Ascend or Perish

I am walking through an ancient city in ruins.

The streets are empty. Broken columns and shattered statues line the avenues. Buildings that must once have been magnificent have been reduced to crumbling stone. Everything is covered in dust.

At the end of the ruined city, I come to the foot of a vast temple.

Its entrance is impossibly high, disappearing into darkness. Massive stone stairs rise toward it.

Standing before the temple is a robed figure.

The Hierophant.

He says nothing at first.

He simply extends a sword toward me.

I take it.

Then he looks directly into my eyes and says:

"Ascend or perish."

A tremendous gust of wind tears through the city.

The ruins begin to collapse.

Dust and debris fill the air.

The temple disappears.

The entire city is blown away as though it had never existed.

When the wind finally dies, I find myself standing alone in a desert.

The ground is scorched black.

Nothing grows.

The earth is covered with dry bones.

Thousands upon thousands of them.

Human bones.

Animal bones.

Broken skulls stare upward from the sand.

In the distance, I hear the sound of war.

I look toward the horizon.

A vast battle is taking place.

Two enormous armies stretch across the desert as far as I can see.

One army wears black armor.

The other wears white.

Every warrior is masked.

They charge one another without speaking.

Swords clash.

Spears break.

Bodies fall.

The dead are trampled beneath the feet of the living.

I don't understand who they are fighting for.

I don't understand what they're fighting over.

I only know that the battle seems endless.

Then I realize that I am wearing red armor.

I look down at myself.

Red steel covers my body.

A sword is clenched in my hand.

Without thinking, I enter the battle.

I begin hacking and slashing at anything that moves.

Black armor.

White armor.

It makes no difference.

I take no side.

I simply fight.

The battle continues.

Years seem to pass.

Or perhaps centuries.

The sun never moves.

The armies never retreat.

The dead never remain dead.

Every fallen soldier is replaced by another.

Eventually, I stop.

Something about the soldiers has begun to disturb me.

I approach a warrior wearing black armor.

I reach toward his mask.

He does not resist.

I remove it.

I am staring at my own face.

I step backward.

I approach another soldier.

I remove his mask.

My face.

Another.

My face.

Another.

My face.

I look toward the white army.

I remove the mask of another warrior.

My face.

Every soldier looks like me.

Black.

White.

Young.

Old.

Male.

Female.

It doesn't matter.

They are all me.

The entire battlefield is me.

The war is me.

The division is me.

I suddenly understand.

There were never two armies.

There was only one.

I drop my sword.

It falls into the sand.

Then I remove my armor.

Piece by piece.

The red armor falls away.

The moment the final piece touches the ground, the armies disappear.

The desert becomes silent.

Everything fades to black.

A horned moon appears above me.

Stars emerge around it.

Then the Sun rises.

It is the color of dried blood.

I am standing once again in a vast desert of bones.

I am naked.

My skin begins to crack.

It burns beneath the blood-colored sun.

Every step is agony.

Carrion birds circle overhead.

They wait for me to collapse.

I keep walking.

I don't know where I'm going.

Eventually I see something in the distance.

An oasis.

At its center stands a dead tree.

Beside the tree is a woman.

She has pale skin.

Very long red hair.

And red eyes.

She watches me approach.

She says nothing.

She turns and walks toward the oasis.

I follow her.

She climbs a small mound at the foot of the dead tree.

Then she sits against its trunk.

She looks at me.

In her hands is an apple.

She extends it toward me.

I reach for it.

But as I take it, the illusion falls away.

It isn't an apple.

It's a human heart.

It is still warm.

I look at the Red Woman.

She smiles.

I eat the heart.

The moment I swallow it, something changes.

My skin stops cracking.

The burns disappear.

Strength returns to my limbs.

The pain vanishes.

I stand taller.

I can breathe again.

The Red Woman watches me with a strange expression.

Then she says:

"Ascend or perish."

Before I can answer, her body begins to dissolve.

Her pale skin becomes ash.

Her red hair becomes smoke.

Her eyes disappear.

Within moments, she is gone.

Nothing remains except dust.

Then I notice something beneath the dead tree.

A small pool of dark blood is forming around its roots.

The pool grows.

It spreads across the ground.

It becomes a stream.

The stream becomes a river.

The river becomes a lake.

The lake becomes an enormous sea of black blood stretching beyond the horizon.

I stand before it.

The sea is completely still.

Then everything goes dark.

Full darkness.

No stars.

No moon.

No sun.

Nothing.

I wake on the shore of the Black Forest.

I don't know how I got there.

The trees are impossibly tall.

Their branches twist together overhead, blocking out the sky.

Something is calling to me from within the forest.

I can hear voices.

Whispers.

Crying.

Laughter.

Something moves between the trees.

I hear footsteps behind me.

I turn.

Nothing.

I hear breathing.

Nothing.

Dark spirits drift between the trees.

Demons watch from the shadows.

Pale faces appear and disappear among the branches.

I am afraid.

But I keep walking.

The deeper I go, the darker the forest becomes.

The sounds grow louder.

The dead whisper my name.

Something screams somewhere far away.

I almost turn back.

But the voice calling me forward becomes louder.

I continue.

Eventually I reach a clearing.

Everything becomes silent.

At the center of the clearing stands the Red Woman.

She is exactly as I remember her.

Pale skin.

Long red hair.

Red eyes.

She smiles at me.

Then she begins to burn.

Flames erupt from her body.

Her hair becomes fire.

Her eyes become fire.

Her entire form becomes an enormous living flame.

The fire rises higher and higher.

Its light illuminates something sitting cross-legged before me.

A figure I had not noticed before.

It sits completely motionless.

Massive.

Horned.

Neither human nor animal.

Its body is both masculine and feminine.

Light and darkness seem to exist simultaneously within it.

The flames illuminate its face.

It is Baphomet.

I stare at it.

Baphomet stares back.

Neither of us speaks.

Then, finally, it opens its mouth.

And says:

"Ascend or perish."

The flames rise.

The forest disappears.

The stars vanish.

Everything becomes black.

And the dream ends.

The Church of Satan likes to gatekeep the term "Satanism," asserting that it is the only legitimate form of Satanism. Anton LaVey defined what "Satanism" means, and so any group whose beliefs or practices do not descend directly from his teachings must use another term, they say: LaVey originated the religion, and therefore he, and by extension the Church, have the authority to determine who can rightfully call themselves "Satanists."

When critics (mostly non-Church Satanists) object that obviously there can be different kinds of Satanism, observing that, for example, there are countless denominations of Christianity, all identifying as Christian, the Church of Satan usually responds that this is comparing apples to oranges. Their reasoning runs as follows: all Christians derive from Christ or the Bible, and thus share a legitimate genealogical and doctrinal origin; by contrast, groups such as The Satanic Temple do not derive from LaVey's system, and therefore have no rightful claim to the name "Satanism."

At first glance, this may sound legit, but if there's one thing you can count on, it is that churchgoers and their arguments are stupid. I think it is no coincidence that LaVey defined a set of sins that practically define the prevalent behavior of those who join his organization. There are multiple things wrong with the argument.

The first problem is that the Church of Satan shifts between two different senses of "origin" or "foundation" without acknowledging the difference. When the Church of Satan objects to the argument, they present Christianity as a religion grounded in a figure (Christ) or a textual tradition (the Bible). The implication is that Christianity, in all its diversity, remains "Christian" because its beliefs ultimately reference that figure or text.

However, when they turn to Satanism, they quietly redefine what a religion's reference point should be. Here, legitimacy no longer depends on the mythic or symbolic figure of Satan but on Anton LaVey's interpretation of that figure. The reference point moves from the deity or symbol around which the religion is organized to the founder who articulated one particular philosophy about it.

This is a fallacy of equivocation, in that shifting from treating "Christ" as the referent of Christianity to treating LaVey (not Satan) as the referent of Satanism means that the standard for what grounds a religion changes between the two cases. If one were to apply the Church of Satan's reasoning to Christianity, only the immediate followers of Jesus, or those adhering to a single denominational reading of the Bible, could be called Christians.

