Research on Destructive Cults
Michael D. Langone, Ph.D.
This is a pre-galley draft of a paper delivered to the International Congress on Totalitarian Groups and Sects in Barcelona, Spain, 1993. The paper was translated into Spanish and published in a book of proceedings.
What is research and why do we bother to conduct it? According to Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary (1983), research is “the collecting of information about a particular subject,” “studious inquiry or examination; especially Investigation or experimentation aimed at the discovery and interpretation of facts, revision of accepted theories or laws in the light of new facts or practical application of such new or revised theories or laws” (p.1002). Although experimentalists prefer to emphasize the latter definition of research, the multidisciplinary nature and recent development of cultic studies suggest that one ought not lose sight of the broader definition. Thus, religious scholars studying the texts of various cultic groups, clinicians, sociologists, or anthropologists carefully recording their observations of cultists and their families, and researchers using psychological tests and statistics can all contribute to the advancement of understanding in this area.
These professionals conduct research — and are called upon by others to conduct research – because their systematic and disciplined methods provide more credible answers to important questions than uninformed opining offers. Nevertheless, the subtlety and complexity of researchers’ various methodologies make it very difficult to conduct truly “definitive” research. Consequently, the key questions regarding a particular topicmay often remain incompletely answered, even after years of research. In large part, this is the case with regard to the study of cults. We have learned a lot but there is still much that we do not sufficiently understand.
In another paper presented to this conference, Margaret Singer and I discuss definition issues concerning cults. Here, I will simply say that I distinguish between cults (or what Europeans typically call “sects”) and “new” movements, whether new religious movements, innovative psychotherapies, or new political movements. Cults are characterized by the systematic induction or exacerbation of psychological dependency within a context of exploitative manipulation. Noncultic movements are relatively nonmanipulative, nonexploitative, and respectful of individual autonomy.
Because a complete, multidisciplined review of this field is not possible within the space limitations of this paper, I will focus my review on the psychological study of two areas of special concern to those working with the victims of cultic groups: prevalence and harm. First, however, I wish to discuss some of the methodological issues that should be considered in evaluating published reports in this area.
Given thedynamic relationship between cultic groups and society,at any given time a collection of cultic groups identified for research purposes will inevitably exhibit varying levels and types of destructiveness. Moreover, researchers using different definitions of “cult” maytend to focus on different types of groups. Therefore, comparing research studies on cultic groups, including the studies examined in this paper, is hazardous. The situation is somewhat analogous to that of psychopathology research before the advent of today’s more precise and operational (though still far from definitive) diagnostic classifications. Although some proposals for operationalizing the concept “cult” have been proposed (Andersen, 1985; Ash, 1984; Langone, 1989), no such proposal has been implemented, and a great deal of ambiguity still characterizes the term. Nevertheless, if we do not make the best of what we have, we relinquish the opportunity to make things better.
The fuzziness of the concept “cult” demands that we pay special attention to the generalizability of research studies. A study involving subjects from many different groups, for example, may include subjects from groups that are not truly cults or may have a preponderance of subjects from more destructive and controversial groups, or the opposite. In any case, the application of the findings of any particular study to the broad population of cult members will be suggestive at best.
Even if one limits generalizability (e.g., by applying a study’s findings to only one group), sampling problems can arise. Rarely can researchers obtain random samples from a group. Groups that tend to have many geographical locations (e.g., Hare Krishna temples) may differ significantly from location to location. Samples derived from clinical research will tend to include a disproportionate number of distressed members or ex-members. Samples that require the cooperation of a group’s leadership run the risk of being “selected” to make the group look good. Samples derived from the “snowball” technique (where subjects are asked to identify other subjects) or from “network samples” (e.g., members of cult awareness organizations) may be skewed because people tend to associate with others like themselves.
Thus, we find that samples derived from networks associated with organizations critical of cults tend to have a higher percentage of deprogrammed or exit counseled subjects. Another limitation with ex-member samples, even when not associated with “anti-cult” networks, is the difficulties researchers encounter in attempting to find subjects. Knight, (1986), for example, was only able to locate 20 of 60 former members of the Center for Feeling Therapy. Given the tendency for the seriously disturbed to experience “downward drift,” it is quite possible that the most distressed ex-members may be the least likely to come to researchers’ attention.
