There are more strange things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy. Indeed there are, Hamlet my son. New Brunswick's Reversing Falls and the existence of Sarah Palin as an elected politician spring to mind. But worldly weirdness is not limited to Moncton and Wasilla, Alaska. We also have John From and Cargo Cults.

Or perhaps it's Jon From. Or John Frum. Nobody's quite sure because nobody, aside from a few thousand natives in the South Pacific, thinks there ever was a John From. Nonetheless, countless natives believe. In Vanuatu, each February the 15th followers celebrate John From Day. And John From disciples are certain that one day their leader will appear and bestow upon The Faithful all the goodies - TV sets, stereos, matching Hummers — that us white folks have been jealously hoarding all these years.

The John From phenomenon first appeared more than half a century ago during World War II, when American troops swarmed into the South Pacific theatre. Upwards of 300,000 GIs were airlifted into what was then called New Hebrides. Natives of the islands had never seen such an awesome display of power, wealth and splendour. They were also gobsmacked by the down-home friendliness of these Gods From On High. Imagine - divine creatures that approached you with open arms, friendly smiles and greetings like "Howdy, I'm John from Wyoming," and "Hi, I'm John from Kentucky."

The New Hebrideans didn't know Kentucky from Wyoming from Kangerlussuaq, Greenland, but they heard the greeting "Hi, I'm John from...." often enough to conclude that they were meeting a deity who answered to the name 'John From'. Or Jon Frum - the spelling didn't matter. To the natives John From was an ethereal amalgam of Uncle Sam, Santa Claus and The Tooth Fairy. They just knew that if they were good little Fromians, they would one day be rewarded with immense wealth. What kind of wealth? Cargo wealth. And where would this wealth come from? The same place all those friendly GI's came from - the bellies of all those giant iron birds that roared across their skies.

Mind you, the New Hebrideans were kind of an easy audience. They had already been rolled over by platoons of fire-and-brimstone Christian missionaries who came out to civilize the heathen and to acquaint them with their innate sinfulness.

And to get some clothes on those women, for mercy sake. As a matter of fact, some anthropologists speculate that John From and the Cargo Cult sprang up as a reaction to all those grim and joyless bible thumpers. John From advocated singing, dancing and drinking. No wonder he looked good. In 1941 John Frum disciples rose up, albeit non-violently. They left the mission schools and churches, abandoned the plantations where

they'd been put to work and retreated to the interior, where they established new villages and attempted to resurrect their ancient rituals, feasts and dances.

They proceeded to try and call down heavenly blessings from John From. They built symbolic landing strips deep in the jungle, based on what they'd seen at U.S. Air Force bases. They laid coloured strips of cloth in the trees and constructed thatch hut approximations of airport buildings and hangars. And waited for manna to rain down on them. Some of them are still waiting. Last February 15th, the John From Movement celebrated its 50th anniversary.

Do they still expect to actually see John From one day? Absolutely. "He is our God, our Jesus," Chief Isaak Wan Nikiau told a BBC interviewer. "One day he will return."

Well — primitives, eh? What do you expect? These people are barely out of the Stone Age. They're not sophisticated like you. And me. And the guy who wrote this about religious intolerance:

"Imagine a world in which generations of human beings came to believe that certain films were made by God or that specific software was coded by Him. "Imagine a future in which millions of our descendants murder each other over rival interpretations of Star Wars or Windows 98."

Author Sam Harris wrote that a few years back in his book Letter to a Christian Nation. Then he added the obvious: we don't have to imagine the above scenario.

We're living it, pal.