Tag: Shea Bilé

Shea Bilé’s Friedrich Nietzsche & the Left Hand Path : An Examination – Part 2

Nearly 12 years ago, before I had fully embraced Diabolism but had been involved in the occult for nearly two decades, I flirted with Christian Gnosticism. I wrote a manuscript at this time, attempting to produce a gnostic catechism that would outline where Gnostic Christianity and orthodox Christianity diverged and where they agreed. I let a close friend read this manuscript at the time. He was impressed with the writing, but noted, “You never mention salvation. Christ comes to save, right? What does this gnosis save you from?”

That same question can be asked about Satanism and the western Left Hand Path, and Bilé tells us we can find the answer in Nietzsche. It is nihilism. What Satan can save us from is life destroying nihilism.

This may be confusing for some readers, who have perhaps been led to believe that Nietzsche was a nihilistic philosopher, rejecting any notion of objective norms and morality. But this association of Nietzsche with nihilism is only a half-truth. For Nietzsche, there were two forms of nihilism: negative or passive nihilism, which was to be opposed, and positive or active nihilism, which is part of the necessary path to the Overman.

Bilé explains that the origin of our current malaise and passive nihilism (the culture of what Nietzsche would call the “Last Man”) has its roots in the Platonic and Christian obsession with a search for truth. Unfortunately, he never formally defines what he means by truth, but it is apparent by how he talks about it in chapter three that what is not meant is factuality. Rather, the truth Christianity, and thus western civilization, has been obsessed with is analogous to the Platonic world of Forms. He writes that, “Religion, philosophy, and even science answer to our impulse toward self-preservation, the will to truth is a consequence of this trepidation and terror evoked by and absence of worldly meaning.” Rather than a pursuit of fact as opposed to fiction, what Bilé means by the “will to truth” is the search for something eternal and unchanging in a world that by definition is transitory and ever-changing. It is the pursuit of a world of pure Being, which, since reality is a realm of Becoming, can never be found in this world.

“As mentioned above,” Bilé writes, “the ascetic ideal breeds the will to truth, which seeks the affirmation of another world by denying this one. The ‘truth’ as a categorical commitment places higher importance on the elusive eternality than on life itself; illusion is elevated above prudential goods.”

This pursuit of Truth sows the seeds for the passive nihilism western culture is now in the grips of. Since an eternal unchanging Truth cannot exist in this world of flux in which we live it must be put off in a metaphysical hereafter. But as science makes the existence of such a realm of Truth all the more improbable, not only do we lose faith in that metaphysical world, we are left bereft of any value in or attachment to the actual world of nature, and in any interest in forming a morality that will allow us to positively live in it. As Bilé writes, “Man’s yearning for suprasensorial truths becomes a self-immolating and self-refuting force: where artifice of ultimacy is lost, meaning itself is lost; and where meaning is lost, the beingness of Man is lost.”  A god of Eternal Truth will never lead to world affirmation, only world weariness. As Nietzsche wrote, placing ultimate value in eternal Truth will eventually lead to a poisonous pessimism, “which is an expression of the uselessness of the modern world.” In fact, Nietzsche equates Nihilism with Christianity in his aphorism, “Nihilist and Christian—this rhymes.”

Bilé contrasts the worshipper of Eternal Truth to the Satanist, who “does not forfeit the natural world for the neo-Platonic heavenly but abandons reason to engage in a depositional process, a drawing down of God into the Beast.” Here again we are confronted with the image of the satyr, the Baphomet, who combines the heavenly and the earthly in one being. As an antichrist, the Satanist is moved to oppose Christianity’s moral valuations: the inversion and obliteration of hierarchy, whereby what is vulgar and common is valued over what is strong and elite; communism over individualism; the valorization of pity; esteeming the hereafter instead of what is present now. All these are anathema to the servant of the Devil.

It is through Lavey that Bilé presents a blueprint for how we can wage war against the Crucified One. As said earlier, Lavey consciously drew on Friedrich Nietzsche when developing his own infernal philosophy. Nietzsche is famous for writing about the coming Overman, and what such a man or woman might look like, but he is perhaps just as famous for never having laid out any sort of program by which the Overman could be realized. Lavey seeks to remedy this problem by setting out a plainspoken moral and ritual practice by which an individual may save the godhead within themselves.

