Christianity and Irony in Conrad

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Christianity and Irony in the Fiction of Joseph Conrad

Joseph Conrad’s attitude toward Christianity can hardly be called sympathetic. In a letter to Edward Garnett, Conrad writes of his deep-seated antipathy: "It’s strange how I always, from the age of fourteen, disliked the Christian religion, its doctrines, ceremonies and festivals" (Garnett, 188). Later he notes: "I am not blind to its [Christianity’s] services but the absurd oriental-fable from which it starts irritates me. Great, improving, softening, compassionate it may be, but it has lent itself with amazing facility to cruel distortion and is the only religion which, with its impossible standards, has brought an infinity of anguish to innumerable souls of this earth" (245). Conrad’s biographers underscore his disdain for religion. Jocelyn Baines argues there is no evidence in Conrad’s life or work that he believed in God, and that though he was brought up a Roman Catholic, he rejected Catholicism as "distasteful" (Baines, 447). Frederick Karl, however, notes that while Christianity was never important in Conrad’s daily life, "suggestions of it remain implicit in his work" (Karl, 53). These implicit suggestions of Christianity in Conrad’s fiction are the focus of this discussion. That is, regardless of Conrad’s overt rejection of Christianity, he frequently employs Christian symbols, characters, doctrines, and motifs. As we might expect, however, his use of Christian ideas is almost always ironic.

In an early story, "An Outpost of Progress" (1898), Conrad uses one of the most powerful symbols of Christianity, the cross, both as an ironic signpost signaling Christianity’s futile impact on the wilderness. And as an ironic yardstick that measures the moral vacuity and sham of two white men, Kayerts and Carlier, assigned to an ivory trading post in the dark center of Africa. The Cross is mentioned early in the story when the grave of the agent previous to Kayerts and Carlier is surveyed: "In [the grave], under a tall cross much out of the perpendicular, slept the man who had seen the beginning of all this; who had planned and watched the construction of this outpost of progress" (Tales of Unrest, 83-84). Conrad’s irony is obvious: the cross’ skewed position suggests Christianity’s irrelevance and inefficacy in the midst of the African jungle. It is not surprising, then, that within the story, Christianity plays no redemptive role.

However, Conrad’s larger purpose in the story is to undercut the arrogance of white Europeans who hide their greed to exploit Africa’s riches under the guise of "the white man’s burden." The cross, therefore, which ostensibly indicates the intrusion of civilization and progress upon the wilderness, instead becomes an ironic marker of moral failure and economic opportunism. For example, the post that Kayerts and Carlier man is anything but an outpost of progress; they are lazy, impotent, and void of "all initiative." Because of their greed for ivory, they allow their native workers to be bartered to a marauding tribe in exchange for a large amount of ivory. As their moral collapse accelerates, they begin fighting with one another until Kayerts accidentally shoots and kills Carlier during an argument over a lump of sugar.

The story ends by focusing upon the cross, again in an ironic fashion: Kayerts commits suicide by hanging himself from the cross: "He had evidently climbed the grave, which was high and narrow, and after tying the end of the strap to the arm [of the cross], had swung himself off. His toes were only a couple of inches above the ground; his arms hung stiffly down; he seemed to be standing rigidly at attention, but with one purple cheek playfully posed on the shoulder. And, irreverently, he was putting out a swollen tongue…" (110). Conrad’s irony here is bitter; the cross, symbolic of redemption and new life for mankind, serves as a gallows, and Kayerts, in death, even seems to be aware of his ghastly mockery of the crucifixion since his swollen tongue is stuck out "irreverently." Conrad uses the cross in this story as a parody of itself. Christianity, according to Conrad, can offer no assurances, no guidance, no redemption, and no moral direction to men lost in the African wilderness.

