In the South
Seas there is a Cargo Cult of people.
During the war they saw airplanes land with lots of good materials, and
they want the same thing to happen now.
So they’ve arranged to make things like runways, to put fires along the
sides of the runways, to make a wooden hut for a man to sit in, with two wooden
pieces on his head like headphones and bars of bamboo sticking out like
antennas—he’s the controller—and they wait for the airplanes to land. They’re doing everything right. The form is perfect. It looks exactly the way it looked
before. But it doesn’t work. No airplanes land.