The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch is a particularly bizarre tale from that most imaginative of writers, Philip K. Dick. This month on Film, Literature and the New World Order, James discusses this groundbreaking work with Tim Lacy of ReportageBook.com. So, what do the exploits of Leo Bolero and Barney Mayerson have to do with anamnesis, the Platonic forms and Valentinian gnosis? Find out in this fascinating conversation!
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SHOW NOTES
Postscript to The Name of the Rose
How to Build a Universe That Doesn’t Fall Apart Two Days Later
90 Minutes With Philip K. Dick
NEXT MONTH: The Conversation (1974) – dir. Francis Ford Coppola
NEXT NEXT MONTH: The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Dear James and Philip,
For centuries, we have been talking about consciousness, reality and interpretation. Plato, the Gnostics, Jung, hermeneutics, Philip K. Dick — the material is abundant. And yet one layer remains structurally underexamined: the concrete, individual interface through which reality becomes accessible to a human being in the first place.
This is not a detail. It comes before interpretation.
Every human being has literal blind spots. The retina contains an area without photoreceptors; yet we do not experience a hole in our visual field because the visual system fills in the missing information. Attention is selective as well: something can be visibly present before us without ever being consciously noticed. Our experience of reality is therefore not a complete registration from the outset, but the result of selection, processing and construction.
And this access is not identical in every human being.
People differ in attention, sensory sensitivity, mental imagery, inner speech, bodily awareness, capacity for abstraction, and the ways in which information is subsequently processed. What immediately acquires conscious weight for one person may barely be noticed by another, or may be represented in an entirely different way.
Two intelligent and sincere people can therefore observe the same phenomenon without having precisely the same information consciously available to them.
This is not a philosophical curiosity. It goes directly to the question of how knowledge itself comes into being.
People think they are discussing “reality”, while easily forgetting that they are first dependent on their own access to that reality.
And this is precisely where intellect can become a peculiar problem.
A powerful intellect can construct a phenomenal edifice from the information that *has* become available. It can make hundreds of historical, theological and philosophical connections. It can design schemas, draw triads, distinguish hermeneutical layers and analyse Gnostic myths, presenting all of this with such coherence that completeness begins to seem almost self-evident.
But coherence is not evidence of completeness.
A perfectly coherent model can still be constructed from only a limited portion of what there was to know.
And an exceptional intellect may make that limitation more difficult to see. Not necessarily because the blind spot itself becomes larger, but because the intellect becomes increasingly capable of constructing a convincing, consistent and self-reinforcing system from what *is* available.
This creates a second-order blind spot.
The problem is no longer merely: I do not perceive something.
The problem becomes: I do not know that I do not perceive it, because what I do perceive can be explained so convincingly.
That is a much more fundamental epistemological vulnerability.
Intelligence does not automatically protect us against it. Expertise necessarily brings strong schemas and expectations. These enable rapid recognition and complex analysis, but they can simultaneously determine where attention is directed, what is assigned significance, and what is dismissed as irrelevant.
The very same instrument that makes someone exceptionally good at recognizing patterns can therefore make that person less sensitive to information that falls outside their existing patterns.
And this is precisely the paradox I see in conversations in which people spend hours discussing reality, perception, gnosis, psyche, transcendence and consciousness, while barely examining how the concrete human being using these words gains access to what they are trying to understand in the first place.
What is missing, then, is a question that comes even before hermeneutics: What part of reality was accessible to this particular observer, through which sensory and cognitive routes, with what intensity and what weight, before the intellect began to interpret it?
And then comes the more difficult question: What barely reaches this person at all — and how could they ever discover that it is missing?
This is where the ancient injunction “nosce te ipsum— know thyself” suddenly acquires a far more radical meaning.
Not merely:
know your character;
know your history;
know your beliefs.
But: know the instrument with which you are trying to know.
Know how your attention operates.
Know which forms of information readily acquire conscious weight for you.