Studies that required the cooperation of cultic groups sometimes, even in published accounts, reveal possible biases within their samples. In most of Galanter’s studies of the Unification church, for example, virtually full cooperation was obtained, whereas Gaines, Wilson, Redican and Baffi (1984) received not one reply to 100 questionnaires mailed to current members of cultic groups. Such a disparity raises questions about the motivations and by extension the reliability of reports by officially sanctioned groups of subjects. Such doubts are magnified when one considers that subject compliance rates can vary considerably. Galanter’s study of engaged Moonies (Galanter, 1983), for example, had a 100% rate of cooperation at a meeting organized by the Unification Church. In his follow-up study of married Moonies (Galanter, 1986), on the other hand, only 66% completed his research questionnaire. Although this was a mailed questionnaire (so a lower cooperation rate is to be expected), it is possible that a disproportionate number of those who did not complete the questionnaire might have had negative experiences that they, being committed members of the Unification Church, would be reluctant to acknowledge, even perhaps to themselves. Hence, they simply did not complete the questionnaire. Such subtleties of methodology can easily be overlooked by students of the field.
Ungerleider and Wellisch (1979) openly acknowledge the question of subject motivations, although they do not attribute as much importance to it as others might:
We did indicate, however, that we would be willing, if asked, to give our findings in a court proceeding. However, this was never required. This became the motivation of many cult members to cooperate with us. Those who were no longer cult members cooperated mainly out of a desire to further knowledge in this area. It is important to note that we did not promise cult members that our findings would be positive or helpful to them. (p.279)
Many of the subjects of these researchers obviously wanted to appear “normal” (which was the researchers’ finding) in order to help their groups in court proceedings. Elevated Lie scales in the studies which used the MMPI cast further doubt on the credibility of the findings of these studies. Moreover, Ash (1984) notes that people with dissociative disorders often show “normality” on objective tests, but show psychopathology on projectives, as is the case with the only studies of cultic groups to use projectives (Deutsch & Miller, 1983; Spero, 1982). Levine and Salter (1976) did not even bother to administer psychological tests:
No formal tests were administered to members, although it was originally intended to do so – this plan was dropped because the members were extremely suspicious of tests, testers, indeed, society in general in regard to our attitudes toward them (they feared an expose). (p412).
The credibility of such a subject population is necessarily diminished by such strong fears about participating in scientific research.
Questionnaires and Psychological Tests
When used to study cultists, these methods have the following advantages: 1) subjects are all exposed to the same “stimulus”; 2) the measures are easy and relatively economical to administer; 3) they permit the collection of quantifiable data; 4) some psychological tests have been thoroughly researched, and many provide standardized norms against which subjects can be compared.
Questionnaires and psychological tests have the following disadvantages: 1) many are retrospective, and therefore their responses may reflect faulty memories; 2) they are self-report measures, and therefore their responses may reflect psychological variables that incline subjects to answer inaccurately; 3) they are often not able to detect subtle variables, such as ambivalent motivations; 4) they may not truly measure that which they purport to measure (especially if they have not been subjected to rigorous psychometric testing).
Interviews may be structured or unstructured. The former can have all the advantages of questionnaires and psychological tests (standardized interview tests exist, e.g. the Hopkins Symptom Check List) but also have greater flexibility and provide nonverbal information gleaned by interviewers who can vary their protocols somewhat to suit the circumstances.
Unstructured or semi-structured interviews, although not as easily quantified as structured interviews, offer the advantage of greater flexibility, but at the cost of less precision and control and greater interviewer-generated distortions. Unstructured interviews are often most appropriate for exploratory research.
When interviews involve retrospective accounts, the probability of distortions obviously increases. But a skilled interviewer can diminish the impact of this factor and, indeed, can draw out information not accessible to “paper and pencil” measures.
Clinical Case Study
The clinical case study is, in a sense, a form of interview with certain distinguishing features. Its main advantage over other types of interviews is the deeper and broader psychological understanding of the client/subject that results from the duration of psychotherapy and the depth of trust between therapist and client/subject. Sometimes this method is the most effective for obtaining useful information, because, for example, so little is known about a topic that it is impossible to develop truly effective structured interviews or questionnaires or tests. Indeed, this may be the case with respect to the cult phenomenon. If allegations of deception in cults are valid, interviewers or researchers using pencil and paper measures can be easily misled. Clinicians, especially when they work with a variety of cultists who do not know each other, may be more effective at penetrating a group “persona” that members tend to adopt. Although their work may not significantly illuminate questions of prevalence (because their samples are necessarily skewed toward those needing help), it does shed light on the processes that harm people in cultic groups.
