There is stone everywhere in Death Comes for the Archbishop, from the natural rock formations dotting the deserts of the American Southwest to the manmade churches that Latour and Vaillant inspect and then help to create. In both cases, stone symbolizes something holy and ancient. Initially, Latour feel closer to god’s “first Creation”; the heavy rock feels at once enduring and “antediluvian” (from a time before the Biblical flood), forcing both Catholic Europeans and indigenous characters like Jacinto to reckon with a timespan beyond what they can comprehend. But while native tribes like the Ácoma build their lives around existing rock formations, finding a natural expression for the “universal human longing for something permanent,” Latour and other colonizing priests aim to construct their stone monuments artificially. As Latour approaches old age, for example, he becomes obsessed with building a cathedral in the French Midi Romanesque style; he devotes much of his energy to deciding what color and kind of stone will be most aesthetically effective, prompting Vaillant to express surprise at his spiritual friend’s seemingly “worldly” fixations. Therefore, even as stone and rock formations seem to link Catholic religious beliefs with indigenous ones, the priestly fixation with transforming rock once more reflects the settler-colonial fixation with landscaping.
Stones and Rock Formations Quotes in Death Comes for the Archbishop
The rock, when one came to think of it, was the utmost expression of human need; even mere feeling yearned for it; it was the highest comparison of loyalty and love and friendship. Christ Himself had used that comparison for the disciple to whom he gave the keys of His Church. And the Hebrews of the Old Testament, always being carried captive into foreign lands,—their rock was an idea of God, the only thing their conquerors could not take from them.
Already the Bishop had observed in Indian life a strange literalness, often shocking and disconcerting. The Ácomas, who must share the universal human yearning for something permanent, enduring, without shadow of change—they had their idea in substance. They actually lived upon their rock; were born upon it and died upon it.
Bishop Latour had one very keen worldly ambition: to build in Santa Fé a cathedral which would be worthy of a setting naturally beautiful. As he cherished this wish and meditated upon it, he came to feel that such a building might be a continuation of himself and his purpose, a physical body full of his aspirations after he had passed from the scene.
It was [Latour’s] own misguided friend, Kit Carson, who finally subdued the last unconquered remnant of that people; who followed them into the depths of the Canyon de Chelly, whither they had fled from their grazing plains and pine forests to make their last stand […] This canyon had always before proved impenetrable to white troops. The Navajos believed it could not be taken. They believed that their old gods dwelt in the fastnesses of that canyon; like their Shiprock, it was an inviolate place, the very heart and center of their life.
Carson followed them down into the hidden world between those towering walls of red sandstone, spoiled their stores, destroyed their deep-sheltered corn-fields, cut down the terraced peach orchards so dear to them. When they saw all that was sacred to them laid waste, the Navajos lost heart. They did not surrender; they simply ceased to fight.