Know how quickly perception becomes language, image, feeling, abstraction, explanation or action. And above all, learn to take seriously the possibility that there is information that remains barely accessible within your own particular configuration.
Only then does interpretation become truly interesting. Because without that step, we run the risk of explaining not reality itself, but constructing an extraordinarily convincing explanation of that part of reality to which our own instrument happened to give us access.
And the more brilliant that intellectual edifice becomes, the easier it is to miss the fundamental problem: we do not have full access to consciousness, nor are most of us aware of how our particular interface gives us access to it.
We build our understanding from what becomes available through that limited opening — and then risk mistaking the coherence of what we have constructed for the completeness of consciousness itself.
Elusive Agon, MacGuffins and Names
PDK’s stories often have a number of false or evolving MacGuffins. I will note one, but do see how many and which ones you can trace. Oh, and character names, place names, company names are also very interesting, worth investigation.
I quote wikpedia:
The early chapters very economically set forth the main characters, establishing a semblence of the “real life” needed for every story. (In this novel, that “reality” unravels in nearly its every facet as the end approaches.)
The story begins in medias res, and the agon (contest) is Alles gegen Alles: none of the characters we meet early on are heroic. In fact, they all seem determined to take advantage or manipulate one another. (With the possible exception of Emily, and with the definite exception of Anne Hawthorne, the Neo-Christian whom we first encounter when Barney is in the airport, awaiting his voluntary trip to Mars.)
Speaking of names, “Emily” appears 103 times, 102 as simply “Emily” and only once with her last name. In that instance, her name is presented in combination with her husband, in the E-therapy scene in Chapter 5, well after her introduction in the story: “Again Bulero eyed Richard and Emily Hnatt, lingeringly, then strode off.” She appears alone, singular, even protected, throughout. A tenderness comes to surround her through this persistence, foreshadowing the sad result of her E-therapy session.
MacGuffin-wise, we have Barney’s doomy draft notice, and his gloomy attitude. In order to evade the draft, (the world government in the form of the UN will send him to Mars), Barney plans to build a body of disqualifying psychoanalytical documentation on himself. Hence the use of Dr. Smile, his shrink-in-a-suitcase and constant companion. A talking machine, the good doctor is present even from the time Barney shacks up with Rondinella (“sparrow”) Fugate (past participle of Latin “to drive away”), Barney’s new, young, slender, too-clever-by-half female assistant, a precognitive fashion consultant for P. P. Layouts. The story begins following her first day and night “on the job” so to speak.
While the novel’s first (and short-lived) MacGuffin is the draft notice, we have to acknowledge Dr. Smile for a special award. While he doesn’t exactly drive the narrative like a worry bead (MacGuffin), he does turn out to be a very forth-giving narrative device, providing both comic relief and expository dialogue… and psychiatry.
Comparison to Kafka
Towards the end of the podcast, we compared the opening sentence of PKD’s novel with that of Kafka’s novella The Metamorphosis.
DIE VERWANDLUNG von Franz Kafka
(Project Gutenberg, original German text)
Als Gregor Samsa eines Morgens aus unruhigen Träumen erwachte, fand er sich in seinem Bett zu einem ungeheueren Ungezeifer verwandelt.
THE METAMORPHOSIS
by Franz Kafka
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous beast.
THE THREE STIGMATA OF PALMER ELDRITCH
by Philip K. Dick
His head unnaturally aching, Barney Mayerson woke to find himself in an unfamiliar bedroom in an unfamiliar conapt building.
A bit of expansion on Kafka’s work seems useful.
The last two of nineteen simple words, the alliterative “ungeheueren Ungezeifer” are conjoined by a near stutter (DUM-dee-dee-dum d’DUM-dee-dee-dum), driving home and lyricizing a plain hideous fact. This might not be translatable, but should be heard. Do your best.
