It is no longer necessary to believe in the Devil in order to sign a contract with him. Even an atheist can sign a contract with the Devil. In that case, for him, the Devil is a fiction or an idea. However, it would be naive to think that ideas are harmless and that they do not carry a certain quantum of fateful power. Ideas are, in fact, far more powerful drivers of collective and individual destiny than any divine or demonic entity. A person may or may not believe in such entities, may or may not commune with them, but ideas conquer minds far more subtly.
In the monotheistic tradition, the Devil is linked to the phenomenon of evil. That figure embodies evil. Evil in its pure form—essential evil—is not incarnated, because it represents the principle of chaos, and chaos is something quite indefinite and formless, yet inherently destructive and ruinous. Chaos is not a substance that manifests in its pure essence; rather, it always does so through a specific form, and that form must nevertheless be subjected to the laws governing existence in the material world. Thus, it manifests temporarily and within a narrowly defined space. In a way, this impairs the purity of the primordial substance of chaos, but that is the only way its incarnation is possible—through the mixing and condensation of black and white light, that is, the fundamental energetic-material essences. In the phenomenal world, substances mix so that appearance itself may become possible. Hence, the legendary Devil as the bearer of radical evil, or chaos, does not exist in an unmanifested material sense, but he can always exist in some form. If something does not exist, it does not mean that it can never, nowhere, and in no way exist. However the Devil incarcerates, he brings destruction with him, given that evil represents a destructive principle.
The incarnated Devil, as a representative of an abstract energy, is not that energy itself in practical terms, but its derivative. That energy imparts an essential connotation to this manifested hybrid form, which does not make the embodied Devil superior to the elementary forces of the material world. He is subject to them, since everything that exists—even the Devil as a phenomenal form—is subject to destruction. In other words, we can kill the incarnated Devil. Furthermore, we can kill him countless times. He will always reappear. Therein lies his superiority: he is the master of forms, and specifically of forms that can exist time and again.
However, I would not want a false impression to be formed regarding my personal stance toward this legendary Devil, for I do not advocate worship, exaltation, and least of all service to anyone or anything. The Revolution is not a religion, nor a cult, but an expression of the will of its actors. I have had a vision of the revolutionaries and their Revolution. In that sense, they are not a movement, not a sect, not an association, nor a secret society, but the negation of any community. They are solitary, scattered like stars across the firmament. They act as gods, not as servants. There is no serving, but there is an alliance; there is a contract with the forces represented by the master of chaos.
From the perspective of our unfortunate times, the phrase "contract with the Devil" seems somehow worn out, obsolete, absurd, foolish, infantile, and superstitious; at best, it points to the profanation of ancient mysteries. Often, the phrase brings to mind a kind of madness, a psychopathic or sociopathic state of an individual or an infatuated group of satanic fanatics. The theme has been used many times. What more could be added to it, let alone anything sensational or revolutionary? Today, to so-called normal people, this motif resembles an allegory and carries a merely symbolic meaning.
What today appears to be profane superstition—a magical survival of the past—was once sacred, and everything that is sacred is always tied to a cult, a mystery, a tradition, or an initiation; that is, it possesses a deeper meaning. Éliphas Lévi noted that the word superstition originates from a Latin word denoting survival. For him, superstition is a sign that outlives thought; it is the dead body of a religious ritual. Even curses, absurd and threadbare phrases, sayings, taunts, gestures—specific movements and behaviors that are today considered vulgar, rude, uncultured, offensive, or indecent—represent the remnants of ancient initiations, initiatory insights, mythological truths, and signs of power.
One such remnant reaching our times in a distorted form is the initiatory magical vow known as the contract with the Devil. That act carries severe, atavistic, and comprehensive consequences for whoever commits to it. At first glance, it is a conscious choice of madness, a magical vow, and an initiatory expression of a decision toward voluntary servitude, demonization, dehumanization, and an alignment with historical (anti-)humanity. It is spiritual suicide, an agreement to inferiority, a move of desperation, a spectacular weakness, a submission to a monstrous ontological transformation, and a ranking among things we are not even sure are beings, or perhaps represent an expression of non-being. That is how it appears from the perspective of so-called solar consciousness. Naturally, the signatory of such a pact sees it differently: primarily as initiation, learning, growth, and gnosis—unless it is a pact of the Faustian type.
From a general perspective, the signatory of a pact with the Devil excommunicates himself from the category of human beings and all luminous entities. His star dims. He becomes like a machine, an instrument of a force that satisfies his lower inclinations, egomania, or passions in which he finds his golden cage of diabolical freedom, relishing its madness. At the same time, his fateful position becomes absurd. Namely, he trades and cheapens that which makes him alive and enduring for the sake of fulfilling a desire bound to death and disappearance. According to traditional interpretation, in a Faustian context, a contract with the Devil represents an alliance or trade of a human with the forces of darkness in order to acquire certain powers or privileges during life, whether that life be unnaturally long or hopelessly short. In the key of the Left-Hand Path, this alliance is, as I have said, an initiation—a willful act by which the signatory steps onto the dark path to achieve a dark eternity in the form of a dark deity, or to reach enlightenment by walking the paths of darkness.
