Rights of non-believers
A parable about the miracles and martyrs of the Nizhny Novgorod Temple of the Flying Spaghetti Monster
At the time when Nizhny Novgorod had not yet acquired "red" city status, indicating the Center's particular activity here, the "Liberal Tasters' Club" met in the basement of a residential building at 226 Gorky Street. The gathering included four dozen people: journalists, artists, and businessmen. Their meetings focused on what awaited the country and the city, which way the winds of change were blowing, and what was worth believing in.
Among its founders were two friends: Mikhail Iosilevich, founder of the still-popular Nizhny Novgorod media outlet NN.ru and owner of the business project "Joint Purchase," and entrepreneur German Knyazev. Their names can be found in virtually every article covering key events in the city's life: be it the May Day Monstration or protection of Switzerland Park from developers.
This period occurred in the early 2010s, marked not by the first, but by the most significant scandalous event involving insult to religious sensibilities: Pussy Riot's performance at the altar of the Christ the Savior Cathedral in Moscow. This incident became one of the first alarm bells for the entire country, including Nizhny Novgorod, where the "Club" met.
In July 2013, the Russian Federation's law on insulting religious feelings was published, sparking a public debate about the "feelings of non-believers" and the tightening of the screws. Pastafarianism—as a unique form of protest against the dominance of traditional religions and religious pressure—came in hand. Three years after the law's passage, on the eve of April 1, Mikhail Iosilevich, at a regular meeting of the "Club of Liberal Tasters," announced his intention to establish a Pastafarian church parish and become the rector of the first one in Russia. KhraLMMa, or more precisely, whiskey.
Thus was destined to emerge a place that would host leading figures of the Russian opposition, researchers, and scientists; where Irina Slavina would visit shortly before her death; where the odious Alexei Onoshkin, now imprisoned in a psychiatric clinic, would serve. Iosilevich himself would leave Russia in 2022, having previously spent a year and a half in a pretrial detention center and a penal colony.
He still owns the building, having bought it "for commercial purposes" and later converted it into the Temple of the LMM. It's still open, welcoming adherents, tourists, and passersby for regular masses three times a week, where beer and pasta with meatballs are a common pastry.
The Path to God
Even nearly ten years after its founding, the road to the Cathedral of the LMM lies along Trudovaya Street, then along Maksima Gorky Street. A reliable landmark: the tall red-brick nave of the Orthodox Church. "In the name of the Most Merciful Savior" right across the street from the residential building in the basement of which Nizhny Novgorod Pastafarians gather.
Pastafarianism emerged as a quasi-religion in 2005. The idea and "bible" of the new faith was proposed by American Bobby Henderson. The concept included references to key events in Abrahamic religions and parodies of them: for example, the prophet Moses was replaced by a pirate named Moses, who received seasonings from the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and worship services were proposed to involve cooking pasta and drinking beer.
The alternative church's entrance is more modest than its Orthodox neighbor, and its visual design is more reminiscent of a quaint bar than a place of worship. The neon sign "KhrALMM" stands alongside advertisements for insurance companies, the "Aibolit" dental clinic, the "Kedr" landscape design firm, and the "Stalker" internet cafe.
"Next time it'll be a completely different story: we'll simply forget we've already told it," says Evgeny Gabelev, the current head of the parish. He can almost certainly be found at the Church of the Holy Mother of God during Mass. He's a friend of Mikhail Iosilevich and a highly enigmatic figure: he prefers to remain silent about his current activities, and Iosilevich is similarly tight-lipped on the matter.
The two met on a website owned by Iosilevich. NN.ru — they corresponded on the forum about various city events. Today, Gabelev meets with parishioners and visitors. He is skeptical of the teachings of American physicist Bobby Henderson and finds his jokes about Abrahamic religions unfunny.
"It's just that others are even worse," he explains in response to a surprised look. "The allusion to the structure of religious thought itself is well-crafted, but what..."
Gabelev doesn’t have time to finish speaking; laughter comes from the kitchen:
— The pasta is burnt!
While chatting at the bar, the Temple of the LMM ministers forget about the pot of spaghetti on the stove. So today, they'll have spirals instead. The meatballs, fortunately, were unharmed, and communion will take place. The refrigerator is stocked with 1.5-liter bottles of dark and light beer, unlabeled. When asked about suppliers and revenue, they answer evasively: whatever God sends. The details of God's providence are not disclosed. Card donations for the meals are not accepted; only cash or bank transfer. The recommended contribution is 300 rubles.