Then notice PKDs fisrt sentence, also nineteen words, providing his own rhythm and “un” repetition. He lays it out differently, but the internal echoing is clear: “unnaturally… unfamiliar… unfamiliar….”
I admit that I note this (and I continue below) with righteous glee, and with sincere gratitude to Vladimir Nabokov—an entomologist on top of everything else one can say about him—whose edited lecture notes and even some drawings on Kafka’s work are published in the 1980 volume Lectures on Literature (archive dot org link), because I have interfered with the accepted English translations out there, opting here for literal German. Therefore “ungeheueren Ungezeifer” is “monstrous beast” and not “gigantic insect” as is the usual (mis)translation.
This is what Kafka wrote. The subsequent sentences present Gregor’s horrific new “reality” in impartial, descriptive detail. The author omits “helpful” naming, explanations and interpretations. This essential point is made well in James and Tom’s podcast last month. Our discussion of Umberto Eco and Philip K. Dick in the present podcast reestablishes the point.
These details—in Kafka, in PKD, in literature—are not secondary. They ARE the work. A worthy author does not put ideas on paper… what does that even mean? An author puts words together. Whether clear or ambiguous, sonorous or awkward—the meanings, the associations, the sound and sense are not to be altered, sanded down or recast for ease of intake, cataloguing or interpretation.
Specifically in the opening sentence of The Three Stigmata, I think the allusion, the rhythm and repetition, the homage to Kafka is conscious and intentional. PKD read and spoke German, and he read everything. (His German caused surprise and dismay for the erstwhile “helpful” Teutonic translators of his novel Ubik.)
Not only is Barney undergoing a metamorphosis, a transformation. So is the reader. The world created in this novel is home to our encounter with a transcendent evil that is “unnatural… unfamiliar… unfamiliar.”
Speaking of indescribable evil, or more precisely of evil which cannot and should not be described…
Willis Barnstone
“Thirteen Questions: A Dialogue with Jorge Luis Borges”
Chicago Review, vol. 31, no. 3, 1980
(Emphasis is mine. This is excerpted from a PDF hosted by Chicago Review.)
Continuing with The Metamorphosis, the German word “Insekt” appears nowhere in the original novella. A particular, named characterization of Gregor’s new outward form appears, after the horror of the new thing has receded somewhat (and after his mother and sister have tired of him), when “this old widow” refers to him as an “old dung beetle” (alter Mistkäfer). The narrator presents this descriptive three-word sequence precisely, twice, yet in an off-hand way:
Anfangs rief sie ihn auch zu sich herbei, mit Worten, die sie wahrscheinlich für freundlich hielt, wie »Komm mal herüber, alter Mistkäfer!« oder »Seht mal den alten Mistkäfer!«
At first she called him over, too, with words she probably thought friendly, such as “Come over, old dung beetle!” or “Look at the old dung beetle!”
And “this old widow” (Diese alte Witwe) “had no real abhorrence for Gregor” (hatte keinen eigentlichen Abscheu vor Gregor).
The narrator is intentionally detached and forensic—almost bland—as he lets the widow bear honest witness. The blasé narrative tone therefore contains precise confirmation, the naming of something which had to be described—not interpreted or explained for us—at the outset.
(She is not a “charwoman” by the way. Translators never cease to mock the reader and harm the work with such unhelpful “helpfulness.”)
PKD, Palmer Eldritch and Sacramental Theology – Preamble
I note (with sniffy disdain) the expression “Christian Themes” patiently applied to PKD’s writing, in and after this novel. The expression is found in wikipedia, in academia, in nearly every soiled market stall of today’s conformist, humanist, secular, atheist and anti-religious, workaday culture. (The culture was less so in 1964, but now we are looking at an ignoramus standard, especially among the elite. BTW: Is there an adjective form for ignoramus?)
