The Conspiracy against the Human Race

Hello Gentle Reader

The other day at the grocery, I came across an old friend. As we got to talking, we both admitted to each other, that in regards, to life, we were both surviving. Which is when, in a sarcastic quip that, I had mentioned that it: “beats the alternative.” In Thomas Ligotti’s non-fiction piece of work “The Conspiracy against the Human Race,” Ligotti states that this is just one of many, mantras that people use to hypnotize themselves, in order to fool themselves that life really is alright to live. It should be noted immediately, that like his short stories, Thomas Ligotti’s non-fiction debut, is incredibly pessimistic. What is horrifying with this book is that rather than fiction, in which Ligotti writes about the unknown that causes the dread and the fear; with this book, Ligotti has turned his gaze towards reality. The very reality that sits just outside our front doors. In typical Ligotti fashion, the author pulls back the curtains of daily life, and reveals the existential malaises that have plagued the human mind for centuries.

Thomas Ligotti is considered one of the best kept secrets of genre literature. Ligotti is a horror writer; a genre that is primarily overlooked – and rightfully so, because it often falls into the contrite desire for shock value. Ligotti is also not well known because of his chosen medium to write; short stories. Ligotti’s stories are best judged as “ghost stories.” They never relieve the reader, of their pessimistic grasp. They continually suffocate the reader slowly and slowly; bringing one right down into the abhorrent world, in which Ligotti’s characters inhabit. It’s a bleak world. A world with no visible horizon; grey low skies, and a flat landscape that goes on and on; with no real beginning and no possible outlook for an ending. However what one can look forward to in Ligotti’s world, is wonderful prose, that is well thought out, and well written; as well as an ability to be both entertaining in its own twisted way; but also being philosophical and thought provoking all the same.

One of the interesting aspects of Ligotti’s known influences on his writing is that he goes beyond the usual suspects. Ligotti has named H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe as his influences. However Ligotti has named some rather unsuspecting authors as well as influences on his writing. They would be The Romanian personal pessimistic philosopher Emil Cioran, and the Austrian playwright and novelist Thomas Bernhard. This is what attracted me immediately to Ligotti. He was a different kind of horror writer. He wrote short stories, in order to successfully say: “boo.” However he went around in such a thought provoking manner that, the quality of the writing itself, out does the story. In a genre were bondage clad demons, and exaggerated psychopaths, run rapid; with a thorough description of every gristly detail of how the most unpleasant means of torture are committed. Ligotti is a breath of fresh air. Horror in a sense became (and becomes) a sad joke in on itself. A cartoon satire of itself, juiced up with the steroids necessary to push the extreme over the edge, and make people wonder. The plots and stories become more and more unbelievable. Authors make vampires sexy; werewolves cursed beings, demons as dominatrix’s; witches as tragic martyrs. Before long these concepts lose their originality all together; becoming stereotypes then jokes. However there is hope. Ligotti is that grim hope. Ligotti walks away from the superficial elements of horror: Ophelia ghosts, werewolves, demons, and vampires; instead he focuses on the abstract horrors. These are the horrors that have plagued the human mind for centuries. Since evolution had bestowed upon, the human race of consciousness, there has been a shadow in the far corners of our overdeveloped brain, which continues to cast doubt on our existence. This is the realm in which Ligotti writes about. The shadow that trails each of us every day; and in which every day we come up with a new method of denying its existence:

“Today has been a good day [or a bad day], so tomorrow can only be better,”
“One day down [x amount] to go until the weekend,”
“It’s better than the alternative,”

These mantra’s we recite like a chorus, in a cult psalm. Continually we fend off the aching suspicion of our existential meaninglessness with thoughts, that life is okay – or alright; when in Ligotti’s words and the words of the literary predecessors from Lovecraft to Cioran; and the philosophical thinkers from Schopenhauer to Zapffe; life is not alright. Human existence is a divine joke, and a cosmic mistake.

“The Conspiracy against the Human Race,” is not a pleasant read. It’s harrowing in some regards. It is the rant of an anhedoniac. One can only suspect that if one were to ask Ligotti, his philosophical beliefs; or his personal understanding of the world, his response would be: that he considers himself a realist; but philosophically is understood as pessimist; and in a psychiatric approach is understood as depressive. In other words, Mister Ligotti does not fare well at parties.

In his non-fiction debut, Ligotti performs a literary autopsy on the human conditions inability to understand their awareness of their meaningless existence brought on by being a self-aware and conscious animate creature; but also natures illusion that such a concept of freedom, actually exists. Ligotti showcases human beings as a walking sideshow circus act. All that is missing is that we dismiss this as not true; but as Ligotti points out we are “freaks of chance,” and have simply become puppets who willingly ignore, our strings that are played by fate and nature – and happily close our eyes, to our understanding of the final curtain call. Like a child who has peeked into their Christmas presents to early; we are aware of what awaits us; and in this case, we would rather not know what awaits us. For death is at the end of a long hallway. Every day we inch closer to death and his shadow. In Thomas Ligotti’s words: “EVERYTHING IN EXISTENCE IS MALIGNANTLY USELESS!”

Yet at the same time as Cioran put it:

“It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late.”

In these regards there is no free will. It does not matter if we live or if we die. The world keeps on spinning; the sun rises and sets; people go on their daily commute to work; after work, they may hit the gym or go home and make supper. They busy themselves. They fend off the shadow in the back of their head, that something is wrong. This only denies the inevitable and delays ones eventual understanding. This is why people are forever picking up the next craze; that next great big self-help book. That desire that need to affirm to themselves, that they are alright with living. That is why people have slowly become champions of the so called “small victories,” of life. These are the people who find a piece of left over cake at the office, or get a good parking space at the mall – the hold on to these events and tell themselves that they make life okay. These people in Ligotti’s dissertation are fooling themselves. They avoid the fundamental truth. Life is not alright. In fact as a species we are an evolutionary fluke; and in a direct way of speaking: a conscious fuck up. In these regards the masses the general populous must flock to something, some attraction to some new age guru, to some mystical messiah or a book – or anything that denies these inconvenient understandings. From glass showcase of glittering shit, to the next glittering display of some bright new attraction; anything that keeps us occupied from the truth in the back of our minds. Why else would we run to some meeting room, to be screamed at, to think more positively, by some mystical teacher who suffers from some optimistic psychotic breakdown? Why else would we force ourselves to sit down on some metal fold out chair, and scream that we understand? Perhaps that is why some don’t do so well at parties.

Thomas Ligotti’s non-fiction debut is something not for the faint hearted. This is a classic pessimist at work; not the kind of pessimist who says: “I am going to go on vacation and get hit by a hurricane.” This is the pessimist who looks at the fundamental question that people have been asking themselves, since they had the ability annunciate and pronounce words and actually understand each other: what is life worth? Ligotti won’t be the last to see the fundamental error in our conception and creation; and certainly won’t be the last to point out one of the most horrifying facts: we are not individuals. We are simply biological machines that are drive by physical and chemical process. In short we are more concerned with reproduction and survival. These are hardwired instincts, into our minds. The concept of individuality as we like to believe do not exist; and is the greatest blow to our perceived idea of what it means to be human – it is the only aspect of our grandiose persona that separates us from cats and dogs. In the end it’s a book that will give any reader a lot to think about and gives you plenty to digest. Don’t expect to be told how to life your life, or what small victories to count. You might as well toss those conceived ideas out the window.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
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M. Mary