Houston, We Have a Satanist: (NASA's Nazi Occult Origins Will Shock You)

Sex magic, Nazi scientists, and a Hebrew word that means "to deceive." Happy Artemis launch week!

In which we learn that the co-founder of what would become NASA masturbated onto magical tablets while classical music played and L. Ron Hubbard took notes.

Four days ago the United States of America launched four human beings toward the Moon on a rocket the size of a building. Artemis II. First crewed lunar mission since 1972. The whole country was watching. The astronauts waved. The flag was there. The President said some words about American ingenuity. Everybody clapped.

It was genuinely inspiring. I am not being sarcastic. Watching a rocket leave the planet is one of those rare moments where you remember that human beings are capable of building things that aren’t terrible. For approximately forty-five minutes I forgot about politics entirely, which is saying something because I write about politics for a living and my brain has been marinating in it for so long I am fairly certain it is now permanently seasoned.

So naturally I am about to ruin this for everybody.

Because the story of NASA, and specifically the story of the laboratory where American rocketry was born, involves a self-proclaimed Antichrist, a sex cult, a mansion full of orgies, an attempt to birth a demon baby, L. Ron Hubbard (yes, THAT L. Ron Hubbard), a bunch of imported Nazis, a Hebrew word that means “to deceive,” and Stanley Kubrick. And the Artemis program itself is named after a pagan moon goddess, which is a detail that should probably bother more Christians than it does but we will get to that.

First I need to introduce you to the man who started it all. His name is Jack Parsons and his colleagues at Caltech called him a “delightful screwball,” which is one of the most generous descriptions of a self-proclaimed Antichrist that I have ever encountered.

The Delightful Screwball

Jack Parsons co-founded the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California. JPL. If you know anything about the American space program you know JPL. It is one of the most important research facilities in the history of human spaceflight. Parsons invented the first castable composite rocket propellant, which is a fancy way of saying he figured out how to make rocket fuel that doesn’t explode until you want it to. This was a significant contribution to the field because previously most rocket fuel exploded whenever it felt like it, which is why Parsons and his colleagues were nicknamed the “Suicide Squad.” Not the movie. The actual guys who kept almost dying.

Jack Parsons

Jack Parsons was also a devoted follower of Aleister Crowley, an English occultist who called himself “The Great Beast 666,” founded a religion called Thelema that involved sex rituals and eating biscuits made with bodily fluids, and was described by the British press as “the wickedest man in the world.” Parsons called Crowley his “Most Beloved Father” and signed his letters “thy son, John.” Before every rocket test at JPL, Parsons would dance around chanting Crowley’s poem “Hymn to Pan” as a good luck ritual. His colleagues laughed it off.

Nobody was laughing by 1946.

By that point Parsons had been pushed out of BOTH JPL and Aerojet (the company he CO-FOUNDED) because his extracurricular activities had become impossible to ignore. He was running the West Coast lodge of Crowley’s Ordo Templi Orientis out of a mansion on Orange Grove Boulevard in Pasadena, hosting all-night gatherings that frequently attracted police attention and involved activities that the organization described as “sacraments” and that the rest of civilized society would describe as “orgies.” He was giving almost his entire salary to the cult. He was showing up to work hungover from what his employer’s HR department would have called “Lodge activities” if they had been brave enough to put it in writing.

And then L. Ron Hubbard moved in.

Yes. THAT L. Ron Hubbard. The man who would later found the Church of Scientology. In 1945, Hubbard was a science fiction writer and Navy officer who showed up at Parsons’ mansion and immediately fit right in, which tells you everything you need to know about both men. Parsons was so impressed that he wrote to Crowley calling Hubbard “the most Thelemic person I have ever met.” Crowley, to his credit (and this is the ONLY time I will ever give Aleister Crowley credit for anything), did not trust Hubbard and warned Parsons the man was a fraud. Parsons ignored him. Even the wickedest man in the world could spot a con artist. Parsons could not.

