Say sometime in the future we are contacted by a highly technologically advanced society (for the purposes of this discussion it doesn’t really matter if they’re mole people or extra-terrestrials). How would we react? How would our society change to the addition of their technology to ours?
And what if, after all of that change and upheaval, they left? How would we adjust?
It’s an interesting question, and it’s one that’s not entirely confined to the world of theory. In our history we have several records of primitive societies meeting more advanced ones. There are the journeys of Capt. Cook and Hernando Cortes (which suggest that we might revere more advanced societies more than precisely healthy for us), the settlement of the new world, and, more recently, the development of cargo cults in the southwest Pacific Ocean after World War II.
Now cargo cults haven’t only developed in this stage of history (the earliest described such cult was the Tuka Movement in Fiji in 1885), but WWII is significant for providing some of the better known ones. During the war a huge amount of soldiers on both sides poured into the Pacific theater and brought with them all of the material and infrastructure necessary to sustain an army for a prolonged time.
On isolated islands throughout the Pacific airstrips and bases were built, ships and planes appeared, manufactured clothing and canned goods were brought in, and thousands of soldiers and weapons arrived in a short amount of time. Often times they came to islands that had seen few, if any, outsiders before. Those few outsiders that had lived there before- missionaries and officials and the like- were evacuated, leaving the native peoples of these islands with an amazing bounty of strange new things without anyone they knew who could help put these things in context.
When the war ended everyone went home, halting the flow of goods that the people of these islands had begun to rely on. Just like magic, just like it had begun, the time of plenty ended.
But not everyone was willing to peacefully accept the bursting of the bubble. Cults started to spring up, groups that maintained that if they could recreate the rituals that the soldiers had used to bring in the cargo they too could receive such goods.
The idea is that, since there is no obvious explanation for the endless supplies that suddenly arrived, they must have been summoned by magic. “White men didn’t work, they merely wrote secret signs on scraps of paper, for which they were given shiploads of goods (Time Magazine, 1958).” All they needed to bring it all back was the right formula.
So they started imitating behavior they remembered from the outsiders, building airstrips complete with replica airplanes, control towers, and radio men baring bamboo replicas. They built piers and held drills and marches. They would raise the American flag with pomp and circumstance or set up small tables covered with white cloth and flowers in their houses. Some would sit in reconstructed office rooms scribbling on papers.
Others worshiped those that they knew understood the secret of cargo, Prince Philip or President Lyndon Johnson. Shrines were built and messages were sent to their idols.
If the cargo doesn’t come, and it seldom does, its obviously not the cult itself that is at fault. No, the magic formula just hasn’t been perfected yet. True belief, and an unwavering devotion to the cult, is what is necessary for the cargo to arrive.
Now, it’s easy to make fun of this. But the fact is that the most prevalent of the Cargo Cults is the John Frum movement on the island of Tanna, Vanuatu. This is the cult that is most reported on and is easily the most visible. It’s here that every February 15th men parade in old US army uniforms with fake wooden rifles or the letter USA painted on their chest.
But what is usually glossed over is the fact that this cult actually started before the war. During this time in Tanna missionaries tried to implement the traditions and rules of Western Christianity on a culture that was quite a bit more lax. Polygamy and dancing were popular traditions that the missionaries tried to stamp out, as well as the usual swearing or working on the Sabbath.
But one of the biggest restrictions was on the drinking of kava, a mild narcotic drink prepared from the roots of a local pepper plant that men in Tanna have consumed since time immortal. Offenders were punished with forced labor in missionary courts.
Some men still drank kava in secret, and it was at one such drinking session in the late 1930’s that John Frum appeared. This spirit told them that if they followed him, keeping to to their traditions and ignoring the missionaries, he would reward them with the same goods that the missionaries had access to.
Sure enough, a mere couple of years later WWII broke out and the islanders received everything that John Frum had promised. Here was a religion that delivered exactly as it said it would. Why wouldn’t the tradition continue after that?
Now, be that as it may, not all islanders are believers. Only about 20% of Tanna follows the teachings of the cult. But it continues as a reputable religion, and many believers are quick to draw parallels between Christianity and John Frum.
“You Christians have been waiting 2,000 years for Jesus to return to earth,” Chief Issac, the leader of the John Frum movement told Smithsonian reporter Paul Raffaele when asked why he still believes in John after all this time. “And you haven’t given up hope.”
When it comes to other cults on other islands (many of which have not lasted as long as the John Frum cult) it is important to note that these cults didn’t fall fully formed from the sky. No, like Heaven’s Gate or the Peoples Temple they were created by charismatic individuals who capitalized on the hopes and fears of others to build up a tradition and ritual that they could use to gain power themselves. Such things happen throughout the modern world as well.
And so, until the modern world is put in a similar situation, who are we to judge?