There are a few ways in which Lavey takes up the torch Nietzsche left behind. Firstly, Laveyan Satanism:

seeks out the inverse of virtue; it revaluates the vice of Christianity, so that they become newfound virtues. Modesty becomes indulgence, and anti-sensual restrictions inspire sexual expression—pride, vengefulness, and avarice all become positive attributions, associated with Satan and the core tenets of Satanic identity.

Secondly, Laveyan Satanism rejects the emphasis on the spiritual and places all value squarely back in natural existence. By rejecting the transcendent, Lavey makes the natural world “the good world, a world of transition, change, and chaos, all of which are viewed as immoral according to Christian moral valuations.” Rather than the soul, the Satanist becomes primarily concerned with the needs and urges of the human body. Nietzsche would approve, as he claimed the body was “a more astonishing idea” than the human “soul.” For Lavey, epicurean pleasure and physical indulgence are ends in themselves and need no further moral justification.

Thirdly, where Christianity emphasizes pity (the meek shall inherit the earth), favors the poor majority over the noble minority (blessed are the poor…but woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort), and emphasizes self-denial (you must take up your cross daily), Laveyan Satanism values meritocracy, power, and the elite over the downtrodden.  “Blessed are the strong,” Lavey’s Satan declares, “for they shall possess the earth—Cursed are the weak, for they shall inherit the yoke!” Where Christianity preaches forgiveness and love of enemies, Lavey preach lex talionis—an eye for an eye.

Fourthly, Laveyan Satanism seeks a mode of living that lies beyond common conceptions of “good and evil.” We see this in Lavey’s rejection of there being something that can be called white magic. “There is no white or black magic; both compassion and hate are to serve the ego.” In fact, Lavey says, morality is never anything other than self-serving. What we proclaim as right is truthfully what we deem will best serve our self-interest (though whether we are accurate in those judgments is another matter entirely). Social scientists have begun to come around to this idea, some going so far as to argue that most of our moral judgements are actually post hoc justifications for our behavior, and rarely as rational and dispassionate as we like to pretend.

The rest of Friedrich Nietzsche & the Left Hand Path is largely devoted to considering how the Satanist, with both Nietzsche and Lavey informing their practice, can overcome the nihilism that kills and embrace the nihilism that breeds life. As I want readers to get ahold of the book for themselves, I will not exhaustively consider these concluding sections. Primarily, such an endeavor involves making oneself the locus of their spiritual life, antinomianism, carnal indulgence, moral and philosophical skepticism, and creating meaning through will in a world that is harsh and unforgiving. “Equipped with the transvaluation of values,” Bilé writes, “the Satanist adopts a Dionysian pessimism, a pessimism of strength, a pessimism of the future that ‘destroys all other pessimisms,’… Like the overman, the Satanist will always be ‘without a master” — a radical individualist who becomes his own redeemer.”

Diabolists would be well served to read this book, think about it, and then read it again. I do warn the prospective reader, however, that this book focuses almost entirely on Laveyan, rationalistic Satanism. Not to say that it is hostile to theistic Satanism, but that isn’t its focus, and some passages rub against what I consider the values and conclusions of traditional Devil worship. In fact, one of the questions I am left with is how much of this book reflects Bilé’s own philosophy, and how much of it is an academic exercise? Bilé is openly theistic in his Satanism, so I am left to wonder why he would write a book that is so secular in its perspective.

Whatever the reason, readers should be cognizant of the fact that the book is largely written from an atheistic point-of-view, and will thus require some small interpretation on their part.

