Criminal Necromancy
Necromancy, the summoning or communication with spirits and the deceased, has roots that stretch back to antiquity. From the ancient Greeks to the ominous rituals of medieval sorcerers, this practice has fascinated and horrified in equal measure. Modern portrayals, particularly those infused with Lovecraftian dread, have only added to its allure.
H.P. Lovecraft, a master of cosmic horror, often touched upon the theme of necromancy. In "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward," he vividly describes the ghastly process involved: "He must be fed with things which had life in them once — animals must be found whose blood can be used in the dark rituals." This chilling depiction underscores the lengths to which those who practice necromancy might go, driven by a thirst for forbidden knowledge or power.
Beyond the lurid tales and gruesome imagery lies a deeper, more philosophical question: What draws humanity to the edges of mortality, seeking to bridge the chasm between the living and the dead? Is it a quest for understanding, a desire to reconnect with lost loved ones, or merely a morbid curiosity about what lies beyond?
In exploring the arcane and often taboo subject of necromancy, one must also consider its practicalities. Historical accounts reveal methods ranging from the invocation of spirits through intricate rituals to the use of artifacts believed to hold mystical properties. These practices often required a complex interplay of symbols, chants, and offerings, underscored by a profound respect—or fear—of the forces being engaged.
Despite its sinister reputation, necromancy can also be seen as a reflection of humanity's unending quest for knowledge. By attempting to communicate with the dead, practitioners may hope to glean insights into the mysteries of life, death, and what, if anything, lies beyond.
The fascination with necromancy, both historically and in contemporary culture, underscores a universal human experience — the confrontation with mortality. Whether viewed as a dark art or a misguided quest, it remains a powerful reminder of the lengths to which people will go to seek answers that continue to elude us.
As the moon rises in the sky and the shadow of the earth casts an eerie veil over portions of the lunar surface, one can't help but wonder how many will look skyward and feel that ancient, chilling call to the great beyond. Indulging in tales of necromancy, whether through the lens of history or fiction, may offer us a glimpse into the darkest corners of our own psyches, where fear and curiosity intermingle in the dance of the macabre.
Reflecting on race while wrestling with the literature of a documented racist, the general premise is to bracket the author as a person while focusing on the text using a reader-response theory set. I have never agreed with the biographical or historiographical approach that centers the text within the author's life. This project is no different, and besides, that approach has been thoroughly explored in Lovecraft's case. There is nothing new to uncover there.
There are enough examples of racism in the text that any brackets I place around Lovecraft the author can and do grow thin. When working directly with the text, these instances of racism come from a materialist or imperialist 'protagonist' who ultimately recants their materialism in the face of Lovecraftian spirit-forms. This seems significant. To me, it suggests that there is a gate within the text. Through that gate lies a version of Lovecraft that can be useful to the 21st-century or 22nd century magic-user who wants to engage deeply with the systems embedded in his work and isn’t comfortable dismissing the racism in the text with a wave of the hand.
The deer path I think I can spot in the brush, the path that I think will lead me to the Palace of the Nine Frontiers (another cinematic metaphor in deep need of ontological bracketing) where the ideas begin to sync together and make sense. That path is one paved with decolonization. I refuse to use a word like that without fully articulating its nuance. In 'Decolonization: A Short History' by Jan Jansen and Jurgen Osterhammel it states that “Decolonization” might sound dry and technical, yet it describes one of the most profound changes in recent history: the collapse of empires as dominant political systems and the rejection of racial supremacy as a guiding social doctrine. It marks the concurrent breakdown of several global empires and the rise of independent nation-states. This shift is historically singular and seems to be a lasting discrediting of any form of governance seen as an oppressive rule by foreign elites, rejected by the majority of the people under their control.
This technical definition is not exactly helpful for building a foundation for a magical system, save for the crucial aspect of creating an irreversible delegitimization of any kind of ruling imperial paradigm. When coupled with the proceeding idea that decolonization involves a radical restructuring of the international order and a reversal of the norms that shaped relationships between peoples and states, we gain insight into its multi-faceted nature. Decolonization is sending shock waves that go far beyond the mere dissolution of formal colonial rule.
We may thus consider decolonization to encompass any method that delegitimizes imperialism and reverses the normative state of xenophobia and racism established by colonial rule. The ontological bracketing of the author and the decolonization of Lovecraft’s texts is necessary to wrest the work from the author and employ it to reverse the norms of racism. Given Lovecraft’s frequent engagement with themes of colonialism, particularly in his New England settings, the continued presence and impact of colonial histories provide ample fodder for this practice.
In England, scarcely can a word be uttered about history without referencing the East India Company, that conduit of exploited goods and pirates which nourished imperialism. The authors of "Decolonization" emphasize that only through the temporal distance of several decades could postcolonial studies emerge. These studies arose from the unsettling observation that "colonial" modes of thought did not disappear with the decline of colonialism as a political institution. Instead, imperialistic patterns of behavior by the powerful toward the weak persist and have evolved into new forms within what were once sovereign nation-states. In essence, imperialism has found a way to endure even after the traditional empire has faded.