In "The Nigger of the Narcissus" (1897), Conrad shifts his ironic vision from a Christian symbol to Podmore, the cook on board the Narcissus and Conrad’s most fully-developed Christian character. The main focus of the story is upon James Wait, a black man, whose slow death becomes a fascinating sideshow for all the men on the ship and especially Podmore. Early references to Podmore are, if not ironic, at least comic: "He was a serious-minded man with a wife and three children, whose society he enjoyed on an average one month out of twelve. When on shore he took his family to church twice every Sunday. At sea he went to sleep every evening with his lamp turned up full, a pipe in his mouth, and an open Bible in his hand" (Typhoon and Other Tales, 35). Gradually, however, Podmore’s evangelical fanaticism and posture as a preacher are underscored. For instance, he beams "with the inward consciousness of his faith, like a conceited saint" (44), and "he knew that wickedness flourished; he knew that Satan was abroad amongst those men, whom he looked upon as in some way under his spiritual care. Whenever he saw three or four of us standing together he would leave his stove, to run out and preach" (48).

For the most part the men endured Podmore good-naturedly, and he does enter into their fellowship on occasion. In addition, he certainly ministers to their physical needs as cook, especially during a terrible storm and minor disaster at sea when a cup of soup and mug of coffee go a long way toward rejuvenating the battered and disgruntled crew. At the same time, however, the cook’s self-righteousness begins to alienate him from them:

He affirmed…himself, with solemn animation, to have been the object of a special mercy for the saving of our unholy lives. Fundamentally he was right, no doubt; but he need not have been so offensively positive about it—he need not have hinted so often that it would have gone hard with us had he not been there, meritorious and pure, to receive the inspiration and the strength for the work of grace. Had we been saved by his recklessness or his agility, we could have at length become reconciled to the fact; but to admit our obligation to anybody’s virtue and holiness alone was difficult for us as for any other handful of mankind. Like many benefactors of humanity, the cook took himself too seriously, and reaped the reward of irreverence. (80)

Podmore’s role in the tale climaxes when he finally gets alone with James Wait and attempts to convert the dying man. Conrad characterizes the cook’s enthusiasm to save Wait as akin to the time twenty-seven years earlier when Podmore had for the first and last time "become intoxicated in as East-end music hall." He is overwhelmed with spiritual fervor as "he contemplated the secret of the hereafter":

His heart overflowed with tenderness, with comprehension, with the desire to meddle, with anxiety for the soul of that black man, with the pride of possessed eternity, with the feeling of might. Snatch him up in his arms and pitch him right into the middle of salvation…There was a great din as of cymbals in his ears; he flashed through an ecstatic jumble of shining faces, lilies, prayer books, unearthly joy, white skirts, gold harps, black coats, wings. (102)

Obviously Conrad’s point here is to undercut the reality of Podmore’s religious experience; he uses pejoratives like "the desire to meddle," "the pride of possessed eternity," "the feeling of might" and the notion of Podmore grabbing Wait and heaving him up into heaven (whether Wait is willing or not) to deflate Podmore’s zealous faith. Furthermore, Conrad suggests through a series of jumbled religious symbols and images (shining faces, lilies, prayer books, gold harps, wings) that Podmore is simply being carried away by an emotional outburst in no way tied to reality or humane concern for Wait.

When Podmore does confront Wait, he appears as little more than a Bible thumping preacher: "Don’t you see the everlasting fire…don’t you feel it? Blind, chockfull of sin! Repent, repent! I can’t bear to think of you. I hear the call to save you. Night and day. Jimmy, let me save you!" (103). In a wold scene that follows, Podmore and Wait engage in a shouting match; the former spews forth a series of evangelical code words like "mercy," "repent," and "purpose" while the latter doggedly insists "never," "shut-up," "leave off," and "no." In the end, Wait screams "Go away! Murder! Help!" and is finally saved by the ship’s captain who comes in and throws the cook out of Wait’s quarters. Conrad underscores the ineffectiveness of Podmore’s faith since this is the last time he appears in the story although the narrative continues on for another forty pages.

Any discussion of Conrad’s ironic use of Christian ideas and characters must deal with Lord Jim (1900), a novel often misinterpreted by careless readers. Such readers feel compelled to see the hero, Jim, as an admirable Christ-figure. In fact, the superficial evidence for such an interpretations seems convincing: he is called, after all, Lord Jim; his jump from the Patna into "an everlasting deep hole" seems akin to Christ’s descent into hell; he is obsessed with guild and the need for atonement; he does appear as a savior to the oppressed tribe he befriends in Patusan; he even dies in a sacrificial manner. Yet a close reading of the novel clearly shows that Jim is not an admirable figure held by Conrad as a Christ-figure; indeed, Jim’s character is permeated with irony.

