Lovecraft, Crowley, and the Dangers of the Unknown

Jessica Alwood

Enter the labyrinth of the unknowable, dear listeners. Within the shadowed corridors of literature and ritual, where the Nuances of H.P. Lovecraft's Necronomicon meet Aleister Crowley's magickal invocations, there lies a chilling synergy—a convergence of art and occult. Lovecraft’s world trembled with the weight of ancient, incomprehensible entities. He dared name them, describe their slumbering forms, most notably Cthulhu, deep beneath the waves… waiting. The Necronomicon was their map, their key—a tome of riddles and ruin that whispers from cosmic abysses. And yet, the ancient Sumerian gods he aligns these horrors with added layers of anachronistic fright. Their names—Azathoth, Shub-Niggurath—cast long, serpentine shadows over his storytelling.

Barry Visroy

Shadows, absolutely. But Lovecraft’s Necronomicon wasn’t real, was it? It was his allegorical tool, melding terror with our shared, primal fear of power beyond human understanding. On the other hand, Jessica, Aleister Crowley didn’t content himself with fiction. His rituals sought to pierce the very veils Lovecraft merely fantasized about, bringing those Sumerian and esoteric elements alive. Isn’t that the fascinating, terrifying aspect of this comparison? That Crowley attempted to live out what Lovecraft only imagined, reaching towards what he perceived as the ‘magic behind the stars.’

Jessica Alwood

Indeed, Barry. Crowley embodied the pursuit of gnosis, his "Aeon of Horus" philosophy aiming to birth a new age of humanity, partly by reconnecting with these ancient powers. Yet—how close he danced to oblivion. There’s a resonance, is there not, between the Sumerian mythology in Crowley’s magick and Lovecraft’s opposing forces? The Elder Gods representing light, warring against those dark, primordial Guardians—the Ancient Ones. Both men, albeit differently, construct their universes as battles between immense forces, keeping humanity fragile and helpless, dangling like marionettes before greater schemes.

Barry Visroy

And yet, Lovecraft’s vision feels almost mocking. Humanity wasn’t merely powerless; we were meaningless—our very existence just… an accident of indifferent cosmic chaos. Crowley, at least, offered a path. Illusion or not, his rituals were transformative, weren’t they? It wasn’t about submitting to horror but commanding magick to confront or even manipulate the unknown through his carefully crafted rites.

Jessica Alwood

But who is to say whether either approach truly delivers salvation? Crowley’s "transformative" experiences could just as easily shatter as enlighten. His summoning of entities, intertwined with Sumerian rituals and stars, evokes Lovecraft’s cosmic warnings—all those dire consequences, when things break through from the 'Outside.' Was the Necronomicon, unknowingly or intentionally, reflecting risks Crowley might’ve faced in seeking dominance over these dark, alien realms?

Barry Visroy

A risk, yes—but one Crowley consciously undertook, I imagine. And therein lies the key difference. To Crowley, these forces could be understood or even mastered through precision and will. But Lovecraft's dark imagination carried no such hope. His Ancient Ones couldn’t be reasoned with or manipulated—they were existence’s eternal predators. Still, despite their tonal differences, don’t the two seem to echo the same cautionary refrain?... Humanity meddles at its peril.

Jessica Alwood

At its peril, Barry. We sit on precipices of dread and daring, gorging ourselves on these intoxicating prospects of forbidden knowledge. Just imagine those poor devils who took the next step—past Lovecraft’s cautions or even Crowley’s meticulously outlined rituals. I wonder if those who dared try to traverse spiritual gates… met only obliteration.

Barry Visroy

Obliteration… or worse. Some could argue we’ll never know what they saw or encountered, Jessica, but those brushes with the unknown may explain endless stories of madness and ruin throughout human history. Spilling over from pages or tomes into real spaces? That’s the compelling, albeit terrifying, line this discussion straddles. Our next topic explores it even further.

Jessica Alwood

So, where might the line be drawn between fiction and reality? Picture this: a gateway hidden deep beneath Greenwich, New Jersey—a point where whispers of ancient rituals mirror those cosmic warnings we’ve just explored. Witness accounts speak of chants, intricate symbols traced into the earth, and what followed… manifestations of entities beyond all comprehension. Was this an echo of the Necronomicon’s warnings, or something pulled directly from the abyssal unknown, leaving fear and ruin in its wake?

