Arbeitsblätter des Anglistischen Seminars Heidelberg
Contributions to the
Study of Language,
Literature and Culture
www.as.uni-heidelberg.de/ejournal/
Beiträge zur Sprach-,
Literatur- und
Kulturwissenschaft
Volume 2009: 1
(edited by Frank Polzenhagen & Daniel Williams)
Table of Contents
Lena Endres
Doom and Salvation in Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness”
1-22
Stefan Petri
Geräusche und Gefühle in Emily Dickinsons “I felt a Funeral in my Brain”
23-32
Ricarda Wagner
“Your left is my north”: Spatial Representation across Languages
33-50
Svenja Habermann
Americanisms and the t-Flap in New Zealand English:
A Common Feature?
51-66
Barbara Wilhelm
The History of Slavery and its Significance in the Emergence of African
American Vernacular English
67-82
Kai Egner
The Acquisition of Phonology
83-96
Frauke Sonnentag
Language Acquisition in the Womb
97-111
ISSN: 0000000
Anglistisches Seminar
Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg
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69117 Heidelberg
www.as.uni-heidelberg.de/ejournal/
Contributions to the
Study of Language,
Literature and Culture
Vol. 2009: 1
Arbeitsblätter des Anglistischen Seminars Heidelberg
www.as.uni-heidelberg.de/ejournal/
Beiträge zur Sprach-,
Literatur- und
Kulturwissenschaft
Lena Endres
Doom and Salvation
in Joseph Conrad’s
Heart of Darkness
1. Introduction
2. Ideas, idealism and stupidity
3. Work, efficiency and inertia
4. Civilisation, wilderness and restraint
5. Surface truths and deeper insights
6. Seamanship and solidarity
7. Truth, lies and illusion
8. Words, narration and eloquence
9. Why is Marlow saved?
10. “How to live”
References
1. Introduction
Since its first publication in 1899, Heart of Darkness (henceforth HD) has not
ceased to intrigue the critics. The novella has been read as an adventure
tale, a critical account of imperialism, a journey into the netherworld, a
voyage into the human mind, to name only a few. And it is part of the
fascination of Heart of Darkness that, because of its complexity, it does
indeed lend itself to so many different interpretations, even if some of them
seem more plausible than others. More recent readings have focused on
racism in Heart of Darkness or the role of women; and although these
certainly are valuable and necessary questions, they do not seem to touch
the heart of the story. Marlow’s ironic and sarcastic critique of imperialism
is scathing and plays an important part in the text. And yet, one might
argue that imperialism primarily serves as a background to the events. One
1
might wonder about Marlow’s attitude towards women, but is not
Marlow’s attitude towards Kurtz infinitely more interesting? The case of
Kurtz has ever since fascinated both readers and critics: How can it be that
a man equipped with such idealism can fall so deep? How come that after
Kurtz arrives in the foreign land he succumbs to the wilderness? And why
can Marlow, who is much more sceptical about the idealistic notions
behind imperialism, resist its appeal? How can it be that Marlow seems
even more repelled by the “pilgrims” and the manager than by Kurtz,
although the latter has committed deeds that provoke an inconceivable
horror in Marlow? It is around these questions that the novella revolves.
Scrutinising them closely, one comes to realise that all of them lead back to
the question of how to tackle life successfully, which is also “the central
thematic question” of the text itself (Berman 1977: 54).
The divergences between Marlow’s case and those of the other
characters indicate that Marlow must be acting differently, that he must
have different strategies and mechanisms that carry him through life. The
following analysis is an attempt to uncover these strategies, to find out
what Marlow’s saving graces are and finally to discover why Marlow is
ultimately saved, whereas the other characters seem to be destined for
doom. Just as the text itself, Marlow’s redeeming features and his
subsequent behaviour are closely interwoven. Each chapter of this paper
will therefore approach the subject from a different angle, trying to shed as
much light as possible on the intricately knit texture.
2. Ideas, idealism and stupidity
Marlow begins his tale with the remarkable words, “And this also […] has
been one of the dark places of the earth” (HD: 5) and then goes on to
compare the Roman conquest of the Thames and its shores with the
colonisation of Africa. However, he points out two aspects that clearly
distinguish the Romans from the contemporary colonisers: the latter are
saved by their “devotion to efficiency” (HD: 6) and although they, too, take
part in “the conquest of the earth […] [which] is not a pretty thing when
you look into it too much” (HD: 7), it is redeemed if they have “an idea at
the back of it, not a sentimental pretence but an unselfish belief in the idea
– something you can set up, and bow before, and offer a sacrifice to…” (HD
7). These statements by Marlow have several implications: Firstly,
colonisation is bad from a moral point of view; consequently those who
take part in it are in need of being saved or redeemed. Secondly, although
colonisation is not morally justified there seem to be means to overcome
moral condemnation, such as efficiency and an idea behind the action.
It will have to be seen later on, however, how much Marlow himself trusts
in these particular means and whether there are not others with which
these should be substituted (cf. Watt 1980: 216f.).
2
The reader soon finds out that Marlow is very sceptical of idealistic
notions behind colonialism. His aunt regards him as one of the “Workers,”
as “something like an emissary of light” or as “something like a lower sort
of apostle” (HD: 12). Marlow clearly dismisses these descriptions by
referring to them as “a lot of such rot” and “humbug” (HD: 12). For him,
this idealism does not present any reasons for leaving (cf. also ErdinastVulcan 1991: 92). He sets out for the Congo because he has grown bored,
because all other alternatives have been ruled out and because of a
childhood fascination with blank spots on maps (cf. HD: 7f.). These are not
the ordinary coloniser’s motives. And indeed, Marlow is only unwillingly
associated with the business of colonisation, as can be deduced from his
statement that he feels like an “impostor” (HD: 13) and his ironic “After all,
I also was a part of the great cause of these high and just proceedings” (HD:
16). His main identity is that of a seaman, and his new employment
happens to be that of a “fresh-water sailor” (HD: 7) on the river Congo.
