A Church's Lethal Contract
By Dr. David S. Touretzky and Peter Alexander
Imagine a church so dangerous, you must sign a release form before
you can receive its "spiritual assistance." This assistance might
involve holding you against your will for an indefinite period,
isolating you from friends and family, and denying you access to
appropriate medical care. You will of course be billed for this
treatment - assuming you survive it. If not, the release form absolves
your caretakers of all responsibility for your suffering and death.
Welcome to the Church of Scientology.
In September 2003, one of these Scientology release forms surfaced on
the Internet. The form, which describes itself as a "contract," states
that the signer opposes psychiatric treatment for anyone, particularly
him or herself. Should some mental illness befall them, they authorize
the Church of Scientology to "extricate" them from the clutches of
psychiatrists who might seek to treat them. In lieu of psychiatric
care, the contract says they agree to be placed on the "Introspection
Rundown," a Scientology therapy invented by the Church's late founder,
L. Ron Hubbard.
The release form reads: "I understand that the Introspection
Rundown... includes being isolated from all sources of potential
spiritual upset, including, but not limited to family members, friends
or others with whom I might normally interact. As part of the
Introspection Rundown, I specifically consent to Church members being
with me 24 hours a day at the direction of my Case Supervisor." In
addition, "...the Case Supervisor will determine the time period in
which I will remain isolated..." And later in the same paragraph:
"...such duration will be completely at the discretion of the Case
Supervisor." The form ends with: "I further understand that by signing
below, I am forever giving up my right to sue the Church... for any
injury or damage suffered in any way connected with Scientology
religious services or spiritual assistance."
Critics of Scientology refer to the legal waiver as "The Lisa Clause,"
because the events described there, from extrication to isolation to
injury or damage, closely parallel the horrifying story of Lisa
McPherson, a Scientologist who died in the Church's custody in 1995.
(The release form can be read in its entirety at LisaClause.org.)
Scientology has tenaciously fought the wrongful death lawsuit filed by
McPherson's family, and so far has prevented it from getting to trial.
The Lisa McPherson Story
In 1995, Lisa McPherson, a beautiful
young blonde Scientologist, was under considerable pressure at the
Scientologist-owned company where she worked. She was also spending a
fortune on Scientology counseling services: $58,000 that year alone.
But Scientology's vaunted "spiritual technology" wasn't working for
her. She spent most of the year undergoing church-ordered "handlings"
meant to correct her lack of progress toward the enlightened state
known as "Clear."
By September, after 18 years in Scientology, she was finally certified
as Clear, but was still unhappy with her life. In November, McPherson
telephoned Kelly Davis, a childhood friend in Dallas, and said she was
coming home to stay Ð by Christmas at the latest. In a sworn
deposition, Davis said she interpreted Lisa's remarks to mean that she
was leaving the Church.
On November 18, 1995, Lisa stepped out of her Jeep Cherokee, removed
her clothes, and walked naked through rush-hour traffic on a busy
Clearwater, Florida street. "I wanted people to think I was crazy,
because I want help," she explained to paramedics a few moments later.
The paramedics took her to the emergency room at nearby Morton Plant
Hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. Within minutes, half a dozen
Scientologists appeared at the hospital, monitoring the medical staff's
every move and listening in the doorway while Lisa was examined.
Doctors found Lisa to be coherent and stable, but advised against
removing her from the hospital. Scientology staff members from the
Office of Special Affairs (the Church's intelligence and public
relations department) saw things differently, and removed her from the
hospital against the doctor's advice, giving assurances that they would
take her home but bring her back if she worsened. The Scientologists
then whisked her away, not to her home, but to the Church's spiritual
headquarters: the nearby Fort Harrison Hotel.
