They’re Down Here For Our Souls

A guest post by Blato

Oh Deanna
Sweet Deanna

Well, I ain’t down here for your money
I ain’t down here for your love
I ain’t down here for your love of money
I’m down here for your soul

The above chorus is from a Nick Cave song entitled, Deanna.  Cave describes the song as a sort of ‘devil at the crossroads’ song.  The song is inspired by a childhood friend of his who had an abusive father.  Given that they were eight at the time, it’s not hard to fill in the blanks of what the song is about.  Children don’t think with subtly.  Thus, the proposed solution was murder.  Of course Cave and his friend never acted out their anger, but they did plot and plan.  Years later Cave transformed his dark memories into music.  In the song, Cave’s childhood self is represented as the devil.  The devil, coaxing and tempting Deanna into murder.

For brevity, I haven’t included the verses of the song but they are of interest: the way the Devil plants the evil deed in Deanna’s head; how he’s baffled she might have reservation; how squeezing the trigger is ‘just a little thing’; and, above all, that she should not consider the consequences of her actions.  The Devil’s narrative can be boiled down to a sentence: “just do it, end the suffering and figure the rest out later.”  Though much could be made of the verses, the chorus is the star of the show.  In four sentences Cave beautifully characterizes the devil.  The devil disregards any part of Deanna, he only cares to have everything that she is—he wants only her soul.

He’s not here for your money.  The Devil doesn’t care for your money.  He doesn’t care about your past toils.  He doesn’t care for what you’ve earned or how you’ve lived.  Money can represent many things.   Money can represent our past—our struggles, our successes, a certain modicum of our power in the world.  If it is inherited it represents the struggles of our ancestors.  If it is charitably given it represents the sacrifice of a caring stranger.  We hate losing it, since losing it means losing a small part of ourselves—a part of our past efforts.  Worse than losing what has been earned, a spoiled business venture can humiliate our sense of self; it shows the poverty of our predictions and the limit of our understanding.  To take our money is to take a part of us, and the devil isn’t interested in part.

I should emphasis that money can represent these things.  It doesn’t necessarily represent any of these things.  Ultimately, we are not our money.  We were not brought into this world by money nor are we here merely to make money.  Rather, our economic existence is simply a necessary part of our past present and future.  The point of money, in this context, is that the Devil doesn’t care for it.  Money is merely a vague representation of your generative power.  And, in most cases, it isn’t an accurate representation of that power—of the soul which creates.  Yes, your money is a part of you—it is a pale, earthly representation of your power, but it isn’t you.  It may mean a great deal to you and the Devil would gladly strip you of it.  But, in the end, it’s just a small part of you—and he wants the whole thing.  He’s not come for your money.  He’s come for your soul.

He’s not here for our love.  Like your money, the Devil neither cares for your love nor has need of it.  Still, he’ll still happily take it.  To him love is at most merely worthless sentiment—a useless bauble of the human experience.  To him, love is simply a weakness of the human heart, a possible attack vector, a means of control.  We are beings of love.  That is to say, we are solely defined by what we choose to love.  We pursue what we love, we defend what we love, we live on love.  We live to love another day.  And so, we are owned by what we love.  Our entire generative power, our souls, are devoted to who and what we love.  The Devil may want us to love him, but it isn’t out of a desire to be loved.  Rather, he would take our love only to own us through our love.  The loving relationship he would craft is one that is inverted and perverted.  It is a narcissistic kind of love.  The Devil would not make himself loveable in order to be loved.  Rather he would deceive and project a loveable façade—a false idol—in order to control through love.  He would own us through what we love, he would own us through what we fear—he would own us through any means necessary.  He’s not come for your love.  He’s come for your soul.

He’s not here for our love of money.  Greed, or ‘the love of money’, may be a sin; but even this is of little consequence to the Devil.  Again, like love, greed is merely one of many attack vectors.  Greed is a perverted form of love.  It isn’t the love of a soul—of the God-like generative power which creates.  It isn’t even a love of the fruits of our labors.  Greed is even more abstract.  Greed is the love of the representation of the fruits of our labors and the power to control them.  Greed is the desire for more, simply to have more.  It is the desire to have more simply because to have more means others have less and thus have less power.  Greed is a paranoiac, misplaced form of self-love.  It is, essentially, a lust for power.  The lust for power is a potent tool for the devil.  Yet even greed is of little consequence.  The devil isn’t here for your love of money, he’s here for your soul.

Christ at the Crossroads

Cave describes his song as a sort of ‘crossroads’ story.  This is interesting in that there’s nothing about its imagery that suggest any explicit crossroads, nor is there any of the typical themes of a crossroads story.  A ‘crossroads’ setting typically features the devil, in human form, holding a well-formed contract, waiting at some remote and deserted juncture.  None of this imagery is described in the song.  Rather, the song sounds more like a simple, devil-on-your-shoulder, temptation tale.  But, then again, there isn’t much difference between ‘temptation tales’ and ‘crossroads’ stories.  The only difference between temptation tales and crossroads stories (apart from imagery) is that at the crossroads you knowingly sell your soul all at once, rather than one piece at a time.  And, rather than succumbing to a momentary lapse of judgment, you—in full presence of mind—sign a contract.  At the crossroads you have full understanding of what you are doing and who you are doing it with.  The terms are well defined.  You get what you get in detail and, after a period of time, the Devil collects. 

