51 pages • 1 hour read
Graham GreeneA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
From the very beginning of the novel, it’s abundantly clear that the whisky priest is condemned to his fate: He’ll be pursued and captured, executed and martyred, supporting the theme of The Glory: Martyrs and Saints. The book opens with this motif, in an epigraph from John Dryden: “Th’ inclosure narrow’d; the sagacious power / Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour.” This foreshadows the whisky priest’s final hours, as he’s hunted by the hounds of government authority and drawn inexorably toward death. The other characters, too, are caught in this web, as implicated in the clash between the government and the Church, or the lieutenant and the whisky priest. For example, Mr. Tench makes the priest’s acquaintance because “fate had struck” (12). He was destined to become a dentist in exile in Mexico.
In addition, Mr. Tench sees the whisky priest with predestined certainty: “[D]eath was in his carious mouth already” (14), and the priest knows even then that he’ll miss the boat out of the port: “I shall miss it,” he tells Mr. Tench. “I am meant to miss it” (17). He can’t escape his destiny. This fatefulness befalls the whisky priest long before he’s hunted by the authorities; it’s intrinsic to his vocation. When the priest tells Coral that he can’t simply renounce his faith, she compares his Catholicism to “a birthmark” (41), a physical signifier of an inescapable fate. Before the police imprison the priest, the rain sends him scurrying through the streets, “as if it were driving nails into a coffin lid” (115). Although he escapes for a few more weeks, this reprieve only delays the inevitable. After he’s executed, the mother finishes the story of Young Juan, the mirror martyr of the whisky priest, who “had a premonition that he would be in heaven” (218) before the rest of his family. Thus, the whisky priest has walked willingly into the trap set by authorities: He’s always certain that the hounds will eventually catch up with him.
Various predators appears throughout the book, symbolizing the closeness of death. As in the opening epigraph (see above), the police are often compared to dogs or hounds in close pursuit of their prey. At the port, sharks cruise around the docks, cleaning up “the carrion on that side” (7). Most frequently, vultures appear. These creatures feed off the dead carcasses of other animals’ kills. Vultures hover whenever death hovers, as reminders of the stalking certainty of mortality.
A vulture appears on a nearby roof as Padre José walks through the cemetery. He stumbles upon the funeral of a young child and refuses to pray over her; he has broken his vows, and he won’t now break the law. Instead, the image implies, the vultures hover over possible prey. Coral Fellows, the young, capable daughter of the captain with whom the whisky priest is quite taken, goes about her work as “the vultures rose languidly at her approach” (53). These looming scavengers foreshadow Coral’s fate: She’s killed during the hunt for the American fugitive. When the lieutenant attempts to force the villagers to betray the whisky priest, a vulture watches the proceedings. While “death had been postponed” (76), the presence of the vultures indicates that this postponement is temporary. After the priest’s execution, Captain Fellows sees “vultures everywhere” (212), and Mr. Tench watches “the vultures look[ing] down together on the little whitewashed courtyard” (216) where the execution takes place. These harbingers of death populate the novel with their menacing, vigilant presence.
The dissolution of the Catholic Church under the Mexican government’s authority engenders a loss of tradition and comfort that reverberates throughout the community. The intention isn’t merely to replace one source of authority with another, although that is certainly one of the objectives of the government’s new laws; it’s also to erase the memory of the previous authority altogether, supporting the theme of The Power: Government Control and Religious Authority. The absence of memory with regard to the Church is a motif that concerns the whisky priest, and others, throughout the novel. Without the Church, there’s no fantasy of redemption (from the lieutenant’s point of view) and no possibility for salvation (from the whisky priest’s point of view).
From the lieutenant’s perspective, the expunging of religious memory is a liberating concept: “He wanted to destroy everything: to be alone without any memories at all” (25). His experience of the Church has been almost wholly negative; he witnesses the greed of the priests at the expense of the people and attests to their unholy appetites for money and sex. His greatest hope is that “[o]ne day [the people will] forget there ever was a Church here” (56). In that case, the authority that the lieutenant represents—secular, commanding, free of superstition—will triumph.
In contrast, the whisky priest fears these lost memories, as do other characters in the book. For example, Luis’s father, while admittedly not the most devout Catholic, remembers the Church as a place for community and care. His son, however, easily rejects it in favor of the military strength he sees modeled by the lieutenant and his ilk. This concerns his father: He says, “You don’t remember the time when the Church was here” (51), wherein citizens lived without fear of persecution. The whisky priest fears that “[s]oon it would be difficult to remember that life had been any different” (80). In the capital, he witnesses people parading in the plaza, “like a religious ceremony which had lost all meaning” (103). Their absence of memory also implies a loss of salvation; they have only the secular to guide them.
In contrast to the absence of memory, the presence—or threat—of pain looms large throughout the novel. The fear of pain causes the whisky priest to avoid the authorities as long as he can, for example, and the dental pain suffered by the chief is a running motif. Pain can be both spiritual and physical, of course, and it’s often assuaged by alcohol, supporting the theme of The Whisky Priest: Alcohol, Duty, and Faith. Pain elicits an instinctive reaction, and as such, the threat of pain often influences the decisions of the characters, especially the whisky priest.
When Coral tells the priest that he could simply surrender to authorities, he notes that he can’t just give himself up—but before noting this, he refers to more entrenched, innate fears: “There’s the pain. To choose pain like that—it’s not possible” (40). Whether he’s referring to the physical pain of possible torture and death or the psychological pain of fear and abandonment remains unclear; both are potentially horrific. While he awaits his uncertain fate in the prison cell, the whisky priest dreads the morning, when he thinks he’ll be discovered. His thoughts are occupied with pain: “Nobody really knew how long a second of pain could be. It might last a whole purgatory—or for ever” (133). Again, the pain described here is as much spiritual as it is physical.
Nevertheless, the whisky priest sometimes seems to accept the reality of pain as a part of life. When he preaches to the villagers as the police are bearing down on him, he reminds them of the necessity of pain: “[J]oy always depends on pain. Pain is a part of joy. We are hungry and then think how we enjoy our food at last” (69). That is, without experiencing pain, one can’t fully feel the pleasure of joy. He continues: “Pray that you will suffer more and more and more. Never get tired of suffering” (69). This accurately describes the life he has chosen, contrary to what he imagined at one time, plump and ambitious as a young priest. Essentially, he claims that one can’t enjoy Heaven without spending some time in Hell.
Ultimately, however, the whisky priest becomes consumed with fear. Once he’s captured, he can’t think of much else: “He felt it a treachery that he was more afraid of the pain of bullets than of what came after” (194). In his cell awaiting execution, “[w]hat he thought about mostly was pain” (200). One can interpret this line as an indication that the priest has made his peace with his spiritual failings, that he’s no longer afraid of “what [comes] after,” and that he knows he has done his best to be redeemed. Notably, as he’s being executed, the chief sits in Mr. Tench’s dental chair, moaning about “the pain, the pain” (217). This makes him complicit in the execution; it’s an indictment of his role in the legal (though certainly not moral) persecution of the priest, and by extension, the people. The novel conflates the horror of the priest’s death with the pain experienced by the authorities—pain that reminds them of their transgressions.
By Graham Greene
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