Degeneracy, Fascism and Great Cthulhu

Jessica Hansen
Sep 7, 2018 · 16 min read

Content warning: extreme prejudice of many varieties.

I recently shared a video with a couple of friends. In the video, YouTuber Harris ‘hbomberguy’ Brewis, tells his story of how H. P. Lovecraft’s work and it’s derivatives impacted him and shaped him as a person.

One of the friends with whom I shared this video is a passionate Lovecraft fan — he has written his own Call of Cthulhu campaign, for example — and the video sparked an interesting conversation. This led me to spend a couple of months thinking about Lovecraft in more detail, and I decided to write down my thoughts in this essay.


A brief history of degeneracy

Before talking about Lovecraft though, we need to talk about prejudice and degeneracy. One common thread linking different kinds of prejudice is what Umberto Eco phrased as “an obsession with a plot” in his insightful essay on Ur-Fascism.

In this essay Eco first gives an interesting account of what it was like to grow up as a young Italian under Mussolini’s Fascism — that is, what it was like to grow up as a young Fascist, as all Italians had to under Musolini.

He then lists 14 recurring elements that characterised the Fascist policies under Musolini, and which describe Fascism in a wider context as well.

The “obsession with a plot” type fear has manifested itself in many different ways over the course of history, the most famous one being the nazis’ obsession with the cunning, scheming “international Jews”. Another nazi favourite is “Cultural Bolshevism”, or its contemporary counterpart, the “Cultural Marxism” conspiracy theory — or the even more contemporary conspiracy theory of “postmodern neo-Marxism”.

Of the outright funny variety is David Icke’s conspiracy theory that the world is ruled by a secret order of interdimensional reptilians called the Archons — oh, and, of course, the Archons are Jewish, too.

The “gay agenda”, or more recently, the “trans agenda” is an example of such fear targeted at LGBT+ individuals, and it includes all kinds of strange fears. Often it involves people “turning gay” (or trans)—as if that was how it works, or something to be worried about in the first place. One of the more infamous examples is conspiracy theorist Alex Jones’ claims that chemicals in the water are “turning the freaking frogs gay”. The most contemporary version of this fear is that soy will turns you into an effeminate “soy boy”.

Other examples include the Satanic panic, the fear of white genocide, the fear that feminism is corrupting society, the fear that trans people and androgyny are causing the downfall of societies — yes, plural — etc.

Let’s now turn to everyone’s favourite fascists, the nazis. One of the theoretical underpinings of nazism was degeneration theory, which goes hand in hand with the concept of biological devolution. These theories are some of the more terrifying examples of the “obsession with a plot” type narratives, and they are also unique in their level of influence on both the historic and contemporary cultural imagination.

Arthur de Gobineau coined the term “degeneration” (when applied to people) in 1848 in his, by today’s standards, refrehsingly honestly titled essay “On the Inequality of the Human Races”:

The word degenerate, when applied to a people, means that the people has no longer the same intrinsic value as it had before, because it has no longer the same blood in its veins, continual adulterations having gradually affected the quality of that blood. In other words, though the nation bears the name given by its founders, the name no longer connotes the same race; in fact, the man of a decadent time, the degenerate man properly so called, is a different being, from the racial point of view, from the heroes of the great ages. […] The heterogeneous elements that henceforth prevail in him give him quite a different nationality — a very original one, no doubt, but such originality is not to be envied.

He then goes on to argue that the white, aryan race is, naturally, the purest and least degenerate of all the races. (Also, notice his reverance for the “heroes of the great ages”? That’s another of Eco’s indicators of Ur-Fascism.)

The take away is that, according to the degeneration and biological devolution theories, society is a living organism, capable of sickness and decay. Any degenerate elements must be rooted out; they must be discovered and cured like a disease. Failing that, they must be cut off like a gangrenous limb.

