The beginning of the campaign against his work began in 1947, about five years before the Beats wrote about the “sex boxes.” A journalist interviewed him and wrote a few articles and it went downhill from there. The problem was that Reich looked a little too much like that well-known American phenomenon, the false messiah or prophet, and his sexual ideas bore a remarkable resemblance to those of John Humphrey Noyes, founder of the Oneida Community. Reich had set himself up on his own estate in Maine and published his books and the Orgone Journal on his own private press. He was surrounded by disciples who believed that his ideas would be the salvation of modern civilization. He had announced his discovery of an unknown cosmic energy, which could be captured in boxes. His sexual ideas sounded as if they were an excuse for orgies. He was an authoritarian who was intensely, neurotically, touchy about criticism. He lacked medical qualifications to practice in America, yet he was firmly convinced that his own heterodox ideas were right, and that the rest of the medical profession was hopelessly misguided. He sounded like a crank and a false messiah, and it was partly his own fault for setting up an organization that looked like a crank religious movement. Reich found himself the object of widespread ridicule and hostility. There were plenty of psychiatrists who were willing to state their opinion that Reich’s latest ideas were worthless, and that Reich himself was psychotic.
All this was reprehensible, but understandable. Reich claimed to be a scientist who had made an epoch-making discovery. Then why had he not done what scientists have always done: published it to the world, and allowed other scientists a chance to judge it, instead of setting up a private institution to exploit it? Reich’s answer, in a book he called
Listen, Little Man!: Christ encountered the same kind of thing. Like Christ, he (Reich) is attacking the anti-life armoring of modern man, and hatred is the natural reaction of the sick to those who want to bring them health.
The trouble with this explanation is that it’s at base untrue. It’s untrue in the case of Jesus, and particularly untrue in the case of Reich. Jesus was disliked by the Romans because he represented a political threat, and by his own people because nations with strong religious traditions detest upstarts who want to alter things. Reich aroused hostility because he seemed to be what he
was: a paranoid egoist.
Listen, Little Man! reveals massive self-deception and full-blown paranoia.
In 1950, Reich wanted to see if his orgone energy could cure radiation sickness. So he applied to the Atomic Energy Commission for a small quantity of radioactive Phosphorus-32. When this failed to arrive, he ordered some radium from a private laboratory. Well, his experiments with the radium made everyone in the laboratory sick, including his wife. A critic called the whole thing a “comic opera.” This led Reich to increasingly take the view that there is a negative principle in the universe, the equivalent of the Devil. This has provided skeptics with some effective ammunition, since it seems to show that Reich was all along a cryptoreligious crank.
Reich also observed, in the months following the experiment, that the atmosphere in the area became dull and heavy. What had happened, Reich decided, was that the “deadly orgone radiation” had affected the normal atmospheric orgone, producing a kind of spreading rot. As usual, Reich succeeded in using these negative results as the basis for further discovery. The problem was to deactivate the polluted atmosphere. His solution was the “cloudbuster,” his most controversial and bizarre invention. It consisted of a whole bank of metal tubes. The inference seemed to be that the tubes set up a kind of convection current of orgone energy, flowing from the atmosphere into the water. The orgone current acts like a breeze and disperses clouds.
Conversely, he discovered he could increase the size of clouds. If the cloudbuster was as obviously effective as Reich claims, it should have been possible to gather together a few skeptical, or even hostile, scientists to witness a demonstration. But Reich had turned his back on the “establishment,” and continued to work alone, with the predictable result that any scientists who came to hear about his results dismissed them as the delusions of a crank.
It’s impossible to blame the scientists for regarding him as a madman; that’s clearly Reich’s own fault. His “scientific” discoveries became ever more preposterous—the orgone accumulator, the cloudbuster, even a motor that was supposed to work off orgone energy. Then came his UFO phase, like I said, where he came to believe that he was being observed by beings from outer space.
In 1953, he came out with
The Murder of Christ. Reichians are inclined to regard it as Reich’s “Great Testament.” Non-Reichians, like myself, will see it simply as an extension of his paranoia. In it, Reich identifies himself with Christ and preaches a sermon on the various stratagems of the forces of emotional plague, with chapters on Judas Iscariot, St. Paul, and Mocigeno, the man who betrayed Giordano Bruno to the Inquisition. This chapter, entitled “The Murder of Christ in Giordano Bruno,” is a typical example of Reich’s tendency to see everything in his own crudely oversimplified terms.