Barry Visroy

It’s like those stories leaping off the page. And yet, we have fragmented accounts, Jessica—scattered recollections from someone overwhelmed by… psychic shock, they said? If true, it aligns disturbingly close to Lovecraft’s descriptions of "psychic strain" or "madness" those who dared witness the Ancient Ones would endure.

Jessica Alwood

Yes, the thematic echoes are uncanny. The Necronomicon warns, in whispered dread, against summoning forces from beyond, for they are alien—indifferent, destructive. Consider those involved in this alleged ritual, invoking powers they could not possibly fathom. These "shapeless forms"—as the witness described—may not just be metaphors for terror but literal manifestations of entities from those forbidden "outer spheres."

Barry Visroy

But here’s the question, Jessica—were they really entities, or projections of our deepest fears? The psychological toll, regardless, is undeniable. The witness, for one, emerged fractured—a case study in the impact of dabbling in the unknown. Memory loss, disorientation… a shadow of a person, haunted by the sheer scope of what they believe they witnessed.

Jessica Alwood

Haunting, indeed. Might it be that this is exactly what the Necronomicon has always warned against? It cautions “mindless acolytes” about trifling with ancient gates. Could these individuals, in their hubris, have been unwittingly aligned with its grim prophecies? Or, Barry… dare I suggest, mimicking the rites detailed in those foreboding texts?

Barry Visroy

Mimicking—or worse, recklessly attempting to replicate them. And while the Necronomicon has always been shrouded in skepticism, what stands out here is the similarity. A portal, unstable and dangerous. Chanting, symbolic artifacts… It fits the scenarios outlined in those legendary pages. Whether it’s interpretation or coincidence, this Greenwich event mirrors the very risks Lovecraft dramatized, doesn’t it?

Jessica Alwood

The risks… and the consequences. Witnesses spoke not only of fear but of death. Was it misstep or miscalculation? Or perhaps an inevitable price for attempting to reach what lies beyond. Rituals like these are fraught with peril, and as with the Necronomicon, one misplaced word, one incomplete sigil, can lead to catastrophe.

Barry Visroy

And isn’t that the essence of horror, Jessica? The possibility that their ritual wasn’t simply… fiction reenacted. What if they glimpsed forces incomprehensible to humans? Chess pieces in cosmic games they had no business playing. Those lives lost… Were they casualties of delusion, or victims of something… much darker?

Jessica Alwood

A darker truth, indeed. These accounts—of rituals gone wrong, of creatures summoned beyond comprehension—they serve as a stark reminder. Whether through Crowley’s calculated invocations or Lovecraft’s grim prophecies, humanity stands ever poised on the edge of unfathomable depths. Can one ever truly foresee what waits on the other side of that gateway?

Barry Visroy

And can they ever truly close that gateway once it’s opened? Let’s not forget the parallels, Jessica. This Greenwich incident feels… unfinished, like one of those fragmented tales that makes you wish there was more. And maybe there is. For our next segment, we move from conjecture to experience—my own, from Leeds. Shadowy figures, rituals, and local beliefs in gatekeepers. Needless to say, it’s just as chilling.

Jessica Alwood

So, Barry, you mentioned Leeds—the shadowy figures and their rituals. It’s fascinating to think about how such beliefs persist. When I looked into it, I came across whispers of these so-called gatekeepers, guardians summoned to watch crossings to other dimensions. By day, they shield the thresholds, but by night? Their absence is said to invite things far worse, emerging from the void. Have you ever stopped to wonder, Barry—what do these rituals truly demand from those who dare to perform them?

Barry Visroy

Leeds, you say? I’ve walked those streets, Jessica, and there’s something always simmering beneath the surface, isn’t there? Rituals might be the link between those hushed, enigmatic sightings and humanity’s urge to probe into realms we don’t quite understand. But here’s what gets me—how quickly mankind veers toward peril when chasing forbidden knowledge.

Jessica Alwood

Oh, so quickly, Barry. Ritual might offer a seductive logic to it—a sequence of words, a collection of gestures. But the consequences? They’re often nebulous, or terrifyingly specific. Even history warns of this. Think of the bans against occult practices during Nazi Germany. Not from a moralistic perspective, no. They feared these rites… feared what they might unleash. If systematic repression of rituals occurred, Barry, what might that suggest about their hidden potency?

