The Deal

The modern world, this devil’s bargain …

                                    —E.M. Cioran

The devil came to a man one day

and told him: “I will grant to you

undreamed of wealth, knowledge, power;

every hope mankind has known

will real become, or seem to be

on the verge of reality

tomorrow or, at the very most,

the next day, marvelously.

You will dominate the earth,

take your first steps toward the stars,

walk on the mountains of the moon,

touch the sands on the plains of Mars,

weigh the ice on Saturn’s moons,

on your fingers wear her rings,

weigh the universe itself

in the scales of your great mind,

measure its length, its breadth, its age,

its time to come, death and old age,

you will be so sage.

You’ll count the smallest elements

that make it up – the quarks, the strings,

the genes, the chromosomes of all things –

and play with them

to make new worlds, new life, new minds –

you’ll learn

the origin of space and time,

the source of life, the cause of thought,

everything that can be known

you, and you alone, will know.

With your opposable thumb and brain

that Nature in her infinite

munificence gave unto you,

with your gift at math and word,

with your cunning skill of hand,

you will rule the mighty earth –

throw your chains across its seas,

dominate all air and space,

spin the world into a thread

to bind in one great continents,

throw your voice and images

in a mesh of thoughts and cries

until you fill the seas and skies

with nothing but humanity.

You will need no god but you.

You will be the bright, new god.

You will control reality.

And this will be because of me:

the prince of matter, energy,

reason, cunning, power, will –

le prince de ce monde, in a word;

the world of reason that’s perfectly absurd.

Of course, I ask a little price,

almost nothing compared to what

you’ll get in return. You might even say

that what I ask for hardly exists.

I’m almost embarrassed to name it – it

sounds so old fashioned, pre-internet,

so last century, lame, unhip,

for sexless weaklings, ungrown-up,

boring, slow, Neanderthal

as a Republican and as dull

as a Midwestern prayer breakfast:

let’s face it: only losers have a soul.

‘He’ll be talking about God next!’

sneers, in disgust,

those noble virtues of our time,

Selfishness, Arrogance, Gluttony, Greed and Lust.

Perhaps. But that is what I ask

in return for a world controlled by you,

a world that shows your … interesting face

where’er you look:

a world of pure reflection,

a world pure mirror, a palace that is

half lunatic asylum, half private prison.

Yet all of the things you long for most –

life, youth, love sans end,

a meaning in the swirl of chaos

of energy and matter – you’ll

discover are the only things

you’re not allowed to have: alone,

mortal, with all your cash and guns,

the ingenious devices that every week

tickle you with novelty,

flattering your infinite vanity –

iPod, iPhone, iPad, iLife –

games of virtual reality

and chemicals beyond ecstasy,

that cut across your existence like a knife –

are nothing but a substitute 

for what you cannot have:

something real.

                          There will be

no meaning, importance, central

role in the universe

for you,

you’ll just be

what you’ve always been:

an ant, anxious, angry,

with an odd

wish there might be

a hell, heaven, eternity,

and a dusty, musty old ghost in the machine called God.

I will make more billionaires

than the world has ever seen before:

a billion bubbles of hot air

that burst till there is nothing there.

And you will see the world you made

is worthless, empty, gaudy, dead:

a corpse dressed in Polo,

Chanel, Versace, svelte brocade

in Italy designed, in Vietnam made,

shipped to San Francisco’s malls,

to mobs of cool Young Adults sold,

looking forward to a long cruel death, sick, old.

But I have more: the final end

of my great gift is what your power

will do to the world you’ve taken over,

wrecking, pillaging, plundering it

under oceans of waste and air

most foul, deserts of famine, unbounded

drought, dead waters rising in

oceanic vomitaria,

with a holocaust of species

that do not serve or entertain you,

then even those you will wipe out,

the net that held you up you’ll cut

beneath you, till you’ve made the globe

a fetid stinking tropic, pole to pole.

The earth you will have eaten like an apple.

That is what I offer you:

oblivion and a ransacked world

drifting in space forever

after a few centuries of wealth and power

unimaginably sublime,

based on understanding of the truth,

the terrible truth of reality.

That’s my bargain.”

The devil fell silent, his hands on the table

next to a paper ready to be signed.

And the man smiled and shook his head

and leaned toward the woman next to him.

“There’s no devil and God is dead,”

he whispered to her.

“We are the cleverest things alive

We’ll outwit him whatever he says

And anyway, it’s only a piece of paper.

What do you say?” The woman, concerned,

frowned and asked, “You’re sure about this?

