by Mac Tonnies
Our infatuation with the unknown is systematically provoked and dismantled by a memetic campaign that’s never less than astute in its grasp of human belief.
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Before “abductees,” there were “contactees.” Former Ministry of Defense UFO investigator Nick Pope deals refreshingly with the contactee movement in his book The Uninvited, questioning the conventional wisdom that all those claiming benevolent contact with human-looking ETs were hoaxers and cranks. Instead, noting the distinct vein of duplicity that accompanies the history of paranormal visitation, he proposes that at least some of the contactees may have been dealing with genuine “others.” That these others made their first appearance as space travelers shortly after the creation of nuclear weapons, while typically attributed to social factors, may belie their terrestrial origin. If you lived among savages with increasingly destructive devices at their disposal, it may prove all too tempting to intervene, but in a way than denies your own existence at the same time it propagates your message.
If we share our planet with indigenous humanoids—and I think the case for terrestrial origin is at least as robust as the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis—then it would certainly appear that we’re numerically—if not technically—superior. The “others” would be forced to live at the periphery of normal human perception, perhaps utilizing techniques analogous to recent breakthroughs with brain-machine interfaces and “mind control.”
I find it highly suspicious, for example, that so many encounters with apparent aliens involve exposure to chemicals and needles inserted into the victim’s head. Sometimes close encounter witnesses are asked to drink noxious-tasting beverages prior to conversing with the “crew,” or subjected to imagery that can be ascribed to psychedelic “conditioning.” It would certainly seem that the aliens—terrestrial or otherwise—prefer to alter our perceptions prior to establishing contact. Given the selfish motives attributed to UFO occupants by researchers like Budd Hopkins, the most coherent explanation for these techniques is that we’re being compelled to participate without the luxury of trusting our senses.
Thus, even discounting the innumerable reports of “missing time,” the abduction experience is consummately secretive—an aspect that fails to concur with the popular image of dispassionate ET scientists (who, presumably, care as little about our earthly affairs as lab workers sympathize with their rats). The mere fact that the ETs’ posthypnotic commands to forget the experience can be overridden with such surprising ease suggests we’re dealing with something other than extrasolar aliens.
Whoever these others are, their grasp of our psychical vocabulary is nothing short of startling; this enduring human aspect suggests, gently, a long and intimate relationship with our species—not the quick, pragmatic harvest we might reasonably expect from genuine ETs.
But if the Others’ interest in reproduction can be accepted at face value—and its ubiquitous nature indicates that it’s an integral component of the contact experience by almost any measure—what does it portend?
Once we finish sifting through esoteric hypotheses, we’re left with the troubling prospect that at least one “ultraterrestrial” society in our midst is suffering from a potentially debilitating genetic syndrome—and they’re desperate and savvy enough to harvest our population for a possible long-term fix. I don’t think this implies malice; if the situation were reversed, we’d almost certainly do the same thing, taking equally distressing measures to ensure our anonymity.
Needless to say, the anthropological considerations are enormous. Delving further requires a healthy sense of “recreational paranoia”—as well as the ability to suspend deep-rooted preconception.
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The abduction phenomenon quite rightly invites skepticism, but it’s often misinformed. Unlike many would-be debunkers, Terry Matheson’s book, Alien Abductions, reveals an astute familiarity with the principal texts (John Fuller’s The Interrupted Journey, Raymond Fowler’s books on Betty Andreasson, etc.). Matheson raises valid points about the way popular authors present strange memes to an astonished (if often credulous) readership. In so doing, he sounds a scholarly alarm that writers of the paranormal ignore at their peril.
I happen to agree with Matheson insofar as the influence of narrative bias is concerned. And I’m sympathetic to the prospect that the popularly conceived alien abduction phenomenon offers a glimpse into a mythology in the making. (Refreshingly, Matheson takes issue with fellow debunkers who would have us ignore the phenomenon altogether simply because it seemingly fails to live up to the “nuts and bolts” standards of conformist ufology.)
