Scientology Chic
The bizarro force behind Tom and Nicole's split.

By Andrew Stuttaford, a writer living in New York National Review Online
CULTURE on NRO Weekend February 24-25, 2001 So, was the kooky cult to blame? We will likely never know what went wrong between Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, but a recent article in the New York Post suggests that Tom Cruise's Scientology was a big part of the problem.

Apparently, Ms. Kidman is disenchanted with the controversial religion, and does not want her children to be reared in it.

All this has subsequently been denied, but if it is true, who would blame her?

Even if one ignores the number of fairly sinister stories told about Scientology, some of its precepts reflect the sort of ideas that put it squarely in the lunatic fringe. Founded half a century ago by pulp writer L.

Ron Hubbard, Scientology's roots lie in a mixture of junkyard sci-fi and bargain-basement psychoanalysis. Not too bargain basement, mind you. Unlike most faiths, Scientology charges admission. To progress ever closer to enlightenment, devotees pay to go through a series of sessions that are part confessional, part therapy. These encounters are designed to reveal (and remove) past traumas called "engrams" (don't ask) and are helped along by the use of an electro-psychometer ("E-Meter" to the cognoscenti), a specially designed instrument which can supposedly locate areas of spiritual distress or travail. This is part of a process known as "auditing," the real reason, perhaps, that the IRS chose in 1993 to recognize Scientology as a religion.

It is difficult not to laugh. Scientology, after all, is an easy target - with its oddball technology, goofy jargon, and, reportedly, a secret creation myth that revolves around the activities of the wicked intergalactic ruler, Xenu.

Now, many religions include a bizarre legend or two, and we probably should not worry too much about the Xenu saga. After all, it has, apparently, been 75 million years since the old boy was last seen, and he does not seem to figure prominently in the lives of most Scientologists. Nevertheless, if there really is such a tale, it is yet another reminder that the intellectual origins of this creed appear to be, well, a little flaky.

Scientologists, of course, should be free to believe whatever they want, but it does not say a lot for the state of this nation's critical faculties that their philosophy has won as much acceptance as it has. Given some of Hubbard's teachings, you would expect his followers to be a little embarrassed, a little low key, content, perhaps, to twiddle their E-meters in some tumble-down Appalachian shack.

But the reverse is true. Scientology is rich, increasingly prominent, and unashamedly proselytizing. Check out its websites and you will see all the good things that Scientology claims it can do both for society, and for you. It is a message of enlightened self-interest, typical of our age, and it uses the jazzy marketing techniques of the PowerPoint era, statistics, graphs, and charts.

Scientologists, they reveal, are prone to marriage, but not to auto accidents.

Half do not drink, more than two-thirds read more than five books a year, and 39 percent work out every day. Scientology can even boast celebrity support.

Travolta! Cruise! Kirstie Alley! The voice of Bart Simpson!

In part, this success reflects the group's indubitable organizational skills, and its willingness to defend itself through aggressive litigation. It is also the case, however, that the growth of Scientology, and many other such philosophies, is an almost inevitable byproduct of a society that, over the years, has lost the art of religious argument, reasoning, and debate - and the ability or the inclination to resist the blandishments of our zanier sects.

Ask most Americans, and they will tell you about their respect for the spiritual, but it is a sloppy and uninformed devotion, a pastiche piety with no intellectual force behind it, more Hallmark than holy, the perfect background for a new cult recruit. Ironically, Nicole Kidman herself provided an example of this mindset in a 1998 interview with Newsweek. Asked about her religious beliefs, the actress replied, "there is a little Buddhism, a little Scientology. I was raised Catholic, and a big part of me is still a Catholic girl."

Hand in hand with such an attitude is an unwillingness to debate the religious beliefs of others. Such debate is now believed to be insensitive at best, bigoted and hateful at worst. These days everyone is meant to be a little bit Buddhist, Catholic, Scientologist , whatever. A sappy ecumenicism is now America's civic religion, and it appears to include just about everyone (other, interestingly, than atheists and agnostics). We are taught that such supposedly inclusive tolerance is the hallmark of a tolerant society, when, in fact, it is precisely the opposite. True religious tolerance is the acceptance of the right of others to follow a different creed. In our ersatz, contemporary version, however, it is denied that there are any different creeds. Instead, we are encouraged to think that all religions are basically the same, just different routes to the same transcendental Truth.

In the name of "diversity," we try to erase difference. When it comes to religious belief, this is a country chary of controversy and anxious about argument. In the interest of fraudulent civility and soi-disant "respect" we have removed the right of the religious to disagree with each other. On the face of it, traditional religious distinctions remain, but all too often they have been trivialized and shrunk down to the superficial, reduced to a matter of folklore or ethnic heritage, nothing more consequential, say, than a choice of headgear: Yarmulke, or turban?

This is a mistake. Old-style rigorous religious debate was bruising, tough, and frequently impolite, but it served a function. Homo Sapiens is a credulous creature, ready to believe just about anything, but, fortunately, he has an innate love of argument. Controversy sharpened our great faiths and pushed them, however painfully, towards some form of intellectual coherence. More than that, it acted as a filter for the worst of the nonsense that people would otherwise be tempted to accept. Now that filter has disappeared. The more established religions are gutted, sunk into PC blandness, or, ironically, introspective fundamentalism. In their intellectual retreat they have left behind a spiritual landscape in which anything goes.

The Scientologists are not the only ones to have seized this opportunity. We are becoming a nation of nitwit necromancers, idiot Astrologers, and suburban shamans. Others prefer to fool around with crystals, commune with UFOs, or worship the Earth.

And that is their right, but we should not be afraid to say that it is also their mistake. Somehow I suspect that, these days, Nicole Kidman might just agree.

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