The Call of Cthulhu as cosmic horror

Although relatively unknown during his lifetime, H. P. Lovecraft is now regarded as one of the masters of 20th-century horror fiction, with a wide-ranging impact on popular culture. Lovecraft is best known for his Cthulhu mythos stories, such as The Call of Cthulhu, which are stylistically a mix of scientific realism and poetic descriptions of ‘cosmic’ horror (Joshi Reference Joshi2001, 242–246; Airaksinen Reference Airaksinen1999). In these stories, fear arises from slowly understanding that the world is ultimately contrary to human expectations, being hostile, indifferent, and incomprehensible. Although the stories include monstrous creatures, such as the iconic Cthulhu, these are not supernatural creatures as traditionally understood. Rather, they are extraterrestrial forms of life that operate according to laws that transcend human understanding (Hull Reference Hull2006). Lovecraft’s monsters are also not necessarily malevolent; rather, they see humans as no more significant than ants are to us.Footnote ⁴ As such, these monsters are commonly understood as symbolic representations of the ‘purposeless, mindless, yet all-powerful universe’ of the modern scientific worldview, as Lovecraft understood it (Leiber Reference Leiber and Schweitzer1987, 8). Put more mildly, they might be seen as a ‘means of reflecting on the vast, and sometimes frightening, nature of the universe and humankind’s fragile place within it’ (Sederholm Reference Sederholm2016, 269). Lovecraft provides a kind of ‘anti-mythology’, in contrast to traditional ideas which saw a ‘vital connection’ between humanity and the cosmos (Joshi Reference Joshi2001, 246–247). All this makes Lovecraft’s fiction an interesting place to explore what it might mean for us to experience an ‘axiological expectations mismatch’, which can occur when our optimistic beliefs, emotions, and attitudes do not match the fundamental reality of our cosmos.Footnote ⁵

The Call of Cthulhu is representative of the wider themes and style of Lovecraft’s fiction. The story is narrated by Francis Wayland Thurston, an anthropologist who comes across evidence of strange cults and mysterious events, including recurring nightmares, ancient artefacts, and encounters with strange creatures. His accidental notice of the evidence gives him, as he tells it, a ‘single glimpse of forbidden aeons which chills me when I think of it and maddens me when I dream of it’ (Lovecraft Reference Lovecraft and Joshi1999, 139). Although Thurston begins his investigation as a staunch rationalist, he gradually uncovers terrifying truths that challenge his worldview. Humanity, our rationality, and our morals have little cosmic significance or correspondence with reality as it is. We were preceded on this Earth by the Old Ones, who came to our world from the stars. Now these Old Ones are sleeping, but the echoes of their dreams leak out to the minds of cultists and poets, telling of the coming change. Great Cthulhu will one day wake and put an end to the age of humanity.

This imagined world seems to embody both the epistemic, emotive, and pragmatic aspects of Nagasawa’s problem of evil. In relation to the epistemic problem, the truth of the cosmos, as discussed in the story, is clearly contrary to modest optimism. The slice of reality that seems to allow for human morality and rationality is a small island amid a cosmos fundamentally inhospitable to these ideals. As the beginning of The Call of Cthulhu states the idea,

The passage also highlights the emotive and pragmatic aspects of the problem. As stated here, once one discovers the truth, one is changed by it, and the alternatives are either madness or denial, meaning a return to ignorance. As Thurston, the protagonist, states at the end of the story, ‘I have looked upon all that the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me’ (Lovecraft Reference Lovecraft and Joshi1999, 169). With the discovery that reality is fundamentally hostile or indifferent to humanity, it becomes difficult for Thurston to be joyful and grateful for existence.

Given the prospect of Cthulhu’s awakening and given that the power of the Old Ones transcends the laws of nature as humans understand them, there is also little hope of creating a positive future for humanity. The human cultists’ vision is that in the end, ‘mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones; free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy’ (Lovecraft Reference Lovecraft and Joshi1999, 155). The time of humanity is coming to an end, and there is ultimately nothing we can do to make things better. Once the truth of what reality is really like is known, all our endeavours seem ephemeral and insignificant: ‘Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men’ (Lovecraft Reference Lovecraft and Joshi1999, 169).