I’ve always loved ‘crossroads’ stories.  I love them because they are essentially an epic exaggeration of temptation tales.  Temptation is all around us, at all times.  We resist or succumb to temptation in virtually every minute of our lives.  Temptation is common and mundane.  It is a chronic condition of our lives.  Crossroads stories differ only in degree.  They dramatize temptation and makes it uncommon and extraordinary.  Perhaps then Cave’s Deanna is a sort of crossroads story in the severe act Deanna is being tempted with.  Thankfully most of us haven’t, like Deanna, been tempted to kill.  But we do make deals with the Devil—sometimes knowingly sometimes not.  Even saints do it.  When St. Augustine said “lord give me chastity… but not yet!”—was that not making a little bargain?  Every sin is a micro-transaction—a succumbing of temptation.  Every lie is a tiny dodge of responsibility.  It’s always a little compact with the Devil.  You’re always selling a little piece of your soul for a little period of delight—give me fortitude, moderation, humility… but not yet!  Thus, my love of the ‘crossroads’.  It’s epic (even cartoonish) representation of something we all do on a mundane basis.  The only real difference is between the mundane and the epic is the magnitude and time period before the debt becomes due. 

The Devil’s temptations are infinitely novel, but are always in the same form.  The Devil tempts by way of momentary weakens, of sin.  And he always offers the very birthright which you’ve been temporarily denied.  The typical crossroads story is of a poor and downtrodden artist whose natural talent has been ignored.  They have a gift to give the world, but it remains unutilized.  They have a birthright which is currently denied.  They could hone their craft and toil to make themselves perfect, but they don’t.  Instead they trade their souls to have their birthright now rather than later.  They sell their souls for the world and lose both in the process.

The archetypical temptation story can be found in the Bible where Satan tempts Jesus in the desert.  When Satan tempted Jesus he first waited until Jesus was in a weakened state.  Hungry and thirsty, only then did the Devil tender his offer.  And what was his offer?  Satan offered Jesus all the nations in the world.  In exchange all Jesus had to do was kneel and serve.  In other words, Satan offered the King of Kings what was already his—his birthright.  Thus, the only thing truly offered to him was getting it now rather than later—all at the low, low price of his soul.

Of course, Jesus didn’t sign on the dotted line.  But what if he did?  Perhaps this is an absurd ‘what if?’ scenario.  God, after all, could never succumb to Satan—the Father of Lies.  I don’t, however bring this scenario up to speculate on if Jesus ever could succumb.  Rather, I bring it up to illustrate one important difference between Jesus in the dessert, tempted by Satan, and the most important trope in ‘crossroads’ stories.  That is: the nature of the contract.  Unlike the Devil at the crossroads, Jesus wasn’t presented with any documents.  There was no ceremony surrounding Jesus’ temptation.  Unlike the Biblical story, modern ‘crossroads’ narratives have much more pomp and circumstance.  The act of signing a written document adds a sense of finality.  The legal document binds the two parties together.  The signatory only signs after much deliberation—he goes into the contract with eyes wide open.  Consent must be given; and, once given cannot be retracted.

Once consent is given, all is lost—or at least that’s how the story usually goes.  Typically, the protagonist in the story (the signatory) experiences deep regret; and, usually, the story reveals that the Devil used deception to get his prize.  Often, the protagonist thinks he can out-smart the Devil.  This is rarely successful; and, when he’s bested, he inevitably blames his own blind hubris.  The protagonist may try to outrun his fate—running blindly from the inevitable.  Or, he may accept his evil compact.  He may resign his future to his past actions.  He may feel that no matter what happens he’s made a promise.  He may feel honor-bound to uphold his end of the bargain.  He may find solace in knowing how he will end and simply do what he can to serve as a cautionary tale to others.  Or, less commonly, he may lean into his choice.  Instead of fighting fate or warning others, he may try to please his new master.  He may try to secure for himself a high seat in hell.  

The contract binds.  It seals the fate of the signatory.  In a way these fatalistic tropes found in ‘crossroads’ stories break from Christian teachings, in a way they are extremely faithful.  They are faithful in that dealing with the Devil will always come at a great cost.  They break from Christian stories in that they deny, or ignore, the possibility of redemption.  This is likely because ‘crossroads’ stories are primarily cautionary tales.  We like to think ourselves susceptible to evil but largely immune.  We like to think that we would never knowingly do evil.  We may falter but we would never sign on the bottom line.  We may slip up here and there but we would never bind ourselves to evil, nor would we ever sell ourselves into slavery.  The act of knowingly doing evil sets up the audience to have a catharsis when the protagonist gets his just deserts.  Yes, it would be very possible to write a redemption tale.  But, given the premise of the story, it would be harder to write in a satisfactory way. 

