The Archbishop of Westminster read me a letter from the
Holy Office condemning my novel because it was
"paradoxical" and "dealt with extraordinary circumstances."
The price of liberty, even within a Church, is eternal
vigilance, but I wonder whether any of the totalitarian states
... would have treated me as gently when I refused to revise
the book on the casuistical ground that the copyright was in
the hands of my publishers. There was no public
condemnation, and the affair was allowed to drop into that
peaceful oblivion which the Church wisely reserves for
unimportant issues.
In July of 1965 Greene had an audience with Pope Paul VI. He told the
Pope that The Power and the Glory had been condemned by the Holy
Office. According to Greene, the Pope asked, "Who condemned it?"
Greene replied, "Cardinal Pizzardo." Paul VI repeated the name with a
wry smile and added, "Mr. Greene, some parts of your book are certain to
offend some Catholics, but you should pay no attention to that."
These sentences have intrigued me ever since I first read them, some years
ago, in Greene's Ways of Escape. The records of censorial investigations
undertaken after the death of Leo XIII, in 1903, are in the archives of the
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, and are not available to be
consulted by outside scholars. In February of last year I sought and
obtained an audience with the Congregation's prefect, Joseph Cardinal
Ratzinger. To my request that an exception be made to the rules, the reply
was one word, uttered without hesitation: "Ja."
he Power and the Glory is set in the southern-Mexican state of
Tabasco, which is governed by a ruthless persecutor of Catholics,
Tomas Garrido Canabal. It is based on a journey to Mexico that
Greene made in 1938. An atheist and a puritan, Canabal detested
organized religion and alcohol. The central figure in Greene's book is a
whiskey priest, who is put to death by Canabal's police at the end of the
novel. The priest, whose prime quality is self-knowledge, is his own
strongest critic. Although he anticipates his execution, and knows that he
is walking into a trap, he chooses to perform what he sees as his duty and
attempts to give the last sacraments to a fatally wounded criminal. The
priest puts the chance of saving another man's soul ahead of his own
survival. Is this martyrdom? Or is it retribution for moral lapses? The
moral and theological criteria of The Power and the Glory are
ambiguous—so ambiguous that self-appointed censors have sniffed an
odor of heresy in the book.
Denunciation or inquiry was the usual means by which news reached
Rome of a book that deserved investigation. In the case of The Power and
the Glory, the news traveled circuitously. Its point of departure was
Einsiedeln, in Switzerland. There, in 1949, the Catholic publisher
Benziger was planning to bring out a German translation of the novel.
Alarmed by the "polemic" that he claimed Greene's book was raising in
France, a Swiss priest asked the Holy Office for its opinion. Pressure
slowly mounted over the years from other parts of Europe, and finally, in
April of 1953, Rome looked into the matter closely. Greene's case was
examined (as were similar cases involving Evelyn Waugh and Bruce
Marshall). The Holy Office appointed two consultants to consider The
Power and the Glory. The first of these wrote in Italian, and he displayed
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