The larger issue my readers will have to consider for themselves, though, pertains to the very Left Hand Path itself. I have never considered the Diabolist’s path to be solely that of the Left. The Devil’s is a Crooked Path, meaning that we cross between the Left and the Right as needed, learning the lessons of dominance and submission, mercy and severity, darkness and light. Nor do I find much worthwhile in the idea of absolute auto-theism. The traditional Satanist is certainly called to a path of apotheosis, pursuing their Will and manifesting as much of their divine self as they can at any moment, ideally growing into an ever-greater vessel for the daemonic spirit they have been given. But we do have a Master and Mistress. We worship a god and goddess. There is a Law both within and outside us. We are stars, yes, but we exist in a universe full of them. And the language of becoming an “isolate intelligence,” which comes from the Temple of Set, frankly leaves me cold, for it sounds much more like escaping reality and our humanity than embracing it. We are social creatures, who find our highest sense of fulfillment through our interaction with the social and external world. There is nothing that exists in isolation. We are all part of the web of existence, and what affects an individual part will invariably come to affect the whole. The opposite is true as well. The only way I can conceive of transcending the interdependence of existence is to destroy everything else that isn’t you. The logical conclusion of absolute autotheism and seeking to become an isolate intelligence seems to be anti-cosmicism, which by definition is not only self-defeating but, again, the opposite of embracing reality for what it is.   

What is the use of becoming a god if you must destroy everything you love and enjoy and everything you are to do it?

I am also skeptical of the claim that there are no objective moral principles whatsoever. If there is no foundation to morality (albeit as grey and fluid as that foundation may be) why is there any reason for Nietzsche and those who came after to him to reject the passive nihilism he so forcefully rails against? Why prefer the Overman to the Last Man? Why do we value strength, nobility, creativity, and individuation over their opposites? Nietzsche cares about these things because, to his mind, they are the basis of life and health, but if good and evil are entirely subjective, what basis is there to object to preferring slavery over freedom, decadence and decay over growth and fruitfulness? Perhaps the argument could be made that it isn’t a matter of morality, merely of aesthetic taste. But if that is the case, who gives a shit about Nietzsche’s preferences? The truth is, the things Nietzsche (and by extension Lavey and Satanists more generally) value imply moral judgments. 

As with the word truth, what is meant by “objective morality” may be the real bone of contention. The co-host Sitch, from the Sitch and Adam podcast, has an axiom known as Sitch’s Law, which asserts that the majority of political and philosophical disagreements are really just arguments over definitions. Perhaps what Bilé means by objective morality I would call something else. I concede that all morality is in some sense subjective, but to me the subject can just as easily be a species as it can an individual. And while particular modes of moral conduct may make more or less sense in specific situations, that doesn’t negate the existence of the virtues those modes are aiming to embody.  

Regardless, it is clear to me that even if we cannot point to an absolutely objective morality, that doesn’t entail that all moralities are created equal.

Lavey clearly assumes a particular moral foundation in The Satanic Bible. Non-aggression; respect for the property and rights of others, including animals and children; sexual freedom; the importance of consent; and the right to self-expression are just some of the moral principles contained, implicitly or explicitly, in The Satanic Bible. Yes, Lavey talks about being ruthless against one’s enemies, but this is always in the context of an individual’s rights having been violated. Never does he suggest that a Satanist should be the unprovoked aggressor. Yes, Lavey does make use of “might makes right” language and sees reality as bluntly Darwinian, but there is a tension in The Satanic Bible between extoling that which is savage and that which is noble.

Consider this, the myths we tell about Satan and Lilith have certain moral standards coded within them. Satan opposes tyranny. The fallen angels are loyal to their captain, rather than treacherous. Lilith shows courage in escaping Eden, obeying her own nature. Jehovah is condemned for his bloodlust, misogyny, and ethical narrow-mindedness. As servants of the Devil, we absolutely have a code of honor, and examples of conduct we seek to emulate.

As Diabolists we worship the Adversary. To accept the Devil’s Mark is to enter a spiritual conflict of cosmic proportions. There are forces who oppose Satan’s vision for the world, and they are our enemies. Perhaps it is true that there is no such thing as objective morality, but there is such a thing as a Satanic Morality, and it is not “anything goes.”

All that is to say, while the Diabolist must surely move beyond a vulgar conception of good and evil, we do believe there is evil in the world and seek to oppose it. If not directly then indirectly by how we choose to live in our daily lives.

I want to circle back and reiterate there is much of value in this book. A lot. For those who are looking to move beyond neophyte level Satanism, this book is a fantastic place to start. Even if you don’t agree with everything in it, it gives you formidable intellectual arguments to wrestle against. If nothing else, it helps drive home just how much nascent Christian morality (whether of the orthodox or heretical “woke” variety) most of us need to root out of ourselves.

So, I encourage you, let Bilé take your hand and, along with Nietzsche, be a guide in understanding your Lord and religion all the better.

