Pseudopistevism
Walking in the company of friends is a fine pastime, especially after dark. Night colludes with the imagination to lend the commonplace uncommon airs of mystery, so that a night-walk, no matter where conducted, is always an adventure. So it was that as we climbed the far-famed hill of Iroquois Park, the ancient trees that over-spread the path seemed to observe us, and whispered with the rustling of their leaves. The white moon nestled in their haloed crowns, and boughs cast blue moon-shadows underfoot as we walked on toward the hillcrest. The night was mystic; nature, transcending self, had become supernatural.
The scene complimented the company. We were three (a sacred number): a gothic artist, a pagan psychic, and a madman sick with unrequited love. We were on our way to see the Iroquois overlook, not only because it was beautiful, but because at 3am on a summer Sunday we had nothing better to do.
As we walked, we talked –first on books, then about politics, and finally over religion. The hike was a long one, and we were in no hurry. We stopped at a bend in the road where the trees thinned out, and sat on a low stone wall near a wooden pavilion. I gazed up at the neon plume that swelled above the looming trees to paint the northern sky a vivid pink. Were it not for that tainted sky, the setting could have easily been pastoral.
My reverie was shaken by an un-looked-for admission.
“I was a Satanist once,” the psychic confided. Cato was his name, and an ill-fitting one. He was neither a senator nor a clothing store. The Christian in me bristled.
“I take it you aren’t any longer?” I asked, knowing the answer. I watched as Colleen, the drowsy artist, inclined her head so that it rested on Cato’s shoulder in what F. Scott Fitzgerald would have called a “puppyish and convivial way”. A consciousness more primal than the Methodist burned with ire; she should have lain like that on my shoulder, not his.
“No – it’s a stupid religion. It’s too self-centered. I realized there was more to life than just endlessly pursuing my own interests.” Evidently he was now pursuing other people’s interests. I changed subject.
“You’re wiccan now, right? Do you follow a more Celtic tradition?” I knew a bit about the aspects of Wicca that intersected Celtic lore, and wondered if he practiced them. It might have been more than could be hoped for. A self-professed psychic is probably more interested in the so-called “applications” of New Age philosophy than in its historical underpinnings.
“What do you mean?” He gave me a blank look. My suspicions were confirmed.
“Do you worship any Celtic gods – the Mother Goddess, naturally, but others – like Cernunnos, for instance, or the Green Man?” He stared at me with ill-concealed incredulity, and then chuckled.
“I don’t worship anything,” he avowed. “I don’t believe in gods, spirits…nothing like that exists.”
“What about your magick?” I asked, “Where does that power come from?”
“From me.” he replied self-assuredly, now resting his chin on her sleeping head.
“Your soul, you mean.” It was an assertion, not a question, but one quickly rebuffed.
“I have no soul.” He said.”There’s no such thing. Any magick I do is just a way of organizing my thoughts to optimize my performance. There’s nothing spiritual about it”.
I was taken aback. How could someone who believed, as Cato did, that he could read minds and commune with the dead, negate in his personal philosophy the existence of the only things that could endow those sorts of powers? How, without acknowledging the existence of the divine, could someone claim to be the adherent of any religion, let alone a polytheistic one? When I asked him, he quipped that my understanding of religion was antiquated, but offered no clear explanation as to why. If there is one, it must be compelling, because it seems to justify a growing trend in western thought.
Pseudopistevism, from the Greek pseudo (meaning “false”) and pistevos (meaning “belief”), means exactly that: a false belief. It is a versatile term whose adherents comprise a diverse cohort.
A pseudopistevist can be someone who is faithful only for tradition’s sake, like a woman who takes communion every Sunday as her mother did, yet somehow imbibes plain wafers and wine instead of the Body and Blood.
It can be someone who sees faith as a sort of social net work, like a man who goes to Synagogue just because his friends are there.
It can be someone who gives lip service to their ancestral mode of worship so as to identify themselves with a particular cultural group, like a Brahmin who studies the Vedas meticulously, but comes away with nothing but a sense of ethnic pride.
Cato represented the converse of the third tendency. The son of erstwhile Christian parents, it was his goal to break free from the religion of his forbears. And so, at the tender age of 13, he had swung wildly from the mundane world of nominal Christianity to the outermost fringes of the occult. First, there was the Cult of Cthulhu (devised mid-century by the novelist H.P. Lovecraft), then Satanism, then Chaos Magick, and finally Wicca (strikingly mainstream in comparison to the previous three). Soon, he’ll probably tire of it, and catapult to some new variety of paganism, chosen on a whim and practiced with utter nonchalance. The spiritual values espoused by his companion faithful will mean little to him, because he really won’t be one of them. His only concern will be that his membership in the new
religion brand him “counter culture”.
The desire to belong is the one thing that unites all pseudopistevists . They use the appearance of religiosity to evoke an emotional response from a target audience - be it the public at large, the congregation or coven they draft as a social support system, or even themselves as they gaze at their reflections in the mirror and contemplate the great depths of their righteousness. When society perceives pseudopistevists as members of a particular group, it will treat them accordingly, never suspecting their ruse.
Pseudopistevism is a shallow, brittle mode of belief, and one that is eroding the American religious landscape. Our country has long been a nation of heretics, who (arguably) have proved our greatest asset. Heresy requires free thought, and free-thinkers are responsible for the social, political and technological innovation that has made America great. But whereas heresy springs up from misplaced zeal, pseudopistevism oozes from the fetid pool of apathy. Religion as a masquerade is no religion at all, and while open secularism outside the realm of spirituality poses little threat to faith, the covert variety at work within is far more dangerous.
