The Irony of Ivory: Socioeconomic Critique within Heart of Darkness by The_Legacy (ED) Lyrics
Few universally accepted conclusions have been reached regarding Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness; one rare given that can be stated is simply that it has never stopped receiving critical attention ever since its first publication in 1899. Deconstructionists revel in what is arguably that which makes Heart of Darkness so lastingly intriguing: the practically ungraspable, ever-shifting and self-undermining nature of its meaning(s), a great deal of which can be attributed to the presence of irony and parable.
[Footnote: An overview of recent theoretical approaches to the novella can be found in Ross Murfin's third edition of the work, from the “Case Studies in Contemporary Criticism” series, also including Conrad's complete text which is quoted from in this essay. For close analyses of a specific component, see for instance Nidesh Lawtoo, “A Picture of Europe: Possession Trance in Heart of Darkness”, or Darrel Mansell, “Trying to Bring Literature Back Alive: The Ivory in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness”.]
Ross Murfin explains that irony “causes us to apprehend something profound about the human self: namely, its capacity to understand or 'see through' others while remaining self-destructively ignorant about its own identity” (15); speaking in parable points to revealing features of everyday life which even “the multitude who lack spiritual seeing and hearing” can comprehend (Miller 231). The novella's combination of these has been said to allow for a deeper understanding of imperialist Europe's character more than that of Africa, perhaps even including a prophetic announcement of totalitarian regimes driven by charismatic leaders (see Lawtoo, esp. 427-429). Nevertheless, if communication via parable relies on the depiction of “real conditions of life” (Marx 476), and irony on an able audience that can decode its veiled intentions, it might be said that critics have been neglecting crucial judgments Conrad made relatively superficially in favor of those more deeply hidden. The allures of madness, otherness, primitivity and political implications seem to have caused a disregard of socioeconomic “conditions of life” represented within the text, which, I argue, lie at the very heart of all the aforementioned.
Many of the events in Heart of Darkness somehow revolve around the ivory trade (even though rubber was highly prized as well), providing the main lead for analyzing economic aspects to the story. Before Marlow starts telling his history to the others aboard the Nellie, the unnamed extradiegetic narrator mentions the Accountant “toying architecturally with the bones” of a domino set (18). That these dominoes are made of ivory forms only a part of the imperialist background of what could otherwise be an innocent game, for the word “toying” might allude to a lighthearted attitude towards the remains of an animal probably slaughtered—not to mention what people would have gone through to retrieve them. Just as relevant is the notion of the Accountant's playfulness being executed “architecturally,” considering the wealth amassed by Leopold II, king of Belgium during this exploitation of Congo, allowed him to construct or renovate many buildings, including the Royal Museum for Central Africa situated in Tervuren and Antwerp's imposing main railway station (InfoNu).
Yet ivory, inherent to Africa and only available in Europe through commerce,
[Footnote: For clarity's sake, it should be explained that Greenland—which still openly trades narwhal ivory—is usually considered part of North America, despite its ties with Europe.]
has a greater symbolic significance: it is that which the powers of the colonizing West had become economically driven by (if not somewhat dependent on), while relying for its harvest on those who they have generally portrayed as inferior. It is then ironic that, with their rightfully owned goods, Africans were in this sense supporting Europeans who nonetheless subjugated the natives and pretended to support them with civilization instead.
[Footnote: See the letter Leopold II sent to The Times of London (July 17, 1906) for an attempted justification of his colonial endeavors, contrasted by the negative criticism of the “Report of the British Consul, Roger Casement, on the Administration of the Congo Free State (1904)”. Also known as the “Casement Report”, this document signaled the native populace's situation becoming worse rather than improving under Belgian rule.]
Any possible sense of debt towards the colony and its people becomes erased within the novella too, as its white characters commonly treat ivory in a “toying” manner with subconscious disregard of its likely victims. As Laura Chrisman puts it, “Conrad’s text […] supplies a critique of the ways in which [the] metropolitan culture, and economy, is so totally yet casually involved in the process of imperialism” (26). The Accountant portrays this at the very beginning; Kurtz's Intended at the end, as the keys of her “grand piano […] with dark gleams on the flat surfaces like a sombre and polished sarcophagus” are presumably made of ivory (Conrad 90). This juxtaposition creates a cyclical structure, whereby Marlow's addressees (at this point of conclusion much more aware of the processes involved in bringing ivory to Europe) can return to look at the domino set and come to a very different assessment of its status.