As used, the term “Christian Themes” often seems to imply that religion (Christianity) = meaninglessness. (There was an equally dismissive phrase “beautiful old churches” in the Soviet world. It signified the generous indulgence of those-who-understand, of their intellectual and ideological currency and hence their [not your] membership in THE in-group. Think about this when you hear the word “religion” or “Christianity” used as an implicit substitute for obsolescence, a bygone thing which “everyone knows” has been surpassed by “progress” and is rightly held in contempt by all enlightened persons. I mean, it’s 2026, right?)
I don’t take issue with any atheistic, agnostic, pro-istic or anti-istic position. One can believe, embrace and express any position, any faith whatsoever. Do be aware, however, that disbelief is nearly always a belief too. Every Anti-Thingy comes with received ideas, dogmatic rules and regs, anathemas and sins to be expiated (or not!). Those committed to the Anti appear chock-a-block with ideological presupposition, in direct proportion to their smugness (when unchallenged) and to a point-and-splutter emotional meltdown (when challenged).
I take issue only with that underlying, perennial philistine presumptuousness which presents opinion as fact. Please show your work. Don’t tread on me.
So here let us re-enter the Eco Chamber, hand in hand… for cool and quiet solace, for refuge, for the soul-nourishing mind-candy of Umberto Eco’s thoughts on intellectual honesty.
I quote (emphasis in the original) from the essay “Cogito Interruptus” on page 222 of Travels in Hyperreality:
He used my ‘Eco Chamber’ pun!
PKD, Palmer Eldritch and Sacramental Theology – Chapter and Page
I searched the PDF text of this novel for instances of “bread and wine” and “wafer” and so forth. The PDF I used is different from the print edition that James and I have and refer to, but I corrected page numbers to refer to the 2007 Phoenix/Orion UK paperback edition (which is the one held up on the screen). I also note the chapter numbers, to help those who have a different edition/pagination.
Chapter 5, page 70
Dr. Denkmal mentions transubstantiation when introducing E-Therapy to Richard and Emily Hnatt.
Chapter 6, page 95
This weird and disconcerting conversation happens during Leo’s trip into Chew-Z, into the world(s) of Palmer Eldritch—whatever he or it is. The little girl “is” Palmer Eldritch, and goes on to prove this to Leo by bringing up “the wine and the wafer in transubstantiation…”
Chapter 7, pages 131 and so on
Anne Hawthorne’s first appearance. In less than a page of (shameless expository) dialogue, she proves herself to be a font of information on the sacramental theology of the Neo-Christian movement. The conversation moves toward their destination (Mars), to Can-D, Chew-Z etc.
Chapter 9, Page 157
“Paul who?” Anne, exuding spiritual enthusiasm, alludes to Paul’s epistles, and specifically mentions the “paraclete” (the advocate), a name for a post-ascension, earthly manifestation the Holy Spirit.
Chapter 10, page 171
Barney’s encounter with Palmer Eldritch (or with a projection… or whatever). Interiorly Barney says, “flesh and blood” with characteristic irony.
Chapter 11, page 203
Barney faces six Palmer Eldritches, and “they” mention St. Paul. This whole section is a tenuous episode in Barney’s Chew-Z trip(s). I find it uncertain where/if he is in space-time… or what that even means at this point. He visits P.P. Layouts, his old office, which seems exactly the kind of regretful, unrelenting “past revisited” personal nightmare that typifies the Chew-Z experience.
Chapter 13, page 230
Anne says, “Remember the wine and wafer,” as the neighbors in Chickenpox Acres grapple with … whatever it is, following their first taste of Chew-Z.
(Part one)
In my self published book The Urban Shaman I cover the idea of myth and reality.