I will now move on to analyse the relevance of The Call of Cthulhu for Nagasawa’s arguments.

Lovecraft and Nagasawa’s problem of evil

All aspects of Lovecraft’s horror are not analogous to Nagasawa’s problem of evil. Some of the differences make our world seem better. Even though humanity in our world also faces severe problems, which some have described in Lovecraftian terms (Lysgaard Reference Lysgaard, Lysgaard, Bengtsson and Laugesen2019), at least we will most likely not be eaten by Cthulhu. Hence, the futuristic aspects of the existential problem of evil seem more severe in Lovecraft’s imagined world, although Nagasawa’s problem of evil also includes a future-oriented pragmatic dimension, as discussed. On the other hand, The Call of Cthulhu does not describe humanity itself as being created by, or dependent on evil, which is a central part of Nagasawa’s systemic problem of evil. But despite these differences, in The Call of Cthulhu, humanity clearly faces an ‘axiological expectation mismatch’ between our expectations and how the world really is. And in both the Cthulhuverse and our world, the problem concerns fundamental features of reality that humanity has no power to change (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2024, 168–169).

The in-principle possibility of a problem of evil for atheists is the first lesson I draw from putting Lovecraft and Nagasawa into dialogue. The Call of Cthulhu presents an imagined universe in which there indeed seems to be a significant problem of evil for atheists, in the form of epistemic, emotive, and pragmatic challenges. It thus provides a useful thought experiment for testing philosophical objections against Nagasawa’s problem. If these do not work in the Lovecraftian universe, then this may provide a reductio ad absurdum argument, meaning that the objections may also not work in relation to our local environment. If the badness of the Cthulhuverse would create a severe existential problem of evil, then it seems a world with somewhat less badness might also pose a challenge, with the severity of the challenge depending on the degree of badness.Footnote ⁶

Consider this in relation to the possibility of local optimism. Against Nagasawa, some have argued that it may be possible to remain an existential optimist on local grounds even while granting that, from a wider perspective (such as when considering all of Earth’s history), things are overall bad. Sugeng (Reference Sugeng2025, 5) argues that one could be a selfish personal optimist, being grateful for one’s own existence, even if others have less fortunate circumstances. Kahane (Reference Kahane2022) argues that even if the badness of the cosmos prevents thoroughgoing existential optimism, it could still allow a more limited gladness about one’s own existence or even humanity’s local circumstances. Perhaps the badness of the global environment might even increase our appreciation of the goodness of our local circumstances, just as an oasis is no less valuable for being in the middle of a desert. After all, ‘dark surroundings often amplify, rather than dampen, the gladness we feel about glimmers of good’ (Kahane Reference Kahane2022, 709).

Lovecraft’s own ideas might be brought in to support this criticism as well: for instance, he found much delight in writing his own horror stories. As he wrote,

Lovecraft’s protagonists also commonly manage to remain somewhat sane, remaining between the extremes of madness and denial. Although ‘even the skies of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison’ (Lovecraft Reference Lovecraft and Joshi1999, 169), meaning that although the protagonists certainly do not emerge unchanged, they remain functional at least for some time.

Nagasawa has several replies to the possibility of local optimism. As noted, he argues that the problem of systemic evil is pervasive and thus there is no environment in which it is irrelevant. Also, he argues that the problem of evil is a challenge, not necessarily an insurmountable obstacle (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2024, 177). Those who find reason for gladness in a dark world may still find it challenging, and the resulting cognitive dissonance requires a solution. Moreover, positive action often requires more foundational positive beliefs about the world. For example, procreation is more sensible if one believes that ‘the environment we inhabit merits our appreciation and gratitude because it offers the opportunity or potential for offspring to flourish and lead meaningful lives’ (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2024, 184). If we did not have such a belief, it would be more moral not to have children, although we might still express gratefulness in a more limited sense.