Secondly, they commit a category error by treating "Satanism" as if it were a proprietary label, like a trademark or brand name, rather than a cultural-religious category. Religious and philosophical terms are descriptive, not prescriptive: they arise through social use, not legal ownership. The second a term like "Satanism" enters public discourse, it becomes part of the linguistic commons, open to reinterpretation and redefinition by new movements and communities. To claim exclusive ownership over it is to miscategorize a semantic and cultural phenomenon as an institutional possession.

Both of the above problems reveal a third, deeper essentialist fallacy, i.e., the assumption that Satanism possesses a fixed, timeless essence defined once and for all by LaVey. This kind of essentialism runs directly counter to how religions, ideologies, and linguistic terms evolve. Scholars of religion typically employ family resemblance models (they tend to like Wittgenstein), recognizing that traditions develop overlapping but non-identical features rather than sharing a single essence. To insist otherwise is to confuse historical origin with definitional necessity, conflating the historical origin of the movement with its ongoing semantic development.

Fourthly, the Church of Satan makes a false analogy when they argue why all kinds of Christianity are legitimate whereas only their own Satanism is legitimate. When they claim that the relationship between Christianity and Christ is fundamentally different from the relationship between Satanism and Satan, this is only true if you have already decided that LaVey's personal reinterpretation of Satan has replaced the broader culture of Satan altogether … which is the very point that is being disputed. Instead of showing that the analogy is inapt, as they try, they redefine one side of it so that it appears inapt, which is a classic false analogy move: they change the basis of comparison (from mythic figure to human founder) and then use that manufactured dissimilarity to dismiss the comparison.

Fifthly, the Church of Satan appeals to a kind of linguistic prescriptivism: the idea that words have fixed, intended meanings, and that changing those meanings renders communication impossible. From this, they argue that "Satanism" must continue to mean precisely what LaVey defined, or otherwise the term becomes meaningless, and that therefore phrases like "LaVeyan Satanism" are redundant. This claim misrepresents how language actually works. Words are not static containers of meaning; they are dynamic symbols whose significance depends on context and usage. Many words hold multiple legitimate meanings ("liberal," "table," "romantic," or "humanist," to name just a few), yet communication persists because speakers rely on context, qualification, and shared understanding. The capacity of language to evolve is not a flaw in communication; it is what makes communication possible across time, culture, and interpretation. Perhaps a little ironically, the Church of Satan itself benefits from this linguistic flexibility, since "Satanism" in ordinary speech evokes far different cultural associations than LaVey's specific philosophy.

For a movement that is generally skeptical of authorities, let's not overlook the sixth problem: they rely on an appeal to authority, treating LaVey's authorship as a binding decree on meaning. But, linguistic and cultural definitions are determined by use, not by the fiat of a founder. The fact that LaVey declared "Satanism means X" does not make it so once others begin to use the term differently. If it did, then the word "psychoanalysis" could only refer to Freud's model, "communism" only to Marx's original writings, and "humanism" only to Renaissance scholarship. The Church of Satan's use of the word "psychodrama" would also mean something quite different. In every case, usage expands and evolves beyond the founder's authority.

Seventhly, and finally, the Church of Satan's position is circular reasoning. It defines "Satanism" exclusively through reference to LaVey and then uses that definition to conclude that only LaVeyan systems qualify as Satanism. The claim thus restates its premise as its conclusion: Satanism is what LaVey defined; therefore, only LaVeyan Satanism is Satanism. It is (arguably) true that LaVey was the first to establish a self-identified religion under that name in modern times, and in that sense he created a definitional starting point. But to treat that historical moment as permanently authoritative, assuming that the first usage fixes the term's meaning for all time, is to mistake historical precedence for definitional exclusivity. Language and religion both evolve through use; once a term enters public discourse, it acquires a life beyond its originator's control.

So, the Church of Satan's insistence on exclusive definitional authority over "Satanism" fails for multiple interconnected reasons. It equivocates on key terms, treats language as property, assumes an essence where there is none, employs a false analogy to defend its exclusivity, relies on an illegitimate appeal to authority, and undermines itself through circular reasoning.

Religious language does not operate by decree. Once a term like "Satanism" enters cultural circulation, it becomes subject to the same processes of reinterpretation, diversification, and semantic drift as any other religious identifier. In this respect, the Church of Satan's claim to exclusivity is not only linguistically untenable but philosophically incoherent. The word belongs to its users, not to its originator. (this was written by poster OLEWOLF)

Is Burning Religious Books a Legitimate Form of Social Protest?

Months after 9/11, I spent a considerable amount of time tracking down copies of the Qur'an and burning them as a form of social protest.

I want to put that statement into context, because without context it sounds considerably more provocative than what I'm actually trying to discuss.

I'm not asking whether burning a religious book is offensive. Obviously it can be. I'm asking whether it can function as a legitimate form of political or social protest, particularly in a society that recognizes freedom of expression.

As a practicing Iconoclastic Satanist, I've burned many Bibles on numerous occasions. But there's an important distinction in my own mind.

When I've burned a Bible as part of my Satanic practice, the purpose wasn't primarily to communicate a political message to Christians. It was an affirmation of my own anti-religious convictions and a symbolic rejection of the authority that I believe the Bible represents.

In other words, the act was directed inward.

The Qur'an burning was different.

That was intended as a public expression of anger, rejection and protest in response to the cultural and political circumstances surrounding 9/11 and its aftermath.

Looking back on it now, I'm considerably more interested in the idea of symbolic destruction than I am in defending everything I did at the time.

I've never burned a Torah.

I've never burned the Vedas.

I've never burned the Avesta.

I've never burned the Tripitaka.

I've never burned the Guru Granth Sahib.

And that difference has made me think about what exactly I'm communicating when I destroy a sacred text.

If I burn a Bible because I reject Christianity, what exactly am I saying?

If I burn a Qur'an because I reject Islam, what exactly am I saying?

And if I refuse to burn other religious scriptures, does that mean I'm actually making a distinction between religions that I haven't consciously articulated?

There's another question that interests me even more:

When does symbolic destruction become legitimate protest, and when does it simply become gratuitous provocation?

I think that's an important distinction.

Burning an object can communicate an idea extremely efficiently. Political protesters have burned flags, draft cards, photographs, effigies, corporate documents and other symbols for generations. The power of the act comes precisely from the fact that the object represents something larger than itself.

A religious scripture is no different in that respect.

To a believer, a sacred text isn't simply a book.

It's a symbol of revelation, identity, community, history, morality and divine authority.

Therefore, burning it can communicate:

"I reject the authority represented by this object."

That's a coherent political or philosophical statement.

But there's an obvious counterargument.

A sacred text is also deeply personal to millions of ordinary people who have absolutely nothing to do with the political actions of governments, extremist organizations or terrorists.

That creates a problem.

If I burn a Qur'an because I'm angry about Islamic terrorism, am I actually protesting terrorism?

Or am I simply insulting Muslims?

Those aren't necessarily the same thing.

And that's where I've become more skeptical of my own historical behavior.

9/11 was committed by a tiny number of extremists.

Muslims as a whole weren't responsible for it.

The Qur'an isn't a human being.

Burning a Qur'an doesn't physically hurt anyone.

But symbolic acts don't operate on the level of physical causation. Their entire purpose is symbolic communication.

And symbols can be extremely powerful.

That's why governments care about flags.

That's why religions care about sacred objects.

That's why revolutionaries tear down statues.

That's why protesters burn effigies.

That's why people destroy portraits of dictators.

That's why religious converts sometimes publicly destroy objects associated with their former faith.

Symbolic destruction is an ancient human behavior.

The question isn't whether it communicates.

It obviously does.

The question is what it communicates.

And that's where I think intention matters, although intention isn't everything.

If someone burns a Bible to say: "I reject Christianity and its claim to divine authority."

I understand the message.

If someone burns a Qur'an to say: "I reject Islam and its claim to divine authority."

I understand that message too.

But if someone burns a Qur'an specifically to tell Muslims: "You are inferior, disgusting or unwelcome here."

Then we're dealing with something substantially different.

The object may be identical.

The symbolism isn't.

And that's an important distinction for anyone interested in iconoclasm.

Iconoclasm isn't merely destruction.

It's destruction directed at a symbol because of what the symbol represents.

The question becomes whether the destruction is intended to challenge an idea, institution or authority—or whether it is primarily intended to humiliate the people associated with that symbol.

I'm much more interested in the first.

