Mad Cults & Minority Beliefs

 Mad Cults & Minority Beliefs.

I wonder how interested we should be in those murderous cults of the postwar era that led their devotees to commit mass suicide. It is such a bizarre extreme that interest seems somewhat ghoulish.  Dutch tulip-mania was odd. Christianity is odd, and in some forms very odd. But these cults strike me as impossible to understand.

I am thinking of the seventies cult of "the jungle poisoner", Jim Jones of Jonestown, and his "Peoples Temple" cult that culminated in 1978 with 'revolutionary suicide' in the Guyanan jungle. And of David Koresh's "Branch Davidian" cult that ended (in 1993) in the  Mount Carmel siege near Waco (Texas). The third example that comes to mind is less well known in the Anglophone world; it climaxed in French-speaking Switzerland in the nineties. I looked it up on Wikipedia  –– 'L' Ordre du Temple Solaire'. 

"The Order of the Solar Temple (French: Ordre du Temple solaire, OTS), or simply the Solar Temple, was a French-speaking religious group, often described as a cult, notorious for the mass deaths of many of its members in several mass murders and suicides throughout the 1990s. The OTS was a neo-Templar movement, claiming to be a continuation of the Knights Templar, and incorporated a mix of Rosicrucianism, Theosophy, and New Age ideas. It was led by Joseph Di Mambro, with Luc Jouret as a spokesman and second in command. It was founded in 1984, in Geneva, Switzerland."

It seems to me that these three murderous cults of the postwar era were each started by charismatic pranksters who were amused at their ability to hoodwink people, but who grew to believe their own nonsense, even to death. This Swiss cult was said to contain many "intelligent middle class adherents". (!)

Part of my interest comes from the realisation that essentially all religions are cults; it is hard to find a definition of a cult that does not include the Church of England. There may be a spectrum, running from Jim Jones on the one hand to the archbishop of Canterbury and the Quakers on the other. But Quakerism is undeniably a cult; its followers proudly and stubbornly following their charismatic (though long dead) leader. On that spectrum running from Jim Jones to George Fox there lies all the great religious names: Buddha, Jesus, Muhammad, Guru Nanak,......; men with magnetism, and a message that appeals.  

The number of adherents who follow a cult determines its social standing but that may depend on marketing as much as on appeal; think of Spanish thumb-screws and the 'Auto da Fé '. 

Popularity may relate less to the plausibility of the claims, than to their desirability, their ability to meet a human need. Some people crave status. But many people need a friend, and many need hope.  

I have remarked elsewhere [1] that the outstanding popularity of Christianity as a world religion may derive from the hope of life after death. After all, how plausible is 'life after death'? And how desireable? 

The Quaker cult seems to be 'odd man out' in that there seems to be essentially no claim. Followers are offered (a) friendship, and (b) the sense of doing the right thing. Nothing more (in the present century). That may be why the cult is dwindling. 

[1] https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2023/12/life-after-death.html

Los Tres Cojos

Los Tres Cojos 

Traffic moves slowly in Mexico City; more correctly I should say it move rapidly but with many pauses. The queues of stationary cars, at certain points on the Circuito interior, are so dependable that teams of nimble sales persons are poised ready to dash in amongst the cars with sweets, or drinks, or trinkets, or lottery tickets; especially at rush hours.

At traffic lights on major crossings, where the cycle-time allows, there are often entertainers poised ready to step into the space in front of the cars to perform for their captive audience.  On Avenida José Vasconcelos I have often seen children juggling with three balls and, after dark, young men juggling with flaming torches. Sometime you see tumblers or break-dancers. They have to move smartly when the lights change, but clearly know when their time is up.

Today I saw a unique display; three one-legged men on crutches playing with a  football. They kept their ball up with great skill using their three single legs, occasionally extending a crutch to stop the ball escaping into the traffic. 

The Spanish language has a special word for a one-legged man — un cojo. And, not surprisingly, also for a one-armed man — un manco. (Cervanres was one such, I am told.)  I teasingly asked about a man with only one eye, and was told “Yes, a one-eyed man is referred to as un tuerto.” What verbal richness! What nice distinctions become possible with a language so specific! Why are such words missing from the English Language? What is special about the Spanish – their legal system, perhaps?

But I am ashamed to note that I have already deserted the bizarre spectacle that moved me to write this note; my tres cojos at the crossroads in front of the Russian Embassy. 

(For others of my posts about Mexico, put the keyword Mexico in the search box.)

A Lesson for Eighty-year-olds

 A lesson for eighty-year-olds faced with lost keys and the collapse of a familiar way of life. 

The key-fob was missing and La Profesora could not get back into her office. She had only gone to the 'ladies', locking her office door behind her. The search, of every conceivable place, had delayed departure by half an hour, and the chauffeur needed to get home as his 10-year-old was coughing blood in hospital. 

All this led to a restless night of self recrimination, doom scenarios, and the listing of jobs for the morning with 'changing-the-locks' at the top. Finally sleep arrived.

Next morning the hair-dresser was due at 10am, but reported that the traffic in the city was 'blocked'. Further catastrophes loomed; what if she never arrived, nor the maid, nor the flowers! 

But with daylight, came a WhatsApp message from the profesora's faithful post-doc; the key-fob had been found; allegedly "in the waste-bin in the Ladies", with the used paper towels! Then, on the dot of 10:00, a buzz from the concierge announced the arrival of the hairdresser. 

The mind, now freed from its worries, could notice that the sun was shining, picking out the dazzling yellow jasmine on the house across the (abnormally empty) street. The tumbling world was back on its feet.