The Fort Harrison is one of 40 buildings in Clearwater that form
Scientology's "Flag Land Base," or "Flag" for short. It is heavily
promoted around the world as "The Mecca of Technical Perfection,"
meaning it's the best Scientology has to offer. People who have
recently gone Clear at Flag, like Lisa McPherson, are not supposed to
act out by shedding their clothes on a busy street. Her naked cry for
help threatened a public relations problem of the highest order. Annie
Mora, one of the staffers who came to "rescue" Lisa from the hospital,
put it this way: "If she had to be institutionalized... and had went
[sic]... to the media... this is like the worst thing. It [the media]
could then interject lies... that... Scientology hurts people or causes
them to go insane."
Seventeen days later, on December 5, 1995, Lisa McPherson was
pronounced dead at a hospital in New Port Richey, 20 miles away. Church
staffers called Lisa's family in Texas to say she'd died from
meningitis. That was the first of many "stories" from Scientology.
The following day, the Clearwater Police Department opened a suspicious
death investigation and an autopsy was performed. Church staff told
police that Lisa had been staying at the Fort Harrison for "rest and
relaxation" when she suddenly fell ill. The investigation stalled after
three staffers closely involved in McPherson's care suddenly left the
country. Meanwhile, several Scientologists flew to Texas for the
funeral, where they prevailed upon McPherson's family to cremate the
body, eliminating the possibility of a second autopsy. There had been
no news reports of her death. A year later, all that remained of Lisa
McPherson was dust and silence.
The Church of Scientology is the brainchild of the late science fiction
writer L. Ron Hubbard, who first put forward his theories on mental
illness in his 1950 book, Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental
Health. In it he argued that all mental and psychosomatic illnesses
spring from a single source: moments of previously experienced pain or
loss called "engrams." Hubbard told readers they could "clear"
themselves of engrams through a crude form of psychotherapy he called
"auditing." People who attain the state of Clear were said to be free
from all mental problems, plus the pains of arthritis, migraine,
ulcers, allergies, asthma, coronary difficulties, bursitis, poor vision
and even the common cold. It was quite a bargain for the price of a
book, and Dianetics quickly rose to the top of The New York Times
Based on the book's success, Hubbard opened a "Dianetics Foundation" in
Elizabeth, New Jersey, where students could learn auditing from the
master firsthand. But rather than go Clear, several "Dianeticists"
committed suicide. By 1951, the New Jersey State Board of Medical
Examiners accused the organization of teaching medicine without a
license. The Dianetics Foundation soon went bankrupt, and Dianetics,
which had briefly been a national fad, sank into obscurity.
Broke and despondent, Hubbard sought various ways to breathe new life
into his failing enterprise. In 1953, he wrote to a friend, "What do
you think about the religion angle? I sure could make it stick!"
He did. Hubbard founded the Church of Scientology in 1954. There were
no Sunday sermons in Hubbard's version of a church. Instead, the
faithful paid to learn how to use an "E-meter" (a device akin to a lie
detector that measures skin resistance) to audit away their mental
traumas. Scientology was basically the same old Dianetics quackery
combined with a belief in reincarnation, but by calling his business a
church, Hubbard sought to use the First Amendment right of freedom of
religion to shield himself from government scrutiny.
He was not entirely successful. In 1963, the US Food and Drug
Administration seized hundreds of Scientology E-meters as unlicensed
medical devices, citing Scientology's own literature claiming to cure
many types of physical illness through E-meter auditing. After eight
years of litigation, the E-meters were returned to the Church, but
Scientology was ordered to stop making unsubstantiated medical claims
and affix a disclaimer to each meter stating that its only use was in
Mental health experts have long seen Scientology as quackery. The
Anderson Report, filed by a team of Australian mental health
professionals in 1965, describes Hubbard's counseling procedures as
"authoritative hypnosis." "Because of serious risk of harm to the
patient," the report states, "it is only in rare and exceptional
circumstances that authoritative hypnosis is used in medical practice."
Ex-Scientologists claim that some of Hubbard's spiritual technology
amounts to brainwashing.
Many judges have seen Scientology the same way. In 1984, British
Justice Latey ruled, "It is dangerous because it is out to capture
people and to indoctrinate and brainwash them so they become the
unquestioning captives and tools of the cult, withdrawn from ordinary
thought, living and relationships with others."
