Reading Japan—Kyushu Edition: Silence by Shusaku Endo
My Quick Take: Steeped in the history of Jesuits in Japan, this novel was an effective exploration of the hard reality of conviction.
Visit my home post for my Reading Japan—Kyushu Edition reading project!
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I approached Endō’s award-winning 1966 novel Silence knowing that it is highly regarded by many writers and critics, and has been made into a 2017 film of the same name by Martin Scorsese. The book won Japan’s literary Tanizaki Prize award in 1966. I also read it having finished and loved Endō’s book The Sea and Poison. I had planned to read Silence for my “Reading Japan–Kyushu Edition” project in advance of my trip to Kyushu, but now I’m interested in Endō’s writing generally and want to read more.
Silence is the story of Father Sebastian Rodrigues, a Portuguese Jesuit priest who travels to Japan with another priest in search of his mentor, Father Ferreira. The year is 1640, and the setting is in and around Nagasaki, one of the major ports of entry into Japan when it encountered the West. Christianity had spread originally there, but later the Japanese authorities suppressed the new religion.
The novel is set in the years immediately following the Shimibara Rebellion (1637-38) in the same region, an uprising that originated from the peasants’ anger at excessive taxation and mismanaged government by the local shogunate. It’s thought that Japanese Catholics joined this rebellion after it had already started, as this shogunate also strictly repressed Christianity. In the end, after 120,000 Tokugawa shogunate troops laid siege to the dissidents’ stronghold at Hara Castle, the rebellion was quelled and 37,000 of the rebels were executed.
The Tokugawa shogunate’s Edo Period (1600-1868) was a relatively peaceful and stable era in Japan, but clearly the cultural climate was not friendly at that time to the Christian population in Japan. I haven’t done extensive research on the historical accuracy of Endō’s novel, but it’s not an advisable time for main character Father Rodrigues to be embarking on his search for Father Ferreira. Ferreira is thought to have apostasized, declaring that his religious belief is false and stepping on a picture (called a fumie) of Christ. Rodrigues believes it cannot be true.
I enjoyed this novel, with thought provoking themes and excellent writing (and, likely, a great translation by William Johnson). It is essentially the story of Father Rodrigues’ journey through the Nagasaki area, first hidden away by Christian villagers, and then under guard after he is captured. This is also–perhaps mostly–a spiritual journey for the priest, a quest to feel God, hear him in answer to the abject suffering of Japanese Christians that Rodrigues is forced to witness.
Repeatedly, Rodrigues sees the suffering and the martyrdom of the Christians, and repeatedly he is confronted by the feeling of God’s absence. After two villagers are killed for their faith and Father Rodrigues is made to witness their deaths, he laments:
“What do I want to say? I myself do not quite understand. Only that today, when for the glory of God Mokichi and Kchizo moaned, suffered and died, I cannot bear the monotonous sound of the dark sea gnawing at the shore. Behind the depressing silence of the sea, the silence of God…the feeling that while men raise their voices in anguish God remains with folded arms, silent.”
There is constant tension between the priest’s need to believe and the untenable suspicion that if there is no God, then this is all for nothing: his journey, his suffering, the Japanese converts’ poverty and death. Indeed, the whole Catholic mission would be meaningless and destructive.
“The sound of those waves all night long, as they broke meaninglessly, receded, and then broke again on the shore. This was the sea that relentlessly washed the dead bodies of Mokichi and Ichizo, the sea that swallowed them up, the sea that, after their death, stretched out endlessly with unchanging expressions. And like the sea God was silent. His silence continued.
No, no! I shook my head. If God does not exist, how can man endure the monotony of the sea and its cruel lack of emotion? (But supposing…of course, supposing, I mean.) From the deepest core of my being yet another voice made itself heard in a whisper. Supposing God did not exist…
This was a frightening fancy. If he does not exist, how absurd the whole thing becomes.”
In my reading, Father Rodrigues wanted so badly to have his doubts assuaged by either finding the supposed apostate Father Ferreira and confirming to himself that Ferreira was wrongly accused of such and was still living a faithful life in hardship; or by being put to the test himself and achieving his own suffering and martyrdom in the face of torture and persecution. Rodrigues repeatedly expresses his desire to be like Christ, his hero: to suffer and die for his faith.
As I read through to the ending, I found myself slightly unsatisfied. Father Rodrigues sees others martyred, but does not become a martyr himself. When he finds Father Ferreira, his former mentor, Ferreira has become a sort of puppet of the state, and seems resigned to his fate, but tells Rodrigues that he should apostatize because if he does, then actual Japanese Christians that are pawns in this political game will be spared.
