Heart of Darkness Symbolism, Imagery & Allegory

Light and Dark

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

Put away your yin-yang posters: in Heart of Darkness, light doesn't necessarily symbolize pure goodness or pure enlightenment. In fact, Conrad's vision is so dark that we're not even sure he fully trusts light. As Marlow says, "sunlight can be made to lie, too" (3.50).

Over and over, we see light giving way to darkness: the sun sets, sane people go crazy, and the white ivory introduces a brutal trade. And over and over, we see black and white merging: Brussels as a "whited sepulcher" (1.21); the ivory deep in the black jungle; the white-capped woman knitting with black wool (1.24), the Intended as a "pale head" dressed "all in black" (3.53).

And then, in case you weren't quite confused enough, everything gets more complicated: Marlow compares white men to black men, and concludes (potentially) that these men are all the same. That doesn't sound so confusing? Well, consider what happens when his steamboat is stuck in the fog: he says that the fog is so thick that they can't tell up from down. Without understanding differences—like the difference between black and white, or up and down—you can't tell anything at all. There's no meaning. Doesn't that sound pretty horrific?

Two Knitting Women

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

These aren't harmless old grannies knitting acrylic baby blankets by the fireside. Not at all. Check out the description of them:

In the outer room the two women knitted black wool feverishly. People were arriving, and the younger one was walking back and forth introducing them. The old one sat on her chair. Her flat cloth slippers were propped up on a foot-warmer, and a cat reposed on her lap. She wore a starched white affair on her head, had a wart on one cheek, and silver-rimmed spectacles hung on the tip of her nose. She glanced at me above the glasses. The swift and indifferent placidity of that look troubled me. Two youths with foolish and cheery countenances were being piloted over, and she threw at them the same quick glance of unconcerned wisdom. She seemed to know all about them and about me, too. An eerie feeling came over me. She seemed uncanny and fateful. Often far away there I thought of these two, guarding the door of Darkness, knitting black wool as for a warm pall, one introducing, introducing continuously to the unknown, the other scrutinizing the cheery and foolish faces with unconcerned old eyes. Ave! Old knitter of black wool. Morituri te salutant. (1.24)

The thing that strikes us right away is that these ladies seem to represent the Moirae—the ancient Greek personifications of fate. Two of the three Fates spin the life-thread of each human being; the third Fate cuts the thread when the time comes for the man to die. The Fates, being immortals, have foresight and thus can see every man's fate.

Okay, where are we getting all that? Well, look at the way Marlow contrasts them—old, young; thin, fat; uncanny, cheerful. The Greek conception tended to think the three Fates as being young, middle-aged, and old: the young one represents birth, the middle one life, and the old one death.

And then there's that Latin quotation at the end, which means "They who are about to die salute you." Traditionally, that's the greeting made to the emperor by condemned Roman criminals, gladiators, or anyone else who was, you know, about to die. (Sadly, it's probably not actually true.) Since the Fates control life, it makes sense for Conrad to throw this in.

But that leads us to the most important question: what happened to the third Fate? Which one's missing—life? birth? Is this an indication that something's gone horribly wrong?

Flies

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

This one's practically a freebie: flies have been symbolizing death ever since flies hung around dead bodies (so, forever). Slightly more recently than "forever"—but also a long time ago—the devil got the nickname "Beelzebub," which most people translate as "Lord of the Flies." (We're pretty sure William Golding had read Heart of Darkness.)

In Heart of Darkness, flies notably appear when an agent dies in Chapter One ("In the steady buzz of flies the homeward-bound agent was lying finished and insensible" [1.48]) and when Kurtz dies: "A continuous shower of small flies streamed upon the lamp, upon the cloth, upon our hands and faces" (3.44).

Heads on Sticks

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

The heads-on-sticks symbolize Kurtz's excessive brutality and they're the final clue we need to decide that, yep, Kurtz is mad.

The appearance of these heads-on-sticks is the graphic climax of the book, which comes conveniently close to the plot climax. Coincidence? Not if you're into Conrad half as much as we are. We've seen some pretty horrible things up until this point, but the heads on sticks take the cake. And check out how the horror show is revealed to us:

Now I had suddenly a nearer view, and its first result was to make me throw my head back as if before a blow. Then I went carefully from post to post with my glass, and I saw my mistake. These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic; they were expressive and puzzling, striking and disturbing—food for thought and also for vultures if there had been any looking down from the sky; but at all events for such ants as were industrious enough to ascend the pole. They would have been even more impressive, those heads on the stakes, if their faces had not been turned to the house. Only one, the first I had made out, was facing my way. I was not so shocked as you may think. The start back I had given was really nothing but a movement of surprise. I had expected to see a knob of wood there, you know. I returned deliberately to the first I had seen—and there it was, black, dried, sunken, with closed eyelids—a head that seemed to sleep at the top of that pole, and, with the shrunken dry lips showing a narrow white line of the teeth, was smiling, too, smiling continuously at some endless and jocose dream of that eternal slumber. (3.4)

Marlow doesn't come right out and say, "Oh, and by the way, those ornamental knobs were actually heads." No—he walks us through it, showing us his reaction: "its first result was to make me throw my head back as if before a blow." But we still don't know why, even after we find out that they're "symbolic." In fact, we don't find out that they're heads until halfway through the paragraph.