The fact that most ‘crossroads’ stories don’t end in redemption isn’t necessarily a break from Christian teachings.  The unspoken missing piece of these tales is that the contract is always a bond between a fallible human and the Father of Lies.  Many such tales contain legal drama.  The Devil tries to trap you in a web of words; thus, the logical response it to examine the words—searching for salvation through some technicality.  One searches frantically for some logical escape within the terms drafted by the evil party.  The human party never steps back and thinks: if this contract was signed under duress, or through trickery, the contract is null and void.  The irony of the contract is that it cannot be beat using the logic of the contract.  The logic which voids the contract exists outside of it.  It can be boiled down to a single question: “can one ever sign a binding contract with the Father of Lies?”  The pretense of the contract is the fiction that drives the narrative. The Devil will never tell you that his contracts are worthless.  He will never let you know that redemption is a simple thing.  No, the path to redemption is so simple that it needs to be ignored in order to create easy drama in the story. 

I don’t bring up this analysis of the ‘crossroads’ story for its own sake.  We—all of us, of every nation—have been at a crossroads for nearly two years now.  Naturally, no one has been asked to sign anything.  No one has (at least explicitly) signed their souls away.  But, with slumped shoulders and downtrodden eyes, many souls are very, very weary.  With mandatory vaccinations.  With a system of privileges for only those who comply with governmental mandates, many souls are being crushed.  More and more, day by day, we are forced to choose between compliance and our livelihoods.  We are told that if we do not comply our children are not permitted to attend school.  If we do not comply, we are not permitted to dine indoors.  If we do not comply, we can no longer travel.  If we do not comply, we are not entitled to continue our work.  And what does compliance entail?  Compliance means being injected with a substance which not only does not provide immunity, but can cause serious side effects.

Perhaps you have no moral objection to these restrictions.  Perhaps you do not believe our rights are granted by God and thus it is not immoral to alienate others from them.  Perhaps you also do not believe that it is immoral to use fetal tissue in drug development.  But suppose you do.  Imagine you are now at a crossroads.  What are you being offered?  You are being offered your birthright in exchange for your bodily autonomy —your future in exchange for everything you are.  Perhaps you aren’t being offered all the nations in the world.  But you are, increasingly, being offered access to all the nations in the world.  All this for the low, low price of your soul.

Perhaps you think I am being too recalcitrant, too extreme.  After all, God is infinitely merciful and redemption is never far away.  I have just said that no contract with the Devil is binding.  So, can’t we all just comply and repent later?  Yes, definitely.  However, deals with the Devil always take their toll.  The further down the path to hell the more hellish it gets.  The point is to try to make Heaven on Earth—not to sacrifice the present for the future (bit by bit) until there is no more future left to trade.  We are sacrificing so much now, as we have for nearly two years.  Will these sacrifices bear fruit? Or, are they like sacrifices of old where only virgin blood could make the sun rise—and yet the sun keeps rising.

The Sun Also Rose Last Year

When this pandemic started, we didn’t know what to call the virus.  Names are important things.  A good name isn’t a definition but alludes to a description.  The names ‘China virus’ and ‘Wu flu’ were early contenders.  These names had good descriptive power as anyone outside the CCP agreed that the virus had its origin in Wuhan, China.  The official narrative was that the virus originated in a wet market in Wuhan.  Independent journalists had already gathered much evidence to suggest that not only was this false but that the actual origin was the Wuhan Institute of Virology.  Further it was also reported that the virus was very likely manmade.  For these reasons some independent journalists named the virus the ‘CCP virus’.  Though the name never stuck, their research eventually became vindicated.  And, though the ‘CCP virus’ was the most descriptive word the semantic battle is long over and the sterile, technical, clinical name of ‘COVID-19’ won the day.

At that time, President Trump asked the nation to voluntarily isolate for 15 days in order to stop viral spread.  Other nations asked for a month.  The logic for the extended period was to ‘flatten the curve’ of hospitalizations – not to prevent anyone from getting sick, but merely to lower the rate at which people got sick so that hospitals wouldn’t be overwhelmed all at once.  It was a reasonable ask.  A small sacrifice.  An investment in the future at the cost of one month’s freedoms.  Surprisingly, both the political left and right were largely united in this bargain.  Though some ‘conspiracy theorists’ warned that this period would extend for years, all seemed fine.  I remember talking to my parents at the time.  They were shocked at the prospect of a one month lock down and were worried that it may go longer.  I assured them that it may go longer, but it was absurd to think lockdowns would extend for years.  Nearly 20 months later the state of emergency remains in many parts of the world.  We still don’t have our freedoms back.  And though protests for George Floyd and ‘defunding the police’ were permitted (even encouraged) by the media, we were told to not socialize, not even for Christmas — all this while our politicians vacationed in tropical paradises.