Friday Mass feels like an evening at a local pub: the regulars gather in a room decorated with icon portraits, artifacts, and a mural in the style of "The Creation of Adam." There are also two newcomers: young women, students. They learned about the Temple of the LMM during a university lecture on world religions. They came to make sure the professor wasn't joking. After spending time at the bar and drinking beer, they move to the sofa in front of the TV a few steps from the bar to play computer games.
On Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, the Temple of the LMM is open from 18:00 PM, but the majority of the congregation gathers closer to midnight. By this time, the music gets louder, and in the smoking room, the conversations of roleplayers alternate with the arguments of cosplayers, musicians, artists, and the universal, weary reminiscences of a workweek on construction sites, in offices, and installing outdoor advertising.
Among the visitors was a couple: a man and a woman. They came to KhraLMM with a bag of sushi rolls. Bringing your own is allowed. The two got married here, the same evening they met. They were married with whiskey and blessed by the parish. She doesn't talk about her job; he works for Sberbank's security service.
"He's calling you from number 900!" the neighbors joke.
The main question one wants to ask anyone who identifies as a Pastafarian is, "Are you serious?" Getting a straight answer is nearly impossible. Discussions about the essence of the teachings become exercises in wit and eloquence, with which everyone who comes to the Church of the Living God is greeted. If you ask what questions the parishioners answer for themselves here, Gabelev's response is practically stand-up comedy.
"War and Peace" was written by Leo Tolstoy, but who wrote Leo Tolstoy? There was a big explosion, but what exploded? Who blew it up? Who handled the explosives so carelessly, and where did they come from? Or is it this: before everything existed, there was nothing? If I've never died before, then I never will?
"That's exactly what I planned!" the parishioner interjects.
- God has never come to people, so he will never come?
“The girl has never driven a car, yeah right…” one of those present says ironically.
"This religion is as meaningless as all the others. Those who need to believe in something choose different options. And if there's no difference, as they say, why pay more? [Believing in the Flying Spaghetti Monster – editor's note] is convenient, stress-free, and requires no sacrifice," explains Iosilevich, founder of the Nizhny Novgorod Pastafarian Church. "We [parishioners of the Temple of the Flying Spaghetti Monster] have discovered that our ideas about a world where mysterious phenomena and otherworldly forces exist that are unknown to science, what we've all long sensed—it was all about the Flying Spaghetti Monster."
Having been ordained as a Pastafarian whisker—for which the FSM pointed at him with his "most macaroni-like right hand," and then Bobby Henderson sent him a certificate—Iosilevich soon had his driver's license photographed wearing a colander, the religious headdress of the Pastafarians, attracting attention. Media all over the country. And later sued I fought with the Nizhny Novgorod Ministry of Internal Affairs for the right to take the same photo for my passport, but to no avail: the judge refused, declaring that a colander is not headwear, but a kitchen utensil, and if Iosilevich insists otherwise, then, supposedly, his church allows for breaking the rules and repenting, so he should do that.
Recalling his experience interacting with law enforcement, Iosilevich says the officers asked him how he could talk normally to someone who had put a colander on his head.
"And he's wearing a cap. It's also a completely pointless and useless object that doesn't protect you from either rain or sun. I ask, how can anyone seriously wear it? The rhetoric immediately changes: basically, we're not much better, [the police officer] realizes, and he begins to notice certain parallels."
Explaining why he decided to open a Pastafarian church, Iosilevich says he wanted to correct the "imbalance between the rights of believers and non-believers":
[Judging] by surveys, a cliché has taken root in society that believers are more moral, more responsible, and have principles. Believers also have feelings, laws protecting them, and a ton of privileges. But non-believers—atheists, atheists—are like second-class citizens. They're dangerous; you don't want to live near them. This isn't just a Russian issue; I'm seeing the same thing in Israel now. We, poor, unfortunate atheists, are any worse off? Let's believe too and receive the same rights and protections from governments that believers receive.
Несвятые святые
“Here we have the exiled icon of Shnur hidden,” Gabelev points with his hand. “According to our mythology, [Shnur was first canonized, then decanonized,] we demanded that he return it.” saint's certificate back, and from Mr. Shnurov we received detailed instructions in response on where to go and what to do there.
In Pastafarianism, anyone and anything can be canonized. Thus, the Temple of the LMM has declared all local parks and squares sacred. The canonization of the city's green spaces has become part of protest against the improvement and development of such territories.
At Friday Masses, any of the adherents may propose a candidate for sainthood or relic. The decision on who or what will be made holy is made by vote. Among the people most often nominated are those who have made notable discoveries in science and advocated the value of evidence-based methods and critical thinking. It is said, however, that the legendary Dawkins He waited almost six months for his turn: most people just couldn't get in. They say they took Lera Maksimenko instead. When I ask who she is, they reply, "We don't remember."
