The Choice is Yours
I entered the behemoth blue headquarters of the Church of Scientology through the bookstore on L. Ron Hubbard Way.
“Are you hiring?”
“We are!” chirped the young woman at the register. She handed me a thick application form printed on legal paper and a series of young men shepherded me to a wrap-around couch in the building’s vaulted lobby. Twice I knocked over a precarious display of Dianetics brochures as I went to sit down.
The “Staff Application Form” was thorough, to say the least. It asked how I enjoyed of my past jobs, whether I’ve ever sold drugs (“If yes, give details”), whether I am in debt, and whether I’ve “been involved in prostitution, homosexuality, illegal sex, or any sexual perversion.”
“Give who, where, when, what on each instance,” it demanded, leaving a space of only two lines.
I turned another page. ”Have you ever had electric shock?”; “Are you related to or connected to intelligence agencies…?”; “Have any of your relatives ever worked for the government?” ; “Are you here to obtain news stories?”; “Are you here to disrupt the organization?”
Finally, a long list of negative statements that rehashed the above, to be signed before a witness. Here is a selection:
1. I am not a flagrant criminal or wanted.
2. I have had no institutional history of psychosis.
8. I do not have a parent or guardian or other close family who is a rabid antagonist of scientology.
I found it impossible to get through the application without lying at least once.
Forrest watched me sign and took the application as he stood up from the desk. ”Come with me…” he said, “…if you want to live.”
“‘Come with me if you want to live?’” I repeated, following him. “Is that what you said?”
Forrest chuckled and opened the door to a miniature theatre off the main hallway. “It’s from one of the Terminators,” he said, leaving me alone inside.
The lights went off. Suddenly we were hurdling through outer-space past spinning meteors to the sounds of an apocalyptic chorale. The camera panned right to reveal the Earth as seen from far away, North America front and center. Triumphal brass took over and the word “ORIENTATION” flashed across the screen. The narrator was a direct and genial fellow with a blow-dried coiffe. With the aid of a few short clips and slides—Scientology landmarks, God holding a monkey, a mushroom cloud—he explained that scientology is concerned with “spiritual release.”
The tone was passionate and defensive, and the narrator devoted considerable time to vindicating scientology’s status as a “bonafide religion,” citing dozens of court decisions worldwide and the results of a 1994 IRS audit. The film never quite got into the tenets of the Church, but it featured entertaining testimonials from success stories in all walks of life. Isaac Hayes, wearing outsized sunglasses and a technicolor sweater, spoke to the happiness scientology has brought him.
Just when the film began to lag, the narrator’s words shot through me: “You are an immortal being…You are standing on the threshold of the next trillion years.” I was confused. I had no idea the contract would be so long. “You will live in shivering, agonizing darkness, or you will live them triumphantly in the light…”
He stepped closer to the camera: “You could walk out of here today and never say another word about scientology. It would be stupid, but you could do it: the choice is yours, not ours. You could also dive off a bridge or blow your brains out.”
I had his words in mind when Johnny came to fetch me a minute later. Sitting in a small waiting room, we went over my application.
“So, first of all, let me say this is a non-profit, a church. Our purpose to help people, and it seems like that’s something you share.”
“Definitely.”
“The pay isn’t great. It’s more about the purpose.” Technically, he explained, employees are volunteers, but they receive a monthly stipend that fluctuates with the Church’s revenue as a whole. “Some months are good, and some months are terrible. On average it’s about $100-150 a week, and I’m here more than 40 hours a week, so that tells you…”
There are some benefits: not healthcare and worker’s comp, but free classes, auditing, and other services on the path to ‘getting clear,’scientology’s version of enlightenment.
“So…” Johnny went on, ” I’ll understand if you say at this point, ‘I can’t survive on that…’”
I broke in: “Well—how do you survive on that?”
“To be perfectly honest with you,” he said, “I have help from my parents.”
