Posthuman Blues

The UFO debate has become undeniably polarized, especially in the United States. Jacques Vallee has attributed the fixation with the Extraterrestrial Hypothesis to the urge to "kick the tires," which seems to suggest that Americans are skeptical of alien visitation. Rather paradoxically, polls show that Americans' acceptance of alien visitors in nuts-and-bolts spacecraft is alive and even thriving, with the 1990s' rash of "abduction" reports fueling belief in both ETs and a probable government cover-up.

This predisposition to address the UFO enigma in predominantly "aerospace" terms has starved objective research by alienating mainstream scientists (bored with unsubstantiated tales of close encounters or odd lights in the sky) by implying the phenomenon is necessarily physical. If physical, argue debunkers, the alien presence should be self-evident, especially in our era of automated surveillance.





Equally lamentable, little or no effort is expended trying to fathom the psychology of ETs. SETI, for instance, remains largely an engineering effort, with hypothetical aliens governed by the same conceits and prejudices that influence the field's guiding researchers.

This casual anthropomorphism undermines the mainstream's dealings with ET intelligence. Needless to say, it completely bypasses the idea that some form of nonhuman intelligence may already be in our midst. If nonhumans are in fact at our doorstep, it stands to reason that they would exploit our predilection for "space aliens." If they possess a technology even slightly more advanced than ours, staging "extraterrestrial" landings may prove irresistible.

But the ET bias is even more damaging in scope. Its assumption that the Cosmos will inevitably yield its secrets to our ever-improving instrumental capability lures us from other, equally enticing, models of reality that may have much more bearing on the prospect of nonhuman life and consciousness. Shamans of so-called "primitive" cultures have long relied on altered states to communicate with otherworldly intelligences. Psychedelic drugs commonly facilitate or heighten this communication, implying a deep-rooted neurological mechanism. The various altered states described by "abductees" suggest a common origin, allowing the possibility that "others" might exploit mind-to-mind communication as casually as we use cellphones and broadband Internet.

If a shadow race of earthly humanoids has achieved some form of telepathy, we may be well on the way to bridging the gulf. Powerful computers have already been set to work simulating the interactions that define "thought" on the sub-cellular level. Electron microscopy has revealed "protein microtubules" thought to make use of quantum effects. British mathematician Roger Penrose, an early collaborator with Stephen Hawking, has claimed that our brains' quantum nature prohibits the construction of artificial minds -- the stated aim of artificial intelligence research. Although the verdict certainly isn't in -- and may not be until scientists unravel the mind-brain dichotomy -- it's interesting to note the role of parallel universes in a world governed by quantum mechanics.

Physicist David Deutsch, for instance, advocates the still-controversial "Many Worlds Interpretation" (MWI) of quantum theory, in which our universe bifurcates each time a subatomic event's wave function "collapses." Taken to its dizzying extreme, the MWI allows for a near-endless pageant of universes to encompass all conceivable outcomes. Deutsch bases his verdict, in part, on the success of quantum computers: devices that appear to perform calculations by harnessing subatomic processes in other, closely related, worlds.





Could the human brain, suitably "tuned," produce comparable results? Given reports of humanoid beings "materializing" and "disappearing," it's tempting to speculate that our visitors have mastered a technology of consciousness, able to manipulate their own wave functions and skip back and forth between multiple universes at the speed of thought. This is one (admittedly colorful) explanation for the lack of physical evidence; "they" might lurk in "hyperspace" as well as familiar, 3-D space-time. Moreover, this form of travel might be accomplished without the need for energy-intensive machinery; if shamanic experiences are any indication, the ability to transcend space and time might be a more fitting subject for parapsychologists than theoretical physicists.

Also intriguing are accounts of "tulpas," human-like entities crafted by pure thought. Capable of carrying out tasks on behalf of their creators, "tulpas" aren't unlike the maddeningly transient "occupants" seen in or around "spacecraft" (sometimes digging for soil specimens in an almost parodic reenactment of the Apollo Moon landings).

While a more conventional flesh-and-blood explanation remains my central proposal, we would be timid to avoid addressing the UFO phenomenon's parapsychological aspects. I find it likely that an indigenous population of "aliens" would have experimented along "occult" lines out of sheer need for secrecy; a nuts and bolts" technology can go a long way toward ensuring anonymity in the face of an instrusive human civilization, but the ability to directly influence the fabric of Mind itself would be even more effective and perhaps less resource-intensive.

Thus, demonstrating the existence of indigenous humanoids remains problematic. We might hope to catch up with them, forcing them to reveal themselves in a most surreal form of the "disclosure" sought by proponents of "exopolitics." Given startling advancements in quantum physics and computer science, we may be closer to this pivotal moment than we know.