As a Christian teenager, I’d comfort myself with a persistent thought: “When I grow up, yes, maybe awful things will happen to me. Someone close to me might pass away. I might do something wrong and spend time in jail. But I know with absolute certainty that I’ll always have faith in God, no matter what life brings me. I’ll never become an atheist.” This reassured me that I’d make it to heaven and avoid the torments of hell. My teenage self would be appalled to learn that, as an adult, not only have I rejected the Christian God, but I now reverently look to his sworn enemy, the Devil, for guidance and inspiration.
A common misconception about Satanists is that they worship the literal Devil. While theistic Satanists do exist, most Satanists are nontheistic. I don’t believe in Satan, nor do I worship him, but I find myself aligned with a Satanic ideology. In my mind, and the minds of most Satanists, Satan or Lucifer represents the liberation and pride of the outcasts and marginalized.
I grew up as a missionary kid (MK) in a remote area of Indonesia. Until I left for college at 18, I was fully immersed in the Christian mission community. I attended a small Christian international high school with other MKs, where we’d attend Bible class daily, hold chapel services weekly, and embark on weeks-long mission trips to interior villages to spread the gospel. My high school Bible teacher, a missionary who students called “uncle” (in mission communities, MKs often call adult missionaries “aunts” and “uncles” regardless of relationship), warned us against “becoming like the world” once we went back to our home countries for college. He told stories of his students who went back to the States and, in his words, “fell into the gay lifestyle” or stopped attending church. He’s still teaching the same class at the same school today, and I’m confident his stories about me are his most terrifying yet. I’m his unholy trinity: an MK who left the church, came out as queer, and now identifies as a nontheistic Satanist.
After returning to the States for college, I met my husband, Drew, who runs the YouTube channel Genetically Modified Skeptic. When we married in 2015, we were both still Christians, but about a year later, Drew began to doubt his faith. His journey from Christianity into agnostic atheism encouraged me to dig into my faith identity. Eventually, I also identified as an agnostic atheist, but honestly, I never really felt like this label fully fit me. It wasn’t that I didn’t fall into the ideological category of agnostic atheism, but I didn’t feel like the label accurately described who I was—my personality, interests, or values.
I’ve always loved heavier music. One of my favorite bands was Nightwish (and yes, I say “was” because, as my YouTube followers know, another band has since stolen my heart). Unbeknownst to my younger self, their album “Endless Forms Most Beautiful” is critical of organized religion and deals with themes of science, reason, and evolution. The Biblical figure of Satan is also a constant presence in heavier music. Religious zealots and racists accused Black musicians of consorting with the Devil to create blues and rock ‘n’ roll, and this eventually sparked a reaction in later decades.
Today, many bands, especially heavy metal bands, purposely utilize Satanic aesthetics and messaging for both marketing purposes and out of genuine reverence for the diabolical. For some bands, this means unironically endorsing violence and bigotry. For others, it means celebrating tolerance and self-expression. It’s the latter I find alluring; specifically, the Satanic sounds and lyrics of bands like Ghost (my current favorite band). I guess you could say that Satan found me through rock music.
From there, I discovered the book “Satanic Feminism” by academic Per Faxneld. I started learning about various feminist groups who organized under a Satanic banner to fight against the patriarchy of the Christian Church. I learned about the Romantic writers and poets who reinterpreted the figure of Satan as a positive symbol. I learned about modern-day Satanic organizations that view Satan as a literary figure symbolizing independence and bodily autonomy and use their identity as Satanists as a tool for community outreach. I began to think to myself, “What did Satan do that was so bad? All he wanted to do was bring the gift of knowledge to humanity, right? How is that different from what I hope to do with my life? Maybe I’m Satanic.”
Honestly, I never quite fit into the mission community where I grew up. My Bible teacher once assigned us a paper in which we were to defend our opinion on the legalization of gay marriage in the U.S. This was before Obergefell v. Hodges, and, of course, he wanted us to write that it shouldn’t be legalized. Another student and I were the only ones to defend its legalization. If my memory serves me, my “uncle” gave me low marks and a stern talking-to.
I’ve always found myself playing Devil’s Advocate and living on the periphery. Even from a young age, I’ve had a penchant for the dark and macabre in music and art. Satanism was always a present force in my life, even if I haven’t always had the words to describe it. So, why not fully embrace that and openly call myself a Satanist? As the lyrics for “Satanized” by Ghost say, “From the bottom of my heart, I know I’m Satanized.” I’ll gladly take on the label of “nontheistic Satanist” if it means being my authentic self. I also hope aligning publicly with a misunderstood and ridiculed identity helps other outcasts feel less alone. Hail Satan!