As an Iconoclastic Satanist, I have absolutely no problem with challenging sacred cows.

Actually, that's practically the point.

If an idea is supposed to be immune from criticism because it is sacred, then I think it deserves more scrutiny, not less.

No book should be beyond criticism.

No prophet should be beyond criticism.

No god should be beyond criticism.

No religious institution should be beyond criticism.

And no symbol should possess an automatic exemption from destruction simply because someone considers it sacred.

But there's an important difference between saying:

"You have no right to criticize my religion."

and saying:

"You have the right to criticize my religion, but I have the right to criticize your method of criticism."

I think the second position is completely legitimate.

Free expression doesn't mean everyone has to approve of your expression.

And freedom from being offended isn't a prerequisite for freedom of speech.

At the same time, exercising a right doesn't automatically make the exercise intelligent, productive or morally admirable.

That's something I wish both sides of these debates would acknowledge.

Something can be legally protected and still be stupid.

Something can be offensive and still be legitimate protest.

Something can be deliberately provocative without being intellectually substantive.

And something can be morally questionable without being something the government should prohibit.

Those are separate questions.

So I'm not really interested in the simplistic argument that says:

"Burning a Qur'an is evil because the Qur'an is sacred."

That argument assumes the conclusion.

If I don't believe the Qur'an is sacred, telling me that it is sacred doesn't establish why I should treat it as morally inviolable.

But I'm equally uninterested in the opposite simplistic argument:

"It's just a book, so burning it means nothing."

That's also false.

To millions of people, it means something enormously significant.

That's precisely why burning it is capable of functioning as protest.

And this is where my own history becomes complicated.

I've burned Bibles as a rejection of Christianity.

I've burned Qur'ans as an expression of political and social protest.

I've never burned the sacred texts of several other major religions.

Why?

Is it because those religions simply haven't been targets of my hostility?

Is it because I associate them differently from Christianity and Islam?

Is it because my own understanding of religious history has been disproportionately shaped by Christianity and Islam?

Or is there some inconsistency in my own iconoclasm that I haven't fully confronted?

I'm honestly not sure.

And that's partly why I'm asking the question.

Is burning a religious book actually a legitimate form of social protest?

Not necessarily good protest.

Not necessarily effective protest.

Not necessarily persuasive protest.

But legitimate protest?

I think the answer might be yes.

A person should be allowed to communicate political and philosophical dissent through symbolic acts, including deliberately destroying objects that represent institutions or ideologies they reject.

But I also think we're allowed to criticize that protest.

We can ask whether it targets an idea or a population.

We can ask whether it contributes anything meaningful to public discourse.

We can ask whether it challenges power or simply antagonizes ordinary people.

We can ask whether it communicates a coherent philosophical position or merely expresses rage.

And we can ask whether the person performing the act actually understands the symbol they're destroying.

That's probably the question I'm most interested in now.

Because burning a book is easy.

Understanding what that book represents is considerably harder.

And perhaps that's the real challenge for an iconoclast.

It's easy to destroy a symbol.

The harder task is explaining exactly why you're destroying it, what you believe the symbol represents, what you're replacing it with, and whether your protest is actually directed at an idea—or merely at the people who believe in it.

So I'm curious what people here think.

Is burning a sacred text a legitimate form of social protest?

Does it belong in the same category as flag burning, burning effigies, destroying political symbols and tearing down monuments?

Or is there something fundamentally different about destroying a religious text?

And perhaps most importantly:

Where do you draw the line between iconoclasm and simple provocation?

Was Anton LaVey Actually the Greater Moral Critic?

One of the things I keep running into while exploring religious subs is this recurring argument about morality:

"Without God, how can you possibly know what is right and wrong?"

The assumption seems to be that atheism necessarily produces moral relativism, nihilism, selfishness, or outright depravity, while belief in God provides an objective foundation for ethics.

I've always found that argument interesting because it raises a much more uncomfortable question:

What happens when the people who claim to possess divine morality don't actually apply the same standards of moral consistency to their own scriptures?

Because when I read discussions about religion, I repeatedly encounter people arguing that atheists, Satanists, secular humanists, or anyone who rejects divine revelation cannot possibly possess a meaningful moral framework.

Then, in the very same discussion, they'll defend or rationalize passages from their own sacred texts that contain slavery, genocide, collective punishment, misogyny, religious persecution, divine violence, tribal supremacy, or other ethical principles that most modern believers would never accept if they encountered them outside a religious context.

And that's where I started thinking about Anton LaVey.

Not because I think LaVey was some great philosopher.

He wasn't.

Not because I think The Satanic Bible is an overlooked masterpiece of moral philosophy.

It isn't.

And certainly not because I think Anton Szandor LaVey was some kind of morally exemplary human being.

He wasn't.

LaVey was a showman, provocateur, self-promoter and, by his own admission, something of a spiritual charlatan. The Church of Satan was deliberately theatrical. Satanism, especially LaVeyan Satanism, is filled with ritualistic aesthetics, black clothing, pentagrams, devils, skulls, candles, dramatic titles and a tremendous amount of theatrical kitsch.

I say that as someone who considers myself a Satanist.

I literally got my first copy of The Satanic Bible from a comic book store.

That fact alone should probably tell you something about the movement.

😂

But here's the strange part.

Despite all of that, LaVey's Satanic Bible often strikes me as morally more coherent than some of the supposedly divinely inspired books I encounter people defending online.

And that realization caught me off guard.

Because LaVey wasn't claiming to have received his ethical system from God.

He was an atheist.

He wasn't presenting Satan as an actual supernatural being who dictated moral laws from another dimension.

Satan was largely a symbol.

And yet the book contains a relatively straightforward ethical premise:

Don't pretend to be something you're not.

Don't blindly submit to authority.

Don't confuse compassion with obligation.

Don't allow people to exploit you.

Take responsibility for your own actions.

Recognize human self-interest rather than pretending humans are naturally angelic.

Treat people according to how they actually behave rather than how you wish they would behave.

And, perhaps most importantly, stop pretending that morality requires supernatural authorization.

You can disagree with LaVey's conclusions.

I certainly do with some of them.

You can criticize his egoism.

You can criticize his theatricality.

You can criticize his intellectual influences.

You can criticize the Church of Satan.

You can criticize the mythology, the rituals, the aesthetics, the contradictions and the enormous amount of adolescent provocation surrounding the whole thing.

But none of that changes the fact that The Satanic Bible is remarkably easy to understand.

There isn't much ambiguity about what LaVey is trying to say.

And that's where the comparison becomes interesting.

Because if someone tells me: "You need God in order to have morality."

My immediate question is: Why?

Why does morality require a supernatural lawgiver?

And if the answer is: "Because God defines what is good."

Then we've got another problem.

Is something good because God commands it?

Or does God command it because it is already good?

If something is good only because God commands it, then morality becomes fundamentally arbitrary.

If God commanded cruelty tomorrow, would cruelty become morally good?

If the answer is no, then goodness must exist independently of God's command.

And if goodness exists independently of God, then God isn't actually the foundation of morality.

He's merely a particularly powerful moral commentator.

That's basically the old Euthyphro problem, and I've never understood why simply asserting "God said so" is supposed to make the problem disappear.

It doesn't.

It just moves the question one step backward.

And there's another problem.

Sacred texts aren't moral instruction manuals that dropped out of heaven fully assembled.

They're historical documents produced by human communities.

They contain laws, myths, poetry, genealogies, political propaganda, theological arguments, cultural assumptions, competing traditions and moral systems that developed over centuries.

The fact that a community considers a text sacred doesn't automatically transform every moral proposition contained within that text into an eternally valid ethical principle.

Yet this is where I see an enormous double standard.

When LaVey writes something controversial, people point toward it and say: "Look! Satanism is evil!"

But when Moses, Jesus or Muhammad is associated with a difficult or morally disturbing passage, suddenly we're expected to engage in elaborate hermeneutical gymnastics.

"That's not what the passage really means."

"You have to understand the historical context."

"That was the Old Covenant."

"Jesus fulfilled the law."

"That's metaphorical."

"That's a mistranslation."

"God's morality is beyond human understanding."

"The people deserved it."

"You have to read the whole Bible."

"You're taking it out of context."

Fine.

Historical context matters.

