Heaven's Harlots: My Fifteen Years in a Sex Cult (41 page)

“There might be absolute Truth,” he responded,“but it is not in the domain of dogma.” I agreed heartily, since it was about that time that I stopped looking for truth in church and religion.

Yet I felt strangely very “spiritual.” I noticed little miracles happening around me constantly, and I felt guided by dreams that I could not remember. I identified with the “paradigm shift” that some avantgarde scholars were predicting. I could not help but notice that the old paradigm characteristics were definitely masculine in nature, such as competitiveness, individualism, power struggles, whereas the new paradigm called for cooperation, community, peace, and nurturance.

I was on the verge of embracing feminist thought, but for the time, I was interested in understanding my involvement in the Family.

My 4. 0 grade point average in college had proved to myself and others that I was not stupid, a common accusation leveled against those who join cults, and in my case reinforced because I was a blonde. Now I seriously tackled the question of why I had spent most of my life in a cult. I had not been led blindly, since I knew what I was doing and could have left at any time. Yes, I had perhaps been blindly idealistic. My ideals were those taught by the Bible, such as “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his neighbor.”

“All that believed were together and had all things in common.”

“Lovest thou me [Jesus]? Feed my sheep.” But I was also an extremist.

Someone told me how to live these words to the extreme, and I followed, along with about twenty thousand other people. I was also selfsacrificial. I was willing to be used for a greater cause.

But a cause greater than what? Than capitalism? Perhaps idealistic extremists should stay away from religion and politics, but I did not know that at eighteen years old. I also did not know the difference between religion and spirituality.

In every upper-division class I took in college, I made use of my experience while conducting research on cults or the Children of God.

Eventually, this line of research led me to the study of women’s issues, but in the beginning, I was intent on understanding what had happened to me. One of the best explanations of cult experience was written by William Kephart, who created a valid typology of people who join cults.

I identified with the “deep feeler,” who, according to Kephart, views social problems on a grand scale and identifies emotionally with social issues much more strongly than does the average person. He claims that the “deep feelers” do not usually feel that they are victimized, since their emotional involvement is often for the masses. I did not like to describe myself as a victim, or if I ever used the word, I said I was a willing victim. I think children in general are victims, as well as any person who is physically, emotionally, or psychologically dependent on others. The question became why had I allowed myself to be willingly abused, but the answer to that was still hidden.

Most cult analysts claim that cult members are alienated from society.

However, that in itself was not a sufficient reason. Many people I came to know outside the COG were also alienated. In addition, there was a growing number of ex-cult members now living in the world who were still alienated. Perhaps knowing the cause of alienation in each individual would shed light on why one person dealt with alienation by becoming a criminal and another by becoming a prostitute or a monk and so on. I believe that in the COG we received relief from alienation at the price of exploitation. There were no blanket answers.

During my graduate studies I learned some amazing theories of social interaction, which I tested on my experience in the cult. One of the classical theories in sociology talks of a “collective consciousness” that becomes an entity of its own in society. One learns, obeys, and internalizes the morals from the collective consciousness of the group, and in my case, having rejected the consciousness of mainstream society, I adopted first the counterculture’s, then those of a new society, the Children of God. I did not realize, of course, that morals eventually become internalized, I would not even have known what the word “internalized” meant at that time. But my experience and subsequent reflection showed me that everything I had been taught as morally wrong in society was questioned and often replaced by the group’s new morality of “love.” Emile Durkheim wrote of the impulse we have to seek harmony with the society to which we belong, to adopt the ways, thoughts, and actions of those who surround us, to obey without reason solely because the moral maxims possess social authority.

But why did I not internalize the morality of normal society? Why had I chosen—actively sought out—an alternative? Classical social theory explains that society is like an organic body, and one part of it cannot be infected by a disease without affecting the whole, therefore in times of crisis there will arise currents of disillusionment that create a sort of social malaise. At this time, religious systems might spring up to reduce the feeling of the senselessness of life. Those who experience this alienation often look to these new religions for relief from their pain. In the late 1960s, America was undergoing an internal crisis that resulted in a proliferation of what scholars call “new religious movements,” but which are commonly known as cults.

Without clear goals or a sense of direction, the (usually young) people who are most sensitive to society’s sickness often join what they see as an alternative. That is what I did. But the question still remains, why me?

I hope that this story of one cult will not instill in the reader the simplistic idea that all new religious movements should be stopped.

Consider the fact that Christianity started as a cult. What I do wish to impart to every person who considers new fountains of truth is to seriously consider the source! And lines must be drawn. I believe any group that condones child abuse needs to be rooted out. Those are not merely weeds!

Through much research, I had begun to find academically sound reasons for why some highly idealistic people join cults and participate in a destructive moral system, sometimes, as we have seen in Jonestown and Heaven’s Gate, to the point of mass suicide. I still did not understand why I did it. Nevertheless, I continued to explore cult involvement as I talked with the growing number of adults, teens, and children who left the Children of God over the years. And there were many.

In 1990, the total membership of the COG was reported to be eighteen thousand, and it remained at about this level for years, as the number who left were replaced with newborn babies. Researchers estimate that hundreds of thousands of people from my generation have been involved with cults at some point in their lives. For those who joined as adults, reorientation into the “world” was always difficult, but for children raised in the cults, it was traumatic. I became acquainted with a few organizations that gave support to those who came out of a cult experience, but inquiry showed me that these support groups were usually religious, and often steeped in dogma. In fact, one of the ex-cultists I worked with had been “kidnapped” (forcefully taken against his will) by a hired deprogrammer, along with his brother, while they were both in the Children of God. They were kept in a hotel room for days and supposedly deprogrammed from all the brainwashing they had experienced while in the cult. Upon their release, his brother went home, but he promptly rejoined the COG and stayed a few more years.

