On the Definition of Satanism

Three Devil-worshippers walk into a desecrated church ― stop me if you’ve heard this one. They light candles, burn incense, and, much to their surprise, they successfully summon Satan! When they bow down to worship His Infernal Majesty, He says, “Haven’t I taught you anything?!”

Satanism is not Devil-worship. No matter how often we restate this, misunderstandings persist.

But that’s no surprise.

Anton Szandor LaVey codified this religious philosophy under a name that, while accurate, had hitherto been used almost exclusively as a religio-political slur against assorted heretics, freethinkers, and pagans.

This nomenclature has parallels to the term “Impressionism,” which was first used as an insult against a pioneering approach to painting in the late 19th century. Since it was basically accurate, this pejorative was adopted as the most suitable name for a movement that eventually became “respectable.”

But Satanism is far more controversial than the pastel Luciferianism of the Impressionists, and the history of slander against it spans millennia.

And yet, with the founding of the Church of Satan in 1966, Satanism transubstantiated from a scandalous accusation into an unconventional means of self-realization.

In The Satanic Bible, LaVey rhetorically asks whether Devil-worshippers are “practicing Satanism in its truest sense.” He points out that previous definitions of Satanism were merely Christian propaganda, whereas he is expressing “Satanic thought from a truly Satanic point of view.”

Unlike its theoretical caricature, genuine Satanism evolved from atheism. After all, the mythological Satan doesn’t worship any gods above Himself. Neither do we. Every Satanist is his or her own god. You can’t get more Satanic than that!

LaVey’s unprecedented formulation organically integrates the full spectrum of the Satanic, from traditional ritual trappings to literary predecessors to previously unidentified strains of cultural resonance.

With LaVey came the first definition of Satanism that is truly Satanic, through and through. It is a comprehensively sound work of conceptual architecture. Each and every element is integral to all the others. Even so, the resulting structure allows for infinitely varied elaboration in accordance with the idiosyncratic passions of each individual Satanist.

Satanism is not a faith, but an augmentation.

Satanism applies the principles that define the very nature of Devils: the rejection of external gods, the embrace of carnality, and a stance of honest individualism.

Again: Satanists do not worship Satan. Rather, we emulate that mythological figure’s most productive qualities, rejecting the rest as anti-carnal propaganda.

This very act of defining Satanism, and correcting its misrepresentation, is a Satanic act unto itself. Ours is the most accurate definition, and quite naturally resisted by many who subscribe to an un-Satanic worldview. They simply cannot grasp what comes so naturally to us. And we cannot afford to forget that, lest we commit the sin of solipsism.

We insist upon this differentiation between Satanism and Devil-worship, pushing back against endless misunderstandings, because these efforts sustain the religious philosophy that enriches our lives beyond measure. On a personal level, I would like to give others a chance to experience the unexpected exhilaration of self-discovery that I enjoyed at age thirteen.

As Magister Nemo writes in “Satanism Needs an Enema!”: “The Satanic movement is ideas. The wrong ideas can kill what is truly Satanic in our efforts and leave us just another mindless cult.” If an already Satanic individual comes across too much misinformation before rejecting Satanism altogether, we will have lost the full emergence of a remarkably inspiring peer.

So, if we reject the supernatural definition of Satanism, why do we use the name? LaVey admits in The Satanic Bible that “they” named our religion. But, being anti-Satanic, most religionists interpret Satanism through the lens of their own mythological prejudices. Yet the hegemony of spiritual religions has, through the course of human history, solidly established the groundwork of what is considered Satanic. This provides a context for us that could be alienating, but which we adapt toward our own stimulation. The only problem is that they have also projected their own faith-clouded ideas into their conceptions of Satanism, thus accusing us of their own compulsive fantasies.

And so it is up to us, as Satanists, to continue asserting the definition of Satanism ― from a truly Satanic point of view.

Nose Bubbles and Rado Echoes

In observance of April Fool’s Day, I am sharing photographs of rare novelties from my collection. These are particularly interesting because they are featured prominently in the work of Anton Szandor LaVey.

LaVey found great wisdom where others have found mere amusement, little of interest or, in many cases, nothing at all. This is the true occult. One especially overlooked area of this realm of hidden meaning is that of the prank.

Often perpetrated against innocent friends and acquaintances, pranks are treated differently within Satanism. As LaVey said more than once, it is far more fulfilling to employ unpleasant surprises toward the balancing of egos and as a form of humorous revenge. He also discussed more than one specific gag, including a couple from the old Johnson Smith & Co. Catalogue, which is featured in the Church of Satan’s recommended reading list. LaVey called it his Necronomicon.

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THE SNEEZE-O-BUBBLE

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On the dedication page of The Devil’s Notebook, LaVey mentions the inventor(s) of the Sneeze-O-Bubble. In Satan Speaks!, he dedicates an essay to the artful use of a rubber “nose bubble.” I have always deeply enjoyed that essay, and it has seemed to me that its subject is none other than that enigmatic Sneeze-O-Bubble.

I had the good fortune of finding this incredibly rare gag on eBay. It is a set of four bubbles, and they appear to be made of blown glass. Perhaps this is an earlier version of LaVey’s nose bubble. Either way, it is one of my most cherished possessions. I took some time to photograph it for both my own pleasure and this blog.

This is the top of the Sneeze-O-Bubble box. In the background is an open copy of the 1941 Johnson Smith & Co. Catalogue.