Clinical methods are also the most appropriate for forensic work involving damage claims. These situations demand an expert opinion on how specific processes in a specific group affected a particular individual. Other methods of study may be helpful in trying to arrive at generalized conclusions (e.g., the prevalence of harm among the members of a particular cult), but they cannot contribute significantly to answering the question of whether a particular cult environment harmed a particular person. Indeed, it seems unlikely that experimental investigations of extreme influence processes will ever shed much light on the phenomenon of induced conversion because ethical restraints prohibit the conducting of such research. Many of the pioneering social influence experiments (e.g. Milgram, 1974) would not be possible in today’s more restrictive ethical climate with regard to research with humans.
Naturalistic observation of a cultic group may be brief or extended, unstructured or structured. Extended, unstructured observation (e.g., participant observation) immerses researchers in the day-to-day activities of a group. This method, therefore, ought to enable researchers “to penetrate the fronts that members erect to guard family secrets” (Balch, 1985, p. 32). However, observers of a group, though they may be better positioned than psychotherapists for understanding group processes, may not be as well positioned for understanding the psychological processes affecting individuals. Moreover, “researcher’s conceptualizing system(s) may significantly affect his/her perception, description, and interpretation of the phenomena under study” (Langone & Clark, 1985, p. 96), much as countertransference can affect a clinician’s analysis of a psychotherapy case. Balch (1985) describes this process in his own research:
When I first returned from the UFO cult I gave several talks about the group where I tried to dispel certain misconceptions fostered by the media, especially those alleging mind control. My descriptions focused on the voluntary aspects of membership and almost completely ignored the ways that Bo and Poop used group dynamics to promote conformity. It was not until later, after interviewing defectors and reflecting on the patterns recorded in my field notes, that I began to appreciate the subtleties of social pressure in the group. With greater detachment I realized that my efforts to defend the cult against unfounded charges had led me to bias my descriptions by selective reporting. (p33)
More structured observational procedures, such as those employed by researchers in behavior therapy, would help diminish distortions resulting from the observer’s interpretive framework. Although one proposal for utilizing such methods has been advanced (Langone, 1989), to date no studies have been conducted using these methods. Clearly, we need observational protocols that are sensitive to psychological subtleties and capable of penetrating the group persona.
Statistical methods in behavioral and sociological research can vary from the simple and straightforward to the arcane. Sometimes an excellent study requires simple methods (e.g., a t-test of means). Sometimes a poorly conceived study can obscure its deficiencies by confusing the reader with complex statistical methods. Determining which methods are appropriate for which studies is often a daunting task demanding attention to subtle details of methodology. Gonzales (1986) provides an example in a critique of one of Galanter’s studies:
Galanter’s major finding is that members “actually do experience amelioration in psychological well-being long after joining” (p. 1579). He bases this, however, on the long-standing Unification Church members (N=237) from one study (Galanter et al., 1979) compared with guests who joined the Unification church after a 21-day workshop (N=9) in another study (Galanter, M., 1980). Galanter is thus comparing means from an N ratio of 1:25. With such a dramatic difference in N, an F-test should have been performed to assess whether a t-test was still valid, but no such test was made. It is further interesting to note the profound difference in variance between the two compared groups: for the larger group (N=237), a variance of 289 was calculated, while for the smaller group (N=9), a variance of 400 was calculated. When the larger sample has a smaller variance, the probability of finding the statistic significant goes up considerably – perhaps even at the one-tailed level. The t-value would have perhaps not been as significant if there had not been such a gross difference between the sample sizes and their variances. (pp.30-31)
The controversy related to the cult phenomenon results, in large part, because the issues of concern impinge directly on three subjects about which human beings, including trained scientists, can easily become emotional: religion, politics (in its broadest sense), and psychological autonomy. The criticisms directed at cults imply that a) the human mind is more easily influenced than people care to admit (psychological autonomy), b) some religious (and psychotherapeutic and political) groups can be corrupt and destructive (religion), and c) the status quo, whatever its defects, ought to be defended against the predations of cults (politics). Emotions aroused by these issues can affect scholarly efforts in many ways.
The subtleties of bias
A somewhat humorous anecdote illustrates one such way. When Dr. John Clark and I were revising a paper presented at one of the few conferences that brought together “pro-cult” and “anti-cult” researchers (Langone & Clark, 1985), we received written feedback from the conference organizer, who was editing the proceedings. In an attempt to put forth some of the methodological points described above, we wrote:
While such emotional reactions are understandable, professionals should try to rise above emotion (although this is certainly easier said than done) and, at minimum, truly listen to those with whom they disagree.
