Waving the Olympic flag in Paris, the cult’s star made the world forget about the unpleasant bits

‘At least some publications now applauding Cruise’s stunts must be aware of the commensurate value of a flying Scientologist. Even one on a rope.’ Photograph: Natacha Pisarenko/AP

Around 75m years since a mighty intergalactic leader somehow triggered the existence of today’s Scientologists, the interests of their religion and the rest of humanity seem finally to have aligned: in shared devotion to Tom Cruise.

After Cruise leapt into the Olympics closing ceremony to pick up a flag that he took – once he had been hailed by dazzled elite athletes – via motorbike, plane and parachute to LA’s Hollywood sign, both his feats and his casting were hailed as inspired. You would never have known from unstinting appreciations acknowledging him as the best loved, the bravest, most revered star in the world, that Cruise has been long and widely considered too senior a Scientologist to be unconditionally admired or, given the reported mischiefs of that organisation, much tolerated.

The new tributes tended to overlook Cruise’s significance as, in the words of one of the Church of Scientology’s most persistent investigators, John Sweeney, its “apostle, the living embodiment of Scientology”. Its current leader, David Miscavige, was twice Cruise’s best man.

For Scientology, the Descent into the Stadium must rank as, if not its greatest public triumph, a crowning corrective to endless bad publicity; a landmark that certainly compares with historic victories over tax authorities arguing that it wasn’t really a religion. In fact, L Ron Hubbard’s Scientology had originated as his science of “Dianetics”, a set of principles unrelated, he said, to “any mumbo-jumbo of mysticism or spiritualism or religion”. All the old disputes were forgotten when Cruise, somewhat leathery but undoubtedly agile in his signature action-wear, was chosen, presumably over a number of non-Scientologist candidates, to star in the biggest show ever staged by the world’s most doggedly secular and hitherto style-conscious country, whose president can recite Molière from memory.

If the French seem unlikely to have changed permanently into the genial folk whose smiling faces have shocked visitors to Paris, the final showcasing of Cruise in preference to, for instance, Omar Sy, or another significant French artist or performer, is a decidedly showy departure from the country’s traditional aversion to Hollywoodisation. Though there is no questioning its success. International acclaim for this cultural surrender to Cruise aesthetics must have been enough to make those Scientology survivors brave enough to have detailed horrendous experiences wonder why they bothered.

The simple fact that we are talking about his presence is an insult to victims

Scientology is a proseletysing organisation that reportedly offers acolytes, among potential benefits, the reward of advanced, sometimes superhuman powers. At least some publications now applauding Cruise’s stunts must be aware of the commensurate value of a flying Scientologist. Even one on a rope. There are rumours that Cruise is sufficiently advanced, spiritually, to levitate. Looking back, maybe Darcey Bussell never quite got her adulatory due, in 2012, for descending into London’s closing ceremony on a flaming phoenix.

Typical of an Olympic-activated Cruise epiphany was the Sun’s overnight conversion from recent Scientology- and Cruise-related suspicion (is his alleged estrangement from his daughter, it recently asked, linked to the organisation’s reported ruthlessness towards non-believing relations?) to “Mission LA28” worship. In May, it ran a Scientology escapee’s account of childhood conditioning: “It sets you up for abuse, it sets you up for taking it, for not saying anything, for thinking that you just need to be able to be there and endure.” Last week, it asked readers: “Is Tom Cruise the greatest action star ever?”

Weeks after French organisers had grovelled for inadvertently upsetting people who thought they had spotted ridicule of the Last Supper, the closing event confirmed that, given a choice of spiritual sides to annoy, the best option is invariably secular. The religiously offended were told, following the supper misunderstanding: “If people have taken any offence we are really sorry.” The secularly so were advised by the French sports minister, pending a wholly intentional experiment in Scientology promotion, to suck it up: “Stop always looking for controversies.”

As if, in a strictly secular country with a longstanding aversion to, in particular, Scientology, it were possible for a French Cruise-exalting show to have escaped condemnation. Weeks ago, a government agency, Miviludes, warned that Scientology-linked “No to Drugs” leaflets were being distributed. Once Cruise’s participation was known, the head of a victims’ organisation, Caffes, called it a “disgrace”. Catherine Katz, a former judge who now heads Unadfi, a group defending victims against cults, said: “The simple fact that we are talking about his presence is an insult to victims.” A Unadfi comic strip warning children against Scientology specifically references Cruise’s alleged estrangement from his youngest child.

Even without this local opposition, you might think that well-circulated material from 20 years of disclosures, court cases and investigations amounts to a case for not promoting, unless absolutely necessary, the second most powerful Scientologist in the world. Unless the organisers received unprecedented assurances of reform, they had no reason, with Hubbard’s successor, Miscavige, still in charge, to think Scientologists operate any differently now than in 2013 when Sweeney, a war reporter, wrote: “I am afraid now, afraid of them and afraid of it.”

But it’s true: the response to Scientologist flag-bearing has been, overall, great. Whether or not this could have been achieved without a combination of Olympic hysteria and recent advances in crank normalisation, the organisers were plainly correct to consider the services of this eternal spiritual being well worth the complaints of cultish secularists. Scientology’s sympathisers affirm, perhaps with reason, that in comparison with Q-Anon mythology, the older organisation’s extraterrestrial origin story, with its mass murders and disembodied souls, is one of distinctive complexity. If only it weren’t for the documented misery, alleged scandals and harassment of critics, Hubbard’s church could pass for practically respectable.

As it is, the miraculous decultification of Tom Cruise must be one of the most regrettable victories of the French Olympics.