Theistic Satanism: The Kids’ Menu of Rebellion

Theistic Satanism: The Kids’ Menu of Rebellion

Theistic Satanism?—because apparently, some people looked at organized religion, saw the servitude, the blind faith, the begging for cosmic scraps, and thought, Yeah, but what if it was edgier? If that’s not the most half-baked attempt at rebellion, I don’t know what is.

Here’s the problem: if you worship Satan, you’re still worshiping. You’re still playing the same tired game of divine hierarchy, still kneeling, still surrendering your autonomy like a medieval peasant hoping for a good harvest. You might’ve traded in the church pews and rosary beads for pentagrams and blood rituals, but make no mistake—you’re still just another spiritual lapdog, waiting for a master to scratch behind your ears.

And let’s talk about that master for a second. Who exactly is this Satan you’re bowing to? The horned red guy from Christian fanfiction? The shadowy puppet master of conspiracy-laden fever dreams? The misunderstood antihero who just wants to help humans reach enlightenment? Or is it just whatever version makes you feel special while you chant in a dimly lit room? If your entire worldview hinges on a deity whose origins are stitched together from bad theology, occult LARPing, and teenage angst, maybe—just maybe—you’ve been sold another bill of goods.

Satanism, real Satanism, is about self-ownership. It’s about rejecting gods, not swapping them out like Pokémon cards. If you need an external force to grant you meaning, power, or purpose, then you’re still shackled to the very mindset that created Christianity in the first place. You’re not breaking free; you’re just flipping the script and pretending that’s the same thing. It’s like quitting your job in protest, only to sign up to work for the competition—congrats, you’re still taking orders, just from a different desk.

So let’s call it what it is: spiritual training wheels. Theistic Satanism is for people who want to feel rebellious without actually being rebellious. It lets them keep the security blanket of divine authority while convincing themselves they’re defying it. And that’s the real joke—because the moment you bow, the moment you submit, you’ve already lost. You’ve chosen servitude, dressed up in ritual robes and cheap rebellion, and called it empowerment.

Satan doesn’t need worshippers. He doesn’t need temples or prayer circles or groveling devotees. If the idea of Satan means anything, it means standing on your own two feet, forging your own path, and answering to no one. No gods. No masters. No celestial hand-holding. Just you, your will, and whatever you’re willing to build with your own damn hands.

So if you’re out here looking for a devil to worship, do yourself a favor—go back to church. At least they have better music.