Should You Hate Your Job?

NXIVM and the cult of hard work

Folks, I’m sorry to do this. But you must understand, Chazzy’s World is a costly thing to maintain. These posts require several solid hours of my time, nearly an entire day if you include time spent looking out the window at clouds, traipsing into the kitchen for donut holes, and self-gratifying. But the effort does not bother me. You, my devoted denizens of Chazzy’s World, need me. Before me, you were blind, wool pulled over your eyes like a child wearing his earmuffs incorrectly. Without my weekly posts, you would be drooling and buffoonish, dragging your knuckles raw against the ground, hooting at passing cars and chasing them into the road. I cannot bear to think of it for very long. So, to keep the lights on at Chazzy’s World HQ, I am asking each of you for a small contribution of $14,000 per week. For just $2000 a day, you can keep the torch which guides us forward alight.

Last week, I predicted that if Trump loses, his devoted following would briefly go berserk like a headless chicken before metastasizing into a wave of cults. The surprisingly diverse ideologies of Trumpworld might splinter into an archipelago of extreme subcultures. The anti-vaxxers, often concerned mothers, might join forces with the millions of women who have devoted themselves to essential oils and other “alternative” medicines. White supremacists might lean further into the Norse mythologies which already form the loose theological undergirding for the Neo-Nazi movement. As for QAnon and its thousands of subgroups? Each one might become a separate entity with their own theory, mutating into bizarro versions of the original like a document photocopied over and over. 

But now, I must do something I’ve never done in my entire life: I admit that I might be wrong.  

Those predictions are rooted in the popular imagination of what a “cult” is. When we think of cults, we tend to imagine the Manson Family or the Jonestown suicides or hundreds of Rajneeshees getting their freak on in the woods. This is textbook availability heuristic -- when our thinking is colored by the most prominent or obvious example. Most cults are small and peaceful. Psychologists have rejected brainwashing as a reliable explanation for participation in them and instead view membership as a rational choice.In fact, sociologists consider the term “cult” pejorative, a shorthand for “any religion I don’t like.” (They prefer New Religious Movement, or NRM.)

I’ve only interacted closely with an NRM once. In April 2019, mysterious flyers appeared in practically every mailbox in Philadelphia. They advertised a meeting, held in a vacant lot, to discuss the construction of a “steel furnace where metal can be melted and the bodies of people and animals mixed with the metal to become steel unable to be hurt.” The flyers were a media moment. Enrolled in only 3 credit hours of college at the time, I decided to check out the meeting with some friends. We brought a 12-pack and made a day of it.

Turns out, a lot of people had the same idea. The furnace meeting had turned into something of a block party, with no sign of the flyer’s author. Eventually, after a couple hours, a group of about twenty people arrived, pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair. He appeared extremely infirm and could barely speak. This man was ABBA (Hebrew for “father” and Swedish for “trying to figure out who your dad is”), the author of the flyer. The group was his family of followers, who subscribed to his blend of Kabbalah, Christianity, and alchemy. 

Abba arrives at the Furnace Party.

I spoke to them for a while. They were understandably confused that thousands of people had shown up. Some were a bit miffed at their event being turned into a party and rightfully concerned about the boisterous crowds surrounding their frail leader. But ultimately, they were all nice and easy to talk to. I’m still Facebook friends with a bunch of them. Their posts are no weirder than that of anyone else who still uses Facebook. And if you compare their beliefs to a literalist interpretation of any major religion, I don’t think their theology is all that bizarre. Seriously. Pick a central tenet of your religion and pretend it’s your first time hearing of it. Is it really any saner than an alchemical furnace for eternal life?

Recently, I’ve been watching the HBO docuseries The Vow, about Keith Raniere and the NXIVM “cult.” It follows a group of former members who have left NXIVM and are trying to expose the founder’s sexual abuses and rescue members who are still in danger. The show has all the tells of a good HBO docuseries: Dramatic stings. Audio clips played over drops of ink falling into water. People leaning over a railing looking out to sea. The Vow does a good job playing up the drama and intrigue of the whole thing, but I feel like this underplays the most interesting element of NXIVM: it’s the most boring fucking cult of all time.