I wanted to have some contact with others who had been in cults, if for no other purpose than research, but I didn’t want to get involved with a church-influenced organization. Then, in a coincidence which I eventually recognized as the serendipity that occurred frequently in my life, an ex-COG member, my old friend Ruth, moved to the city where I lived and organized a meeting with other ex-Family members. Together with another single mother and a couple, Rose and Bishop, who had been out of the Family for about twenty years, we planned a national reunion of former COG members.

The reunion, held in a park in Atlanta in 1993, drew not only former Family members from across the nation, but also the attention of the national media. The focus on us—amplified because of the recent event in Waco, Texas, involving the Branch Davidians—was short-lived, but through it we established a network of ex-COG members that has grown exponentially. I was interested in helping former members discover themselves, but I was also interested in their stories.

it was wonderful to see and hear from my once beloved brothers and sisters. Some of them had turned to drugs, many returned to Christian churches, others had tried to salvage badly made marriages and had failed. However, most tragically, there was a great number of women who now struggled heroically to raise their children and find a stable means of support, often alone, misunderstood, and looked down upon by others, especially if they told their story. Clearly, the women of the cult had suffered greatly, and compared with many of them, I felt fortunate to be so far along the road to recovery.

Sociologist Steve Kent, an expert on the Children of God, reports that “the most manipulative use of feminist rhetoric against women occurred in the Children of God, where its leader…subjected women to numerous pregnancies, traditionalistic family roles, subservience to men, prostitution, physical violence, and general sexual exploitation.”

I was now a witness to the results of such indignity. I had a feeling that I had passed through this abusive cult for a reason. But I was not yet ready to understand its significance. First, I needed more revelations about myself.

Other than higher education, my search for meaning led me to read many of the popular books that were currently reflecting the baby boomer midlife consciousness. With my belief that nothing was too sacred to question, I was on the path to questioning God. I read with an open mind and heart the contemporary works of Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Matthew Fox, Scott Peck, Alan Jones, James Redfield, Rosemary Altea, and others—all writing on modern spirituality. Jones claims that to mend the world, one needs self-knowledge. I was on a search for my original self so that I could know her. I had reached the midlife decision that Estes talked about—whether to be bitter or not—and I chose not to be.

Little had I known that I would receive the “gift of tears” along the road to joy!

One of my earliest influences among popular nonfiction writers, after leaving the Family, was Scott Peck. In his book 24 Different Drum, he sets forth in layman’s terms the stages of community building, which are very much like the stages of faith development. He explains the four stages—pseudocommunity, chaos, emptiness, and [true] community— as a developmental process that those seeking to build community must pass through. When Peck came to speak in the city where I lived, my supervisor at college gave me her ticket since she could not attend.

During the question-and-answer session, I asked Peck what he thought we could do about the poverty in the world, or even in America. His answer made clearer to me than ever before that there are many forms of poverty. I had been working on pulling my family out of economic poverty, but I still had forms of my own emotional and psychological poverty to contend with. However, I didn’t have the financial means to seek qualified outside help.

Later, when a Peck-inspired “community-building workshop” came to town, I received a scholarship and attended the workshop for three days.

On the first day the facilitator told us to write down any dreams we might have that night and to talk about them the next day.

I woke up about 5 A. M. sobbing uncontrollably. I had just had a dream, and I could recall it vividly. Not sure if I was awake or asleep, I went through the dream again in my mind, and I felt as if I were there.

I was a little girl about seven years old. My mother was away at the hospital having her fifth baby. My brother, who was two years older than I, was hiding somewhere in the house, and I guess my two younger sisters were being taken care of by someone else. I seemed to be alone with my father. it was dark outside, being January, and I was playing in the alcove at the front of the living room with a doll I had just received for Christmas. I was pouring her tea when I heard my father calling from the middle room, right before the kitchen and at the foot of the stairs. It was dark in there, and he was slouching on the couch.

He always slouched that way, and he mumbled as he talked.

“Miriam, Miriam, come here!” he muttered.

[Lying on my bed at forty years of age, I felt the fear, loneliness, and helplessness that I had felt at seven years old, as acutely as if I were there again. ] “Where is Mommy?” I cried to myself. “Why isn’t she here to protect me? Where is my brother? He should be here playing with me. I don’t want to go in to Daddy. Why isn’t someone here to save me?”

“Miriam, come here, I said. come to Daddy,” he called again from that dark place.

I put the tea things away in the case and lay the doll inside the bench box we used for toys. I wished the doll could help me. But she was lifeless. I never played with her or any dolls again.

I walked into the room dragging my feet. The familiar smell of my father, of cheap wine, filled the air. My father was on the couch with his penis out.

“come here and hold this, Miriam!” I didn’t have to write the dream down. I could remember it vividly now whenever I wanted to.

When I went to the workshop that morning, I waited for others to say something. There was a much smaller crowd since some of the people decided that this wasn’t for them. No one had a dream to tell. The facilitator kept looking at me, as if to say,“Tell your dream. ” Finally, I started, as tears welled up in my eyes. By the time I finished, I was sobbing, and so were a lot of other people in the room.

Then, one by one, half the people in the group began recounting sexual or emotional abuse that they had suffered as children. Some seemed much more terrible than what I had experienced, a few, like mine, had never been remembered or talked about before, but all were traumatic.