Sybil Birling in An Inspector Calls: Priestley's critique of privilege
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Summary:
Explore Sybil Birling in An Inspector Calls: learn how Priestley critiques privilege through her language, charity, family role and refusal to change.
Sybil Birling in *An Inspector Calls*: Priestley’s Embodiment of Privilege, Hypocrisy and Refusal to Change
J.B. Priestley’s 1945 play *An Inspector Calls* was staged as Britain emerged from the trauma of war and questioned the values that led to suffering and social division. Set in 1912, at the pinnacle of Edwardian society, the play scrutinises a prosperous industrial family confronted by the suicide of a working-class woman. Among its characters, Sybil Birling stands out as the matriarch whose attitudes and reactions encapsulate Priestley’s critique of upper-class complacency. This essay will argue that Sybil Birling is constructed as the embodiment of social and moral blindness, her language, actions, and steadfast refusal to accept responsibility serving Priestley’s wider purpose of exposing the dangers of entrenched privilege. Through analysis of her public persona, her charity work, her drive for control, her role within the family, and her overall dramatic function, I will show how her lack of transformation both sharpens the play’s moral message and leaves the audience questioning the societal values she represents.The Social Identity of Sybil Birling: Class above Conscience
Sybil Birling enters the stage as a figure distinctly marked by her social position and adherence to propriety. Priestley’s stage directions describe her as a “rather cold woman” and her speech as having a “husband’s social superior,” establishing from the outset her air of aloof authority. In conversations, she refers to people by their titles, reminds Sheila to “behave,” and corrects others when they deviate from her sense of decorum. The formality of her language—long sentences, measured diction, polite imperatives such as “please don’t contradict me”—creates a barrier between herself and others, reinforcing her perception of rank.Her gestures, often described as “imposing,” “controlling,” and delivered with a “disdainful glance,” show a woman acutely conscious of her image. This public face is not merely for her own comfort, but a defence against any threat to her established place in society. For Sybil, appearances matter more than people: her concern that “a girl of that sort would never refuse money” betrays not only her assumptions about class, but a coldness that trumps empathy. This detachment prepares the ground for her unsympathetic treatment of Eva Smith and puts her at odds with both Inspector Goole and the more conscience-stricken members of her family.
Charity as Performance: The Hypocrisy of Altruism
Sybil’s involvement with the “Brumley Women’s Charity Organisation” might, on the surface, mark her out as a figure of benevolence. Yet, Priestley swiftly peels back that veneer to reveal a selective, self-congratulatory form of philanthropy. When confronted with her refusal of Eva’s plea for help, Sybil points to “rules” and “standards” to justify her decision, cloaking her lack of compassion in the language of committee etiquette. Her explanation—“I did my duty”—is less about kindness than upholding protocol.Throughout these scenes, Sybil uses categorical terms such as “girls of that class” and collective nouns that sweep away individuality. Her tone is judgemental, employing verbs like “deserved” and “impertinent” to rationalise her actions. Rather than respond to Eva as a person in distress, she regards her as a threat to the natural order she inhabits. Irony seeps through in Sybil’s pride: “I was perfectly justified,” she insists, completely blind to the ramifications. Priestley here satirises the idea that social standing confers moral authority, instead exposing the cruelty that can hide behind charitable facades.
Power and Control: Struggling to Maintain Authority
One of Sybil Birling’s defining characteristics is her need to assert dominance—within her own home, in the committee room, and against the disruptive presence of the Inspector. She attempts to silence Sheila, barking “please don’t contradict me,” and openly dismisses the Inspector as “impertinent,” appalled at the breach of deference from a lower-status visitor. Her reliance on her husband’s knighthood, her own role as “a prominent member of the committee,” and her references to “the way we conduct ourselves here,” all serve to reinforce the boundaries she wishes to police.Sybil’s language bristles with imperatives and rhetorical questions—“What business is it of yours?” or “Surely, Inspector, you don’t mean—?”—conveying a sense of entitlement to control the narrative. Yet, when faced with the Inspector’s calm moral certainty, her tactics fall apart; he neither flatters nor fears her. This confrontation exposes the emptiness of her power: status may afford her external respect, but it crumbles in the face of unwavering ethical inquiry. Priestley thus strips away the legitimacy of social privilege as a shield against moral evaluation.
Family Dynamics: Matriarch of Complacency and Denial
Within the Birling household, Sybil’s relationships reveal as much about her limitations as her social attitudes do. With her husband, she is outwardly deferential but inwardly secure, reminding him when his language or behaviour strays from what is “proper”. Theirs is a partnership forged in mutual reinforcement of conservative values, their pride in their social ascent blinding them to the responsibilities it entails.When it comes to Sheila, Sybil’s approach is brisk and patronising, addressing her daughter as an immature child—“you seem to have made quite an impression on this child, Inspector”—and dismissing her moral awakenings as naivety. This chasm between the generations becomes especially clear as Sheila protests her mother’s lack of humanity, and Sybil responds not with self-reflection but with condemnation of perceived insubordination. A similar denial occurs with Eric. Even when presented with obvious signs of her son’s involvement, Sybil refuses to see them, insisting, “I’m absolutely ashamed of you” after his confession, but with a focus on family disgrace rather than personal responsibility.
Priestley uses these fraught interactions to demonstrate how the older generation clings to outdated prejudices, refusing to learn even from the pain of those closest to them. Sybil’s family role is thus a vehicle for his warning about the transmission of blinkered values.
Dramatic Purpose: Audience as Judge and Witness
Sybil Birling’s dramatic significance lies not only in her individual actions, but in her function as a device to challenge the audience. In her exchanges with the Inspector, particularly in Act Two, she serves as a figure for Priestley’s scorn—her predictable reactions and evasions inviting the viewer not sympathy but critical distance. The Inspector’s pointed questions, combined with Sybil’s unbending replies—“I consider I did my duty”—are structured to expose the gap between social position and genuine morality.This use of dramatic irony—where the audience knows more, or else sees more deeply, than Sybil herself—was especially pointed for Priestley’s post-war audiences. Many in 1946 Britain, shaped by austerity and the welfare state’s promise, would have viewed her as a throwback to social attitudes that must be overcome. The structure of revelation in the play, with Sybil’s obstinacy persisting up to and beyond the Inspector’s exit, leaves her isolated and unsympathetic, thus maximising Priestley’s didactic impact.
Refusal to Change: Unmoved by Confrontation
Whereas characters such as Sheila and Eric undergo some degree of transformation, Sybil Birling is marked by her absolute lack of development. After the Inspector leaves and the initial shock passes, she is quick to seize upon the possibility that it was “all a hoax” as an excuse to return to her former complacency. Her final lines, full of relief rather than remorse—“I was the only one of you who didn’t give in to him”—emphasise her pride in being unchanged.This refusal to learn is significant. Priestley could have granted her a moment of self-doubt, yet chooses not to; he wants her as a warning example of those who, because of their privilege, are shielded from reality and thus impervious to appeals for reform. One could argue, as some critics do, that Sybil is to some extent a product of her upbringing and of social pressures to maintain face and order—perhaps she is motivated as much by fear as by malice. Nevertheless, the cost of her choices is clear and damning. Her rigidity, rather than elicit sympathy, firmly supports Priestley’s argument that such entrenched attitudes must be challenged if society is to change.
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