.


Mulder lets it all sink in. 

The Driver's eyes look at him 
through the rear-view mirror. 

Darn good driver 
if he ain't watching The Road!

MULDER
Why are you telling me this?

Well-Manicured Man : 
For The Sake of My Own Children. 

Once it's learned what I have told you, 
My Life Will Be Over.

WMM looks ahead, possibly at The Driver. 
Mulder looks at The Driver.

MULDER: 
Where's Dr. Kurtzweil? 
(no response
I'd like to get out of the car now. 
(to The Driver)
 Stop The Car!

WMM: 
Driver. 

The Car pulls to a stop in yet another alleyway.

The Men I Work With 
will stop at nothing to clear the way 
for what They believe 
is Their stake in The Inevitable Future.
 
I was ordered to kill Dr. Kurtzweil, 
as I was ordered to kill you.

Suddenly, WMM grabs a gun (from his lap?) 
and shoots The Driver in the back of the head, BLAMMO! Mulder recoils.

MULDER:
Ow!

WMM: 
Trust No-One, Mr. Mulder.

WMM opens his own door and exits, holding the door open.

WMM: 
Get out of the car.

MULDER: 
Why? The upholstery is already ruined.

WMM: 
Get out of the car! 
(Mulder scoots over to WMM's door and exits the car.) 
You have precious little time. 

(Mulder slams the door shut angrily.) 

What I've given you 
The Alien Colonists don't yet know exists

The Vaccine you hold 
is The Only Defense against The Virus. 

Its introduction into An Alien Environment 
may have The Power to destroy 
the delicate plans 
we have so assiduously protected 
for the last 50 years!

MULDER
What do you mean, "may" have?

WMM
Find Agent Scully. 

Only then will you realise 
The Scope and Grandeur 
of The Project. 

Go. Go now!

WMM points his gun in Mulder's face. 

Mulder starts to walk away, 
WMM opens his door again, a rat scuttles past, 
WMM reenters the limo, closes The Door 
and it explodes, knocking Mulder off his feet. 

He sits on the ground watching the flames burn, 
then pulls out The Pouch and checks to see that the bottle is still intact. 

It is. He puts it back in the pouch, gets up and after one last look at the burning car, begins to run for His Life.



SCENE 23 
WILKES LAND, ANTARCTICA 
48 HOURS LATER

Through the vast whiteness of the snow-covered land we see a small black dot. It's Mulder driving a Sno-Cat. He wipes away the condensation forming on the inside of his window and squints his eyes to see where he's going. The camera shows his vehicle leaving tracks in the virgin snow. He whacks his gas gauge and it keeps flipping back to empty. He checks the coordinates again, stops the Sno-Cat and holds up a hand-held thingy which tells him he's at the exact place he's supposed to be. He looks out the window at a hillside, sighs and we next see him struggling up the hill. He reaches the top, slips a little, then hunkers down and looks at a base of some kind in the distance. He whips out a pair of binoculars and looks through to see more Sno-Cats lined up, one of them moving. It stops, he adjusts the power to see closer and spots Cancer Man in the vehicle. He puts the binoculars away and starts to walk towards the base. It soon turns into a jog as he gets closer, but he suddenly falls through the ice as it collapses beneath his feet. He falls quite a way through a snowy tunnel, then lands in an icy crevice. 

He takes a minute to catch his breath, stands up slowly 
and peers down a hole leading off from the crevice, 
steam rising from it. 

He positions himself so he can crawl down this hole 
and turns around at the end so he drops feet-first onto a huge metallic structure. 

It's a type of hallway and on either side of him are containers of some sort. 

He whips out his flashlight to investigate further. 

Wiping the snow away from one of the containers, a cryopod, he spots a prehistoric man encased in ice.

Meanwhile, back on the surface, a Sno-Cat drives up, 
Cancer Man seated inside, and it stops. 

Cancer Man looks at Mulder's abandoned Sno-Cat 
and takes a slow puff of his ciggie.

