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.