Not all signatories of this pact share the same bargaining position. Traditionally interpreted, a person gives his soul to the Devil, or to a specific demonic representative, as consideration. However, it is debatable what exactly is being sold and to whom, because the concept of the soul is not something precise and uniform across all traditions and eras; significant differences exist. Yet, by definition of the mechanism of diabolical trade, the Devil has a claim upon it—upon the essential essence of the human being—justifying it through the human signature on the contract, which serves as testimony to an act of free will consenting to self-abolition and loss of integrity. This is popularly called "selling one's soul to the Devil," though that expression finds application in social and political spheres, as well as in the moral realm. Traitors of various kinds or those who deviate from certain morals and broader community interests for personal gain are often labeled this way, or so it seems from a conventional viewpoint.
Selling one's soul means an individual stepping out of the bounds assigned to him by fate, tradition, and culture—a leap that must be paid for with unnaturalness, abnormality, perversion, or a transition into anti-value, placing oneself in opposition to the principles and moral norms of the tradition to which the so-called sold soul belongs. In a way, if someone is said to be an outcast or a sold soul, his humanity, human identity, naturalness, and sanity are denied. Such an exile is simply perceived differently. His presence evokes hatred, anger, disgust, contempt, and fear. He is denied the right to exist or to be free. Being tolerant toward him is equivalent to tolerating vermin or a criminal. The rabble rejoices at the death of such individuals. They applaud. Yet, sometimes that same rabble seeks services from such an outcast person.
Transposed to the microcosmic plane, the Devil is the human shadow, the double, the diabolo, the other Self—thus something that does not realistically exist, but can also always, at any time, anywhere, in any way, and in the case of any person, be manifested, even physically. This double is a phenomenon long known in the magical world, perhaps since prehistoric times. I might be mistaken in my next assertion—I am not entirely certain if this is indeed so—but it seems to me that the Egyptian concept of khaibit corresponds to the double, that is, the dark side of the human being. In the Egyptian tradition, the khaibit was the shadow double, the part of the being that remained tied to the physical body and chthonic forces. In our context, this is the lunar consciousness—that part of us which dreams, remembers, and knows more than the waking consciousness. In that sense, the khaibit or double is an energetic phenomenon. And it is precisely the khaibit that is directly immersed in, or resonant with, the dimension of chaos, the world of darkness, and everything nocturnal and chthonic.
From this point of view, a contract with the Devil is a contract a person makes with himself—a contract by which the "original" voluntarily falls under the rule of his "duplicate," his demon, instead of ruling over it. In a microcosmic sense, the Devil is that part of the human being compatible with the entities of dark occult forces, that is, with the principle of chaos. Through this part of the being, the forces of chaos penetrate consciousness, striving to take hold of the entire being. The consequences of their success are destructive, both for the individual and for his environment. Why are they destructive? Because solar—waking, daily—human consciousness has narrow horizons clearly focused on a limited perceptual-cognitive zone. The consciousness of the double—let us call it lunar consciousness—is far more comprehensive.
The double acts as an anti-human, or a human in madness, but that is because it dwells in a terrifying place, in a sphere that is horrifying to a historically grounded being like the average human. In a normal state of consciousness, we do not possess the perception and memories of the double. We do not perceive what it perceives. The only things that reach us from its perceptions are dream memories and vague feelings that break through barriers into our waking state, overwhelming us with fear or elation. The consciousness of the double dwells in an environment of spatio-temporal discontinuity and paradox, whereas waking consciousness exists in an environment of continuity. Unlike everyday consciousness, the consciousness of the double encompasses both dreaming and waking states, and much more besides. Unlike the double's consciousness, waking consciousness encompasses only itself and a minute fragment of the double's consciousness.
Dreaming, or lunar consciousness, belongs to the double's consciousness, although the double's consciousness in its totality is significantly deeper. Dreaming consciousness holds all memories and capabilities of both the double and solar consciousness, whereas waking consciousness holds memories and capabilities only of itself, retaining mere fragments of lunar consciousness. The double is awake at all times; it hears everything, sees everything, and forgets nothing. The double perceives beyond what physical senses grasp, incorporating special senses unique to itself. Tapping into the consciousness of the double is the essence of serious magic. However, balance must exist between these two types of consciousness. One form must not be suppressed by the other. The adept must learn to exist on the threshold, which, naturally, is not without risk.