For instance, Jim’s motives throughout are self-centered. Like Dostoyevsky’s Raskolnikov, Jim believes he is "an extraordinary man," albeit of a different sort than Raskolnikov. From the very beginning Jim is carried away by an exalted vision of himself and his capacity to do great, heroic, romantic feats of glory. He indulges in a good deal of "egotistical castle-building" (Lewis, 52). We read, for example, that during the first years of Jim’s training at sea "his station was in the foretop, and often from there he looked down, with the contempt of a man destined to shine in the midst of dangers" (Lord Jim, 11). Jim also

…saw himself saving people from sinking ships, cutting away masts in a hurricane, swimming through surf with a line; or as a lonely castaway, barefooted and half naked, walking on uncovered reefs in search of shellfish to stave off starvation. He confronted savages on tropical shores, quelled mutinies on the high seas, and in small boat upon the ocean kept up the hearts of despairing men—always on example of devotion to duty and as unflinching as a hero in a book. (11)

Such egotistical thinking is hardly Christ-like.

Furthermore, when finally put to the test during a crisis at sea, Jim does not choose the self-sacrifice of Christ; instead, he opts for self-preservation. During a storm that threatens to sink a nearby ship, Jim fails to aid his mates on a life-saving mission. He stands frozen and indecisive: "There was a fierce purpose in the gale, a furious earnestness in the screech of the wind, in the brutal tumult of the earth and sky, that seemed directed at him, and made him hold his breath in awe" (12). After the successful rescue, Jim, for a moment, realizes that he has flinched since he experiences "the pain of conscious defeat." However, such honest introspection is short-lived and he quickly rationalizes away his failure to act heroically: "The tumult and the menace of wind and sea now appeared very contemptible to Jim, increasing the regret of his awe and their inefficient menace. How he knew what to think of it. It seemed to him that he cared nothing for the gale. He could affront greater peril. He would do so—better than anybody would. Not a particle of fear was left" (12). Conrad uses these early episodes to foreshadow Jim’s later moral lapse on board the Patna. Clearly Jim’s egotism and desire for self-preservation call into question the idea that Jim is an admirable Christ-figure.

If we examine the specific Christ-like parallels mentioned earlier, we can see that Conrad subtly uses them for ironic effect.* For example, Jim’s jump is pointedly not like Christ’s descent into hell. Christ’s sojourn into hell was made to harrow or harvest the righteous who had died before His coming. His was a selfless act concerned with helping others. Jim’s jump, on the other hand, is an act of self-preservation. Like the other officers in the rowboat, Jim does not attempt to save the hundreds of pilgrims on board ship; rather, in spite of his later claims to Marlow that he is not like the other cowardly officer, his actions prove otherwise. In addition, later on when Jim recalls the jump and confides to Marlow, "My God! What a chance [for glory] missed," Marlow notes that "all [Jim’s] inner being carried on, projected headlong into the fanciful realm of recklessly heroic aspirations. He had no leisure to regret what he had lost, he was so wholly and naturally concerned for what he had failed to obtain" (67). Here Jim’s egotism is most clear: he is more upset by his lost chance at glory than by his moral failure. He suffers from "moral dyslexia" (Steinmann, 81).

Jim’s aid to the native tribe in Patusan later in the novel is admirable. He does "save" the tribe from the attacks of a stronger, predatory tribe. Yet his motives in doing so are not altruistic. In fact, he tells Marlow that the best way to redeem himself "was to face it out—alone for myself—wait for another chance—to find out…" (102). Thus, Jim leaps at the opportunity to aid the natives in Patusan, hoping to prove to himself that he is as heroic as he dreams he is. The recklessness with which he first meets the natives, the wisdom he displays in organizing a defense, and his bravery in battle are praiseworthy. He does help to save the tribe. Nevertheless, his motive is egotistical; unlike Christ, Jim is primarily interested in redeeming himself, not others.

