Silence

3.5

Silence hits hard for anyone that can put themselves in Father Rodrigues's headspace (especially a person that has genuinely participated in a religion). In Silence, the suffering that comes with real missionary work steadily wears away his initial idealism and excitement. Rodrigues watches Japanese die for their faith, which forces him to come to terms with his own pride, selfishness, and self-righteousness. Not to mention the issues this brings up for Christianity itself, especially in Japan.

Though the book was somewhat repetitive–there were several spots that were almost exactly as they had happened before–this is small compared to the real strong point of Silence. The mentality of Rodrigues was striking in its realism, and I loved the way that Endo framed the narration around Rodrigues's thoughts and emotions. Rodrigues constantly picks up the sounds of the natural world while the most important figure in his life remains both silent and faceless. His anguish as he pines for God is almost palpable. Endo pits the non-presence of God and ever present nature against each other, while the indifference of God and nature come together. An interesting part of the book is the exploration of the priest's despair in the face of this indifference and the absurdity that these concepts lead to. Rodrigues puts himself in Christ's shoes during his trials just as Endo brings the reader into the grit of what the priest has to go through in hiding, and eventually as a prisoner.

The characters were a little on the “look what I represent!” side, I suppose, though I think they were still interesting and meaningful. Garrpe, I think, was a “good Christian.” He remains strong where Rodrigues does not, even before they're captured. Kichijurō was a kind of Judas for Rodrigues, but at the same time I caught myself wondering if he was supposed to be a figuring of God. He brings about all kinds of suffering for Rodrigues, betrays him–Rodrigues literally follows him on a path, eats fish, and drinks water from him (my point being that these are very “Christian” sorts of things). Kichijurō is also strangely, perhaps almost impossibly omnipresent as Rodrigues is taken from island to city to prison again and again. Still, Rodrigues repeatedly says he can't hate him for some reason. Kichijurō really tests Rodrigues's limits as a priest. On the other hand he could be a reflection/representation of Rodrigues's own “weakness” as a priest/Christian/human.

Overall a really good book, but I think a lot of that goodness can depend on what the reader's own life experience has been. I think people very familiar with Christianity will get the most out of it. Bonus if you can read Latin. Deus Vult!

What a remarkable piece of religious fiction. There are no easy answers, no tricks. Just raw honesty about faith, doubt, suffering, and trial. It shows what a substantive faith looks like in the face of life's brutality, and how one's faith can be fragile even while it's object is unwavering, solid, strong, and silent. A book I'll return to in the future, for sure.

If you know of Martin Scorcese's film, but haven't seen it yet, let me encourage you to read this before seeing the film. I saw the film first, and I feel some of this story's most poignant, powerful, and moving moments lost some of their punch because I saw them coming. Also, the movie flattened and changed the dynamic between two of the main characters in a way that made the book's more complicated, nuanced depiction distracting. I think it's probably easier to mentally move from nuanced portrayal to flattened than the other way around.

Regardless, this book is soul-shaking in moments and gives voice to some of the deepest questions and whispers of our hearts, which we often can't articulate or feel shame in doing so. And yet, bringing them to light is the only way to assess them and offer them to the God who listens and moves, even when he does not speak.

Very engaging novel. Depressing–about the torture, apostacy, and death of missionaries to Japan. Raises many interesting issues about missions around the world. Profoundly affecting.

You don't read Silence and decide what you think about the book; you read Silence and decide what you think about life.

What are my deepest convictions?
What would it take for me to publicly denounce them? If you say “nothing” could make me denounce them, have you realllllly thought that through?
What do I think about suffering, and about how God acts in the world, and about the purpose of Jesus coming to the world?

Along with Dostoevsky's “Brothers Karamazov” and Russell's “The Sparrow,” and of course the Biblical book of Job, Endo's “Silence” stands as an all-time great meditation on suffering.

The film by Scorsese is also excellent but, just like the novel, it's a lot to take in.

Perhaps because I do not share this faith, it was impossible for me to access the emotions caused by the core conflict in this book. Indeed, the only effect it had on me was pity for the characters and their pointless prayers, and a strengthening of my view of catholicism as a particularly perverse strain of religion.

My Amazon review -

http://www.amazon.com/review/R2UON8NKJ7AG5M/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm

Except for Barabbas, this is the only theologico-historical novel I read. And it's from another side of the globe from Barabbas.

While this novel has been labelled as a novel about the atrocious persecution of Christians in Japan, to my understanding that is a backdrop, a fundamental backdrop, but backdrop still, it's also very complex. Official view about Christianity and elaborate tortures, the metamorphosis of the faith in the Japanese soil, the people, places, and nature… It's not a black-and-white story of oppression.

This is predominantly a novel about Christian sympathy. A person's journey through suffering to understand what it meant to Christ, and what sort of shepherd he was. The central character (a priest) has gone through what we can say 'a dark night of the soul'. The crisis was acute. Suffering raised questions that at other times can be considered blasphemous. This crisis is the origin of the name of this book. The unbearable silence of God in the face of the unbearable agony of layman Christians was a recurring theme. A particularly beautiful example of this crisis is:

What do I want to say? I myself do not quite understand. Only that today, when for the glory of God Mokichi and Ichizo moaned, suffered and died, I cannot bear the monotonous sound of the dark sea gnawing at the shore. Behind the depressing silence of this sea, the silence of God. … the feeling that while men raise their voices in anguish God remains with folded arms, silent.

It, in time, led the priest into doubt if God exists at all. Of course, his training in the seminary won.

What I liked about this book is how the priest was officially apostatized. He hasn't been broken down in extreme situations. Neither torture nor persuasion could convince him to apostatize. What convinced him is a deeper, more beautiful interpretation of the Christian faith. He found that even Christ himself would've been apostatized if it saved some souls from suffering.

‘Don’t deceive yourself! ’ said Ferreira. ‘Don’t disguise your own weakness with those beautiful words. ’

‘My weakness? ’ The priest shook his head; yet he had no self-confidence. ‘What do you mean? It’s because I believe in the salvation of these people … ’

‘You make yourself more important than them. You are preoccupied with your own salvation. If you say that you will apostatize, those people will be taken out of the pit. They will be saved from suffering. And you refuse to do so. It’s because you dread to betray the Church. You dread to be the dregs of the Church, like me.’ Until now Ferreira’s words had burst out as a single breath of anger, but now his voice gradually weakened as he said: ‘Yet I was the same as you. On that cold, black night I, too, was as you are now. And yet is your way of acting love? A priest ought to live in imitation of Christ. If Christ were here … ’ For a moment Ferreira remained silent; then he suddenly broke out in a strong voice: ‘Certainly Christ would have apostatized for them. ’

This was the end of his dark night of the soul. The new dawn was not a dawn devoid of faith. Quite the contrary. It was a dawn bringing a faith deeper than anything he had ever learned.

Since I have not read it in Japanese, I can't talk about Endō's writing quality with much confidence. However, I think readers will agree with me on his ability to create symbolic archetypal characters whose importance lies in their manifestation of one quality, or vice, or a crisis. Over and over again throughout the book, they play the same role of a coward, kind, or heroic person. The book contains some such very powerful archetypes.

His intellectual honesty is particularly praiseworthy. He understood the problem of a foreign religion such as Christianity must face in a culture that is in many cases diametrically opposite to its European counterpart. Japanese empire was as oppressive as any of that time. Buddhism in their hand is just another justification to oppress and no solace to the poot. On the other hand, European seafarers are not very bright example of Christianity. However, the love of Christ have some appeal to the unloved ones. Brutality and suppression are just side effects. The problem is deeper, and Endō faced it with much sincerity.