Kurtz’s lifestyle and condition in the novella are examples of situational irony. He is supposed to represent the glorious height of European civilization, but actually, he is a megalomaniacal brute who lives a miserable, isolated life in a hut in the jungle—which is exactly how Europeans imagine the so-called African “savages” whom men like Kurtz are supposed to “civilize” through colonialism. This irony underscores Conrad’s conclusion that there is no essential difference between “civilization” and “savagery” at all—instead, he views “civilization” as a set of cultural coping mechanisms that societies develop to hide the brutality, violence, and corruption that lie at their heart.
In the first half of the book, numerous acquaintances tell Marlow that the legendary Kurtz represents (European) humanity’s greatest qualities. Marlow starts idolizing Kurtz and looking forward to meeting him. But, as he approaches the Inner Station, Marlow also starts to see the irony in Kurtz’s situation and very identity. For instance, when he finds Kurtz’s well-regarded support about the “suppression of savage customs” in Part 2, he notes:
This was the unbounded power of eloquence—of words—of burning noble words. There were no practical hints to interrupt the magic current of phrases, unless a kind of note at the foot of the last page, scrawled evidently much later, in an unsteady hand, may be regarded as the exposition of a method. It was very simple, and at the end of that moving appeal to every altruistic sentiment it blazed at you, luminous and terrifying, like a flash of lightning in a serene sky: ‘Exterminate all the brutes!’
Kurtz ends a pamphlet “of burning noble words” with a famous, heartless call to “exterminate all the brutes”—or the same native Congolese he originally planned to “civilize.” This sentiment shows how eloquence and altruism can coexist with unthinking, callous greed in the same person. Indeed, ironically enough, Kurtz’s words make him sound precisely like a brute (the kind of people he wants to exterminate). Marlow confirms his suspicions about Kurtz in Part 3, when he approaches Kurtz’s hut and notices the unusual decorations:
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.
Again, this suggests to Marlow that Kurtz is not the most principled, peaceful, and selfless man in the Congo, but rather just the opposite. In Western culture, practices like headhunting (killing one’s rivals and collecting their heads) are often assumed to belong primarily to so-called “savage” non-European cultures—and then viewed as evidence that these other cultures are inferior to European cultures. In this way, European ideas about practices like headhunting helped justify Europe’s overseas imperialism as a “civilizing mission.” But by showing the righteous European colonizer engaging in headhunting, Conrad suggests that European culture is just as cruel and immoral as the cultures Europeans look down on as “savage.”
It’s important to note that Conrad is also factually correct: historically, putting heads on stakes is a primarily European tradition, and even into the 20th century, Europeans have frequently collected enemies’ heads as trophies. For instance, a few decades after Conrad published this book, booming European demand for shrunken heads led to a substantial increase in headhunting in the Amazon. And later, during World War II Americans frequently collected Japanese soldiers’ skulls as trophies.
Finally, the fact that the heads are turned toward Kurtz’s hut adds to the situational irony. Ordinarily, heads on stakes are turned outwards to serve as threats, but Kurtz seems to want to look at the skulls of the people he has killed, as though to admire his own unmatched abilities as a murderer.
By the time he actually meets Kurtz, Marlow is completely disillusioned: he recognizes that the real-life Kurtz could not be more different from the legendary man that others have told him about. In Part 3, he sums up his disappointment by bitterly pointing out that even Kurtz’s name seems to be a lie:
Kurtz—Kurtz—that means short in German—don’t it? Well, the name was as true as everything else in his life—and death. He looked at least seven feet long.
Ultimately, the situational irony surrounding Kurtz’s life and death is the novella’s central plot point. Conrad uses it as an allegory for the situational irony he saw at the heart of colonialism itself: Europeans view non-Europeans as culturally inferior, prone to violence, and lacking reason, and then use these assumptions to justify some of the greatest atrocities the world has ever seen.
Kurtz’s lifestyle and condition in the novella are examples of situational irony. He is supposed to represent the glorious height of European civilization, but actually, he is a megalomaniacal brute who lives a miserable, isolated life in a hut in the jungle—which is exactly how Europeans imagine the so-called African “savages” whom men like Kurtz are supposed to “civilize” through colonialism. This irony underscores Conrad’s conclusion that there is no essential difference between “civilization” and “savagery” at all—instead, he views “civilization” as a set of cultural coping mechanisms that societies develop to hide the brutality, violence, and corruption that lie at their heart.
In the first half of the book, numerous acquaintances tell Marlow that the legendary Kurtz represents (European) humanity’s greatest qualities. Marlow starts idolizing Kurtz and looking forward to meeting him. But, as he approaches the Inner Station, Marlow also starts to see the irony in Kurtz’s situation and very identity. For instance, when he finds Kurtz’s well-regarded support about the “suppression of savage customs” in Part 2, he notes:
This was the unbounded power of eloquence—of words—of burning noble words. There were no practical hints to interrupt the magic current of phrases, unless a kind of note at the foot of the last page, scrawled evidently much later, in an unsteady hand, may be regarded as the exposition of a method. It was very simple, and at the end of that moving appeal to every altruistic sentiment it blazed at you, luminous and terrifying, like a flash of lightning in a serene sky: ‘Exterminate all the brutes!’
Kurtz ends a pamphlet “of burning noble words” with a famous, heartless call to “exterminate all the brutes”—or the same native Congolese he originally planned to “civilize.” This sentiment shows how eloquence and altruism can coexist with unthinking, callous greed in the same person. Indeed, ironically enough, Kurtz’s words make him sound precisely like a brute (the kind of people he wants to exterminate). Marlow confirms his suspicions about Kurtz in Part 3, when he approaches Kurtz’s hut and notices the unusual decorations:
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.
Again, this suggests to Marlow that Kurtz is not the most principled, peaceful, and selfless man in the Congo, but rather just the opposite. In Western culture, practices like headhunting (killing one’s rivals and collecting their heads) are often assumed to belong primarily to so-called “savage” non-European cultures—and then viewed as evidence that these other cultures are inferior to European cultures. In this way, European ideas about practices like headhunting helped justify Europe’s overseas imperialism as a “civilizing mission.” But by showing the righteous European colonizer engaging in headhunting, Conrad suggests that European culture is just as cruel and immoral as the cultures Europeans look down on as “savage.”
It’s important to note that Conrad is also factually correct: historically, putting heads on stakes is a primarily European tradition, and even into the 20th century, Europeans have frequently collected enemies’ heads as trophies. For instance, a few decades after Conrad published this book, booming European demand for shrunken heads led to a substantial increase in headhunting in the Amazon. And later, during World War II Americans frequently collected Japanese soldiers’ skulls as trophies.
Finally, the fact that the heads are turned toward Kurtz’s hut adds to the situational irony. Ordinarily, heads on stakes are turned outwards to serve as threats, but Kurtz seems to want to look at the skulls of the people he has killed, as though to admire his own unmatched abilities as a murderer.
By the time he actually meets Kurtz, Marlow is completely disillusioned: he recognizes that the real-life Kurtz could not be more different from the legendary man that others have told him about. In Part 3, he sums up his disappointment by bitterly pointing out that even Kurtz’s name seems to be a lie:
Kurtz—Kurtz—that means short in German—don’t it? Well, the name was as true as everything else in his life—and death. He looked at least seven feet long.
Ultimately, the situational irony surrounding Kurtz’s life and death is the novella’s central plot point. Conrad uses it as an allegory for the situational irony he saw at the heart of colonialism itself: Europeans view non-Europeans as culturally inferior, prone to violence, and lacking reason, and then use these assumptions to justify some of the greatest atrocities the world has ever seen.
