Our political problem is very simple: 
Lovecraft was really on to something. He KNEW something, or, by unspeakable means, came to know it.
The underlying theme of his work is the frightfully transient position of old New England, thereby of civilized man overall, in the story of the cosmos.
The underlying theme of his work is the frightfully transient position of old New England, thereby of civilized man overall, in the story of the cosmos.
Lovecraft's old New England was a beautiful and comfortable reality. But it was under terminal assault from both the past and the future. It stood on land much older and more mysterious than was comforting, and very obviously was not surviving modernization. Horrifying transience
All of his horror is horror of the unknown, of the huge and unassailable outside, penetrating into our comfortable bubble, driving us mad. Despite his xenophobic reputation, his occasional optimism was necessarily xenophilic, because xenofuturism was the only future he could see.
Here's the thing: Lovecraft was right. The future is horrifyingly inhuman, unless you can find a way to project some humanity into it. This is an extremely difficult philosophical and operational project, that needs to be taken at a civilizational level.
If Lovecraft is right about man's position in the cosmos, it's easy to see how one might retreat from that truth, psychologically. Any organizing or thinking towards the real future would come to be seen with fear and scorn. Our entire civilization would curl into a fetal stasis.
And this, in sum, is the Lovecraftian diagnosis of our political and philosophical pathologies: we are terrified of reality, and our frightfully temporary position therein. That leads to a reflexive self-deception, self-hobbling, and self-hatred.
