The Aesthetic of Pseudoscience
Yesterday I bought a yellowed book called Pole Shift for fifty cents. It had a cover showing a titan tsunami about to engulf New York city, the World Trade Center still intact. For the small price, it was a purchase I was willing to make. Anything promoting a cult or pseudoscientific theory will show at least one of several things: 80s UFO art, a minimalistic texted cover that looks like something from the self-help section, text with large capital letters saying some intense prophecy, and/or some mention of psychics, aliens, ancient cultures, quantum physics, and so on. This breed of books never fails to catch the eye, my eyes at least.
The appearance of fringe science books is a bit of a paradox, they both stick out like a sore thumb and blend in with everything else wanting to get a browser’s attention. Their presence gives an uncanny valley vibe whenever they’re identified. I use the word “identified” for a reason. The best way to explain this is to tell of my first experience purchasing one of these books. To be truthful, it wasn’t a book at all. It was a coloring book. At a small Florida bookstore, I came across a booklet with illustrations of aliens on the cover. After flipping through the pages, I realized it was a coloring book for an alien church. Something about its appearance made it difficult to understand at first. Its title was so straightforward, something along the lines of “draw the Pinti aliens”, like I was supposed to know what that meant. The bold title text made it out like the existence of these beings were common knowledge, a cat coloring book equivalent for the grays. The drawings themselves were crude. They were too outsider to be recognized as professional art, but presented themselves as such. I could picture in some off dimension a child slashing crayons over it on the ground of a schoolyard.
This is so appealing about pseudoscience, the familiar unfamiliar, a sense you’ve entered a glitch. When entering this so-called absurd realm of knowledge, it’s hard not to ponder. What if a religion such as Scientology had the cultural relevance of Christianity in a parallel world? How would humanity function and develop seeing that spiritual system as divine truth throughout thousands of years? I’d imagine many things would be the same in radically different ways. This is why the mere design of fringe science books are so interesting. They have this otherworldliness encased in normality.
Now it’s time to bring up the elephant in the room, the taboo nature of pseudoscience. Even for myself, seeing a dated cover about an alien religion can give a sense of unease. For those older than me, it hits too close to home with the imagery associated with dangerous cults like heaven’s gate or Scientology. Of course, society has done away with much of this imagery within modern books. Cultish ideals have rebranded themselves to a more self-help template in my generation. Despite the differences, all eras have their shared features. I can’t help but feel a sense of overbearing purity when looking at a book cover promoting pseudoscience. They have the essence of suburbs with identical houses and well-manicured lawns cut too clean at the sidewalk edges. The eye-catching nature of them gives the viewer a sense they’ve stumbled upon the divine truth to all things, all of life’s mysteries wrapped up in a pleasing box, ready to open.
There’s a strange catharsis to reading books like these and taking in their beliefs with open arms. It’s tempting to find a life purpose through their teachings even knowing it will lead to being scammed or joining a cult. Then comes the big question: What if parts of them are true? What if aliens really live in hollowed out cavities in the mountains? What then? Are the so-called nutcases who peddle this stuff just more inquisitive fools that received nuggets of truth? Who’s saying it’s all real? Who’s saying it’s all fake? These last two questions give a sense of foreboding. What really is the truth, and how are these “channelers” twisting it to fulfill their conscious and unconscious desires? This is the meat of pseudoscientific literature, the individual behind the curtain at Oz.
Perhaps these prophecies of aliens saving the planet are more tragic than imagined, visions of truth just too nebulous and diluted by human judgment for us to understand. Then humanity must consider the other side of the coin. What if it’s all nonsense after all? The possibility of being sucked into doom through friendly self help imagery is my biggest source of unease. It’s why I take an interest in fringe science, like how people enjoy haunted houses.
