May 13, 2026
See footer for German translation
Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972) is the second of feature film of the renowned German director, Werner Herzog. It tells the story of Spanish conquistadors, who embark on a harrowed journey into the jungle of Peru in search of a place called Eldorado. What enfolds is an absurdest tale that lays bare a desire for wealth and power.
The film is not, as Herzog himself said, a historical comment on Spanish imperialism itself, but is an expression of a "state of mind." It is arguably an example of his sixth principle in the so-called "Minnesota Declaration," "there are deeper stratus of truth in cinema and there are such things as poetic, ecstatic truth. It is mysterious and elusive and can be reached only through fabrication and imagination and stylisation."
However, it is fitting that historical colonialism is a primary vehicle to explore this "state of mind." It is not coincidental that this film is reproduced in the mid 20th century, as people in the Western world became more aware and critical of its own European colonial past. This criticism includes the church's practice of mission. While this "ecstatic truth" is explored in the principal character of Don Lope de Aguirre, he is accompanied by a Dominican missionary, who intends to bring the "Gospel to the heathen."
I am intrigued by this story because my formal role or occupation is what is traditionally called, "a missionary." I remember telling a secular friend in Canada that we were moving to Germany to engage in church planting. He responded, "is not a missionary someone that existed like 500 years ago?" In other words, I was seemingly still participating in this out of date, medieval colonial enterprise. As I reflect on my vocation in light of this film, it begs the question, what does it mean to share the good news to all nations in way that does not reflect the state of mind expressed in the story?
A European Colonial "State of Mind"
The narrator in the film is in fact, a Dominican missionary, Gaspar de Carvajal (1500-1584). This story is very loosely based on the historical account of Carvajal's missionary chronicles. In Herzog's narrative, however, he, Aguirre, and other Spanish Inquisitors, descend a mountain range to the river in search of a way to Eldorado, accompanied by hundreds of indigenous slaves. Although now enslaved, the Indigenous of Peru have the last laugh. The audience knows from the beginning that the journey is doomed. We are told that they have set the Spanish on an illusory path, inventing the myth of Eldorado, a place filled with gold.
The Spaniards attempt to maintain their European lifestyle, demanding their ladies be carried in carriages. They bring their cannons too, although impractical as they are in this context. The conquistadors are shown to be cruel and brutal to the Peruvians. They are clearly racist. The entire enterprise is futile. From the outset, however, the jungle is relentless and unforgiving. And in a very classic Herzog way, nature is more than a setting, but a a hostile force and power. The Conquistadors decide to send a smaller group up the river on rafts to discover more about the destination.
The central antagonist in the story is, of course, Aguirre. At least in the beginning, he is subordinate to the appointed leader, Pedro de Ursúa. However, the deeper into the jungle he goes, separated from the established authorities, the more bold he becomes in his defiance of Ursúa's authority. Eventually he coercively takes over the company, wounding Ursúa, who in return remains in silent protest against the political coup. What ensues is a parody of the establishment of a new political order. They cut their ties with Spain to establish a new empire of Eldorado, prompting up a new leader in Don Fernando Guzmán.
When the wife of Ursúa asks the missionary, Carvajal, for help. He insists that he will not. He states baldly: "Thou lettest man flow on like a river, and Thy years know no end. As for man, his days are like grass as a flower on the field, so he blossoms. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more.' You know, my child, for the good of our Lord, the Church was always on the side of the strong."
Does the church really always side with the strong? There are, of course, many exceptions, but there is a ring of the "deeper stratus of truth" at work here. At least in the colonial context, a reference to how the church's missionaries were under the protection and support of state power. The roots of this relationship between church and state go back to the establishment of Christianity as the religion of the Roman empire in the time of Constantine.
It is tempting to justify corrupt political leadership, if it seems to inadvertently help the church's mission. But as seen in this film, it reveals a compromised conscience for the sake of a "greater good." It is a "state of mind" that refuses to acknowledge obvious injustice under the guise of a greater cause. Perhaps it is simply cowardice.
The Unfinished Work of Creation
Interestingly, the envoy of conquistadors encounter an indigenous couple on the river who come in peace, who tell them: "It was foretold that sons of the sun would come from a long way through hardship to this land and that they make clouds and thunder noise which they produce out of tubes. They have been waiting for sons of the sun because here on the river, God's work of creation is not yet finished."
As Herzog commented, the story is not specifically about the indigenous peoples, but of the inner state of mind and internal collapse of the European envoy. Yet, this contrast between them is seen more clearly in light of this encounter with the couple. It suggests a profound possible connecting point on our common human destiny in relation to the Creator. Indeed, what they are sharing is prophetic. But the conquistadors do not "hear" them. There is no interest to understand them, to learn the meaning of their mysterious words. All they see is the gold around their neck. They are possessed by the desire to possess.
In response, Carvajal is then eager to share the Gospel and give him a Bible, saying: "Has this savage heard of our Saviour Jesus Christ and of our true mission to save their souls. This is a Bible. It contains the words of God, which we are bringing to enlighten the darkness of the world. Has he understood, that stored in this book are the words of God?"
The indigenous man, of course, does not understand Carvajal. He holds the Bible to his ear and says, "it doesn't speak." He and his wife are then immediately killed for their supposed blasphemy. We then hear the narration of the Carvajal, "the way will be hard. These savages are hard to convince." Despite his supposed "good news," his inner state of mind is as blind as Aguirre and the others. Although he tries to remind his compadres of their true mission to bring the Gospel, they tell him, "surely, you want a golden cross, rather than the silver one you lost?" Carvajal does not protest, but walks away with a subtle greedy grin.
