The following article is by Paul St John Mackintosh.
After the Charlie Hebdo atrocity, astute Anglo readers may have twigged that one writer whose name keeps coming up in that context, Michel Houellebecq, also happens to be H.P. Lovecraft’s biggest French fan. His seminal work H.P. Lovecraft: Contre le monde, contre la vie (H.P. Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life), first published in 1991 but only translated into English in 2005, was written well before the novels that won him actual fame, Extension du domaine de la lutte (1994, tr. Whatever, 1998), and Les Particules élémentaires (1998, tr. The Elementary Particles, 2000), and reads as a love letter to Lovecraft – on the basis of a shared hatred for life and humanity. At least, in Houellebecq’s view. And especially for humanity of a different colour, community or creed.
Houellebecq praises Lovecraft in these terms: “Few beings have ever been so impregnated, pierced to the core, by the conviction of the absolute futility of human aspiration. The universe is nothing but a furtive arrangement of elementary particles. A figure in transition toward chaos. That is what will finally prevail. The human race will disappear. Other races in turn will appear and disappear. The skies will be glacial and empty, traversed by the feeble light of half-dead stars. These too will disappear. Everything will disappear. And human actions are as free and as stripped of meaning as the unfettered movements of the elementary particles. Good, evil, morality, sentiments? Pure ‘Victorian fictions.’ All that exists is egotism. Cold, intact, and radiant.”
Actually, Houellebecq identifies and anatomizes Lovecraft’s prejudices in his book, more than he sympathizes with or endorses them. He saves that for his own work. You can see Houellebecq dovetailing racism and fear-mongering with critiques of rationalism and tolerance in his latest novel, Soumission (Submission), whose appearance earned him a cover caricature in the very issue of Charlie Hebdo that was at the press when its editors were massacred. He manages the hard task of whipping up fear against Islam while apparently praising it for anti-rational authoritarianism and subjugation of women, all attitudes he claimed to see mirrored in Lovecraft.
Plenty of critics and commentators have commented on how unlikely this affinity is. The cutting edge of French avant-garde literature claiming blood brotherhood with a pulp writer archaic even by the standards of the 1920s? Less surprising, though, when you consider Houellebecq’s other precursors who shared Lovecraft’s nihilism. E.M. Cioran, for one, the Romanian Francophone who just happened to develop a strong affinity to the Romanian Iron Guard in the 1930s and 40s. Knut Hamsun for another, Norwegian Nobel Prize-winner and later eulogist of Adolf Hitler. Or Louis-Ferdinand Céline, a real diagnostic ancestor of Houellebecq, and house bard of French pro-Nazi collaborationism. Do I see a pattern emerging?
If I do, why? Because that pattern first started to trouble me when I came across it in the otherwise blameless context of Thomas Ligotti and his brilliant exposition on the philosophical dimensions of horror – or horrific dimensions of philosophy – The Conspiracy Against the Human Race. He situated Lovecraft in a continuity that included most of these writers, with a touch of carelessness over what some of them had actually done. Ligotti didn’t allude once to Cioran’s political activities, or Céline’s. And however mordant Ligotti’s take on the human race, I never thought that he actually wanted to see the extermination of whole swathes of it. Extinction of the whole, perhaps, but not of any part before any other. So why did so many of his exemplars?
How, if life is worthless and human existence meaningless, did these nihilists arrive at the conclusion that some human existences are more worthless and meaningless than others, and especially those that are different? If they have no faith in mere human reason, why did they espouse ideologies that are ridiculous? If they despise humanity, why did they cleave to fantastical populist dogmas of blood and race? Why were so many of them fascists? (And I’m using fascist here in the lower-case sense of sympathisers and fellow-travellers with the broad sweep of fascist right-wing authoritarian ideology, rather than actual members of existing fascist parties – although all the other writers I’ve just mentioned exhibited sympathy and support in word or deed with the fascist political movements of their times.)
Houellebecq was right to locate the origins of Lovecraft’s racism in fear, “the brutal hatred of a trapped animal who is forced to share his cage with other and different frightening creatures.” But is that simple physical fear? You could understand that in the case of Lovecraft, the mild New Englander, dumped in Red Hook, and Houellebecq’s attempt to put a sociopolitical context and an anti-capitalist spin on Lovecraft’s world-view, claiming that “the value of a human being today is measured in terms of his economic efficiency and his erotic potential – the two things that Lovecraft most despised,” did his early standing no harm in the eyes of a certain sector of the French left. Social dislocation can explain a lot for such figures, as Ligotti instances when he cites “the alienated protagonists who lead us through Hamsun’s Hunger.” But I’d root it more in existential terror. Ligotti draws the parallel between Lovecraft and Pascal, and if you want to see just how much terror those infinite spaces can inspire, well, read Lovecraft.