However, the analogy with Lovecraftian horror allows a further reply.Footnote ⁸ Even supposing that local optimism and gratefulness are possible in a world that contains much suffering, The Call of Cthulhu seems to show that there may be a threshold of badness, beyond which local optimism becomes much less feasible. In such cases, the darkness of the environment would not cause the light of our goodness to shine brighter but might instead dim it. For instance, living in a world with Cthulhu would not, it seems, amplify our gladness about the ‘glimmers of good’ (Kahane Reference Kahane2022, 709) in our own lives. This provides a kind of reductio ad absurdum of the position that local and global existential optimism can be fully separated. The existence of great Cthulhu, sleeping in his halls somewhere under Earth’s oceans, would pose a problem for local optimism. But then, plausibly, other fundamentally evil or bad features of our reality could also pose such a problem (even if a weaker one).

The question then becomes, of course, what the scope of the problem of evil is in our world, in comparison to the Cthulhuverse. My use of the Lovecraftian horror as a reductio ad absurdum against some objections to Nagasawa assumes that Lovecraft’s imagined cosmos is worse than our world. So, admitting that there would be a problem of evil for atheists in a Lovecraftian scenario does not require believing that the problem is equally severe in our world. Nevertheless, if Nagasawa is correct about the problem of systemic evil, then our world is also a fundamentally bad place. Nagasawa points particularly to the cruelty of natural selection and the scale of suffering it necessitates. This is a ‘biological system which necessitates pain and suffering for uncountably many organisms’ (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2024, 123), and which our own existence depends on, making it perverse to express ‘pleasure about and gratitude for living in our environment with smiley faces’ (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2024, 163).

Many critics have argued that the world may not be as bad as this (e.g. Kahane Reference Kahane2022; Oppy Reference Oppy2024). However, in atheistic uses of the evolutionary problem of evil, commonplace assumptions do seem to lead to a highly negative view of the world. For instance, our millions of years of evolutionary history are often thought to add to the problem, because they increase the scale of suffering (e.g. Dawkins Reference Dawkins1995, 131–132; Kitcher Reference Kitcher2009, 123), and because a process using natural selection seems to be an unnecessarily cruel way to create (e.g. Draper Reference Draper and Nagasawa2012). But, as I have argued elsewhere (Kojonen Reference Kojonen2022, 395), increasing the number of animals only makes the problem of evil worse if the lives of animals are, on average, bad and thus do not, on balance, add good to the world. Drawing on C. S. Lewis’ principle of repeatable reasons, I pointed out that if some act is overall good or justifiable, then repeating it does not make the act more morally problematic (Kojonen Reference Kojonen2022, 391–395). Similarly, then, increasing the number of animals does not make the problem of evil worse if the creation of a mortal animal capable of suffering is itself a good and justifiable act. The increased scale of evolution will only make things worse if we assume that ‘the creation of each mortal creature on average adds more bad than good to the world’ (Kojonen Reference Kojonen2022, 395). But this would make our world a very bad place and thus leads to Nagasawa’s problem of evil for atheists. Although the precise threshold of evil that creates problems for optimists is hard to determine (Kahane Reference Kahane2022; Oppy Reference Oppy2024), it seems that, under such assumptions, the massive amounts of evolutionary evil should indeed count as at least some kind of problem.

One way to respond to the problem for atheists would be to argue that, on average, animal lives add value to the world (a conclusion that might also delight wildlife conservationists). But, as Nagasawa (Reference Nagasawa2025, 386) points out, this would then also reduce or eliminate the mismatch between the theists’ expectations and the empirical data. Either way, the landscape of the discussion on evil has changed.Footnote ⁹

Comparison with Lovecraft might be used to expand Nagasawa’s problem of evil. Nagasawa focuses on axiological expectations mismatches in the case of systemic evil. However, he notes that other phenomena, such as the prevalence of human suffering (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2024, 130–131, 143–144, 147) and the problem of impermanence (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2024, 195–230), might also be understood as systemic. He references (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2024, 188) thinkers such as Craig (Reference Craig1994, 57–75) and de Ray (Reference de Ray2023) who have argued that a naturalistic cosmos may threaten the meaningfulness of life (see further Metz and Seachris Reference Metz and Seachris2023). Expanding on such aspects could bring Nagasawa’s problem of evil closer to The Call of Cthulhu, in which the mismatch arises from expectations regarding human rationality, morality, and significance in relation to the cosmos.