These examples demonstrate how Marlow's narration functions as a parable. He may not be directly aware of why the instrument appears to him “with dark gleams,” but the “sarcophagus,” practically a coffin, always carries a connotation of death that does not fully escape his attention. Furthermore, this connotation creates its “sombre” aspect which cannot be “polished” beyond its concrete appearance, not unlike how, one might argue, the architectural feats issued by Leopold II—or any other achievements funded by “blood money”—cannot eradicate their historical taint through beauty. An everyday extralinguistic reality is thus infused with an underlying abstract sense, the unraveling of which requires no more than an attentive audience. To other characters of the story, however, ivory “finally becomes an amusette, as she [the Intended] can play upon the keys of the grand piano in the drawing room” and the Accountant toy with his “bones” (Mansell 213). To those who have not experienced first-hand the trade surrounding ivory, this material is a mere amusette or “plaything” (and perhaps it is therefore significant that “the Accountant” is exclusively described as such, rather than as someone in direct contact with the harvest). A lack of attention and interest causes the impossibility for them to regard their possessions in the same terms as Marlow does. Yet, if the meaning of the parable is lost to the Intended and to the Accountant, by contrast it only becomes clearer to the more knowledgeable reader.
The difference between a parable and any instance of irony mainly resides in the referents. Since a parable relies on the accurate depiction of “real conditions of life” (Marx 476) and adds new facets to them based on a wider insight into their origin and functioning, its “meaning […] contains the tale” (Miller 233). Irony (and indeed “[t]he consistent tone of Marlow's narration is ironical” [Miller 243]) is more self-sufficient in the sense that no such governing frame is required—only the linguistic expression itself (of potentially the most diverse categories) and a critical listener. Of this, too, Conrad early on provides an illustration: the narrator describes navigators such as Sir Francis Drake as
[h]unters for gold or pursuers of fame, […] bearing the sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within the land, bearers of spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown earth! … The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of empires. (19)
Contrary to a parable, an ironic expression continually runs the risk of misinterpretation. The Accountant's playing with ivory may be overlooked, but cannot be considered a reinforcement of that which it actually dismisses; here, however, “greatness” fueled by “the sacred fire” can be regarded as part of a positive view of imperialism. The word “germs” in particular manifests irony's “doubleness” (Miller 243), since it can be perceived neutrally as referring to the basis of the colonial enterprise, or negatively as containing a disease. Additionally, a link can be drawn between the “hunters for gold” mentioned above and those people that Marlow effectively set out with (and belonged to). When the Englishman asks one of his companions in the early stages of the journey why he came to Africa, this one replies: “[t]o make money, of course. What do you think?” in a scornful manner (35). Bearing in mind that the intradiegetic storyteller is making his observations retrospectively, it may be said that he views “the sword” not as one of justice, but instead of execution, and “the torch” as emblematic for chaos and arson rather than for enlightenment.
At least two aspects of what allows Marlow such ironic insight—what sets him apart from his companions strongly enough to provide for radically different judgments—are independent constituents of his personality (after all, “Marlow was not typical” [20]); the one hinted at first being his connection to the sea and how it influences his attitude towards others. As the unnamed narrator explains, “[b]etween 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” (18). This idea of tolerance linked to the sea (as Conrad himself may have experienced during his career with the merchant navy) points to a certain liberty of conceptions; if Marlow is neither defending his ideologies nor attacking those of others, he can pay all the more attention to understanding them. Moreover, he is described as “the only man of us who still 'followed the sea'” (19), or as the sole figure still embodying its permissiveness and maybe even a solemn tranquility that makes permutations all the more detectable, “for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea itself” (19). And as his “country [is] the sea” (19), no reticence due to patriotic or political loyalty can be expected on his behalf.