Back under the ice, Mulder finds stacks and stacks of these coffin-like cryopods, piled row upon row. He walks further into the structure and finds an area opened up, somewhat like a hospital's operating theatre. He stands in the middle and looks in awe at the huge structure before his eyes. Hundreds, more than likely thousands of these rows stand before him. Where to begin looking for Scully? 

A movement catches his eye near the bottom of the rows. 

A rack of these cryopods are moving as if on a conveyer belt. 

He looks through his binoculars, but I can't tell you what he sees, it's very vague! 

Must have seen something though as he springs into action. 

He begins to maneuver his way down to the moving cryopods, 
hanging by his hands, his feet dangling over The Edge.

Suddenly, he loses his grip and shouts ...

MULDER: 
Oh, shit!

... as he begins to fall helplessly. 
He falls down the side of a wall, sliding out of control until he lands harshly on a ledge, hanging by one hand as he teeters over the edge. A bottomless well of metal lies below, the belly of the beast-ship. Using his legs and feet to anchor himself, he makes his way around the edge-corner and ends up sitting, catching his breath. The flashlight in use again, he slides gently over a huge cylinder, landing on a walkway. At the end, he finds an empty cryopod ... containing Scully's clothes and her cross necklace. He grips the necklace in one hand and sets off determined to find her. He comes upon a rack of the cryopods, shining his flashlight from one to another, a frozen face in each caught by his beams. The eyes on each one are open in shock, their mouths held open by a tube, a picture of silent horror. Finally, the flashlight lands on his quarry .... Scully! Using his hand and then the butt of his flashlight, he begins to hammer at the ice keeping her captive.

(Back above the ice, we see a Sno-Cat driving, then we cut to somewhere else inside the base, a flurry of activity as soldiers scurry about and Cancer Man barks instructions.)

CSM: 
Secure the station! 
I want everyone else down below! 
If you're not armed, arm yourselves! 
We have a breach!

(Cut back to Mulder who has now hauled off a piece of a nearby cryopod and is pounding on the ice as he desperately tries to save her from her ice-coffin.)

(Cut to Cancer Man hustling his men down some ladders.)

CSM: 
Let's go, let's go!

(Back to Mulder as he finally breaks through the ice releasing an ocean of goo which encased her naked body. He pulls away the few remaining shards of ice and stares at her face. Is he too late? Mulder unwraps the bottle of vaccine and fills the needle. He injects the vaccine into Scully and it's effect is immediate. Within the tube connected to her mouth a liquid appears to retreat from her body, the tube begins to shrivel and die.)

MULDER: 
Scully?

(As he goes to touch the now dead tube and pull it from Scully's mouth, a violent shaking takes over the ship, a reaction to the vaccine's unwanted intrusion.)

(Cut to Cancer Man in a room full of equipment and monitors. A man is seated in front of a monitor showing a graph of some kind.)

MAN LOOKING AT GRAPH: 
There's a contaminant in The System!

(Cancer Man looks at the graph in shock.)

CSM: 
Mulder has the vaccine!

(Back to Mulder. The cryopod hallway he's in begins to fill with steam as it shoots out from the floor and ceiling. Mulder turns back to Scully and sees her move. He grabs the tube and begins to drag it out of her throat. Once it's all removed, and it's a long sucker, so it takes a sec or two, Mulder stares at her, waiting for a sign of some kind.)

MULDER: 
Breathe! 
Scully, can you breathe?!

(Scully begins to cough, spitting out what's left of the slimy goo. Finally she starts breathing on her own, gasping for each sweet taste of oxygen. She tries to speak and barely manages a weak ..)

SCULLY: 
Cold ... I'm cold.

MULDER: 
I'm going to get you out of there.

(He starts to whack away at the ice with a metallic cylinder next to him, probably shaken loose by the rocking and rolling the ship is still experiencing.)

(Cut to the graph/monitor room, sparks flying from various machines as the men are tossed like ragdolls. It's time to give up the ship, boys.)

CSM: 
Abandon your posts! Evacuate!

(Cancer Man walks towards one of the ladders the men are now scrambling down. Another man stops and says ..)