Kurtz’s story is quite a different one. Contrary to Marlow, his main
reason for leaving for the Congo seems to have been a very strong belief in
idealistic values, although the reader learns later on that financial reasons
might also have played a role (cf. HD: 75). Kurtz, who thus combines two
classical motives of the colonialist, is referred to with descriptions quite
similar to that of Marlow’s aunt: The brickmaker of the central station calls
him “an emissary of pity, and science, and progress, and devil knows what
else” (HD: 25). Marlow looks forward to meeting this man “who had come
out equipped with moral ideas of some sort” (HD: 31), and he wonders
how he would put these into effect. According to Hawthorn (1990: 179),
Marlow’s growing curiosity about Kurtz […] is a growing interest in
him as a possible exemplar of the successful fusion of trade and
idealism, a living proof that imperialism can be justified by being
built on an idea, by transforming the inefficient to the efficient.
Marlow’s disappointment is all the greater when he has to realise that
Kurtz’s idealism “is cut off from everyday reality” (Hawthorn 1990: 194).
His is a kind of idealism that “neither helps us to see the world realistically,
nor to act effectively or morally in it. Instead, it serves as a smokescreen for
the most appalling brutalities and hypocrisies” (Hawthorn 1990: 194).
Kurtz apparently has become so engrossed in his idealism that he is
effectively blind to its inherent dangers. His doings are corrupted by
his greed for possessions and fame (cf. Hawthorn 1990: 198); blindly he
stumbles into his doom. Kurtz does not have an “unselfish belief” in his
ideas, they are a mere “sentimental pretence,” and he does not worship
them, either. Instead, he has placed himself in the seat of veneration.
Although Marlow is truly repelled by Kurtz’s actions, he seems to
despise the other company agents even more when he realises that they
have no ideas at all or only of the kind that are inspired by base motives,
such as mere financial success. Their life is either characterised by inhuman
3
efficiency or futile inertia (cf. chapter 3); neither of them seems to reflect
about their motives, their activities or their lives in general. Marlow is thus
not surprised that none of them appear to perceive the appeal of the
surrounding wilderness. Consequently, they are safe from any dangers
such as have been encountered by Kurtz and which are also felt by Marlow.
The latter’s statements in this respect are revealing: He tells his listeners on
the Nellie,
Of course you may be too much of a fool to go wrong – too dull
even to know you are being assaulted by the powers of darkness.
I take it no fool ever made a bargain for his soul with the devil. The
fool is too much of a fool or the devil too much of a devil – I don’t
know which. (HD: 49)
Ian Watt (1980: 226) writes that “Marlow is implicitly dividing civilised
man into three categories.” He distinguishes between “those who respond
to savagery and succumb, like Kurtz; those who respond but possess
‘a deliberate belief’ which enables them to resist; and the fools who do not
respond at all because they do not notice.” Being stupid enough serves as
a protection against dangers and aberrations, but it cannot be regarded as a
satisfactory solution (cf. Hawthorn 1990: 200).
Both Kurtz’s unrealistic idealism and the lack of reflection that
he encounters (for example in the pilgrims) are rejected by Marlow. He
believes in the necessity of reflection, of gaining insights, of thinking things
through. However, he is not in favour of ideas that have lost touch with
reality or that have become corrupted by selfish notions, as happened to
Kurtz’s idealism. According to Hawthorn (1990: 199),
what is wrong with idealism […] is its impracticality, its failure to
engage with the reality of humanity, its belief in a mankind without
the negative impulses and potentialities which lack of external
restraint will release. A more sombre view of mankind – including
of oneself, Marlow suggests – will stand more chance of bringing
good to the world than abstract principles or ideals.
This more realistic perspective of mankind is part of Marlow’s key to
salvation. Because of it he knows better what to expect when embarking on
his venture, which prevents him from being caught unawares. Marlow
knows that he, too, is not immune to the appeals of darkness. His realistic
estimate of the situation permits him to prepare himself and to focus on
some saving strategies, to which he will be able to resort when danger
approaches.
4
3. Work, efficiency and inertia
Marlow claims that efficiency helps to overcome the moral dilemmas that
arise out of colonialism. However, on entering the outer station of the
company, Marlow meets “a man who proves to be a very problematic
representative of [his] […] moral positive – work and efficiency” (Watt
1980: 220f.). The company’s chief accountant is extremely efficient: he
manages to sport an immaculate outer appearance and is not easily
distracted from his meticulous bookkeeping. However, the reader also gets
to know the downside of this: the accountant proves to be utterly coldblooded and heartless. He only has perfect shirts because a native woman
has been forced against her will to do the work (cf. Lagercrantz 1988: 53),
and every distraction from his task – be it the groans of a dying agent in his
office or noise caused by natives in the yard – provokes annoyance and
hate in him. Thus, although the “heartless priorities of the Western
administration” protect the accountant from the darkness, they can only do
so “at the cost of insulating him from everything else” (Watt 1980: 221).
Efficiency as a saving grace, therefore, seems extremely problematic.
In spite of this, however, Marlow claims that he respected the man (cf. HD:
18). On the one hand this can be read as pure irony, on the other hand there
might be a grain of truth in it, insofar as Marlow is even more repelled by
the very opposite comportment, which he encounters also on his journey:
inertia. Shortly after his arrival at the outer station, Marlow realizes “that in
the blinding sunshine of that land [he] would become acquainted with a
flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil of a rapacious and pitiless folly” (HD:
16). At the central station – “the first glance at the place was enough to let
you see the flabby devil was running that show” (HD: 21) – he meets the
“pilgrims,” the company agents, who have come to the Congo for purely
financial reasons and who seem to worship ivory like a god (cf. Steiner
1982: 83). They are waiting for something, but since it becomes clear that
there is nothing which they could reasonably expect, this is an utterly
preposterous business. When a building is on fire and the need for action
arises, they show once more their futility in trying to extinguish the fire
with a leaky bucket. Marlow is increasingly exasperated by this attitude
and bestows his hopes on Kurtz, who sends enormous amounts of ivory
downriver and thus proves to be anything but inert.
It can be seen that neither determined efficiency nor complete
inertia lead to salvation. The right path therefore has to be found
somewhere in the middle of these two extremes and the text shows that
this is in fact the case. Straightforward, honest, busy work turns out to be
Marlow’s lifesaver in precarious situations. Again and again he takes
refuge in this resort. Work allows him to “keep hold on the redeeming facts
of life” (HD: 23) when the atmosphere of futility at the central station
becomes too much for him (cf. Boyle 1965: 100), and he forges a close
connection to his steamboat, the main site of his work:
5
I had expended enough hard work on her to make me love her. No
influential friend would have served me better. She had given me a
chance to come out a bit – to find out what I could do. No. I don’t
like work. I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things that
can be done. I don’t like work – no man does – but I like what is in
the work – the chance to find yourself. Your own reality – for
yourself – not for others – what no other man can ever know.