Jim’s final act—his substitutionary death as payment for the death of the tribal chief’s son—is probably Conrad’s finest ironic play on a Christian theme in all his fiction.** The crucifixion of Christ, His willing death for the sins of mankind, is surely the focal point of Christianity. Is not Jim’s sacrifice at this point, therefore, admirable and Christ-like? Not really because once again Jim’s motives are self-centered. He thinks that by dying he will "prove his power in another way and conquer the fatal destiny itself" (302). Jim’s decision to "conquer to fatal destiny" is a throwback to his earlier dreams of glory as a young seaman. He may have failed then, but he will not fail now. So it is that he idealistically and egotistically embraces death: "Not in the wildest days of his boyish visions could he have seen the alluring shape of such an extraordinary success! For it may very well be that in the short moment of his last proud and unflinching glance, he had beheld the face of that opportunity which, like an Eastern bride, had come veiled to his side" (307). He justifies himself to himself and expiates his failure on the Patna by his death. What Conrad makes clear, however, is that Jim’s death is senseless; he dies not to save someone else since the chief’s son is already dead. He dies in order to prove himself to himself. Conrad’s irony, of course, is that Jim’s death is a meaningless sacrifice. To argue, therefore, that Jim is an admirable Christ-figure is to miss the rich irony that Conrad ascribes to Jim.

In conclusion, for man to put his faith in Christianity makes little sense to Conrad; indeed, Christianity, according to Conrad, is just another illusion men grasp onto in order to bring order and sense to a hostile and indifferent universe. Conrad’s own view is that man is alone and isolated in the world. In a letter he writes: "Most of my life has been spent between sky and water and now I live so alone that often I fancy myself clinging stupidly to a derelict planet abandoned by is precious crew" (Watt, 46). Elsewhere he writes of "the tremendous fact of our isolation, of the loneliness impenetrable and transparent, elusive and everlasting; of the indestructible loneliness that surrounds, envelopes, clothes every human soul from the cradle to the grave, and, perhaps, beyond" (An Outcast of the Island, 205). Consequently, in the final analysis, Conrad suggests that Christianity has nothing to offer mankind, and, thus, whenever he uses Christian characters, themes, or symbols, he does so in a deliberately ironic fashion.

Works Cited

Baines, Jocelyn. Joseph Conrad: A Critical Biography. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1960.

Conrad, Joseph. An Outcast of the Islands. New York: Penguin, 1975.

--------------. Lord Jim. New York: New American Library, 1961.

--------------. Tales of Unrest. New York: Penguin, 1977.

--------------. Typhoon and Other Tales. New York: Signet, 1962.

Garnett, Edward, ed. Letters from Joseph Conrad: 1895-1924. Indianapolis: Charter Books,

1962.

Gee, John and Paul Sturm, eds. and trans. Letters of Joseph Conrad to Marguerite

Poradowska: 1890-1920. Port Washington, NY: Kennikat Press, 1973.

Karl, Frederick. Joseph Conrad: The Three Lives. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1979.

Lewis, C. S. An Experiment in Criticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969.

Steinmann, Theo. "Lord Jim’s Progression through Homology." Ariel 5 (1974): 81-93.

Watt, C.T., ed. Joseph Conrad’s Letters to R. B. Cunninghame Graham. Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press, 1969.

Notes

*Several Critics have noted how Jim’s jump is suggestive of a descent into hell, although the descent is tied to the classical tradition of the underworld, not the Christian concept of hell. Baines notes: "Conrad raises the significance of Jim’s action to a metaphysical level and his portrayal of Jim’s spiritual Odyssey explores the theme of guild and atonement" (242). For another view, see George Bellis, "Fidelity to a Higher Ideal: A study of the Jim in Conrad’s Lord Jim," Erasmus Review, 1 (1970), 63-71.

**In an early letter to Marguerite Poradowska, Conrad indicates his disdain for the Christian doctrine of atonement: "That doctrine, a products of superior but savage minds, is quite simply an infamous abomination…On the one hand, [it] leads straight to the Inquisition and, on the other, discloses the possibilities of bargaining with the Eternal. It would be quite as rational to wish to expiate a murder by theft!" (Gee and Sturm, 36).