>>Eliade, Mircea
Myth and Reality; Harper and Row Pub., Inc., New York, New York, 1975
“Myth narrates a sacred history; it relates an event that took place in primordial Time, the fabled time of the ‘beginnings…Myth then is always an account of a ‘creation;’…Myth tells only of that which really happened, which manifested itself completely. …in societies where myth is still alive the natives carefully distinguish myths—‘true stories’—from fables or tales, which they call ‘false stories.”>>
So, according to Eliade, in archaic societies, myth means a true story, sacred, significant. It assures people that what they are about to do has already been done before, helping them overcome doubts about the results of their endeavor. Todays use of “myth” is in the context of fiction or illusion. The “false stories” Eliade is talking about are those which speak to being freed from monsters, delivered from other disasters, national or regional heroes, and doing noble deeds.
This is so obvious of course in the plethora of shoot, maim, kill, nonsense seen in movies, TV, digital games, etc. today. Part of the controllers clever manipulation of consciousness to insure strife and division amongst people and not any true investigation or exploration of deeper thinking about reality.
– – – – – – – – – –
As Rockefeller said in about 1903 after buying out and closing down holistic colleges to assure the use of his coming big pharma corporations based on the Prussian method of education:
“We want workers, not thinkers.”
– – – – – – – – – –
False stories, according to Eliade, can be told anywhere, any time, but the true myths, in archaic culture, must not be recited except during a period of sacred time (usually in the Autumn or Winter and only at night.) And this thinking receives much resistance from those who are caught in the idea that alternative thinking from the main stream narrative is ‘hippie dippie’ nonsense.
(Part two)
Through retelling and reenacting the myths, a shaman or medicine man is able to learn the secret of the origin of things. The Greeks emptied mythos of all spiritual, metaphysical value. The word eventually has come to mean, “What cannot really exist.” Most of the Greek myths were recounted and modified by Heisod and Homer, who were writing for the military and feudal aristocracies.
Much of our modern reading is oriented for profit towards the middle class who are steeped in the myths, lies, and deceptions of the “holy books.” They are prime candidates for stories of victims, revenge, etc., like the war stories in the bible. As they say, the winners write the history books.
Hidden Reality—Many cultures refer to our coming into existence after our first going through a ritual of voluntary loss of our memory regarding our previous greatness:
Veils of Illusion, Valley of Forgetfulness. In mythology the “awakening” or anamnesis proves to be a prerequisite for immortality, freeing of oneself from a deep sleep, a forgetting or bondage of some sort, part of a divine circular game.
It is said, while you may get recollection of past lives, that does not mean you will necessarily recall the eternal truths or ideas. There is a difference between memory (Mnemne) and recollection (Anamnesis.)
It is my belief our overemphasis in using the neo-cortex (New Brain) center, in our technologically oriented society, has seriously affected us. It has closed down access to the ancient wisdom and knowledge carried in our genetic coding, our mind-body systems, leaving us deprived of trusted intuitive guidance. And I don’t see this as an ‘accident’ of any sort.
The current revealing of the Tartarian or ancient ways is waking many up to just how much truth has been hidden from us. Our greatness potential has not been witnessed in centuries.
WALKING BETWEEN WORLDS (song)
https://old.bitchute.com/video/YV58suiSIw0K/
Pop messianism and more name stuff
In Chapter 2, page 25 (2007 Phoenix UK paperback edition)
Taking Leo’s endorsement of Miss Jurgens’ observation as an example of popular imagination (and she does explicitly provide such context, regarding the recent history of the world of this novel), then space travel beyond the Solar System is not merely a voyage into the void, but into spiritual mystery. It is akin to revelation, and those who have traveled and returned carry an aura of theosis, deification, etc. A forgivable popular belief becomes hubris in an individual who takes the messianic ball and runs with it, so to speak.
As for Barney Mayerson, his surname means “son of the greater.” Perhaps he was born for better things.
Or/and, perhaps Barney is comparable to the transformed Gregor Samsa, who dies never having realized he could fly.
To be extremely pedantic: Barney is one of two characters with a patronymic surname, the other being Miss Gleason, Leo’s bright, competent secretary. (Gleason means “son of the bright” or “son of brightness.”)