Heart of Darkness

Kurtz is undeniably one of the most significant, and fascinating, characters in Heart of Darkness. Whilst on paper he appears a moral authority – a paragon of Western civilisation and intellectual refinement – in person he is little more than a vessel of utter brutality, voracity and desire. It is important to be careful when analysing Kurtz – students are often tempted to refer to Kurtz as mad or deranged, but this is often too simplified a reading. What makes Kurtz so unsettling is that he is not mad at all. His affliction is one that could be suffered by every coloniser made “hollow” at the core by the moral bankruptcy of the imperial enterprise. As Marlow expounds, “All Europe contributed to the making of Kurtz.”

Kurtz and European values

One thing that separates Kurtz from the other morally depraved characters in the novella is that – at least initially – he actually had morals. As is suggested by Kurtz somewhat sinister painting in the Brick-maker’s office, Kurtz dreamed of bringing enlightenment, civilisation and edification to the people of Africa. These philanthropic ideals were not merely a guise to disguise his greed and ambition, but his actual, wholehearted beliefs. In this way, Kurtz is the ultimate representation of the ambiguous but redeeming ‘idea’ that Marlow mentions at the beginning of the novella.

Kurtz and voice

Kurtz’s most prominent feature is his voice. In Heart of Darkness, Kurtz’s voice is closely linked to his ideals. Kurtz has the gift of eloquence – he is articulate, potent and expressive, and he uses his powerful oratory to justify and legitimate imperial conquest. This is most clearly exemplified in the pamphlet Kurtz penned for the Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs – here, Kurtz’s grandiose and fustian sentiments typify the benevolent (if false) imperial mythos that portrayed European colonisers as pioneers of civilisation. But much like the General Manager and the Brick-maker and the Accountant, Kurtz lacks substance behind his undeniably magnificent grandiloquence. Marlow notes that Kurtz’s ideas are rarely followed by mention of any kind of appropriate “method”. He also notes that he has never been looking forward to seeing Kurtz, or watching what he does – only to hearing him speak. By the end of the novella, we realise that Kurtz is little more than a voice; his discourse is not linked to any kind of venerable action. The “idea” that he represents is a faltering, flickering and empty justification.

Kurtz and method

Marlow refers to the hastily-scrawled addendum (“exterminate all the brutes!”) at the conclusion of Kurtz’s pamphlet as the “exposition of a method.” From this we begin to realise the true fallacy of Kurtz’s ideas, and his captivating prose; the only “method’ of Western imperial conquest is violence and barbarity.

It is important to be careful when discussing Kurtz’s psychological disintegration – it is easy to suggest that “savage” and “uncivilised” Africa is to blame for his moral regression. This is Chinua Achebe’s main criticism of Heart of Darkness, and his reason for condemning the novella as inherently racist. However, in my mind it is not a “dark” and barbarous Africa that is to blame for Kurtz’s struggle, but rather his own violence and greed. Utterly removed from the ornaments of 19th century Western civilisation, Kurtz is able to engage in an almost uninhibited pursuit of his beloved ivory – and it is this that has made him “hollow at the core” and permitted the repressed desires at the core of the civilised self to become manifest. Conrad suggest that the darkness evident in Kurtz is dormant in every man; and it is unrestrained colonial violence, not Africa, that provides for its emergence.

By the time of his death, Kurtz is physically emaciated, resembling little more than an “ivory ball” – a literal personification of his most avaricious pursuits. He is unashamedly voracious, his repeated use of the possessive pronoun (“my ivory”, “my Intended”, “my station”) revealing his fixation on material acquisition and ownership. His intelligence, however, remains very much intact. Like the Western civilisation he represents, Kurtz’s benevolent and moral intentions are insubstantial – and incapable of truly veiling the capacity for darkness at his core. This is the perhaps the “horror” that Kurtz recognises in his final, eidetic “moment of supreme knowledge” – the innate, prevailing darkness at the heart of man and at the centre of an intemperate colonial mission.

Kurtz as Marlow's shadow

Some critics have suggested that Kurtz personifies Marlow’s Jungian shadow; that is, the dark and repressed desires within his subconscious. Read this way, Marlow’s physical journey into the centre of Africa doubles as a psychological journey into the centre of the self. It is only at the outermost limits of Western civilisation (the Inner Station) that he comes into contact with the innermost core of the civilised self (Kurtz) – and it is also here that he directly confronts his doppelganger. Kurtz provides a chilling exemplar of the coloniser’s capacity for unmitigated, uncontrolled and limitless violence and brutality in Africa, and this forever changes his outlook on the Western ‘civilising mission’.
 
Overall, Kurtz – brilliant, eloquent and megalomaniacal – is as “pitiful” as he is egotistic, mired in a psychological struggle over which he has little control. Marlow returns to London with no faith in Kurtz’s redeeming ‘idea’; but he still possesses some admiration for the character. Despite his utter moral disintegration, Kurtz had nonetheless managed to say something – to “sum up”, in his final words, some fundamental truth perennially disavowed, veiled and disguised by a Europe convinced of its own superiority.