Alien Abductions is an expose of best-known selections from the abduction literature, hardly a broad-spectrum analysis of the subject. As such, it remains a valid insight into the mythic potential of what might be a reality quite beyond our grasp. But its scope is severely limited. For example, Matheson appears content accepting the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis as the only sensible “pro-UFO” interpretation. I don’t share this certainty. While there’s no doubt that the phenomenon has fueled a disturbingly far-reaching contemporary mythology, exposing the questionable techniques employed by authors of abduction books does little to resolve larger, more troubling issues.
To his credit, Matheson pointedly distances the “abduction” epidemic from the UFO phenomenon; we have yet to establish that UFOs are here to snatch humans for the purposes of some alien agenda. On the other hand, some UFOs betray what can only be some form of intelligence, however rudimentary; this alone begs the question of what they’re here for (assuming they came from elsewhere) and, more excitingly, what the implications might be for human consciousness.
Kevin Randle, co-author of the lucid The Abduction Enigma, is a sincere proponent of the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis. He’s also a critic of abductions; like Matheson, he views the UFO mystery as distinct from claims of alien intrusion. While I appreciate this much-ignored distinction, I’m not certain it’s necessarily warranted, especially as the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis remains a stubborn controversy in its own right. We could very well be dealing with an indigenous nonhuman intelligence, in which case the assumptions of abduction debunkers, whose arguments are couched in extraterrestrial terminology, are stripped of their skeptical allur For the most part, the ufological landscape remains a sparring ground for entrenched notions of dispassionate ET visitors and equally tenacious claims of popular delusion. Consequently, we’ve gone about attempting to “debunk” a phenomenon that continues to defy definition. While many—if not most—well-known abduction narratives are indeed fallible, disquieting findings from emerging (or suppressed) disciplines promise to reframe the debate.
I suspect the truth, if we can find it, will be considerably weirder than “mere” extraterrestrial visitors or sociologically induced fantasy.
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My personal take on the abduction “epidemic” is that many reports can indeed be attributed to novel—if perfectly nonpathological—mental states. Having experienced sleep paralysis, I can’t honestly deride the common debunking claim that a high percentage of “bedroom visitations” originate from the experiencer’s state of immobilization and accompanying sense of presence.
But sleep paralysis is not the final word. It does nothing, for example, to explain encounters that occur when the participant if fully awake. Nor can it account for abduction cases with witnesses, or comfortably encompass cases in which a UFO is present at the time of the reported abduction.
The questions that logically arise, given the limitations of the sleep paralysis hypothesis (and related “explanations”), are simple: who—or what—is responsible? And what are the implications?
If we allow ourselves to concede the existence of a nonhuman intelligence—if only as a thought experiment—answers to this conundrum begin to show themselves, faintly but evocatively suggesting deliberate intent.
A central motif of reported alien abductions, as well as folkloric accounts of kidnappings by nonhuman beings, is the goal of
producing “hybrid” offspring, humanoid children who are able to straddle the bridge between human society and that of the “others.”
Because of its alarming (and peripherally erotic) overtones, the “hybridization program” has become a staple ingredient in many books purporting to explain alien abductions, such as The Threat by David Jacobs and Budd Hopkins’ Sight Unseen. Jacobs, Hopkins, and their peers believe that the UFO and abduction phenomena are necessarily interlinked: UFOs are exotic vehicles used by the abductors to further their agenda. In what I’ve termed the “Silent Invasion Scenario,” the ubiquitous Grays are suffering from some sort of genetic malady and must rely on infusions of human DNA to survive—sometimes with governmental complicity.
The “hybridization program” encountered in books on the abduction phenomenon implies an advanced knowledge of genetics. But if “they” are really an unacknowledged aspect of our ourselves, their genetic prowess needn’t be in advance of our own. It’s likely we’re genetically compatible—certainly an unnerving prospect given the many references to strangely mannered humans seen in the wake of UFO sightings.