“Nothing is new,” says Gabelev. “People who talk about critical thinking more often than others usually don’t apply it to themselves.”
Apocrypha and tales say that Shnurov's friend, also a recognized Pastafarian saint, Alexander Nevzorov, once asked him to be canonized. Their icons hang next to each other. After the Moscow City Court sentenced After a journalist was sentenced in absentia to eight years in prison for insulting the Russian army, Nizhny Novgorod Pastafarians encircled his face with barbed wire.
There's also a portrait of Pavel Durov. In the profile description of the user on VKontakte, the social network Durov created, Pastafarianism is listed alongside Islam, Orthodoxy, and other world religions in the religion selection box. So, he deserves it. For several years, Durov himself identified himself in his profile as an adherent of this particular belief.
On another wall hangs a portrait of Viscarius Iosilevich. When it was first placed in the iconostasis in 2020, Iosilevich was outraged and asked for the image to be removed. Gabelev prophetically refused, saying, "Mish, you'll be jailed soon anyway." (The church then they started blaming (in collaboration with undesirable organizations). After being released from prison for the second time, Iosilevich did not object to the icon and soon emigrated.
Alongside other faces is a portrait of independent Nizhny Novgorod journalist Irina Slavina, a parishioner of the Church of the Holy Martyrs of the Mother of God. Irina committed an act of self-immolation At the entrance to the city's Ministry of Internal Affairs building in October 2022, a few days after the search in the Iosilevich case. Irina was among seven city activists and opposition figures to whom the investigator dispatched operatives. None of them had any connection to the businessman's case or participated in organizing the meetings that led to the persecution.
October 2, 2020, was a Friday. Iosilevich was at the Church of the Holy Martyrs, preparing for the start of Mass. When a journalist friend called him and told him about Slavina's experience, Mikhail didn't believe it. He says Irina always understood that fighting the system "wouldn't be easy." She took the risk consciously, knew she would be persecuted and pressured, but she was prepared for it.
"When they called me, I thought it must be someone else. I went to Gorky Square. When they carried the body out, I saw it from afar and realized it was her," Mikhail recalls, adding, "A search is a very serious event, one that has a profound impact on your psyche and your overall outlook on life. It's something that turns your entire life upside down."
Standing in the Kremlin
"In the far corner, we have old man Hottabych—our Pastafarian saint, Lesha Onoshkin, who embodies the very essence of Nizhny Novgorod Pastafarianism. No one canonized him, so he canonized himself. He stole a saint's certificate, wrote his name on it, and pasted his mug on it. Ever since, he's shone like a Pastafarian saint. There's the document—that's it," Gabelev continues the tour of the Temple.
A grey-eyed man stares intently from the icon.
Onoshkin is a landmark figure. A Nizhny Novgorod activist, traveler, and couchsurfing host, he became famous for his performances and has been involved in several scandalous episodes. In one of them, Alexey confessed, who allegedly beat a girl for having an abortion, after which her "vision deteriorated to minus two in the eye where the shoe hit her." The Pastafarian thought this would be a good reminder of "Alexei Onoshkin's murdered child."
During Covid, Onoshkin rode through the city streets on a bicycle, chanting: “God, why did you allow this *****"? God! God!" and then he stripped to the waist and устроил A kneeling prayer service at the walls of the Nizhny Novgorod Kremlin. It was for this action that Alexei was forcibly committed to a psychiatric hospital for the first time.
"Many cultural scholars are haunted by Onoshkin's Stand in the Kremlin; they're still trying to unravel the mystery," Gabelev chuckles. "We asked Alexey what the meaning of the performance was. What was the artist trying to say? Alexey replied that he'd gotten so drunk he couldn't remember what happened. That was fine with us; it was a clear story. COVID was an extraordinary situation, everyone was very confused, and no one knew what to do. Everyone was doing all sorts of stupid things. The government, the people, everyone."
Pastafarians have mixed feelings about Onoshkin. Some consider him a harmless eccentric, while others have always followed news of events surrounding him with apprehension.
"💪Freedom for the Genies!!! Many of you remember our Miracle Worker, Lesha Onoshkin.😀 And you shudder every time you remember. Even though he's been in the hands of doctors for a year now," wrote Onoshkin's brothers in faith are on the KhraLMMa Telegram channel.
Iosilevich treats his colleague with sympathy:
"Alexei exaggerated a lot, exaggerated, and emotionalized things. He wanted to attract attention and popularity. KhraLMM had a positive influence on him. He didn't turn to drink or cause any other kind of insane behavior, but rather began to develop his interests in history, critical thinking, and tourism."