Whether it's a brainwashing cult or a religion, one thing is certain:
Scientology continues to recruit streams of new members (called "raw
meat" by the sales staff). Their sales gimmicks include offering "free
stress tests" on street corners, promising to rid people of drug habits
through their front group, Narconon (spokesperson: Kirstie Alley),
teaching kids how to study through their World Literacy Campaign
(spokesperson: Isaac Hayes) and a host of other schemes.
Scientology frequently claimed to have eight million members worldwide,
until CBS's Diane Sawyer got Church President Heber Jentzsch to confess
that this number included everyone who had ever taken a course since
1954. Ex-staffers have revealed that there are actually only about
50,000 hardcore "Lifetime Members" (they estimate total membership at
well below 100,000).
Once inside Scientology's doors, "registrars" (salespeople)
extract huge sums of money from believers. "Make Money," Hubbard once
urged his staff. "Make more money. Make other people produce so as to
make more money." How much money do they make? No one knows for sure,
but it is estimated that a person can spend a cool $365,000 to make it
to the top of Hubbard's "Bridge to Total Freedom."
Unfortunately for the Church of Scientology, its activities
are constantly monitored by a loose collection of ex-members and free
speech activists who call themselves "the critics." In late 1996,
critic Jeff Jacobsen found a request for information about the Lisa
McPherson case on the Clearwater Police Department's website. He
noticed that Lisa's last known address was the Fort Harrison Hotel.
Jacobsen realized there was a story here, and began contacting local
media. Critics informed the Clearwater Police Department that Church
staffers had probably lied when they'd said McPherson was only at the
Fort Harrison for rest and relaxation. It was more likely she had been
held in isolation as part of an Introspection Rundown.
The police stepped up their investigation and The Tampa Tribune ran a
story publicizing the search for the three missing witnesses.
Scientology spokesman Brian Anderson responded that the three had no
connection to McPherson's death, but police already knew they worked
directly with Dr. Janis Johnson in the Flag medical liaison office.
Johnson had voluntarily surrendered her medical license in Arizona some
years earlier, and was not licensed to practice in Florida. When the
paper reported critics' accusations that Lisa had been on a "baby
watch" (Scientology's nickname for part of the Introspection Rundown),
Anderson said there was no such thing and threatened lawsuits against
anyone who said there was.
The Church had isolated Lisa to prevent PR problems, but now the
isolation itself was becoming a problem. Scientology attorney Sandy
Weinberg sent a letter to the state prosecutor complaining about the
investigation, and stating, "Lisa was not at the hotel for services and
therefore there was no auditor or case supervisor from the Church in
charge." And Scientology's chief counsel, Elliot Abelson, appearing on
TV's Inside Edition, said: "She rested, she slept a lot, nothing
unusual, really, until the end of her stay." Abelson went on to say
that there was no one at the hotel capable of realizing the seriousness
of McPherson's condition when she suddenly fell ill. But on a follow-up
program, when asked about the role of Dr. Johnson, an unlicensed
physician, the Church's attorney refused to answer questions.
In January 1997, Lisa's mother, Fanny McPherson, hired Tampa attorney
Ken Dandar to find and hold accountable the people responsible for
Lisa's death. Scientology had by then dropped the meningitis story. The
new story: McPherson died from an embolism to the lung, a delayed and
unforeseeable result of a minor traffic accident before the paramedics
took her to Morton Plant Hospital.
Then, in an unexpected development, police obtained access to internal
Church records of McPherson's care. The tale they told was horrifying.
According to the records, Scientology had placed Lisa on an isolation
watch (possibly a prelude to the Introspection Rundown) at the Fort
Harrison. She was quite lucid when first brought to the hotel. Church
security staff took her to a room and locked her in. She was assigned a
team of non-medically trained caretakers that included a librarian, a
secretary, a file clerk and a personnel director, all supposedly
supervised by Dr. Johnson and Alain Kartuzinski, the senior case
supervisor at the Mecca of Technical Perfection. She was watched around
the clock by this rotating team, but per Hubbard's teachings, they were
not allowed to speak to her.