Shea Bilé’s Friedrich Nietzsche & the Left Hand Path : An Examination – Part 1

I first encountered Shea Bilé’s work on his (seemingly now defunct) Deferred Gnosis podcast, where he explored religious Satanism with an atheist co-host. After that, I heard interviews with him on a couple of different other podcasts. On all of these he proved to be one of the most serious, erudite, and interesting voices currently vocal in Satanism. So, it was with great interest and expectation that I purchased his book, published by Atramentous Press, Friedrich Nietzsche & the Left Hand Path.

This will be less of a review and more of a close examination of Bilé’s book, but for those who are interested, it is finely written and produced. My copy is the Standard Edition: black linen covered with gold foil debossing. The pages are sewn rather than glued, which means the book should hold together well past my lifetime.

 As an aside, I have mixed-feelings about the high-end occult book craze of the last decade. On the one hand, many of these books are beautiful. There is no arguing that. And there is something to be said for finely published occult tomes possessing talismanic qualities. On the other, this puts the price range of many of these books outside what some, perhaps many, occultists can afford. That may be a bug or a feature depending on your perspective. What I have noticed, however, is that this means most of these books end up in the hands of the collector and armchair crowd, rather than the people actually doing the work. As someone who takes his Satanic ministry seriously, it is the latter I am most concerned with.

And, to be blunt, just because a book contains outward talismanic qualities doesn’t mean it has much worthwhile inside.

That is not the case with Friedrich Nietzsche & the Left Hand Path. This is both a superbly written book, but a densely written one as well. Though it clocks in at only a little over 130 pages, nearly every sentence on those pages is packed with insight and meaning. This is not a book you skim through, put back on the shelf, and never touch again. I have read it three times over the past year, and still feel I haven’t mined everything in it yet. This is a book that forces you to slow down and to think. This is not a work for beginners, but for the intermediate and advanced practitioner. There aren’t enough of those out there, so they are true gems when they appear.

As the title of the book indicates, this book is primarily about the intersection of Friedrich Nietzsche’s philosophy with the philosophy of the western Left Hand Path. Specifically, it looks at the affect Nietzsche’s work had on Anton Lavey (the popularizer of the concept of a western Left Hand Path) and the early Church of Satan. Crowley and others invariably make an appearance here and there, but Lavey’s Nietzschean discipleship is the primary concern. The Black Pope made no secret of how much influence Nietzsche had on him, and his religious Satanism is in many ways an attempt to translate Nietzsche’s insights into a viable spiritual path.  

These are all solid decisions of focus. Without Lavey there would be no religious Satanism or western Left Hand Path more generally, and without Nietzsche there would be no Lavey.

For anyone familiar with Nietzsche, a question is likely to arise at this point of how organic this connection between Lavey and Nietzsche is. While the German philosopher did write a small book called The Antichrist, he had surprisingly very little to say about Satan, Lucifer, or the Devil explicitly. He certainly never recommends the Devil as a figure of religious veneration, or an archetype to emulate.

Or does he?

Friedrich Nietzsche & the Left Hand Path begins with a rather poignant and powerful epigram from Nietzsche’s The Dawn of Day. “Now I belong to the Devil. I go with him to Hell. Break, break, poor hearts of stone! Will you not break? …I am damned that you maybe saved! There he is! Yes, there he is! Come, kind Devil! Come!”

While the above is one of the few times Nietzsche has much explicitly to say about Satan, there is a figure Nietzsche holds up as a spiritual paragon—Dionysus. The god of wine and madness is a thread that runs through and connects nearly all of Nietzsche’s philosophical writing. At the opening of the first chapter, Bilé writes:

The sacred pain of a dying mother, the frenzied consumption of a child’s flesh, the penetrating gaze of holy terror, the entwined dervish of life and death, the bloodied face of a wrathful lover, the lustful revelry of a depraved people, the purifying fire and the consecrated wine—this is the divine paradox of Dionysus, the god of Friedrich Nietzsche and the god of this world.

