The War on Souls: God, the Devil, and Ozzy Osbourne
Fans and critics alike misunderstood Ozzy, a complex figure. He symbolized defiance, a response to the generation of flower power, while indulging in the chaos and pleasures of the flesh and showing deep sensitivity at times.
For over a decade, I’ve found myself drawn, almost unintentionally, into the role of what I would describe as a theological obituarist. I never intended to focus on death, yet I’ve been repeatedly drawn to reflect on what the lives and deaths of public figures reveal about mortality, judgment, and the soul’s yearning for transcendence. My first piece of this kind was on Christopher Hitchens in 2011. Since then, I’ve written on the musical brilliance of Chris Cornell, the tragedy of Phil Lynott, the apologetic fire of Nabeel Qureshi, Val Kilmer’s quiet dignity, Jeffrey Dahmer’s prison conversion, and the metaphysical genius of Wolfgang Smith. I have also written on the deaths of friends, actors, priests, popes, relatives, and medical “prophets.”
This particular theological obituary focuses on Ozzy Osbourne, who died on July 22, 2025, at the age of 76, just weeks after his final public performance. As expected, commentaries about Ozzy’s death spawned a series of emotional reactions; some have venerated him, others have condemned him, and others have been more balanced. Moreover, AI-generated memes flooded the internet, trivializing the reality of mortality and Hell. For those of us who are willing to look deeper, his passing offers an opportunity to think more deeply upon this world’s war on every soul.
Fans and critics alike misunderstood Ozzy, a complex figure. He symbolized defiance, a response to the generation of flower power, while indulging in the chaos and pleasures of the flesh and showing deep sensitivity at times. To some Christians, he embodied evil. Songs like “Mr. Crowley,” “Suicide Solution,” and “N.I.B.” seemed like hymns of rebellion. But that reading is too narrow.
In “Crazy Train,” Ozzy pleads, “Maybe it’s not too late to learn how to love and forget how to hate.” These words don’t reflect nihilism, but rather, they are the cry of someone searching for meaning. “Suicide Solution” was never about promoting suicide; it is a cautionary tale against alcoholism, inspired by Bon Scott’s death. The much talked about “Mr. Crowley,” named after the infamous occultist, was less a celebration than an interrogation:
Mr. Crowley
What went on in your head?
Oh, Mr. Crowley
Did you talk to the dead?
Your lifestyle to me seemed so tragic
With the thrill of it all
You fooled all the people with magic
Yeah, you waited on Satan’s call…
Was it polemically sent? I wanna know what you meant.
Ozzy, like so many artists before him, was channeling confusion not conviction.
I mention those words not as someone who was an “outsider” but as someone who appreciated the music. I attended live performances of Ozzy in 2002 and Black Sabbath in 2014. Both concerts left quite the impression. I found the performances to be intense and musically powerful. I admired the combination of musicianship and the lyrical edge. Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath always carried a symbolic weight, evoking a kind of exaggerated darkness that was more dramatic than truly diabolical.
Where many in my parents’ generation heard only noise, I heard something else. I was still in high school when a friend and I blasted Live at Last in my bedroom, almost twenty years after its release. When Ozzy shouted, “Alright!!! What do you want to hear? What do you want to hear? What do you want to hear? Let me see what we can do!”—just before Tony Iommi launches into the intro riff of “Paranoid,” the walls shook—and so did my father. He was stunned and caught off guard; and in response, he had his own voice shake the walls. That moment wasn’t just about heavy music and rebellion. It seemed that there was something deeper there.
I experienced a whole range of emotions while listening to Ozzy’s music. There was a dark and menacing nature to the music. But it was also peculiarly beautiful, like the instrumental track “Laguna Sunrise.” The music was energizing, cathartic, and even consoling. It drew you into a symbolic world where the ordinary was momentarily suspended and the inner life took center stage. The music evoked myth, longing, and moral tension. It wasn’t just sound but a space to wrestle with good and evil, freedom and fate.
Beyond Ozzy’s solo work and contributions to Black Sabbath, one song in particular stands out: “Heaven and Hell,” written during the Ronnie James Dio era of Black Sabbath. Dio, who passed away in 2010, brought a different sort of lyrical depth, one that was both poetic and surprisingly theological, giving the band’s music a kind of gravity it had not possessed before.
“The devil is never a maker. The less that you give, you’re a taker.” This echoes Augustine’s insight that evil is a distortion of good. The devil imitates God not to create but to corrupt. We can think of many contemporary examples here, whether it’s transgenderism, transhumanism, the illusions and delusions of AI, or artificial methods of bringing human life into this world.
Other lines from the song, such as “You’ve got to bleed for the dancer,” suggest that redemption comes through sacrifice. Even if faintly, it echoes the message of the Cross in the midst of spiritual confusion. It is Dionysian yearning limited by the weight of metaphysical reality.
Yet symbols are not neutral. They form the moral imagination. Take, for instance, the horror of Aleister Crowley’s and Anton LaVey’s deaths—Crowley muttering, “I am perplexed, Satan get out!” and LaVey reportedly crying out, “What have I done?” This statement reminds us that spiritual rebellion does not lead to freedom, but rather, it results in chaos and potential damnation. These were not men mocking God with clarity; they died as men who had succumbed to confusion, unwitting self-condemnation, and eventual horror.
