Satanism and Fascism

Satanism and Fascism are connected in this account less by a claim of identical doctrine than by a charged overlap of contacts, anti-Christian symbolism, and theatrical aesthetics. Blanche Barton calls the association an “unholy alliance,” while Anton LaVey identifies aesthetics as its strongest common ground. Their answers leave the connection deliberately uneasy: fascist spectacle attracts attention, but Barton describes Satanism as a force that may push politics in either direction, according to circumstance.

Contact and Political Ambivalence

The relationship is introduced as a fear voiced in a question about whether Satanism has a strong connection with forms of fascism. Barton confirms that people of many kinds have made contact with the Church of Satan. She does not present those contacts as proof that every Satanist shares a fascist politics; instead, she names the anti-Christian strength of Germany under National Socialist rule as one source of appeal. The attraction, as she describes it, lies partly in the drama and mass spectacle through which the movement presented itself.

Barton sets that attraction beside a different principle: people should be judged on their own merit, and every race contains both leaders and followers. She characterizes Satanists as the “Others,” positioned to push a political pendulum toward whatever direction seems necessary to restore a balance. That direction could be toward fascism or away from it. The formulation does not erase the danger in the association—Barton calls Satanism at times a brutal, realistic outlook—but resists treating alignment as fixed or automatic. She invokes LaVey’s writing as a standard by which Satanism should stand or fall on its own merit.

Spectacle as Common Ground

LaVey’s answer narrows the proposed connection to aesthetics: in his view, Satanism and fascism meet most clearly in the forms through which they command attention. Barton supplements this with a terse emphasis on pomp, drama, and fear. LaVey develops the point through the force of romance and staged defiance, especially the image of overcoming apparently overwhelming odds. The resemblance he identifies is therefore one of public presentation and emotional effect, not a detailed demonstration that the two systems share every political belief.

In LaVey’s account, Satan functions as a standard under which people gather, a set of colors that makes allegiance visible. He describes this in terms of esprit de corps: belonging to something feared can itself produce awe and solidarity. To clarify the effect, he invokes Mayakovsky’s poem about reactions to a Soviet passport, using the image of a person who represents something others fear. His example makes identity a public signal. The emblem matters not only for what its adherents believe, but also for the reaction it provokes in those who encounter it.

LaVey also recalls the intimidating atmosphere associated with the SS entering a cabaret: the room falls silent. In his comparison, spectacle becomes a form of power that works through anticipation and social response, as much as through any spoken declaration. He connects that power to the controversial allure of taking pride in being identified with frightening evil. Yet his answer ends by shifting the emphasis inward: he describes calm recognition of one’s own nature as the ultimate evil. That turn complicates the earlier pageantry. The outward performance may command a room, but LaVey’s final formulation locates the deepest transgression in self-recognition.

Rebellion, Borderlands, and Provocation

Barton broadens the discussion beyond political movements by identifying Prometheus as a figure found in every culture and essential to the human spirit. She associates that figure with people on the borderlands, including magicians. In the context of the interview, this places Satanism within a recurring image of boundary-crossing defiance. It does not establish that the Prometheus figure is specifically fascist; rather, it offers a wider explanation for why transgressive identities and rebellious symbols can recur across cultures.

LaVey’s closing remarks return from grand political imagery to personal confrontation. He says that hostile reactions to foolish bravado reveal that people feel threatened, and that he regards the ability to upset them as wonderful. The provocation is thus both a performance and a measure of its effect: fear and offense indicate that the chosen identity has become visible. Read alongside Barton’s account, this response helps explain the appeal of the shared theatrical language without resolving its political ambiguity. The interview presents a real point of attraction in the overlap—drama, fear, and anti-Christian defiance—while leaving the relationship contested between aesthetic affinity, political contact, and the claim that Satanism must be judged on its own merits.