The Devil Made Me Do It
I’m starting to believe there’s no way to explain what’s happening in the world without pointing to a real live devil (is the devil alive?). I used to scoff at the idea of the devil—not as a being, nor even as some autonomous presence possessing people like in The Exorcist. Now I’ve changed my mind. I never doubted the existence of evil energy, but I saw it as just another player in the human psyche—an archetype, if you will—that could be summoned by various means.
Recently, I came around to the concept of an Egregore, which I wrote about a while back (access that article here). An egregore is a collective psychic entity, a thoughtform born from the shared beliefs, emotions, and intentions of a group. It’s like a snowball of mental energy, gaining momentum and autonomy as more people pour their focus into it, manifesting through rituals, ideologies, or even online echo chambers. Think of it as the dark twin of a viral meme: once conjured, it can influence behaviour, spread like wildfire, and even seem to have a will of its own, whispering back to the group that birthed it. Still, this “mind-energy-field” isn’t truly an entity—it only exists when summoned by the “group-mind.”
Then there’s David Icke’s wild idea of shape-shifting lizard people from the planet Draco in the constellation of the same name. These reptilians, Icke claims, are an ancient, inter-dimensional alien race—cold-blooded humanoids with scaly skin and a hunger for control. They shape-shift into human form to blend in, pulling strings from the shadows to maintain a global slave system through fear, debt, and division. You’ll find them, according to Icke, masquerading as the world’s elite: royals like the British Windsors, high-ranking politicians, Hollywood stars, and banking overlords, sipping blood at Bohemian Grove rituals while plotting humanity’s downfall.
Then there’s the devil himself, the original tempter straight out of the Good Book, born as Lucifer, the morning star, a once-beautiful angel who rebelled against God in a fit of pride and was cast down to earth like a shooting star gone wrong (Isaiah 14:12). He’s no cartoon pitchfork guy, but a fallen cherub turned adversary—Satan, the Accuser—who roams the world like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour (1 Peter 5:8). The devil rules men’s souls through deception and temptation, whispering lies that twist desires into addictions, envy into hatred, and doubt into despair, all to drag us from the divine light. He takes over the earth not with brute force, but with subtlety: possessing the willing through occult pacts, inflating egos until leaders become tyrants, and engineering chaos through wars, plagues, and moral decay that make the planet his playground of suffering. Gee, sounds familiar, eh?
The devil’s primary goal is to steal, kill, and destroy—straight from Jesus’ words in John 10:10—by luring souls into eternal separation from God, turning paradise into a wasteland of regret. He thrives on division, sowing discord like seeds in fertile soil, whether pitting neighbour against neighbour in culture wars or nations against nations in endless conflicts, all to harvest despair and claim as many hearts as possible before the final curtain call. Which doesn’t bode well for us God-fearing folks who aren’t taken in by ol’ Beelzebub.
So, what changed my mind about the manifest devil? It seems that what some humans are doing, and have done, on this earth is too horrific to be chalked up to mere human psychology. This has always been true—arguably more so in the past than now—but it wouldn’t take much to list atrocities so gruesome and heinous that pure evil seems the only explanation. I won’t detail them here; why drag us into the muck when nightmares are already queuing up? Most examples involve individuals deemed so mentally deranged they barely register as human. But what about groups committing similar horrors? What about governments, their leaders, and organized events that defy any identifiable psychological explanation? For just one example, take the Covid insanity (anyone reading this think it isn’t insanity?) and Fauci’s role in it. Just as he knew those poor Beagle puppies would suffer horrendously in experiments, what possessed him to push forward with the Covid vaccine experiments?
To clarify, the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases (NIAID), under Fauci’s leadership, funded experiments in 2018 and beyond where young beagles had their vocal cords surgically silenced to stop their “distressing” barks. They were then locked in mesh cages, heads protruding, so hungry sand flies could feast on their faces for days to study leishmaniasis transmission, a parasitic disease. The pups were drugged and euthanized afterward. Critics called it barbaric; defenders called it “science.” You decide where the line blurs into cruelty—and into the devil’s work.
With regard to Covid, people often dismiss Fauci’s diabolical actions with excuses like “he didn’t know the vaccines were dangerous” or “he’s just a scientist, acting in the name of progress.” At worst, they label him a psychopath wrestling with childhood demons. Few would say the devil struck a Faustian bargain with him—his soul swapped for a razor-sharp intellect and a front-row seat to global power—while Mephistopheles scrapes a devilish fiddle, cackling as the deal’s fine print unravels his humanity note by infernal note.
What pushed me over the edge was this recent conspiracy theory about Charlie Kirk’s “murder.” Many claim he’s not dead, and if true—if this was a staged assassination psyop involving his wife, Erika, with fake children and all—I can’t fathom such a plot without Old Scratch pulling the strings. How could even abnormal humans concoct such a scheme? It’s the kind of layered deception that reeks of sulfur: fabricating deaths, families, and motives to manipulate the masses while the real players sip martinis while in hiding. If it’s a hoax to test public reaction or discredit truth-seekers, who but the Prince of Lies could weave such a seamless web of deceit?
