Click Here to Download Your Very Own "Nyarlathotep" Screen Saver! (421 KB)

     Now you too can "tell the audient void" of Nyarlathotep's prophecies, just by displaying an eternal loop of Lovecraft's short story on your monitor.   For a preview, see the animation below:

"Cosmicism:" An Introduction

      Whatever else may be said about him, (see Laura Miller's article "Master of Disgust" for an apt summation of what else can be said of Lovecraft) it is undeniable that Howard Phillips Lovecraft (1890-1937) had an ensuing passion for literary expression from his earliest childhood all the way until almost the very day of his death.    During his overlapping amateur and professional writing careers Lovecraft proved himself a rather unremarkable poet, a minor writer in the minor pulp fiction genre of "weird fiction," a capable author of non-fiction essays on a variety of subjects, a useful reviser and ghost writer for other authors, and, most important for his legacy, a loquacious correspondent to dozens, if not hundreds, of friends, fans and literary protégés.  Simultaneous with his literary development Lovecraft also experienced a gradual philosophical evolution informed largely by the discoveries in astronomy and physics of the late 19th and early 20th centuries as well as the turbulent economic and social changes of the period. 

      The most sweeping and constant of Lovecraft's central concepts is that of "cosmicism."   Lovecraft, an atheist who in his teens had hoped to one day be a professional astronomer, took the gathering contemporary scientific evidence of the vast scope of the universe as proof that humanity's place in the cosmos is insignificant.  This insignificance, he felt, rendered traditional views of religion and society obsolete.   Lovecraft came to appreciate cosmicism as a theme in weird fiction (which has since evolved into the genres of horror, fantasy and science fiction), and endeavored to incorporate “cosmic terror” into his macabre stories, which became allegories on the stark unimportance of humans in the universe both as individuals and as a species.

      The 1920 prose-poem “Nyarlathotep” is a relatively early and incredibly concise example of Lovecraft’s use of his cosmic philosophy in fiction.

 
Nyarlathotep... the crawling chaos... I am the last... I will tell the audient void...
 

     I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago. The general tension was horrible. To a season of political and social upheaval was added a strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as may be imagined only in the most terrible phantasms of the night. I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard. A sense of monstrous guilt was upon the land, and out of the abysses between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. There was a demoniac alteration in the sequence of the seasons- the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and everyone felt that the world and perhaps the universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces to that of gods or forces which were unknown.

    In the opening line and first paragraph Lovecraft sets the tone for the rest of the tale.  The opening's fragmented and menacing statements imply both the narrator's isolation and the inherent pointlessness of his speaking, identifying his readers as an “audient void.”  The initial paragraph (claimed by Lovecraft to have been conceived entirely within a dream, along with the outline of the rest of the story) slyly and delicately describes the trials and tribulations of life in the industrialized world where society and global politics are constantly changing and climatological fluctuations are tracked compulsively.  Here Lovecraft waxes eloquent in his evocation of the confusion that comes with living in the scientific age, and concludes with his reference to “gods or forces which were unknown.”  This “unknown” is crucial to his cosmicism, for Lovecraft believed that if there is some sort of order or higher form of consciousness in the universe, it operates on such a level that we insignificant humans are powerless to comprehend it.

      And it was then that Nyarlathotep came out of Egypt. Who he was, none could tell, but he was of the old native blood and looked like a Pharaoh. The fellahin knelt when they saw him, yet could not say why. He said he had risen up out of the blackness of twenty-seven centuries, and that he had heard messages from places not on this planet. Into the lands of civilisation came Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and sinister, always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger. He spoke much of the sciences- of electricity and psychology- and gave exhibitions of power which sent his spectators away speechless, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep, and shuddered. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished, for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare. Never before had the screams of nightmare been such a public problem; now the wise men almost wished they could forbid sleep in the small hours, that the shrieks of cities might less horribly disturb the pale, pitying moon as it glimmered on green waters gliding under bridges, and old steeples crumbling against a sickly sky.