(HD: 29)
When he feels an affinity to the wilderness on the journey upriver, it is
work that hinders him from going “ashore for a howl and a dance” (HD:
36), because he is too busy with the boat (cf. Hewitt 1952: 22). Work also
serves as a means to fend off “creepy thoughts” (HD: 37), both on the way
to the inner station and on the return journey when Marlow cannot dwell
for too long on Kurtz’s “impenetrable darkness […] because [he] was
helping the engine driver” (HD: 68) carrying out various tasks. Work thus
allows him to keep the darkness, the lure of surrender to darker notions,
the abysses of mankind at bay and provides a healthy grip on reality.
However, not only does work prevent unwise actions and
unhealthy thoughts, it also is a means of acquiring self-knowledge as can
be seen from the above citation, a notion that shall be further explored in
chapter 5.
4. Civilisation, wilderness and restraint
From the beginning, Marlow’s venture into the African continent is accompanied by a presentiment of doom. When he visits the company’s offices in
the city that reminds him of a “whited sepulchre” (HD: 9), presumably
Brussels,1 an atmosphere of uneasiness prevails and it is implied that those
going “out there” will either not come back at all or be unalterably changed
on their return. There are hints that greater dangers than those of the
merciless climate might be in store during the voyage: The doctor in
Brussels warns him to “avoid irritation more than exposure to the sun”
(HD: 12), and later, when he is already in the Congo, Marlow hears about
a Swede that hanged himself because “the sun [was] too much for him, or
the country” (HD: 15). Madness and death seem to be waiting for many
of those daring to venture into the foreign continent. Fresleven, a Danish
captain and Marlow’s predecessor, is one of them. A normally very
peaceful person, Fresleven is no longer able to restrain himself in a rather
ridiculous dispute and is ultimately killed.
“Restraint” is one of the key elements of this paper’s topic. The loss
of it almost certainly leads to death, as can be deduced from Fresleven’s
case and also that of Marlow’s black helmsman on the steamboat, who is
1
Although it is nowhere stated in Conrad’s text, it is generally assumed in the
secondary literature that this city is Brussels.
6
killed by an arrow, because “he had no restraint, no restraint – just like
Kurtz” (HD: 51) (cf. Haugh 1957: 49). And indeed, Kurtz is the most
prominent example of those affected by the inability to restrain themselves.
“To restrain” means “to check, to put a check or stop upon, to repress, keep
down (a desire, feeling, activity, etc.)” (OED online: sub restrain v.1). The
case of Kurtz is characterised by the absence of precisely this. No longer
able to control his actions and desires, he exceeds human and natural
norms in many respects. Marlow remarks that “Mr. Kurtz lacked restraint
in the gratification of his various lusts” (HD: 57). He talks of Kurtz’s
“appetite for ivory” (HD: 57) and says, “everything belonged to him,”
quickly adding “but that was a trifle” (HD: 48). Compared to Kurtz’s other
transgressions, the material ones are of a relatively minor importance.
Spiritually, he aims much higher: Not only has he “taken a high seat
amongst the devils of the land” (HD: 49), which implies a superhuman
status, but he also needs to be invoked (cf. HD: 66). According to Marlow,
Kurtz has “kicked himself loose of the earth,” he has even “kicked the very
earth to pieces” and there is “nothing either above or below him” (HD: 66).
Kurtz has thus assumed a position that exceeds standard human
behaviour; he has imbibed diabolic powers, which is why “he [is] alone”
(HD: 66): other human beings do not normally linger in these spheres (cf.
also Palmer 1968: 29). He is a “shadow darker than the shadow of the
night” (HD: 73), which shows that not even nature represents a limit for
him. Normally, night, especially the shadow of the night, can be considered
the darkest thing imaginable since it is distinguished by the absence of any
light whatsoever.
With regard to emotions, too, Kurtz is characterised by extremes.
His emotions are “primitive” (HD: 68), meaning that they are of a baser
nature – it is “lying fame [and] sham distinction” (HD: 68) that he is craving
– but also that they have lost their civilised and restrained state. His soul is
mean, tormented and it is tortured by “tempestuous anguish” (HD: 73).
Most importantly, Marlow reports that Kurtz had felt “the diabolic love
and the unearthly hate of the mysteries” (HD: 68). Love and hate are
opposite extremes of a scale, and the choice of adjectives (“diabolic,”
“unearthly”) again refers to powers and emotions lying beyond the normal
human sphere. Shallow emotions are not for a man like Kurtz.
Listening to the words of the Russian, who claims that Kurtz “forgot
himself amongst these people” (HD: 56), Marlow realises that Kurtz has
gone mad. “There [is] nothing on earth to prevent him killing whom he
jolly well pleased” (HD: 56) – a clear indication that in his insanity Kurtz no
longer obeys any laws but his own (cf. also Boyle 1965: 99); in these,
however, he “shows a complete want of judgment” (HD: 62).
It is striking that in several passages Kurtz is described or alluded to
with expressions that remind one of a wild animal feeding gluttonously on
its prey. Twice, Marlow refers to Kurtz using the words “voracious” (HD:
59) / “voraciously” (HD: 73). In both of these instances, which describe the
7
same scene, it seems to Marlow that Kurtz wants to “swallow all the air,
all the earth, all the men before him” (HD: 59), that he wants to “devour all
the earth with all its mankind” (HD: 73). It is not only mere material
possessions that Kurtz hungers for; his excessive greed goes infinitely
beyond this: he craves simply everything (cf. also Gekoski 1999 [1978]: 81).
This is also underlined by the repetition of “all.” Kurtz does not just want
to possess things or have unlimited access to them; the metaphors from the
donor field of feeding ravenously show that he wants to internalize all this
and thus make himself master of everything. Kurtz, thus, in his lack of
restraint has clearly become megalomaniac.