So, it's interesting is a little, like, "No biggie," about all this. As if to symbolize the way Marlow combats horror with humor, he tells us that these "black, dried, sunken" heads are "smiling continuously" in their "jocose dream of eternal slumber." Which, let's face it, wouldn't really be the language we would use to describe severed heads.

Language

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

Like everything else in this novel, language is a mixed bag. On the one hand, Marlow sees Kurtz's eloquence as a redeeming feature—but it's also the reason he goes mad. In the end, he's "very little more than a voice" (2.27).

But we could also say that language is used as a human connection. When Marlow finds the harlequin's book, he feels relieved because he can connect to something manmade: "The simple old sailor, with his talk of chains and purchases, made me forget the jungle and the pilgrims in a delicious sensation of having come upon something unmistakably real" (2.9).

So what? Well, maybe Marlow's whole story is a way to differentiate himself from Kurtz: it's a symbolic way of retaining his own individuality among the encroaching madness brought upon by the wilderness.

Hm. Sounds good to us.

The Accountant

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

When Marlow meets the accountant, he's stunned:

I met a white man, in such an unexpected elegance of get-up that in the first moment I took him for a sort of vision. I saw a high starched collar, white cuffs, a light alpaca jacket, snowy trousers, a clean necktie, and varnished boots. No hat. Hair parted, brushed, oiled, under a green-lined parasol held in a big white hand. He was amazing, and had a penholder behind his ear. (1.42)

Okay, now picture yourself heading off to a camping trip in your prom gear: boutonniere, cummerbund, sparkly dress, maybe even some sexy heels. Pretty ridiculous, right? That's the accountant.

The thing is, he symbolizes the Company as it wants to be seen. He dresses elegantly despite the heat and the poverty of the black native African workers surrounding him, emphasizing the Company's professionalism. He's always immersed in his accounting books, diligently completing his work, which represents the Company's devotion to perfection and excellence.

Yep, this guy really is Employee of the Year—especially when his only response to the groans of a coworker is to complain about how it's hard to do math when someone's dying across the room. (True that. We can't even do math in the silence of a proctored test room.) His varnished boots help us see exactly how hypocritical and disgusting the company is.

The Doctor

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

Before heading to Africa, Marlow has to visit a doctor. We only see the guy for a few minutes, but he gives us unpleasant feelings—and Marlow, too. he's not a symbol so much as an agent of foreshadowing, a reminder that the imperialist project affects everyone, and not always in good ways.

In particular, he seems to be a little too interested in whether there's any "madness" in Marlow's family, and he calls the information "my share in the advantages my country shall reap from the possession of such a magnificent dependency" (1.26). In other words—he sees the explorers and agents as one (completely unethical) scientific experiment. Key element? Measuring Marlow's skull, which he sees as something akin to taking scientific observations of his brain.

Will Marlow, too, be irrevocably changed from his journey into a murderous and obsessed madman? We're not sure. But toward the beginning of Marlow's journey, he remembers the doctor's words and says—in a rare moment of humor—"I felt I was becoming scientifically interesting" (1.51). He might not come back totally mad, but it's close

Kurtz's Painting

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

At the central station, Marlow sees a painting, "a woman, draped and blindfolded, carrying a lighted torch. The background was sombre—almost black. The movement of the woman was stately, and the effect of the torchlight on the face was sinister" (1.57).

What's up with this? Well, Kurtz painted it, for one. And then there's the whole issue of the woman, and we already know that Marlow seems to sequester women into idealized roles outside the realm of gloomy reality. This woman is so separate that she's a painting, and she's so impossibly idealistic that she, um, isn't real.

On to the blindfolded, torch-carrying part—sounds a lot like justice, doesn't it? Maybe. Some people think this image is about blind Europe trying to bring light to Africa, which would fit in with Kurtz's whole grand imperialist theme. One thing we're sure of: carrying a torch while blindfolded sounds like a real fire hazard.

Which, come to think of it, might just be Conrad's point.

God Imagery

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

In the "Character Analysis" for both Marlow and Kurtz we talked about how Conrad compares both men to gods. But it's not that simple. (We hope that doesn't come as a surprise.)

So, let's try to unpack this. Marlow is like a Buddha who, last time we checked, was an enlightening teacher-figure. Kurtz, on the other hand, is described as a lightning and fire Jupiter figure. Jupiter was a little more prone to the negative human emotions of jealousy, vengeance, and ambition. So right away, the god imagery allows us to differentiate between our two big characters.

But it doesn't end there. Interestingly, Marlow calls the white men on the ship "pilgrims." Like the Puritans at Plymouth Rock, remember that "pilgrim" is a word for people embarking on a religious journey for spiritual reasons. This may just be ironic, since altruistic enlightenment was one of the supposed motives for England's imperialistic forays into Africa. Or the label of "pilgrim" may just infuse the tale with a spiritual undercurrent, making Marlow's discussions of darkness and light sound religious. Take your pick. Or come up with a new idea!