Interpretation matters.

Literary genre matters.

Translation matters.

But then apply the same standard to everyone.

Don't demand that LaVey be judged by the harshest possible interpretation of every sentence while simultaneously granting your own sacred text unlimited interpretive charity.

That's not objective morality.

That's special pleading.

And this is where the comparison with LaVey becomes unintentionally funny.

The supposedly "evil" atheist Satanist writes a book essentially saying:

"Stop pretending you're morally superior simply because you belong to a religion."

Meanwhile, religious institutions throughout history have sometimes used divine authority to justify slavery, conquest, persecution, torture, executions, forced conversion, colonialism, inquisitions, religious wars and the suppression of dissent.

That doesn't mean every Christian, Muslim, Jewish person, Hindu, Buddhist, etc. is responsible for every atrocity committed in the name of their religion.

Obviously not.

And it would be intellectually dishonest to pretend that secular societies haven't committed atrocities either.

Human beings are perfectly capable of committing atrocities with or without gods.

That's actually part of my point.

Religion doesn't magically make human beings moral.

Humans make moral systems.

Humans interpret scriptures.

Humans establish institutions.

Humans decide which passages are literal.

Humans decide which passages are metaphorical.

Humans decide which commandments remain binding.

Humans decide which ancient moral rules can be ignored.

And humans decide which other humans are heretics, sinners, unbelievers, infidels, blasphemers, deviants or enemies.

The god often appears to speak through a human interpreter who conveniently agrees with the interpreter.

That's something worth being skeptical about.

And this brings me back to LaVey.

Was LaVey a great moralist?

Probably not.

Was he a great philosopher?

No.

Was The Satanic Bible a revolutionary work of moral philosophy?

Absolutely NOT!

But did LaVey understand something that many religious moralists seem to overlook?

Possibly.

He understood that you don't need to invoke a supernatural authority in order to construct an ethical system.

You can begin with observable human behavior.

You can ask what produces suffering.

You can ask what promotes flourishing.

You can examine reciprocity, social cooperation, self-interest, consequences, power relationships and human psychology.

You can revise your moral beliefs when evidence contradicts them.

You can admit uncertainty.

You can say: "I don't know."

And then continue investigating.

That's actually much more intellectually respectable to me than claiming omniscient divine authority for a moral system that requires constant reinterpretation whenever modern ethical sensibilities collide with ancient texts.

And there's another irony here.

LaVey's Satanism is often condemned because it doesn't pretend to be something it isn't.

It's theatrical.

It's deliberately provocative.

It's narcissistic.

It's kitschy.

It's materialistic.

It's anti-Christian.

It's designed to offend conventional religious sensibilities.

It essentially says:

"Yes, we're doing theater. Yes, the Devil is a symbol. Yes, we're deliberately turning your religious imagery upside down."

There's something almost refreshing about that honesty.

Compare that with institutions that claim absolute divine authority while spending centuries revising, reinterpreting and selectively ignoring their own supposedly immutable moral laws.

At least LaVey isn't pretending that his book was dictated by God.

He didn't need an angel to appear in his bedroom.

He didn't need a burning bush.

He didn't need golden tablets.

He didn't need a revelation from heaven.

He wrote a book.

You can read it.

You can criticize it.

You can reject it.

You can point out where it is wrong.

And that's perfectly legitimate.

In fact, that's exactly how an intellectual work should be treated.

Which brings me to the deliberately provocative question in the title:

Was Anton Szandor LaVey the greater moralist?

I'm not necessarily saying yes.

I'm asking whether the question itself exposes an interesting double standard.

Why is the Atheistic Satanist automatically treated as morally suspect because his book contains questionable ideas, while religious founders are frequently granted extraordinary moral immunity despite the enormous historical consequences of the traditions attributed to them?

If we're going to judge moral systems, let's judge the systems.

Don't judge LaVey's ethics by the pentagram on the cover.

Don't judge Christianity solely by the cross.

Don't judge Islam solely by the crescent.

Don't judge Judaism solely by the Torah.

Don't judge any philosophy by its branding.

Read the actual ethical propositions.

Then ask:

Are they internally consistent?

Are they compatible with what we know about human beings?

Do they reduce suffering?

Do they promote human flourishing?

Do they permit criticism?

Can they be revised in light of evidence?

Do they treat human beings as ends rather than merely instruments?

And, perhaps most importantly:

Would we consider these moral principles acceptable if we encountered them without the word "God" attached to them?

That's the test I'm interested in.

Because if an ethical principle is only considered good because someone believes God commanded it, that's not necessarily morality.

It may simply be obedience.

And obedience isn't the same thing as ethics.

So no, I don't think Anton LaVey was secretly some misunderstood moral genius.

I think he was a deeply flawed human being who wrote a flamboyant, provocative, philosophically uneven book that nevertheless contains some surprisingly straightforward observations about human behavior and personal responsibility.

And I think it's worth asking why that book can sometimes appear more morally coherent, more transparent and more intellectually honest than the sacred texts that supposedly provide humanity with perfect divine morality.

Maybe the answer is that LaVey was never claiming perfection.

He was selling Satanism.

The people selling absolute divine truth are the ones making the much bigger claim.

And if you're going to claim that your morality came directly from the creator of the universe, I think it's reasonable to ask you to demonstrate that your moral system is actually superior.

Not merely older.

Not merely sacred.

Not merely traditional.

Superior.

That's a much harder argument to make.

Is it strange that so many Vampire Chronicles fans see Lestat as “misunderstood”?

Is it strange to anyone else that some serious fans of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles seem to have a hard time recognizing just how profoundly monstrous many of its central characters actually are?

For the past few days, I've been reading discussions on various subs about AMC's Interview with the Vampire, and I've noticed something that genuinely surprises me. There are a lot of people who describe Lestat de Lioncourt as sympathetic, misunderstood, traumatized, morally complicated, or even fundamentally decent despite his behavior.

And I find that fascinating, because I always interpreted Anne Rice's vampires very differently.

I never thought the point was that Lestat, Louis, Armand, Marius, etc. were secretly good people who merely happened to be misunderstood. I thought the entire horror of the Vampire Chronicles was that these characters are intelligent, articulate, emotionally complex monsters who are extraordinarily good at constructing elaborate justifications for what they do.

That's an important distinction.

A character doesn't become morally good simply because we understand why he became evil.

Trauma can explain behavior without morally excusing it. Loneliness can explain cruelty without making cruelty acceptable. Abuse can explain an abuser's psychology without transforming the abuser into a victim in every situation. And being capable of love doesn't somehow cancel out the fact that you routinely kill people to satisfy your own desires.

Lestat is a particularly obvious example.

He's charismatic. He's funny. He's intelligent. He's theatrical. He's capable of genuine affection. He's capable of loyalty. He's capable of vulnerability. He has an enormous personality. He can be extraordinarily entertaining to watch.

None of those things make him a good person.

In fact, I think that's precisely what makes him frightening.

He's not frightening because he's incapable of human emotion. He's frightening because he is capable of emotion while simultaneously possessing an extraordinary capacity for selfishness, manipulation, domination and violence.

And I think the fandom sometimes confuses psychological complexity with moral goodness.

Those aren't the same thing.

A malignant narcissist can love someone.

A malignant narcissist can experience genuine grief.

A malignant narcissist can be charming.

A malignant narcissist can have moments of generosity.

A malignant narcissist can be deeply wounded.

A malignant narcissist can even recognize that they have done terrible things.

None of that necessarily prevents them from continuing to hurt people.

That's one of the things I find so interesting about Rice's vampires. They are constantly interpreting themselves. They are philosophers, storytellers, aesthetes and chronic self-examiners. They spend enormous amounts of time thinking about their motives and constructing narratives about who they are.

But self-awareness isn't the same thing as moral transformation.

Sometimes it's just another form of rationalization.

And that's where I think the comparison with traditional horror monsters becomes interesting.

Obviously Lestat isn't literally equivalent to Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees in terms of characterization. Rice gives him vastly more psychological depth. But morally, I don't think his sophistication makes him less monstrous.

The difference is that Michael Myers doesn't give you a five-hundred-page philosophical explanation for why he is doing what he's doing.

Lestat does.

That's arguably worse.

A monster who simply kills is horrifying.