MAN:
What's happened?!

CSM: 
It's all gone to hell!

MAN: 
But, what about Mulder?!

CSM: 
He'll never make it!

Cut back to Mulder as he gently lifts a naked Scully out of the cryopod, her body glistening with goo, and lays her down on the floor. Next we see him carrying her. She's now wearing some of Mulder's clothing, right down to a pair of boots, don't ask me where THEY came from! He reaches the bottom of a metallic shaft, sunlight beaming down upon them.)

(Cut to outside as an alarm sounds and men race out from the domes, running for the various Sno-Cats. Cancer Man gets into one, his mouth dangling open in shock as it "all falls apart". The vehicles drive off.)

(Back to Mulder and Scully as he drags her up a ladder. Far below them, the defrosting has begun and water drips down the walls.)

(From above, we see the Sno-Cats leaving, one passing within inches of the top of a shaft leading to our heroes.)

(Cut to inside where Mulder and Scully have found a momentary resting place. Scully is coughing and weak. Mulder urges her on.)

MULDER: 
We gotta keep moving. Come on!

SCULLY: 
I can't.

MULDER: 
Yeah, you can.

(Mulder picks her up and carries her in a fireman's lift, over his shoulders. He walks down a row of crypods, all ominously dripping with water from the defrosting ice. He spots a vent.)

MULDER: 
Scully, reach up and grab that vent!

(Suddenly, he spots movement in one of the pods. The creatures within have begun to stir. The vaccine has affected the whole structure, as the bodies were all obviously attached to the one creature.)

MULDER: 
Scully, grab the vent! (no response) 
Scully?

(He looks at her face on his shoulder, she's passed out. Mulder slides her off his shoulders, placing her on the floor and checks for a pulse. The creatures nearby, still encased in the swiftly melting ice are now violently thrashing about and emitting their high-pitched screams. With one eye on the creatures and one eye on Scully, Mulder begins performing a mean version of CPR.)

MULDER: 
Please, breathe. Breathe ... breathe .... BREATHE!

(Scully begins to cough and splutter as she regains consciousness.)

MULDER: 
Breathe in, breathe in, breathe!

(She begins to try and speak, he has to place his ear almost on her mouth to hear.)

SCULLY: 
I had you big time.

(She smiles at him. No time for jokes, Scully, the aliens are coming! As Mulder pulls her to her feet, the ice-encased cryopods around them start to crack open as the creatures within begin to break free. He holds her up to the vent above her.)

MULDER: 
Grab the vent. 
Pull! PULL!

(Scully grabs the vent and pulls herself up. Mulder starts to climb up. One of the aliens breaks the pod and reaches out with its hand for Mulder. It grabs Mulder's leg. Scully stops and turns his head.)

SCULLY: 
Mulder!

MULDER: 
Keep moving, Scully!

(Mulder kicks it away and pulls himself up. They both climb through the tunnel, Mulder yelling encouragement from behind.)

MULDER: 
Go! Go! Come on!

(He keeps checking behind him as the alien screams continue, looking for any which may be chasing them. The light at the end of the proverbial tunnel gets brighter as they climb on.)

MULDER: 
Almost there, keep going!

(They pull themselves up to where Mulder first stopped after he fell through the ice, a slight turn in the vent. Just as Mulder clears the turn, an alien lashes out from behind but is cut off by the twist in the tunnel. They step over the part where Mulder first fell all the way down and make their way out the hole he originally made. Scully falls onto the snow, exhausted and Mulder perches next to her on one knee. He hears a sound and looks around for the origin. It's the ice ... it's cracking under their feet! He grabs Scully and throws one of her arms over his shoulder as they begin to run away. He stops for some ungodly reason and looks back seeing vents of steam starting to shoot out of the ice. They begin to run again as the ice begins cracking and falling away causing a huge crater to form. Suddenly the crater overtakes them and they disappear into the hole, but next we see them shoot into the air and slide off of the surface of the rising ship. They land on the edge of the crater. Mulder watches the spaceship as it flies overhead, his face glows with a heart-melting grin of childlike wonder and awe. Scully's face is turned towards the snow, too tired to move, as Mulder says, almost along with the audience ...)