Opening the magnificently decorated box, one reveals the faux mucus globules and, nestled beneath them, a pink instruction sheet.

And here are the legendary bubbles themselves. What schnozzes have these delicate baubles graced in eras past? Though crystal-clear, these replicas of inflated snot are among the most mysterious relics in all Americana.

Click for a closer look!

But what good are nose bubbles if you don’t know how to use them? Study this sheet, stick a few Sneeze-O-Bubbles in your jacket pocket, and you’ll be good and ready for that next cocktail party or family gathering. Again, you should also read (or re-read) LaVey’s excellent tips and scenarios for artificial snot in “The Nose Bubble,” from Satan Speaks!

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THE RADO ECHO VOICE-TESTER

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Another sacred object I have managed to acquire is the Rado Echo Voice-Tester, which LaVey discussed in the documentary Speak of the Devil. This cruel device conceals a particularly nasty surprise. To learn more about it, see the film. It is chock-full of wisdom, including an entire segment about “practical” jokes. That’s where you’ll find an anecdote about this wicked little item.

This is the face of the “voice-tester.” The box is made of cardboard, and the old-fashioned “speaker” is made of cloth.

Here, you can clearly see the tester’s wooden button. Anyone who has seen Speak of the Devil knows what it does. Even if you haven’t, I’m sure that you get the point.

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Enjoy an impish April Fool’s Day, my mischievous readers! And remember: it’s funnier when they deserve it!

An Eye for Carnage: Anton Szandor LaVey on the Horror Films of Herschell Gordon Lewis

A few years ago, I acquired an old catalog. Someone I knew was probably discarding it; I forget. But I kept this white elephant because it struck me as a unique reference for my cinematic explorations. Audio Brandon Films 16mm International Cinema, 1978-79, contains well over 500 pages of films then available for rental by educational institutions, theaters, etc. Instead of a dull list, however, Audio Brandon fattened its catalog with striking stills and critical, even scholarly descriptions by educators, journalists, and other qualified aficionados. Among these contributors was Anton Szandor LaVey, who wrote about Herschell Gordon Lewis and two of his films.

When I discovered that this catalog, whose great worth was already apparent, included material by LaVey, I was all the more excited to have re-discovered this nearly discarded volume. Although this and other editions of the catalog have been quoted in academic works, it seems fairly rare. Especially because I was getting rid of clutter at the time, I felt that I had just narrowly missed losing a valuable bit of Satanic history. Not to mention a veritable encyclopedia of international cinematic history up until the late 1970s!

The following is LaVey’s contribution to this catalog. It involves horror films, as the average reader might expect, but offers keen observations that only the Black Pope himself could have penned. Of course, he could have also written illuminating pieces about many other films in the book, most of which are not horror, and some of which are recommended in the appendices of Blanche Barton’s The Church of Satan. I, for one, would have relished a book of cinema criticism by the premier pioneer of contemporary Satanism! But at least we have this passage, which in itself includes enough history and insight for a creative manifesto.
 

Herschell Gordon Lewis

In 1963 ex-English professor Herschell Gordon Lewis decided that the skinflick market was waning, limited as it was to nudie films. Not wishing to make history nor waste time and money in courtrooms pioneering porn, he recognized an unexploited realm of living-color, perfectly legal blood-and-gore cinema that the big companies wouldn’t touch. Though horror and the supernatural had always been good box office, no one had really pulled all the stops. Lewis’ first film of the type, Blood Feast, was received with such revulsion that it was yanked under protest from many theatres before its bookings expired. Yet it made money and made cinema history, inspiring and uninhibiting virtually every other producer and director with an eye for carnage. Later Lewis commented, “Peckinpah’s blood is much more watery than ours… Peckinpah shoots people. We dismember them!” The discerning viewer will find Lewis’ films to be much more than superficial gore; rather an eerie reflection of the repressed sado-masochism in us all that even the smallest voice inside seldom admits to. From Bonnie And Clyde to The Exorcist, from The Wild Bunch to Jaws, fragments of Lewis’ kaleidoscope radiate.
 

Two Thousand Maniacs (1964)

A horror version of Brigadoon, this is Lewis’ tale of a Southern town which was savagely destroyed by Union troops and rises from its swampy site every hundred years. Overlooked by American critics because of excessive gore, it was praised by European masters such as Jean-Luc Godard and classed with Polanski’s Repulsion and Hitchcock’s Psycho. The musical score (also by Lewis) inspired Bonnie And Clyde’s and many other later films. Because, rather than in spite, of its low budget and unknown performers (Connie Mason was a Playboy foldout), amateurism transcends into chilling super-realism. The plot is equal to the best old-school  pulp thriller, combining suspense, kinky sexual innuendo and the supernatural. Made in 1964, Two Thousand Maniacs is rapidly achieving the stature it deserves, now that “respected” filmmakers have saturated the public with bloodier but less effective results. In the genre of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Night Of The Living Dead, the townspeople extras convey the feeling that this film is the Real Thing!

Color Me Blood Red (1964)

A temperamental beatnik artist who occupies a desolately situated beach house becomes dissatisfied with ordinary pigments and materials. Pretty girls become his source of supply in what must be the only Grande Guignol treatment of the Frankie Avalon / Annette Funicello beach blanket theme. As with other Herschell Lewis films, this is not for the squeamish.