Dear Hendrix,

Hail Satan!

Just kidding. Well, sort of… Let me explain. 

When I was about 23, I was sitting in my bedroom, and for some reason, I decided to do some research on Satanism. That’s the beauty of the internet. So many curious rabbit holes to fall into. Though I wouldn’t suggest doing this on your work computer when you grow up, but I digress…

For years, I’d struggled over what the idea of Satan actually meant. I was raised Roman Catholic—from baptism to First Communion—so I was taught that Satan was “the epitome of evil” and Hell was a dreadful place full of roaring fires and endless suffering. 

My curiosity grew stronger after I took a philosophy class in college and watched a movie (Religulous) in my 20s. Both sparked question after question. I began to come up with my own ideas of what or who Satan might be. I wondered: What if Satan represents someone who merely questions the status quo? What if a pastor or a priest or a bishop or a minister was preaching to their congregation, but then, quietly, in the back of the room, a hand raises…

“Yes, young fellow? Do you have a question?” asks the preacher in my imagination. 

“Um, yeah. Hi, my name is Satan," says Satan. "Do you think that maybe the vision of a burning bush that this Moses guy saw might just have been the result of a hallucination caused by a fever, heat stroke, or a mental health condition? Asking for a friend. Thanks!” 

The crowd gasps! The preacher, visibly angry, shouts, “How DARE you question the Holy WORD!” “Down with Satan!” the room erupts. “Down with Satan!”

(Am I using an imaginary young Satan to contemplate the questions I had about religion in my 20s? Yes. Yes, I am.) 

While we may never really know who or what Satan is—or even if he exists at all—there are some organizations in the world working in his name. I’m familiar with two of them, in particular. But before I get into how I know them, you should know the difference between the two concepts: Theistic Satanism and Atheistic Satanism. 

The first is the belief in an actual Satan as traditionally known by religious standards. And those who identify with that belief system worship him. Atheistic Satanism, on the other hand, which is more of a movement than a religion, uses the character of Satan as a metaphor for human nature, individualism, and rebellion, and does not believe in the actual existence of a real satanic being living in a place called “Hell.” I identified at one point in my life as the latter. If I didn’t think there was a God up there, then why on earth would I believe there was an actual Satan down below? 

I remember having a conversation with my older sister and twin brother. I said something like, “What if Satan was just someone who asked hard questions?” Something inside me would relate to that type of figure—I believe in asking questions and challenging convention. I wasn’t curious about Satan because I hate God or Jesus. I just don’t know if Satan gets a fair shake.

So, I explored these two types of Satanism. Within Atheistic Satanism, there are two more subcategories. Still following me? Good! Let’s keep going! The first of the two is the Church of Satan, and the second is the Satanic Temple. 

I read up on the Church of Satan first. Although I agreed with the general idea of Atheistic Satanism, there were several things about the Church of Satan I did not agree with. But nothing's perfect, right? Not even Satan! So, I was still curious, and because it was the only Satanic group I found that met regularly in town, I went to a meeting. After all, since I was already part of one satanic organization called rock ’n’ roll, why not try another? So, on a typical cloudy Seattle afternoon, I found a Church of Satan meeting.

Or so I thought.

I headed out to the meeting, nervous as hell (pun intended). I entered the building and headed downstairs. Immediately, I noticed everyone was wearing black. Okay, I thought, so we all dress the same. Cool, cool. The chairs were placed into a giant circle so we could all see one another as we sat and talked. The woman with long blonde hair, dark makeup, and the biggest smile I'd ever seen was the leader of the group. She began the meeting by having everyone go around and introduce themselves. And if they were new (like me), we had to say our reason for attending. My heart raced. But when it was my turn to speak, I said, “Hi, I’m Eva. This is my first meeting, and I want to learn more about who you all are, what you do as the Church of Satan, and...”

The woman quickly interrupted me, “We are not the Church of Satan. This is the Satanic Temple. The Church of Satan meets at another establishment.” I kept my best poker face. “Oh, yes," I lied. "I’m sorry, I meant I’m interested in the Satanic Temple.” Then I sat and listened to the entire meeting. I mean, what the hell was the difference between the Church of Satan and the Satanic Temple, anyway? 

Well, since you asked... the Church of Satan was founded by Anton LaVey. I had assumed that the Church of Satan matched up with what I believed. Namely, questioning everything our religious classes taught us with thoughtful and genuine conversation. And maybe there’s a bit of that. But for the most part, it’s a bit more ruthless. Look it up if you want to know more; it’s not my cup of tea. And the Satanic Temple focuses on empathy, human rights causes, and individual freedoms, including the “freedom to offend.”

When the meeting finally adjourned, several members were going to lunch, and I was invited by the blonde woman to join. How could I say no? So, there I was, eating really good teriyaki with some Satanists, including the leader of the Northwest Satanic Temple. I'd come a long way from the baptized, communion-fed schoolgirl I was raised as. I can’t remember all the details from that lunch, but what I do recall is that I was surrounded by really sweet, genuine people whose mission seemed to be on the side of advocating for human rights. They were warm (like the fires of hell *rim shot*), they were smart, and they had displayed more empathy than I had seen most hardcore religious people ever show. I ended up staying in touch with a few people for quite a while. 

That teriyaki lunch happened some 13 years ago, Hendrix, and let me tell you, as a 36-year-old woman and mom today, I don’t identify with any formal religion, including Atheistic Satanism. I’m more of a “speck of the universe” type. I refer to the Gospel According to Carl Sagan (i.e., Cosmos) for any questions I have about what's out there. And though I agree with about half of the 10 Commandments—thou shalt not kill—the laws of physics and Einstein's theory of relativity are my main directives.

Two things can be true: Religion has been used to justify some of the biggest atrocities in human history (and it still happens today), and great humanitarian efforts have been done in God's name. Religion has harmed, and religion has made lives better. Life is complicated. And as a nonbeliever, if I’m wrong and all this religious stuff is real, and during my Judgment Day (which will take about two minutes of deliberation, tops), I get condemned to the fires of Hell, that’s fine. I’ll be running that place in a week. 

In the end, Hendrix, how or if you find spirituality will be your journey. That's the key. You can ask me or your father questions, of course. And don’t be afraid of raising your hand in the back of the room to challenge anyone, even us. No one can show you the way but you. Even then, you can't just step outside your door and find it like a pebble on the sidewalk. Sometimes you have to go to the wrong Satanic basement meeting, lie to the people there, sit around and listen to their spiel, and then go to lunch with them in order to realize just whom you're having teriyaki with. 

P.S. Don’t tell your grandmother about any of this!

Eva Walker is a writer, a KEXP DJ, one-half of the rock duo The Black Tones, and mom to her baby girl, Hendrix. She also co-wrote the book The Sound of Seattle: 101 Songs That Shaped a City, which was released in 2024. Every month for The Stranger, she writes a letter to Hendrix to share wisdom learned from her experiences—and her mistakes.