Friday, February 06, 2004
The Time I Met the Devil --
Oh it was a bright sunny early autumn day, Indian summer sky. He has an office on K Street, with a view of the Washington Monument out of one of his corner windows, the Capitol out the other, but in the distance.
The office was handsomely decorated in an old world style, unremarkable except for its extreme tastefulness. There was a formidable dark mahagony desk with a banker's lamp and a small sign that read "The buck starts here." Above the desk on the wall was a large painting of four black horses astride the Earth engulfed in green flames.
That struck me as odd, but I figured, heck, this is the Devil's office, I shouldn't be that surprised.
I was inside waiting for him, drinking the most delicious coffee I'd ever had ... it was Starbucks, but strangely better in every possible way.
He entered humbly, slightly below average height, but handsome, with a strong jaw, but not intimidatingly so. Dark hair smartly parted -- he had impossibly blue eyes that seemed to look right into my eternal soul.
He broke the ice, "Don't worry, I'm not going to try and buy your eternal soul or anything ... that is, unless you're selling." He gave a hearty, genuine, uncle-laugh. In one sentence he had both entertained my darkest fear, that I would be unable to resist him, and then completely dismissed, making me feel naive that I ever thought he would be at all interested in my worthless immortality. He had obviously done this before.
I felt suddenly bold, a fool's courage, and I asked him, "Where does evil come from? Why do bad things happen to good people?"
"Why do good things happen to good people? Where does good come from? Not I. I am not infallible, I cannot create at will. I am not God."
Again he made me feel a fool, all my years of careful reasoning and deliberate ruminations dashed by an unforseen and yet now painfully obvious truth.
"St. Augustine said evil was the absence of God." I was grasping at straws.
"Yes, and he was also a Manichean."
"What about Hitler?"
I tried to change the subject. I hoped to glean some knowledge from this man, not tear down any more of my own ivory towers.
"I had nothing to do with any of that. Let me tell you something. Maniacs, psychopaths, murderers, I do not concern myself with these types. They are statistical oddities, freaks of nature. It would take great effort for me to turn a man of average morality into a monster. I know where to best utilize my resources. I know all about costs and benefits - I'm a good capitalist.
"No, I don't waste my time on these people, just as God doesn't waste His on the Mother Theresas ... they take care of themselves. Have you ever seen the rallies the Nazis held?"
I nodded.
"The pomp, the music, the flags. The masses working as one in an orgasm of nationalism and hate ... I work in the hearts of common men, the men that anonymously chant slogans, mindlessly obey, accept authority unquestionably as if it were from up high itself. That is where I do expend my effort. The faceless middle. The herd.
"Whenever a man comes home to his comfortable house and kisses his loving wife, I plant the seeds of hate in his heart. I give him false idols to praise, make him question his purpose and worth.
"No, I don't create evil as such -- by men's attachment to this world I sabotage good."
"What about Jesus? You tried to tempt him."
"I had to; even the most evil man in the world must bow to the will of some."
Then it was over, and I left his office feeling dirty. As I walked outside the air smelled of apples.
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Oh it was a bright sunny early autumn day, Indian summer sky. He has an office on K Street, with a view of the Washington Monument out of one of his corner windows, the Capitol out the other, but in the distance.
The office was handsomely decorated in an old world style, unremarkable except for its extreme tastefulness. There was a formidable dark mahagony desk with a banker's lamp and a small sign that read "The buck starts here." Above the desk on the wall was a large painting of four black horses astride the Earth engulfed in green flames.
That struck me as odd, but I figured, heck, this is the Devil's office, I shouldn't be that surprised.
I was inside waiting for him, drinking the most delicious coffee I'd ever had ... it was Starbucks, but strangely better in every possible way.
He entered humbly, slightly below average height, but handsome, with a strong jaw, but not intimidatingly so. Dark hair smartly parted -- he had impossibly blue eyes that seemed to look right into my eternal soul.
He broke the ice, "Don't worry, I'm not going to try and buy your eternal soul or anything ... that is, unless you're selling." He gave a hearty, genuine, uncle-laugh. In one sentence he had both entertained my darkest fear, that I would be unable to resist him, and then completely dismissed, making me feel naive that I ever thought he would be at all interested in my worthless immortality. He had obviously done this before.
I felt suddenly bold, a fool's courage, and I asked him, "Where does evil come from? Why do bad things happen to good people?"
"Why do good things happen to good people? Where does good come from? Not I. I am not infallible, I cannot create at will. I am not God."
Again he made me feel a fool, all my years of careful reasoning and deliberate ruminations dashed by an unforseen and yet now painfully obvious truth.
"St. Augustine said evil was the absence of God." I was grasping at straws.
"Yes, and he was also a Manichean."
"What about Hitler?"
I tried to change the subject. I hoped to glean some knowledge from this man, not tear down any more of my own ivory towers.
"I had nothing to do with any of that. Let me tell you something. Maniacs, psychopaths, murderers, I do not concern myself with these types. They are statistical oddities, freaks of nature. It would take great effort for me to turn a man of average morality into a monster. I know where to best utilize my resources. I know all about costs and benefits - I'm a good capitalist.
"No, I don't waste my time on these people, just as God doesn't waste His on the Mother Theresas ... they take care of themselves. Have you ever seen the rallies the Nazis held?"
I nodded.
"The pomp, the music, the flags. The masses working as one in an orgasm of nationalism and hate ... I work in the hearts of common men, the men that anonymously chant slogans, mindlessly obey, accept authority unquestionably as if it were from up high itself. That is where I do expend my effort. The faceless middle. The herd.
"Whenever a man comes home to his comfortable house and kisses his loving wife, I plant the seeds of hate in his heart. I give him false idols to praise, make him question his purpose and worth.
"No, I don't create evil as such -- by men's attachment to this world I sabotage good."
"What about Jesus? You tried to tempt him."
"I had to; even the most evil man in the world must bow to the will of some."
Then it was over, and I left his office feeling dirty. As I walked outside the air smelled of apples.
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