羅恩·賀伯特的家族史，根據他的曾孫傑米·德沃乎。這是未來影片的片段：
我很興奮，這將會創造歷史。
我們的下一個客人、一個詩人、作家、電影製片人、教育家、攝影師......我省略了些東西。這兄弟是驚人的，你在進入一種享受。我在進入了一些麻煩， 你將會找出原因。
傑米·德沃乎先生。
每一個家庭都有害群之馬。在我母親的一邊，害群之馬是一個牧羊人，奴役自己的羊群，騙子之王。一個自當救世主的人，儘管他從來沒有稱自己是神。
即使在今晚，他的話都寫在鋼版上、在鈦箱裏，在幾里深的地下，防核加固掩體裡。因此，如我們整個物種滅絕，他的話仍然存在。
在家庭團聚裏，在孩子的桌子上，我們從來不談他。…… 但他是我的曾祖父，羅恩·賀伯特。
拉斐特·羅恩·賀伯特，他是天生的講故事人，科幻作家，有金舌頭的流浪漢，可以在任何馬桶上寫書， 當出版商在樓下酒店大堂等候。又一個名字在廉價商店、低俗小說上，每頁只付一分錢。
直到1949年，他說:「你想知道怎樣富起來? 你始創一門宗教。」一年後，他信守他自己的話，寫成戴尼提，轉科幻爲事實，直到你可以支付費用，使你的頭腦無脈衝。
一夜之間，他從幾分錢作家到一個先知。當全世界的人要看他的證據，但羅恩知道如果你沒有事實，你需要的只是信仰。於是，他把他的「科學」變成一門宗教，山達基誕生了。
幾年後，他的兒子出生了，這嬰兒是先前嘗試流產的生還者，早產了，只有2磅2盎司，被他的父親拋棄了，因為他忙於尋求名利。現在，他出現了，參與家族的新生意。他是我的爺爺，小羅恩·賀伯特。
帶著他父親的名字和他的紅頭髮，小賀伯特成了他的得力助手，並且是虔誠的弟子和信徒，幫助他建造的教會。
前後歷時多年，他意識到只是又一個從犯，接受了激動人心催眠術的培訓、勒索、毆打。他學會了在魅力的背後，隱藏罪行。
而且他花了十年時間，看到神聖後面的漏洞，神話背後的人，他的父親秘密餡數千美元在一個鞋盒裏，藏在床下，他的父親在凌晨燃燒罪證文件，他的父親逃脫刑事指控，跑過一州又一州。
小賀伯特看著他的家人和朋友，腦子被洗淨，銀行戶口被洗清。他在幕後看到的使他作嘔，在1959年，小賀伯特離開了。
但他的父親一貫理解報復比贖罪更多，他盯梢兒子，使用竊聽、闖入、死亡威脅。我爺爺回家看到他孩子的照片，在他的郵箱中，獨自在操場上，毫無防備。這提醒他，金字塔中的眼永遠不關閉。
我的每個叔叔阿姨都被教導如何用槍。兒子被迫像他的父親一般生活，永遠逃跑，直到他改姓，從賀伯特到德沃乎。這個謊言，保護他永遠不用說出真相。
當你的父親在你的一生中創造了一門宗教，沒有兒子大到足以逃脫他的身影。
但預言與精神病只有一條線之差，裸面的救世主跑了，逃避多國對他的刑事指控，一個國際法外人在一條船上，逃避引渡。
精神錯亂滲入了，他開始了混淆了他的過去和他的小說，直到有一天他消失了，在法庭或牢房能使他再次變真之前。
小賀伯特，現在被埋沒在債務中，試圖把父親從隱藏中找出來，寫他一張支票。所以他與聖靈訴訟，證明他仍然有血肉。兒子把他的交戰公開，把包金偶像刮剩銹。
小賀伯特，現在是垂死的糖尿病患者，還截了腳，被十多年的訴訟埋葬及虐待，對抗與他相同名字的人，直到有一天，在躲藏中，他的父親去世，第二天早上火化了，留下的遺產，只有骨灰。
教會給了兒子一個最終報價——逮捕你的舌頭，吞下真理，以得到最後的支票，否則你和你的親屬，未來會面臨終生的威脅。所以他簽字保持沉默，並把他的秘密和兩次心髒病發作，帶進墳墓。另一個受害者，教會不再冒充拯救。
在感恩節，在一所房子裏，由自當神支付的，他的曾孫從來沒有說過他的名字。他是一個我們從來不給恩典的神。
有一天，我爺爺帶領我到一個書架，並對我顯示他父親的作品。他說：「你媽媽說你想成為一名作家。好了，不要相信一切你讀的，但相信你說的一切。」
給了我紅色頭髮的人，我從未謀面，但躁狂抑鬱症扭曲在我的DNA株上。我第一次看一個精神醫生時，當他問我，精神病是否存在我的家人中，我只能說是肯定的！是的，它存在！
當我告訴他我的曾祖父是一個邪教教主，奴役數以百萬計的頭腦，他指責我有壯觀的妄想。我能說什麼？它存在我的血管。
我在暗中進入羅恩·賀伯特在好萊塢的生活展覽。最新的受害者帶領我遊覽他假的一生。我的家人寫出來不存在。他的弟子將永遠不知道，舊的謊言仍攜帶在我的姓氏——德沃乎——一個幌子故事來保護我們，抵擋我曾祖父的真正孩子——空殼之軍隊，在車站迎接我以E-儀表和性格測試。
他們問我，我有否聽說過羅恩·賀伯特。我想問問他們，哪一個？兒子或父親，神或人。
I'm excited about this. This is going to make history.