Under constant watch in a locked and darkened room, McPherson
deteriorated both physically and mentally. She refused to eat, either
vomiting or spitting out her food. She did not sleep and paced the room
constantly. When she tried to leave, she was brought back by her
watchers. To control her, Johnson gave her the sedative chloral
hydrate, a controlled substance whose side-effects can include both
vomiting and mental confusion. As McPherson worsened, she pounded the
walls, locked herself in the bathroom, crawled on the floor, and
kicked, hit and gouged her caretakers, giving one a black eye. In
another botched attempt at treatment, several Scientologists held her
down while another force-fed her concoctions of herbal remedies,
Benadryl and aspirin by sticking a turkey baster down her throat. When
this failed, she was given injections of liquid Valium, without benefit
of a doctor's supervision. Finally, the records indicate that she was
reduced to babbling incoherently and soiling herself.
When Scientology staffers finally decided to return McPherson to a
physician's care, they did not call an ambulance to make the two-minute
drive to Morton Plant Hospital. Instead, they bypassed the four closest
hospitals and drove her 50 minutes away to a hospital in the next
county, where fellow Scientologist Dr. David Minkoff was on duty. Two
of the Scientologists in the car that night claimed McPherson stopped
breathing during the drive, but forensic evidence suggests she may have
been dead before she ever left the Fort Harrison. In any case, she
arrived at the hospital with no pulse or vital signs, and with cuts,
bruises and sores all over her emaciated body. Minkoff pronounced her
dead shortly thereafter. He later described her condition as,
"Horrible... terrible... [and] shocking." Lisa had lost an estimated 40
pounds during her 17 days in isolation.
When CBS's Public Eye covered the investigation in 1998, reporter
Kristin Jeanette-Meyers asked Scientology executive Mike Rinder if
McPherson's gross deterioration showed that the rest and relaxation
program wasn't working. Rinder blithely replied, "No, I don't think
that that's clear at all." What was clear was that Scientology would
not accept responsibility for what happened to Lisa McPherson.
With the collapse of the rest and relaxation story, Scientology changed
tactics again. Now the Church claimed that Lisa had indeed been on the
Introspection Rundown, but since this was a religious ritual, its
actions were protected by the First Amendment's guarantee of religious
The Legal Battle
Scientology retains an army of lawyers and
private investigators to wage war against its enemies. According to IRS
records, the Church spent over $30 million on legal and professional
fees in one year alone. Shortly after Ken Dandar filed the wrongful
death suit, Scientology counsel Elliot Abelson called to say, "We will
But Dandar, a lawyer who spends almost as much time leading his
Catholic "Renew Your Faith" group as he does in court, was not
intimidated. He called in forensic experts to validate the autopsy
results reported by the coroner, Dr. Joan Wood. Highly respected
medical expert Dr. Calvin Bandt analyzed the post-mortem chemistry. He
said it showed McPherson was severely dehydrated and in a coma during
the last several days of her life. He termed the caretaker reports of
her being active up to the last day "unreliable and pure fantasy."
Dandar brought in board certified forensic entomologists who testified
that sores on Lisa's body included 110 cockroach-feeding sites. The
bites had occurred both before and after death, indicating that Lisa
was kept for several days in the dark and immobile, either while in a
coma from severe dehydration, or as a corpse. An independent expert
retained by Inside Edition went on to say, it was Scientology's
cocktail of drugs and herbal potions that caused Lisa's hallucinations
and the dehydration that led to her death.
The legal battle intensified when State Attorney Bernie McCabe filed
criminal charges against the Church for practicing medicine without a
license and abusing a disabled adult. Stunned, Scientology leader David
Miscavige complained to McCabe, "These are virtually the first charges
ever brought against any church."
