Hither came Conan, the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his sandaled feet.
What’s up with the Conan the Barbarian? Is he a power fantasy, a sheer yearning for savagely pure manliness?
Yes but yes.
I refer to Robert E. Howard’s original Conan because later adapters were unable to grasp the essence of the character. Even the Schwarzenegger film, worthy on its own merits, failed to properly express the Cimmerian, for reasons which will shortly become clear.
Readers of Howard’s stories will be familiar with the constant thematic struggle between civilization and barbarism. Those unfamiliar with Howard will find the following passage enlightening:
"Well, last night in a tavern, a captain in the king's guard offered violence to the sweetheart of a young soldier, who naturally ran him through. But it seems there is some cursed law against killing guardsmen, and the boy and his girl fled away. It was bruited about that I was seen with them, and so today I was haled into court, and a judge asked me where the lad had gone. I replied that since he was a friend of mine, I could not betray him. Then the court waxed wroth, and the judge talked a great deal about my duty to the state, and society, and other things I did not understand, and bade me tell where my friend had flown. By this time I was becoming wrathful myself, for I had explained my position.
"But I choked my ire and held my peace, and the judge squalled that I had shown contempt for the court, and that I should be hurled into a dungeon to rot until I betrayed my friend. So then, seeing they were all mad, I drew my sword and cleft the judge's skull; then I cut my way out of the court, and seeing the high constable's stallion tied near by, I rode for the wharfs, where I thought to find a ship bound for foreign ports."
Barbaric courtesy:
'Listen to him!' he shouted jeeringly. 'The barbarian is an eagle who would fly to the jeweled rim of the tower, which is only a hundred and fifty feet above the earth, with rounded sides slicker than polished glass!'
The Cimmerian glared about, embarrassed at the roar of mocking laughter that greeted this remark. He saw no particular humor in it, and was too new to civilization to understand its discourtesies. Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing. He was bewildered and chagrined, and doubtless would have slunk away, abashed, but the Kothian chose to goad him further.
Hospitality:
"We came from the desert," Conan growled. "We wandered into the city at dusk, famishing. We found a feast set for some one, and we ate it. I have no money to pay for it. In my country, no starving man is denied food, but you civilized people must have your recompense—if you are like all I ever met. We have done no harm and we were just leaving. By Crom, I do not like this place, where dead men rise, and sleeping men vanish into the bellies of shadows!"
The barbarian also displays immense strength, agility and resilience. He’s fictional but his moral qualities do not strike the reader as implausible. Close-knit primitive peoples help their neighbors in hardship because they might one day need a neighbor’s help themselves. When populations grow larger, when numbers provide anonymity and casual relationships blunt the effect of social sanctions, the presence of grifters makes this model of hospitality unworkable. Too many strangers will cheat.
Likewise, when law functions in a network of peers—men with swords chopping each other up for misdeeds—social customs develop that discourage casual hostility. When honor actually means something, men will defend theirs.
As for the privileges of killing a guy for moving on your girl or declining to testify against a friend, who could possibly object? Are you man or dog, to cringe at the heel of him who strikes you?
But, as is often lamented, we live in a society. For us, power exists in formal institutions or informal frothing mobs congealed from the worst of humanity. It is not sensibly devolved to men of good character to execute as they best see fit. To us, the barbaric morality of Conan is only a fantasy.
Beyond these social concepts, a certain philosophy creeps into Howard’s writing. The Cimmerian embodies an animal-like mental freedom. He experiences all man’s normal emotions and desires but none of them stick. He enjoys feasting and drinking but, when the coin has run dry, he accepts hardship with a shrug. He partakes of many women but never finds himself bound to one by love, though many weep for his lost touch. If a fellow offends Conan, he might find himself beheaded on the spot but, if not, he’ll be fine. The barbarian doesn’t nurse grudges.1 As king, he loses his entire nation to betrayal and sorcery and he considers ditching the quest to restore his crown for a more immediately fulfilling adventure as a wandering mercenary.
Nor does Conan fret about religion:
He shrugged his shoulders. "I have known many gods. He who denies them is as blind as he who trusts them too deeply. I seek not beyond death. It may be the blackness averred by the Nemedian skeptics, or Crom's realm of ice and cloud, or the snowy plains and vaulted halls of the Nordheimer's Valhalla. I know not, nor do I care. Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat and stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame and crimson, and I am content. Let teachers and priests and philosophers brood over questions of reality and illusion. I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content."
This is the second and more unique way in which Conan the Barbarian composes a fantasy. Howard suggests that it is civilization which binds man with pride, with vanity, doubt, conceit and all the other lingering afflictions of the soul. In barbarism, he sees only the simple lusts and tastes of the flesh. In such a state, there can be no sin, for such a man would be truly a rational animal and nothing more.
It is a compelling, even beautiful, vision, but, from what I have read of primitive man, sadly untrue.
This is how the film fails. It changes Conan’s entire life into a revenge fantasy.