Barry Visroy

That they believed there was danger, Jessica. Real danger. Whether their bans were to suppress political dissent shrouded in mysticism, or an attempt to stop some genuine risk, the shadow of fear lingered over these practices. It makes the connection between history and imagination feel less abstract, doesn’t it? Like, perhaps, these warnings—these artifacts from fiction and historical recounting—serve as a shared caution.

Jessica Alwood

A shared caution indeed. Yet humanity always dances so close to the edge, daring to pierce the veil. Just look at the times when those daring individuals try to bend reality’s fabric—summoning forces, unlocking gates. Or in Leeds, invoking a "gatekeeper." But gates go two ways, Barry. Who truly holds the authority—or the wisdom—to keep an open path closed?

Barry Visroy

And what watches on the other side, ready to step through? It’s like the cosmic rules themselves warn us to tread carefully, whether through ancient legend or Lovecraft’s roaring terrors. Think of it as a game where one poor move collapses the board. There’s something almost reckless in our obsession with control over these gates, Jessica. Do you think fascination blinds us to the cost?

Jessica Alwood

Blindness… or hubris? Humanity’s willingness to trial these trespasses goes beyond fascination. Those "gatekeepers," those silent watchers, might not be a myth to remind us of limits. No, Barry, they’re warnings, dispatched from history and fiction alike. Don’t open doors you haven’t the strength to close.

Barry Visroy

And yet, we still open them. Leeds, Greenwich, legends stretching back centuries—gateways seem an eternal crossroad between curiosity and catastrophe. Speaking of Greenwich, our next chapter will delve directly into those real echoes of fiction—agencies, rituals, and their consequences. Shall we?

Jessica Alwood

We shall, Barry. Greenwich awaits, cloaked in endeavours and mysteries, much like the ritual past we tread today. What horrors... or insights might its account reveal?

Jessica Alwood

And so, Barry, Greenwich stands as one of those fateful crossroads. Imagine stepping into its underground—a labyrinth of sterile corridors leading to a shimmering aperture, a gateway not just to other dimensions but perhaps to the answers humanity has always sought. But isn't that the peril? That behind every pursuit for insight lies a risk too overwhelming to fathom. What, I wonder, might wait for those bold enough to persist beyond fear—to unlock truths capable of reshaping us entirely?

Barry Visroy

Redefines us—or dismantles us, Jessica. Let’s not forget the Greenwich testimony we just discussed where too much "daring" cost lives. We're creatures of a limited realm; we need to ask if breaking these boundaries helps or hurts. Sometimes… sometimes knowing could just be too much.

Jessica Alwood

Ah, but Barry, can one ignore the whispers promising enlightenment? Humanity’s greatest discoveries—jungles ventured, oceans dived—all required perilous steps into the unknown. Indeed, our greatest thinkers reached beyond limits, glimpsing at a collective quest for answers. Dwell upon this for just a moment: could those who pass through gateways, those who harness unique rituals, acquire the ultimate enlightenment?

Barry Visroy

That’s tempting, Jessica, but human history doesn’t exactly paint a clean picture of those pursuits. How often does our hubris create catastrophic results? The atomic age, for example—our leap into splitting the atom brought immense progress, yes, but also ruinous potential. The unknown may glitter, but its rewards come with unspeakable risks. Are we ready to pay that price?

Jessica Alwood

And yet, Barry, where else might humanity turn? Consider—scientific advancements, though dazzling, meet a point of diminishing returns. Supernatural exploration holds boundless possibilities. Answers to immortal questions… the greater truths behind existence far surpassing mundane achievements. Are we truly content seeing only shadows of the cosmos?

Barry Visroy

Perhaps not, Jessica. But intent matters, doesn’t it? There’s a fine line between pursuit for understanding and obsession with control. The stories from Greenwich seem steeped in the latter, don’t they? Were they reaching for discovery... or seeking dominance over forces they couldn't comprehend? That distinction shapes the peril.

Jessica Alwood

True, but one mustn't dismiss the treasures those shadowed corridors might yield. If science peters out, and reason fails, why should humanity not reach for paths illuminated only by ritual, by daring? Barry, who’s to say ultimate truths don't await the final risk-takers—the ones who transgress boundaries, even if thin spaces between caution and catastrophe render them brittle?

Barry Visroy

It’s seductive logic, Jessica, especially when you envision these efforts like quests for lost treasures. But treasure maps—whether adorned with logic or instincts—invite traps just as often as rewards. The relentless push towards untested knowledge… haven’t we seen time and again how recklessness unravels humanity? Greenwich hints at that, doesn’t it? So close to greatness, perhaps… or tragedy.