The editor markedly changed the meaning of this sentence by inserting “mental health” in front of “professional,” thereby implying that only benighted mental health professionals succumb to emotional reactions and prejudice! Needless to say, we protested vehemently and the editor’s “editorializing” was eliminated. Nevertheless, this type of “sniping” still characterizes much scholarly work today.
Not listening to the opposition. Such intrusions of bias into the scholarly process makes it difficult, as Dr. Clark and I noted, for scholars to “truly listen to those tracts that imply that all cult critics, no matter what their academic affiliations, subscribe to a caricature of “brainwashing,” in which physical brutality is used to turn victims into automata. Schuler (1983) has sharply criticized the “pro-cultists” who subscribe to this view of “brainwashing”:
Bromley and Shupe’s notion of coercion doesn’t go much further than the use of torture and threats of violence, so it is rare that anyone ever is guilty of unjustified manipulation of human behavior. They construct a straw man argument which they attribute to the critics of the cults that is easily refuted. For unwarranted coercion to exist, one would seem to need to develop a metallic sheen, walk with a gimp, smile on cue; and not exhibit fear of death. Under their subtle touch, brainwashing appears literally as a washed-out cranium with wind whistling through the brain cavity. Short of physical violence, they presume that “free will” is operating intact. Working with such absolutist notions leads them to ignore obvious distinctions (e.g., when a Moonie recruiter or a used car salesman has introduced guilt, deceit, or forced dilemmas into their sales pitches) and to construct highly exotic puzzles. For example, Bromley and Shupe speculate about a revolutionary massacre at Jonestown where Jones persuades his adult followers to swallow cyanide without the use of guns. Presumably, they would then be acting freely. Get rid of guns, and you’re left with free will! (Schuller, 1983, pp. 9-10)
Certain “pro-cultists” have apparently had great fun smashing this straw man over and over again. But the positions my colleagues and I have advanced over the years are, I dare say, rather more nuanced (see Singer, Temerlin & Langone, 1990 for a recent formulation of the cultic processes frequently labeled “brainwashing”).
The repeated demolition of this straw man view of “brainwashing” undermines proper clinical treatment of ex-cultists and their families because clinicians and laypersons exposed only to this viewpoint are likely to fall into a counterproductive, victim-blaming posture. This is not to say that cultists don’t play a role in their conversions. An early formulation of the position articulated by my colleagues and myself (Clark, Langone, Schecter, & Daly, 1981) emphasized a person-situation perspective toward cult conversions. And Margaret Singer in her frequently cited Psychology Today article (Singer, 1979) stated, “many participants joined these religious cults during periods of depression and confusion” (p. 72). Nevertheless, the capacity of cult environments to persuade and control recruits and members should not be underestimated. As Singer (1987) notes, persuasion can work through reason, coercion, or subterfuge. The potency of cultic environments comes not from the crude physical coercion of the “brainwashing” caricature, nor even the much more sophisticated processes of POW (prisoner-of-war) thought reform sometimes referred to as the “DDD syndrome” – debility, dependency, and dread (Farber, Harlow & West, 1956). Their power rests on subterfuge that induces and maintains dependency, a revised “DDD syndrome” – deception, dependency and dread.
Nowhere is the problem of misrepresenting or not understanding one’s opponents more conspicuous than in the forensic arena. During the past fifteen years, professionals have played key roles as expert witnesses in legal cases in which ex-cultists sue their groups for psychological damages. Many of these cases depend upon testimony concerning coercive persuasion, or thought reform. Many who oppose these expert witnesses apparently fear that legal successes in this area threaten religious freedom. Cult critics, on the other hand, believe that such successes will limit psychological abuse perpetrated by groups that are, and will continue to be, remarkably free.
Although this question involves judgment calls about which rational people may disagree, the adversarial nature of the legal system seems, especially in the “pro-cult” camp, to have spilled over into the research arena, where it influences researchers’ methods and conclusions. The experience of Dr. Margaret Singer, the preeminent expert witness in cases involving psychological damage, is illustrative. Dr. Singer has been subjected to what, in my opinion, could be interpreted as a campaign of character assassination. She was unjustly accused of ethics violations regarding her forensic testimony; the American Psychological Association dismissed the charges. Then, a series of amicus briefs, which appear to have been instigated by cult apologists, incorrectly accused her of being a scientific renegade and using concepts rejected by “the scientific community.” In short, she was falsely accused of supporting the “brainwashing” caricature described earlier. However, when many respected psychologists and psychiatrists came to her defense and when it was pointed out that her work has appeared in such bastions of medical orthodoxy as the Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Treatment (Singer, 1987) and the Comprehensive Textbook of Psychiatry (West & Singer, 1980), the attacks shifted focus. Most recently, perhaps because of the credibility of her publications, the focus of some cult apologists seems to have shifted. She is now falsely accused of saying things in her testimony that are inconsistent with her publications. A memorandum entitled, “To social scientists concerned about forensic and related issues dealing with new religious movements,” states:
Singer’s position is typically couched in the notion that brainwashing is “irresistible, irreversible, and that it takes place subtly without the “victim” really being aware of what is happening.” It seems to us fairly clear that this does not happen. BUT, Singer’s testimony weaves back and forth between this proposition and “normal” social influence theory.
