Following the Leader

How cults lure the drifting and discontented--and keep them

"Would you like to know what the meaning of life is?" That is an offer hard to refuse, especially when it is made by bright-eyed, neatly dressed youths who radiate assurance and confidence. Such a street scene has become a frequent occurrence in cities across the U.S. as swarms of cults--some new, some old, some familiar, some obscure--try to recruit new members. They know that in rootless, permissive, mobile America, many people are desperately searching for meaning and stability in their lives.

Cults such as Sun Myung Moon's Unification Church, Scientology, Synanon, Hare Krishna and Children of God offer a refuge from the storms of the world. They purport to know the truth of existence, which members promise is available to anyone willing to submit to the discipline of the sect.

People who are drifting and discontented can find instant comradeship and a sense of self-worth in a cult. Says Dean Kelley, director of religious liberty for the National Council of Churches: "Adolescents who have been ignored by their families and their peers find themselves the center of attention of an attractive group of young people who spend hours talking and working with them." This is not just an American phenomenon. Similar groups have sprung up in Western Europe and Japan. Writes Byong-Suh Kim, chairman of the sociology department at New Jersey's Montclair College: "Japanese society has become highly fragmented and materialistic, making young people long for communal solidarity with an authoritarian figure and specific behavior guidelines."

Cults can differ considerably in their demands and discipline; not all indulge in coercion or violence. Still, many conform to a standard pattern of behavior. Once a recruit is drawn into a cult--adherents prefer to call it a sect or denomination--its message is incessantly drummed in. The novice is seldom left alone, a prey to random thoughts. Ties are severed with his past life; communications with family and friends may be eliminated altogether, a process that critics regard as "programming" or "brainwashing." Says Kelley: "These movements divide families, split communities, create tension and friction and turmoil. They are aggressive, abrasive, unheeding of any consideration but the propagation of the 'true faith.' "

Larry Spencer, who defected from the Hare Krishna sect in San Diego, told TIME how he was programmed: "They wake you up at 4 a.m. and you start chanting over and over. You're not really there, you're so tired. They pile on the spiritual answers, but you don't have enough time to think about whether they make sense. Every activity you do is what they tell you to do. I always got along with my parents. I was real close to them. But they told me that my parents were influenced by demons. That was very hard to take."

At the head of most cults is a father figure, who may be called the "Second Messiah," like Sun Myung Moon, or just plain "Dad," like Jim Jones. Sometimes, reinforcing psychological domination with physical coercion, the leader provides peace of mind for his followers at the cost of their independence. "I am not bound by the rules," says Synanon Founder Chuck Dederich. "I make them." For the leader it is a spectacular ego trip; for his followers, a release from anxiety. Small wonder that so many have a zombie-like look that shocks outsiders.

The cults preach love but often practice hate. Anyone who challenges their dogma or defects from the cult becomes an enemy deserving of punishment, which varies in severity, depending on the sect.

The more pacific Moonies rely on moral suasion to keep supporters in line and opponents at bay. Two Synanon members, on the other hand, were charged by police in Los Angeles with putting a rattlesnake in a mailbox in an attempt to kill Attorney Paul Morantz, who had won a $300,000 judgment against the sect. Morantz was bitten by the snake, but survived after hospital treatment. At last week's end, Synanon's Chuck Dederich was arrested in Lake Havasu City, Ariz., on charges of conspiring to commit murder and assault, and of solicitation to commit murder. Both charges, brought by the District Attorney of Los Angeles County, were in connection with the rattlesnake episode. Eleven Scientology leaders are under federal indictment accusing them of conspiracy to infiltrate, bug and burglarize Government agencies in an effort to discredit critics.

The cults have amassed impressive wealth. When Scientology Founder L. Ron Hubbard was still a science fiction writer in 1949, a colleague recalled his saying, "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." Today Scientology is worth an estimated $50 million. Having earned a salary of $100,000 last year, Dederich once admitted that while other leaders might make do with an old Ford, "I need a $17,000 Cadillac." Far from resenting their leaders' lush lifestyle, many cult members seem to take pride in it. Alluding to Moon's two yachts and $750,000 home in Tarrytown, N.Y., a Moonie reasons, "Why must a religious leader be an ascetic?"

Much of the cults' funds come from members. Explains Neil Salonen, who is the U.S. leader of Moon's Unification Church: "When you have a rebirth, it is accompanied by a certain amount of zeal, and it is out of this zeal that you want to give everything that you have." If zeal is missing, there are other ways of raising money. The Unification Church has sanctioned lying for the good of the cause. A defecting Moonie, Denise Peskin, described how she made the rounds of bars in San Francisco asking for contributions for some fictional project like a drug abuse center. Says she: "It is a condition of faith that if you give money, you will be saved."

Despite their dubious and sometimes deadly activities, the cults have remained pretty much outside the law. Evidence emerged last week that the U.S. State Department had been given ample warning of the impending catastrophe at Jonestown but had not acted decisively. Deborah Layton Blakey, sister of Larry Layton, the commune's alleged executioner, sent the department an eleven-page statement detailing Jones' paranoia and brutality, the suicide drills, the weapons present in the camp, the malnutrition and sickness that were rampant, and the state of fear in which most of the inhabitants lived. She claims that the commune had three days' warning that a representative of the U.S. embassy in Georgetown was about to investigate the complaints. On Jones' orders, members were well dressed for the occasion, and good food was put on the table. "A visit was the only time we ate well," says Blakey. Wearing skimpy halter tops, commune women were instructed to flirt with the embassy official to keep his mind off the investigation. His report was not critical.

In their defense, State Department officials contend that there was little they could do about Jonestown because no residents complained about conditions there. Law enforcement agencies are reluctant to tangle with groups that can claim the protection of the U.S. Constitution's provision on religious freedom, and in recent years the courts have expanded this protection. At the same time, partly because of abuses by some agents during the Watergate era, the FBI has been sharply restricted in its undercover activities. FBI agents argue that the only way they could have found out what was happening in Jonestown was to infiltrate the commune. Had that become known, says an agent, "can't you just hear the roar?"

If a cult or its members violate federal laws, the FBI can of course step in. The most obvious charge would be kidnapingr keeping a member against his will. But invariably when the FBI has investigated such a charge, agents have been told by the supposedly kidnaped person that he or she was perfectly content to stay in the cult. Says Robert Keuch, a U.S. deputy assistant attorney general who is familiar with sects and their practices: "What may be brainwashing to a parent or other relative may be belief to the alleged victim."

The Federal Government, however, has some ways of coping with the cults. At the moment an interagency task force, including members of the FBI, the IRS, the SEC and the State Department, is being organized to investigate the financial transactions of the Moonies. The group will try to determine if Moon sought tax exemption for religious organizations that were set up mainly for business profits or if Moonies had failed to register as foreign agents when they were actually performing that role.

Even if cults are not especially inhibited by the law, they do meet with other kinds of resistance. For example, they have not enjoyed notable success in many parts of the American Midwest. Explains Arthur McKay, former pastor of Cincinnati's Knox Presbyterian Church: "We are on the edge of the Bible Belt and have fairly conservative fundamentalists in quite substantial numbers. Kids who find the so-called liberalism of the mainline churches not to their liking already have available alternatives." Where a religious or secular structure with strong values exists, the cults have less opportunity to make converts. Over the years, they tend to wax and wane, subject to a harsh winnowing process, a religious equivalent of the survival of the fittest. Established church leaders like to cite a prophecy in the Book of Acts: "Refrain from these men [the early Christians] and let them alone: for if this counsel or this work be of men, it will come to nought: But if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it."

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