The much maligned but eminently benign 'Trekky' community is far less objectionable than the sadly misled followers of Reiki, argues Donald Clarke.
On September 8th 1966, NBC television aired the first episode of a science fiction series named Star Trek. After only three seasons, the show, which never crept above number 52 in the ratings, was cast into the sort of terrifying oblivion that so often claimed Enterprise crew members not played by Leonard Nimoy or William Shatner. Never underestimate a cult audience's inclination towards resuscitation.
In 2006, following four further series, 10 feature films and countless subsidiary spin-offs, Star Trek's ruby anniversary is being celebrated with glee in countless nooks and crannies of the internet.
Coverage of the happy event in serious newspapers has, however, been tainted with the usual sour flavours of condescension. The show's more enthusiastic followers - Trekkies to the world, Trekkers to one another - are, once again, served up to the readers as swivel-eyed loons in spandex pyjamas.
Zoological interest in Phylum Trekus reached its height in 1996 when Barbara Adams, an alternate juror in the Whitewater case, which so troubled the Clinton presidency, insisted in turning up at the Arkansas courthouse in the uniform of a Starfleet commander. Ms Adams, whose pinched, earnest features betrayed worrying sincerity, was, perhaps inevitably, subjected to endless ridicule from humorists and late-night talk show hosts.
Far be it from me to argue for a moratorium on the annihilation of soft targets, but are we, perhaps, not directing our intolerance towards the wrong class of fanatic? Trekkers do not, on the whole, use their enthusiasms as tools to dismantle the laws that govern the universe. Those Star Trek fans who employ the Klingon wedding ceremony as part of their own nuptials are, presumably, aware that the bellicose alien race exists only in the mind of the show's creators and viewers.
On the very day of the Star Trek anniversary, a worrying guest appeared on Today FM's radio show The Last Word. Aoife (she wisely declined to reveal her second name) had been invited on to follow up an earlier piece dealing with that nonsensical placebo mechanism known to its followers as Reiki. Virtually any summary of this Japanese practice - often referred to as "traditional", though actually less than 100 years old - will surely precipitate objections from disciples as being too glib or lacking in comprehensiveness. But we must make an attempt.
As I understand it, practitioners lay hands on their clients and seek to channel mystical energies as a way of healing various ailments. The exercise is, you might say, rather like Mr Spock's Vulcan death grip in reverse (though nobody pretends the alien martial technique is anything other than fantasy).
Aoife, an articulate, sensible-sounding woman, was, Matt Cooper revealed, going to make known certain troubling experiences she had encountered in her years as a Reiki practitioner.
One anticipated gratifyingly appalling stories of financial irregularity and psychological manipulation. Sadly, Aoife's tale - though stranger than expected - was of limited use to any sane sceptic seeking to debunk this activity. By opening herself up to all the spirits, both benevolent and malign, that occupy the ether around us, Aoife had, it seemed, allowed an archangel to attach itself to her unwilling shoulder. Surprisingly this did not appear to be a happy circumstance and the celestial being, visible as a dark blur in a photograph of Aoife's aura, had set about inconveniencing his host in any number of ways.
Cooper, a consistently responsible broadcaster, bravely resisted the temptation to summon the men with the butterfly nets and the tranquilliser darts. Though many of his drive-time listeners were, by this stage, probably endangering their lives by taking their hands off the wheel to clutch their aching sides, the presenter dutifully kept a smile out of his voice.
Such lenience is justifiable when dealing with a vulnerable civilian unused to the pressures of national radio. Elsewhere, it is surely correct to state the bleeding obvious as regards the rag-bag of mystical inclinations, quasi-occult practices and formalisations of psychotic delusion that, though patently unsystematic, are identified by so many today as their "belief system".
Are you ready? It's all nonsense. The angels, the channelling, the dreamcatchers, the star charts: none of these phenomena stands up to rigorous scientific examination. If an aeronautical engineer demonstrated that a certain plane was unsafe to fly, then no tourist would climb aboard. Yet millions ignore the advice of similarly qualified boffins and continue to believe the unbelievable.
But here's the thing. If you point out how unsustainable the claims of some alternative therapist or new-age guru may be, you will inevitably find yourself accused of thinking in a close-minded fashion. It does not seem to occur to the apologists of unreason that even allowing the possibility of such phenomena would require many sensible folk to abandon their own belief system: the scientific method. Now, who's being close-minded?
After considering these more pernicious cults that pervade the modern world, the Trek community - dedicated to celebrating an imaginary universe its people know to be imaginary - is all the more clearly revealed as a benign entity that offers no real threat to vulnerable inductees. They do a lot of work for charity, as well. Live long and prosper, my friends.