MULDER: 
Scully, ya gotta see this! Scully!

(It's quiet, it's barely a mutter above a whisper, but we hear ...)

SCULLY: 
I see it.

(Spent from exhaustion, Mulder drops his head into the snow. Scully, finding the strength God gave 20 hearty men, scoots her body over to cover him from the freezing cold. She lifts his into her arms and cradles him as the camera pans back to show two lone figures perched alone on the edge of the bottomless crater left by the departing spaceship. Cut to Washington and don't start with me on how they got out of the Antarctic, there was extra gas can in the Sno-Cat, I don't know!)




Friday, 5 July 2019

THE NIGHTMARE


“Are you sure,' asked his companion, 'that this is the nineteen-eighties?'

The Doctor looked around. 'Which nineteen-eighties did you have in mind?'

Conversations that never happened.


“I began to dream absolutely unbearable dreams. 

My dream life, up to this point, had been relatively uneventful, as far as I can remember; furthermore, I have never had a particularly good visual imagination. Nonetheless, my dreams became so horrible and so emotionally gripping that I was often afraid to go to sleep. I dreamt dreams vivid as reality. I could not escape from them or ignore them. They centered, in general, around a single theme: that of nuclear war, and total devastation – around the worst evils that I, or something in me, could imagine:

My parents lived in a standard ranch style house, in a middle-class neighborhood, in a small town in northern Alberta. 




I was sitting in the darkened basement of this house, in the family room, watching TV, with my cousin Diane, who was in truth – in waking life – the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. A newscaster suddenly interrupted the program. The television picture and sound distorted, and static filled the screen. My cousin stood up and went behind the TV to check the electrical cord. She touched it, and started convulsing and frothing at the mouth, frozen upright by intense current.



A brilliant flash of light from a small window flooded the basement. I rushed upstairs. There was nothing left of the ground floor of the house. It had been completely and cleanly sheared away, leaving only the floor, which now served the basement as a roof. Red and orange flames filled the sky, from horizon to horizon. Nothing was left as far as I could see, except skeletal black ruins sticking up here and there: no houses, no trees, no signs of other human beings or of any life whatsoever. The entire town and everything that surrounded it on the flat prairie had been completely obliterated.



It started to rain mud, heavily. The mud blotted out everything, and left the earth brown, wet, flat and dull, and the sky leaden, even grey. A few distraught and shell-shocked people started to gather together. They were carrying unlabelled and dented cans of food, which contained nothing but mush and vegetables. They stood in the mud looking exhausted and disheveled. Some dogs emerged, out from under the basement stairs, where they had inexplicably taken residence. They were standing upright, on their hind legs. They were thin, like greyhounds, and had pointed noses. They looked like creatures of ritual – like Anubis, from the Egyptian tombs. They were carrying plates in front of them, which contained pieces of seared meat. They wanted to trade the meat for the cans. I took a plate. In the center of it was a circular slab of flesh four inches in diameter and one inch thick, foully cooked, oily, with a marrow bone in the center of it. Where did it come from?

I had a terrible thought. I rushed downstairs to my cousin. The dogs had butchered her, and were offering the meat to the survivors of the disaster. I woke up with my heart pounding.


I dreamed apocalyptic dreams of this intensity two or three times a week for a year or more, while I attended university classes and worked – as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on in my mind. 

Something I had no familiarity with was happening, however. I was being affected, simultaneously, by events on two “planes.” On the first plane were the normal, predictable, everyday occurrences that I shared with everybody else. On the second plane, however (unique to me, or so I thought) existed dreadful images and unbearably intense emotional states. This idiosyncratic, subjective world – which everyone normally treated as illusory – seemed to me at that time to lie somehow behind the world everyone knew and regarded as real. But what did real mean? The closer I looked, the less comprehensible things became. Where was The Real? What was at the bottom of it all? I did not feel I could live without knowing.