The second component of Marlow's personality that sets him apart from the masses is his disregard of particular social conventions, which thus ties into the aforementioned independence due to life at sea. “The worst that could be said of him was that he did not represent his class” (19); with the concepts of class and social status being of considerable importance in 19th-century England, it appears safe to claim that his deviation from this norm is representative of a broader nonconformist approach to society's functioning. Still, it should be said that despite the attitude that generally sets him apart from other white people in the narrative, as also evidenced by giving “one of my good Swede's ship's biscuits” to (presumably) a young slave (32), Marlow too shows clear signs of prejudice. Even though he refuses to brand the native people as “enemies” or “criminals” (30), he does assume the African men aboard his steamer to be cannibals, and is taken aback by their show of “[r]estraint! I would just as soon have expected restraint from a hyena prowling amongst the corpses of a battlefield. But there was the fact facing me” (57).
Ultimately, most significant in providing Marlow with a different perspective is not his personality alone but rather his very journeying into the “heart of darkness,” especially when he meets Kurtz, who is both a negative indication of the issues of imperialism and an exponent of them (perhaps like the novella itself). Kurtz's morally deviant behavior is, to a lesser extent, present in other European characters as well. For instance, the “hairdresser's dummy” of an accountant who Marlow meets, “exhibited a gentle annoyance” at a sick agent being brought into his office. “'The groans of this sick person,' he said, 'distract my attention'” (32-33), slightly unveiling a disregard for the suffering of white people as well. What drives Kurtz's lack of empathy and the flaunting of his power—both exemplified by the shrunken heads displayed on stakes in what he has claimed as his territory (73)—beyond these “acceptable” (within this setting) limits, is in fact the ambition he is otherwise lauded for. “Kurtz has not ‘gone native’ to the extent that he rejects a monetary economy and pursues only naked power and/or unspeakable rites for themselves. As much as Kurtz hungers for ivory, he hungers for metropolitan recognition, and status” Chrisman maintains (34), but it may very well be precisely that ivory which should lead him to the more abstract profits.
In light of Kurtz's lust for ivory and the wealth this was supposed to lead him to (both materially and in terms of social standing), the “horror” he finally exudes (85) is arguably, in all of its aspects, spurred on by the Company. The manager and his uncle seem to refer to this in affirming that “[t]he danger is in Europe” (47). Furthermore, those adjectives Marlow ascribes to the Company's atmosphere (“ominous,” “eerie,” “uncanny,” and most conspicuously “fateful” [25]) can be said to be equally applicable to Kurtz himself—the man Marlow looked almost destined to meet among “mean and greedy phantoms” (84). Upon his death, “[a]ll that had been Kurtz's” is simply summed up as “his soul, his body,” and then notably “his station, his plans, his ivory, his career” (89); thus the only “possessions” that are truly his, the soul and body, are merely mentioned briefly and also inscribed within the chain of that which is governed by the Company. It is additionally noticeable, when Marlow signs up to work for this enterprise (which is possibly not bestowed a proper name in order to appear more as a prototype than as a specific institution), that the secretary with the “compassionate expression” (24) is very much aware of the impending danger but issues no explicit warning. When he is asked why he is not “going out there” himself, he responds coolly by saying “I am not such a fool as I look” (26). Shortly after, it is telling that the doctor should inquire about “madness”. The idea that the Company is consciously sending people to their destruction in return for (and with the promise of) money, becomes all the more reinforced with the salute Roman gladiators would use: “[m]orituri te salutant” (25).
[Footnote: “We who are about to die salute you” (Latin).]
Notwithstanding, if many of the Company's employees figure as simple servants (even though they in turn employ slaves), it is not only the yearning for money that makes them go to such lengths. “Principles?” Marlow stipulates, “[p]rinciples won't do. Acquisitions, clothes, pretty rags — rags that would fly off at the first good shake. No; you want a deliberate belief” (51). What this belief exactly is, seems only to be revealed through characters' actions. That is to say, it is the ideology that white people are serving a superior institution, that they have a right to harvest ivory and the ability to use the earnings more efficiently, that impulses them in their focus on profit. The Company's chief accountant saying that “one comes [emphasis added] to hate those savages” (34) might allude to racism not being a natural given, but rather a systematic growth within the conqueror—a sentiment eventually supported by businesses in order to ensure their continuing gain. Marlow is quick to notice the “philanthropic pretence” of the entire colonial endeavor, and that “there is a way of looking at a halter that would provoke the most charitable of saints into a kick” (39), or, in other words, that none can ultimately escape a sufficiently present temptation.
