One of the prevalent themes in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness is idealism, a seemingly inescapable component of human nature. Conrad addresses the desirability of such a quality, and his stance on this can be discerned through his use of symbolism, underlying myths, and language. He uses the background presence of the Company and the characters of Kurtz and Marlow to criticise the surface prettiness of idealism, which serves to disguise uglier intentions and leads ultimately to darkness.
One who falls to such a darkness, the tragic hero Kurtz, harbours high ideals that veil a possible hypocrisy and may precipitate his mental and spiritual degradation. By most accounts a “remarkable” man, he is the epitome of the culture and civilisation of Europe – a “universal genius” and an “emissary of pity and science and progress” (41). Yet he is a man of contrasts. For example, his idea of justice is given form in his painting of “a woman, draped and blindfolded, carrying a lighted torch” (40). The light, however, cannot hope to penetrate the sombre darkness, just as Kurtz cannot see the lighted candle hovering before his eyes as he pronounces, “I am lying here in the dark waiting for death” (117). Additionally, in the report he has written for the International Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs, the contrast comes sharply into play through words. He writes of “a power for good practically unbounded” among other altruistic notions. Impossible to overlook, however, is the prophetic postscriptum: “Exterminate all the brutes!” (84). Kurtz, whose “immense plans” are lost, or perhaps twisted, by abandonment and solitude, is a metaphor for a humanity which is capable of anything, even the most immense of darkness. Restraint, like the rotten fence in the story, falls away all too easily (though restraint is ironically exhibited by the cannibals on the boat), and Kurtz (like the manager and the brickmaker) is hollow inside, and try as he might to “swallow all the air, all the earth, all the men before him” (101), nothing could fill that void but an echoing wilderness.
On the other hand, the Company, a collaboration of imperialistic notions, hides its core of darkness behind noble ideas of civilisation and commerce. At the beginning of the story, Marlow defines the Company as being “run for profit”, an ironic retort to his aunt’s “emissary of light” (18). The trading Company, as a model for colonialism, has as its visible aim a “heavenly mission to civilise” (12) the “darker” regions of the world. However, elements of foreshadowing indicate a more sinister aspect to the Company. It is located in a “white sepulchre” of a city, and the description of its physical structure is reminiscent of Fresleven’s remains – the “grass sprouting between the stones”. The two knitting women whom Marlow encounters guard the “door of Darkness” – a door that leads to the schemes and bureaucracy of an empire that holds the fate of millions in its hand. The women, symbolic of two of the three Fates who control the destiny of humankind, knit black wool, representing the dark-skinned natives of Africa. The true face behind the mask of the Company’s idealism, as Marlow finds out, is in the grove of death he stumbles upon. In stark contrast, immediately after the horrific discovery, Marlow meets an impeccably-dressed accountant who is possessed of a mentality that enables him to say, with indifference, “When one has got to make correct entries, one comes to hate those savages – hate them to the death” (30). These encounters are perhaps some of the very first chisels to chip away at Marlow’s ideals.
It is through this divesting of long-held and cherished idealism – reminiscent to him of childhood – that Marlow truly begins to gain insight into the human condition. In his journey into the heart of the Congo (a journey that has a symbolic counterpart and bears similarities to mythic rites of initiation), he is confronted with savagery and an unforgiving humanity that bring him closer to despair. Yet, it is through despair and a leaving behind of acceptable society that Marlow can be made privileged to a vast knowledge. He grows cynical with the Company’s ideals, and sees the imperialists as trying to conquer something much more immense than could be conceived. Furthermore, he starts to discard his own convictions, such as his revulsion of lies, by letting the “papier-maché Mephistopheles” believe in his non-existent influence in Europe. However, this near-lie may actually represent spiritual progress, as rivets (the motive behind the lie) have become to him “a symbol of the redeeming ideas of civilisation, the ideas of humanity and solidarity which enable man to constrain hostile nature” (Boyle 101). Marlow confesses with true clarity, “… what I wanted was a certain quantity of rivets – and rivets were what really Mr. Kurtz wanted, if he had only known it” (46). Marlow’s most significant lie is perhaps to the Intended, when he chooses not to reveal Kurtz’s expiating last words – “The horror! The horror!” (118). It is a sign of his new-found knowledge that he does not unthinkingly respond to the Intended as he did his aunt. He lies to the Intended because the “truth” was “too dark altogether” and he perceives that “a part of Kurtz, the noblest part, the part he “Intended” has in fact survived the powers of darkness” (Boyle 115).
The story, in fact, ends
on a hopeful note of idealism – within the “heart of an immense darkness”
lies an imperfect and fleeting light, and though transient like a flash
of lightning, it is our attempt to “live in the flicker” that ultimately
redeems us.
***
P.S.
I must confess that my reading of Conrad's story is quite an idealized
one. The ending to HoD, in fact, may be seen as quite, quite hopeless by
someone with a more pessimistic view than mine. Also, a point of interest
- the Intended has actually been interpreted as someone quite terrifying,
and not the faithful, grieving lover as she appears to be. I'm actually
in agreement with this interpretation of the Intended as a powerfully dominating
presence - seen in the way she totally directs Marlow's conversation and
controls what he says in a wonderfully subtle way. She is also the controlling
presence in Kurtz's life, the "idol" upon which he bases his ideals. A
beautifully eerie moment in the novel is when you establish the connection
between the Intended and Kurtz's last words, and realize that Marlow's
lie to her at the end is not really a lie after all.
© Amis Lee, 2001