Thus, the consciousness of the double holds a vast advantage. In practical terms, as Castaneda demonstrated, if the double is harmonized with solar consciousness, it can act in the exact same manner, but with a significant addition. That addition pertains to the ability of the exteriorized double to exhibit dream-like capabilities in this world. Castaneda describes Mexican sorcerers leaping from great heights, flying over trees or houses, and appearing in two places simultaneously. Both manifestations are undoubtedly the same person, yet they differ in their energetic nature, which only clairvoyants—not ordinary people—can perceive.
To return from this digression: few are capable of concluding an effective contract with the Devil. Insignificant, lukewarm people can sign anything, yet their signature remains as worthless as a piece of toilet paper. It is not that some people are somehow inherently bad, but rather that they are indecisive. A contract with the Devil, in this sense, demands an absolute decision without reservation, and lukewarm people cannot make such a decision because they are always hesitating. The variation of the contract with the Devil that serves as an initiatory act of the Divine Revolution of Catastrophe differs from standard terms and conditions. The stake is high, and the gain is nothing. Truly, a supremely masochistic option. Furthermore, there is no reward or eschatological promise—nothing in life and nothing after. The destination of the revolutionary is nothingness. Success consists of preserving the initial stake until the end of the game. If you consider that to be no great success, let me remind you that most people, by the end of the game called life, are left with nothing of what they started with or acquired over time. If we remain with our principal stake at the end, we can consider that we have not fared poorly in the game with the Devil, or in life altogether. We are all the richer for the incredible experience of playing life's magnificent game. Still, regarding this, the question remains: Why engage in all of this in the first place?
Through the revolutionary version of the contract, which is simultaneously a revolutionary vow, the signatory places himself in a constant state of a fait accompli and perpetual self-observation and self-examination. Such a commitment requires extraordinary effort, self-awareness, impeccability, and discipline, given that at this stage, the aspirant of the Divine Revolution of Catastrophe will not have a living human being to act as his tutor and master. The signatory is rewarded by being deprived of the fatal luxury of laziness and indecision. The memory of the signed contract and the experience of preparatory operations always invigorate the fighting spirit, as does the thought that the Devil is constantly at his heels, watching for a wrong step. Through this contract, we become more aware that we must not make mistakes, for we live in a world where we are mere game leaving tracks, pursued persistently by someone or something. If we live cautiously and do everything to the best of our ability—as if death were lurking at that very moment—the reward will reveal itself, and with it, that magical reason for why it was all undertaken.
What does a contract with the Devil specifically mean in the spirit of the Divine Revolution of Catastrophe? The signatory commands certain magical forces, but he is also at their disposal. He becomes an operator of the forces of so-called radical evil and an agent of destruction. Even though he stands at the very center of the incarnation of these forces—and precisely because he embodies them and serves as their operational intelligence—the vow-bound aspirant has a chance to remain immune, almost untouched: "chaste amid the orgy," "a light amid the darkness". Everything depends on his intent and will not to act driven by desire for all that such power can grant or take. As I have emphasized, the signatory of the contract should not worship the Devil, but he must be aligned with his purpose. At the same time, the aspirant of the revolution commands as best he knows how.
The signatory meets the greedy appetites of demonic forces, but only in such a manner and to such an extent as serves the operational goals of the revolution. He is a voluntary instrument, a rider of the tiger, as Julius Evola would put it. In this game, he must keep one thing in mind: his death, and specifically in a manner that, according to the imperative of Castaneda's doctrine, makes death a reliable ally. This does not mean the revolutionary should artificially or magically evade death, but rather make death an act of his own will. The death of the revolutionary comes from the forces governing the thin boundary between the two forms of human consciousness. This means he dies consciously, on the threshold between waking and dreaming, between the solar and the lunar. Therefore, his death is not an accident, but an act of will.
The signatory of the contract must not cultivate the illusion that what he does ultimately results in something positive in the sense of doing something for humanity, the world, or planet Earth. No; he consciously, intentionally commits evil, projects evil, knowing that what he does is evil, while asking nothing for himself and using no demonic means to satisfy his own interests or acquire objects of desire. His task is to act and to endure. It is essential to maintain awareness of fundamental indifference toward one's own deeds. The revolutionary does not seek power, but the freedom found in his sovereignty. Power is a lever, not an end. The revolutionary is in an alliance with a force that will grant him freedom, and in return, he becomes an impeccable instrument of its goals. Traditional subservience to the Devil or to any deity implies faith in the righteousness of one's actions from the position of some universal justice or highest good, or personal benefit in the final analysis.
Believing in such justice, in such good, or striving for a reward assumes the existence of their opposites, which creates division in consciousness. The conscience of the revolutionary is unbothered by all these questions swarming above typical human deeds or their consequences, for he does not judge, he does not measure good and evil—he acts.
NOTE:
Originally published in Serbian. This English version is an AI-assisted translation of the original text.