However, Kurtz himself appears not to give in entirely to this “philanthropic pretence” and its associated racism, nor to its “savage” opposite, for he diminishes the former through his closeness to the native people and the latter by not renouncing his craving for ivory (in which sense he is still serving the Company). Since he belongs to neither of these extremes, he is launched into one of his own, and this stance between two possible types of conformism may explain his psychological liability. Kurtz's erratic and completely nonconformist behavior could stem from his extended insight into both worlds: having an independent point of view (not unlike Marlow), he can view the violence in Africa and the European greed that brought it about in their entirety. A profound implication that can be drawn from this is that Conrad chose the specific setting of Heart of Darkness not to make judgments about this locale (and it could be because of this that it remains unnamed), but simply for the pragmatic reasons of knowing it through personal experience and providing a strong contrast to Western European society that can allow the characters, and the audience, to reveal otherwise disregarded truths surrounding its functioning. “The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much” (Conrad 21), so what Conrad obliges Kurtz, Marlow, and the latter's listeners to do, is precisely to look into it as much as possible.
In summary of what these “otherwise disregarded truths” are, we can retrospectively ascertain that Conrad's use of irony and parables points to turmoil in Africa stemming from greed and a lack of conscious action on behalf of Europeans and their businesses (specifically “the Company”). In this sense, while racism is indubitably present within Heart of Darkness, it mostly serves to negatively portray its white characters, as political and socioeconomic judgments that can be discerned from the novella are much more critical of the West than of the colonized areas.
Works Cited
“Belgische staatshoofden: Leopold II.” InfoNu: Kunst en Cultuur. InfoNu, 13 Nov. 2006. Web. 7 March 2015.
Chrisman, Laura. “Tale of the city: the imperial metropolis of Heart of Darkness.” Postcolonial Contraventions: Cultural Readings of Race, Imperialism and Transnationalism. Ed. Laura Chrisman. S.I.: Manchester University Press, 2003. 21-38. Print.
Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. Ed. Ross C Murfin. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Print.
Lawtoo, Nidesh. “A Picture of Europe: Possession Trance in Heart of Darkness.” NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction 45.3 (2012): 409-432. Print.
Mansell, Darrel. “Trying to Bring Literature Back Alive: The Ivory in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.” Criticism 33.2 (1991): 205-215. Print.
Marx, Karl. “Manifesto of the Communist Party.” The Marx-Engels Reader. Ed. Robert C. Tucker. New York: Norton, 1978. 469-500. Print.
Miller, J. Hillis. “Heart of Darkness Revisited.” Heart of Darkness. Ed. Ross C Murfin. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. 231-244. Print.
Murfin, Ross C. “Introduction: Biographical and Historical Contexts.” Heart of Darkness. Ed. Ross C Murfin. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. 3-16. Print.
[Footnote: An overview of recent theoretical approaches to the novella can be found in Ross Murfin's third edition of the work, from the “Case Studies in Contemporary Criticism” series, also including Conrad's complete text which is quoted from in this essay. For close analyses of a specific component, see for instance Nidesh Lawtoo, “A Picture of Europe: Possession Trance in Heart of Darkness”, or Darrel Mansell, “Trying to Bring Literature Back Alive: The Ivory in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness”.]
Ross Murfin explains that irony “causes us to apprehend something profound about the human self: namely, its capacity to understand or 'see through' others while remaining self-destructively ignorant about its own identity” (15); speaking in parable points to revealing features of everyday life which even “the multitude who lack spiritual seeing and hearing” can comprehend (Miller 231). The novella's combination of these has been said to allow for a deeper understanding of imperialist Europe's character more than that of Africa, perhaps even including a prophetic announcement of totalitarian regimes driven by charismatic leaders (see Lawtoo, esp. 427-429). Nevertheless, if communication via parable relies on the depiction of “real conditions of life” (Marx 476), and irony on an able audience that can decode its veiled intentions, it might be said that critics have been neglecting crucial judgments Conrad made relatively superficially in favor of those more deeply hidden. The allures of madness, otherness, primitivity and political implications seem to have caused a disregard of socioeconomic “conditions of life” represented within the text, which, I argue, lie at the very heart of all the aforementioned.
