There's no particular reason for the world to worry about a
smallish cult
that believes invisible 75 million-year-old thetans are floating
around our
skulls. The search for the meaning of life in the vastness of the
universe
preoccupies most people at some time or another, though they
usually find
their way into houses of worship, therapeutic counseling or the
local liquor
store.
When instead they come calling on the National Security Adviser,
it may
be time for a reality check. Some of the weirdest conversations
of the day
concern Sandy Berger's meeting with John Travolta, along with Tom
Cruise the chief ornaments of the Scientology movement.
Scientology's
founder, L. Ron Hubbard, professed to believe the evil galactic
overlord
Xenu shipped frozen thetans to Teegeack, better known as planet
Earth,
dropping them down volcanoes and pulverizing them with hydrogen
bombs and setting their souls adrift. By now it seems you can't
understand
the universe without plumbing thetan influence in the White
House, the halls
of Congress, and the murky heart of the IRS.
Mr. Travolta brought the cult to our attention again thanks to an
article in
George magazine describing how the actor and the President of the
United
States enjoyed an apparently mutually beneficial meeting last
spring at a
volunteerism conference in Philadelphia. The actor was there to
deliver a
speech about Scientology's educational materials. What concerned
the
President, Mr. Travolta suggests, was the big screen filling up
with Jack
Stanton, the Clintonesque President in "Primary
Colors"--the movie Mr.
Travolta was just then making, having eaten himself into a
properly
presidential profile. It's probably unlikely that a film directed
by Mike
Nichols would ever treat Stanton/Clinton as anything but a
charming rogue
and shrewd manipulator. But the prospect of a wide screen
valentine
became ever more probable as Mr. Clinton took the moment to feel
Mr.
Travolta's pain. And told him he would try to make it go away.
Who is hurting Mr. Travolta? The German government, that's who.
Like
the U.S. prior to a 1993 tax settlement mysteriously upgrading
the cult to
the status of a tax-exempt religion, Germany considers
Scientology a
business run by extremists and has put the church under
surveillance.
Assisted by frightened escapees, the Germans make the case that
Scientology exploits the weaknesses of its members for profit
that at the
very least should be taxed. This creates the worst kind of pain
for
Scientology, which reaps millions from "auditing,"
cleaning a "preclear" of
repressed memories. With millions of years of memories, getting
cleared
and achieving ever higher levels of purity can be a lengthy and
costly
experience. It also yields intensely private information that is
carefully
stored in files.
For some, the process has also been dangerous. Earlier this
month,
German police searched five Munich locations of the sect after
the
suspicious death of a cult member. In Clearwater, Florida, a
young woman
mysteriously died after being held at a Scientology hotel. Maybe
Mr.
Clinton could send down Janet Reno for an investigative weekend
in her
old neighborhood.
But back to Mr. Berger, who found Presidential whim expanding his
duties
to include stilling an actor's pain. Asked by "Meet the
Press" about his
briefing of Mr. Travolta last September, the National Security
Adviser
looked like he might eat his tie as he downplayed the meeting as
a normal
response to reports of religious persecution by the German
government.
His real goal, he said, was to get an autograph for one of his
kids; we note
he didn't ask for educational materials.
Mr. Berger is not the only official caught up in Scientology's
web. Senator
Alfonse D'Amato, about whom no movie we know of is being made,
has
scolded Germany at a hearing organized by the Commission on
Security
and Cooperation in Europe. And by the time the House finally
defeated a
resolution criticizing Germany late last year, a flabbergasted
Madeleine
Albright had already endured several ludicrous discussions with
Germany's
equally flabbergasted foreign minister, Klaus Kinkel. A federal
immigration
judge added to the surreal merriment by granting asylum in
November to a
preposterous German woman who feared returning home because she
is a
Scientologist.
But if that is all weird, it is nothing compared with the
mysteries
surrounding the decision of the IRS to suddenly grant Scientology
a
tax-exempt status after years of litigation. Our Elizabeth
MacDonald
reported that in the secret settlement the IRS dropped its
position that
"auditing" fees were not deductible, a position that
had been upheld by the
U.S. Supreme Court. In return it got $12.5 million and a promise
that the
cult would drop its numerous lawsuits against the IRS and its
agents. The
IRS says it is investigating the leak.
Meanwhile, Scientology is litigating with everyone else in sight;
why not,
after having intimidated the biggest gun on the block? The IRS
has lately
announced its desire to turn itself into a friendly agency. How
about an
auditing session? Leading off with this question: Is there anyone
at the IRS
who seriously thinks that the unbelievable sums of money
Scientology
spends on lawsuits meet the agency's requirement that a charity
spend its
funds only on charitable purposes?
(c) 1998 The Wall Street Journal