At first glance, it seems a true enigma that a character like Kurtz,
who is promising, ambitious, idealistic, well-respected by friends,
acquaintances and his superiors in the company, adored by his Intended
and in almost every respect endowed with extraordinary qualities, can fall
so deep. How come that none of the people that knew him in Europe
suspect in the least that such a horrible downfall could have occurred to the
much appreciated Kurtz? The key to this, as has been seen above, is Kurtz’s
loss of restraint. The question then is why Kurtz all of a sudden is no longer
able to use restraint when, apparently, he never used to have a problem
to do so before. The answer is that only when he left the safety net of
civilisation did Kurtz put himself on the line (cf. Griffith 1995: 95).
According to Marlow, society offers the “assurance of perfect
safety” (HD: 73). Whether this perfect safety is real or illusionary is of no
importance to those who do not venture outside the realms of civilisation,
as they will never have to verify its reliability. One of the reasons why
Marlow from time to time seems to despair in his narration is that his
listeners on the Nellie – members of exactly this group of people – seem
unable to grasp the concept of a potential absence of society’s supporting
corset.2 In the face of their lack of understanding, Marlow indignantly cries:
Absurd! […] This is the worst of trying to tell…. Here you all are
each moored with two good addresses like a hulk with two anchors,
a butcher round one corner, a policeman round another, excellent
appetites, and temperature normal – you hear – normal from year’s
end to year’s end. And you say, Absurd! Absurd be – exploded!
Absurd! (HD: 47)
Using very similar phrases some pages further, he exclaims:
You don’t understand? How could you – with solid pavement
under your feet, surrounded by kind neighbours ready to cheer you
or to fall on you, stepping delicately between the butcher and the
policeman, in the holy terror of scandal and gallows and lunatic
asylums … (HD: 49)
2
Cf. also Hawthorn (1979: 18). The image of the ‘supporting corset’ was inspired by
Ian Watt, who writes about “necessary sanctions [that are] supplied externally”
(Watt 1980: 227; my emphasis).
8
The ground beneath those protected by society is not wobbly. They are
more than securely anchored and the bases of their lives never threaten to
give way. The two quotations show that the protection is all-encompassing
in a circumferential way: people are “surrounded” by their neighbours;
their enclosure, out of which they do not step, is on one side delimited by
the butcher, on the other side by the policeman. The normalcy is without
gap: it lasts “from year’s end to year’s end,“ thus completing a full circle.
If a character leaves society, the protective spell is broken and man
now “must fall back upon [his] own innate strength” (HD: 49) (cf. Steiner
1982: 92). Yet, its appeal to its former members is still not completely lost.
Even Kurtz, who “could not have been more irretrievably lost” (HD: 65),
is still responsive to the power of civilisation: when Marlow finds him in
the bush, he acquiesces to come back to the boat with him when Marlow
reminds him that he “will be lost […] utterly lost” (HD: 65) if he does not
do so (cf. Watt 1980: 232). And although Kurtz has transgressed the
boundaries of civilisation beyond return, he still utters phrases such as
“Of course you must take care of the motives – right motives – always”
(HD: 68) or “Live rightly, die, die…” (HD: 68), whose origin can be found in
the world of restraint and civilisation (cf. Watt 1980: 235).
Those living inside the protective realm of society do not have a
conception of the danger that awaits those who leave it. Marlow tells his
listeners that “for a time [he, too,] would feel that [he] belonged still to
a world of straightforward facts; but the feeling would not last long” (HD:
14). Later, he feels “cut off from the comprehension of [his] surroundings”
(HD: 35) and says that he and the others on the boat “could not understand
because [they] were too far and could not remember because [they] were
travelling in the night of first ages” (HD: 35f.). But Marlow also admits that
this sense of alienation is not altogether unpleasant to him because he
discovers in himself “just the faintest trace of a response to the terrible
frankness of that noise, a dim suspicion of there being a meaning in it”
(HD: 36), a meaning that he can understand.
As has been seen in chapter 2, not everyone is susceptible to the
eerie and fascinating call of the wilderness (cf. also Gekoski 1999 [1978]:
83f.). Imagination, a certain inner grandeur and a capacity for reflection,
particularly self-reflection, are required to be able to perceive it. Marlow is
not immune to this call and neither is Kurtz: Marlow reports that
the wilderness had found [Kurtz] out early, and had taken on him a
terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion. […] it had whispered
to him things about himself which he did not know, things of which
he had no conception till he took counsel with this great solitude
– and the whisper had proved irresistibly fascinating. (HD: 57f.)
Kurtz becomes the “spoiled and pampered favourite” (HD: 48) of the
wilderness and is ultimately consumed by it. Marlow, however, is stronger
and in the end succeeds in resisting it. He tries to save Kurtz’s soul by
9
“[breaking] the spell, the heavy mute spell of the wilderness that seemed to
draw him to its pitiless breast” (HD: 65) and manages to get him back on
the boat, but it is too late for Kurtz, who dies shortly afterwards. For
Marlow, too, the events prove too much and he falls ill but is ultimately
able to recover, because he was never as far gone as Kurtz.
5. Surface truths and deeper insights
The preceding chapter has shown that civilisation provides some kind
of support for its members, which, at first glance, seems to be a really
fortuitous mechanism. However, there is also a downside to society’s
protective quality: while it prevents its members from abandoning themselves to darker notions, it also “denies [them] knowledge of themselves
because of its creation of a sophisticated system of external restraints.”
(Hawthorn 1990: 199). Only when set free from the “policeman and the
butcher” (HD: 49) is one able to look into one’s own depth. Many citizens
are quite content to forgo their chances of acquiring self-knowledge, but
Marlow is not one of them. According to Guerard (2006 [1958]: 329) he
“reiterates often enough that he is recounting a spiritual voyage of selfdiscovery.” Near the end of the novella, for example, Marlow remarks,
“droll thing life is – […] the most you can hope from it is some knowledge
of yourself” (HD: 69f.) and although he deplores the fact that the
acquisition of this knowledge will probably come only at the very last,
the statement clearly stresses the importance of self-knowledge. Guerard
(2006 [1958]: 329) adds that Marlow “remarks casually but crucially that he
did not know himself before setting out, and that he likes work for the
chance it provides to ‘find yourself.’” Only a few pages later, however,
Marlow “contradicts himself by admitting that work happily impedes
the process of self-discovery” (Berman 1977: 60): “When you have to attend
to things of that sort, to the mere incidents of the surface, the reality – the
reality I tell you – fades. The inner truth is hidden – luckily, luckily” (HD:
34). Apart from the contradiction of his earlier statement, it is noteworthy
that Marlow distinguishes between a surface truth and an inner truth. In a
“flash of insight” Marlow realises that “the essentials of this affair [lie] deep
under the surface” (HD: 38), and that his powers with regard to this hidden
“reality” (HD: 34) are limited. And although access to the inner truth seems
desirable, it is also dangerous. One “must meet that truth with his own true
stuff – with his inborn strength” (HD: 36); nothing but a “deliberate belief”
(HD: 36) will do in terms of protection. Only fools are protected from the
danger emanating from the inner truth, because, as has been shown in
chapter 2 “a fool, what with sheer fright and fine sentiments, is always
safe” (HD: 36).