Many of the events in Heart of Darkness somehow revolve around the ivory trade (even though rubber was highly prized as well), providing the main lead for analyzing economic aspects to the story. Before Marlow starts telling his history to the others aboard the Nellie, the unnamed extradiegetic narrator mentions the Accountant “toying architecturally with the bones” of a domino set (18). That these dominoes are made of ivory forms only a part of the imperialist background of what could otherwise be an innocent game, for the word “toying” might allude to a lighthearted attitude towards the remains of an animal probably slaughtered—not to mention what people would have gone through to retrieve them. Just as relevant is the notion of the Accountant's playfulness being executed “architecturally,” considering the wealth amassed by Leopold II, king of Belgium during this exploitation of Congo, allowed him to construct or renovate many buildings, including the Royal Museum for Central Africa situated in Tervuren and Antwerp's imposing main railway station (InfoNu).
Yet ivory, inherent to Africa and only available in Europe through commerce,
[Footnote: For clarity's sake, it should be explained that Greenland—which still openly trades narwhal ivory—is usually considered part of North America, despite its ties with Europe.]
has a greater symbolic significance: it is that which the powers of the colonizing West had become economically driven by (if not somewhat dependent on), while relying for its harvest on those who they have generally portrayed as inferior. It is then ironic that, with their rightfully owned goods, Africans were in this sense supporting Europeans who nonetheless subjugated the natives and pretended to support them with civilization instead.
[Footnote: See the letter Leopold II sent to The Times of London (July 17, 1906) for an attempted justification of his colonial endeavors, contrasted by the negative criticism of the “Report of the British Consul, Roger Casement, on the Administration of the Congo Free State (1904)”. Also known as the “Casement Report”, this document signaled the native populace's situation becoming worse rather than improving under Belgian rule.]
Any possible sense of debt towards the colony and its people becomes erased within the novella too, as its white characters commonly treat ivory in a “toying” manner with subconscious disregard of its likely victims. As Laura Chrisman puts it, “Conrad’s text […] supplies a critique of the ways in which [the] metropolitan culture, and economy, is so totally yet casually involved in the process of imperialism” (26). The Accountant portrays this at the very beginning; Kurtz's Intended at the end, as the keys of her “grand piano […] with dark gleams on the flat surfaces like a sombre and polished sarcophagus” are presumably made of ivory (Conrad 90). This juxtaposition creates a cyclical structure, whereby Marlow's addressees (at this point of conclusion much more aware of the processes involved in bringing ivory to Europe) can return to look at the domino set and come to a very different assessment of its status.
These examples demonstrate how Marlow's narration functions as a parable. He may not be directly aware of why the instrument appears to him “with dark gleams,” but the “sarcophagus,” practically a coffin, always carries a connotation of death that does not fully escape his attention. Furthermore, this connotation creates its “sombre” aspect which cannot be “polished” beyond its concrete appearance, not unlike how, one might argue, the architectural feats issued by Leopold II—or any other achievements funded by “blood money”—cannot eradicate their historical taint through beauty. An everyday extralinguistic reality is thus infused with an underlying abstract sense, the unraveling of which requires no more than an attentive audience. To other characters of the story, however, ivory “finally becomes an amusette, as she [the Intended] can play upon the keys of the grand piano in the drawing room” and the Accountant toy with his “bones” (Mansell 213). To those who have not experienced first-hand the trade surrounding ivory, this material is a mere amusette or “plaything” (and perhaps it is therefore significant that “the Accountant” is exclusively described as such, rather than as someone in direct contact with the harvest). A lack of attention and interest causes the impossibility for them to regard their possessions in the same terms as Marlow does. Yet, if the meaning of the parable is lost to the Intended and to the Accountant, by contrast it only becomes clearer to the more knowledgeable reader.