Moreover, although Lovecraft’s understanding of the modern scientific worldview is clearly an important inspiration of his horror, biographers have noted how events in Lovecraft’s life, such as the mental and physical illness of loved ones, the fear of the unknown (in the form of racism), as well as war and political upheaval, plausibly also influenced his fiction (Kneale Reference Kneale2006; Houllebecq Reference Houllebecq2009; but cf. Joshi Reference Joshi2018). Related to the idea of an ‘axiological expectations mismatch’, events such as sickness, war, famine, and death often upend the course of human lives, contrary to what we would have wanted or expected based on psychological or culturally shaped expectations. The example of Lovecraft thus raises the question of whether such broader experiences might not also contribute to Nagasawa’s problem of evil for atheists. Granted, sometimes axiological expectations mismatches may be mild, as when a young scientist becomes disillusioned when the reality of science is messier than portrayed in popular narratives (De Ridder Reference De Ridder2022). But other times, a more localised challenge, such as war or the loss of a loved one, may provide an axiological expectations mismatch that is psychologically much more impactful than natural selection. Perhaps such experiences might also be part of a larger problem of evil for atheists, as in the Eastern ‘problem of impermanence’ which Nagasawa (Reference Nagasawa2024, 208) does discuss as a systemic evil.

As noted, our possible dependence on a fundamentally evil system is one aspect of Nagasawa’s problem of evil that is not explored in The Call of Cthulhu. To explore this aspect, I now turn to Le Guin.

Omelas and the systemic problem

In relation to Nagasawa’s argument, Those Who Walk Away from Omelas provides an interesting analogy, because the evil of Omelas is clearly systemic. Compared with The Call of Cthulhu, the example of Omelas is better at highlighting the effect of systemic dependence on evil. Even if the overall proportion of suffering in Omelas is relatively low – much lower than in our world – the dependence of its happiness on evil nevertheless clearly makes a difference. In light of Omelas, it seems that, once one realises that one’s happiness depends on systemic evil, this should not leave us indifferent. The system’s fundamental darkness seems to taint its results and should prompt us to seek a better way. Similarly, one might argue that if our existence and happiness depend on systemic evil in nature, this would also seem to taint our happiness. It would challenge our optimism, our existential gratitude, and our hopes for the future. We should have little motivation to perpetuate such a system, such as by procreating our own species or by protecting wild animals (since they also perpetuate the system of natural selection).

As in the case of The Call of Cthulhu, Omelas also functions as a reductio ad absurdum of some objections. Le Guin (Reference Le Guin and Le Guin1975, 283) writes of those who accept the ‘terrible justice of reality’ and believe that the child’s suffering even makes their compassion for other children more beautiful by comparison. Insofar as the reader believes there is something ugly in this attitude, then this would support Nagasawa’s (Reference Nagasawa2024, 163) contention that likewise, there is something ugly about making ‘smiley faces while, at the same time, recognizing that we are standing on the corpses of countless people and sentient animals’.

The aptness of thought experiments and analogies depends on whether they are relevantly similar to the comparison case (Juthe Reference Juthe2005). There is thus a need to address some of the central differences between Omelas and the alleged systemic evil of natural selection. One potential difference concerns moral responsibility. In the city of Omelas, all adults know about what is happening and choose not to interfere. Therefore, they are not only dependent on systemic evil but also collectively responsible for it. Having personal responsibility for some wrongdoing clearly makes it more morally grotesque to then rejoice in personally not experiencing the same, because this includes benefiting from injustice (Butt Reference Butt2007; Pasternak Reference Pasternak2021). In contrast, lacking the capacity for time travel, we cannot change our evolutionary history, which is a necessary condition for being in control of it and thus morally responsible (see Talbert Reference Talbert2016). One might then argue that moral responsibility creates a difference between our situation and the citizens of Omelas.