It sounds terribly dangerous.”

“I’m positive. Whenever did the devil

speak the truth? We already know

most, if not all, of his secrets.

He’s trying to scare us. He wants to keep us

weak, ignorant, under his thumb.

He’s full of hot air, most of it

noxious enough. Whatever happens,

we’ll be all right.” “Hm. Well! But, before we

sign our lives away, I have

one little question to ask Mr. Devil.”

She turned to Him. “Mr. Devil,

what will happen if we don’t sign?”

The devil shrugged. “Nothing at all.

You’ll live as you have for millennia:

most of you will be illiterate

peasants, a few will serve your lords,

that tiny number

who walk the earth in exalted splendor –

in badly heated palaces, damp

castles warding barbarians off

in pathless forests among impassable mountains

and living in fear of every person

near them, with nightmares of dagger and poison.

Most of your children will die before six,

your food will be wretched, cost most of your income,

you’ll die of illness before you’re forty,

and smell most seasons – especially in summer.

You’ll be ruled by idiot kings, gangster nobles

and lecherous priests. Crime will kill

those among you who survive the diseases.

Your mind will be

a mire of superstitions, crass

stupidity and prejudice, madness, and fear.

You’ll be living in the Middle Ages pretty much forever.”

“It sounds awful.” “But that’s how people

have lived since the dawn of time. It does have

one clear advantage, though.” “And that is?”

“Surviving indefinitely, more or less.

It’s what one calls a ‘sustainable

way of life.’ It still kills off

too many other living things

just to keep itself fed and amused.

But it could actually last. And there’s

one more thing, I almost forgot,

the most important of all of this:

human life – your brief, dim flight

a few feet over the soil of earth

between the sun and the moon’s light,

for all its misery, stupidity, shame,

brutality with and without a name,

will be the most important thing

in the entire universe:

God or gods and angels and even

devils like me will center our minds

on how you live and act and die

and everything we think or do

will try to lead you to heaven or hell:

however you’re dunked or drowned or twirled,

your fate will be the meaning of the world.”

  

The woman thought for a moment, and looked

at the man, who looked back, thoroughly appalled.

“Don’t listen to him,” he whispered hastily

to his skeptical mate. “We can have

everything – immortality, bliss,

meaning, importance, significance –

we’ll even have angels and God, because

we’ll be god, if we play our cards right –

we just have to be smart about this.”

Then remembering the devil’s promises,

she held her breath, then said, “All right,

go ahead. Do it. I love you.” “It’s

a deal,” the man said aloud and signed.

His lady added her name too, nicely aligned.

The man grinned, the lady laughed, the devil smiled.

The ink they signed with filled the air

with darkness. “They call me the prince of lies,”

the devil said. “It’s not so. I am

the prince of truth. Unhappily for you,

the truth will not set you free –

it will only reveal more perfectly

the length and strength of the chains that bind you

and the hopelessness of any escape.”

The man looked grimly up at him.

“We’ll see about that. You’ve got your bargain.

But don’t underestimate us, or me.

Full of surprise is humanity.

Here’s my bet: we’ll make the world

a garden stronger than paradise,

a kingdom of love and hope, a home

where happiness and peace will reign

between man and man, and man and beast,

and man and woman, his love, his friend.

We won’t conquer the earth, we will

marry it, wed it, husband it

with care and tenderness. Love will win

because it must or we all die:

we will conquer the heart of man

and share the earth with all that lives,

life will be a glorious dance,

infinite music will fill all space.

Love shall prevail …”

                                      The devil laughed.

“Hopeless idealist! Blind romantic!

You haven’t read much history

or looked at Facebook recently.

Good luck with that!” “Good luck indeed,”

the man said coolly. “We all need that.”

“You certainly will.” “Yes, we will.”

They stared at each other over the table.

The ink had not yet dried on the paper.

Suddenly a thought crossed the woman’s mind:

“What if I grab it and tear it up

right now?” Her heart beat hard and fast ...

But the moment passed.

“And so it begins?” the devil asked.

“And so it begins,” the man returned.

“We’ll see which one’s the cleverest,”

the devil smiled as he pocketed the paper.

“It would be a shame to be outwitted

by something that does not even exist!”

And he vanished away in a cloud of smoke and laughter.

The man and the woman turned to each other.

“What have we done?” the woman said.

“Whatever we’ve done,” the man replied,

“we’ll beat him, because we must.” The woman

shook her head doubtfully. Then they kissed.