Scientology's Super Bowl Ad Preached to the Cult of Apple

By now, many will have seen Scientology’s Super Bowl ad “Spiritual Technology.” It played in regional markets like New York City and Los Angeles, and quickly went viral on Twitter. Taking inspiration from laughably ethereal Big Pharma ads, and overdosing on lens flares, the ad probably either creeped the hell out of the masses or gave them a good chuckle.

What people might not have noticed about the ad is that it seemed a very calculated attempt at tapping into the obsession, or worship, of technology and its creators. "You like technology and science but still feel spirtually empty?" the ad asks subliminally. "Then try Scientology—the best of all worlds!"

Scientology, at bottom, has always been an organization (or, cult, ponzi scheme, etc.) with a faith in technology—the E-meter and its technology application organizations. Prospective Scientologists first encounter the E-meter during auditing, the process of psychologically unloading the dark corridors of the mind on an Auditor. The device is described as “a religious artifact used to measure the state of electrical characteristics of the 'static field' surrounding the body.” Manufactured at Scientology’s Gold Base facility, the E-meter is used as gauge of a preclear’s spiritual impediments and sins. How else does one trick a person into divulging their darkest secrets if one doesn’t have a device that, like a polygraph, applies a certain type of psychological pressure on the subject?

In the ad, a narrator says, “Imagine technology and spirituality combining,” before intoning, “Scientology… there are higher states of existence.” What dominates the ad, apart from the cheesy imagery of people standing in cities and fields, is the E-meter. The way the camera dollies across the Mark VIII Ultra E-meter’s surface, and with that closeup of a glowing circuit board, one would be forgiven for thinking some new tech company was advertising their latest gizmo. Soon enough, the narration and Scientology’s cultish iconography tell the viewer all they need to know: “Oh, hey, that’s that weird cult that Tom Cruise and John Travolta are in.”

What they should be thinking is that David Miscavige, and his team of higher ups at the Church, understand what inspires devotion in people these days—whatever device or platform some Silicon Valley tech giant or startup is selling. Whether it's business or religion, the psychological desire for something—the next great gadget, spiritual contentment—is implanted with a seductive marketing campaign.

Like a religion, Apple has its cultish fanboys, and Steve Jobs was nothing if not a techno-spiritual priest. A trip to an Apple store is like entering a futuristic place of worship. Employees scuttle about like church officials, fine-tuning Apple's brand of the techno-spiritualist experience for converts and longtime devotees, all the while collecting several thousands of dollars in donations. Google has its fanboys as well, and is spreading its global reach not unlike Christianity and Islam; infiltrating the lives of more and more people, from their smartphone habits to smart thermostats.

Startup CEOs are fond of saying something like, “We want to make the world a better place.” To prove it to the masses and opinion-makers, startups and established companies trot out evangelists to help sell the utility of a piece of technology. The use of the word “evangelist” proves that Silicon Valley is more than a little attuned to the recruiting tactics of evangelical religions.

So, it’s really no wonder that the Church of Scientology would attempt to tap into a market that is already primed for spirituality—a belief in something, anything, maybe even everything. Scientology’s “Spiritual Technology” may be cynical but, hell, it’s forward thinking for a faith. The Abrahamic religions spend most of their time fighting scientific and technological progress. Can anyone think of another mass cult that is celebrating science and technology, albeit the pseudoscientific kind? Pope Francis has embraced science and technology in a way that past popes have not, though he's not refashioning the Catholic Church into a techno-futurist religion.

Could it be that the “Spiritual Technology” ad campaign is really just a mirror of what is happening in the tech world? A type of techno-elitism arising out of inflated egos, from startup CEOs to the teams behind Apple, Google, Snapchat, etc., fueled by venture capital and angel investors dollars. Scientology, with its ponzi-like hierarchy, where wealth and influence drive everything, has always been about elitism. The preclear hopes to, by degrees, rise through the Scientology ranks, and is encouraged to do so by depositing more and more money in the church’s coffers.

Silicon Valley’s techno-elitism isn’t, of course, total. Not every startup team is fueled by a noxious used-car salesman arrogance that their product is so good that it will fundamentally change the world. Some startups just want to create something cool, and hopefully make a living doing so. That’s perfectly fine. But, the techno-elitism is there if anyone cares to look or listen carefully.

It can be seen in the masterful knowledge and application of coding, and the efforts to get people to hack and code as a source of empowerment, even if most will never be the next Larry Page or Mark Zuckerberg. (Even former New York City Major Michael Bloomberg vowed to learn how to code.) One sees it in magazine articles that rank the most powerful and influential people in the world. Invariably, these lists are filled with CEOs, CTOs, evangelists, serial startup creators, venture capitalists, and angel investors, all firmly embedded in the tech world. How often do politicians and religious figures make these lists? Not very often these days.

The angel investor alone has a certain god-like power to make or break a startup, so it’s no surprise that these folk are described using religious imagery. It can also be seen in the early Cypherpunk days. On the Cypherpunk mailing list, crypto-anarchists like Tim May espoused tech-elite views; encouraging each other, in true libertarian fashion, to liberate themselves from government forces and leave the rest of the world to sort itself out. A techno-religion of one, if you will.

In The Incal, Alejandro Jodorowsky and Moebius’ brilliantly realized proto-cyberpunk graphic novel, there is a an expression of technological elitism that now seems prophetic. The Church of Industrial Saints, also called the Techno-Technos or Technopriests, are a technocratic cult with sinister plans for the cosmos. They worship the Dark Incal, while pursuing the Light Incal, a crystal-like object with incredible power. A nice metaphor for humans finding empowerment in technological devices—a smartphone or E-meter—but not within themselves.

Ultimately, Scientology and many tech companies are really about making money for their own elite, and increasing the company's base of power. Any sense of empowerment that devotees might derive from the products is simply the byproduct of a business transaction.

In its own surreal way, the “Spiritual Technology” ad is just a reflection of the existentially bankrupt techno-utopias that are constantly being sold to consumers. Little islands where users might find at least temporary transcendance before they move on to something else. The tech elite have become Incal-like Technopriests. And if one techno-spiritual utopia doesn’t work for you, just buy another. And if none of them work, choose Scientology, obvously.

@djpangburn

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