Social critic and zionist leader Max Nordau later suggested in his influential book “Degeneration” that “degeneration” was due to a neuro-pathology and ought to be medically diagnosable on an individual level, thus taking the disease analogy to a level of realism rarely achieved by other versions of the “obsession with a plot”-type narrative. His book included a list of supposed degenerates, including his contemporary and famously queer aesthete and author Oscar Wilde, who was later imprisoned and exiled for the crime of “gross indecency” — that is, for homosexuality.

Jews were main the “degenerates” according to the nazis, but homosexuality was another form of degeneration and, unsurprisingly, homophobia (and sexism) also makes the list of Ur-Fascist tendencies listed in Eco’s essay. Homosexuals were, like Jews and other non-aryans, viewed as detrimental to the procreation and expansion of the aryan race, and hence they were thought to constitute a weak, cancerous element of society that ought to be purged.

But it wasn’t just the far-right that was obsessed with these topics. The targets of these theories — queers, race-mixers, non-aryans, promiscuous women, drug users, the disabled and other “degenerates” — had their own cultural moment in the late 1800s and early 1900s with the “Decadent movement”. This movement comprised a loose and unofficial collective of artists, politicians, social critics and philosophers who sought to challenge the contemporary Victorian morality by “foregrounding sensuality and promoting artistic, sexual and political experimentation.” It is perhaps best showcased through Oscar Wilde’s 1893 novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray”.

Transsexualism— not really distinguished from homosexuality by the nazis — was taking its first steps out of complete erasure during the progressive Weimar Republic of 1920’s Germany. Unlike the conventional wisdom in most places at the time, which was to attempt to “cure” homosexuals and transgender people of their “degenerate ailments”, the doctors at the institute generally sought to help their transgender patients alleviate their distress by helping them live authentically to their own gender identity. The first ever genital reassignment surgery was performed at the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft (“The Institute of Sexology”) in Berlin in 1930.

The burning of the Institut für Sexualweiseschaft’s collection of more than 20,000 books on sexology and LGBT topics by the nazis on May 6, 1933.

As you might imagine, the institute did not fare as well in the 30s as it had in the decadent 20s. In Februrary of 1933, just one month after the Nazi Party’s consolidation of power, a purge of homoseuxality was initiated. On May 6 the institute was closed, ransacked and its library of 20,000 books burned publicly in the streets by nazi affiliated youth groups.

It is a powerful reminder of just how rapidly social progress and human rights can be stripped away.

Although few people take degeneration theory seriously today, it had a deep and lasting impact on European culture, and it captures a mode of thought that’s still alive and well in contemporary politics and pop culture. There is of course no 1:1 mapping between degeneration theory and all of the contemporary examples given earlier, but they all share a family resemblance.

That is, although the details vary, they all tell a similar story: society is in cultural, social and/or biological decay, and the decay is caused by the secret and subversive influence of alien infiltrators or deceptive forces within society.

This is one of the prototypical narratives used to promote prejudice and oppression based on race, gender and sexuality within western culture — then and now.

Degeneration theory also plays heavily into another of Umberto Eco’s indicators of Ur-Fascism: the fear of difference and diversity. And that is our cue to return to Lovecraft.

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown”


The good, the bad and the really, really racist

Lovecraft’s stories often build on this prototypical narrative outlined above. One of his most recognised stories, The Call of Cthulhu of 1926, chronicles the discovery of a secret network of underground cultists worshipping “great Cthulhu”. Cthulhu is a mythological being of great and terrible power sleeping in his crypt beneath the island corpse city R’lyeh.

Artist rendition of the slumbering old one, Great Cthulhu.

Here is the description of one of the cults encountered in the story:

“The region now entered by the police was one of traditionally evil repute, substantially unknown and untraversed by white men…”

“a dark cult totally unknown to them, and infinitely more diabolic than even the blackest of the African voodoo circles…”

“It was voodoo, apparently, but voodoo of a more terrible sort than they had ever known.”