Together, Parsons and Hubbard performed a series of rituals called the Babalon Working. The goal was to incarnate the Thelemic goddess Babalon in human form by creating a “Moonchild.” Parsons masturbated onto magical tablets while Prokofiev’s Second Violin Concerto played in the background. Hubbard sat next to him and took notes. This was the future founder of Scientology, sitting in a room, taking notes, while the co-founder of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory performed a sex magic ritual to summon a demon goddess into the earthly plane. I am not making any of this up. This is in the biographies. This is in the FBI files.

After the Babalon Working, a red-haired woman named Marjorie Cameron showed up at the mansion.

Parsons was CONVINCED she was the physical manifestation of Babalon that he had summoned. They began performing sex magic together in front of the lodge members while Hubbard continued taking notes, because apparently being a scribe at a demon-summoning sex ritual was his idea of useful work experience. The stated goal was to conceive a “Moonchild” through immaculate conception that would become the Thelemic messiah.

Hubbard eventually ran off to Florida with Parsons’ girlfriend AND $10,000 of his life savings. He then founded the Church of Scientology, which, when you think about it, makes PERFECT sense because the man’s entire career trajectory was “joined a sex cult, stole the leader’s money, started his own cult, got rich.” You almost have to admire the efficiency.

Parsons, now broke and disgraced, formally swore an oath proclaiming himself the Antichrist. His exact words: “Belarion Armillus Al Dajjal, the Antichrist, who am come to fulfill the law of the Beast 666.” He was not being metaphorical.

On June 17, 1952, Jack Parsons blew up in his home laboratory in Pasadena. It was ruled an accident. His colleagues were skeptical because Parsons was an explosives expert and the idea that he accidentally dropped a can of fulminate of mercury struck them as unlikely. His right arm was completely obliterated and never found. His friends rushed to the house after the explosion and tried to salvage his reputation by painting over a wall he had painted black with a devil’s head on it, which is the kind of thing you only have to do for a friend when your friend is a guy like Jack Parsons.

In 1972, the International Astronomical Union named a crater after him.

On the dark side of the Moon.

Now. Parsons was dead by 1952, six years before NASA was officially founded. But the agency that grew out of his laboratory needed rocket scientists, and as it happened, the United States had just finished fighting a war against a country that had the best rocket scientists on Earth. We just needed to go get them.

Our Favorite Nazis

After World War II the United States government ran an intelligence program called Operation Paperclip. The purpose of this program was to recruit German scientists and bring them to America. When I say “German scientists” I mean Nazis. When I say “recruit” I mean we offered them jobs and new identities and quietly looked the other way on the whole “building weapons for a regime that murdered millions of people” thing, because we needed their brains and the Soviets wanted them too and in the Cold War calculus of 1945 this was apparently considered an acceptable trade.

The most famous of these imports was Wernher von Braun, who designed the V-2 rocket for the Third Reich.

The V-2 killed approximately 9,000 people, mostly civilians in London and Antwerp. Von Braun was a member of the SS. After Operation Paperclip he became the chief architect of the Saturn V rocket, the machine that took Americans to the Moon. He went from raining death on London to making Americans cry with patriotic pride, and all it took was a change of employer and a lab coat. Over 1,600 German scientists came to the United States through Paperclip. Many of them ended up at the agency that was founded in 1958 to carry forward the work that Parsons and his Suicide Squad had started at JPL.

That agency needed a name. They called it NASA. Which is interesting, because I need to put on my Hebrew scholar hat for a moment. This one has been bothering me for about six years and I have never had a good reason to bring it up until a rocket named after a pagan goddess launched four days ago.

The Name

The Hebrew word “nasha,” Strong’s Concordance number H5377, is a primitive root verb meaning “to lead astray, to delude, to beguile, to deceive.” It is spelled nun-shin-aleph. The Hebrew word “nasa,” Strong’s number H5375, means “to lift up, to carry, to bear.” It is ALSO spelled nun-shin-aleph. The only difference between the two words is the position of a tiny dot above the letter shin. Dot on the right, it’s a “sh” sound and means to deceive. Dot on the left, it’s an “s” sound and means to lift up.

In the original Hebrew text, before vowel and pronunciation markings were added, these two words looked IDENTICAL on the page. And the first time “nasha” appears in Scripture is Genesis 3:13. That is the verse where Eve tells God that the serpent DECEIVED her.