Walking in the company of friends is a fine pastime, especially after dark. Night colludes with the imagination to lend the commonplace uncommon airs of mystery, so that a night-walk, no matter where conducted, is always an adventure. So it was that as we climbed the far-famed hill of Iroquois Park, the ancient trees that over-spread the path seemed to observe us, and whispered with the rustling of their leaves. The white moon nestled in their haloed crowns, and boughs cast blue moon-shadows underfoot as we walked on toward the hillcrest. The night was mystic; nature, transcending self, had become supernatural.
The scene complimented the company. We were three (a sacred number): a gothic artist, a pagan psychic, and a madman sick with unrequited love. We were on our way to see the Iroquois overlook, not only because it was beautiful, but because at 3am on a summer Sunday we had nothing better to do.
As we walked, we talked –first on books, then about politics, and finally over religion. The hike was a long one, and we were in no hurry. We stopped at a bend in the road where the trees thinned out, and sat on a low stone wall near a wooden pavilion. I gazed up at the neon plume that swelled above the looming trees to paint the northern sky a vivid pink. Were it not for that tainted sky, the setting could have easily been pastoral.
My reverie was shaken by an un-looked-for admission.
“I was a Satanist once,” the psychic confided. Cato was his name, and an ill-fitting one. He was neither a senator nor a clothing store. The Christian in me bristled.
“I take it you aren’t any longer?” I asked, knowing the answer. I watched as Colleen, the drowsy artist, inclined her head so that it rested on Cato’s shoulder in what F. Scott Fitzgerald would have called a “puppyish and convivial way”. A consciousness more primal than the Methodist burned with ire; she should have lain like that on my shoulder, not his.
“No – it’s a stupid religion. It’s too self-centered. I realized there was more to life than just endlessly pursuing my own interests.” Evidently he was now pursuing other people’s interests. I changed subject.
“You’re wiccan now, right? Do you follow a more Celtic tradition?” I knew a bit about the aspects of Wicca that intersected Celtic lore, and wondered if he practiced them. It might have been more than could be hoped for. A self-professed psychic is probably more interested in the so-called “applications” of New Age philosophy than in its historical underpinnings.
“What do you mean?” He gave me a blank look. My suspicions were confirmed.
“Do you worship any Celtic gods – the Mother Goddess, naturally, but others – like Cernunnos, for instance, or the Green Man?” He stared at me with ill-concealed incredulity, and then chuckled.
“I don’t worship anything,” he avowed. “I don’t believe in gods, spirits…nothing like that exists.”
“What about your magick?” I asked, “Where does that power come from?”
“From me.” he replied self-assuredly, now resting his chin on her sleeping head.
“Your soul, you mean.” It was an assertion, not a question, but one quickly rebuffed.
“I have no soul.” He said.”There’s no such thing. Any magick I do is just a way of organizing my thoughts to optimize my performance. There’s nothing spiritual about it”.
I was taken aback. How could someone who believed, as Cato did, that he could read minds and commune with the dead, negate in his personal philosophy the existence of the only things that could endow those sorts of powers? How, without acknowledging the existence of the divine, could someone claim to be the adherent of any religion, let alone a polytheistic one? When I asked him, he quipped that my understanding of religion was antiquated, but offered no clear explanation as to why. If there is one, it must be compelling, because it seems to justify a growing trend in western thought.
Pseudopistevism, from the Greek pseudo (meaning “false”) and pistevos (meaning “belief”), means exactly that: a false belief. It is a versatile term whose adherents comprise a diverse cohort.
A pseudopistevist can be someone who is faithful only for tradition’s sake, like a woman who takes communion every Sunday as her mother did, yet somehow imbibes plain wafers and wine instead of the Body and Blood.
It can be someone who sees faith as a sort of social net work, like a man who goes to Synagogue just because his friends are there.
It can be someone who gives lip service to their ancestral mode of worship so as to identify themselves with a particular cultural group, like a Brahmin who studies the Vedas meticulously, but comes away with nothing but a sense of ethnic pride.
Cato represented the converse of the third tendency. The son of erstwhile Christian parents, it was his goal to break free from the religion of his forbears. And so, at the tender age of 13, he had swung wildly from the mundane world of nominal Christianity to the outermost fringes of the occult. First, there was the Cult of Cthulhu (devised mid-century by the novelist H.P. Lovecraft), then Satanism, then Chaos Magick, and finally Wicca (strikingly mainstream in comparison to the previous three). Soon, he’ll probably tire of it, and catapult to some new variety of paganism, chosen on a whim and practiced with utter nonchalance. The spiritual values espoused by his companion faithful will mean little to him, because he really won’t be one of them. His only concern will be that his membership in the new
religion brand him “counter culture”.
The desire to belong is the one thing that unites all pseudopistevists . They use the appearance of religiosity to evoke an emotional response from a target audience - be it the public at large, the congregation or coven they draft as a social support system, or even themselves as they gaze at their reflections in the mirror and contemplate the great depths of their righteousness. When society perceives pseudopistevists as members of a particular group, it will treat them accordingly, never suspecting their ruse.
Pseudopistevism is a shallow, brittle mode of belief, and one that is eroding the American religious landscape. Our country has long been a nation of heretics, who (arguably) have proved our greatest asset. Heresy requires free thought, and free-thinkers are responsible for the social, political and technological innovation that has made America great. But whereas heresy springs up from misplaced zeal, pseudopistevism oozes from the fetid pool of apathy. Religion as a masquerade is no religion at all, and while open secularism outside the realm of spirituality poses little threat to faith, the covert variety at work within is far more dangerous.