The difference between a parable and any instance of irony mainly resides in the referents. Since a parable relies on the accurate depiction of “real conditions of life” (Marx 476) and adds new facets to them based on a wider insight into their origin and functioning, its “meaning […] contains the tale” (Miller 233). Irony (and indeed “[t]he consistent tone of Marlow's narration is ironical” [Miller 243]) is more self-sufficient in the sense that no such governing frame is required—only the linguistic expression itself (of potentially the most diverse categories) and a critical listener. Of this, too, Conrad early on provides an illustration: the narrator describes navigators such as Sir Francis Drake as
[h]unters for gold or pursuers of fame, […] bearing the sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within the land, bearers of spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown earth! … The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of empires. (19)
Contrary to a parable, an ironic expression continually runs the risk of misinterpretation. The Accountant's playing with ivory may be overlooked, but cannot be considered a reinforcement of that which it actually dismisses; here, however, “greatness” fueled by “the sacred fire” can be regarded as part of a positive view of imperialism. The word “germs” in particular manifests irony's “doubleness” (Miller 243), since it can be perceived neutrally as referring to the basis of the colonial enterprise, or negatively as containing a disease. Additionally, a link can be drawn between the “hunters for gold” mentioned above and those people that Marlow effectively set out with (and belonged to). When the Englishman asks one of his companions in the early stages of the journey why he came to Africa, this one replies: “[t]o make money, of course. What do you think?” in a scornful manner (35). Bearing in mind that the intradiegetic storyteller is making his observations retrospectively, it may be said that he views “the sword” not as one of justice, but instead of execution, and “the torch” as emblematic for chaos and arson rather than for enlightenment.
At least two aspects of what allows Marlow such ironic insight—what sets him apart from his companions strongly enough to provide for radically different judgments—are independent constituents of his personality (after all, “Marlow was not typical” [20]); the one hinted at first being his connection to the sea and how it influences his attitude towards others. As the unnamed narrator explains, “[b]etween 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” (18). This idea of tolerance linked to the sea (as Conrad himself may have experienced during his career with the merchant navy) points to a certain liberty of conceptions; if Marlow is neither defending his ideologies nor attacking those of others, he can pay all the more attention to understanding them. Moreover, he is described as “the only man of us who still 'followed the sea'” (19), or as the sole figure still embodying its permissiveness and maybe even a solemn tranquility that makes permutations all the more detectable, “for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea itself” (19). And as his “country [is] the sea” (19), no reticence due to patriotic or political loyalty can be expected on his behalf.
The second component of Marlow's personality that sets him apart from the masses is his disregard of particular social conventions, which thus ties into the aforementioned independence due to life at sea. “The worst that could be said of him was that he did not represent his class” (19); with the concepts of class and social status being of considerable importance in 19th-century England, it appears safe to claim that his deviation from this norm is representative of a broader nonconformist approach to society's functioning. Still, it should be said that despite the attitude that generally sets him apart from other white people in the narrative, as also evidenced by giving “one of my good Swede's ship's biscuits” to (presumably) a young slave (32), Marlow too shows clear signs of prejudice. Even though he refuses to brand the native people as “enemies” or “criminals” (30), he does assume the African men aboard his steamer to be cannibals, and is taken aback by their show of “[r]estraint! I would just as soon have expected restraint from a hyena prowling amongst the corpses of a battlefield. But there was the fact facing me” (57).
Ultimately, most significant in providing Marlow with a different perspective is not his personality alone but rather his very journeying into the “heart of darkness,” especially when he meets Kurtz, who is both a negative indication of the issues of imperialism and an exponent of them (perhaps like the novella itself). Kurtz's morally deviant behavior is, to a lesser extent, present in other European characters as well. For instance, the “hairdresser's dummy” of an accountant who Marlow meets, “exhibited a gentle annoyance” at a sick agent being brought into his office. “'The groans of this sick person,' he said, 'distract my attention'” (32-33), slightly unveiling a disregard for the suffering of white people as well. What drives Kurtz's lack of empathy and the flaunting of his power—both exemplified by the shrunken heads displayed on stakes in what he has claimed as his territory (73)—beyond these “acceptable” (within this setting) limits, is in fact the ambition he is otherwise lauded for. “Kurtz has not ‘gone native’ to the extent that he rejects a monetary economy and pursues only naked power and/or unspeakable rites for themselves. As much as Kurtz hungers for ivory, he hungers for metropolitan recognition, and status” Chrisman maintains (34), but it may very well be precisely that ivory which should lead him to the more abstract profits.