Then came the vaccines and it was time for a New Deal.  Previously we were told that natural herd immunity was impossible.  Now, with the help of pharmaceuticals, herd immunity was possible and we could finally go back to normal.  We were told that if 60-65% of the population were to become vaccinated then the last third would be protected.  Lockdowns and mask-wearing (which had slid from voluntary to mandatory) would become a thing of the past.  All we had to do was accept an experimental drug, developed and made possible under emergency powers.  Pharmaceutical manufactures were given taxpayer money to develop these drugs.  Once developed, taxpayers were obligated to buy these drugs while pharmaceutical companies were shielded from all liability.  This was a very good deal for pharmaceutical companies, but the bargain was clear.  It was ok if a minority chose not to take the jab—no one would be forced.  It was sold as a civic duty and, in many regions, the goal was met and even surpassed. Two thirds of the population signed up.  Slowly the required 60-65% turned into a requirement of 75%, then 85% and now 95%.  Calls for civic duty slid into bribes, such as free food or lottery tickets; which, in turn, slid into punishments such as further lockdowns, loss of employment and freedom to travel.  Fool me once, shame on me.  Fool me twice, shame on you—the promise of normality was withheld once more.  The New Deal, the new sacrifice, must be renewed and renewed again.   

We were told the ‘vaccine’ would be our magic ticket back to normality.  Instead, the narrative changed.  Now we are told that the ‘vaccine’ only immunizes against the Alpha variant.  Against all subsequent variants we are told it provides ‘partial immunity’.  What does ‘partial immunity’ mean?  This is one of many abuses of language we are meant to ignore.  Immunity implies exemption, it means full protection.  ‘Partial immunity’ is akin to saying a ‘little bit pregnant’… but, ‘partial immunity’ sounds much better than ‘partial, brief protection’—which would be the language of a more honest salesman.  And what else gives you partial protection against infection? A strong immune system.  During this time it was discovered that natural immunity would be many times more effective that the drugs we were sold.  Taking basic vitamin supplements such as vitamin C, Zinc and especially vitamin D would grant substantial protection.  Add to that exercise, rest, and stress relief if you want to be in the best condition to resist the pathogen.

So, are we now given a choice between voluntarily taking a ‘partially immunizing’ vaccine or eating right, exercising, and sticking to a vitamin regiment?  No.  Instead we were given a new ultimatum.  The choice was between either taking a drug which gives partial protection, or having all our rights withheld from us.  Religious accommodations were denied (at least where I live) and medical exemptions were extremely hard to come by.  In one year, the bargain has gone from a month or less to stop the spread to ‘you must abandon your faith or be abandoned by your society’.  You have only one choice: do you have faith in man or God? There is no middle ground.  You have to choose.  Fool me once, shame on me.  Fool me twice, shame on you.  Fool me three times, shame, shame, double shame.

Science Fiction, Science Fact?

When I was young, I had an ongoing argument with a friend of mine.  We both grew up watching the same movies and reading the same books.  We both loved Terminator and Night of the Living Dead.  He preferred the former, I preferred the latter.  We’d debate if the world were to end in a robot uprising or a zombie apocalypse.  He argued that the singularity was near—robots would gain sentence and we’d be over as a species.  I’d argue that robots cannot overcome their own programing and that biological weapons were the nightmare we would face.  He’d retort that animated corpses was well beyond the scope of medical science.  I’d rejoin that ‘zombies’ don’t necessarily need to be corpses.

I sometimes wonder why this discussion would reemerge so often.  Perhaps we both felt something wasn’t right with our time.  Perhaps, both Terminator and the Night of the Living Dead tapped into a portion of the zeitgeist.  In a way the zombie and the killer machine are very similar.  Both are soulless creations with a singular purpose.  As for the Zombie, the author Max Brooks once noted that, unlike other, more classical, monsters the zombie comes to your door.  Unlike a vampire, who has to be invited into your home, or a dragon, who has to be sought and found in a cave, the zombie finds you.  Old horror typically has the protagonist either stumbling upon the arcane, usually while seeking out some mystery.  New horror has danger come to your house.  It doesn’t ask to be invited in.  It just comes in, and it just kills you.  There’s no safe abode.  There is no choice.  There’s no unbreakable, divine protection keeping the monster out of your home or town.  The zombie barges in and so does the machine. 

But it’s the particular inhumanity of the modern monsters that defines them.  Naturally all monsters are inhuman — they wouldn’t be monsters if they weren’t.  However, classical monsters are much closer to some sort of human nature.  Think of the ennui of the vampire who lives a lonely, endless existence in the shadows.  Dracula’s rage towards God is often depicted as rooted in a deep self-loathing, the quintessential narcissist—loveless, cut off from human communion, and (though powerful) he is humiliated in the knowledge that he can never be as powerful as God.  The wolfman as well as Jekyll’s Hyde are obvious metaphors of man’s struggle to keep their inner evil at bay.  They are good by day but when darkness falls, a similar darkness awakens in them and roams the earth.  Likewise, Frankenstein’s monster was merely a reflection of Dr. Frankenstein’s own monstrous soul.  The absentee father who raised a bastard.  In all these cases the monster retains their humanity, their divine spark.  The spark may be dim and their humanity may be twisted, but they are still pitiable, horrid, reflections of humanity’s dark side.