A monster who can kill, explain himself beautifully, convince himself that he had no choice, convince other people that his victims somehow deserved it, and then spend several centuries contemplating the tragedy of his own existence is a different kind of horror.

And that's something I think people sometimes miss when they call Lestat "misunderstood."

Understanding a monster isn't the same thing as absolving the monster.

I can understand why Lestat behaves the way he does without believing that his behavior is justified.

I can sympathize with something that happened to him without sympathizing with what he subsequently does to other people.

I can appreciate him as a character without wanting to defend him as a person.

I can even love watching him while recognizing that, if he were a real person, I would probably want him nowhere near me.

And honestly, I think that's part of the fun of the character.

Lestat doesn't need to be secretly innocent for him to be fascinating.

He doesn't need to be "the good guy."

He doesn't need to be redeemed.

He doesn't even necessarily need to be forgiven.

He's interesting precisely because he's an intelligent, self-aware, narcissistic, contradictory, emotionally damaged predator who is capable of both genuine affection and horrific behavior.

That's much more interesting to me than reducing him to "poor misunderstood Lestat."

And I think the same principle applies to a lot of the major characters in the series.

Louis isn't simply "the good vampire."

Armand isn't simply "the tragic victim."

Lestat isn't simply "the misunderstood antihero."

They're vampires.

They kill people.

They manipulate people.

They lie to people.

They form relationships with people they fundamentally don't regard as moral equals.

They spend centuries negotiating their own consciences while continuing to participate in the very behavior that produced those moral crises in the first place.

That's the horror.

They're not misunderstood humans.

They're predators who still possess enough of their former humanity to agonize over what they've become.

And that's much darker.

I also think the distinction between antihero and villainous protagonist gets blurred constantly.

A protagonist doesn't have to be morally good.

A sympathetic character doesn't have to be morally innocent.

A character can be the emotional center of a story while being an absolutely terrible person.

In fact, some of the best horror characters work precisely because the audience becomes emotionally invested in people they would absolutely condemn if they encountered them in real life.

That's not necessarily a flaw in the writing.

That's the point.

And I'm not trying to start a fight with the Vampire Chronicles fandom here. That's specifically why I'm posting this somewhere other than the dedicated VC subs. I'm genuinely curious whether anyone else has noticed this phenomenon.

Maybe I'm interpreting Rice completely differently from everyone else.

Maybe the fandom has always understood these characters as monsters but simply enjoys discussing their psychological complexity.

Maybe I'm putting too much emphasis on the narcissism and moral pathology of the characters.

Or maybe there's something else going on psychologically when audiences become attached to charismatic fictional monsters and gradually start defending them.

Because it happens constantly.

People don't just say, "Lestat is a fascinating monster."

They sometimes say, "Lestat didn't really mean it."

Or, "He was traumatized."

Or, "He was lonely."

Or, "He genuinely loved Louis."

Or, "He had a difficult childhood."

All of which may be true.

But none of those statements actually answer the moral question.

Why should I care that a monster has reasons for being a monster?

My answer is: I care because the reasons make the character psychologically interesting.

But they don't make him less monstrous.

That's the distinction I'm interested in.

And for the record, I don't think fictional monsters have to be morally pure in order to be enjoyable. Quite the opposite. I love monstrous characters. I love villains. I love unreliable narrators. I love characters who are psychologically fucked-up and morally reprehensible.

I just don't feel the need to turn every character I enjoy into a good person.

Lestat can be fascinating.

Lestat can be sympathetic in certain moments.

Lestat can be funny.

Lestat can be tragic.

Lestat can be charismatic.

Lestat can genuinely love people.

And Lestat can still be a monstrous, narcissistic predator.

Those things aren't mutually exclusive.

Honestly, I think that's much more interesting.

So am I completely misreading the Vampire Chronicles, or does anyone else find it strange that some fans seem almost compelled to rehabilitate these characters morally?

I'm genuinely asking.

And yes, I'm aware that saying "Lestat is a monster" on a vampire subreddit is basically walking into a bar and announcing that vampires drink blood. 😂

I'm just interested in the psychology of the fandom's reaction to him.

Because personally, I never thought the horror of Anne Rice's vampires was that they were secretly good people.

I thought the horror was that they were monsters who could think, feel, love, philosophize, rationalize and tell incredibly convincing stories about themselves.

And sometimes the most dangerous lie a monster can tell isn't "I'm not a monster."

It's: "I'm a monster, but you should understand why I had no choice."

1. Scripture and Tradition in Judaism: Haggadic studies – Geza Vermes
2. Jesus the Jew: A Historian's Reading of the Gospels – Geza Vermes
3. Post-Biblical Jewish Studies – Geza Vermes
4. The Dead Sea Scrolls: Qumran in Perspective – Geza Vermes
5. Jesus and the World of Judaism – Geza Vermes
6. The Essenes According to the Classical Sources – Geza Vermes and Martin Goodman
7. The Religion of Jesus the Jew – Geza Vermes
8. The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English – Geza Vermes
9. The Changing Faces of Jesus – Geza Vermes
10. Jesus in his Jewish Context – Geza Vermes
11. The Authentic Gospel of Jesus – Geza Vermes
12. The Passion – Geza Vermes
13. Who's Who in the Age of Jesus – Geza Vermes
14. The Nativity: History and Legend – Geza Vermes
15. The Resurrection: History and Myth – Geza Vermes
16. Searching for the Real Jesus – Geza Vermes
17. The Story of the Scrolls: The Miraculous Discovery and True Significance of the Dead Sea Scrolls – Geza Vermes
18. Jesus: Nativity – Passion – Resurrection – Geza Vermes
19. Jesus in the Jewish World – Geza Vermes
20. Christian Beginnings: From Nazareth to Nicaea, AD 30–325 – Geza Vermes
21. The True Herod – Geza Vermes
22. The Fundamentals of Extremism: The Christian Right in America – Kimberly Blaker
23. The Protestant Establishment: Aristocracy and Caste in America – E. Digby Baltzell
24. Jewish Backgrounds of the New Testament – J. Julius Scott, Jr.
25. Tradition, Scripture, and Interpretation: A Sourcebook in Early Christianity – D. H. Williams
26. 101 Myths of the Bible: How Ancient Scribes Invented Biblical History – Gary Greenberg
27. How to Read the Bible: A Guide to Scripture, Then and Now – James L. Kugel
28. The Meaning of the Bible: What the Jewish Scriptures and Christian Old Testament Can Teach Us – Douglas A. Knight and Amy-Jill Levine
29. Who Wrote the New Testament? The Making of the Christian Myth – Burton L. Mack
30. Reading the Old Testament: An Introduction – Ronald E. Heine
31. An Introduction to the Old Testament: The Canon and Christian Imagination – Walter Brueggemann
32. Gospel Fictions – Randel Helms
33. Apocalypse: On the Psychology of Fundamentalism in America – Charles B. Strozier
34. Systematic Theology: An Introduction to Biblical Doctrine – Wayne Grudem
35. The Mosaic of Christian Belief: Twenty Centuries of Unity and Diversity – Roger E. Olson
36. Beyond Fundamentalism: Confronting Religious Extremism in the Age of Globalization – Reza Aslan
37. World Christian Encyclopedia: A Comparative Survey of Churches and Religions in the Modern World – David B. Barrett, George T. Kurian, and Todd M. Johnson
38. The Many Faces of Faith: A Guide to World Religions and Christian Traditions – Richard R. Losch
39. Jesus and Judaism – E. P. Sanders
40. Fundamentalisms Observed (The Fundamentalism Project, Vol. 1) – Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (Eds.)
41. Fundamentalisms and Society (The Fundamentalism Project, Vol. 2) – Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (Eds.)
42. Fundamentalisms and the State (The Fundamentalism Project, Vol. 3) – Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (Eds.)
43. Accounting for Fundamentalisms (The Fundamentalism Project, Vol. 4) – Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (Eds.)
44. Fundamentalisms Comprehended (The Fundamentalism Project, Vol. 5) – Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby (Eds.)
45. Concise Dictionary of Christian Theology – Millard J. Erickson
46. A New Handbook of Christian Theologians – Donald W. Musser and Joseph L. Price
47. A Concise History of Christian Thought – A. N. S. Lane
48. Fifty Key Christian Thinkers – Peter McEnhill and George Newlands
49. The Old Testament Pseudoepigrapha (Volume 1) – James H. Charlesworth
50. The Old Testament Pseudoepigrapha (Volume 2) – James H. Charlesworth

Yahweh certainly has some spectacularly vindictive moments. The Bible contains stories of divine destruction, plagues, collective punishment, executions, genocidal warfare, and severe punishments for disobedience. The Flood alone is difficult to reconcile with the image of a deity whose primary characteristic is gentle compassion. Then there are episodes such as Sodom and Gomorrah, the plagues of Egypt, the destruction of Korah's rebellion, and various commands concerning warfare and apostasy.