Compare Raniere’s persona to other infamous cult leaders. Rajneesh was a bearded guru yogi who drove around in a Rolls-Royce. David Berg of the Children of God claimed to speak to Jesus and openly advocated pedophilia and incest. Jim Jones was, surprisingly,  one of the country’s most prominent racial integrationists. He drew a lot of public ire for helping to integrate many major institutions in Indianapolis.

Now, Keith Raniere. I find him off-putting. His squat little torso seems densely coiled with muscle, like a wombat. His hands are small and his cheeks are plump. With his round glasses, he bears some resemblance to Theodore the Chipmunk. He sometimes wears his graying hair at shoulder length with a scraggly beard, like Jesus on pills. He speaks in … pauses ... which are followed by a longer clause, then … another pause ... then something that sounds like an aphorism but isn’t, like “fear is the ultimate enemy of accomplishment.” And then, he’ll ask a question, but it’s really just a statement with a question mark? Something like “You’re afraid of your fear? Why are you afraid of your fear?” Then … pause … until the person he’s talking to starts crying and thanking him and Keith just stares back at them, smirking because he just completed another highwire act on a tightrope of bullshit, and everyone applauds. 

Some of his teachings are still up on his YouTube channel. They have names like “Balancing Genius and Insecurity,” “The Authentic Human,” and “Evolving Societal Values to Transform Arts And Media.” These are just TedTalks. These could be lectures from ViacomCBS Self-Development Day. He is Ziad The Activist, but old, white, and wearing a V-neck sweater. Say what you will about Charles Manson, but he was never this boring. 

It surprises me that NXIVM is the defining cult of our moment. In terms of sensationalism, it is nothing compared to other pop-culture cults. Of course, the sexual abuse and branding which have landed Raniere in prison for life are horrific. But, shamefully, we have plenty of shocking stories these days about egotistical men who turned out to be predators. In fact, an NYT reporter in The Vow said that this story would never have gotten attention had it not coincided with #MeToo. 

When a cult captures our imagination, it’s usually because it reminds us of something we’re already scared of. The Anti-Cult Movement proliferated in the 1970s as new cults tapped into existing fears. The Manson Family, turned bloodthirsty after hearing Helter Skelter backwards, showed parents that rock music wasn’t just going to make your kid grow his hair out; it could make him a murderer. The Rajneeshees tapped into suspicions of White Replacement, as thousands of devotees to an Indian guru flooded into rural Oregon. 

So what is the NXIVM fuss all about? Is it that we live in a time where politics boils down to dueling cults of personality? That could be part of it. Raniere carried himself on a scaffolding of Trumpian lies. He claimed to have scored the highest ever on an IQ test, placing him in a group more elite than MENSA. (The test ran in the funny pages of newspapers and was taken at home.) He claimed to be a concert-level pianist. (He was ok.) He said he was once a judo champion. (No idea where this came from.) So maybe we relate to NXIVM because we’re all members of cults of boring personality. If we’re not on the Trump side, then we simply follow different great leaders. We must pretend Nancy Pelosi is good at her job. We must pretend Joe Biden never said that, that, or that. We should weep at the tomb of Notorious RBG then go back to our hotel with her portrait made of tampons.

But I think there’s a better explanation. NXIVM was founded on the Executive Success Program. It was seemingly just a self-help program that taught you how to get ahead at work. It was one of a million scams, grifts, and rip-offs that teach you to believe in yourself. It took place in ugly hotel meeting rooms. People got inducted by watching PowerPoints. There were trust falls and steps to “actualizing your goals.” The whole thing had a very Dunder Mifflin vibe -- this could be any dreary meeting in any conference room with any overeager boss. The closest they came to a cool cult outfit was a “rational inquiry sash,” which looks like what the National Honor Society wears at graduation. Co-ed volleyball was their fun activity to blow off steam. It was extremely expensive advice for middle managers struggling to climb the next rung of the corporate ladder. It was Tony Robbins with a much uglier sicko yelling at you. Internally, everyone referred to it as “The Company.” For all but the innermost circle, they barely even had sex. And there was absolutely no drugs or rock ’n’ roll.