Jessica Alwood

A double-edged sword, then, isn’t it? That dance between illumination and annihilation defines humanity’s struggles with the unknowable. It’s a relentless paradox—seek what tempts, but know the cost may be unbearable. Yet, Barry, we cannot stop. There are treasures untold. Do they justify the horrors it may take to touch them?

Barry Visroy

Jessica, history often teaches us that the pursuit of treasures—be they literal or metaphorical—is rarely without cost. Yet here we are, inching closer to conclusions about rituals, dangers, and sacrifices. Let’s delve deeper into their source next—fiction, fact, or neither?

Jessica Alwood

And thus, Barry, we edge closer to one of the most compelling symbols of humanity's intrigue with the forbidden—the Necronomicon. Is it truly fictitious, a mere illusion conjured by our collective psyche, or does its enduring presence signal deeper truths hidden behind veils of myth? Just as with Greenwich, fiction may often hold a mirror to reality. What might it uncover about our ceaseless drive to confront eldritch mysteries and breach gates that perhaps should remain closed?

Barry Visroy

Compelled, perhaps, because fiction thrives on framing the inexplicable. The Necronomicon might be a fabrication, Jessica—an invention of Lovecraft’s sheer genius. But humans weave meaning into what frightens them. Look at Greenwich. Those methods, those… wells of belief, steeped themselves in rituals not difficult to link with concepts from that dreaded tome. Were those terrors summoned from pages of fiction? Or born entirely of faith in their existence?

Jessica Alwood

Ah, faith. Isn’t it always at the heart of such pursuits? Once, mankind trusted in fire against the dark. Now, it’s as though we’ve replaced fire with words, Barry—incantations, sigils, rituals etched into existence, hoping to tether the unknown to tangible outcomes. And yet, in trusting these constructs, we may inadvertently give them real power. Could belief magnify fiction into a vessel for something… far worse?

Barry Visroy

Worse, or just… self-inflicted consequences. The Greenwich account highlights that perfectly. Real lives affected, real trauma experienced—all seemingly from ritual acts rooted in a collective, distorted belief system. Jessica, how much of what happened comes down to people misapplying lore that was never meant for anything other than storytelling?

Jessica Alwood

That, Barry, is the sinister nature of the Necronomicon—it occupies a space neither entirely fiction nor entirely fact. The lore entwines itself with reality subtly enough to beguile those unprepared for its dangers. And for those who dare to interact with its teachings or imitate its fabled rites—I wonder whether they awaken forces alien and indifferent, or if it is their own minds unraveling under illusion, which might be more terrifying still.

Barry Visroy

Good point, Jessica. But there’s one thing I keep circling back to. Fiction relies on context, and belief fosters its effects. Greenwich happened because, likely, someone couldn’t resist the allure of seeing whether fiction holds… truth. The result? Nothing definitive, just death and madness—leaving us with no more answers than before, wouldn’t you agree?

Jessica Alwood

No more answers… but perhaps more questions, Barry. And it’s in these questions that the strength of the Necronomicon lies. Whether a full fabrication or a channel for genuine transmissions, it paints one thing clearly: humanity’s endless struggle with its dual desire to illuminate the dark corners of existence and its primal dread of what might be found there.

Barry Visroy

Which leads to the centerpiece of this entire discussion, doesn’t it? The actual text doesn’t matter as much as its implications. Be it fictional warnings or Crowley’s attempts to breach other planes, people project interpretation onto these ideas—risking their lives to touch a reality that remains just out of reach. And no matter the era, humans don’t seem capable of resisting that temptation.

Jessica Alwood

Barry, perhaps that’s the final caution. Fiction or not, humans cannot resist the unknown—for every Greenwich, Leeds, or Lovecraftian tale, there will always be others stepping forward, delving into what should or must remain forbidden. As they do, they echo a line Lovecraft wrote himself. "That is not dead which can eternal lie…"

Barry Visroy

"…And with strange aeons even death may die." So then, our fictions, our beliefs, all that drives us to dance this precarious line between discovery and destruction—are they warnings, or are they whispers from strange aeons themselves? That, Jessica, seems a question neither of us—nor humanity—might ever definitively answer. And what a fitting thought to end on.