But Jesus isn't exactly the harmless hippie version of God that popular Christianity sometimes presents.

Jesus talks repeatedly about judgment, punishment, exclusion, hell, damnation, and the destruction of those who reject him. Matthew 25 contains the image of the wicked being sent into eternal punishment. Matthew 10:28 speaks of God destroying both body and soul in Gehenna. Jesus curses a fig tree for not producing fruit, overturns tables in the Temple, calls religious opponents hypocrites and vipers, and repeatedly warns people about judgment.

And then there's Revelation—assuming we attribute its portrayal to Jesus through the Christian identification of Jesus with the divine figure of the New Testament and the imagery surrounding his return. The returning Christ isn't exactly portrayed as peacefully handing out participation trophies. He's depicted as a cosmic judge arriving amid war, destruction, and apocalyptic judgment. If God is perfectly loving, why is eternal punishment necessary? If punishment is necessary, what exactly makes it perfectly just? If Jesus is the embodiment of divine love, why does his preaching contain such severe warnings about judgment? And if Yahweh and Jesus are ultimately the same God, as orthodox Christianity insists, then the supposed contrast between the "angry God of the Old Testament" and the "loving God of the New Testament" largely collapses. I find the concept of divine authority itself more interesting than deciding which biblical character wins the Vindictive God Olympics.

Yahweh has the Flood.

Jesus has eternal punishment.

At this point, I'm inclined to let the two of them argue it out while I sit safely outside the courtroom asking why the judge is also the plaintiff, the prosecutor, the legislature, and the person who wrote the rules in the first place. So which one of these "loving beings" is truly the worst?

I'm unfortunate enough to live in the same apartment complex as one of the most annoying true believers I've ever met. Ever since I met him, he's been nothing but a pain in the ass. He talks about Jesus regardless of whether anyone actually wants to hear about Jesus, sings Christian songs to himself, and offers virtually anyone who comes near him a pat on the shoulder or a hug. He's also always ready to wax intellectual about subjects like evolution, despite clearly knowing very little about them.

A few days ago, I finally had enough. I was doing my laundry when "Skip"—not his real name—once again tried to engage me in one of his theories about why he believes Charles Darwin was a "criminal fraud." This time, instead of arguing with him, I told him that if he could provide me with solid evidence that his god actually exists, I'd convert.

To my surprise, he agreed.

A day or so later, Skip approached me with a challenge. If I agreed to read several books and attend his church to hear the evidence for god's existence, he promised that he would never talk to me about god again if I remained unconvinced.

I couldn't help but think that, from his perspective, this was probably the deal of the century: either he proves his case and gains a convert, or he finally leaves me alone.

Naturally, I agreed. Here is the list of books that "Skip" give me to read that he feels proves his god's existence:

• Basic Christianity by John Stott
• Hard Sayings of the Bible by Walter C. Kaiser Jr., Peter H. Davids, F. F. Bruce, and Manfred T. Brauch
• Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis
• On the Reliability of the Old Testament by K. A. Kitchen
• Scientists of Faith: 48 Biographies of Historic Scientists and Their Christian Faith by Dan Graves
• The New Testament Documents: Are They Reliable? by F. F. Bruce
• The Real Jesus: The Misguided Quest for the Historical Jesus and the Truth of the Traditional Gospels by Luke Timothy Johnson
• The Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile by Yehezkel Kaufmann
• The Religion of Peace?: Why Christianity Is and Islam Isn't by Robert Spencer
• The Stones Cry Out: What Archaeology Reveals About the Truth of the Bible by Randall Price
• The Victory of Reason: How Christianity Led to Freedom, Capitalism, and Western Success by Rodney Stark
• What's So Great About Christianity by Dinesh D'Souza
• When Critics Ask: A Popular Handbook on Bible Difficulties by Norman L. Geisler and Thomas Howe
• Who Really Cares: The Surprising Truth About Compassionate Conservatism by Arthur C. Brooks
• The Collected Works / Writings of G. K. Chesterton

So far, I've only read one of the books on this list: Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. I'm hoping someone on this sub can recommend a few other Christian titles that might be missing.

To be clear, I don't expect any of these books to convert me. I'm reading them because I want to understand the arguments believers consider persuasive when it comes to the existence of God.

Honestly, I think having a library of the strongest Christian apologetic works could be useful. If believers are going to proselytize, I'd rather be familiar with the arguments they're actually making—and, ideally, with the books they consider their best evidence—than argue against caricatures of their positions.

If nothing else, it should make for a more informed and interesting debate.

Having walked the Left-Hand Path for over 35 years, I frequently encounter theists attempting to "bring me into the light." Whenever I ask them for concrete backing, the responses are usually evasive: "the message itself is the evidence" or "faith requires no proof."

Coming from a practice (Satanism) where proselytizing is considered foolish and strictly prohibited, I find this ability to argue for a deity without tangible proof fascinating. It raises a core question for me: Is trying to convert others without empirical evidence inherently amoral, or just epistemologically flawed?

I always appreciate the unconventional perspectives on this Sub, so I’m curious to hear your thoughts.

Here's the quotes in question for those at home:

<Luke 14:26 If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple ... So likewise, ***whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.***>
<Matthew 10:34-37 Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law ... ***He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.***>
<Luke 14:59-62 Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father. Jesus said unto him, Let the dead bury their dead: but go thou and preach the kingdom of God. And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house. ***And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.***>

<Matthew 12:30 He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad.>
<Matthew 11:20-24 Then began he to upbraid the cities wherein most of his mighty works were done, because they repented not … And thou, Capernaum*, which art exalted unto heaven,* ***shalt be brought down to hell … it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom in the day of judgment, than for thee.***>

Worshipping the Jesus-entity takes unilateral priority over esteeming or even paying respects to the family. The "christlike" objective here is to neglect, abuse, or destroy your family/way of life if either so much as competes with the Jesus-entity’s honor. You’re either with the Jesus-entity or against the Jesus-entity, and if you’re not so much as with, down ya go!

As a Iconoclastic Satanist, the first thing I would say is that the Jesus depicted in these passages is making an extraordinarily radical demand for allegiance. Whether one interprets the language literally, rhetorically, or within its first-century Jewish context, the basic message is difficult to miss: allegiance to Jesus is presented as taking precedence over family, possessions, social obligations, and even one's own life.

Luke 14:26 is especially striking. "Hate" may be understood idiomatically as preferring one thing over another, but that does not make the underlying demand disappear. Jesus is still telling prospective disciples that familial attachment cannot outrank discipleship. Likewise, "forsaketh not all that he hath" is hardly a casual invitation to add Jesus to an otherwise unchanged lifestyle.

Matthew 10 is even more explicit about the social consequences. Jesus says he has come not to bring peace, but a sword, and predicts division between parents and children. The important point is not whether Jesus literally intended his followers to murder their relatives. He doesn't need to mean that for the passage to be radical. He is establishing an allegiance hierarchy in which loyalty to him can override loyalty to one's family.

And that is precisely where I, as a Iconoclasic Satanist, become suspicious. I don't consider obedience inherently virtuous simply because the authority demanding it is called divine. A person can sincerely believe that God has commanded something and still be mistaken. A religious system can also teach people to interpret ordinary disagreement as rebellion against God. Once that happens, "God comes first" can become a mechanism through which family members, friends, communities, and even one's own conscience are subordinated to an external authority. That is dangerous. The statement in Matthew 12:30—"He that is not with me is against me"—is another example. It presents the relationship as binary. There is no comfortable neutral territory. You are either with Jesus or against Jesus. From an Iconoclastic Satanic perspective, that deserves examination rather than automatic submission.