Lovecraft’s existential crisis, as with many other writers of his time, was certainly reinforced by political and historical events. As China Miéville has written, comparing Lovecraft to Tolkien: “Though Lovecraft never saw war, he did see, quite clearly, the social chaos that the First World War ushered in. The ‘Great War’ was the most shattering event in Modernity’s conception of itself as a rational, humane system: the paradox is that Tolkien, who experienced that carnage first-hand, attempted to turn his back on the truth of post-traumatic Modernity, whereas Lovecraft was thousands of miles away from the heart of horror, but was a neurotically acute barometer of society’s psychic disorders. These different approaches manifest in their fantasies. To put it with unfair crudeness, Tolkien’s is the fantasy of a man murmuring to himself ‘it’s alright, it’s alright’, but not believing it; Lovecraft’s of a man shrieking ‘none of it is alright, nor will it ever be’. Unconvinced forgetting versus psychotic fixation: both are the results of trauma.” And you don’t have to listen hard to hear those Tolkienesque murmurs echoed in some of the other writers I cited. But in my view that social and political contextualization only opens the door to the existential dilemma underlying such nihilism.
Lovecraft’s cosmicism is now classed under one of the literary offshoots of existential nihilism. And Ligotti rightly links this to Nietzsche, who as he says, “not only took religious readings of life seriously enough to deprecate them at great length, but was hellbent on replacing them with a grander scheme of goal-oriented values and a sense of purpose that, in the main, even nonbelievers seem to thirst for.” And after an early flirtation with nihilistic atheism, Houellebecq seems to be following precisely that path – so long as he can get in a few hits on French secular rationalism and the Enlightenment in the process. “Atheism and secularism are dead, so is the French republic,” he proclaims, “More and more people can’t stand living without God.” And, he adds of Soumission, “my book describes the destruction of the philosophy handed down by the Enlightenment.”
Actually, the more irrationalist and illogical a creed, the better for these writers, because it allows its followers to abandon the intellectual processes that threw them into the abyss of uncertainty in the first place. And by abdicating their own reason to some totem of authority, they regain the sense of primordial security and certainty they have lost. Houellebecq now regularly expresses sympathy with French Catholicism, as well as a distant affinity with doctrinaire Islam. Ditto with the fascist cult of action and propaganda of the deed, which allows believers to throw themselves into action as an outlet for their fears and a refuge from thought.
But those thinkers who are trying to suppress the inner threat in their own minds are always going to hate and fear contradiction from outside. The outsider, the foreigner, embodies uncertainty: They are a direct contradiction, an affront, to the simple, supposedly universal certainties of your own background and creed. The existential abyss yawns in the fissure between you and the Stranger. So the fascistic nihilist, or fascist who stars from nihilism, is driven to hate and oppose all aliens, all Others, in a fanatic effort to reclaim that original security and certainty. “Racism! Racism! Racism!” says Céline. “All the rest is idiotic – I’m speaking as a physician – Equality? Justice? What sick and disastrous casuistry – It will always work against us!” Hamsun protests: “The Negros are and will remain Negros, a nascent human form from the tropics, rudimentary organs on the body of white society. Instead of founding an intellectual elite, America has established a mulatto studfarm.” Lovecraft channeled and sublimated those fears into his fictions: other writers let them go openly and full blast in their polemics and calls to action.
Lovecraft actually comes off pretty well in this company, in the light of recent moves to condemn him for his private attitudes. If you want to contrast the example of a conservative writer whose prejudices, however unpleasant, were voiced in private, only implicit or absent in his work, and harmless, versus one whose bigotry was virulently public, core to his work, and pitched to harm as much as such writing could, then contrast Lovecraft with Céline, who even the Nazi propaganda chief in occupied France condemned for his “savage, filthy slang” and “brutal obscenities.” Or with Houellebecq, flirting with religious and racial rabble-rousing for the sake of literary celebrity. Or even with Richard Wagner, proto-fascist prophet of volkish racial myth and life-denying disciple of Schopenhauer. And all of these had far more impact on the actual world, on real political sympathies – in short, far more of a public profile and platform for their prejudices – than Lovecraft did. Lovecraft died an obscure recluse: Houellebecq is now a celeb whose publishers seem vapidly glad to have a succès de scandale on their hands. Cioran, as Ligotti writes, “wrote that manual labor in a monastery is the closest thing to a solution for the madness and pain of existence … yet he himself was a literary man about town.” Céline was a guest of the Vichy French government in exile. Hamsun was courted by Hitler. Their nihilism seems mostly to apply to others, while they’re very happy to seek fame, success, and the patronage of the powerful with their screeds.
I’m not bracketing Ligotti himself with such figures. He at least seems to be tough-minded enough not to seek refuge from the logic of his position and sentiments in some fantasies of primal belonging or irrationalism. But their example should stand as a warning to those with similar feelings and views on where they could end up, if they heed those siren voices and relax their inner vigilance. You can be a nihilist or a pessimist, and be a Camus or a Beckett, or even a Lovecraft or a Ligotti. Or you can be a Céline or a Hamsun. Or a Houellebecq.
“We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far,” Lovecraft wrote. “The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.” As it happens, racial or cultural differences were part of the dissociated knowledge that Lovecraft and others had most trouble correlating, and many cultish literary figures have been working – and are still working – to bring about, or back, that new dark age.
Paul St John Mackintosh is a frequent contributor to Teleread and has a blog at www.paulstjohnmackintosh.com.
