Scientology is big business, generating staggering annual profits worldwide and enjoying the endorsement of such level-headed cultural luminaries as Tom Cruise, John Travolta, and Billy Sheehan, the bassist for Talas. It has given us Battlefield Earth and a very funny episode of South Park. And yet, to this day, the UK government does not recognise Scientology as a real religion. We sent intrepid reporter Oliver Stevens undercover to find out more.

There are some people, some people, who have the gall to suggest that Scientology is a cult. But then some people say that the Apollo Moon Landing was real! Snort! And some people say Paul McCartney didn't die in 1966! Scoff! Thankfully, logic and free speech are easily curtailed. For instance, at an anti-Scientology protest in May, a 15-year-old boy made the mistake of using the 'c' word, and ended up being served a court summons by the City Of London Police. A decision which is in no way undermined by 2006 revelations that the police have accepted thousands of pounds worth of gifts from the Scientologists. Relax, guy!

So, in the spirit of open-mindedness and mutual respect, I recently visited one of the Church's London bases to learn more about what 'the world's fastest growing religion' could offer me. A pleasant young woman greeted me, introducing herself with a name that sounded like some kind of polymer used to coat the underside of starships in the future. Instead, let's just call her Barbarella. Smiling benignly, Barbarella led me inside to undergo the innocuous-sounding 'stress test'. I was hooked to the E-meter, a machine that wouldn't look out of place in Thunderbirds, consisting as it does of two small metal cylinders, which the patient holds, attached by wires to what amounts to a tarted-up water gauge. It probably would have seemed impressive in the 50s, but it's 2008, and I'd say there's about as much chance of gaining inner knowledge with an E-meter, as there is of playing GTA4 on an Abacus. Nevertheless, putting my cynicism aside, I submitted to the process.

Stress Test

"I want you to relax, and focus on something that has caused you stress," purred Barbarella. I barely had time to stop thinking about Thunderbirds before the E-meter sprung to life. Clearly, memories of Virgil Tracy perspiring furiously as Thunderbird 2 plunged into a volcano cause me vicarious stress to this day.

"There," said Barbarella. "As you can see, that memory still creates a lot of stress. Do you get these feelings often?"

Not wanting to disappoint Barbarella, I wove a vague litany of misery, citing alcoholism and outbursts of messianic rage. Barbarella nodded sympathetically, and explained that my days in the wilderness were over. The time had come, she said, to read Dianetics. "It's a very good book," she assured me.

Dianetics: The Modern Science Of Mental Health is L Ron Hubbard's 1950 self-help manual for clearing the 'reactive mind' of 'engrams' (cellular recordings which Sky Plus all the nasty bits of life). I gleaned this much via the medium of a glossy infomercial, in which a series of grinning American marionettes gushed about the incredible transformation they had undergone thanks to Dianetics. Exactly what this transformation entailed was unclear, although their descriptions reached an absurd crescendo as the film ran on, to the point where one woman enthused, "There was a whole part of my brain I didn't know existed! And with the help of Dianetics I was able to blow it out!" Watching the unblinking testimonials of the babbling faithful, Hubbard's theory that the human race is descended from aliens seemed almost plausible. Here was living, tanned proof.

Next I was treated to an exclusive screening of The History Of Dianetics in an unsettling backroom dripping with strange iconography. The film, though, was so hilariously hammy I had to bite my tongue to stop myself guffawing, fearing Barbarella might snap my neck with her thighs. L Ron Hubbard (faceless like Mohammed) is portayed as a great progressive thinker of his time, who had been experimenting with revolutionary new mental therapy techniques. Inevitably, when Ron put his discoveries down on paper in 1950, they won unfaltering praise from every corner of society. To elegantly demonstrate this point, the filmmakers insert a scene in Ron's living room, in which the author is celebrating the publication of his book Dianetics with three of his close friends: a doctor, a psychiatrist and an editor. One by one, the three professional men express their astonishment at the depth of Ron's work. A paraphrased transcript would go something like this:

DOCTOR: (Taking off his glasses, clutching a copy of Dianetics) Well, Ron I've been in the medical profession for over 50 years, and I've got to say I have NEVER read anything like this before. Illness will be a thing of the past!

