Joseph Conrad's Ambiguities of Light and Dark

Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (1899) remains one of the most scrutinized and debated works in the literary canon. While it has been praised for its powerful critique of European imperialism, it has also been accused of reinforcing racist stereotypes through its use of imagery and character depictions. A close reading of Conrad’s language, particularly his use of black and white imagery, reveals a more complex, often paradoxical narrative technique—one that delivers both critique and compliment in the same movement. Additionally, Conrad’s fixation on figures like the stoker at the furnace contributes to the novel’s larger meditation on the boundaries between civilization and savagery, self-possession and mechanical function, light and darkness.

One of the most striking aspects of Heart of Darkness is its relentless interplay between light and dark, black and white. At first glance, this dualism seems to reinforce a colonialist perspective, where white represents civilization, progress, and enlightenment, while black signifies savagery and backwardness. However, Conrad’s use of these images is anything but simple. Rather than reinforcing binary oppositions, he subverts them, often in the same breath.

For instance, early in the novel, Marlow reflects on the “whited sepulchre” of European civilization—a biblical allusion to outward purity concealing inner corruption. The whiteness here is not a symbol of virtue, but of hypocrisy, linking European imperialists to rot and moral decay. Conversely, the darkness of the Congo—frequently described as “impenetrable” and “brooding”—is not merely a symbol of savagery, but also of mystery, depth, and unknowable truths. In this way, Conrad’s imagery does not simply divide civilization and barbarism along racial lines but rather exposes how the so-called enlightened West harbors its own darkness.

Marlow’s descriptions of Kurtz’s African mistress and his intended fiancée in Europe further complicate the meaning of light and dark. The African woman is described in almost celestial terms—“wild-eyed and magnificent,” adorned in gold and ivory—while the European woman is “pale,” “ashen,” and veiled. The contrast in imagery does not serve to exalt one over the other but rather highlights their mutual entrapment in Kurtz’s doomed narrative. Darkness, then, is not simply racialized; it is an existential force that consumes all, from African natives to European idealists.

Conrad’s ability to simultaneously critique and compliment is most evident in his portrayal of Kurtz, the novel’s enigmatic and fallen figure. Kurtz is both a prodigy and a monster—a man of “colossal” ambition and talent, but also of unrestrained brutality. Marlow speaks of him with awe and disgust, acknowledging both his brilliance and his descent into moral ruin. His final words, “The horror! The horror!” serve as both a condemnation of his own excesses and a universal statement about the depths of human depravity.

Similarly, Marlow’s descriptions of the African characters blend admiration with unease. He often recognizes their dignity, strength, and suffering, yet remains distanced from them, caught in the limitations of his own cultural perspective. When he describes an African helmsman’s death, he expresses genuine grief, yet his mourning is overshadowed by his own irritation at being splattered with the man’s blood. This mixture of sentiment—acknowledging loss while remaining entrenched in European self-interest—exemplifies Conrad’s layered critique of imperialism. The colonizers are not just oppressors; they are also victims of their own ideological blindness.

One of Conrad’s lesser-discussed but revealing obsessions in Heart of Darkness is the figure of the stoker—the man who toils ceaselessly at the furnace of the steamboat, feeding the insatiable flames that propel Marlow forward. Unlike the other laborers described in the novel, the stoker is not exoticized or fetishized. Instead, he is rendered as a mechanical being, a man whose existence is dictated by the relentless, dehumanizing rhythm of industry.

This fascination with the stoker aligns with Conrad’s broader critique of European modernity. If the colonized Africans are dehumanized through European conquest, then figures like the stoker suggest that the European working class is equally subjected to dehumanization—reduced to cogs in an imperial machine that grinds on without meaning or morality. The image of the stoker thus serves as an ironic counterpoint to the novel’s broader concerns with savagery and civilization. In the heart of so-called progress, man is reduced to a machine, his labor as unending and faceless as the darkness that surrounds him.

In Heart of Darkness, Conrad does not offer clear moral certainties. His use of black and white imagery continually undercuts itself, preventing easy allegorical readings. His characters, whether European or African, are entangled in contradictions—both victims and perpetrators of historical forces greater than themselves. And through figures like the stoker, Conrad extends his critique beyond race and imperialism to the broader mechanisms of exploitation that underpin both colonial and industrial modernity.

Conrad’s novel remains controversial because it resists resolution. While some critics argue that its racialized imagery reinforces colonial hierarchies, others see it as an indictment of those very hierarchies. Perhaps the enduring power of Heart of Darkness lies in its refusal to let us look away from the darkness—not just in the Congo, but in ourselves.