If she and/or others, were to back away from the “irresistible, irreversible and subtle” definition, how does this change the battleground? Would our task be easier or more difficult? (p. 3)
The “task” referred to is presumably the protection of “new religious movements.” Unfortunately, the single-mindedness with which some approach this task introduces significant distortions into their work. An example occurs in the quote above. “’Irresistible, irreversible, and subtle’ definition” refers to the “brainwashing” caricature, from which the writer apparently fears Dr. Singer is retreating. The fact is, Singer never advocated this nondiscriminating view, although it could be argues that in isolated cases the process is tantamount to being irresistible, irreversible and subtly applied for a particular individual. Perhaps it is merely convenient for Dr. Singer’s detractors to attribute the “brainwashing” caricature to her. Nowhere to my knowledge do they actually quote her saying the kinds of things they claim she affirms. It appears that the issue for many of these people is not the correctness of Dr. Singer’s views, but the implications of her testimony, that is, that certain new age groups and cults do indeed deceive, manipulate, and harm followers. This form of adversarial advocacy corrupts discourse and makes genuine dialogue very difficult.
The distortions described above magnify the common tendency to overgeneralize. Sometimes, as noted earlier, this may be related to unrepresentative samples. But at other times it may be related to selective reporting. Some “pro-cult” researchers, for example, seem to discount all harm associated with cultic groups by labeling ex-members reports “atrocity tales” (Bromley & Shupe, 1981). Yet they seem to accept current cult member reports uncritically and conclude that cults are on the whole beneficial, similar in function even to psychotherapy (Kilbourne & Richardson, 1984). Balch (1985), though unsympathetic to the “anti-cult” position (but Balch too makes the error of equating that position with the “brainwashing” caricature), takes Bromley and Shupe to task for glossing over the seamier side of cults.
While I appreciate their effort to counter the impression that cults are somehow uniquely different and dangerous, I wonder if Woodward and Bernstein ever would have broken the Watergate case if they took the same approach to government that Bromley and Shupe use with cults. (p. 26)
As “pro-cultists” can deny harm, “anti-cultists” can deny benefit, or at least the absence of harm. Although some have reasoned cogently on theoretical grounds that all members of bona fide cults are adversely affected to some degree (Ash, 1984), the variety of cults, the variety of individual reactions to cults, clinical experience, and certain research studies (e.g., Galanter, 1989) incline me to contend that psychological harm is not universal in cults, though it may be quite common or even normative. Unfortunately, some cult critics do not explicitly acknowledge this; they overgeneralize from their own work in which harm is common.
A tiresome “anti-cult” overgeneralization is what I call the “Moonification” of the cult phenomenon. I agree with Balch (1985):
I have six articles in front of me as I write, each by a well-known expert in the field of new religions, which purport to explain how cults recruit members. All are based on the “Moonie model” of recruitment and they each use the Moonie terms “love-bombing” and “heavenly deception.” The usual scenario involves a carefully orchestrated sequence of steps where unsuspecting recruits are love-bombed into submission with hugs, flattery, deception, and an exhausting round of group activities that lasts from sun-up until late at night. (p. 28)
Although the literature describing “non-Moonie” forms of recruitment and indoctrination is growing (e.g., Hochman, 1984; MacDonald, 1987/88; Singer, Temerlin & Langone, 1990), there is still insufficient appreciation of the variety of contexts in which cultic process of persuasion and control can manifest.