To the contrary, zombies and robots do not reflect some form of twisted humanity.  Though they resemble humans in form this is a simple accident of their creation—they only reflect humanity in their mere appearance.  The inner world of the zombie and the terminator are essentially identical.  Unlike classical monsters, modern monsters have little to no inner world, they have no spark of the divine.  Classical monsters question if they have souls—they wonder if they could be redeemed.  Modern monsters have no souls with which to question. The rich minds of classical monsters drove the drama of those stories.  Modern monsters are beyond reason and humanity.  They are simply terror embodied.  The drama of modern horror is driven by global catastrophe and trauma bonding between survivors.  Modern horror is about diverse characters fighting a common, relentless evil.  Above all, modern horror, is about retaining our humanity while faced with inhumanity.  The implicit question asked by classical horror is: ‘is redemption possible, even for the most wretched soul?’  The implicit question asked by modern horror is ‘faced with pure evil, can you retain your soul?’

But even these modern monsters are slowly fading away.  More accurately: the cleft between the biological and technological nightmares of my generation are merging into a singular scenario.  Perhaps this was inevitable, as the zombie and the terminator are like two sides of the same coin.  The zombie is man replaced by a mechanized driving force; the terminator is machine as a replacement for man.  Once your antagonist has no soul their physical characteristics become mere accidents of plot.  However, the story I’m alluding to isn’t found in books or movies.  Entertainment in the form of movies is falling away to video games.  Perhaps the defining videogame of the new generation, is ‘Doom’.  I played the original game in 1993.  However, the 2016 remake is much more compelling.  Though the plot has changed very little, the story has gone from juvenile and cartoonish to cartoonish and… a little too close for comfort. 

In the Doom universe you play as the ‘Doomslayer’, a superhuman whose sole purpose is to slay demons.  It’s a beautiful inversion of the zombie/robot horror genre.  Whereas with zombies and robots, humans must survive against a horde of soulless ghouls, Doom features one meta-human whose entire purpose, his soul, is devoted to fighting evil — and he’s so effective the demon hordes are the ones desperately trying to survive.  Whereas zombies and robots come to your door — they offer you no safe harbor — the Doomslayer descends into the bowls of Hell to give no quarter.  Whereas zombies and robots eradicate without prejudice, the Doomslayer eradicates with extreme prejudice.  He even mirrors the zombie/robot in his often mute, always monosyllabic words.  Virtually the only words he utters are “rip and tear” and they are only uttered when he takes a breath between slaying demons—and while thinking of slaying demons.

Good horror writing is typically driven by compelling villains.  This is also true in the Doom universe.  The demons themselves are, of course, villains but they aren’t compelling villains in the story.  The demons are terrible and terrifying but their evil purpose is simple — they feed off of the suffering of damned souls.  The demons are not complex like classical monsters.  They are wholly bestial.  They live only to destroy.  In this way they fit perfectly with Christian theology.  God is the creator and man was created in his image.  God gave man a divine spark, his soul.  God created the soul, and in turn, the soul creates.  Evil, on the contrary, cannot create.  Evil can only destroy.  This is illustrated beautifully in the game.  When the demons aren’t fighting the Doomslayer they fight each other.  Given this fact, one might wonder why there is even a need for the Doomslayer.  Why doesn’t he just leave evil alone to devour itself?  This is where the story gets interesting.  This is where the true villains come in.  There is a more complex, insidious sort of evil in the game.  It is a kind of evil that only man can create, because only man can create.  This human-created evil is a much more stable, more sustainable kind of evil than demonic evil.  In the ‘Doom’ universe, that evil is the Union Aerospace Corporation (UAC).  The UAC is man’s kind of evil, the kind that—like the Doomslayer—is singularly focused.  Yet, unlike the Slayer, the UAC, has its sights set on power. 

Good names have descriptive power.  The innocuous name of the Union Aerospace Corporation may have once alluded to its original purpose: a simple Aerospace company.  However, by the time the story takes place this banal name only serves to distract from its true nature.  The UAC rose to prominence after discovering an alien substance on Mars.  This foreign substance was dubbed ‘Argent plasma’.  It defied the laws of physics, and the UAC managed to use it to create ‘Argent energy’, a clean, cheap, renewable energy source which quickly surpassed all other energy sources and, inevitably, became the cornerstone of the entire human economy.  Having solved humanity’s energy problems, the UAC quickly became the most powerful corporation in Earth’s history.  Yet, the golden age of humanity was short-lived.  Unbeknownst to the UAC, this new “clean, renewable” energy source ultimately came from a fracture in Mars that lead straight into Hell.  Though the UAC never discovered how Argent plasma formed, it was soon discovered that it was derived from the souls of the damned.  So, did the UAC take an ethical stance and abandon the source of its power?  No.  The ‘ethical’ solution the UAC took was to study it further and try to synthesize it—to trust in the power of science and human ingenuity. 

As the game proceeds the Doomslayer encounters various officials in the UAC—notably, Samuel Hayden and his protégé Olivia Price.  Both are brilliant intellectuals.  Both are true believers in the power of science.   They differ only slightly in their moral character.  Hayden aspires to harness argent energy for the benefit of mankind.  Price wishes to harness it for herself.  Or, at least, that is the story Hayden chooses to believe.  Price is the obvious villain, Hayden is less obvious.  Price would harness ardent energy baldly for her own benefit.  Hayden would employ the same technology to cement his place at the top of earth’s dominance hierarchy.  He would like to think of himself as the benevolent King fighting against the malevolent Queen; but, in the end his philanthropy is merely hubris.  If he were truly benevolent he would recognize the moral costs of Argent energy are too great to use it in any way.