“War Pigs” stands out in Ozzy’s catalogue not merely as a protest song but as an eschatological indictment:
Day of judgment, God is calling.
On their knees, the war pigs crawling.
Begging mercy for their sins.
Satan laughing, spreads his wings…
This is not political preaching like that of social justice warriors like Tom Morello, who preaches woke activism that most of his audience doesn’t want to hear about. Rather, this is apocalyptic in nature. Here, Ozzy does not mock divine justice but rather defends it. The song’s imagery evokes not rebellion but judgment: the crawling of the guilty, the contempt of Satan, and the silence of the damned. In an era when elite corruption, technocratic arrogance, and global abuses—some linked to grotesque evil like pedophile rings—are more visible than ever, “War Pigs” resonates even more strongly. Ozzy’s voice becomes not a defiance of God but a lament of a fallen world heading toward oblivion.
In his later years, Ozzy endured physical deterioration: Parkinson’s disease, cognitive decline, and multiple spinal surgeries. These afflictions may have drawn him into deeper spiritual awareness, one hidden from the public but never from God. In later years, as he sobered up, his lyrics became more introspective. In “Gets Me Through,” he declares the following: “I have a vision that I just can’t control. I feel I’ve lost my spirit and sold my soul.”
Far from defiance, to me, these words are more suggestive of regret and despair. Other tracks, such as “Mama, I’m Coming Home,” “Road to Nowhere,” and “Dreamer,” carry themes of reconciliation, of longing, and of a perpetual search.
In response to Ozzy’s death, Christian philosopher Owen Anderson wrote: “Unless Ozzy had a true faith in Christ, he will never know rest or peace again.” The theological claim is correct. Salvation is not found in fame, artistry, or good intentions. Christ alone saves (Acts 4:12). But we must tread carefully when speaking of final judgment. The soul’s secrets are not always apparent, even in what may seem apparent to an outsider. The Gospel leaves room for last-minute conversions, even deathbed repentance.
I explored this idea in my essay on Jeffrey Dahmer. His late-life turn to Christ scandalized many (particularly nonbelievers who do not understand the power of grace and salvation); but it also reminded us that the mercy of God is radical. We see this in Scripture: the thief on the cross, condemned and guilty, turns to Jesus and hears, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43). There is always hope until our last dying breath.
We do not know if Ozzy, in the final hours of suffering and silence, cried out for mercy. But we know that God hears the screeching of our hearts even in the absence of being able to form coherent words or thoughts. It is as though he refused to die until his mission was complete. In his final act of public service, Ozzy helped raise over $190 million for Cure Parkinson’s, Birmingham Children’s Hospital, and Acorn Children’s Hospice, an extraordinary contribution that surpassed any single charity music event he had ever been part of. That accomplishment was not merely financial. It required reconciliation, forgiveness, and a willingness to make peace among fellow artists, organizers, and perhaps even within his own fractured soul. One senses that Ozzy knew, on some deep level, there were things he needed to set right before he could finally let go. We know that mercy extends to the edge of the eternal abyss. And we know that the Cross stands even for those who spent a lifetime caught between fallenness and yearning for something divine.
Suffering, addiction, and massive contradiction marred Ozzy’s life. In the 1990s, he described himself as a practicing member of the Church of England and claimed to pray before every show. Such behavior is difficult to square off with his theatrical persona as the “Prince of Darkness,” who was immersed in occult symbolism, esoteric curiosity, and the disorder of hedonism. His lyrics often shifted between provocation and repentance, confusion and longing for grace.
He wasn’t a hardened unbeliever or a committed heretic but someone caught in an inner struggle, pulled toward transcendence while engulfed by sin, as many of us are. Although sober for many years, his self-abuse caught up with him. His life, like his death, acts as a mirror to the human condition. Mirrors are neither flattering nor deceptive. They show the truth, especially the one we ignore: we must choose between the dark illusions and the light that calls us home.
So, the next time you scroll through headlines and read about another cultural icon’s death, take a moment to pause and reflect. Ask what this death says about life and about your own soul. Take it as an invitation to reflect more deeply on Christ’s perfect sacrifice for humanity. His Resurrection was the defeat of death and the promise of eternal life with Him. One day, every soul, including Ozzy’s, yours, and mine, will give an account.
But do not despair: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” (Romans 10:13).
HI, I just read your post about Ozzie on CRISIS and want to thank you for it. Very balanced and insightful. I had heard rumors of his Christianity around the time of his passing. I had an album of Black Sabbath when I was a young teen. I think my mother smashed it to bits as she hated much of the music I was listening to. I didn’t really follow Black Sabbath or Ozzie much musically as my tastes went in a different direction (towards more progressive and structured rock music). Anyway, I look forward to your other pieces that you mentioned on Dahmer and some of the other ‘icons’ who died.
Thanks for your feedback. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Yes, you can use the search function on my website to find the other articles I mention. I also enjoy progressive rock.