Unwarranted causal inference
Balch (1985) notes:
In order to make a causal inference, three conditions must be met. First, there has to be a relationship between two variables. Second, the alleged cause must precede the observed effect. And third, the relationship has to persist when possible contaminating variables are held constant…While causal statements abound in the literature, these conditions are virtually never satisfied. (p. 29)
A conspicuous example of unwarranted causal inference is the tendency to conclude, even if only implicitly and after formal disclaimers, that a positive correlation (which is surprisingly low in the studies that have been done) between negative attitudes toward cults and contact with the “anti-cult movement” implies that negative attitudes toward cults are caused by association with the anti-cult movement (Lewis, 1986). This is unwarranted causal inference for several reasons. First of all, exposure to cult critics may help ex-cult members better understand that they were really exploited, which would understandably cause them to hold more negative attitudes toward their cults than they would if they did not have this understanding. Cult sympathizers tend to assume the “innocence” of cults and assume that critical reports are mere “atrocity tales’ (Bromley & Shupe, 1981). But abundant evidence has falsified this assumption. Secondly, a self-selection process may incline those most harmed by cults to seek help from “anti-cultists.” Thirdly, confusion and ambivalence among ex-members who do not receive counseling may make them less able to identify negative aspects of their experience. Wright’s (1983) quotation of Beckford (1978, p. 111) is pertinent to this point: “The result is that most informants show considerable confusion about the overall meaning to them of the events making up their withdrawal from the Unification Church and remain strongly ambivalent” (p. 107). And lastly, those who have not had the support of “anti-cult” helping sources may have more difficulty acknowledging to themselves that they were deceived.” Consequently, emphasizing the positive in their evaluations of their cult experiences can be face-saving.
In 1984 the Cult Awareness Network (CAN) compiled a list of more than 2,000 groups about which they had received inquiries (Hulet, 1984). The frequency with which CAN and the American Family Foundation have encountered previously unheard-of-groups – at least 6-12 a week – suggests that 2,000 is a low estimate for the number of cultic groups in the U.S. today, even given the fact that many about which inquiries are made are probably not cults.
Most cults appear to be small, having no more than a few hundred members. Some, however, have tens of thousands of members and formidable financial power.
Zimbardo and Hartley (1985), who surveyed a random sample of 1,000 San Francisco Bay area high school students, found that 3% reported being members of cults groups and 54% had had at least one contact with a cult recruiter. Bloomgarden and Langone (1984) reported that 3% and 1.5% of high school students in two suburbs of Boston said they were cult members. Bird and Reimer (1982), in surveys of the adult populations of San Francisco and Montreal, found that approximately 20% of adults had participated in new religious or para-religious movements (including groups such as Kung Fu), although more than 70% of the involvements were transient. Other data in this study, and Lottick (1993), suggest that approximately two percent of the population have participated in groups that are frequently thought to be cultic. It seems reasonable, therefore, to estimate that at least four million Americans have been involved with cultic groups.
However, as West (1990, p. 137) says, “cults are able to operate successfully because at any given time most of their members are either not yet aware that they are being exploited, or cannot express such an awareness because of uncertainty, shame, or fear.” Therefore, in any survey, however random, the actual number of cultists is likely to be much greater than the number of persons who identify themselves as members of cultic groups or even of groups that other people might deem cultic. Because the victims do not identify themselves as such, they are not likely to be identified as cult-affected by psychotherapists or other helpers unless the helpers inquire into the possibility that there might be a cult involvement.
Changing Cult Population
A much larger number of walk-aways (i.e., people who have left cults on their own) and cast-aways (people who have been ejected by cults) have approached helping organizations in recent years. Nearly 70% of the subjects in one study (Langone, et al.) were walk-aways or cast-aways, a reversal of earlier studies in which only 27% of subjects fell into these two categories (Conway et al., 1986). Former members appear to come from a wider variety of groups, with fewer coming from eastern groups than in the 1970s and more coming from fringe Christian or new age groups. Whereas the overwhelming majority (76%) of Conway et al.’s (1986) 426 subjects came from only five (the Unification Church, Scientology, The Way, Divine Light Mission, and Hare Krishna) of 48 groups, one study (Langone, et al.) of 308 subjects from 101 groups, who were selected in much the same manner as Conway and Siegelman’s, were much more dispersed, with the largest five groups accounting for only 33% of the total subject population. Former Scientologists comprised Langone et al.’s largest group – 16%, compared to 11% for Conway and Siegelman. The Way, Hare Krishna, and the Divine Light Mission were barely represented in Langone et al., comprising 2%, 2%, and 1% respectively, compared to 6%, 5% and 11% for Conway and Siegelman. Former Unification Church members accounted for 44% of Conway and Siegelman’s subjects, but only 5% of Langone et al.’s,
Given the methodological limitations discussed in an earlier section, what does the literature tell us?
