In the past few weeks, the Church of the Flying
Spaghetti Monster has become perhaps the world's fastest-growing
"religion" and maybe its most improbable. While no one can be sure of
the exact numbers of "Pastafarians", as acolytes are called, they may
number in the millions.
All of which has come as
something of a shock to Bobby Henderson, an unemployed physics graduate
from Oregon. According to Mr Henderson, the FSM - as His Noodliness is
sometimes known - "revealed himself to me in a dream". Like most
mysterious prophets, Mr Henderson communicates with the outside world
only occasionally, although this may be more to do with having only one
telephoneline to his home in the small town of Corvallis and a Google
e-mail account swamped by hundreds of messages every day.
But while the "theory" relies on the existence of a god, it does not
specify which god. It was only when the state of Kansas announced
earlier this year that its schools could teach ID in science classes
that the Flying Spaghetti Monster made Himself widely known.
In an open letter to the Kansas Board of Education in July, Mr
Henderson wrote: "I think we can all agree that it is important for
students to hear multiple viewpoints so they can choose for themselves
the theory that makes the most sense to them. I am concerned, however,
that students will only hear one theory of Intelligent Design."
Barely three months later, Mr Henderson has discovered
that he really has created a monster. His website - www.venganza.org -
receives as many as two million hits a day. It has been featured on
several widely read blogs, one of which is offering a $1 million
(£545,000) prize for "proof" that the Flying Spaghetti Monster does not
exist.
Some of the faithful have created images of
their Divine Saucy Leader, including one that reproduces Michelangelo's
Creation of Adam, but with the image of the creator replaced by the
Flying Spaghetti Monster.
Some "Pastafarians"
speak of the rapture that they felt when first touched by "His Noodly
Appendage" or offer prayers that end with the word "ramen" - as in the
Japanese noodle - rather than "amen". Others may have been drawn by a
vision of Heaven that includes a stripper factory and a beer volcano
and what its founder calls the church's "flimsy moral standards".
Of the thousands of e-mails Mr Henderson has received, he says that
about 95 per cent have been supportive, while the other five per cent
"have said I am going to hell".
Meanwhile, true believers can now order souvenirs from the Church of
the Flying Spaghetti Monster website, including T-shirts from $13.99
(£7.50), a coffee mug and a car bumper sticker. Mr Henderson says the
proceeds may be used to fund the campaign or, in the best tradition of
dubious cult leaders, to buy a yacht that he has long fancied. If the
sales really take off, it may also help him avoid having to take up his
only job offer so far since leaving Oregon State University -
programming slot machines in Las Vegas.
As for whether there will still be Pastafarians in 2,000 years from
now, there are already signs of trouble ahead. Some of the faithful
question whether their Noodly Saviour might be made of linguini rather
than spaghetti. Such people, Mr Henderson says, "give me a headache".
