going-clear-scientology-hollywood-and-the-prison-of-belief-by-lawrence-wright-2

helpful, and he continued to advance on the Bridge, even after his unsettling encounter
with OT III. He saw so many intelligent people on the path, and he always expected
that his concerns would be addressed at the next level. They never were. After OT III, it
was all “intergalactic spirituality,” in his opinion. On the other hand, he had already
paid for the complete package, so why not continue and see what happened? “Maybe
there is something, and I’m missing it,” he told himself.
When Haggis reached OT VII, which was the peak at the time, he still felt confused
and unsatised. At the top of the OT pyramid, the thetan was promised the ability to
control “thought, life, form, matter, energy, space and time, subjective and objective.”
The nal exercise (according to documents obtained by WikiLeaks—Haggis refused to
talk about it) was “Go out to a park, train station or other busy area. Practice placing
an intention into individuals until you can successfully and easily place an intention
into or on a Being and/or a body.” But even if you could do that, how would you know
if you succeeded? If you were transmitting the intention “Scratch your head” and a
person did so, was he responding to your psychic order or was it simply coincidental? It
was difficult to evaluate.
Haggis thought that Hubbard was such a brilliant intellect that the failure to grasp
these concepts and abilities must be his alone. He nally conded to a counselor at the
Celebrity Centre that he didn’t think he was a very good Scientologist because he
couldn’t bring himself to believe. He said he felt like a fraud and thought he might have
to leave the church. She told him, “There are all sorts of Scientologists,” just as there are
many varieties of Jews and Christians with varying levels of belief. The implication was
that Haggis could believe whatever he wanted, to “pick and choose,” as he says.
Haggis’s career was going so well that in 1987 he was approached by Ed Zwick and
Marshall Herskovitz to write for a new television series called thirtysomething. They were
looking for distinctive voices. “I love the fact that you guys are doing a show that’s
about emotions,” Haggis told them. “I hate writing about emotions. And I don’t like to
talk about my own.” But he seemed to be looking for a chance to push himself
creatively. With his rst script, Zwick and Herskovitz told him, “This is really good, but
where does it come from?” Haggis didn’t know what they meant. “Where does it come
from—within you?” they explained. The thought that his own experience mattered was a
revelation.
Zwick and Herskovitz sensed that Haggis wasn’t happy on the show; in any case, he
got a lucrative oer to create his own series and left after the rst season. But he had
won two Emmys, for writing and producing, and the experience transformed him as a
writer. From working with Zwick and Herskovitz, Haggis became interested in directing.
He nally got the chance to do a brief ad for the church about Dianetics. He decided
against the usual portrayal of Scientology as a triumphal march toward enlightenment,
choosing instead to shoot a group of people talking about practical ways they had used
Dianetics in their lives. It was casual and naturalistic. Church authorities hated it. They
told him it looked like a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.
Then, out of the blue, Haggis got a huge break. He did a favor for a friend who
wanted to create a new series that would star Chuck Norris, whose career as an action-