There are countless examples of extreme evil by the powers that be, defying even psychopathic “reason.” Consider the Epstein saga, that festering wound on the elite’s underbelly: a financier turned pimp for the powerful, trafficking underage girls like party favors to presidents, princes, and tech titans on his private island paradise turned pervert’s playground. Flight logs read like a who’s-who of the wicked, yet his “suicide” in 2019 silenced the screams, with cameras “malfunctioning” and guards “asleep”—echoes of a cover-up scripted in hell. Evidence evaporates, probes peter out, and Ghislaine Maxwell, his madam-in-arms, gets a slap on the wrist while the real clients go unscathed.
And then there’s the blood-soaked horror show that unfolded on October 7, 2023, when Hamas militants stormed across the border into Israel, unleashing a barbaric orgy of murder, rape, and mutilation that claimed over 1,200 lives—mostly civilians at a music festival and in kibbutzim—while taking 250 hostages into the Gazan abyss, their fates twisted into propaganda porn for the devil’s delight. It wasn’t just war; it was a ritual of sadism, babies beheaded, families burned alive in their homes, the elderly dragged off like trophies—inhuman savagery that no god-fearing soul could script without infernal ink.
But Auld Clootie doesn’t play favourites; he fanned the flames on the other side too, as Israel’s retaliatory thunder turned Gaza into a graveyard of shattered dreams, bombing hospitals, schools, and tent cities where the innocent—over 67,000 Palestinian souls by October 2025, including countless children pulverized under rubble—paid the ultimate price for leaders’ bloodlust. What started as righteous fury devolved into disproportionate decimation, entire bloodlines erased in the name of security, leaving a strip of land that’s less homeland now and more open-air morgue. On both sides, the killing of innocents—tender throats slit in the dawn, tiny limbs mangled by 2,000-pound bombs—reeks of the same sulphurous hand, pitting brother against brother in a cycle of vengeance that only the Prince of Darkness could applaud, whispering “more, more” into the ears of the enraged.
Fast-forward to the sterile slaughterhouses we call operating rooms, where doctors—those white-coated high priests of Hippocrates—wield scalpels with the casual nonchalance of a barista frothing lattes, carving away healthy genitals and budding breasts from confused kids barely old enough to drive, all because a fleeting whisper of “I feel different” gets medicalized into irreversible mutilation under the banner of “gender-affirming care.” We’re talking thousands of minors across the U.S. and globe who’ve been pumped full of puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones—less than 0.1% of teens, sure, but that’s still hundreds of young bodies chemically castrated or surgically hollowed out each year, their natural development nuked for an ideology that treats flesh like Play-Doh.
No pause for the long game, no nod to the regret flooding in later like a bad acid trip; just a conveyor belt of consent forms signed by overwhelmed parents and eager clinicians chasing grants and gender gospel, turning what should be awkward adolescence into a lifetime of scars, sterility, and soul-deep doubt. It’s the devil’s sneakiest sleight-of-hand yet—dressing child sacrifice as compassion, one snip at a time, while the white coats clink champagne glasses over the “success rates,” blind to the hollow eyes staring back from the mirror, forever altered by hands that swore “do no harm.”
These aren’t isolated blunders; they’re symphonies of systemic sadism, conducted by suits in boardrooms who sleep soundly afterward. How do you blueprint such soullessness without a conductor from the pit? It’s as if the devil’s got a Rolodex of recruits, flipping through it like a phone book from hell, dialing up the ambitious and broken for a chat about power trades.
I’m not making light of this. I’m not being flippant. At this point, this demands serious consideration. I was on board from day one with the idea that we’re in a spiritual war, but I thought the spiritual aspect was mostly metaphorical—good versus evil as a poetic stand-in for human folly. Now I’m not so sure. What if the metaphors are maps, and we’ve been navigating by fairy tales while the real beast lurks in the footnotes? I’ve spent years chasing conspiracy rabbit holes, from 9/11 anomalies to election sleights-of-hand, always blaming greed or incompetence. But the scale, the coordination, the sheer delight in destruction—it whispers of something older, hungrier, with horns filed down to look like a halo.
The patterns are chilling: these atrocities aren’t accidents; they’re planned, funded, and covered up with a cathedral architect’s precision. Governments don’t stumble into genocides or mind-control labs; they march there with blueprints stamped “Approved.” The enablers? Not all mustache-twirling villains—just doctors, bureaucrats, neighbours who look the other way for a paycheck or a pat on the back. That’s the devil’s genius: not brute force, but the slow drip of normalization, turning outrage into apathy until the unthinkable becomes common place.
Where does that leave us, the remnant holding out for sanity? Armoured in prayer, eyes open to the whispers, calling out lies before they metastasize. If the devil’s real, so’s the counterpunch: light piercing darkness, truth toppling towers of Babel. I’ve always said skepticism is our shield, but maybe faith is the sword we forgot we had. The world’s gone mad, folks, but madness has a master. Time to name him and send him packing—back to the fire whence he came.