      Here Lovecraft introduces “Nyarlathotep,” whose name's Ancient Egyptian “-hotep” suffix (meaning “satisfied” or “offering”) leads into the description of his Egyptian origin and his worship by the “fellahin” (Arabic for “soil tillers,” a general term for Egyptian peasants).  Lovecraft had some knowledge of Egyptian history and it is interesting that he should date Nyarlathotep's origins back “twenty-seven centuries” for going back from 1920 that gives a date of approximately 780 B.C.  In the early eighth-century B.C. Egypt was fractured and its power was waning. Around 770 B.C. the king of Nubia invaded from the south and captured the throne of Egypt, naming himself Pharaoh. One of Lovecraft’s least-admirable traits was his racism and, if the racist Lovecraft was aware of these events (a black African king taking control of the Egyptians who always portrayed themselves as having somewhat lighter skins than the inhabitants of sub-Saharan Africa), he would have been deeply disturbed by them. Although there is no evidence for it, perhaps in Lovecraft's mind Nyarlathotep was either a divinity who abandoned Egypt when it was invaded by the 'black' Nubians or he was a malign spirit that assisted the Nubians in their takeover.   An ironic historical footnote here is that the advent of the Nubian kings marked a period of revival and prosperity that the Egyptian people had not known for centuries. The Nubian kings were saviors, not despoilers.

   After introducing Nyarlathotep, in this passage Lovecraft describes him as a traveling lecturer and showman, something very common in America prior to the advent of television.  To build suspense, Lovecraft cannily alludes to the horrible-yet-compelling  nature of Nyarlathotep's revelations, yet without, at this point, giving away any clear idea of what they are.

      I remember when Nyarlathotep came to my city- the great, the old, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes. My friend had told me of him, and of the impelling fascination and allurement of his revelations, and I burned with eagerness to explore his uttermost mysteries. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and what was thrown on a screen in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and in the sputter of his sparks there was taken from men that which had never been taken before yet which shewed only in the eyes. And I heard it hinted abroad that those who knew Nyarlathotep looked on sights which others saw not.

      This paragraph continues to build suspense, specifically by bringing Nyarlathotep into close geographic proximity with the narrator and by indicating that part of Nyarlathotep's lecture is a either a film or "magic lantern" show, projected by "sputtering sparks."   The reference to the narrator's friend is a streamlined reference to the dream which inspired the story. Lovecraft claimed that in his dream he saw himself reading a letter from his friend, Samuel Loveman.   The dream-letter read: "Don't fail to see Nyarlathotep if he comes to Providence.  He is horrible- horrible beyond anything you can imagine- but wonderful.  He haunts one for hours afterward.  I am still shuddering at what he showed."

      It was in the hot autumn that I went through the night with the restless crowds to see Nyarlathotep; through the stifling night and up the endless stairs into the choking room. And shadowed on a screen, I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and yellow evil faces peering from behind fallen monuments. And I saw the world battling against blackness; against the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the dimming, cooling sun. Then the sparks played amazingly around the heads of the spectators, and hair stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I can tell came out and squatted on the heads. And when I, who was colder and more scientific than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about "imposture" and "static electricity," Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the dizzy stairs into the damp, hot, deserted midnight streets. I screamed aloud that I was not afraid; that I never could be afraid; and others screamed with me for solace. We swore to one another that the city was exactly the same, and still alive; and when the electric lights began to fade we cursed the company over and over again, and laughed at the queer faces we made.

      Here we reach the core of the tale where the narrator sees Nyarlathotep whose message is finally revealed.  That this presentation is a movie or magic lantern show is indicated by the term "shadowed on a screen."   Lovecraft lets his philosophy present itself including, regrettably, the racist description of "yellow evil faces."  The description of "the world battling against blackness; against the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the dimming, cooling sun"  is a precise summary of entropy and the overwhelming scale of the impersonal universe as well as an encapsulation of the contemporary theory that someday the Sun would run out of energy and cool.  Since Lovecraft's day the process of nuclear fission that powers stars has been discovered and it now is understood that as the Sun runs out of hydrogen and starts burning helium (going from a yellow to a red star in the process), it will cool somewhat and become less luminous... but also expand as it looses mass until it actually consumes the Earth.  Fortunately we still have 4.5 billion years or so before that occurs.

