Gráinne Maguire - Cult Favourite

We all discovered more about ourselves during lockdown. For me, being told exactly what I could and couldn’t do, being forcibly separated from my family and friends, and living in the same tracksuit for 8 months confirmed what I long suspected: I’d really thrive in a cult.

Wasn’t it so relaxing? Not being able to think for yourself, being told what to do by a glorious leader with a vague number of children, listening to all those Beatles records backwards for messages to kill all piggies? Readers, I thrived.

Cults sadly haven’t featured in my life as much as Australian soap operas promised. I honestly thought joining a cult was a rite of passage, like smoking weed or discovering I had an evil twin. You get talking to some friendly kids in the diner, someone pulls out an acoustic guitar and two weeks later Alf Stewart is bundling you into a van after the compound is set on fire. What was wrong with me? Why did no cult want me? The siren call of deluded bliss in return for being a poor judge of character? Sign me up.

There are so many benefits. Most people spend a lifetime searching for a purpose, for loving relationships, for a plan for your old age, and yet fail miserably. Why not just consolidate everything, dedicate three weeks to accepting Tom Cruise as your personal saviour and move on? I prefer big ideas. I never read instructions. Don’t bore me with the details, just give me the gist. I love taking a break from my own personality as often as possible. I once worked as a temp in an office with an army reserve Sloane called George. By our first lunch break I was agreeing with him that if anything Thatcher hadn’t gone far enough. Escaping the prison of my own tedious personality felt like a day at the spa.

The most notorious brainwasher of the last 50 years. She’s convinced her millions of dedicated followers she’s a movie star, yet most cannot name one actual film she’s been in.

In a cult, you get sister wives. I would love it if five of my friends were also going out with my boyfriend, the privilege of that level of back up. “What? You don't think you snore in your sleep? Well I think that’s ANOTHER thing that me, Eimear, Fidelma, Assumpta, Mary and Bridie ALL agree on.” The poor fool wouldn’t stand a chance.

I know what you're saying Gráinne, cults aren’t all glamour. You’ll probably have to die in a giant suicide pact! I hate to break it to you, we’re all going to die anyway, why not do it with a load of friendly computer programmers in leisurewear? Of course, there will be disappointments, not least having to renew all your subscriptions after the End of the World gets postponed again. There will probably be a lot of watching Star Trek.

Worst of all, your cult could become so successful it just becomes a mainstream religion and loses all its edge. You’d become the boring GOAT in the Catholic Church tearfully remembering the good times “Of course when I joined, we were a cult, eaten by lions, crucified...ever since we were taken up by the Roman Empire, we’ve become the man, man. I bet you don’t even read The Book of Revelations anymore.”

Like most good looking people, I thought my One True Cult would be Scientology. Imagine how offended I was when I had to walk by their building THREE times before finally their door creaked open and I was offered a personality test. The person behind the door was called Susan, a woman in her thirties rocking an oversized blazer and a matching clipboard. I could just picture the fun we’d have together, swabbing John Travolta’s sex dungeon, heckling Nicole Kidman films, and keying Leah Remini’s car. 

I was told to hold two metal tubes and think about things that upset me. I tried to focus but I was so excited. I willed Susan with her dead-eyed grin and un-flickering eye contact to confirm what I had long hoped for when it came to the really big questions: Kirstie Alley had all the answers. I couldn’t wait to FINALLY stop thinking for myself, join Sea Org and not have to worry about paying rent for the next million lifetimes.

My future mam and dad.

And then like an idiot I had to ruin it.

Feeling like we were practically old pals by now, I got too comfortable.

“So,” I said. “Scientology….that whole humans being descended from the souls of dead aliens killed in a volcano billions of years ago, thing. You don't really think that, do you?”

Susan's face imperceptibly flinched. It was like I could see her brain buffering. She shook her head and laughed for slightly longer than my survival instincts registered as normal. Come on Susan I thought, come through for me. I really want to move to Florida.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” she said, “the only volcanoes in Scientology…”

There was a long pause. She carried on looking into my eyes - were we about to kiss? 

“...are on the cover of our book.”

Please ignore the photobombing volcano.

I stared at her trying to work out what she had said, like it was a really clever song lyric I was too literal to understand. Right, so to clarify - volcanoes, contrary to popular opinion, are so irrelevant to The Church of Scientology, that they put a picture of a giant erupting volcano on THE FRONT COVER of Dianetics, the most important book in their belief system. Goddammit. I put down my tin cans and left. If you're going to steal my soul, at least put SOME work into it. The ones you have the most hope for, hurt you the most.

So until I find my forever ranch, I must make do with working in the entertainment industry instead. That’s where vulnerable young people plough all their life savings into a system that makes no sense, where failure is blamed on not having the right attitude, and where the whole thing is run by middle-aged men who sexually abuse young women. So at least I’m safe for now.