“The present voodoo orgy… Animal fury and orgiastic licence here whipped themselves to daemoniac heights… a more indescribable horde of human abnormality than any but a Sime or an Angarola could paint. Void of clothing, this hybrid spawn were braying, bellowing, and writhing about a ring-shaped bonfire.”

“…the prisoners all proved to be men of a very low, mixed-blooded, and mentally aberrant type. Most were seamen, and a sprinkling of negroes and mulattoes, largely West Indians or Brava Portuguese from the Cape Verde Islands, gave a colouring of voodooism to the heterogeneous cult.”

Thurston calls them “Louisiana swamp-priests” and “mongrel Louisianans”.

This is Lovecraft’s characterisation of the Cthulhu cultists in Louisiana. They are also described as being part of a large, secret, underground network of Cthulhu-worshipping cults, all working together to awaken “great Cthulhu” and bring about the end of the world.

Cthulhu and his cults are a fictional manifestation of the “obsession with a plot”-type conspiracy theory, combined with an intense hostility towards cultural diversity, as evidenced by their pronounced “heterogenous” nature.

They are culturally and biologically diverse, and work towards bringing doom to society through secrecy and deceit — in the other words, they are text book degenerates.

It’s also worth noting the language Lovecraft used to describe the cultists and his other cosmic horrors. Consider the following Lovecraft quote:

The organic things inhabiting that awful cesspool could not by any stretch of the imagination be call’d human. They were monstrous and nebulous adumbrations of the pithecanthropoid and amoebal; vaguely moulded from some stinking viscous slime of the earth’s corruption, and slithering and oozing in and on the filthy streets or in and out of windows and doorways in a fashion suggestive of nothing but infesting worms or deep-sea unnamabilities. They — or the degenerate gelatinous fermentation of which they were composed — seem’d to ooze, seep and trickle thro’ the gaping cracks in the horrible houses … and I thought of some avenue of Cyclopean and unwholesome vats, crammed to the vomiting point with gangrenous vileness, and about to burst and inundate the world in one leprous cataclysm of semi-fluid rottenness. From hat nightmare of perverse infection I could not carry away the memory of any living face. The individually grotesque was lost in the collectively devastating; which left on the eye only the broad, phantasmal lineaments of the morbid soul of disintegration and decay … a yellow leering mask with sour, sticky, acid ichors oozing at eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and abnormally bubbling from monstrous and unbelievable sores at every point …

This quote is Lovecraft’s description — not of a cult of Cthulhu worshippers, or interdimensional slime monsters — but of the inhabitants of the Lower East Side of Manhattan (a district known for it’s high number of immigrant residents). It is from a letter he wrote to his friend Frank Belknap after visiting in 1926. The way Lovecraft described the Cthulhu cultists seem almost pleasant by comparison, but the similarity in style is rather unsettling.

“The organic things inhabiting that awful cesspool could not by any stretch of the imagination be call’d human.” — H. P. Lovecraft on the Lower East Side of Manhattan (modern depiction).

Another highly regarded story of Lovecraft’s is The Shadow Over Innsmouth, written in 1931. This story chronicles the journey of a government investigator sent to the small town of Innsmouth. In Innsmouth he discovers that the townsfolk have been indoctrinated into a cult run by fish-like humanoid creatures. The townsfolk had been forced to inter-breed with the fish-creatures, and at first their offspring appeared as normal humans, but as they grew into adults they turned into more of the fish-creatures. Eventually the narrator finds that he is a decendant of one of the founders of the cult, and he starts to turn into one of the fish-creatures too — and worst of all, he’s starting to like it.

The Shadow Over Innsmouth storyline plays on degeneration theory. This is stated directly by the narrator and protagonist:

“His oddities certainly did not look Asiatic, Polynesian, Levantine or negroid, yet I could see why the people found him alien. I myself would have thought of biological degeneration rather than alienage.”

These are two of Lovecrafts most widely praised and highly regarded stories, and if you think my characterisation is incomplete or unfair then I encourage you to read (or re-read) these and other Lovecraft stories while keeping the themes of degeneration theory in mind. But it should, I hope, be clear that there is a connection between Lovecraft’s style of storytelling and the fears that drove much of the extreme prejudice during the early-to-mid twentieth century, and which still haunts us today.