My interest in the cold war transformed itself into a true obsession. I thought about the suicidal and murderous preparation of that war every minute of every day, from the moment I woke up until the second I went to bed. How could such a state of affairs come about? Who was responsible?

I dreamed that I was running through a mall parking lot, trying to escape from something. I was running through the parked cars, opening one door, crawling across the front seat, opening the other, moving to the next. The doors on one car suddenly slammed shut. I was in the passenger seat. The car started to move by itself. A voice said harshly, “there is no way out of here.” I was on a journey, going somewhere I did not want to go. 

I was not The Driver.

I became very depressed and anxious. I had vaguely suicidal thoughts, but mostly wished that everything would just go away. I wanted to lay down on my couch, and sink into it, literally, until only my nose was showing – like the snorkel of a diver above the surface of the water. I found my awareness of things unbearable.

I came home late one night from a college drinking party, self-disgusted and angry. I took a canvas board and some paints. I sketched a harsh, crude picture of a crucified Christ – glaring and demonic – with a cobra wrapped around his naked waist, like a belt. 

The picture disturbed me – struck me, despite my agnosticism, as sacrilegious. I did not know what it meant, however, or why I had painted it. Where in the world had it come from? I hadn’t paid any attention to religious ideas for years. I hid the painting under some old clothes in my closet and sat cross-legged on the floor. I put my head down. It became obvious to me at that moment that I had not developed any real understanding of myself or of others. 





Everything I had once believed about the nature of society and myself had proved false, the world had apparently gone insane, and something strange and frightening was happening in my head. James Joyce said, “History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.” For me, history literally was a nightmare. I wanted above all else at that moment to wake up, and make my terrible dreams go away.

I have been trying ever since then to make sense of the human capacity, my capacity, for evil – particularly for those evils associated with belief. I started by trying to make sense of my dreams. I couldn’t ignore them, after all. Perhaps they were trying to tell me something? I had nothing to lose by admitting the possibility. I read Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams, and found it useful. Freud at least took the topic seriously – but I could not regard my nightmares as wish-fulfillments. Furthermore, they seemed more religious than sexual in nature. I knew, vaguely, that Jung had developed specialized knowledge of myth and religion, so I started through his writings. His thinking was granted little credence by the academics I knew – but they weren’t particularly concerned with dreams. I couldn’t help being concerned by mine.


They were so intense I thought they might derange me. (What was the alternative? To believe that the terrors and pains they caused me were not real? Nothing is more real than terror and pain.)
 
Much of the time I could not understand what Jung was getting at. He was making a point I could not grasp; speaking a language I did not comprehend. Now and then, however, his statements struck home. He offered this observation, for example:

“It must be admitted that the archetypal contents of the collective unconscious can often assume grotesque and horrible forms in dreams and fantasies, so that even the most hard-boiled rationalist is not immune from shattering nightmares and haunting fears.”

The second part of that statement certainly seemed applicable to me, although the first (the archetypal contents of the collective unconscious) remained mysterious and obscure. Still, this was promising. Jung at least recognized that the things that were happening to me could happen. Furthermore, he offered some hints as to their cause. So I kept reading. I soon came across the following hypothesis. Here was a potential solution to the problems I was facing – or at least the description of a place to look for such a solution:

“The psychological elucidation of... [dream and fantasy] images, which cannot be passed over in silence or blindly ignored, leads logically into the depths of religious phenomenology. The history of religion in its widest sense (including therefore mythology, folklore, and primitive psychology) is a treasure-house of archetypal forms from which the doctor can draw helpful parallels and enlightening comparisons for the purpose of calming and clarifying a consciousness that is all at sea. It is absolutely necessary to supply these fantastic images that rise up so strange and threatening before the mind’s eye with some kind of context so as to make them more intelligible. Experience has shown that the best way to do this is by means of comparative mythological material.”


It has in fact been the study of “comparative mythological material” that made my horrible dreams disappear. The “cure” wrought by this study, however, was purchased at the price of complete and often painful transformation: what I believe about the world, now – and how I act, in consequence – is so much at variance with what I believed when I was younger that I might as well be a completely different person.