However, even if this difference were granted, Omelas would still illustrate that an axiological expectations mismatch can arise between the fundamental nature of a system we depend on and what we believe the world should be like. The nature of the system matters, and a fundamentally evil system can create an existential challenge from a secular perspective. The evil of Omelas does not have to be identical to the evil of nature for this fundamental analogy to hold. Moreover, it seems the moral difference is not as great as might seem, but rather points to a way in which Nagasawa’s problem of evil might be expanded by including our moral responsibility. As in Nagasawa’s problem of systemic evil, the residents of Omelas are likewise not individually responsible for the creation and existence of the system. Rather, they are only responsible for their own reaction to the system. Similarly, while we are not responsible for our evolutionary history, we are responsible for the way we collectively perpetuate the system of nature and continue to use it to enable our continued existence. Hence, if the system of nature indeed is morally evil, then this does also seem to create both a moral and existential challenge for us, as Omelas does for its residents.

In other respects, differences between our situation and Omelas might even intensify the problem for us. For the residents of Omelas, an alternative way of life seems inconceivable, but they still have a way of leaving the city. Some commentators have even pointed out that the dissidents may not need to leave but might rather ‘stay and fight’ for change (cf. Jemisin Reference Jemisin and Jemisin2018). But it seems far more inconceivable how, from a secular perspective, we could escape our dependence on biological nature or change the system of nature, although the transhumanists may try (e.g. Lombardo Reference Lombardo2016). The impossibility of escaping our dependence on the biosphere intensifies the axiological mismatch and the existential problem of evil for us, if we indeed believe that the system of biology is fundamentally evil.

Hence, Omelas illustrates how dependence on a fundamentally evil system could create a problem of evil from a secular perspective. But what remains to be seen is whether the suffering in nature, the systemic problem of evil, similarly makes our existence depend on evil. Again, how we conceive of the problem of evolutionary evil for theism seems to make a difference. On standard accounts of the problem, natural selection is indeed seen as an extremely cruel process, akin to putting animals in a cage to fight each other for scraps of food (Kojonen Reference Kojonen2022, 396–398). If our existence depends on such a process, then it depends on systemic evil, just as in Omelas. It seems, then, that the problem of evil for atheists is intensified in accounts that emphasise the cruelty of natural selection, for example, as a way of arguing against theism.

However, this picture of natural selection may be too negative. In Omelas, the happiness of the city depends unambiguously on a moral evil. There are no redeeming qualities to the suffering of the lonely child in the basement; their life is full of misery with no room for happiness or comfort. In contrast, Oppy (Reference Oppy2024, 347) argues that natural selection is just ‘the differential survival and reproduction of individuals due to differences in phenotype’. And hence, natural selection does not necessarily involve suffering. Likewise, I have also argued that evolution mostly results from animals living normal lives (Kojonen Reference Kojonen2022, 399–400). Yes, animal lives involve competition and violent struggles between predator and prey, but also a great deal of cooperation and happiness (see also Nowak and Coakley Reference Nowak and Coakley2013; Peels Reference Peels2018; Wahlberg Reference Wahlberg2024). Thus understood, the problem with evolution is not natural selection or evolution in general, but perhaps particular cases of limited resources or certain forms of life.

If these responses succeed, this would probably be acceptable to Nagasawa. In that case, after all, the severity of the evolutionary problem of evil for theists would also decrease (Nagasawa Reference Nagasawa2025, 386). This would be good news for both theists and atheists. However, Omelas also provides potential for a further defence of the evolutionary problem of evil. Supposing that evolution mostly results from animals living their regular lives, one might still argue that, as good as it is (Wahlberg Reference Wahlberg2024), leaving animals to live their lives autonomously also has a systemic cost. Even an overall beneficial system of natural selection and competition could still make it statistically inevitable that some animal lives will include a relatively greater portion of misery. These animals, then, might be the cost of the system, akin to the lonely soul hidden in a basement in Omelas. This might help defend Nagasawa’s (Reference Nagasawa2025, 387) contention that there is at least to some degree a ‘lawlike systemic connection’ between natural selection and suffering. On balance, this picture of nature would still be more positive than many presentations of the evolutionary problem of evil, since on this understanding, evil is not equally fundamental to evolution, being a statistical by-product rather than the fundamental driver of evolution. But perhaps it still creates a challenge.Footnote ¹⁴