A Sci-Fi Faith

The mystery began to unfold last fall in sleepy, sun-drenched Clearwater, Fla. The Southern Land Development and Leasing Corp. decided to buy the 270-room Fort Harrison Hotel, a downtown landmark, and a nearby bank building. Southern Land stated that the hotel would stay open, but another spokesman announced that it would become a center for the United Churches of Florida, a new ecumenical outfit that soon won endorsement from twelve local clergymen.

When 200 tight-lipped strangers moved into the hotel, rumors flew that the Arabs or organized crime were behind the project. By the end of January, the Clearwater Sun had traced the purchase money for the two buildings ($2,850,000, all in cash) to a bank in Luxembourg, and Mayor Gabriel Cazares was calling for an investigation.

The purchaser, it turned out, was the rich, mysterious Church of Scientology, an international cult that for two decades has specialized in a unique form of psychological counseling, often against hysterical opposition. Scientology, in turn, has tended toward defensiveness bordering on paranoia, filing scores of libel suits on the slightest provocation. In February, the Church of Scientology sued Mayor Cazares, then threatened the Clearwater Sun, the St. Petersburg Times and radio station WDCL. "We are not a turn-the-other-cheek religion," Spokesman Arthur Maren told TIME Correspondent David Beckwith.

Last week Scientologists revealed that the Fort Harrison Hotel is slated to become the movement's "Flag Land Base," offering "advanced" training to its international elite. Although their figures may well be inflated, Scientologists claim 3 million members in the U.S. and another million abroad. Until now the courses have been offered aboard the 3,300-ton yacht Apollo, the roving residence of Scientology's founder, L. (for Lafayette) Ron Hubbard, 65. Rarely photographed or seen by outsiders, Hubbard turned up briefly in Clearwater last month, portly, in apparent good health and decked out in a khaki jumpsuit and matching tam-o'-shanter. Flamboyant and authoritative, Hubbard barked out orders to a crew of young people, opened a five-figure checking account and paid a tailor $2,800 for some new clothes.

Raise I.Q.s. A brilliant and eccentric man, who, despite disclaimers, still controls the cult, Hubbard was once a successful science-fiction writer. In 1949, he seemed to predict his own future in a jocular speech to a convention of fellow authors: "Writing for a penny a word is ridiculous. If a man really wanted to make a million dollars, the best way would be to start his own religion."

The next year Hubbard expounded his psychological theories in Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health, which later became Scientology's scripture. Through Dianetics, he claimed, I.Q.s could be raised, bad eyesight corrected, the common cold cured. His technique amounted to counseling, known as "auditing," to eradicate "engrams"--negative memories recorded in the "reactive mind" (similar to Freud's unconscious). A person freed of engrams was known as a "Clear." As early as 1952, Hubbard began auditing with the "E-meter," a crude version of the lie detector, which is still in use.

Dianetics was secular, but subsequently Hubbard's "research" discovered the existence of the soul or, in his terminology, the "Thetan," the conscious being that inhabits a human body. Embroidering on Hinduism and Buddhism, Hubbard announced that Thetans are reincarnated over trillions of years, which meant that there were aeons of engrams to be erased. For Scientologists, truth became stranger than science fiction. Hubbard's explanation of why someone might have difficulty crying: he was once a primordial clam whose water ducts had been clogged with sand.

Dianetics, retooled as the religion of Scientology, has since developed most of the accouterments of other faiths--liturgies, clerical collars, but only the vaguest sort of theology. Unconvinced that it was indeed a religion and noting that Hubbard received 10% of all revenues, the Internal Revenue Service in 1959 got the courts to deny Scientology a tax exemption. Later, however, Scientology beat an ill-conceived medical fraud case against E-meters by the Food and Drug Administration, and has won limited recognition as a religion.

Hubbard and his wife had moved to England when, in 1968, Britain banned foreign Scientologists, largely because of the rising number of complaints about Scientology. Among the most questionable practices reported in various countries: the recording of confessions that made members susceptible to blackmail; "disconnect" orders requiring the devout to sever all ties with antagonistic family and friends; "fair game," under which a defector could be "deprived of property or injured by any means . . . sued, lied to or destroyed." The worst practices were dropped, but the sect did not become notably friendlier. "Black p.r." and "noisy investigations" (wellpublicized inquiries into the motives and backgrounds of critics) continue. Hubbard once spoke darkly of handling enemies via "Auditing Process R2-45," meaning a .45 bullet through the head, but this was just a joke, say his followers, and there are no accusations of any such terminal excommunications.

New members of the church are being recruited in most major American cities. They then enter the complex levels of Scientology auditing and training. Brochures offer 12 1/2 hours of "Life Repair," done with E-meter sessions, for $625, and it costs the "preClear" $5,000 or more to reach "Clear," more yet to ascend to "Operating Thetan."

Few Demands. Those attracted to the faith tend to be young, drifting, fairly well educated and in search of psychological answers more than spiritual solace. They need not resign from other churches. For many, Scientology offers a method of taking personal responsibility for one's life, while making few demands of belief or absolute morality. Converts can be effusive. Lynne Stang of Washington, D.C., joined when her marriage began breaking up. She likes her Congregational church "for its sense of community and singing, but when it comes to making your own life better, there's no place like the Church of Scientology." Charles Nichols, a North Carolina insurance agent, says he was inspired by former Pro Quarterback John Brodie's testimonial that Scientology healed his throwing arm. Nichols, an active Methodist, thinks that Scientology has enhanced his selfesteem: "It's easier to communicate, to know what to do."

Scientologists in the past two years paid cash not only for the Clearwater properties but for two buildings in New York, two in Los Angeles, and others in Boston, St. Louis, Washington, D.C., Miami, San Diego and Riverside, Calif. Hubbard himself, by now an Operating Thetan, is about to sell his ship and establish a new land base in Ireland, while the worldwide scourging of engrams continues.

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