If the phrase “god of this world” calls to mind Satan, that is right and intentional. It is a title associated with the Devil in the Christian New Testament. Bilé makes the argument that the being we know as Satan or Lucifer is a multi-faceted one. A deity who wears many masks and goes by many names. This has a tangible connection to Dionysus himself, whose visible totem of worship was often a mask nailed to a tree. Bilé says that the god of wine is clearly an antecessor of what would later become the Christian Devil. “[A]n origination borne from antinomian beauty and a contentious allure.”

For Nietzsche, Dionysus was a symbol of everything that had been lost of the ancient world when Christianity came to power in Europe. The wan, meek, and ineffectual Christ replaced the beauty, vigor, excellence, frenzy, and strength of the Hellenic world. For Nietzsche this was a tragedy, and so he sought to conjure this Dionysian force back into the world through his writing. This force was so powerful for the philosopher, Bilé writes, “he would end some of his letters with the nom de plume ‘Dionysus’—auspiciously similar to Aleister Crowley’s self-identification with ‘The Beast’ or Anton Szandor Lavey’s endearingly carnivalesque ‘The Black Pope.’”

“Nietzsche conceptualizes Dionysus as a tragic hero,” Bilé says. “The fusion of antipodal ideals—happiness and death, madness and freedom, the birthing mother and the dancing murderess…the affirmational union of the radical in-between, synthesized by the artistic and metaphysical force of Dionysus, the goat-god of tragedy and the tragic Greek myth.”

Nietzsche himself wondered, “Where does this synthesis of god and billy goat in the satyr point?” For Bilé the answer is obvious. “Here is the ‘synthesis of god and billy goat in the satyr…’: Nietsche’s Dionysus, Milton’s Lucifer, Shelley’s Prometheus, and the god of Man himself—Satan.”

So, for Bilé, whether we speak of Pan, Dionysus, Prometheus, Lucifer, or Satan we are speaking about aspects of the same spiritual being. He groups the attributes of this god into two primary forces, both in tension with one another—fire and wine.

This sense of blended of polarity is a key feature of religious Satanism’s understanding of the Devil. We see it portrayed in the light and dark aspect of Baphomet. The intellectual and carnal aspects of Satan and Lucifer. Readers who are familiar with the Brethren of the Morningstar’s Book of Infernal Prayer will perhaps think of the satanic psalm, “Annunciation.”

Behold the Lightbringer who lights the way out of bondage. Topple the mountains. Flood the valleys. All shall be put to the test. Cling not to names and images. Stability is found in motion. What use is the past but to dissolve and recombine? Search not for my paths in books. I direct my beloved by invisible means. Step lightly in your certainty. Sit boldly in your doubt. In the palace of tension, I am found.

For Bilé, Satan’s fiery aspect is his Will to Power. Lucifer is the great figure of revolution, who casts off his undeserved chains in search of freedom. And who likewise offers humanity the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge to lead us in a similar quest. He describes the worshippers of Dionysus, the maenads, in terms very much reminiscent of the folk tales of witches’ sabbaths from the late Middle Ages. Women who, in an ecstasy of freedom and fury, have thrown off all conventional morality to make contact with an existence that is deeper and more primordial.

“The Devil is an impassioned emancipator,” Bilé writes, “…because he embodies that which is sinful, unspoken desires and indulgences are associated with evil, and that which is evil is the Devil’s blessing.”

As a figure of political revolt, Satan came into his own in the 19th century, when socialists and anarchists alike appropriated the Lucifer of the earlier Romantic Satanists for their own goals. Bilé uses this well-known quote from anarchist Mikhail Bakunin to demonstrate this point.

Jehovah, who of all the good gods adored by men was certainly the most jealous, the most vain, the most ferocious, the most unjust, the most bloodthirsty, the most despotic, and the most hostile to human dignity and liberty… He expressly forbade them from touching the fruit of the tree of knowledge. He wished, therefore, that man, destitute of all understanding of himself, should remain an eternal beast, ever on all-fours before the eternal God, his creator and his master. But here steps in Satan, the eternal rebel, the first freethinker and the emancipator of worlds. He makes man ashamed of his bestial ignorance and obedience; he emancipates him, stamps upon his brow the seal of liberty and humanity, in urging him to disobey and eat of the fruit of knowledge.

