My Scientology personality test

I was intrigued by the invitation to 'discover my true potential' on the Scientology website – but I just felt nagged and exposed
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Church of Scientology London
Scientologists hold Sunday and Monday services that anyone can go to, of any religion or faith. Photograph: Sarah Lee for the Guardian

I was curious to see what would happen if I took the Church of Scientology's "Oxford capacity analysis test". Trailed on the church's website as an invitation to "discover your true potential", the test consists of 200 questions, veering wildly in tone from the mundane – "Do you speak slowly?" – to the impudently probing – "Are you normally considered 'cold'?" – to the rather extreme – "Is your life a constant struggle for survival?" Each requires a response of yes, no or uncertain, and as I worked my way through them I started to feel a bit like I was being nagged.

"Do you find it hard to get started on a task that needs to be done?"

"Do you bite your fingernails or chew the end of your pencil?"

"Would you 'buy on credit' with the hope that you can keep up the payments?"

All a "yes" from me, I'm afraid. After completing the test online I followed the website's instructions and contacted the London Dianetics Centre to book my "personality test evaluation".

The date of my appointment arrived and off I went to find the centre, a rather grand building near London's Blackfriars that could easily be mistaken for smart lawyers' offices or a private bank. After reporting in at reception I'm met by a friendly, if rather intense, Scientology volunteer who'd be taking me through my test results. She seats me at a desk in the building's "information centre" and places a personalised graph in front of me, with an undulating line indicating my "10 personality characteristics".

"Any points lying above this line," she gestures, "are very good, generally. Any points lying below the line are affecting you negatively in some way." The vast majority of points on my graph are well below the line.

"So these first three points here," she gestures, "these are all very low. That shows something in your past has affected you quite a bit. Can you think of anything like that?"

I say no.

"Anything that affected you that was a past painful experience?"

Surely everyone has past painful experiences?

"Anything that stands out for you?"

I wrack my brains and eventually mention a past experience I feel is just about painful enough to be a satisfactory answer. We then move on to the next point on the graph and more questions follow, each seemingly requiring me to reveal something negative about myself, or something unpleasant that's happened to me. After 20 exhausting minutes of this we come to the end.

"So these things you've spoken about," she says, "your slight lack of confidence, which you'd like to improve, and also worrying about finances, and getting yourself more active, and procrastinating less" - (God, I think. Did I really say all that?) – are those areas in your life you'd actually like to do something about?"

Feeling rather overwhelmed, and not a little exposed, I tell her I'd certainly be interested in hearing a little more about it all. She leads me through to the next room to view this extraordinarily badly acted short film (a must watch for all fans of unintentional humour) and once it's over asks if I have any questions.

I ask what she would say to convince me I ought to become a Scientologist.

"I wouldn't try to convince you. What [Scientology founder] L Ron Hubbard said specifically is that what is true is only what's true for you – it's your reality that counts. It isn't necessary to take answers on faith. The thing that's stressed most strongly in dianetics and Scientology is that you seek yourself. What we do with the personality test is see what area would help you. So I would suggest that you read Dianetics (Hubbard's book), because you might find that it could help you in your life."

So what is it that Scientologists do, exactly? Do they attend church services?

"We hold Sunday and Monday services that anyone can come to, of any religion or faith. And people who are Scientologists would do courses to further understand life and themselves; there's many, many different courses, depending on whatever they're interested in. They'll also read books, as L Ron Hubbard wrote many of them and recorded many, many lectures."

I say I'm curious about some of the rumours I've heard, such as that Scientologists aren't allowed to make any noise during childbirth.

"No, that's absolutely hilarious," she says with a smile. "It's completely not true. There was a paragraph in Dianetics, which says that the birthing environment should be as calm as possible for the mother and child, and that was taken out of context."

How about rumours that church members are sometimes encouraged to disassociate themselves from people they've known before – is that true?

"Not that I know of, no. I have many friends who aren't Scientologists, and many who are. A lot of Scientologists are married to people who aren't Scientologists."

I say I've heard some suggestions that the church wrings a lot of money out of its followers.

"There are millions of people across the world who use dianetics. Now to produce the books, to create the DVDs, to pay for toilet paper and so on … There's no percentage of income, or tithing, or anything like that. There are donations made for the courses; people can make bigger donations if they want to, but it's all entirely voluntary."

I decide to leave it there. Any further questions I might ask along these lines would just sound rude, and I have no wish to offend my patient host. Nevertheless, nothing she's told me has made me think dianetics or Scientology would hold anything worthwhile for me. I pass up the opportunity to buy one of L Ron Hubbard's books and leave with a few handouts and a deep unease over how much personal information I've just volunteered to a total stranger.

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