"Lesha Onoshkin liked to say: 'KhraLMM was created to make fun of fat, bearded faggots.' Meanwhile, Lesha grew a belly and a beard and regularly took pictures with the rainbow flag," Gabelev recalls wryly.
In the summer of 2022, a criminal case was opened against Onoshkin for war fakes and calls for terrorism. And in the fall, he was again placed in compulsory treatment. This decision was justified, among other things, by references to Irina Slavina and Onoshkin's alleged suicidal tendencies. Today, Alexey is in a closed medical institution, there is no connection with him.
Stupid God
Initially, the "Liberal Tasters' Club," and later its reincarnation, the Pastafarian Temple of the LMM, hosted meetings with opinion leaders and politicians. The schedule of masses, house concerts by Nizhny Novgorod bands, and quizzes were interspersed with performances. Ilya Yashin, Vladimir Kara-Murza, Dmitry Gudkov and others.
"Any activity would be linked to politics. It's impossible to hold events and discussions without touching on this topic. We had political figures in full force, they weren't hiding. Besides, many people had nowhere to meet; they couldn't rent space. Those who wanted to rent space were provoked, made to understand that they shouldn't. But for some reason, I decided I wouldn't be afraid of all this, that they couldn't put any pressure on me because I didn't work for anyone, I was my own person," Iosilevich recalls.
In 2019, he was charged under Article 20.33 of the Russian Code of Administrative Offenses ("carrying out activities on the territory of the Russian Federation of an undesirable foreign organization") in response to the appearance of Yevgeny Roizman, Yulia Galyamina, Andrei Pivovarov, and Dmitry Gudkov at the KhraLMN. The next charge against Viskar was brought after a public meeting with Alexander Solovyov, the former leader of the Open Russia movement, which was closed that same year. The latest lawsuit was related to a training session for election observers held at the KhraLMN by the organization "Golos." Following this, Iosilevich was taken into custody.
"For some reason, I thought it was impossible to just lock someone up in Russia. Because since the 2000s, when we were in business, we've been in a lot of litigation, both with the tax authorities and other agencies, and we've always won. When we were right, the courts sided with us. I couldn't imagine that judges were capable of making decisions based on the Investigative Committee or any other organization's orders. It seemed outlandish to me. But it turns out that in five to ten years, everything has changed dramatically. The courts have ceased to be an independent structure," Iosilevich reflects.
On the persecution of Iosilevich
In January 2021, the leader of the Pastafarian community was sent to pretrial detention on charges of pressuring a witness. He spent nearly six months there. In 2022, Iosilevich was remanded in custody in the courtroom, and failure to disclose his Israeli citizenship was added to the case. In total, Mikhail spent one year and eight months in custody: most of this time in Pretrial Detention Center No. 1 on Gagarin Avenue, followed by Pretrial Detention Center No. 2 in the village of Druzhny and Pretrial Detention Center No. 3 in the Vadsky District of the Nizhny Novgorod Region. In June 2024, the ECHR recognized Iosilevich's prosecution was illegal and ordered the Russian authorities to pay the businessman and cafe owner (as KhraLMM is referred to in the verdict) 25000 euros. By the time the verdict was published, Russia had already been in operation for two years. was Outside the jurisdiction of the ECHR. Iosilevich did not receive compensation.
With Slavina's death, the departure of the founder, and Onoshkin's placement in a mental hospital, political debate at the Temple of the LMM ceased. Today, roleplayers and cosplayers gather there, and Pumpkin Savior and Pi Day are celebrated here. On the Telegram channel and at the bar, parables about current and demoted Pastafarian saints continue to be invented and re-invented.
Parishioners hang from a pole in the center of the hall, donating beer and snacks, and bringing along surprised converts. Evgeny Gabelev explains the benefits of Pastafarianism to them. He mentions, among other things, that in their religion, there's nothing to expect from God. He's neither merciful, nor all-good, neither punishing nor merciful. He's stupid and absurd: just a blob of pasta with a couple of meatballs, from whom one can hardly expect a response.
"Heaven should be like a strip bar," [said Bobby Henderson, the founder of Pastafarianism]. Apparently, he's never been to a strip bar. What's so heavenly about that?" Gabelev asks, pointing to the pylon. When asked what heaven should be like, he answers without hesitation: "It's a place where you can hang out with smart people: with dead Einstein, Thomas Aquinas, and other guys. But you can't take words out of a song, and here it is, our heaven. The way it is."
Photo by "NeMoskva"