Our next guest, a poet, writer, filmmaker, educator, photographer ...
I'm leaving stuff out. This brother is amazing and you are in for a treat. I'm in for some trouble and you are about to find out why.
Mr Jamie DeWolf.
Every family has a black sheep. On my mother's side a black sheep was a shepherd, who enslaves his own flock, the king of the cons. A man who made himself the messiah, even though he never called himself a god.
Even tonight, his words are written in steel, in titanium capsules and in nuclear reinforced bunkers miles underground. So if our whole species goes extinct, his words will still survive.
He was the subject we never talked about at the kid's table at family reunions, but he was my great-grandfather, L. Ron Hubbard.
Lafayette Ron Hubbard, he was born a storyteller, a science fiction writer, a golden tongue drifter who could write a book in any john while the publisher waited downstairs in the hotel lobby.
Just another name on dime store pulp mags, paid only a penny a page, until 1949 when he said, "You want to know how you really get rich? You start a religion."
A year later he kept to his words, wrote Dianetics, transforming science-fiction into fact until you could pay to flatline your mind for a fee.
Overnight he went from pennies to a prophet. And to the world demanding to see his evidence, but L Ron knew if you don't have facts, all you need is faith. So he turned his science into a religion, and Scientology was born.
A few years later his son arrives, a baby who has survived an early abortion attempt, born premature two pounds two ounces, abandoned by his father as he sought fame and fortune. Now he emerged to take his part of the new family business. He is my grandfather, L Ron Hubbard Junior.
Carrying his father's name and his red hair, Junior became his right-hand man, and was a devout disciple and a believer, helping him to construct the church.
And it took him years to realize he was only another accomplice, trained in the arts of electrified hypnotism, blackmail, and beat downs. He learned to hide his crimes behind his charisma.
And it took him a decade to see the holes behind the holy, the man behind the myth, his father stuffing thousands of dollars in a shoe box he kept secret underneath the bed, his father burning incriminating documents before dawn, his father escaping criminal charges as he ran from state to state. His Junior watched his family and friends brains washed, banks broken.
Sickened by what he has seen behind the curtain, in 1959 Junior left.
But his father always understood retribution better than redemption, and he stalked his son with wire taps, break-ins and death threats. My grandfather coming home to photographs of his children in his mailbox, playing on playgrounds alone and unguarded, to remind him the eyes of the pyramid never blinks.
Every one of my aunts and uncles were taught how to use a gun. The son forced to live like his dad permanently on the run until he changed his last name from Hubbard to DeWolf, a lie to protect him from ever having to tell the truth.
When your father has created a religion in your lifetime there's no son big enough to ever escape his shadow, but there's a thin line between prophecy and psychosis and the bare face messiah ran from countries in criminal charges, an international outlaw on a ship, escaping extradition.
Insanity slips in and he started confusing his pass from his fiction, until one day he vanished, before courtroom or a jail cell can ever make him real again.
Junior, now buried under debt, tried to flush his father out of hiding to write him a check. So he litigated the holy ghost to prove he still had flesh. The son took his war public to scrape the idols gold down to rust.
Junior, now a dying diabetic with an amputated foot, buried and battered from a decade of lawsuits against the man who carried his same name, until the day his dad died in hiding, cremated the next morning, leaving only a legacy of ashes.
The church gave the son one final offer - arrest your tongue, swallow the truth for one final check, or you and your next-of-kin will face a lifetime of threats. So he signed away his silence and took his secrets and two heart attacks to his grave. Another victim the church stopped pretending to save.
On Thanksgiving, in a house a self-made god paid for, his great-grandchildren never said his name. He was the one god we never gave grace to. One day my grandfather lead me to a bookshelf and show me volumes of his father's works.
He said, “Your mom says you want to be a writer. Well, don't believe everything you read but believe everything you say.”
I never met the man who gave me my red hair, but the manic depression still twisted in the strains of my DNA.
And the first time I saw a psychiatrist, when he asked me if mental illness run in my family, all I can say was yes! Yes it does! When I told him my great grandfather was a cult leader that enslaves the minds of millions, he accused me of having delusions of grandeur. What can I say? It runs in my veins.
I've been in secret to L Ron Hubbard Hollywood life exhibits where his latest victim leads me on a tour of the life he never lead. My family written out of existence and his disciple will never know the legacy of lies that are still carried in my last name - DeWolf - a cover story to protect us from my great-grandfather's true children - the army of empty, who greet me in train stations with an E-meter and a personality test.
And they ask me if I've ever heard of L Ron Hubbard. And I want to ask them which one? The son or the father. The god or the man.
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