> he was afraid of women and sex
Not really. This is a common myth about Lovecraft, but a careful examination does not bear it out.
There are a lot of anectedotal stories about Lovecraft not being able to show affection to his wife, etc., but if there is a good biography that disproves this I’m certainly willing to read it. Name and author of your sources? Thanks.
“Sex and the Cthulhu Mythos” (2014, Hippocampus Press), by, well, me. Sources are too many to list here, but trust me when I say I have a lengthy bibliography and plentiful citations. If you don’t trust me, you’re welcome to refer to S. T. Joshi’s “I Am Providence” (the most comprehensive biography currently available), which goes into good detail on Lovecraft’s relationship with his wife and other women.
I this piece is unfair to Cioran and to Houellebecq in particular and nihilistic thought in general. Our world continues to be rocked by the “death of God” pronounced by Nietzsche. Since the contradictions of the Enlightenment world-view became apparent in the 19th century, people of intellectual and emotional sensitivity have been struggling to find their bearings or, perhaps, more accurately, to re-adjust to a world without bearings. In a sense, Western society has experienced a sort of cultural nervous breakdown. The fact that intellectuals and artists since Nietzsche have acted insanely at times cannot come as a surprise. Many such people have been attracted for a time to violent and oppressive popular ideologies. Yeats dallied with fascism. Ezra Pound embraced it. Bertholt Brecht supported the oppressive East German regime wholeheartedly. George Bernard Shaw and H.G. Wells denied the intentional starvation and murder of Ukrainians by Stalin.
Cioran certainly did support Romania’s Iron Guard up until 1941, but he later renounced his flirtation with Romanian fascism. His post-war writings, to me, bear the same feeling of sickness at the plight of post-Enlightenment European society as do the writings of authors such as Camus and Sartre. (And let’s not forget Sartre’s reprehensible apologies for Stalinism.) I see no indication he maintained the view that any part of humanity ought to be destroyed. As for Houellebecq, I cannot say I know the man’s real views on race and nationalism. He is a satirist and provocateur shining a light on the hypocrisies of our most current dogmas, the ones that allow liberal middle class Europeans to feel comfortable and morally superior in their so-called progressivism, a progressivism rooted in an economic system that is, at its heart, violent and inhumane.
We should be careful about any express or implied self-congratulation for our current “enlightened” and “progressive” views. This can have a chilling effect on explorations of the dark territory of truth. These explorations, which take us into uncomfortable realms of estrangement and alienation (and which are reflected so well in the best of Lovecraft), are vital to an understanding of the true state of the current human condition.
Thanks for your feedback. Paul’s a smart guy, and though this article doesn’t represent my personal views, I believe that it’s good for The Lovecraft eZine to publish viewpoints other than mine.
By the way, Mike, what are your views on this issue?
(I’m a long time lurker and have been following the zine for around two years! Keep up the good work.)
Communism and fascism are very different philosophies, both of which happen to have produced eight-digit body counts in real life. It would be interesting to compare the writers with this in mind; Lovecraftianism seems associated with fascism, but not communism. Not sure why.
Well, if you ever get curious about it there’s a book called H. P. Lovecraft: The Decline of the West by S. T. Joshi that looks are his personal and political philosophies, and how they changed throughout his life. Lovecraft was never a tremendous fan of democracy, but in his youth he was very much a social and fiscal conservative – but as he got older, and the Great Depression came on, he became a convert to socialism, and his social conservative took a turn into something like Brave New World – he believed that mechanization and industrialization would transform society, but that a class of “natural aristocrats” determined by merit would run things. So communism as it was conceived by Marx was anathema – no aristocrat-class. He spoke more highly (or at least sympathetically) of fascist governments like Mussolini’s Italy and Hitler’s Germany, but it was a sympathy of aims and efficiency, he decried the Nazi’s behavior and beliefs towards the Jews, for example, and thought the Italians were in the wrong when invading Ethiopia.
Very thoughtful article, you should include this in one of your ezines or story anthologies.These people remind me of the time I met a small-time wildlife artist, who was visiting my hometown because it’s the birthplace of John James Audubon. I can’t remember his name, and he never achieved rockstardom in the world of art, but he was full of himself. He told me about how he had traveled all over the world to study wildlife for his paintings, and was disgusted by how overpopulated the world is, comparing most of the world to “skidrow”. He thought that the population needed to be “thinned down”. He was not amused when I asked him if he would volunteer to go first. I have never met or heard of any of these psuedo-intellectuals that include themselves on the list of people who should die for the benefit of mankind.
I read with great interest the comment that Lovecraft’s racism is rooted in fear. I had just commented on STEAM’s community hub for the game CALL OF CTHULHU: WASTED LAND that Lovecraft seemed to be afraid of everything. He was afraid of going insane like his parents, he was afraid of women and sex, and he was afraid and envious of people who were healthier than him. Being an “Outsider”, I think Lovecraft was also jealous because he would see these people and notice that many of them were part of large families and communities. I’ve noticed that many times authors and other intellectuals seem to be gripped by feelings of inferiority and isolation and fear, and their (maladjusted) way of coping with this is to assume a pose of superiority. Anyway, thanks for such thought-provoking articles.