This moral failing is subtly illustrated at the beginning of the game.

Initially, Hayden becomes an ally of the Doom Slayer, helping him fight off the demonic invasion.  The invasion would not have happened if not for Hayden’s unchecked ambition.  It’s his mess, but he’s very happy that someone has arrived to help him clean it up.  Thus, he instructs the Doomslayer on how to disable the machinery employed in extracting Argent energy.  Yet, to Hayden’s dismay, the Slayer does not disable the machines, he destroys them.   The Slayer is a bit of a brute, but he isn’t an unthinking brute.  He listens to Hayden.  He hears Hayden.  He just doesn’t care.  He knows no good can come of the evil Hayden attempts to harness, so he does the only logical thing: he destroys the heinous technology.

But Hayden isn’t the primary antagonist in the story.  Hayden’s apprentice is.  Price fully personifies the special kind of evil that only man can bring about.  Evil cannot create, it can only destroy.  Yet evil, aided by the man’s divine spark, can create hell on Earth — which, we discover, is exactly what Price intends.  As the story proceeds, we find that Hayden was removed from his position as chairman due to health issues.  Still, his removal did not deter him from his primary mission: solving the Earth’s energy crisis.  His ambition led him to turn a blind eye to Price’s unorthodox projects.  While Hayden was working on energy, Price was working on military applications — she was merging beast and machine, creating bionic demons.  On top of this, she had created a cadre inside the UAC who were cultishly devoted to her and the powers of Hell. Though troubled by this, Hayden ignored the growing death cult, bent on sacrificing itself to the powers of evil.  Naturally, his apathy would come back to haunt him as this death cult would eventually circumvent the entirety of the UAC.

I’ve Seen the Future, and It Is Murder

We started off discussing cautionary tales. So how is Doom a cautionary tale?

Currently we are facing a global energy crisis—along with a global medical crisis, political crisis, banking crisis, and economic crisis.  ‘Crisis’ from the Greek ‘krisis’ meaning ‘turning point’.  Unlike our world, the world of Doom is on the other side of a crisis.  Doom takes place in a world after a crisis where the world’s elite chose to turn a blind eye to evil.  It is a world where its elite let evil fester inside their institutions, until evil became its institutions.  Doom is a dystopic, nightmare world.  It’s a tale of what happens when our elites become captured by unspeakable evil—where people in power sell their souls for even more power.  Doom is a world where only a superhuman, a man-God, can save humanity from hell on earth.

‘Crisis’, ‘krisis’, ‘turning point’—a crossroads.  Though the back-stories of Hayden and Price don’t explicitly include a ‘crossroads’ story, they fit the pattern.  Hayden and Price were the best minds humanity had to offer.  They were gifted with brilliance.  They were the top players at the top corporation.  They were powerful beyond words.  The world was their oyster, their birthright.  Presumably, they could have put their talents, wealth and power, towards a brighter future.  Instead, they sold that birthright—through apathy and greed—for unlimited power.  They could have abandoned their hellish venture.  They could have steered the world toward another road.  Instead, they turned the UAC into a machine that eats souls.

Of course, our world is very much different.  There’s no such thing as Argent plasma.  There’s no such thing as Argent energy.  The elites in our world would never be captured by such evil designs.  Even if they could be corrupted, the kind of unlimited, God-like power is impossible.  Further, there are no giant corporations drawing power from the souls of the damned.  There are no technologies which could feed off of limitless suffering.  We could never create something as horrendous as a Cyberdemon!  All of this is all just fantasy and fiction — a fun story for adult children.  Right?  Or is it a very powerful allegory with real-world implications?

Does Argent plasma exist?  Not in any tangible sense, but it is a direct metaphor for the souls of the damned.  Do the damned have souls?  Do any of us?  Yes, of course.  We have volition, we have a certain generative power, and a creative spark.  We have the ability to work, innovate, build, and invent.  Our souls are our potential.  Potential is the core of our being.  Does Argent energy exist?  Again, not in any tangible sense.  When we work, when we play, when we create, there are no electrons flowing from our bodies but we do produce. We have productive energy.  That productive energy is sometimes called our economic activity.  What we call an ‘economy’ is merely the sum total of that productive energy.  In a way an economy is another way of talking about the actualization of our collective potential, of our souls. 