These enduring "habits of thinking" beyond the era of colonial rule are the focus of our concern. Lovecraft's work, written during the twilight of overt colonialism in the early twentieth century, not only reflects historical contexts but also embodies a profound nostalgia for an era when Providence, Rhode Island thrived on colonial wealth facilitated by the East India Company. The thematic core of Lovecraft’s tales often involves the deconstruction of colonial forces through encounters with ancient, animistic truths.
Our examination turns specifically to "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward." From the outset, the text presents a compelling piece of necromantic theory in the form of an opening quote:
“The essential Saltes of Animals may be so prepared and preserved, that an ingenious Man may have the whole Ark of Noah in his own Studie, and raise the fine Shape of an Animal out of its Ashes at his Pleasure; and by the lyke Method from the essential Saltes of humane Dust, a Philosopher may, without any criminal Necromancy, call up the shape of any dead Ancestour from the Dust whereinto his Bodie has been incinerated.”
This quote from the 17th century French physician Pierre Borel sets the stage for the necromantic themes that will be investigated through the narrative of Charles Dexter Ward, laying a foundation for the exploration of colonial undertones interwoven with Lovecraft's fascination with the arcane and the preternatural.
Pierre Borel, the chemist/alchemist, contributes to our understanding of magical correspondences.
The tale continues, providing insight into the protagonist's character:
"Charles Ward was an antiquarian from infancy, no doubt gaining his taste from the venerable town around him, and from relics of the past which filled every corner of his parents’ old mansion… With the years his devotion to ancient things increased; so that history, genealogy, and the study of colonial architecture, furniture, and craftmanship… crowded everything else from his… interests. These tastes are important to remember in considering his madness… The gaps of information which the alienists noticed were all related to modern matters..."
This raises the question: Could this be an instance of time travel magic or transference, akin to what is witnessed in other Lovecraftian tales such as "The Thing at the Doorstep"?
The text of Dexter Ward continues, stating "The beginning of Ward’s madness is a matter of dispute among alienists. Dr. Lyman, the eminent Boston authority, places it in 1919 or 1920, during the boy’s last year at… Brown… when he suddenly turned from the study of the past to the study of the occult, and refused to qualify for college on the ground that he had individual researches of much greater importance to make..."
This narrative reinforces a common theme—the rejection of academia. In Lovecraft's era, academia was an active extension of the colonial materialist network. Therefore, rejecting academia for the occult signifies a simultaneous rejection of materialism and an elevation of the occult to a status of legitimacy comparable to academic study.
The text’s narrative complexity and manipulation of temporal elements, offers another layer to Ward's story:
"One must look back at Charles Ward’s earlier life as at something belonging as much to the past as the antiquities he loved… His walks were always adventures in antiquity, during which he managed to recapture from the myriad relics of a glamorous old city a vivid and connected picture of the centuries before…"
Exploring urban environments through 'wandering' as a kind of magical act can blend half-conscious walking meditation and historical research, transporting one to a different era. In the world of Lovecratian texts, ‘The Case of Charles Dexter Ward’ encapsulates all primary aesthetics.
Lovecraft introduces us to Charles Dexter Ward, who discovers his genealogical connection to Joseph Curwen, a long-lived ancestor from Salem with a mysterious and disquieting history. Graveyards, initially holding only quaint and historic value for Ward, begin to reveal their hidden significance through his research. This culmination of discoveries situates Ward in a narrative filled with enigmatic and unsettling revelations.
Joseph Curwen emerges as an archetype in this tale, characterized as an astonishing and obscurely horrible individual who fled from Salem to Providence at the onset of the witchcraft panic. Curwen's appearance remains curiously unchanged over the years, maintaining the look of a man not greatly over thirty or thirty-five. Engaging in shipping businesses, infrastructural projects, and even founding a church, he retains an air of inexplicable agelessness, rumored to be linked to his incessant chemical experiments. The gossip surrounding Curwen speaks of the bizarre substances he imported, hinting at his dark and arcane pursuits.
Also found in this text is the surname Tillinghast, which ties this narrative to Lovecraft’s other works, such as "From Beyond" and "The Shunned House," creating an interconnected universe where recurring themes and characters deepen the mystery and horror that define Lovecraft’s storytelling.
Joseph Curwen's remarkable alchemical longevity hinges significantly on the expansion into the Indies driven by colonialism, which provided him with essential raw materials. His role as a merchant amplified his exploitation of these colonial resources, offering him substantial financial gains. Curwen emerges as an embodiment of the exploitation of both natural and human-made laws. Lovecraft masterfully emphasizes the symbolic significance of the graveyard, depicting it as a recurring power point throughout the story's timeline:
“Joseph Curwen [also possessed] a passion for graveyards… he was glimpsed at all hours and under all conditions… On the Pawtuxet Road he had a farm, at which he generally lived during the summer, and to which he would frequently be seen riding at various odd times of the day or night…”
Curwen's obsession with graveyards is not just a macabre hobby; it hints at his deeper connections to necromancy and the dark rituals he performs. These graveyards serve as more than just backdrops; they are active elements in his quest for prolonged life and forbidden knowledge. The aesthetic of the graveyard, when approached with the right reverence, holds substantial power.
