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The Devil Doesn’t Need a Deal - He Just Needs Your Vanity

A short video has been making the rounds on X. In it, a pastor claims he asked ChatGPT a chilling question:

“If you were the devil, what would you do?”

The response written in the devil’s own voice wasn’t about fire, pitchforks, or dramatic evil. It was far subtler. Almost mundane.

Convince people that truth is relative.
Keep them endlessly busy phones always in hand, never folded in prayer.
Fracture families and divide the church.
Desensitize society to sin until it entertains rather than shocks.
Amplify vanity so loudly it drowns out God’s voice.

And then the line that made the clip go viral:

My greatest trick is convincing you I’m not real - because if you don’t believe I’m real, you’ll never resist.”

It landed hard because it feels uncomfortably familiar. Distraction everywhere. Families strained. Pride elevated above humility. Reflection crowded out by noise.

But what struck me most is this: none of this is new.

Nearly three decades ago long before AI could simulate a devil’s monologue a 1997 film laid out the exact same playbook with eerie precision.

 

The Devil’s Advocate, starring Keanu Reeves as ambitious lawyer Kevin Lomax and Al Pacino as the irresistibly charismatic John Milton, wasn’t really about Satan at all. It was about human vanity and how little help it needs to ruin us.

In the film, Satan doesn’t force anyone into evil. He doesn’t have to. He simply opens doors: wealth, prestige, influence, an unbeatable winning streak. Then he lets human ambition walk through them one small, defensible compromise at a time.

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Kevin Lomax begins as a principled small-town lawyer… who already bends ethics to win. He defends a guilty man using courtroom tricks. He feels a flicker of unease - but victory soothes it.

Then comes New York. The penthouse. The power. The cases no one else can win.

Each step feels like progress. This is for my family, Kevin tells himself. And with each step, something essential erodes quietly, invisibly.

He starts defending the indefensible without blinking. He dismisses his wife’s unraveling her visions, her despair as her problem, not a consequence of the life they’re building. Winning matters more than integrity. Success more than presence. Pride blinds him to the wreckage forming in his own home.

By the time Pacino’s Satan finally reveals himself delivering that unforgettable monologue Kevin’s transformation is already complete. He barely recognises the man in the mirror.

And then comes the line that ties it all together:

“Vanity - definitely my favorite sin.”

That is the real warning of The Devil’s Advocate. Evil doesn’t arrive with horns. It arrives with flattery. With opportunity. With justifications that sound sensible even noble.

Which is exactly what the viral ChatGPT “devil” describes.

Keep people distracted.
Keep them divided.
Make sin familiar.
Make pride irresistible.

No grand temptation required just enough noise and validation to make moral drift feel like upward mobility.

Look around today and the parallels are impossible to miss.

Social media feeds vanity around the clock.
Phones ensure we are never fully present for prayer, reflection, or real conversation.
Families fracture under the combined weight of ambition, exhaustion, and screens.
Sin is repackaged as empowerment or entertainment.
And like Kevin Lomax, we rarely notice the change because each step feels justified.

The Devil’s Advocate isn’t just a thriller. It’s a cautionary tale for a culture chasing “more” without guarding its core values.

The viral clip reminds us that the strategy hasn’t changed. Only the tools have.

The real question isn’t whether evil exists.

It’s whether we’re too busy, too distracted, and too proud to notice it working quietly, patiently – inside our own lives.

As we reflect on Kevin Lomax's unseen descent in The Devil's Advocate, the viral ChatGPT warning, and our own cultural drift, it's impossible not to hear echoes of a much older caution.
 
In 1965, broadcaster Paul Harvey delivered his prophetic essay "If I Were the Devil", outlining a similar playbook of subtle subversion: whispers that invert good and evil, families and churches at war with themselves, media fanning division,
 
God evicted from public life, and vanity exalted above all. Harvey's chilling finale?
 
After detailing the plan, he simply said: "In other words, if I were the devil I’d just keep right on doing what he’s doing. Paul Harvey, good day."
 
Sixty years later, the words still ring true. The devil doesn't need new tricks he just needs us to keep accepting the old ones, one small compromise at a time. The question remains: Are we awake enough to notice before it's too late?
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