Part One in a Series of Things I’m Terrified Of But Would Probably Check Out Anyway
Of all the terrifying, captivating and utterly destructive things that Tom Cruise has bestowed upon this planet (I’m not talking about the Brooke Shields Exercise Bitch thing, that was hilarious and holds a prominent position in my Greatest Things on the Planet list), his devotion to the mysterious and logic-defying “religion” of Scientology is by far the most worthy of note.
Scientology, the only religion that would enable me to be referred to as “Sir” or “thetan” anytime I saw fit (all the time), is “the study and handling of the spirit in relationship to itself, others and all of life. The Scientology religion comprises a body of knowledge extending from certain fundamental truths.” (L. Ron Hubbard’s words, not Tom’s) What are these truths? Oh, something about immortality of the soul and the ability to do anything you want as long as you believe in your truth or something else equally oblique and pointless.
At this point in my journey through Scientology (I’m on paragraph three of their website, for those playing along at home), I can understand why “having the ability to accomplish things I can’t imagine” is an appealing to someone like Tom Cruise. Let’s face it, the guy is barely out of the “Little People” height/weight bracket, and is marrying the Brown-Haired Annoying Chick from Dawson’s Creek (not to be confused with the Blonde-Haired Annoying Chick from Dawson’s Creek.), which means little more than years and years worth of obnoxiously “mature” speeches about relationships and growing up. Well, that and what’s sure to be hilarious break-up.
But what about Scientology attracts all the rest of the Hollywood elite? For starters, the further you get in the chain of exaltation, the more secretive your practices become. On the long road to regressive utopia, disciples of Scientology have the distinction of belonging to one of the only religions on the planet that doesn’t want everyone to know what they do or how they do it. In a place like Hollywood, that sort of hierarchy and caste-ishness (I just made that up) is a valuable commodity. As an Irish Catholic-raised girl who grow up to be a disenfranchised and religiously confused woman who still wanders in to confession once a year, I can only liken that kind of secrecy to the conspiracy theories that Dan Brown plants into our minds while we sleep and the potentially ground-breaking screenplay I might work on that centers around the idea that only the Pope, a few other Vatican residents and Harrison Ford know that communion is actually leftover alien.
In other words? It’s hot shit.
Besides, none of the other religions want to save the galaxy. This sort of endeavor clearly demands tight security, vague and not-so-vague legal threats leveled through the ghost of a man who favored delicate neckwear, and the support of an entire community of self-important maniacs who justify their insanity by referring to their super-secret activities as “missions” to “save the universe through the exposition of the truth.”
Sold yet? I’m almost there. Scientology has something no other religion has: absolutely no reliance on faith, and a strong and heavily-relied upon cornerstone of subective truth which is, as we all know, the beginning of anything useful. Have I told you about my subjective truth? No? Well, it turns out, I’m a millionaire. Yep, I’m a millionaire and every time I have a baby I get skinnier. You don’t think so? Well, it’s my subjective truth and you can’t stop me! It’s at this point in my journey that I realize how much fun the daily husband/wife banter must be in the Cruise household.
“You left your dirty clothes all over the bathroom floor.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. It’s really annoying for me to have to move all of that stuff before I shower.”
“IN MY WORLD THERE ARE NO CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR, PLEASE TAKE YOUR VITAMINS AND GO FOR A WALK. WHEN YOU RETURN ALL OF THIS WILL SEEM LIKE A DREAM.”
I’m rarely wrong when my husband and I argue, but I’m already relishing the possibility of skyrocketing rightness post-Scientology sign-up. I imagine I’ll stroll over to the local Scientology church? vault? cabin? and commit my undying spirit to the God of Man and learn the secret handshake. Think of how humiliated everyone will be when they realize I know things they don’t know! Think of how often I’ll get the last word with my husband when all I need to know is “what I’ve known to be true”!
“Honey I need some money from your account.”
“What for? Don’t you have any?”
“I don’t know that to be true.”
“Fuck.”
Sign me up!
Wait a second. I’m at the point in my journey where I find out that most illnesses are psychosomatic and don’t require any sort of medicine - even aspirin. So, you’re telling me that after years of no pain killers or alchohol I have to wait to be invited to OT II, where I’ll receive a manilla envelope that I’m instructed to read alone, in a locked room? And that the contents of that manilla envelope explain that 75 million years ago, an evil galactic warlord named Xenu controlled seventy-six planets in this corner of the galaxy, each of which was severely overpopulated. To solve this problem, Xenu rounded up 13.5 trillion beings and then flew them to Earth, where they were dumped into volcanoes around the globe and vaporized with bombs which scattered their radioactive souls, or thetans, until they were caught in electronic traps set up around the atmosphere and “implanted” with a number of false ideas?
And I have to be sober while I read that?
Nevermind. I’ll just stick to pointing and laughing.
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