Are there economies on earth which run on the souls of the damned?  Are the elites of this world transfixed on harnessing that power?  Consider this: for decades Western elites have been offshoring Western manufacturing bases.  The post-war developed world saw a steep rise in wages along with working conditions and environmental protections.  High wages and environmental regulations were not an issue in authoritarian states.  Thus, if manufacturing could be exported, it would and it did.  In the Doom universe the UAC possessed fantastic technologies.  The UAC’s only bottle neck was the energy to power their systems.  They had nuclear and fossil energy, but those were messy—not clean and renewable.  In our universe the West possesses fantastic technologies.  Yet the West requires a cheap energy source.  Not in the sense of oil, gas or nuclear power.  Efficiencies in energy production have occurred steadily, year on year.  There is only one energy source which has been deemed to be declining in efficiency.  That resource is manpower.  Western elites, like the UAC, determined that the supply of Agent plasma was only being used at a fraction of its potential.  So, like the UAC, the West struck an unholy bargain with a source of manpower that simply could not be found at home.  In the Doom universe that energy was found on Mars.  In our universe that manpower was found in China. 

In the Doom universe, Olivia Price formed a cult which reveled in human sacrifice.  A cult which courts the most heinous powers in a quest for world dominance and immorality.  In our world our elites fawn over a country which boasts of on-demand organ transplants.  Where do these organs come from?  From the bodies of political dissidents and undesirables.  Our elites know this.  And yet, they travel to China to be celebrated like kings and queens.  More than royalty, the Chinese Communist Party provides them with the closest thing to immortality currently possible—a ready supply of hearts, eyes, lungs, livers and the medical knowhow to use them. 

In the Doom universe Price melds flesh with metal to create cybernetic abominations—cyberdemons.  In our world the CCP melds man and machine with its social credit system – the unholy amalgamation of machine learning, artificial intelligence and at least 200 million surveillance cameras.  In this system every movement, every purchase, everything you post online, everyone with whom you meet – is tracked, logged and accounted for.  The social credit system subjugates by collecting personal data and feeding that data to a machine to be judged.  This information isn’t judged on the merits of your intentions, on the virtue of your soul—no, it’s judged by a machine programmed by a government which only cares for compliance.  If the machine—the Cyberdemon—deems you non-compliant your score diminishes.  If you comply, the demon rewards you with social credits.  If your score is too low you could receive higher interest rates on loans, be barred from purchasing train or plane tickets, hotel rooms, or even have your child blocked from attending top-rated schools.  Under the social credit system, the state determines all that is true, good, and beautiful.  That’s a friendly way of saying that, under the social credit system, there can be nothing true, good, nor beautiful.

If that isn’t frightening consider that this system—this demon—is only in its infancy.  If one listens to Dr. Yuval Harari, one begins to see what this demon will look like as it grows.  Dr. Harrari tells us that we need to stop thinking of ourselves in such antiquated notions as having souls or free will.  He urges us to start thinking of humans as “hackable animals”.  He tells us that as the algorithm feeds on our data, it learns.  As it learns it, eventually, will know us better than we know ourselves.  This may sound fantastic, but it is only logical.  If one is born into a system of constant monitoring, a system where all information is centrally controlled, tailored and delivered, how could one be anything more than a product of that system?  A fully formed social credit system is a program that programs humans.  Hacking machines is a naïve notion of 1990s movies.  In the future, you will not be the plucky hero who reprograms Skynet.  It will be Skynet that reprograms you. 

This programming isn’t anything like rearranging the wetwear in your head, it’s about programing you by structuring your entire social world.  You will be programed through pain and pleasure.  You will be formed by having all information vetted and filtered before reaching you.  You will be like Descartes’ brain in a vat — your senses controlled by a demon.  You will have no free will, because you will have no freedom.  There will be no time for reflection, no space for self-determination, no room for conscience. Bit by bit, the Cyberdemon will learn.  Day by day it will shape and mold your children—it will raise them for you.  If you think having an entire generation raised by television has created groupthink, brace yourself for the future — it is murder.  Murder of the dissident, murder of the minds of the obedient.  The Cyberdemon will mold us, from cradle to grave, harvesting our creative potential — our Argent energy.  A future with the social credit system is a world of the living dead, controlled by Skynet.

Will you own anything?  Will ownership — or money — even make sense in such a system?  Presumably, if the algorithm knows you better than yourself, it will transact for you, taking goods from you and granting you access to resources as you need them.  You will have no need to waste time deliberating on what you want.  You will have no opportunity for charity as you will have nothing to give.  There will be no need for greed as you will have nothing to want.  If you do, you will simply be a bug in the system—a virus in need of quarantine, reprogramming, and possible deletion.  You will be free in the sense of being freed from choice.  You will be freed from finding work.  You’ll be freed from budgeting, family planning, and any other deliberation you may have.  You will simply own nothing and be nothing, and you will be happy.   At least, this how I imagine it will be sold to us — as liberation from concern.  That is if it is even sold — and only after years of conditioning us to opt-in.  In reality, I imagine the actual Cyberdemon system will be just as bluntly mandatory the current Chinese model.  It has a veneer of pleasant efficiency — much like the rhetoric of the UAC — that masks a system of elite domination, control, abuse and terror. 