Besides possessing a “deliberate belief,” one can also stick to surface
truths when things become too much. This is exactly what Marlow does
10
when he seeks salvation in his work: “There was surface-truth enough in
these things to save a wiser man” (HD: 36). This might also shed some light
on the above mentioned contradiction: “Insofar as work slows the
introspective voyage by serving as a brake against the accelerating descent
into the self, it becomes nothing less than the central method of self-therapy
in Conrad’s universe” (Berman 1977: 60). Self-knowledge is important, but
one also needs surface truths to hold on to in order not to get lost, and this
is exactly what work offers. Although momentarily blocking out the inner
truth, work provides the possibility of gaining self-knowledge in the first
place.
Marlow seems to be aware of this concept and “even as [he] finds
himself dangerously drawn toward [various] experiences and their
incarnate dark knowledge, he prudently holds back before it is too late,
thus making possible his continued survival” (Berman 1977: 60).
Contrary to Marlow, Kurtz does not know “how to keep to his
surface truths” (Haugh 1957: 42). He has no “deliberate belief” either and
lacks knowledge of his inner self (cf. Hawthorn 1990: 199). His soul knows
“no restraint, no faith, and no fear” (HD: 66), and “being alone in the
wilderness, it had looked within itself and […] had gone mad” (HD: 66).
Because of his various deficiencies Kurtz “failed upon encounters with the
savage jungle” (Haugh 1957: 42) and with his own inner self and as a
consequence plummets down deep, plunges to “the bottom of a precipice
where the sun never shines,” to “an impenetrable darkness” (HD: 68). And
yet, in the last moments of his life, Kurtz, being a “remarkable man” (HD:
70) rises to his full potential, judges his own life and comes up with his
famous outcry “The horror! The horror!” (HD: 69). Marlow interprets this
as an – admittedly too dearly paid for – “moral victory” (HD: 70), because
he sees in it “the expression of some sort of belief,” “a glimpsed truth” (HD:
70). Kurtz has gone too far to be saved, and not even this ultimate moment
of insight can alleviate his cruel deeds. It shows, however, that Kurtz had
the potential to reach down into himself, which is why Marlow feels his
solidarity with him to be justified, remarking, “That is why I have
remained loyal to Kurtz to the last, and even beyond” (HD: 70).
6. Seamanship and solidarity
So far it has been argued that Marlow can resort back to several saving
graces that keep him from losing his grip on reality and his sanity. Another
of these redeeming features is solidarity (cf. Hawthorn 1990: 199). Marlow
often adopts the position of a solitary bystander and observer, but he is
able to forge different kinds of solidarity with various characters or groups
of characters.
The easiest and, as it seems, most natural way to create solidarity is
through seamanship. Solidarity among seamen is instantaneous; it is not
11
dependent on particular character traits, situations or ideologies. In fact,
seamen seem to be defined by the codes and ethics of their trade in such a
manner that no further connecting factors are required. According to the
anonymous first narrator of Heart of Darkness it is this link that unites
Marlow and his acquaintances on the Nellie: “Between us there was […] the
bond of the sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods
of separation it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns
– and even convictions” (HD: 3). Not only are no other linking elements
required, but seamanship also permits to eclipse differences between
people. According to the frame narrator, Marlow is no ordinary seaman (cf.
HD: 5), but the link of seamanship is strong enough to include even its
more atypical members.
Seamanship is useful in a straightforward way; Marlow for
example, on the journey to the outer station, is invited on the bridge of the
ship by a Swede because the latter “[knows him] for a seaman” (HD: 14).
It is the Swede, who provides him with a first idea of what to expect from
the country. He is also offered valuable information on Kurtz by the
Russian harlequin just because he is a seaman. The Russian calls him
“brother sailor” (HD: 53) and “brother seaman” (HD: 62) and adds that
“had [they] not been ‘of the same profession’ he would have kept the
matter to himself without regard to the consequences” (HD: 62).
Moreover, seamanship also provides support, order and surface
truth. When Marlow comes across Towson’s An Inquiry into some Points
of Seamanship he is delighted, because he finds in the book “a singleness of
intention, an honest concern for the right way of going to work which
made these humble pages thought out so many years ago luminous with
another than a professional light” (HD: 38). The book makes Marlow
“forget the jungle and the pilgrims in a delicious sensation of having come
upon something unmistakably real” (HD: 38) and when he has to stop
reading, this appears to him “like tearing [himself] away from the shelter
of an old and solid friendship” (HD: 38). Here there are no other seamen
present for Marlow to bond with. Again, it has to be pointed out that the
solidarity arising out of seamanship is not primarily based on similarities of
character traits or affections, but on the very trade itself or rather its code
of conduct and its philosophy of life, which appears to be characterised by
exactly this “singleness of intention” and the “honest concern for the right
way of going to work” mentioned above (cf. Hampson 1992: 113). The
book, which seems to be the epitome of seamanship, reminds Marlow of all
this and thus provides immediate reassurance and a feeling of stability.
Keywords in Marlow’s statements are “real” and “solid”: alone in the
wilderness, Marlow feels threatened by the impression that he is losing his
grip on reality and that the straightforward and sober facts of this reality
seem to become increasingly shaky. The book offers Marlow a brief
moment of respite from these fears and therefore is a real gleam of hope in
his journey into the eerie heart of darkness.
12
Solidarity may not only arise out of seamanship but also out of
work. In this case, however, it has to be forged through the process
of working together, whereas solidarity among seamen appears to be
instantaneous. Marlow feels this kind of relationship with the other
mechanics of the central station and he shares his gladness with their
foreman when he learns that they will probably get rivets (cf. HD: 29f.).