Some research studies suggest that the level of harm associated with religious cults may be less than clinical reports indicate, at least for some groups. Levine and Salter (1976) and Levine (1984) found little evidence of impairment in structured interviews of over 100 cultists, although Levine and Salter did note some reservation about “the suddenness and sharpness of the change” (p. 415) that was reported to them. Ross (1983), who gave a battery of tests, including the MMPI, to 42 Hare Krishna members in Melbourne, Australia, reported that all “scores and findings were with the normal range, although members showed a slight decline in mental health (as measured on the MMPI) after 1.5 years in the movement and a slight increase in mental health after 3 years in the movement” (p.416). Ungerleider and Wellisch (1979), who interviewed and tested 50 members or former members of cults, found “no evidence of insanity or mental illness in the legal sense” (p. 279), although, as noted earlier, members showed elevated Lie Scales on the MMPI. In studies of the Unification Church (Galanter, Rabkin, Rabkin, & Deutsch, 1979; Galanter, 1983), the investigators found improvement in well being as reported by members, approximately one-third of whom had received mental health treatment before joining the group.
Otis (1985) examined data from a survey of 2,000 members of Transcendental meditation in 1971. Dropouts reported significantly fewer adverse effects than experienced meditators, and “the number and severity of complaints were positively related to duration of meditation” (p. 41). There was a consistent pattern of adverse effects, including anxiety, confusion, frustration, and depression. The “data raise serious doubts about the innocuous nature of TM” (p. 46).
The Institute for Youth and Society in Bensheim, Germany reported that TM members tended to be withdrawn from their families (57% of subjects), isolated in social relations (51%), anxious (52%), depressed (45%), tired (63%), and exhibited a variety of physical problems, such as headaches and menstrual disorder.
Former members of a psychotherapy cult (Knight, 1986) reported that they had had sex with a therapist (25% of subjects), had been assigned love mates (32%), had fewer than 6 hours sleep a night (59%), and in therapy sessions were shoved at least occasionally (82%), were hit at least occasionally (78%), and were verbally abused (97%). These subjects, 86% of whom felt harmed by the experience, also reported depression (50%) and menses cessation (32%).
In Conway et al. (1986) ex-members reported the following experiences during their time in the cult: sex with leaders (5%; 60% in the Children of God), menstrual dysfunction (22%) and physical punishment (20%). Conway and Siegelman (1982) reported that ex-members experienced floating (52% of subjects), nightmares (40%), amnesia (21%), hallucinations and delusions (14%), inability to break mental rhythms of chanting (35%), violent outbursts (14%), and suicidal or self-destructive tendencies (21%).
Galanter (1983) studies sixty-six former Moonies, who, according to Barker’s (1983) statistics, should represent about half of those who joined. Galanter reports that “the large majority (89%) felt that they ‘got some positive things’ out of membership, although somewhat fewer (61%) did feel that ‘Reverend Moon had a negative impact on members,’ and only a bare majority (53%) felt that ‘current members should leave the Unification Church’” (p. 985). These findings were consistent with clinical reports during the 1970s and early 1980s. It is interesting, however, that Galanter was sometimes inclined to put a positive “spin” on the findings, e.g., his choosing to write that “only (emphasis added) a bare majority (53%) felt that ‘current members should leave the Unification Church.’” This is quite a large percentage given that, according to clinical investigations and countless ex-member reports, Unification church members are indoctrinated to assume that the Church is always right and they, when dissenting, are always wrong. Indeed, Langone (unpublished manuscript) found that the suppression of dissent was one of the give most highly rated cult characteristics in a subject pool of 308 former cultists from 101 different groups. Thus, Galanter’s indices of harm, though indirect and not low, are probably underestimates.
The study mentioned above (Langone, unpublished) paints an even more negative picture of the cult experience. Eighty-eight percent of the subjects saw their groups as harmful (37%) or very harmful (51%). During an average time of membership of 6.7 years, 11% of the subjects reported being sexually abused. Sixty-eight percent of the subjects each knew an average of 28 former members who had not contacted helping resources. Thus, approximately 5,500 persons known to these subjects had not sought help. Yet subjects estimated that “all or nearly all” of their friends and acquaintances had difficulty adjusting to post-group life, 21% felt that “”most” had difficulty, 4% “about half,” 13% “some,” 6% “hardly any,” and 25% were unsure.