If this system is ever offered to us, I imagine there will be proponents who are like Hayden — true believers who itch to unlock the potential of our Argent Energy.  They imagine a world fully productive and finally at peace.  They imagine a world with no possessions, no greed or hunger.  A world with no countries.  Nothing to kill or die for.  No religion, too. Yet, what the Hayden’s fail to grasp is that, in his world, all are possessed as slaves.  To own nothing is to be nothing, to be master of nothing — to be owned.  The Hayden’s of this world fail to grasp that, for every one of them, there is an Olivia Price — greedy and hungry — salivating at the prospect of being a god in this world.  The Hayden’s fail to realize that the Cyberdemon doesn’t just want a part of us — it wants the whole thing.  It’s not down here for our money—though it will take it.  It’s not down here for our love — though it will use it. It’s not down here for our love of money.  It’s down here for our souls.

Rip and Tear

Luckily, the social credit system is only enforced in China.  Like the classical monster, the Dragon is in its cave.  It won’t bother us if we don’t bother it.  We’re safe as long as it doesn’t escape the confines of China.  But it has escaped.  It is here.  This monster is coming to our doors and it’s coming in.  Privacy is one of the fundamental impediments of the Cyberdemon.  The cornerstone of the Dragon’s system is the absence of privacy.  Any ounce of privacy threatens its existence.  It feeds on knowing you.  If it cannot know you, it cannot consume you.  If it cannot consume you, it cannot damn your soul to its Hell on Earth. It is a monster which can only be killed through shunning.  Look away from it and it dies. 

Sadly, the Cyberdemon has its claws firmly in many in the West, not just our elites. We are now asked to give up our private medical data every time we wish to buy, sell, or trade.  We are told we must now sacrifice our right to determine what goes into our bodies, as well as our private details, just to travel by rail or air.  Many of us have been forced off of social media for speaking truth to this hideous power.  Our rights: our right to privacy, bodily autonomy, freedom of conscience, free association, and freedom of movement are being ransomed to us.  We are being tempted with our own birthright.  We are told we need to partake of this medicine — like Holy Communion — which was built on the bodies of the unborn.  We are told we need to choose between our God — our conscience — or the world of man.  It’s a lie.  If we choose the world of man, it inevitably becomes the world of the Cyberdemon.  Ask by ask, step by step, lie by lie.  The beast wants to eat us bite by bite, bit by bit, byte by byte.  All we need to do is say “no”.  No — we will keep our world and we will keep our souls.  Anything else is a false choice.  A lie.

Plato wrote that to love others is a painful thing.  Painful, yet necessary.  He wrote that falling in love was akin to growing wings.  The wings would sprout from our backs, aching as they grew.  But, once grown, we are capable of ecstatic flight.  When the crisis started, we were united.  We happily sacrificed a small portion of our freedoms.  We sacrifice for what we love.  We sacrifice our time and efforts — our Argent energy — for the futures of ourselves and others.  As time proceeds it becomes clearer that our love has been used as a weapon against us.  I’ve seen ardent supporters of this farce posting pictures of crestfallen, downtrodden children, masked and separated.  I thought, wrongly, that these photos were in support of ending this madness.  No, not for these people.  Instead, these photos were meant to pay homage to the ongoing sacrifice.  They haven’t yet figured out that their noble sacrifice is a heinous bargain.  Worse, these same people are becoming increasingly vituperative against those who do not comply.  To them, we are ruining the sacrifice.

And yes, we are.  We must.

And yet, it is awful to stand between someone and their beloved.  To do so is to necessarily evoke wrath — which is why we cannot lose our humanity while standing firm.  Knowing they are wrong, it is easy to dehumanize, to see them as possessed by an evil spirit — rather than lost in confusion.  Now, more than ever, we need patience.  We’ve torn up the contract, they haven’t.  It’s easy to berate, goad and insult — to clip each other’s wings.  We can’t do that.  We are all falling down an abysmal pit and will need to grow strong wings to get out.  It will be painful.  It is necessary.  We need to explain that it’s not down here for their love — but love will be used against itself.  It’s down here for our souls.

We are at a crossroads and the Devil won’t tell us how to beat him.  He won’t tell you that all you need to do is tear up the contract.  This contract, like all the Devil’s contracts, is a lie.  It is a lie built on lies.  It is a web of lies.  A few of us know this, though none of us know the extent of the web.  We aren’t the Doomslayer.  Our demons aren’t manifested in the flesh.  Rather, like the protagonists in zombie or killer-machine movies, our task is to retain our humanity in the face of inhumanity.  Our task is to keep our souls.  Unlike in the Doom universe, our demons are comprised of words.  They float in virtual space.  Little contracts, waiting to be signed.  But the spirit is the same.  The Doomslayer doesn’t work within a system that feeds off the souls of the damned—he breaks it.  We need to be like the Doomslayer in his singular, unrelenting purpose.  We need to fight the unending assault of lies.  We must know that every little lie we concede to is a little, evil compact.  To concede to these lies is trading the future for the present.  It is saying “Lord give me strength, give me fortitude… but not yet.”  Rather, when we hear a lie we need to say to ourselves, “Rip and tear, RIP AND TEAR!”

Oh Deanna
Sweet Deanna

Well, it ain’t down here for your money
It ain’t down here for your love
It ain’t down here for your love of money
Its down here for your soul

Biography: Blato is a shadowy figure from parts unknown.  He seldom speaks yet is fond of saying: “One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters…But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”