Another link is forged between Marlow and the cannibals on the way to the
inner station. Marlow admires them for their ability to restrain themselves
and says about them: “Fine fellows […]. They were men one could work
with, and I am grateful to them” (HD: 34) (cf. Steiner 1982: 94). And yet
another “subtle bond” (HD: 51) is created between Marlow and his black
helmsman, whom he misses very much because through their mutual work
a “kind of partnership” (HD: 50f.) had been developed (cf. also Boyle 1965:
105f.) and whose life was more dear to him than that of Kurtz (cf. HD: 50).
Kurtz is another character with whom Marlow enters into a kind
of partnership. However, whereas solidarity out of seamanship and work
rest upon either a shared profession or a common activity, the link that is
forged between Marlow and Kurtz has come about by a process of
elimination. Marlow calls Kurtz “the nightmare of [his] choice” (HD: 64),
thus clearly indicating that he has entered into this partnership for want of
more agreeable alternatives (cf. Watt 1980: 229). In the beginning, the
partnership between Marlow and Kurtz is assumed by the other agents,
who believe that the two of them are part of “the gang of virtue” (HD: 25).
Marlow does nothing to correct this impression, and prompted by his
dislike of the pilgrims and the manager, starts to look forward to a meeting
with Kurtz. Although his hopes are disappointed when he finally meets
him, his contempt for the manager and the pilgrims is even greater than
that which he feels for Kurtz, which is why he decides to side with the
latter (cf. Watt 1980: 231).
Solidarity born out of seamanship and work seems uncomplicated
and helpful, particularly among sailors. The solidarity between Marlow
and Kurtz, which has a negative basis, is much more complicated (cf. Watt
1980: 230) and one might argue that it pulls Marlow towards even greater
dangers because through Kurtz he gains insight into the darker regions of
mankind. On the other hand, this partnership provides Marlow with a task,
namely that of remaining faithful to Kurtz (cf. HD: 64). This implies on the
one hand Marlow’s efforts to save Kurtz’s soul and on the other hand
his meeting with the Intended, during which he finally wants to give up
the memories of Kurtz (cf. HD: 72). Although this task is dangerous for
Marlow – in one instance he confounds the drums of the natives with the
beat of his own heart (cf. Guerard 2006 [1958]: 329), which shows that he
might be on the verge of entering into a great confusion – it could also be
one of the reasons that allows Marlow to leave the jungle if not completely
unscathed then at least relatively sane. When Marlow tries to persuade
Kurtz to come back to the boat – a particularly risky situation – he realises
13
that he has to fight the “invading and vengeful rush [of the wilderness]
[…] alone for the salvation of another soul” (HD: 73). Marlow cannot
abandon himself to this rush because he is busy trying to save Kurtz’s soul,
which might ultimately be his very own salvation.
7. Truth, lies and illusion
In various passages of the novella it becomes clear that truth is one of
Marlow’s core values. Right at the beginning of his narration he states that
a “sentimental pretence” (HD: 7) will not be enough for the redemption of
“the conquest of the earth” (HD: 7), and it is exactly this “philanthropic
pretence” (HD: 24) that he despises in the manager of the central station,
the pilgrims, the “whole concern, […] their talk, […] their government, […]
their show of work” (HD: 24). He also explicitly stresses his dislike of lies:
You know I hate, detest, can’t bear a lie, not because I am straighter
than the rest of us, but simply because it appals me. There is a taint
of death, a flavour of mortality in lies – which is exactly what I hate
and detest in the world – what I want to forget. It makes me
miserable and sick like biting something rotten would do. (HD: 27)
Nonetheless, Marlow has to admit that for Kurtz, he went “near enough to
a lie” (HD: 27) when he left the brickmaker in the belief that he had some
influence in the company (cf. Erdinast-Vulcan 1991: 99). Marlow is rather
harsh on himself and claims that he “became in an instant as much of a
pretence as the rest of the bewitched pilgrims” (HD: 27). However, whereas
the pilgrims are purely hypocritical and selfish, Marlow has resorted to this
deception because he assumes that it will help Kurtz (cf. HD: 27). Later,
Marlow again has to fall back on not revealing the full truth: he is not
completely open with the Russian concerning his opinion of Kurtz and he
intentionally lets Kurtz misinterpret the statement that his “success in
Europe is assured” (HD: 65) when trying to persuade him to come back on
the boat (cf. Watt 1980: 242). Watt (1980: 242) argues that these are not
really lies, but that Marlow, “in order to save the life of Kurtz and later of
the pilgrims, […] takes advantage of the subjective delusions of the
brickmaker, the Russian and Kurtz,” and he goes on to claim that Marlow
only resorts to this method because of his “active and disinterested sense
of personal responsibility for others.”
At the end of the story, however, Marlow does not merely refrain
from discovering the whole truth; on being pressed by the Intended to
reveal Kurtz’s last words, Marlow lies and says that these had been her
name (cf. HD: 76f.). Various critics have come up with different
interpretations of this lie that causes Marlow “something like despair in
[his] heart” (HD: 75). Feder (1955: 292), for example, argues that “Marlow
does not disillusion her, in part because of his loyalty to Kurtz, and in part
14
because of the futility of telling the truth […] to a woman who, because of
her unwillingness to face life, has become a shade.” Levenson (1985: 277),
on the other hand, is of the opinion that “the foundation of Marlow's moral
sense [is] a contempt for ethics ‘in general’ and a demand for the ‘particular
reason.’” Thus, although he despises lies, Marlow acts pragmatically when
the need arises and provides the longed-for answer, because the truth
“would have been too dark – too dark altogether” (HD: 77) (cf. Levenson
1985: 277). Watt writes that Marlow’s anger at the Intended’s delusion
subsides “before a feeling of infinite pity” (HD: 76) and presents several
explanations for the final lie, such as an adequate behaviour vis-à-vis a
widow, or simply kindness, because Kurtz’s words are everything that she
has left to live for (cf. Watt 1980: 243).
The final scene of Heart of Darkness is highly ambiguous and
therefore difficult to interpret. All of the interpretations mentioned above
appear to be plausible in their own way. Marlow himself, apart from
claiming that everything else would have been too sombre, states that he
bowed his “head before the faith that was in her, before that great and
saving illusion that shone with an unearthly glow in the darkness, in the
triumphant darkness from which I could not defended her – from which
I could not even defend myself” (HD: 75). The quotation shows that there is
kindness and also admiration for the Intended (cf. Steiner 1982: 95), but
Marlow also lies because he feels responsible for her. He knows that since
he will not be able to save her from the darkness, it might be preferable to
leave her in her illusionary world, rather than to subject her to a world
of darkness and despair, even if by doing so he denies her the opportunity
to discover reality.