PSYCHIATRIST: (Taking off his glasses, pacing dramatically) I've got to say too, Ron, that I've been in the Psychiatry business for over 80 years and, well... Gosh darn it, this makes Freud look like a total dick!

EDITOR: (Taking off his glasses etc.) Ron, I've seen my share of books in my time - heck, I've been in the editing game for over 94 years - and, well, I'm speechless! Not only is this the most revolutionary work ever written, what's incredible is that it is absolutely watertight! Everything in here is completely true, and there is no way for anyone to dispute it!

A Medical Revolution

Silent and wise as Gautama, Hubbard says nothing. All three men unanimously agree that the medical and psychiatric world have to know about Dianetics, and begin writing letters. In probably the most hilarious sequences of the entire film (and that's up against some stiff competition) we are first shown a fresh-faced young doctor using the power of Dianetics to effect miraculous recovery in a patient. "Doctor!" he enthuses to his superior "I've been using this new Dianetics stuff on our patients, and it's really working! Let's ditch our rigorous empirical methods!" The medical chief's face darkens, and ominous Darth Vader-style music rises.

"I don't care how many sick children your Dianetics can save," he growls, "Around here we practice medicine. And as long as I'm in charge, that's how it's going to stay!"

Next, we're transported to some kind of subterranean dungeon, in which a grisly mallet-and-chisel lobotomy is being carried out by a demonic Crispin Glover lookalike, in front of an audience of ghoulish psychiatrists. "Psst, Professor!" whispers one dissenter "This new Dianetics theory would end this insanity!" Cue Darth Vader theme, and the sour rebuke of the senior psychiatrist. "Fuck Dianetics, while I'm in charge, this is how we roll."

Thus spurned, the Hubbardites are left with no option but to strike out alone, ruthlessly marketing their creed to the ever-increasing audience of bewildered saps, shelling out for Dianetics like they're J.K. Rowling's hotcakes. The rest, as they say, is 'history'.

In what seems an all-too-revealing portrayal of the organisation's head honchoes, the film ends with Hubbard and his three amigos opening endless envelopes stuffed with money, popping champagne corks and laughing their wealthy fucking heads off. In the midst of this brazen celebration of the capitalist spirit of the Dianetics pioneers, it's hard to see where their hapless flock fits in. I am still unsure about this as I hand over a wad of cash for my own copy. As if sensing my doubts, Babarella repeats, "It's a very good book. Really, a very good book."

Rave reviews

The startling ineptitude of Scientology's front-line apostles is baffling. Barbarella's insistence that I cough up for a spurious, confusing tome on the basis that it's "very good", lacks some of the imagination of true religious zeal. I find it hard to picture Christian missionaries saying, "This Bible's very good, you should read it. Unputdownable. Here, let me read you a page at random, it'll crack you up..." As with all pseudosciences, Scientology's 'Dianetics' schtick relies wholly on utter vagueness. You won't get any solid answers without significant investment. And even then you suspect they don't want to give away too much, lest you see the yawning hollowness at its core. A bit like Lost. In the place of facts, they seem to rely on absurd, sporadic bombast. Incredibly, Dianetics' inside cover claims that the book contains "discoveries heralded as greater than the wheel or fire."

Reluctantly, the checkout girl affirms that Scientology considers itself a religion, and that they do believe in a divine creator. She is wary of elaborating further until I have read Dianetics. "It's a very good book," she explains. Sadly, even that sole unambiguous assertion turns out to be far from true. In fact, Dianetics is not a very good book, it's a very, very dull one. A series of tedious unsupported generalisations and non sequiturs that ultimately lead in circles. Despondent, I turn back to the first leaflet: 'Psychiatrists... believe that the mind is a physical organ - a theory with no scientific basis'. Whilst that sounds like rather a severe case of throwing stones in a multimillion pound glass church, if my brush with them is anything to go by, perhaps Scientologists are right to doubt the existence of their minds.

Illustration by Jing Zhang