A Descent into Madness and Death
The German actor, Klaus Kinski, of course, embodies the madness and eccentricity of Aguirre with force. Indeed, the actor's relationship with Herzog and his particular behaviour on the set of making the film has become legendary, such as firing a gun, taking a man's finger off. The entire hostile jungle, as Herzog alluded, reveals the unstable mind of Aguirre.
After the political coup against Ursúa, Aguirre sets up a new leader, Don Fernand de Guzmán, but their relationship is tense. Guzmán does not necessarily follow Aguirre on every suggestion as a puppet king. In fact, the new king begins to take great pleasure in his new title and role. However, after Guzmán pushes the horse of the raft, an animal which could have fed them for weeks, he is killed.
After this the company under Aguirre becomes more unhinged. Ursúa is executed. His wife, Inés de Atienza, disappears into the forest not to be seen again. They are attacked by indigenous people on the banks of the river. Despite this opposition, nonetheless, if people begin to question Aguirre, he swiftly removes them. There is no room for disagreement. Aguirre warns them:
"I am the great traitor. There must be no other. Anyone who even thinks about deserting this mission will be cut up into 198 pieces. Those pieces will be stamped on until what is left can be used only to paint walls. Whoever takes one grain of corn or one drop of water... more than his ration, will be locked up for 155 years. If I, Aguirre, want the birds to drop dead from the trees... then the birds will drop dead from the trees. I am the wrath of God. The earth I pass will see me and tremble. But whoever follows me and the river, will win untold riches. But whoever deserts..."
The wrath of God here refers to a "state of mind" that sees itself as a kind of divine sovereign. The portrait reminds me of the way that the book of Daniel describes the Babylonian emperors, like Nebuchadnezzar, who himself at the height of his power descends into madness. Aguirre thinks he can conquer nature and the humans within it. He can defy natural causality. Define reality.
In this mindset, disloyalty to this sovereign power is the highest injustice. The only proper response to such betrayal is wrath and vengeance. In this wrath, the envoy follows Aguirre, some out of fear, others out of the promise of the gold of Eldorado. They are willing to submit, even the missionary Carvajal, for the promise of some illusory future of power, fame, and wealth.
Nonetheless, the further they drift down the river, the further they are detached from reality. They are being killed by the "jungle." Their numbers of dwindling. Even as they are killed, they deny they are suffering. When Aguirre is nearly alone on the raft, his own daughter dying from her wounds, he is still under the illusion:
"When we reach the sea, we will build a bigger ship, and sail north to take Trinidad from the Spanish crown. From there we'll sail on and take Mexico from Cortés. What great treachery that will be! Then all of New Spain will be ours, and we'll produce history as others produce plays. I, the Wrath of God, will marry my own daughter and with her I will found the purest dynasty the world has ever seen. Together, we shall rule this entire continent. We shall endure. I am the Wrath of God! Who else is with me?"
The film concludes with the infamous scene of Aguirre, chasing monkey's on the raft. Herzog warns not to interpret this too symbolically or concurrently "meaning something." However, I see this as another expression of the futility of trying to tame or control the nature around you, as if we had the power to do so. If there a theme in Herzog's work and interviews, it is that the universe is an unsympathetic force. There is no divine providence of love at work within it. As humans, we are not in control.
A Missionary in the 21st Century
Returning to my friend's surprise of me becoming a "missionary," the story of Carvajal in Aguirre, the Wrath of God causes me pause as to my motivations, ambitions, and methods. Is not my sense of calling in this same tradition? Do I not work as a Western missionary? Does not my Canadian passport afford me some kind of protection? Am I not protected by the modern state?
While 21st century modern mission looks very different from the 16th century, we cannot ignore the legacy of which this film echoes, a profound postmodern critique of spiritual and political misuse of power. As we reflect on the state of mission today, we are colonial in other ways. A few years ago, some colleagues of mine with the Multiply Network read the book together: A Just Mission, Laying Down Power and Embracing Mutuality (2022) by Mekdes Haddis. This book demonstrates the subtle ways we may still reflect the residue of Western European colonialism in our practice of mission.
Haddis calls the Western church to be transformed and discipled in our mindset and practice. It is no different than what we see in the New Testament, revealing another kind of "state of mind." When Paul wrote to the church in Philippi, which was a Roman colony in Asia Minor, he called them to: "have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." (Philippians 2:2-7).
This self-emptying (kenosis) descent of Christ is a giving of self in love for the forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation of the world. It is this sacrificial, giving of the self in the genuine interest of others that reveals the divinity of God: "Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father" (Philippians 2:9-11). Paul calls us to this radical divine way of love, the way of the cross.
What does this mean for me, as I practice mission? On the one hand, this means that I must personally renounce the racist mindsets that have influenced the practice of mission over the centuries. It means I must test my own "inner mind," whether I am driven by authentic love for people or by a desire for power and fame. Moreover, I must renounce all desire for control and wealth, recognizing that our profit is the privilege of participating in the mission of God. Haddis provides some practical suggestions on what this might all look like, but that is beyond the scope of this meditation.
On the other hand, it means blessing others with learning their language, story, and culture, spending time with people both in suffering and celebration, connecting with them in our common humanity. Perhaps then will a door open to share the good news that has personally transformed us, a Gospel that is for every person and every nation. Despite the postmodern critique expressed in this film, I do not renounce the global mission of the church, for I am persuaded that Jesus is the hope of the world. But I pursue this in a struggle to be truly humble, humane, and loving, as enabled by the Spirit of God.