Another very plausible reason is that Marlow spares the Intended
“because whatever system of belief he may have attained has too dubious
and private a status in his own thoughts to be presented as an effective
alternative to the illusions of the Intended” (Watt 1980: 248). Marlow has
his own moral beliefs and strategies of steering successfully through life
and he does communicate them to his audience on the Nellie. Still, he
“never feels certain that his own truth is not an illusion” (Watt 1980: 248)
and he is unassuming enough not to impose his values on a person he is
hardly acquainted with. He knows about the “flavour of mortality” that
poisons the Intended’s world, but he also seems to respect that it might not
be his task to lift the illusionary veil.
8. Words, narration and eloquence
Kurtz is a man of many talents – Marlow even calls him a “universal
genius” (HD: 72) – but “of all his gifts the one that stood out pre-eminently,
that carried with a sense of real presence, was his ability to talk, his words”
(HD: 47). This feature is so outstanding that in several instances he is
15
simply referred to as “a voice” (HD: 60). He is a master of eloquence, which
can be deduced not only from the comments of those who know him, but
also from the report he has written for the International Society for the
Suppression of Savage Customs. It is “a beautiful piece of writing” (HD: 50)
and “the unbounded power of eloquence – of words – of burning noble
words” (HD: 50) can be felt in it. The “simple” (HD: 50) note at the end
of the document stands in stark contradistinction to the “magic current of
phrases” (HD: 50) in which Marlow senses the gleams of an “august Benevolence” (HD: 50): “scrawled evidently much later in an unsteady hand”
(HD: 50), the note simply says: “Exterminate all the brutes!” (HD: 50).
It is, however, exactly this cruel, artless statement at the end, which
conveys most adequately the truth about Kurtz’s doings in the Congo.
There is a striking “gap between the ‘eloquent’ report and the
‘unspeakable’ rites” (Hawthorn 1979: 7) that Kurtz has performed in
the jungle. Hawthorn (1979: 7) claims that in Conrad’s writing ‘eloquent’
“nearly always implies a morally suspect facility with words, an ability to
build beautiful verbal structures which are at variance with what is really
the case.” Kurtz’s “splendid monologues” (HD: 58) are self-confident,
beautiful and fascinating. They do not, however, correspond to what
is really going on. Maybe this is one of the reasons why Kurtz is
“discoursing” (HD: 47) but not communicating. The Russian tells Marlow:
“You don’t talk with that man – you listen to him” (HD: 53). Real
communication seems quite difficult when the common ground of
experience is suspended. This lack of proper communication, however,
does not seem to bother Kurtz and his voice carries until the penultimate
moments of his life. Only then, when he comes up with his truthful
judgment, “The horror! The horror!” (HD: 69) is his voice no longer strong.
It is reduced to a mere whisper (cf. HD: 69).
Marlow, too, talks. And just like Kurtz he is referred to as “a voice”
(HD: 27) by his listeners on the Nellie (cf. also Erdinast-Vulcan 1991: 107f.).
And although Marlow, too, in a way is eloquent (cf. Hawthorn 1979: 16)
– after all, it is mainly he who is talking throughout the novella – there is a
fundamental difference between his narration and Kurtz’s eloquence.
One aspect is that Marlow does not use words in order to hide facts
and events but to communicate them. He makes a huge effort to convey his
sensations, moods and experiences of the journey although this evidently
sometimes is anything but easy. In doing so Marlow encounters the
problem that he needs “to communicate the weight and depth of an
experience which is uniquely felt” (Karl 1989 [1968]: 134). He says:
It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream – making a vain
attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dreamsensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and
bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being
captured by the incredible which is the very essence of dreams.
(HD: 27)
16
The problem is not only that Marlow’s experiences are unique, but also that
he has encountered things for which there appear to be no words.
Hawthorn (1979: 27f.) answers the question, “If Marlow’s experience was
‘inexpressible,’ as he says it was, then how can it be given to [his
listeners]?” in the following way: “What I think is happening here is that
Marlow, unable to express the ‘inexpressible,’ is able to express its
inexpressibility.” This impression is achieved through a way of narration
that is characterised amongst other things by what F.R. Leavis (1960: 177)
famously referred to as “adjectival insistence,” by “scarcity of concrete
noun-objects, […] frequent avowals of the inadequacy of words” (ErdinastVulcan 1991: 96), exclamations, repetitions and a “stuttering diction”
(Murfin 1989: 107). Leavis disapproved of this kind of narration, but it
seems that he missed an essential point. Hawthorn (1979: 30), taking up an
argument made earlier by David Thorburn (1989: 107), writes:
David Thorburn, in his perceptive book Conrad’s Romanticism,
argues that what Dr Leavis refers to as the ‘adjectival insistence’
in Heart of Darkness […] is an essential part of [its] meaning. It is
Marlow’s inability to convey certain feelings, which is testified to by
such ‘adjectival insistence’, and in this way [the novel manages]
to tell us something over and above the experiences of [the]
participating characters.
In spite of all these difficulties of narration, Marlow decides to tell his story
to his acquaintances on the Nellie. According to F. Karl (1989 [1968]: 125),
his “tale is one that he is unable to suppress,” because during his journey
“he has discovered a new world and must relate his story to regain
stability.” Hence, for Marlow the episode does not end at his meeting with
the Intended. His communication about events that went beyond anything
he had known before is part of the experience (cf. Palmer 1968: 42) and part
of the process of gaining insight. Hawthorn argues that “by talking about
his Congo experiences Marlow proceeds from inarticulate experience to
coherent understanding” (Hawthorn 1979: 30). By openly communicating
his experiences, the dangerous situations, his moments of insight, but also
his doubts, Marlow can further come to terms with what has happened and
thus is able to make another step on his way towards salvation.
