"This is the clearest, most concise summary of the Scientology situation
I have ever read...." said Arnie Lerma Clear #3502 - Ex Scientologist for ten years


The Wall Street Journal


The Secrets of the Universe


Review & Outlook 24 February 1998
Page A24 upper left corner

 


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

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