Scientology counter-attacked by bringing in their own team of forensic
experts to dispute Dr. Wood's autopsy findings that Lisa had died of
"bed rest and severe dehydration." They soon buried Wood in reams of
But Scientology's attacks were not confined to legal filings. According
to Lee Strope of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, the Church
placed Dr. Wood under constant surveillance. As a result, Scientology
discovered something about the coroner that Assistant State Attorney
Doug Crow described as "extremely damaging to Wood's office and her
career." Finally, under pressure from the surveillance and a lawsuit
filed by the Church, Dr. Wood began to change her autopsy results.
First she changed the cause of death from "undetermined" to
"accidental," then to "homicide," but then back to "accidental." When
asked to explain her changes, she contradicted herself within a few
Wood's waffling forced State Attorney McCabe to drop the criminal
charges, as the coroner no longer made a credible witness. A few months
later, Wood resigned.
With the State of Florida knocked out of the box, Scientology
concentrated the full force of its firepower on Dandar and the
"The purpose of a lawsuit is to harass and discourage rather than to
win," Scientology's late founder once wrote. "The law can be used very
easily to harass, and enough harassment on somebody who is simply on
the thin edge anyway... will generally be sufficient to cause his
professional decease. If possible, of course, ruin him utterly."
Hubbard later wrote a "Fair Game Policy" which states that
Scientology's enemies "may be deprived of property or injured by any
means by any Scientologist... May be tricked, sued or lied to or
The Church's Fair Game campaign against Dandar began when a team of
private investigators started contacting Dandar's former clients. One
PI, during a visit to client Linda Herrington, accused Dandar of being
"involved" with Herrington's 16-year-old daughter. Both Herrington and
her daughter denied the allegations. The PI, who gave a false name (he
was later identified as Brian Raftery), admitted he was working for the
Church. On learning this, Dandar filed a bar grievance against Church
lawyers, but Herrington died, in a still unexplained car accident, two
weeks before she could testify at the hearing.
The Fair Game campaign continued when Scientology detectives began
constant surveillance of Jesse Prince, a former high-ranking
Scientologist and Dandar's expert witness on the inner workings of the
Church. Prince was befriended by a man who called himself Rinzy
Trinidad. Trinidad brought bottles of liquor to Prince's home, and
smoked marijuana with him. In reality, Prince's new friend was
Scientology PI Barry Gaston. When local police, using Gaston as an
informant, busted Prince for possession of marijuana, Scientology PI
Brian Raftery was on hand to videotape the arrest. Raftery later
testified that he was paid $187,200 in one year for his work against
Dandar's witness. But Scientology paid a much higher price when the
frame-up came out in court. Prince was set free and the Church was
charged with witness tampering, which resulted in Judge Susan F.
Schaeffer promising "severe sanctions" against Scientology for its
The Church has learned to take the long view of setbacks in court. Some
of its legal battles have lasted decades. In one landmark case settled
in 2002, former member Lawrence Wollersheim collected an $8.7 million
judgement for pain and suffering caused by the Church's treatment of
him, but only after 22 years of legal warfare. To reach his victory,
Wollersheim had been forced to sell all of his assets and go $900,000
Dandar took the McPherson case on a contingency basis, which meant he
was funding what looked to be a long, arduous battle himself. Just when
it appeared Scientology was succeeding in its attempt to financially
bury him, an angel stepped in to help.
The angel was Bob Minton, a retired Boston investment banker who first
learned about Scientology, and its battle with the critics, on the
Internet. He began funding the case, eventually providing Dandar with
more than $2 million. (By comparison, Scientology has spent over $20
Minton's funding of the case turned him into Scientology's enemy number
one. A Fair Game campaign of unparalleled harassment was launched
against him. As Church PIs dug into his financial dealings,
Scientologists followed his two young daughters on their walks home
from school and on vacations. When Minton flew around the US,
Scientology picketers met him at every airport. He was hauled into
court by Scientology attorneys, who demanded far-reaching discovery
into every aspect of his life. The legal onslaught lasted for several
years, until he was finally forced to throw in the towel.