9. Why is Marlow saved?
As soon as Marlow has embarked on his venture, he realises that he will be
confronted with impressions that go beyond the scope of what he has
known before, and he senses that he will need a number of strategies to
counter them. He sees the futility of his fellow whites’ doings, he observes
their greed, cruelty and inhumanity, and he is left in no doubt that what
they are doing in this foreign continent has to do nothing at all with any
17
kind of idealistic notion. On the contrary, set free from the restraint
imposed upon them by society, the colonisers appear to be ruled above all
by their baser instincts. Marlow, appalled and disgusted by all this, is
determined to get on with his task of steering the steamboat to Kurtz’s
inner station. During the journey to Kurtz, on whom he has bestowed his
hopes, because he seems to be of a different – a better – stamp than the
other agents, Marlow encounters a different sort of darkness. Far away
from any familiar territory, isolated in the midst of the pilgrims, whom he
despises, in a world where everything seems strange, where reality is
gradually slipping away, Marlow feels himself respond to the call of the
wilderness. But contrary to Kurtz, who, as Marlow has to discover, has
given himself up completely to the darker sides of mankind, he does not
yield to it. Even without the pressures of civilisation Marlow is able to use
restraint. In dangerous situations he finds the strength to avert his eyes and
focus on his work. It is mainly this work and also the different kinds of
solidarity he is able to forge with various other characters that provide
Marlow with a hold on reality, that keep him on the surface and prevent
him from losing himself in the dark and dangerous depths. Work keeps
him busy and it does not allow his thoughts to wander into dangerous
territories. Besides, through it Marlow enters into a partnership with his
fellow workers, such as his helmsman. These partnerships provide him
with a much more straightforward and normal human contact than would
ever be possible with the hypocritical pilgrims. The instances when Marlow
is reminded that he belongs to the brotherhood of seamen provide
reassurance and a feeling of sanity because of the simple, unambiguous,
honest code of seamanship by which the world of sailors is characterised.
Marlow accordingly has recognised the dangers that confront him
in the foreign land and he knows of the necessity to push back confusing
thoughts at times. However, he is not one to avert his mind and live
happily and contented with the mere facts of the surface. Right from
the beginning Marlow’s venture into the jungle has above all been a quest
to find himself, to gain insights into the deeper truths of life. Most of those
he meets out there do not have such a desire, which is one reason why
Marlow cannot identify with them and feels a sort of contempt for them.
In Kurtz, however, he senses the potential of a man who is able to search
for the inner truth, which is why he decides to enter into some kind of
partnership with him. Unfortunately Kurtz is a man who is blinded, at first
by his overly ambitious idealism, later by his own lusts and megalomania.
He fascinates his audience with a beautiful eloquence, elegantly distracting
their eyes from the fact that his doings do not in the least correspond to his
words. Contrary to Marlow, Kurtz does not have strategies which prevent
him from losing himself. He does not know how to use restraint, he does
not know how to hold on to the surface and he gets ensnarled in his own
magnificent eloquence.
18
Marlow has a realistic appraisal of both life and mankind. He
knows that neither a visionary idealism nor futile dumbness will help to
persist successfully in life. He is aware of the fact that life is not altogether
beautiful, but that just as when he was steering his steamboat up the river,
one will come across unexpected snags and hidden shoals. He says,
The earth for us is a place to live in, where we must put up with
sights, with sounds, with smells, too, by Jove! – breathe dead hippo
so to speak and not be contaminated. And there, don’t you see, your
strength comes in, the faith in your ability for the digging of
unostentatious holes to bury the stuff in – your power of devotion
not to yourself but to an obscure, back-breaking business. (HD: 49)
In the end, Marlow does not come out of the Congo unscathed (cf. Graver
1999 [1969]: 94); the events that took place there have left deep impressions
upon him, impressions which occupy him for a long while even after his
return. But for him the adventure does not end there. His narration of the
story to his audience on board the Nellie is part of the experience. Through
the process of communication Marlow lives through his experiences once
again; he has to find words for what has happened, which forces him to
classify his sensations and impressions into the categories of language.
Ordering his thoughts in this way probably allows him to see everything
more clearly and thus to gain deeper insights. This point of view is also
supported by the fact that during his narration Marlow has assumed
“the pose of a meditating Buddha” (HD: 77) (cf. Palmer 1968: 10ff.). Buddha
is a symbol of spiritual enlightenment; Marlow resembles a “meditating
Buddha,” which indicates that his quest for the inner truth is not over yet,
he is still meditating over the events and their significance and it is also this
constant doubt and perseverance in his quest that protect Marlow from
falling for too simple an idea, blindly abandoning his caution.
10. “How to live”
Heart of Darkness describes a world that is indeed rather dark, but because
of Marlow there are also gleams of hope. The novella is not the only text by
Conrad that features Marlow as a character; Lord Jim (henceforth LJ) for
example is another one. Interestingly, Conrad started writing Lord Jim, then
stopped, wrote Heart of Darkness and afterwards finished Lord Jim. It is
therefore not surprising that both texts deal with a similar subject. Just as in
Heart of Darkness, Marlow in Lord Jim ponders about the question of “How
to live” (LJ: 153). His friend, the entomologist Stein, provides the following
answer: “The way is to the destructive element submit yourself, and with
the exertions of your hand and feet in the water make the deep, deep sea
keep you up” (LJ: 154). Immerse yourself, expose yourself to the rough
19
elements, but keep to the surface – the connection to Marlow’s surface
truths cannot go unnoticed here.
A more thorough analysis would of course be necessary to do
justice to the complex case of Jim. However, one can say that just like Kurtz
he does not succeed in his submersion to the “destructive element.” Man
“wants to be a saint, and he wants to be a devil” (LJ: 153), says Stein. Jim
and Kurtz both try to be saints, but they do not succeed: Jim despairs and
ultimately dies because of his inability to live up to his dream. Kurtz, too,
fails, “but the power of his demonic dream is great enough to send him far
beyond mortal depths – and he too dies, like Jim, drowned in his
destructive element” (Haugh 1957: 42). Marlow, in contrast, neither goes
“into the high air as Jim, nor deep, deep as did Kurtz” (Haugh 1957: 43). He
does not attempt to be saint nor devil; he just tries to be man, and although
he, too, occasionally staggers on his way through life, he ultimately
succeeds.
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Note
This paper was prepared during the course “Joseph Conrad” (HS Literaturwissenschaft; summer term 2007) held by Prof. Dr. Christoph Schöneich.
Lena Endres (8. Fachsemester Anglistik / Germanistik) may be contacted via
<lenaendres@web.de>.
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