Heart of Darkness

The latest challenge of my monthly book group was to read ‘Heart of Darkness’ by Joseph Conrad. The closest I had got to this or any other novel by Conrad, was watching the loose film-adaptation ‘Apocalpse Now’ some thirty years ago. The film shifts the story from nineteenth century Africa to the Vietnam War. I vaguely recall Marlon Brando cowering in a cave intoning that most darkly poignant reflection on the human condition found in both the book and movie: ‘the horror, the horror.’ Both narratives focus on a long journey up the river (in Conrad’s case the Congo) to recover a character named Kurtz who has become deranged by his encounter with the deep, dark, jungle. Conrad causes us to question whether it was the rampant imperialism of the so-called civilized world which he served, rather than a return to the primitive origins of civilization itself, which led Kurtz to such dark despair. The book is as dark as its title, both in its grim perception of humanity, and its lack of illumination of the central character. We are left with many doubts and questions, which is no doubt Conrad’s aim. I suppose it’s the kind of novel that gives a certain type of art and literature a bad name with those who are impatient with modern practitioners. They criticise such work, believing it wallows in its own negativity, or deliberately seeks to confuse its audience by playing games with conventional form. Christians, it has be said, have a somewhat embarrassing track-record of recoiling from such art, quoting St. Paul’s admonition to the Philippian church to think on ‘whatever is pure, whatever is lovely whatever is admirable,’ to justify their reticence. This is often, though not always, to misunderstand both St. Paul and the nature of such art and literature. In ‘Heart of Darkness’ Conrad employs a particular form of quest narrative known from the Ancient Greek period as katabasis. This kind of narrative took the form of a hero’s journey down into the world of the dead, in order to help him gain wisdom and understanding. Writers like Homer and Virgil established a literary form which would influence many of the great writers throughout history right up to the present day. Indeed this mythological structure gives us profound insight into the nature of the Christian story. Christ can be seen as an archetypal mythological hero who descends into the belly of the earth, into hell in fact before ascending to heaven, to bring salvation and ultimately the gift of the Holy Spirit to mankind. Thus the literary pattern reflects the profound spiritual journey at the heart of the divine/human story. Conrad’s story whether intentionally or not takes us into our own heart of darkness, our own hell. This is not some savage jungle far removed from our green and pleasant land, but the basement of our own civilized society. European Imperialism as depicted by Conrad revealed the ruthless savagery concealed by the clipped vowels and starched collars of the capitalist bounty hunters. Marlow, the teller of the story within the story, relates his experience of seeing native slave labourers dying of sheer exhaustion on his way down the Congo: ‘as I stood on this hillside, I foresaw that in the blinding sunshine of that land I would become acquainted with a flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil of a rapacious and pitiless folly.’
Contrary to popular misconception, Christianity does not sentimentalize the human condition or seek to escape from it any more than Conrad did in his book. The Cross of Christ similarly reveals humanity’s ‘pitiless folly.’ By taking us on this katabasis, this desent into a heart of darkness, both the Bible and Conrad’s novel purge us of all the false illusions we surround ourselves with to avoid radical transformation. At the end of the novel, the narrator leaves us with the image of the tranquil waters of the Thames flowing out and beyond ‘into the heart of an immense darkness.’ These are unsettling and even profoundly disturbing words, but they still have a terrible ring of truth today. When Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, stood up at Pentecost to talk to the crowds he revealed deeply troubling truths about the human condition which left his audience ‘cut to the heart.’ The Church which was built from that great speech by the apostle was erected on a deep recognition of our human capacity for evil, when we turn away from the fount of all goodness. Although we can rejoice at Christ’s descent into darkness to set us free from sin and death, we still have much to learn from art which reminds us just how much we need redemption.