When Minton entered into secret settlement negotiations with
Scientology executives and their attorneys, they demanded, among
other things, that he make the Lisa McPherson wrongful death suit "go
away." Dandar's angel now turned into his devil. In April 2002, Minton,
appearing in a Clearwater courtroom to defend against criminal contempt
charges filed against him by Scientology, stunned everyone by accusing
Dandar of being a "lying thief." As if on cue, Scientology filed an
immediate motion to disqualify Dandar and noticed the court that Minton
would be its star witness.
Dandar hired First Amendment attorney Luke Lirot, and together they
spent 40 days defending against what Judge Schaeffer described as
Minton's perjured testimony. The Judge's ruling stopped just short of
accusing Scientology of extortion in its manipulation of Minton. She
denied the motion to disqualify Dandar, but that motion was only the
Dandar has persevered through a seemingly endless barrage of legal
attacks. There have been nine attempts to disqualify him, and four
attempts to remove Lisa's aunt, Dell Liebreich, as executor of Lisa's
estate. Scientology attorneys have filed bar complaints against both
him and Lirot, lawsuits against Lisa's family, and motions to remove
judges and move the case to other venues. When asked how going up
against Scientology compares to normal litigation, Lirot replied, "It's
like comparing LSD to orange juice."
As of this writing, the wrongful death case has gone through four judges in seven years. A trial date has still not been set.
Still, attorney Dandar has not tired of the fray. "When I'm done with
this case," He says, "I'm going to see if I can get their IRS tax
exemption revoked. How can a church use its tax exempt donations to
harass and destroy people's lives?"
Scientology may have escaped a criminal conviction, but they
could be ruined by the subsequent civil suit. The wrongful death case
threatens the Church with far more than monetary damages. Because
Scientologists believe their technology to be infallible and mankind's
only hope for survival, a ruling that "the tech," properly applied,
killed Lisa McPherson, could trigger a crisis of confidence among the
faithful. If the case gets to trial and the rumors of Court TV coverage
prove true, Scientology's chances of recruiting new members would be
The Church's apparent defense strategy now rests on a freedom of
religion argument, a risky gambit because the Introspection Rundown
says nothing about withholding medical care from a gravely ill,
mentally incompetent adult. That would be illegal. Scientology cannot
lay claim to such a practice without imperiling its tax exemption.
Hence, the Church's real defense strategy is to delay the trial by
attacking Dandar and the estate, until either McPherson's relatives are
exhausted or Dandar runs out of money.
Has the Church learned anything from McPherson's death? A parishioner
in a psychotic state still cannot be brought to a hospital without
attracting unwanted media attention, leading to inevitable accusations
that Scientology's own treatments caused the psychosis. With the press
and a legion of Internet critics watching every move the Church makes,
Hubbard's isolation policy must seem the only route open to it. So one
should not expect Scientology's "religious" practices to change. As the
new release form indicates, the Church knowingly anticipates future
Lisa McPhersons. Hubbard himself states at the beginning of each
Scientology course pack, "We'd rather have you dead than incapable." To
protect the Church from those who will learn that lesson the hard way,
there's the Lisa Clause.
Scientology's critics fall into four
categories: ex-members still troubled by abuse they suffered while in
the Church, free speech activists opposed to Scientology's efforts to
censor critical information on the Internet, persons who have lost
family members to cults, and those who are concerned about
Scientology's attacks on the mental health profession.
Ida Camburn of Hemet, California, lost a child to Scientology. In 1975,
her criticism of the organization led her son Ronnie to write her a
"disconnection letter," a common practice in Scientology, stating that
he was cutting off all contact. Camburn began a correspondence with
Congressman Leo J. Ryan of California, who was investigating Jim Jones'
People's Temple cult. Ryan, who lost his favorite nephew to
Scientology, described the organization in a 1976 letter to Camburn as
"jackals" and "20th Century Fagins."
