"A reliable way to make people believe in falsehoods is
frequent repetition, because familiarity is not easily distinguished
from truth."
I was trying to find my path in life, and
I thought this might be it. Here was a group of dedicated Christian
young people determined to return to the pure roots of Christianity by
living communally and sharing all things. I felt loved and accepted, and
was welcomed into the fold as a new “babe” in Christ. Born again. I
didn’t see this as a “cult”; I saw it as a chance to live an honorable
life of service to God and others. And I was so young. What did I know
about how the world worked? It would be another nine years before my
frontal lobe was completely developed, the portion of the brain involved
in decision-making that allows us to envision long-term consequences. I
had no idea I was walking into a nightmare. I couldn’t see past the
utter joy of the overwhelming love and acceptance I felt.
I
took a new name. I cast off my belongings. If this abrupt change hurt
my friends, I was blind to it. I lost contact with them. I was
completely swept up in my zeal. In the atmosphere of the ’60s and early
’70s, when hippie communes were popular, shucking off your conventional
life was an appealing idea. My mother took a hard stand: “Do NOT visit
the COG commune.” But teens have a way of doing what they want to do. On
my 18th birthday, I moved in to the local commune. What could they do?
,,,
I’ve since learned about the principle of social proof,
in which people surreptitiously check to see what others are doing and
then align their behavior accordingly, figuring those people know more
about correct behavior than we do. That was the modus operandi in the
cult. The sad truth is that in many cases, those other people were just
as clueless as I was.
,,,
Should I have left then? But what would I have done? In
the COG, we were not permitted to hold jobs. We were told any future
planning was taboo and considered a lack of faith in God’s power of
provision. What would my skills be? Where could I go? My parents
had both died of cancer shortly after I left for the commune. I felt
alone in the world — but I was still not going to “turn my back on God’s
work.” My life in the cult: How “serving God” unraveled into sex abuse, child neglect and a waking nightmare - Salon.com
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