Does it really matter though?

Some of you might be thinking: well, so what if a couple of Lovecraft‘s stories play on degeneration theory? All kinds of dark fiction exists, but in the end, it’s just fiction — where’s the harm?

It becomes harmful if we start praising Lovecraft for the wrong reasons. Praising the fear of difference or the fear of the unknown inherrent in many of Lovecraft’s stories legitimises these fears as a valid way of thinking amongst those who harbor racist or other prejudicial thoughts, whether consciously or subconsciously (which is, to some extent, all of us) — even if these fears are disguised as fear of the cosmic horror of great Cthulhu.

Especially if disguised as Cthulhu!

Cthulhu and many of the other cosmic horrors in Lovecraft’s mythos act as smoke screens that make it more difficult to spot the dark horrors that lurk beneath—racism, sexism, homophobia, and all the other prejudices promoted through degeneration theory and biological devolution theory. It’s a convenient excuse used to legitimise what would otherwise be obvious bigotry.

A degenerate love story.

And It’s not that dark topics like these cannot be covered at all. It’s a matter of perspective and framing. Consider George Orwell’s 1984. This is a story in which the straight cisgender male protagonist is sent to a concentration camp and brutally tortured because he commits a “sexcrime” — that is, he has hot, steamy, consensual sex with a straight cisgender woman.

That’s pretty dark.

Imagine how horrible that would be: a world in which the “wrong” kind of love might get you sent to a concentration camp. No, that link is not about the nazis.

In many ways the world of 1984 reflects Lovecraft’s ideal world. Ingsoc, the political party in complete control of much of the world in 1984, is obsessed with finding and rooting out degenerate elements within society before they can take hold and fester. These elements include: any minor cultural deviance, feminine expression (makeup, revealing clothes, etc.), female sexuality in general, promiscuity, homosexuality and political dissent.

You know, all the cool shit that also terrified puritans like Lovecraft.

Imagine Lovecraft writing one of his usual short-stories, á la The Call of Cthulhu— except it takes place in the world of 1984. What kind of story could he possibly write that wouldn’t be sympathetic towards Ingsoc? Instead of writing a story from the perspective of a pair of “degenerate” lovers, arrested and beaten in the night to be sent off to a concentration camp, as Orwell chose to do, Lovecraft would likely have written the opposite story — the story of a Government Investigator looking to discover and root out Cthulhu-worshipping degenerates, sexual deviants or dissenters.

Arguably this description of a hypothetical story fits well with The Call of Cthulhu, with the main exception being that Lovecraft adds the mythological threat of “Great Cthulhu” in order to mask his prejudice of racial, cultural and social diversity. It’s not a coincidence that all the “evil Cthulhu cultists” are always also cultural or racial minorities. (It should perhaps be noted that, although terribly racist and sexually puritanical, the 1920’s United States was, admittedly, not quite as fascist as 1984’s Ingsoc, but the difference is unimportant for the point I am making here).

Fundamentally The Call of Cthulhu and 1984 both tell the story of “degenerate” minorities being discovered and persecuted by those in power. The difference is that 1984 takes someone who’s easily relatable because he belongs to the majority group in our society (white straight cisgender male from a culturally dominant background), and then puts this person into a world that is so extremely fascist that “normal behaviour” — even for such a person — is considered degenerate.

The effect of doing this is that everyone who reads 1984 agrees that the society depicted therein is bad, because everyone can see that the oppression is unjust. No one wants to support the kind of oppression that Winston is subjected to in 1984, but somehow, if we switch the perspective to that of the government investigator, working to root out degenerates like Winston, then it’s suddenly perfectly fine.


#NotAllLovecraftStories

Is all lost then? Abandon Lovecraft, burn his books and repress his stories? No.