Ryan was planning to meet with Camburn upon his return from a visit to
the People's Temple facility in Guyana in 1978. But Ryan and four
reporters were murdered at the airstrip, and Jones and his followers
committed mass suicide. Since then, Camburn has written thousands of
letters to congressmen, reporters and religious leaders, warning them
about Scientology's destructive effect on families. She has suffered a
stream of harassment from Scientology staffers and private
investigators for her efforts. Now 80, Camburn shows little sign of
slowing down. She corresponds with the many friends she's made in
government and media circles, and with other parents who have lost
children to cults. She is also active on the Internet. The critics call
Scott Pilutik is a web developer turned law student who first became
aware of Scientology in 1998, when the Church coerced Amazon.com into
removing a critical book from its online catalog. After a public
outcry, Amazon quickly restored Jonathan Atack's A Piece of Blue Sky:
Scientology, Dianetics and L. Ron Hubbard Exposed, but Pilutik was
outraged and began researching the Church. With help from other
critics, Pilutik maintains ScientologyWatch.org and three other
websites exposing various aspects of Scientology's activities. A
Manhattan resident, Pilutik is planning to focus on intellectual
property law, an area undergoing rapid change since the arrival of the
Internet. Some of those changes have been catalyzed by the Church of
Scientology's inventiveness in using copyright, trademark and trade
secret law to suppress speech it doesn't like.
Celebrities on Scientology
Scientology's most favored members
are celebrities such as actors Tom Cruise, John Travolta and wife Kelly
Preston, Kirstie Alley, Jenna Elfman, Juliette Lewis and Anne Archer.
Other celebrity members include Fox News analyst Greta Van Susteren,
Nancy Cartwright (voice of Bart Simpson), jazz musicians Chick Corea
and Isaac Hayes, and singer Lisa Marie Presley and her mother Priscilla.
Scientology promotes itself through front groups purporting to address
various health, education and human rights issues. Most have celebrity
Scientologists as spokespersons. Stories about these celebrities and
the good works they do through Scientology are continually fed to the
press by Church PR staff and featured on TV programs like Entertainment
Tonight. Promoting its celebrities lends Scientology an air of glamour
and legitimacy, diverting attention from its reputation as the most
litigious "religious organization" in the world.
"A civilization without insanity, without criminals and
without war, where the able can prosper and able beings can have
rights, and where man is free to rise to greater heights, are the aims
of Scientology." Ð L. Ron Hubbard
"I would say that Scientology put me into the big time."
"Scientology is sanity and if people who aren't in Scientology knew just
how sane their lives could be, they would run to find out about it."
"Scientology is about regaining total cause over your own life."
"Scientology is the gateway to eternity. It is
the path to happiness and total spiritual freedom. Until one has
experienced the technology of Scientology it's unlikely that one will
ever experience these wonderful discoveries. I know because it has
worked for me. The more time and effort I invest, the more I receive. I
highly recommend it."
"Scientology has been my road out. There is
nothing about my life that I feel apathetic or unhappy about.
Scientology gives you hope and the certainty that you can improve any
condition. This, to me, is priceless."
"Life is at my fingertips, and with Scientology, I've found I can have or be whatever I want."
"Without Scientology, I would be in an alley somewhere, looking for dope."
Lisa Marie Presley
"Ron Hubbard researched man and has
carefully and precisely mapped a route out of the madness, misery and
unwanted conditions one can encounter in life. When applied exactly,
the technology produces incredible results. Those results are very
definite and eternal."
"I am no longer stuck in the bottomless pit
of despair and apathy. Having achieved the state of Clear is the single
most important thing that I've done for myself. It has allowed me to
experience life in a way I only imagined."
"I wish that he [Elvis Presley] knew what Scientology was before he died."
"I think people speak out of not knowing what
they're talking about, basically. That if you pick up a book and you
read about it, there's so many different tools that people can apply to
their lives to make them better instantly. And I think the criticism
comes from Ð you know, it's a group that doesn't pull punches."