Continuing with our narrative, we delve into another esoteric booklist provided by Lovecraft. His profound understanding of the sources of magical and alchemical thought is clearly evident. Those who argue that his knowledge was merely encyclopedic overlook the abundant evidence of his genuine occult expertise, as demonstrated by the detailed descriptions of mystical libraries:
“More definite, however, was the reason why another man of taste and breeding avoided the… hermit. In 1746, Mr. John Merritt, an elderly English gentleman of the Warwickshire Merritts and possessed of considerable fortune...”
Curwen’s peculiar nature is tied intricately to the symbolism of the Two of Coins, a tarot card emblematic of balance, adaptation, and duality. In Lovecraft’s narrative, this card mirrors the bifurcated existence of Curwen, who artfully maintains equilibrium between his public persona as a wealthy merchant and the hidden life of an occultist steeped in necromantic rites. The act of juggling these identities is akin to the image on the card—two coins in a perpetual, unsteady motion. The surface of respectability he projects conceals the dark undercurrent of forbidden knowledge he pursues, hinting at the precarious dance he must perform to keep his arcane activities shrouded in secrecy. It is within this delicate balancing act that the Two of Coins becomes a key interpretive lens for understanding Curwen.
Curwen's life was fraught with the kind of precarious balance between his respectable public persona and the shadowy, arcane pursuits that he undertook in secret. This dual existence is perfectly encapsulated by the sense of "embarrassment," suggesting the constant tension and potential exposure he must have faced. It also speaks to the intricate juggling act he had to perform to maintain his clandestine activities without arousing suspicion. On the other hand, the "letter" aspect of the Two of Coins is equally significant. In Curwen's case, it might symbolize the various correspondences and hidden communications that were essential to his occult practices and scholarly exchanges. The blending of these elements within the tarot card underscores the complex and multifaceted nature of Curwen's character and endeavors.
One core keyword of the Two of Coins is "embarrass," not in the modern sense of shame, but in its older, etymological form. The card speaks to a state of being caught between opposing forces, hindered by obstacles or entanglements that complicate straightforward action. For Curwen, this meaning manifests in the constant threat of exposure, where every gesture in the public eye is constrained by the need to shield his secretive pursuits. The delicate dance of maintaining appearances while threading through veiled necromantic dealings mirrors the card’s depiction of a figure juggling two weights, never fully at ease. This notion of embarrassment—as obstruction or entanglement—becomes the key to understanding the precarious duality Curwen embodies, trapped in the liminal space between his genteel façade and the darker, obstructed path he treads in his quest for power.
Embarrass, originating from the 1670s, initially meant to impede, obstruct, or entangle, essentially to throw into doubt. This definition is rooted in even older interpretations that convey a sense of confusion and hesitation.
The Proto-Indo-European root *en- serves as the hypothetical sense for the Sanskrit term "antara-," signifying the "interior" of a space. This concept is paired with the vulgar Latin term *barra, referring to a beam, barrier, or gate. Gates, as we will discover, hold a pivotal and magically actionable role in Lovecraftian Magic. Combining these terms yields a definition of embarrass that aligns more closely with "inside the gate" or "past the barrier." Joseph Curwen, as he is introduced, has undoubtedly traversed numerous alchemical and necromantic gates to attain his longevity.
This journey through gates connects to our second keyword, "letter." From the 13th century, the term "letter" has been associated with meanings such as "graphic symbols," "literature," "writing," and "learning." The core of this word stems from the Proto-Indo-European root *lē-, meaning "to slacken," and is the supposed source of the Latin term "lenis," describing someone or something that is mild, gentle, and calm. Despite the underlying menace surrounding Joseph Curwen, he presents himself to the world in a mild and calm manner, as demonstrated when he invited another esteemed individual into his home. His criminal necromancy is a solitary endeavor, enveloped in the tranquility of graveyards and the focused environment of libraries and laboratories. Modern practitioners can learn from this. Initially, the town’s perception of Curwen is one of curiosity, which gradually morphs into distrust as his alchemical prowess becomes evident. Contemporary magic users find themselves in a similar predicament. When engaging with innocuous activities like tarot readings or astrological insights, society responds with curiosity and amusement. However, when more profound powers—such as communication with spirits and the deceased—are revealed, a colonized mindset tends to reject them. Joseph Curwen exists beyond the gate but lingers at the threshold, balancing between a colonized society and a realm of personal sovereignty and criminal necromancy.