In his capacity as the liberator of mankind, Lucifer is in direct confrontation with the Christian god and Christ. Bilé writes that, for Nietzsche, Christianity is the rejection of everything that was great in the Greco-Roman world. The Pagan world, which Christ came to subvert, was life-affirming, “an expression of the will to power—the will to life.” Quoting Nietzsche, what replaced this world was a slave world, “emptier, paler, and more diluted.” According to Bilé, what replaced the will to life was a will to death—“antinatural, antiactual, and illogical.”

The other half of the polar equation that is the Devil is the God of Wine, of surrender, imagination, ecstasy, who is emblematic of nature itself. Bilé evokes the images of the horned gods of paganism, Pan and Cernunnos. In a passage that is far too beautiful not to quote at length, he writes:

The Devil’s forked path begins at the shores of an impossible twilight, the death-speckled blanket above that swallows the starlit gaze of the devotional. His face is terrible nature in toto; his eyes are setting suns, beaming beautiful and black as the ocean. Satan swallows the faithful; their cries of joy are rain descending upon an enshadowed mountaintop—the Crown of Heaven, and the Crowned King of damnation and death, beauty and truth, oakwood and the ashes of the desert bush…Ancient and eternal, undeniable and death-like, metaphysic and material, what Satan’s face reflects is Nature itself.

What was most valuable in ancient Paganism, for Nietzsche, was that it embraced the natural world for what it was, rather than rejecting it for an imagined world that conformed more to what we wish the world would be. This rejection doesn’t just take place in Christianity, but in many world religions, Buddhism being the most obvious. Indo-European paganism, on the other hand, venerated what was natural, strong, exuberant, and proud. Rather than hide from the bestial side of our nature, Paganism embraced it with a whole heart. For Bilé, it is the satyr-like Pan who embodies the true image of humankind, personifying “an unadorned expression of truth that exists beneath the synthetic cultural trappings” of humanity.

This Horned God, this Dionysus, this Satan, in his earthly aspect, “stands in opposition to the ‘Crucified,’ his antithesis. Life itself, with all its joys and annihilations, torment and suffering, destruction and vibrancy of life—the ‘innocent one’ represents a denial and objection to this world as-it-is, its condemnation. The Dionysian man affirms the innate viciousness of life—its tragedy; for this, he is strong, resilient, and rich in spirit.”

How to live just such a life of strength, self-actualization, and courage is precisely what Lavey set out to answer in his creation of the Church of Satan and The Satanic Bible. The above two Dionysian poles of fire and wine are very much present in Lavey’s spirituality. Through a satanic “re-reading and revaluation of Christian tradition, Satan’s negative associations transfigure into positive attribution, and he comes to embody sex, pride, rebellion, opposition, individualism, and rational self-interest.” Bilé further notes that, for Lavey, Lucifer is a bearer of knowledge—a god of invention and reason. This is the fire side.

On the wine side, Lavey’s Satan also represents the animal urges that are just as much a part of our humanity as the intellectual side. It is through this bestial side that Lavey draws a need for a “naturalistic morality.” Such a morality would not only accept but celebrate our urges for violence, pain, and physical indulgence. Such a morality, however, flies in the face of what Christianity has taught for the past 2,000 years. Bilé writes:

Lavey concedes that Satanism is “not an easy religion to adopt in a society ruled so long by Puritan ethics” and that it does not contain any concept of “false altruism” or a mandatory “love-thy-neighbor” morality. He also admits that Satanism is a “selfish and brutal philosophy” and that life is a “Darwinian struggle for survival” where only the mighty thrive and the masterful are the ones that inherit the earth…”

For Lavey, humans are predatory and hierarchical. To deny this or worse, attempt to smother it entirely, is to deny our very existence as a species. Rather than looking to an external redeemer to save us, or fool ourselves into thinking the world is anything other than what it is, Lavey challenges his followers to, “Say unto thine own heart, ‘I am my own redeemer.’” That is, to descend into reality and, through a Nietzschean transvaluation of values, affirm life in all its glory and horror.

What say you? That life is suffering and sorrow? That all the world is misery and decay? Yes, but there is leaping and dancing and laughter of the most brazen sort.

Wander! And trample the wretched who would enslave you.

Wander! And discover yourself in the flux of the world.

Wander! And let your heart sing a song of love.

Wander! And make of your death a crown. “Joy”

†

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