Martin, Langone, Dole & Wiltrout (1992) used a variety of instruments, including the Millon Clinical Multiaxal Inventory (MCMI) to assess the psychological status of 111 former cultists. These researchers state:
This sample of ex-cultists can be characterized as having abnormal levels of distress in several of the personality and clinical symptom scales. Of those subjects completing the MCMI-I, 89% had BR’s [“Base Rates” – indicates presence of a disorder] of 75 or better on at least one of the first eight scales. Furthermore, 106 out of the 11 subjects (95%) who completed the MCMI at Time I had at least one BR score on one of the MCMI scales. The contention that this population of former cultists is indeed distressed is further buttressed by their mean score of 102 on the HSCL (Hopkins Symptom Check List), for which scores of 100 are considered to be indicative of the need for psychiatric care. Moreover, these ex-cultists had a mean of 72 on the SBS-HP [Staff Burnout Scale), which is suggestive of burnout and more than one standard deviation above the mean from Martin’s (1983) sample of parachurch workers. (pp. 231-234)
Yeakley (1988) gave 835 members of the Boston Church of Christ (BCC) the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTT), a psychological instrument that classifies people according to Carl Jung’s type system. Individuals may differ in the way in which they tend to perceive (some being more sense oriented, others more intuition oriented), the way they judge (thinking oriented versus feeling oriented), and their basic attitudes (extraversion versus introversion). Isabel Myers and Katherine Briggs, the developers of the MBTI, added a dimension to Jung’s typology: the person’s preferred way of orienting himself to the outside world. This orientation may be judging or perceiving. The MBTI thus produces 16 personality types based on the permutations of these variables. Yeakley asked subjects to answer the questions in the MBTI as they think they would have answered before their conversion, as they felt at the time of testing, and as they think they will answer after five more years of discipling in the BCC. He found that “a great majority of the members of the Boston Church of Christ changed psychological type scores in the past, present, and future versions of the MBTI” (p. 34) and that “the observed changes in psychological type scores were not random since there was a clear convergence in a single type” (p. 35). The type toward which members converged was that of the group’s leader. Comparisons with members of mainstream denominations showed no convergence, but members of other cultic groups did show convergence, although toward different types than that on which the BCC members converged. Yeakley concludes that “there is a group dynamic operating in that congregation that influences members to change their personalities to conform to the group norm” (p. 37). Although this study did not directly examine harm, it does indirectly support clinical observations, which contend that the personalities of cult members are bent, so to speak, to fit the group.
Clinical observations (Ash, 1985; Clark, 1979; Langone, 1991) and research studies (Galanter, 1989; Langone et al., in preparation) suggest that people join cults during periods of stress or transition, when they are most open to what the group has to say. Approximately one-third appears to have been psychologically disturbed before joining, as evidenced by having participated in pre-cult psychotherapy or counseling (with figures varying from 7% to 62% of subjects among eight studies – Barker, 1984; Galanter et al., 1979; Galanter & Buckley, 1978; Knight, 1986; Spero, 1982; Schwartz, 1986; Sirkin & Grellong, 1988). The majority, however, appear to have been relatively normal individuals before joining a cult.
Certain studies cited earlier (Levine, 1984; Ross, 1983; Ungerleider & Wellisch, 1979) found cultists to score within the normal range on psychological tests or psychiatric interviews. Galanter (1983) found some improvement in the general well being of cult joiners, which he attributed to a psychobiologically grounded “relief effect” of charismatic groups.
Wright (1987) and Skonovd (1983) found that leaving cultic groups was very difficult because of the psychological pressure, a finding consistent with clinical observations. There is much evidence, reviewed earlier, of psychological distress when people leave cultic groups.
And yet, the majority eventually leaves. Why? If they were unhappy before they joined, became happier after they joined, were pressured to remain, left anyway, and were more distressed than ever after leaving, what could have impelled them to leave and to remain apart from the group?
The inescapable conclusion seems to be that the cult experience is not what it appears to be (at least for those groups that deem it important to put on a “happy face”), either to undiscerning observers or to members under the psychological influence of the group. Clinical observers, beginning with Clark (1979) and Singer (1978), appear to be correct in their contention that dissociative defenses help cultists adapt to the contradictory and intense demands of the cult environment. So long as members are not rebelling against the group’s psychological controls, they can appear to be “normal,” much as a person with multiple personality disorder can sometimes appear to be “normal.” However, this normal appearing personality, as West (1992) maintains, is a pseudoidentity. When cultists leave their groups, the floodgates open up and they suffer. But they don’t generally return because the suffering they experience after leaving the cult is more genuine that the “happiness” they experienced while I it. A painful truth is better than a pleasant lie.
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