When
I was still living in the States, I once tried to rescue an elderly
woman in my neighborhood who had been brainwashed by a once-popular
cult. Although the cult is waning now, it continues to make
mega-bucks from the vulnerable.
The
cult was based on an infectious meme, namely, the crazy idea that
ordinary mortals can somehow use "the force" to magically
communicate across great distances using ordinary written messages on
paper by executing certain mystical rituals such as folding the paper
properly, putting it in an envelope, affixing a mystical adhesive
icon, and placing the envelope in a magic box controlled by the cult.
The
mystical adhesive icon, of course, is only valid if purchased from an
official cult outlet. True believers think that their message will
somehow travel into the hands of the designated recipient, no matter
how far away they are. It's a lot like the silly notion of personal
prayer to a listening God who is perhaps in another galaxy, far, far
away.
I
think this cult/scam has some kind of bizarre sci-fi name, something
like the Universalist Pre-millennial Post-alien Supremacy
teleportation service, or USPS cult, but this Post-alien "service"
is often just called the Post-al service for short. You may have seen
this cult operating in your neighborhood without realizing how
sinister it is.
Once
every week or so, this poor woman would write expressions of love or
whatever to her grown-up son, and then fold it carefully according to
cult guidelines and put it in a cult-approved envelope.
She
would then affix the duly purchased USPS adhesive icon on the
envelope. These icons often had images of beloved dead people on
them, or sometimes even aliens like Yoda. Perhaps the icons represent
patron saints of some kind who can help move the message on its
mystical journey to places far away.
The
woman would write her son's alleged location on the letter —
someplace in California, as I recall — and place it faithfully
in an official USPS box in front of her home. The USPS cult
apparently has dozens of employees in every infected town, often
driving USPS jeeps and trucks to help them collect these envelopes,
creating a sense in believers that "something" will happen
to their petitions.
Part of what makes this meme so
effective is the other end of the cult's business model. The USPS
agent that drives by doesn't just take envelopes away. He or she
dumps new envelopes in the box addressed to the recipient, as if
someone is trying to communicate with her.
This
fuels a ridiculous thought: "Wow, a miracle — I've
received something back!" Of course, upon inspection, nearly all
these "blessings" are requests for money or advertisements
for products to buy. What a scam!
After
watching her do this a few times, I couldn't stand it any longer and
tried to deprogram her from this destructive, wasteful meme.
"Mrs.
Jenkins, excuse me for asking, but have you ever received a letter
back from your son in California?"
"Well, not
exactly." Her eyes teared up. Maybe I was reaching her!
"So
just exactly how do you think your letter will get to
California?"
"Air mail."
"You
mean it's going to fly magically to California?"
"No,
of course not, it's going to fly on an airplane."
I could
hardly believe my ears. Fortunately, this was my chance to use a
little logic — thank goodness for my college education. I
gently asked her to think about the price of her magical USPS icon —
about 41 cents at the time, a price that keeps ballooning far beyond
the rate of inflation (like I said, this USPS cult is quite a scam!).
Now
I asked her to compare 41 cents to the price of an airplane ticket.
Even if that postal agent got the cheapest ticket possible to
California, and even if he or she carried more than just that letter,
even a whole bag full of similar petitions from other believers with
loved ones in California, there is no way that any organization, even
a legit one, could afford to buy a plane ticket to send "air
mail" and still stay in business. Not when the icon just costs
41 cents.
"Mrs. Jenkins, logic proves that this just
can't work. It has to be a fraud. But in addition to the logical
evidence, look at the empirical results. Your son doesn't write back.
Something is obviously wrong.
You
have to admit that the Post-al people aren't really flying your
letters to California. They aren't magically ending up in your son's
hands. You've been deceived by a cult that is just a big business
taking your money and exploiting your hopes."
I
hoped she would be honest with herself and accept the plain truth.
But she resisted, offering anecdotal evidence of a friend or two who
claimed they had gotten letters back from their children. Scattered,
unreliable, second-hand stories.
I
asked her to come with me to the local library, where we would ask
the librarian a question for which I already knew the answer: "Are
you aware of any peer-reviewed, scientific studies from unbiased
sources that show that letters to children sent via the USPS cult
actually reach them and cause communication to happen?"
She
thought about it and said that wouldn't be necessary. I was winning
her over! She started to cry. I gave her an awkward hug and said,
"It's OK, Mrs. Jenkins. Welcome the 21st
century!" Victory!
Sadly, the next week I saw her
sneak over to her mailbox and send another letter. Could have been a
letter to her son. Might just as well have been a letter to Santa at
the North Pole. All based on a myth. She even sorted through the pile
of junk mail waiting for her to see if something might be there from
her son.
So sad. How can anyone be so deluded as to
believe in it and go through all those ridiculous rituals so devoid
of logic and reliable scientific evidence? What a sinister group that
Post-al "service" is.
Pray for Mrs. Jenkins —
of course, I only mean that figuratively.
Jeff Lindsay has been defending the Church on the Internet since 1994, when he launched his
LDSFAQ website under JeffLindsay.com. He has also long been blogging about LDS matters on
the blog Mormanity (mormanity.blogspot.com). Jeff is a longtime resident of Appleton,
Wisconsin, who recently moved to Shanghai, China, with his wife, Kendra.
He works for an Asian corporation as head of intellectual property. Jeff and Kendra are the parents of 4 boys, 3 married and the the youngest on a mission.
He is a former innovation and IP consultant, a former professor, and former Corporate Patent
Strategist and Senior Research Fellow for a multinational corporation.
Jeff Lindsay, Cheryl Perkins and Mukund Karanjikar are authors of the book Conquering
Innovation Fatigue (John Wiley & Sons, 2009).
Jeff has a Ph.D. in Chemical Engineering from Brigham Young University and is a registered US
patent agent. He has more than 100 granted US patents and is author of numerous publications.
Jeff's hobbies include photography, amateur magic, writing, and Mandarin Chinese.