My thoughts though, were that if they REALLY believed his ideas were nonsense, why burn all his writings? And it was the Government and FDA, no less, that did so. What information did they not want getting out? If it was all bullshit, surely there would be no reason to do that? If they only locked him up for acting bizarrely, why do that? Something about that just doesn't sit right.
Let me go into this in detail, so you understand how his books came to be destroyed without it being a conspiracy of the government trying to suppress the truth.
In 1954, after seven years of investigation, the FDA served Reich with a 20-something page Complaint. The essence of it was that the orgone accumulator did not work,
could not work, since orgone energy did not exist. It cited various publications by Reich to show that he believed the accumulator could cure cancer. Taking into account the basic attitude of the FDA, that Reich was a crank, it is, on the whole, a fair and balanced document. Moreover, if the FDA believed that there was no such thing as orgone energy, and that therefore the accumulators were worthless, they had no alternative than to try to prevent their use; for patients who relied on them rather than on proper medical attention were placing their lives at risk. (Of course, we know these judgments are not always correct, but sometimes they are.)
Reich should have been rational to see this, and to concede that in future the accumulators would not be shipped across state lines. Instead, he made his most appalling mistake so far, possibly the greatest single mistake of his life. Instead of appearing in court to try to explain his position, he wrote the court a rambling, four-page “Response,” quibbling about whether the FDA was the ‘US Government,’ quoting Lincoln on freedom, and talking about conspirators whose aim is to destroy human happiness and self government. Reich’s main argument was that the court was trying to interfere with the course of scientific investigation; therefore, he said, he did not intend to appear.
Reich was missing the point. The FDA was not trying to interfere with his research; only with the sale of what they considered to be a quack remedy
across state lines to finance that research. But the whole tone of the Response was bound to irritate even the most open-minded judge. The judge took the view that the Response was a “crank letter,” and the FDA seized the opportunity that Reich offered on a plate by demanding a default injunction against him, which the judge promptly granted.
The Complaint lists a dozen or so of Reich’s publications which could be regarded as “promotion material.” In effect the FDA was asking that all these works should not be sold outside the state of Maine. And here Reich was on very firm ground indeed. The most incompetent lawyer in America would have pointed out that this was a violation of the right of freedom of speech, and that the suppression of books (except on the grounds of obscenity) ran counter to the whole spirit of the US Constitution. No court would have granted such an injunction under normal circumstances, and the FDA probably took it for granted that the judge would refuse to ban Reich’s books. By writing the court a defiant “crank letter,” Reich took the only possible step that could have led to the suppression of some of his most important works.
The questions of Reich’s motives will probably never be clear. The most obvious explanation is that his persecution mania had reached a point where he believed that the banning of his books was as likely as the banning of the accumulator. But surely any lawyer could have told him he had a powerful case? Here the answer could be that Reich’s followers were deserting him in droves, and that those who were left accepted whatever Reich said or did without question.
There's one other hypothesis that seems to me plausible. As long ago as 1920, Reich had identified himself with Peer Gynt, a character in one of Ibsen’s plays, who falls out of step with the rest of humanity, who is misunderstood, derided when weak, and attacked when strong. Reich had written his own scenario, and it runs throughout his life. He almost gives the impression of being determined to be misunderstood and rejected; to be understood and accepted would embarrass him. And the later identification with Christ suggests that, unconsciously at least, he
wants to be crucified. The root of the urge could lie in his sense of guilt about being responsible for his mother’s suicide; but this “Freudian” explanation could be too glib. It seems just as simple to say that his belief in his own genius was linked with a romantic conviction, based on self-pity, that greatness invites martyrdom. For what would Reich have done with success and acclaim. If Reich had been given the Nobel Prize, his acceptance speech would have been a torrent of reproach and scorn. His unconscious mind was geared to the idea of persecution and martyrdom.