In light of Kurtz's lust for ivory and the wealth this was supposed to lead him to (both materially and in terms of social standing), the “horror” he finally exudes (85) is arguably, in all of its aspects, spurred on by the Company. The manager and his uncle seem to refer to this in affirming that “[t]he danger is in Europe” (47). Furthermore, those adjectives Marlow ascribes to the Company's atmosphere (“ominous,” “eerie,” “uncanny,” and most conspicuously “fateful” [25]) can be said to be equally applicable to Kurtz himself—the man Marlow looked almost destined to meet among “mean and greedy phantoms” (84). Upon his death, “[a]ll that had been Kurtz's” is simply summed up as “his soul, his body,” and then notably “his station, his plans, his ivory, his career” (89); thus the only “possessions” that are truly his, the soul and body, are merely mentioned briefly and also inscribed within the chain of that which is governed by the Company. It is additionally noticeable, when Marlow signs up to work for this enterprise (which is possibly not bestowed a proper name in order to appear more as a prototype than as a specific institution), that the secretary with the “compassionate expression” (24) is very much aware of the impending danger but issues no explicit warning. When he is asked why he is not “going out there” himself, he responds coolly by saying “I am not such a fool as I look” (26). Shortly after, it is telling that the doctor should inquire about “madness”. The idea that the Company is consciously sending people to their destruction in return for (and with the promise of) money, becomes all the more reinforced with the salute Roman gladiators would use: “[m]orituri te salutant” (25).
[Footnote: “We who are about to die salute you” (Latin).]
Notwithstanding, if many of the Company's employees figure as simple servants (even though they in turn employ slaves), it is not only the yearning for money that makes them go to such lengths. “Principles?” Marlow stipulates, “[p]rinciples won't do. Acquisitions, clothes, pretty rags — rags that would fly off at the first good shake. No; you want a deliberate belief” (51). What this belief exactly is, seems only to be revealed through characters' actions. That is to say, it is the ideology that white people are serving a superior institution, that they have a right to harvest ivory and the ability to use the earnings more efficiently, that impulses them in their focus on profit. The Company's chief accountant saying that “one comes [emphasis added] to hate those savages” (34) might allude to racism not being a natural given, but rather a systematic growth within the conqueror—a sentiment eventually supported by businesses in order to ensure their continuing gain. Marlow is quick to notice the “philanthropic pretence” of the entire colonial endeavor, and that “there is a way of looking at a halter that would provoke the most charitable of saints into a kick” (39), or, in other words, that none can ultimately escape a sufficiently present temptation.
However, Kurtz himself appears not to give in entirely to this “philanthropic pretence” and its associated racism, nor to its “savage” opposite, for he diminishes the former through his closeness to the native people and the latter by not renouncing his craving for ivory (in which sense he is still serving the Company). Since he belongs to neither of these extremes, he is launched into one of his own, and this stance between two possible types of conformism may explain his psychological liability. Kurtz's erratic and completely nonconformist behavior could stem from his extended insight into both worlds: having an independent point of view (not unlike Marlow), he can view the violence in Africa and the European greed that brought it about in their entirety. A profound implication that can be drawn from this is that Conrad chose the specific setting of Heart of Darkness not to make judgments about this locale (and it could be because of this that it remains unnamed), but simply for the pragmatic reasons of knowing it through personal experience and providing a strong contrast to Western European society that can allow the characters, and the audience, to reveal otherwise disregarded truths surrounding its functioning. “The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much” (Conrad 21), so what Conrad obliges Kurtz, Marlow, and the latter's listeners to do, is precisely to look into it as much as possible.
In summary of what these “otherwise disregarded truths” are, we can retrospectively ascertain that Conrad's use of irony and parables points to turmoil in Africa stemming from greed and a lack of conscious action on behalf of Europeans and their businesses (specifically “the Company”). In this sense, while racism is indubitably present within Heart of Darkness, it mostly serves to negatively portray its white characters, as political and socioeconomic judgments that can be discerned from the novella are much more critical of the West than of the colonized areas.
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