Lovecraft’s stories often feature themes of existential angst, loneliness and meaninglessness in the face of an uncaring universe, and these feelings are, I think, almost universally relatable in Current Year. Some of his stories feature the fear of personal degradation — not the fear of outsiders causing societal decay, but the fear of being an outsider. These are Lovecraft’s strengths and when he managed to write without giving in to his searing racist urges, his stories are profoundly relateable to anyone who has ever felt like an outcast. Which is probably everyone to some extent.

One of the most outstanding examples of Lovecraft’s ability to capture this existential horror of being the “other” in the gaze of society is found in one of his earliest stories, The Outsider, of 1921. (Spoilers ahead — I suggest just reading the story before proceeding, it’s very short and absolutely worth it.)

The protagonist of The Outsider wakes up in a dark and terrible castle, with no memory of who or what had sustained him until now. He spends his time in the castle waiting in solitude, though he knows not what for:

So through endless twilights I dreamed and waited, though I knew not what I waited for. Then in the shadowy solitude my longing for light grew so frantic that I could rest no more, and I lifted entreating hands to the single black ruined tower that reached above the forest into the unknown outer sky. And at last I resolved to scale that tower, fall though I might; since it were better to glimpse the sky and perish, than to live without ever beholding day.

Climbing the tower simply reveals a door to ground level at the top. Exploring the woods outside the door, he eventually comes across a brightly lit house with other people! Surely they will welcome him into the light and end his nightmare of shadowy solitude, right?

Of course not, that wouldn’t be very Lovecraftian. Instead this happens:

I now stepped through the low window into the brilliantly lighted room, stepping as I did so from my single bright moment of hope to my blackest convulsion of despair and realisation. The nightmare was quick to come; for as I entered, there occurred immediately one of the most terrifying demonstrations I had ever conceived. Scarcely had I crossed the sill when there descended upon the whole company a sudden and unheralded fear of hideous intensity, distorting every face and evoking the most horrible screams from nearly every throat. Flight was universal, and in the clamour and panic several fell in a swoon and were dragged away by their madly fleeing companions. Many covered their eyes with their hands, and plunged blindly and awkwardly in their race to escape; overturning furniture and stumbling against the walls before they managed to reach one of the many doors.

Then, looking around, he spotted the monster standing in a gilded frame. Slowly he reached out to touch it, but to his horror he found that all his hand touched was “a cold and unyielding surface of polished glass.” He is the monster.

This story captures the essence of what makes Lovecraft appealing to so many marginalised groups, despite the fact that Lovecraft himself despised us even more than the rest of humanity. Anyone who’s found themselves on the wrong side of society’s expectations can relate on a profound level to the kind of loneliness, fear and ostracization that the protagonist in The Outsider experienced.

Compared to 1984, one of the main differences is the perspective the protagonist has on himself. In 1984, the protagonist generally views himself as a normal person in a sick world, whereas in The Outsider, the protagonist views himself the way that everyone else does — as a monster in an otherwise normal world. By the time that the monster sees himself in the mirror, he has become predisposed by the reactions of everyone around him to despise what he’s going to see. But why should they get to judge him a monster?

In contrast with The Call of Cthulhu and The Shadow Over Innsmouth, The Outsider is essentially the story of a degenerate monster, rather than the government investigator hunting such monsters. Ironically, the result is a much more sympathetic, relatable and human story.


The Outsider was one of Lovecrafts earliest short stories, and I wish this had been the direction in which he had taken his later writings too, instead of basing his mythos on fascist pseudo-science and searing racism. But alas, that’s what we have. A mythos based on stories of devolving fish-people and degenerate race-mixers. Sigh.

Then again, Lovecraft’s mythos has inspired incredible imagery (see below). Lovecraft’s mythos does have a certain dark, twisted and undeniable charm to it. But it could have had that without the racism.

Racism incarnate. (That’s a joke… mostly.)

Jessica Hansen

Written by

Queer trans woman, science nerd, software developer. I write about trans and gender issues and my own trans experiences.

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