When the judge granted the default injunction, he was unaware that Reich had cast him in the role of Pontius Pilate. When he heard of the injunction, Reich hatched a plan to use his cloudbusters to flood the eastern states and confound his enemies. He dispatched a telegram to the US Weather Bureau in Washington declaring that he would be flooding the East, and the consequences of his actions was the responsibility of the Federal judge that granted the injunction. The weather forecast was fair, but it snowed the next day. Reich sent out a triumphant telegram to the weather bureau, with copies to President Eisenhower and J. Edgar Hoover, as well as various newspapers. But Reich’s demonstration must be regarded as a failure. He had hoped to flood the East; but a few local snowstorms convinced nobody.
Even at this stage, there was room to maneuver. The most sensible course would have been to recall the interstate accumulators, and to destroy these under the supervision of the FDA, then to point out that books and other material would automatically cease to be promotional material. It’s hardly possible to advertise something that does not exist. But Reich seemed to be in the grip of some fatal laziness or indifference. He made no attempt to carry out the instructions of the injunction. All Reich did was to stop further rental of accumulators. He seems to have had no suspicion that he was placing his head on the chopping block. He seemed to be busy fighting UFOs with his cloudbuster. The FDA tried to talk to him but he continued to stonewall attempts to inspect the premises at Orgonon. It looked, to the FDA, quite simply, that Reich was defying the injunction and continuing his activities as before. Finally, officialdom lost its temper. They asked him and his assistant to appear in court. Reich became increasingly paranoid and put heavy chains up across the entrances, and his followers were armed with rifles.
Eventually, Reich went to court and spoke for a half an hour about UFOs, and about the conspiracy against him. He made a thoroughly bad impression, insisting that he was a humble man, then adding that he was one of the greatest scientists alive. When he became too excited and began to shout, his own lawyers had to caution him.
The FDA argued that whether or not Reich thought it was unjust, the injunction should have been obeyed. They were undoubtedly right. Three days after the hearing, one of Reich’s lawyers withdrew from the case after Reich insisted that he wanted to cross-examine witnesses personally. Not long after that, the other lawyer withdrew. He continued to talk about conspiracy and about the misrepresentation of his ideas. With considerable patience, the judge kept explaining that the present case had nothing to do with either of these matters; it was simply a question of whether Reich has actively disobeyed the injunction. The judge made this clear in his summation to the jury. And, inevitably, the jury came back with a verdict of guilty. Reich was sentenced to two years in prison. His assistant to one year.
The orders of the injunction had to be carried out. The FDA supervised the destruction of the accumulators and copies of the journals and pamphlets at Organon and transported them to the Lower Manhattan incinerator. The books included volumes like
Character Analysis and
The Sexual Revolution that contained no reference to orgone energy. Bureaucratic inefficiency, no doubt.
So the government wasn’t trying to hide anything. It was the promotion of unproven cancer cures that gets the FDA, to this day, to come after you. Many physicians have lost their licenses. But the 50s were a very paranoid error with McCarthyism and the Soviet threat, so it didn’t help that Reich was a foreigner and former Communist party member.
No one who reads his books can regard him as a downright fake; the mind behind them is too powerful and analytical—he’s too obviously “on to something.” Although Reich’s thinking was limited by his Freudian premises, his intuitions can leap out like flashes of lightning. But he’s always stepping beyond the justified self-belief of the scientist who knows the importance of his own work into the shrill self-assertion of a recognition-starved ego. Einstein, on the other hand, struck people with his complete naturalness. In Reich, personality, hunger for recognition, outweighed the impersonality of the scientist; therefore he was vulnerable to snubs and disappointments that would have glanced off Einstein with no effect.
As far as I could see, the only frightening thing about Reich’s ideas was his conviction that he was right and everyone else was wrong. (Kind of like your attitude on the board sometimes. No wonder Reich attracts you. Just playing.) It’s easy to see that if he had achieved political power, his “enemies” would probably have landed in concentration camps.
He was a complex human being who craved simple answers to the mysteries of the human mind. There’s something almost Shakesperian about the tragedy of his life—the flawed strength that became self-destructive, the powerful spirit undermined by rage and suspicion. What draws me back to Reich again and again is the fascination of the strange no-man’s land between genius and insanity, greatness and paranoia, self-belief and self-deception. For the same reason, I’ve always been fascinated by that other paranoid man of genius, August Strindberg.
I recommend you read Reich's biography by his wife, Ilse Reich.