Ultimately, NXIVM was just another cult of work, with the stupid start-up name to boot. Religious sociologist Bruce Cambell notes that cults usually express some belief in the “divine individual.” They ask you to find your true self. The genius of NXIVM is that in the New Millennium, we don’t look for those things with ayahuasca or communal living or free love. We look for those things at our jobs. Sheryl Sandberg literally told us to bring our “whole self into work.” It’s not enough to show up, work hard, and get paid. You have to love it. It has to give you purpose. If your job isn’t sparking joy, then maybe you just need to eat dinner at your desk, too. Maybe invite your team to stay late drinking beer and play ping-pong.

And if you still can’t figure out why you’re so damn miserable, then maybe you do need a $14,000 intensive seminar from the Executive Success Program. Could it be that your wages have been stagnant for four decades? That you work harder and harder and longer and longer for no reward? That your boss, boss’s boss, and boss’s boss’s boss have grown obscenely rich while you stayed put? That the whole structure of a corporation is designed to wring efficiency out of you like a wet towel and alienate you from the product of your labor? Surely not. The problem must lie with you. 

One of the craftiest moves Raniere pulled was to induct the failchildren of world elites into NXIVM. The children of two Mexican presidents were longtime members. (Separate presidents. No two Mexican presidents have ever had a child together.) India Oxenberg, daughter of Dynasty actress Catherine Oxenberg and relative of the British Royal Family, is ostensibly the subject of The Vow. Sara and Clare Bronfman, heiresses to the multi-billion dollar Seagram’s liquor fortune, were some of the highest-ranking members and are going to prison for their involvement. They drained their trust funds to finance Raniere’s $65 million “pathological day-trading addiction.” Their father’s connections lent Raniere and NXIVM occasional imprimaturs of legitimacy, including visits from the Dalai Lama and a retreat on Richard Branson’s island. 

Why would these ultra-rich, supremely connected, well-educated people join something like NXIVM? Because they didn’t have to work. With that much money, they lacked an explanation for their own frustration. Their best excuse was the absence of “meaningful” work in their life. The Bronfmans say in The Vow that they joined to find some purpose in the way they distributed their fortunes. India Oxenberg started attending with her mother, Catherine, herself a privileged child and serial religious experimenter. Too rich to be fooled into the modern cult of overwork, they found a substitute.

A very small proportion of NXIVM actually experienced the sexual and violent aspects of the group’s abuses. For most members, the mistreatment was something more common. Excruciatingly long workdays with few breaks. Evenings and weekends filled with mandatory recreation. “Readiness drills” in the form of constant texts and e-mails which you were required to answer immediately. And beneath it all, the expectation that you not just give up your life, but do so with a smile on your face. All for the good of The Company. 

Our country is suffering from an epidemic of loneliness at work. Former Surgeon General Vivek Murthy argues that workplace loneliness is a major public health problem.  People are spending too long at the office. When they leave, their devices keep them at work. They feel no solidarity with their fellow workers and view them as competition. As I’ve written before, Covid will only make this worse. Loneliness is lethal. It causes illnesses and drives addictions. It can make people dangerous. Predators, whether they’re cult leaders or serial abusers or both, target lonely people.

Our country is at an inflection point for loneliness. I think everyone feels that if we continue like this for much longer, we will tear ourselves apart. We must address the economic conditions which make work so alienating and isolating. We must reject the cult of capital which binds us to our desks. Ultimately, work will not set us free.

That day in the vacant lot in Philadelphia, I felt something special. Chatting with ABBA’s group, I was shocked by how friendly, relaxed, and frankly normal they were. Watching the city gather around this kooky moment, rejecting fear to be spontaneous and cheerful, I felt deeply connected with the community around me. I wanted to put a “Keep Philly Weird” bumper sticker on my car. Whether we were in the “cult” or not, we were not alone. That day, I re-learned a lesson that life has taught me over and over again: If you talk to someone for thirty minutes with an open mind, no matter how different they are, you usually come away liking them. (Beer helps.)