I would ask: Why must disagreement constitute hostility? Why can't someone say, "I don't know"? Why can't someone love Jesus without accepting every interpretation of Jesus? Why can't someone remain unconvinced? Why should intellectual uncertainty become a moral crime?

And why should someone's eternal destiny depend upon correctly identifying the metaphysical status of a particular religious figure?

The threat of hell makes the question even more complicated. When someone is told: Believe this particular revelation, surrender yourself to it, and place it above everything—or face eternal consequences, the resulting "choice" isn't entirely free in the ordinary sense. Fear can produce conformity just as effectively as love can. That doesn't prove Christianity false. But it does mean that fear of punishment is a poor foundation for determining truth.

The passages concerning Capernaum and Sodom demonstrate another issue. Jesus isn't merely saying, "I disagree with you." He invokes divine judgment against people who witnessed his works and failed to repent. From the perspective of someone outside Christianity, this raises an obvious epistemological problem:

What evidence would be sufficient to justify eternal condemnation for someone who remains unconvinced?

Suppose I sincerely investigate Christianity, read the Bible, study Christian theology, speak with Christians, examine competing religions, and ultimately conclude that I don't believe Christianity is true. Have I committed an act of wickedness simply because my conclusion differs from yours? I don't think so. Truth isn't determined by how terrified someone becomes when contemplating the alternative. And this is where Satanism can offer a fundamentally different approach. The Satanic archetype, particularly in a theistic Satanist framework, can represent the refusal to surrender one's conscience merely because an authority demands surrender. Satan becomes the adversarial question: "Why?" Why this command? Why this interpretation? Why this revelation? Why this institution? Why should I regard obedience as morally superior to understanding? Why should familial love become suspect merely because it competes with religious allegiance? Why should intellectual independence be treated as rebellion? That doesn't require hatred of Jesus or Christianity. In fact, a Satanist can take Jesus extremely seriously while refusing to become a Christian. There is also an important distinction between healthy religious commitment and destructive religious absolutism.

If someone becomes a Christian and their faith inspires them to become more compassionate, honest, courageous, generous, and responsible, I have no objection.

If someone uses these passages to justify abandoning their children, abusing their spouse, despising their parents, cutting off everyone who disagrees with them, or treating nonbelievers as enemies of God, then I have a serious objection. The latter isn't spiritual maturity. It's authoritarianism wearing religious clothing. And I wouldn't restrict that criticism to Christianity. The same principle applies to Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Satanism, atheism, political ideologies, nationalism, or any other worldview.

No ideology should receive immunity from criticism merely because it calls itself sacred.

There is also a curious irony here. Jesus commands people to abandon attachments, yet Christianity subsequently developed enormously elaborate institutions surrounding family, marriage, community, property, hierarchy, tradition, and social order.

So I would ask Christians to confront the tension rather than pretending it doesn't exist.

If Jesus literally demanded that disciples abandon everything, how much of modern Christianity actually resembles that radical discipleship?

Or has Christianity gradually transformed an apocalyptic teacher demanding total allegiance into the patron saint of ordinary middle-class life?

That is a much more interesting question than simply saying "Jesus was nice."

From my perspective, the lesson isn't necessarily "Jesus was evil."

It's: Be extremely careful whenever a person, institution, scripture, ideology, or deity claims absolute authority over your conscience. If Jesus is genuinely divine, then truth should survive examination. If Christianity is true, honest questioning cannot ultimately destroy it. And if a God exists who genuinely values human beings, I would expect that God to care about the difference between freely chosen conviction and psychologically coerced obedience.

So as a Iconoclastic Satanist, I wouldn't tell someone: "Reject your family because Jesus demands it." Nor would I tell them: "Reject Jesus because Satan demands it."

I'd tell them: Don't surrender your conscience to anyone. Not Jesus. Not Satan. Not a priest. Not a pastor. Not a grimoire. Not a church. Not me. Investigate. Question. Think. And if you ultimately choose devotion, let it be devotion you can honestly call your own. For me, that is where the adversarial spirit actually matters. The point isn't merely to replace one master with another. It's to become capable of asking whether you needed a master in the first place.

Here's the quotes in question for those at home:

<Luke 14:26 If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple ... So likewise, ***whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.***>
<Matthew 10:34-37 Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law ... ***He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.***>
<Luke 14:59-62 Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father. Jesus said unto him, Let the dead bury their dead: but go thou and preach the kingdom of God. And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house. ***And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.***>

<Matthew 12:30 He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad.>
<Matthew 11:20-24 Then began he to upbraid the cities wherein most of his mighty works were done, because they repented not … And thou, Capernaum*, which art exalted unto heaven,* ***shalt be brought down to hell … it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom in the day of judgment, than for thee.***>

Worshipping the Jesus-entity takes unilateral priority over esteeming or even paying respects to the family. The "christlike" objective here is to neglect, abuse, or destroy your family/way of life if either so much as competes with the Jesus-entity’s honor. You’re either with the Jesus-entity or against the Jesus-entity, and if you’re not so much as with, down ya go!

As a Iconoclastic Satanist, the first thing I would say is that the Jesus depicted in these passages is making an extraordinarily radical demand for allegiance. Whether one interprets the language literally, rhetorically, or within its first-century Jewish context, the basic message is difficult to miss: allegiance to Jesus is presented as taking precedence over family, possessions, social obligations, and even one's own life.

Luke 14:26 is especially striking. "Hate" may be understood idiomatically as preferring one thing over another, but that does not make the underlying demand disappear. Jesus is still telling prospective disciples that familial attachment cannot outrank discipleship. Likewise, "forsaketh not all that he hath" is hardly a casual invitation to add Jesus to an otherwise unchanged lifestyle.

Matthew 10 is even more explicit about the social consequences. Jesus says he has come not to bring peace, but a sword, and predicts division between parents and children. The important point is not whether Jesus literally intended his followers to murder their relatives. He doesn't need to mean that for the passage to be radical. He is establishing an allegiance hierarchy in which loyalty to him can override loyalty to one's family.

And that is precisely where I, as a Iconoclasic Satanist, become suspicious. I don't consider obedience inherently virtuous simply because the authority demanding it is called divine. A person can sincerely believe that God has commanded something and still be mistaken. A religious system can also teach people to interpret ordinary disagreement as rebellion against God. Once that happens, "God comes first" can become a mechanism through which family members, friends, communities, and even one's own conscience are subordinated to an external authority. That is dangerous. The statement in Matthew 12:30—"He that is not with me is against me"—is another example. It presents the relationship as binary. There is no comfortable neutral territory. You are either with Jesus or against Jesus. From an Iconoclastic Satanic perspective, that deserves examination rather than automatic submission.

I would ask: Why must disagreement constitute hostility? Why can't someone say, "I don't know"? Why can't someone love Jesus without accepting every interpretation of Jesus? Why can't someone remain unconvinced? Why should intellectual uncertainty become a moral crime?

And why should someone's eternal destiny depend upon correctly identifying the metaphysical status of a particular religious figure?

The threat of hell makes the question even more complicated. When someone is told: Believe this particular revelation, surrender yourself to it, and place it above everything—or face eternal consequences, the resulting "choice" isn't entirely free in the ordinary sense. Fear can produce conformity just as effectively as love can. That doesn't prove Christianity false. But it does mean that fear of punishment is a poor foundation for determining truth.

The passages concerning Capernaum and Sodom demonstrate another issue. Jesus isn't merely saying, "I disagree with you." He invokes divine judgment against people who witnessed his works and failed to repent. From the perspective of someone outside Christianity, this raises an obvious epistemological problem:

What evidence would be sufficient to justify eternal condemnation for someone who remains unconvinced?

Suppose I sincerely investigate Christianity, read the Bible, study Christian theology, speak with Christians, examine competing religions, and ultimately conclude that I don't believe Christianity is true. Have I committed an act of wickedness simply because my conclusion differs from yours? I don't think so. Truth isn't determined by how terrified someone becomes when contemplating the alternative. And this is where Satanism can offer a fundamentally different approach. The Satanic archetype, particularly in a theistic Satanist framework, can represent the refusal to surrender one's conscience merely because an authority demands surrender. Satan becomes the adversarial question: "Why?" Why this command? Why this interpretation? Why this revelation? Why this institution? Why should I regard obedience as morally superior to understanding? Why should familial love become suspect merely because it competes with religious allegiance? Why should intellectual independence be treated as rebellion? That doesn't require hatred of Jesus or Christianity. In fact, a Satanist can take Jesus extremely seriously while refusing to become a Christian. There is also an important distinction between healthy religious commitment and destructive religious absolutism.