      I believe we felt something coming down from the greenish moon, for when we began to depend on its light we drifted into curious involuntary marching formations and seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of them. Once we looked at the pavement and found the blocks loose and displaced by grass, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew where the tramways had run. And again we saw a tram-car, lone, windowless, dilapidated, and almost on its side. When we gazed around the horizon, we could not find the third tower by the river, and noticed that the silhouette of the second tower was ragged at the top. Then we split up into narrow columns, each of which seemed drawn in a different direction. One disappeared in a narrow alley to the left, leaving only the echo of a shocking moan. Another filed down a weed-choked subway entrance, howling with a laughter that was mad. My own column was sucked toward the open country, and presently I felt a chill which was not of the hot autumn; for as we stalked out on the dark moor, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows. Trackless, inexplicable snows, swept asunder in one direction only, where lay a gulf all the blacker for its glittering walls. The column seemed very thin indeed as it plodded dreamily into the gulf. I lingered behind, for the black rift in the green-litten snow was frightful, and I thought I had heard the reverberations of a disquieting wail as my companions vanished; but my power to linger was slight. As if beckoned by those who had gone before, I half-floated between the titanic snowdrifts, quivering and afraid, into the sightless vortex of the unimaginable.

      This surreal post apocalyptic imagery, whether to be interpreted as a vision of the narrator or an actual experience, is essentially a guided tour of the eventual and inevitable collapse of civilization.  It also betrays Lovecraft's stong dislike of cold weather. 

      Screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious, only the gods that were can tell. A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are not hands, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-seen columns of unsanctified temples that rest on nameless rocks beneath space and reach up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness. And through this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods- the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.

      Here at last in effusive hyperbole Lovecraft indicates just how large and horrifically inexplicable the universe truly is.  The line "only the gods that were can tell" would seem to be a nod to the philosopher Frederick Nietzsche (1844-1900) whom Lovecraft admired and whose famous quote was that "God is dead."   Lovecraft felt that any normal conception of deity was annihilated by what had been learned through modern science.  It was Lovecraft's belief that even if there was some greater intelligence operating in the universe it was inconceivable that we mortals could ever understand it.  In the story this concept is delivered through reference to "ultimate gods" whose forms and motives are beyond all comprehensible description, and whose "soul" is the entity described as Nyarlathotep.

      In only a little more than 1,100 words Lovecraft neatly sums up with "Nyarlathotep" his existential angst and presents it in a short, dramatic vignette.  For this commentator the power in "Nyarlathotep" is that it is a ludicrously absurd story which contains an incredibly powerful message.  1920 was still early in Lovecraft's career as an author of weird prose and in "Nyarlathotep" Lovecraft displays some of the techniques he later incorporates in his longer, more well-known stories.  Most significant, perhaps, is that the title character only appears in the three central paragraphs of the story.  Lovecraft was a master at wrapping the centers of his tales with abundant, sometimes even excessive, detail.  Lovecraft draws the reader in by describing exactly what conditions precede and herald Nyarlathotep's appearance and then slowly builds up suspense through minor hints of Nyarlathotep's message, before clobbering the reader with it in staggeringly intense prose.  The brilliance of Lovecraft's use of "cosmicism" as a horror story plot-device is that it is true:  the universe, including our planet, is in a state of constant flux which takes no notice of human beings, either in groups or singly.  Disasters, be they natural or man-made, can and will wipe out any number of us and destroy the cities, monuments, and even our very civilization at any time.  Someday even the Sun will die.  Ultimately we leave no legacy, have served no purpose... our minuscule triumphs and sufferings shall be forgotten as though we had not lived at all.  According to Lovecraft the person who can look at these things and not recoil in horror is either hopelessly naive or possesses  a mind too coarse to comprehend the ramifications of our species' lack of relevance in the universe.

Author's Note and Apologia

      This page, from 4/21/03 until 8/31/06, contained a woefully-flawed essay by me entitled 'History, Science and Cosmic Terror: The Fiction of H.P. Lovecraft.'  For the three-years it was 'up,' I edited the page from time-to-time in accordance with my own dilatory reading of and on Lovecraft.  It was not until my discovery  of S.T. Joshi's epic H.P. Lovecraft: A Life (available from the Necronomicon Press) that I realized how inept and careless my early analysis of HPL's literary theory and philosophy truly was, in spite of a few apt deductions on my part.   I hope that by having restrained myself to a narrower topic in this work that I have avoided many of the sins committed in its predecessor.

     I would like to take a moment here to recognize the invaluable assistance I had in the preparation of this modest essay by a tiger-striped housecat who has endured the indignity of being named "Lumpy."  Several years ago when he as a two month-old feral kitten claimed me and demanded I bring him home, I briefly entertained the notion of dubbing him "Nyarlathotep," but lost my nerve.  Anyhow, Lumpy aided me greatly in this task, as he usually does, by serving as a general-purpose paperweight and shuffler of papers, as well as a source of needed distraction from periods of mental block with his random & fierce assaults on my unsuspecting hands and feet.