There’s no love in Scientology. Not really. No affinity. No empathy. Not even any real friendships. People I’d known for more than thirty years disconnected from me at the drop of a hat, when Scientology’s Facebook police and others started whispering the rumor that I was no longer “in good standing,” because of some things I’d been saying — which happened to be true.
“No love in Scientology” is extreme in the realm of dating, most notably in Scientology’s elite Sea Organization. Dating? Sorry. There’s no dating in the Sea Org. You can’t even appear to like each other, and you have to get married in order to have any physical contact.
In fact, if you ever get caught having sex or kissing or even showing too much affinity with someone other than your lawfully wedded spouse, you get punished for it. They’ll sentence you forthwith to the Rehabilitation Project Force for remedial re-indoctrination. It’s illegal imprisonment, and some people spend years on the RPF.
So instead of dating, you have Sea Org members marrying and divorcing multiple times by the time they’re in their twenties. Scientology’s lawyers handle all the paperwork.
Even when they get married, they don’t get to have a real relationship. There’s no time. From early morning to late at night, they’re expected to be “on post” and producing. Trying to have a real relationship with real affinity is counter-productive.
Oh, and then when you do get married, thinking you’re doing the right thing, they use it as a weapon against you, to keep you under control. Step out of line, and they’ll send you to South Africa and your spouse to Canada or Australia — split you up so you’re back where you started from — all because some micro-managing sociopath doesn’t feel secure unless he’s controlling every aspect of everyone’s life.
I may have witnessed the exact moment when things started to degenerate into the present day state of affairs.
Back on the Scientology ship Apollo, there was a problem. The ship was sailing in the tropical waters of the Caribbean, and people were running around scantily clad, just to try to get comfortable in the heat and humidity. The place was crowded, and the combination of scantily-clad men and women living in close quarters with one another — well, one thing led to another, and before you knew it, illicit sex was rampant.
Old L. Ron’s predicament was that he was trying to present Scientology as a church, and if word had gotten out about all that extra-curricular activity, there would have been a PR flap. So, to try to nip things in the bud, he decided it was time for some ethics action. His way of handling it was to have his Ethics people put out an Interrogatory on the subject.
When there’s an Interrogatory going on, the rules are: (1) you have to answer the questions and (2) if you don’t report something you know and it later gets found out, you’re assumed to be part of the problem and will get punished along with the offenders.
First the Interrogatory defined what they were looking for. It was not just the act itself, but also anything leading up to it, like heavy necking and petting — you get the idea. Well, I had seen something, and instead of taking my chances and staying quiet, I decided I’d better report it. Silly me.
I had walked in on a married guy in an intimate situation with a woman who wasn’t his wife. She was topless, and he was embracing her. They jumped apart when I entered the room and offered the explanation that he was trying to help her treat a bug bite on her back. Well, there was no calamine lotion or any other remedy in evidence. So what was I supposed to think?
So when that 2D Interrogatory came out, I reported it. Of course, they denied it up and down and six ways from Sunday, and (since I was the new girl, and they were the old respected “veterans”) I was made to apologize to both of them and to his wife.
His wife tried to help me, because she knew him better than anyone, and she was a close confidante of Old L. Ron. This apparently wasn’t the husband’s first offense. But I was so beaten down by that time that I wouldn’t tell her what I’d seen, even though she asked me to and offered her help.
Anyway, this same woman that I caught in the compromising position was asking a friend if there was something going on between her and a guy she’d been seen with. It was during the time of the Interrogatory, so she was probably looking for something to report, to make herself look less guilty.
But the friend said, after an infinitesimal hesitation, “No — we just…like each other.”
That might have been the very moment when “liking each other” became a thing that could get you into trouble.
There’s no “liking each other” in the Sea Org. It’s all grim purpose and toughness and duty and following orders and a steady diet of beans and rice when you don’t measure up, and sleep deprivation from the all-nighters you had to pull to “make it go right” to have your production stats up by Thursday at 2:00.
Fortunately, whoever thought up this rule (and it’s not the guy whose signature appears on the issue) deserves the Darwin Award. He’s just assured the eventual extinction of the homo novis master race.
But there’s still no love in Scientology. That makes for a hellish existence. So what are people supposed to do in the meantime, while waiting for the eventual extinction of homo novis?