Is this a coincidence? Maybe. I am presenting it as speculation because that is what honest people do when they are not certain. But I have spent enough time studying how the people who run this world name things to know they do not do it carelessly. And when a pattern shows up this clearly, I take notes.

The Part Where the Pictures Don’t Match

NASA photographs of Earth from the 1960s look like Hollywood matte paintings from the 1960s, which makes sense because matte painting was the state of the art for creating realistic fake environments in that era, and it was VERY good, and the whole point of doing it well was that you couldn’t tell it was fake. Stanley Kubrick directed 2001: A Space Odyssey in 1968, one year before Apollo 11, and produced the most visually realistic depiction of space travel anyone had ever seen. His special effects were so far ahead of their time that they still hold up today. Either the man was the greatest visual genius who ever lived, or he had access to reference material that the rest of Hollywood did not. There has been speculation for decades that Kubrick filmed the Apollo 11 Moon landing. He never confirmed it. There are rumors of a deathbed confession that have never been verified.

What IS verified is that Kubrick spent his final years making Eyes Wide Shut, a movie about wealthy elites performing occult sex rituals in a mansion, which is a fascinating choice of subject matter for a director who could have made a film about literally anything but chose to make one about the EXACT same activity that Jack Parsons was conducting in his Pasadena mansion forty years earlier. Kubrick died four days after showing Warner Brothers the final cut. He was 70. The studio then cut approximately 24 minutes of footage that nobody outside that building has ever been allowed to see.

Pull up a NASA photograph of Earth from 1969. Then pull up a NASA photograph of Earth from 2024. They do not look like the same planet. The continents are different sizes relative to each other. The colors are different. The cloud patterns are different. NASA has quietly acknowledged that most of its modern Earth images are not photographs at all. They are composites. Digitally assembled. Rendered from satellite data.

The “Blue Marble” hanging in every science classroom in America is not a picture somebody took with a camera. It is a PRODUCT. And somehow, across sixty years of supposedly improving technology, our own planet keeps changing its appearance in ways that nobody in the mainstream press has thought to question.

The laboratory where American rocketry was born was co-founded by a self-proclaimed Antichrist who performed sex magic rituals to summon a demon goddess. The agency that grew out of that laboratory was staffed with Nazi war criminals imported through Operation Paperclip. That agency’s name, in the original unpointed Hebrew, is spelled identically to the word meaning “to deceive.” Its early photographs look like the matte paintings Hollywood was producing at the same time. Its most famous achievement was preceded by a year by the most realistic fake depiction of space travel ever filmed, directed by a man who later made a movie about elite occult rituals and then died. Its modern photographs are acknowledged composites that look nothing like the old ones. And its triumphant return to the Moon is named after a pagan goddess.

At what point do you stop calling it a coincidence?

I watched the Artemis II rocket climb into the sky four days ago and I felt what everybody felt. Pride. Wonder. Hope. Then I thought about what I just told you, and I asked myself a question that I think every Christian needs to sit with, even if it makes them uncomfortable.

If you wanted to convince billions of people that there is no God, that the universe is a cold accident and human beings are a chemical reaction on a rock drifting through nothing, the most effective way to do it would be to put yourself in charge of what space looks like. Control the images. Render the composites. Name the programs after pagan gods. Staff the agencies with men who worshipped fallen angels and built rockets for the Third Reich. And make absolutely sure that nobody ever looks too closely at the photographs.

Because if there IS a God, and if He DID create the heavens and the earth, then the people who control what the heavens look like hold the power to make Him invisible. A God nobody can see is a God nobody believes in. And a world that doesn’t believe in God is a world with no authority above the men who run it.

That is what I thought about while I watched that rocket disappear into the sky. I prayed for those astronauts. I prayed they come home safe. And I prayed for discernment, because when the co-founder of your space program called himself the Antichrist and tried to open a gate to Hell while a future cult leader took notes, the rest of us should probably be asking what exactly we are reaching for when we reach for the stars.

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Want to read more about Parsons? The Wise Wolf archives is filled with my poorly written slop about this exceptionally strange man.