In Sight Unseen, Budd Hopkins and Carol Rainey argue that interbreeding doesn’t rule out the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis. By noting recent developments in transgenics, they show that different species can be paired in the laboratory, resulting in chimeras, animals with the traits of two (or more) species, offering support to the notion that ETs could successfully “mate” with us.
In fact, the near-future biotech economy promises a harvest of chimeric species, some exceptionally novel. Within a few years, pigs with human organs may become commonplace back-ups for people needing transplants. Understandably, ethicists are increasingly unsettled by the specter of animals with human-level intelligence. Assuming a geneticist rises to the challenge of becoming a latter-day Dr. Moreau, the medical community will be forced to grapple with the very definition of “human.”
The future world presented in Blade Runner is highly illustrative. In the film, police officers must track down and kill fugitive “replicants”—genetically engineered androids intent on bypassing their built-in expiration dates. Blade Runner’s replicants are flesh-and-blood, and share their genetic heritage with their “creators.” While one may argue that they’re synthetic and hence mere machines to be utilized, their complex emergent behavior belies any such trite definition.
Hopkins and Rainey maintain that it is indeed possible for aliens to reproduce using human genetic material. While their research is often fascinating, they fail to address the anthropology of the encounter experience. More importantly, in terms of determining whether “they” are from here or come from somewhere else, Sight Unseen limits its focus to a mere handful of reports, excluding folkloric evidence that might undermine its arguments. The result, as readers of Hopkins’ previous books can imagine, is highly readable but committed to an exclusively extraterrestrial interpretation.
Extrasolar aliens or not, the transgenic angle allows for an illuminating reassessment of the Indigenous or Cryptoterrestrial Hypothesis (CTH). Cryptoterrestrial (CT) hybrids may be “replicants” tailored to survival-oriented tasks, such as infiltrating human society. This raises a most interesting question: if close encounters typically involve more human-like CTs, such as the Grays, who’s to say there isn’t a rogues gallery of progressively stranger beings lurking behind the curtain? We could be dealing with a vast, intricate genome with no obvious “roots.” Depending on the specimen, casual scientific examination may give the false impression that a given CT is terrestrial; conversely, it may be hailed as “proof” of extraterrestrial life.
Maybe the CTs comprise a hive-mind, with humanoids at only one end of the spectrum. At the other end we might find more exotic beings, such as the mantis-like “leaders” sometimes seen presiding over abductions. Ultimately, could the CTs be insectile? The prospect is deeply ironic, given humanity’s buried fear of the insect world. We’re conditioned to accept “bugs” as miniature grotesqueries to be swatted or stepped on. Discovering we’re at the mercy of their larger, more capable cousins would be more upsetting than finding that the answer to the CT riddle is “merely” a disenfranchised offshoot of our own species.
In any case, we won’t know the true face of our elusive residents unless we undertake a thorough review of “occupant encounters,” both in modern ufological literature and in world folklore. Even a superficial reading shows that we’re likely dealing with a sister species of incredible tenacity and a chameleon-like sense of invisibility.
But if I’m correct, we mustn’t be too enthralled by their abilities. Seen up close, the CTs are more than a little sympathetic, governed by a fear of extinction and determined to persist despite our ever-encroaching global civilization. Their seeming infallibility is a studious pretense triggered, in part, by the advent of the nuclear era. It’s no coincidence that the modern UFO era blossomed in the aftermath of the world’s most destructive—and geographically intrusive—war.
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Unable to disprove a negative, I have no choice but to concede that some UFO encounters may originate from space. And it would be the height of arrogance to proclaim that the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis and the Cryptoterrestrial Hypothesis are mutually exclusive. And of course, cryptoterrestrials don’t preclude “interdimensional” travelers either. We could be experiencing a veritable pageant of entities hailing from many locations, both within our known universe and from universes linked to ours. Candidates for the latter possibility include the insect-like creatures described by “trippers” who take Dimethyltryptamine, otherwise known as DMT (the alleged “spirit molecule”). The consistency of DMT experiences invites the possibility that it literally allows access to another reality.