I discovered that beliefs make the world, in a very real way – that beliefs are the world, in a more than metaphysical sense. This “discovery” has not turned me into a moral relativist, however: quite the contrary. I have become convinced that the world-that-is-belief is orderly: that there are universal moral absolutes (although these are structured such that a diverse range of human opinion remains both possible and beneficial). I believe that individuals and societies who flout these absolutes – in ignorance or in willful opposition – are doomed to misery and eventual dissolution.
I learned that the meanings of the most profound substrata of belief systems can be rendered explicitly comprehensible, even to the skeptical rational thinker – and that, so rendered, can be experienced as fascinating, profound and necessary. I learned why people wage war – why the desire to maintain, protect and expand the domain of belief motivates even the most incomprehensible acts of group-fostered oppression and cruelty – and what might be done to ameliorate this tendency, despite its universality. I learned, finally, that the terrible aspect of life might actually be a necessary precondition for the existence of life – and that it is possible to regard that precondition, in consequence, as comprehensible and acceptable. I hope that I can bring those who read this book to the same conclusions, without demanding any unreasonable “suspension of critical judgment” – excepting that necessary to initially encounter and consider the arguments I present. These can be summarized as follows:

The world can be validly construed as a forum for action, as well as a place of things. We describe the world as a place of things, using the formal methods of science. The techniques of narrative, however – myth, literature, and drama – portray the world as a forum for action. The two forms of representation have been unnecessarily set at odds, because we have not yet formed a clear picture of their respective domains. The domain of the former is the “objective world” – what is, from the perspective of intersubjective perception. The domain of the latter is “the world of value” – what is and what should be, from the perspective of emotion and action.

The world as forum for action is “composed,” essentially, of three constituent elements, which tend to manifest themselves in typical patterns of metaphoric representation. First is unexplored territory – the Great Mother, nature, creative and destructive, source and final resting place of all determinate things. Second is explored territory – the Great Father, culture, protective and tyrannical, cumulative ancestral wisdom. Third is the process that mediates between unexplored and explored territory – the Divine Son, the archetypal individual, creative exploratory “Word” and vengeful adversary. We are adapted to this “world of divine characters,” much as the “objective world.” The fact of this adaptation implies that the environment is in “reality” a forum for action, as well as a place of things.

Unprotected exposure to unexplored territory produces fear. The individual is protected from such fear as a consequence of “ritual imitation of the Great Father” – as a consequence of the adoption of group identity, which restricts the meaning of things, and confers predictability on social interactions. When identification with the group is made absolute, however – when everything has to be controlled, when the unknown is no longer allowed to exist – the creative exploratory process that updates the group can no longer manifest itself. This “restriction of adaptive capacity” dramatically increases the probability of social aggression and chaos.

Rejection of the unknown is tantamount to “identification with the devil,” the mythological counterpart and eternal adversary of the world-creating exploratory hero. Such rejection and identification is a consequence of Luciferian pride, which states: all that I know is all that is necessary to know. This pride is totalitarian assumption of omniscience – is adoption of “God’s place” by “reason” – is something that inevitably generates a state of personal and social being indistinguishable from hell. This hell develops because creative exploration – impossible, without (humble) acknowledgment of the unknown – constitutes the process that constructs and maintains the protective adaptive structure that gives life much of its acceptable meaning.

“Identification with the devil” amplifies the dangers inherent in group identification, which tends of its own accord towards pathological stultification. Loyalty to personal interest – subjective meaning – can serve as an antidote to the overwhelming temptation constantly posed by the possibility of denying anomaly. Personal interest – subjective meaning – reveals itself at the juncture of explored and unexplored territory, and is indicative of participation in the process that ensures continued healthy individual and societal adaptation.

Loyalty to personal interest is equivalent to identification with the archetypal hero – the “savior” – who upholds his association with the creative “Word” in the face of death, and in spite of group pressure to conform. Identification with the hero serves to decrease the unbearable motivational valence of the unknown; furthermore, provides the individual with a standpoint that simultaneously transcends and maintains the group.