If someone becomes a Christian and their faith inspires them to become more compassionate, honest, courageous, generous, and responsible, I have no objection.

If someone uses these passages to justify abandoning their children, abusing their spouse, despising their parents, cutting off everyone who disagrees with them, or treating nonbelievers as enemies of God, then I have a serious objection. The latter isn't spiritual maturity. It's authoritarianism wearing religious clothing. And I wouldn't restrict that criticism to Christianity. The same principle applies to Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Satanism, atheism, political ideologies, nationalism, or any other worldview.

No ideology should receive immunity from criticism merely because it calls itself sacred.

There is also a curious irony here. Jesus commands people to abandon attachments, yet Christianity subsequently developed enormously elaborate institutions surrounding family, marriage, community, property, hierarchy, tradition, and social order.

So I would ask Christians to confront the tension rather than pretending it doesn't exist.

If Jesus literally demanded that disciples abandon everything, how much of modern Christianity actually resembles that radical discipleship?

Or has Christianity gradually transformed an apocalyptic teacher demanding total allegiance into the patron saint of ordinary middle-class life?

That is a much more interesting question than simply saying "Jesus was nice."

From my perspective, the lesson isn't necessarily "Jesus was evil."

It's: Be extremely careful whenever a person, institution, scripture, ideology, or deity claims absolute authority over your conscience. If Jesus is genuinely divine, then truth should survive examination. If Christianity is true, honest questioning cannot ultimately destroy it. And if a God exists who genuinely values human beings, I would expect that God to care about the difference between freely chosen conviction and psychologically coerced obedience.

So as a Iconoclastic Satanist, I wouldn't tell someone: "Reject your family because Jesus demands it." Nor would I tell them: "Reject Jesus because Satan demands it."

I'd tell them: Don't surrender your conscience to anyone. Not Jesus. Not Satan. Not a priest. Not a pastor. Not a grimoire. Not a church. Not me. Investigate. Question. Think. And if you ultimately choose devotion, let it be devotion you can honestly call your own. For me, that is where the adversarial spirit actually matters. The point isn't merely to replace one master with another. It's to become capable of asking whether you needed a master in the first place.

A Satanist Seeking Deeper Intellectual and Spiritual Understanding — Looking for Recommendations

I consider myself a Satanist who is searching for deeper intellectual, philosophical, and spiritual perspectives. My goal is not simply to explore the surface-level imagery associated with Satanism, but to study the broader history of demonology, occult philosophy, mythology, comparative religion, and esoteric traditions.

Here is a sample of some of the works I have explored so far:

• The Secret Teachings of All Ages — Manly P. Hall
• Demonology and Devil Lore (Vol. I & II) — Moncure Daniel Conway
• Satan: A Portrait — Edward Langton
• Satan’s Devices: Recognizing the Enemy — Robert Morey
• The History of the Devil — William Howard Woods
• The Satanic Cult — Gerhard Zacharias
• In the Name of the Devil — Ronald Seth
• Prince of Darkness — Gerald Verner
• The Devil in Legend and Literature — Maximilian Rudwin
• The History of the Devil, the Horned God of the West — R. Lowe Thompson
• The Confessions of Aleister Crowley: An Autobiography — Aleister Crowley
• Gypsy Demons and Divinities — Edward B. Trigg
• Demonolatry — Nicolas Remy
• The Book of Demons — Victoria Hyatt & Joseph W. Charles
• Babylonian and Assyrian Religion — S. H. Hooke
• Near Eastern Mythology — J. Grey
• Babylonian Magic and Sorcery — L. King
• The Yezidis or Devil Worshippers — Alphonse Mingana
• Demonologia — J. S. Forsyth
• Saducismus Triumphatus — Joseph Glanvill
• Chaldean Magic — François Lenormant
• De Praestigiis Daemonum — Johann Weyer
• The Satanic Mass — H. T. F. Rhodes
• Essentials of Demonology — E. Langton
• Occult Philosophy — M. E. Jones
• Satan, Fallen Angels and Demons (3 Volumes) — Gordon Lindsay
• Manual of Demonology and the Occult — Kent Philpott
• The Encyclopedic Sourcebook of Satanism — James R. Lewis & Jesper Aagaard Petersen
• Goetic Evocation: The Magician’s Workbook — Steve Savedow
• Ceremonial Magic and the Power of Evocation — Joseph Lisiewski
• Pacts with the Devil: A Chronicle of Sex, Blasphemy and Liberation — S. Jason Black & Christopher S. Hyatt
• Rebels and Devils: The Psychology of Liberation — edited by Christopher S. Hyatt

I am currently looking for recommendations, especially regarding grimoires, occult manuscripts, demonological texts, comparative mythology, and philosophical works related to Satanism and esoteric traditions.

I would appreciate advice from those who have studied these subjects, whether from a historical, academic, spiritual, or philosophical perspective. I am interested in hearing different interpretations, criticisms, and fresh perspectives.

Thank you.

SHEMHAMFORASH! 👹

• Kenneth Copeland
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Caacrinolaas, also known as Caassimolar or Glasya-Labolas, is a demon described in various grimoires and texts of demonology, including "The Lesser Key of Solomon" (Ars Goetia), "The Pseudomonarchia Daemonum," and other occult works. He is considered a President in Hell, commanding 36 legions of demons. Here's a summary of his attributes and characteristics:

### Attributes and Characteristics of Caacrinolaas

1. **Rank**: President
2. **Legions**: Commands 36 legions of demons.
3. **Appearance**: Often depicted as a dog with the wings of a griffin, though descriptions can vary.
4. **Powers**: - **Knowledge and Learning**: Caacrinolaas is known to impart knowledge of sciences, philosophy, and other intellectual pursuits. He is reputed to make men wise in these subjects. - **Reputation and Honor**: He can grant the favor of friends and foes, offering a good reputation to those who summon him. - **Visibility and Invisibility**: He can make people invisible or visible at will. - **Foresight**: He has the ability to foretell the future and past, providing insights into events and circumstances. - **Memory**: He can make people forgetful or remember things they desire to recall.

### Invocation of Caacrinolaas

To invoke Caacrinolaas, it is essential to follow traditional procedures and approach with caution, as dealing with demons is considered highly dangerous and not recommended for the inexperienced. Here is a general guideline for summoning him:

**Materials Needed:**
- A protective circle drawn on the ground
- A sigil of Caacrinolaas (can be drawn on parchment)
- Incense (frankincense or another type suitable for summoning spirits)
- Candles (preferably black)
- An offering (such as wine, bread, or a small gift)

**Instructions:**

1. **Preparation:** - Find a quiet, undisturbed location. - Draw a protective circle on the ground with chalk or salt. - Place the sigil of Caacrinolaas within the circle. - Light the candles and incense.
2. **Recitation:** - Stand within the circle and focus on the sigil. - Recite the following invocation: ``` I summon thee, Caacrinolaas, Great President of Hell, Bestower of wisdom and knowledge, I call upon thee to appear before me. Grant me insight and understanding, Share with me the secrets of the past and future, And aid me in my pursuits. By this sigil, I summon thee, In the name of the ancient pact, I request thy presence here and now. ```
3. **Offerings:** - Place the offering within the circle near the sigil. - Continue to focus on the sigil, maintaining a respectful and serious demeanor.
4. **Communication:** - If Caacrinolaas appears or communicates, be clear and respectful in your questions and requests. - Do not break the protective circle or show fear.
5. **Dismissal:** - When finished, thank Caacrinolaas for his presence and assistance. - Recite a dismissal: ``` I thank thee, Caacrinolaas, for your wisdom and knowledge. Depart now in peace and return to your realm. By the ancient pact, I release thee. ``` - Extinguish the candles and incense.

**Note:** Summoning and interacting with demons can be dangerous. It is important to have a clear understanding of the risks involved and to proceed with utmost caution and respect.