I’m reminded of an off-hand reference to white, mantis-like entities offered by Philip K. Dick years before the popularization of the archetypical bug-eyed “Gray.” Could Dick, via his experimentation with psychedelic drugs, have happened across the domain of beings similar to those described by abductees?
These questions beg for a taxonomy of the otherworldly. While many UFO abductions involve insect-like creatures, it’s unclear if the “Grays” are directly related to the beings encountered in the psychedelic realm. Confusingly, many “abduction” accounts feature mantis-like “leaders” operating in liaison with more human-like Grays; some reports suggest the Grays are a subservient species, perhaps even genetically engineered drones. The ever-controversial Whitley Strieber has described inert alien bodies coming to life, likening them to “diving suits” used for dealing directly in the material world.
Given the vast number of reported out-of-body and near-death experiences, I find it difficult to reject the prospect of “nonlocal” consciousness; perhaps a sufficiently advanced technology can manipulate the “soul” as easily as we splice genes or mix chemicals in test tubes. If so, encounters with “extraterrestrials” may help provide a working knowledge of how to modify and transfer consciousness—abilities that seem remote to the current terrestrial state-of-the-art, but may prove invaluable in a future where telepresence and virtual reality are integral to communication. Already, the capabilities of brain-machine interfaces are tantalizingly like the popular perception of telepathy, often thought of in strictly “paranormal” or even “magical” terms.
If we’re sharing the planet with cryptoterrestrials, it’s feasible they’ve anticipated breakthroughs in our own embryonic “technology of consciousness” and may even rely on such techniques to perpetuate the prevailing wisdom that they originate from the far reaches of space. Contactees and abductees alike describe the interiors of “alien” vehicles in curiously cinematic terms. The insides of presumed spaceships often seem like lavish props from never-filmed sci-fi dramas. The aliens don’t fare any better; they behave like jesters, dutifully regurgitating fears of ecological blight and nuclear war but casually inserting allusions that seem more in keeping with disinformation than genuine ET revelations.
&nbs
p; After intercourse, the big-eyed succubus that seduced Brazilian abductee Antonio Villas-Boas pointed skyward, implying a cosmic origin. But the mere fact that she appeared thoroughly female—and, moreover, attractive—belies an unearthly explanation. Further, one could argue that the clinical environment he encountered aboard the landed “spacecraft” was deliberately engineered to reinforce his conviction that he was dealing with extraterrestrials. (If cryptoterrestrials are using humans to improve their genetic stock, it stands to reason they’ve seen at least a few of our saucer movies. As consummate anthropologists, they likely know what we expect of “real” ETs and can satisfy our preconceptions with a magician’s skill.)
However, it’s possible they make mistakes. Strieber, for example, described the inside of a presumed vehicle as downright messy and seemingly unclean, complete with discarded garments—certainly not what we would expect of “advanced” aliens. Could his “visitors” have been in a rush? If his account is to be accepted, the “aliens” operate in an almost military fashion, carrying out their agenda with the economy of insects and their lockstep, machine like behavior. This suggests time is of the essence, consistent with an indigenous origin. While we might expect an alien intelligence millions of years ahead ourselves to casually elude detection, the rushed nature of many abductions is more in keeping with an Earth-based task force.
Further, the assumed spaceships that play such a central role in the ET mythos are often observed behaving in a manner consistent with an only moderately advanced technology. Indigenous humanoids intent on convincing us we’re dealing with interstellar propulsion might utilize surprisingly primitive devices, perhaps even stooping to specially modified balloons or blimps designed to evade capture for limited periods. Such a campaign would be cheap, capable of capturing the attention of hundreds if not thousands of witnesses, and—most importantly—further polarizing the UFO controversy among proponents of ET visitation and career “skeptics.”