Ferreira says, “‘The reason I apostasized…are you ready? Listen! I was put in here and heard the voices of those people for whom God did nothing. God did not do a single thing. I prayed with all my strength but God did nothing."
The greater thing is to renounce the faith, he implies. When Rodrigues is finally put to the test and commanded to apostasize, he does so, and then, very suddenly, the point of view switches and the lens widens to a historical context in the ensuing years, and Rodrigues too becomes a quiet instrument of the state.
However, as I sat with this ending, I liked it better. That there is no martyrdom, no public heroism, no approval from the Catholic church organisation is a decidedly realistic outcome. It is understated, quiet and mundane. Endō, in my mind, never really answers the question of the existence of God, though I think Father Rodrigues remains a believer, albeit in a wholly transformed personal faith, one of pragmatism and acceptance of his own lesser role.
There is a lot more here, including themes of cultural colonisation and the politics of trade between Japan and the Europeans at that time. There is a comment on Buddhism and Christianity and the differences between the two in a historical Japanese context. I considered the possibility that Endō had made the Japanese leadership of the day the villain here, but I don’t really think so, as I interpret it. Both the Japanese shogunate and the Catholic church were generally morally ambiguous in this complex historical context; both pushing their own agendas. The central story is very much the inner transformation of Father Rodrigues.
Reading Silence has given me more historical context for the history of European trade in the Nagasaki area of Kyushu and the Shimibara rebellion. I’ll be able to visit some of the relevant sights, something I’m excited to do.
***
Notes from Kyushu (October 2026)
I visited Nagasaki and area October 10-14, 2026 and it was one of the most interesting and meaningful parts of my Kyushu trip. The city has such a rich history, in which it has transformed and been transformed. It feels welcoming and laid-back, and also industrial. Both its history as a gateway welcoming the West centuries ago, and its role in allowing extremely limited trade with the Dutch on Dejima Island from the 1600s to the late 1800s show its political importance. During this time the Japanese leadership suppressed Japanese Christians, and this history is visible at many sights and museums. In the late 1800s, Nagasaki opened to the West again and became a major gateway for “modernisation” (their words!), something the city celebrates with several historical sites. And then the atomic bomb of 1945 and the destruction.
I was so fortunate to be able to visit the Endō Shūsaku Literary Museum, located north of Nagasaki on a beautiful coastal road. It’s a peaceful setting overlooking the water. It was a small space, but beautifully curated and though much of the information was in Japanese, I used my phone to translate much of it.
***
I approached Endō’s award-winning 1966 novel Silence knowing that it is highly regarded by many writers and critics, and has been made into a 2017 film of the same name by Martin Scorsese. The book won Japan’s literary Tanizaki Prize award in 1966. I also read it having finished and loved Endō’s book The Sea and Poison. I had planned to read Silence for my “Reading Japan–Kyushu Edition” project in advance of my trip to Kyushu, but now I’m interested in Endō’s writing generally and want to read more.
Silence is the story of Father Sebastian Rodrigues, a Portuguese Jesuit priest who travels to Japan with another priest in search of his mentor, Father Ferreira. The year is 1640, and the setting is in and around Nagasaki, one of the major ports of entry into Japan when it encountered the West. Christianity had spread originally there, but later the Japanese authorities suppressed the new religion.
The novel is set in the years immediately following the Shimibara Rebellion (1637-38) in the same region, an uprising that originated from the peasants’ anger at excessive taxation and mismanaged government by the local shogunate. It’s thought that Japanese Catholics joined this rebellion after it had already started, as this shogunate also strictly repressed Christianity. In the end, after 120,000 Tokugawa shogunate troops laid siege to the dissidents’ stronghold at Hara Castle, the rebellion was quelled and 37,000 of the rebels were executed.
The Tokugawa shogunate’s Edo Period (1600-1868) was a relatively peaceful and stable era in Japan, but clearly the cultural climate was not friendly at that time to the Christian population in Japan. I haven’t done extensive research on the historical accuracy of Endō’s novel, but it’s not an advisable time for main character Father Rodrigues to be embarking on his search for Father Ferreira. Ferreira is thought to have apostasized, declaring that his religious belief is false and stepping on a picture (called a fumie) of Christ. Rodrigues believes it cannot be true.
I enjoyed this novel, with thought provoking themes and excellent writing (and, likely, a great translation by William Johnson). It is essentially the story of Father Rodrigues’ journey through the Nagasaki area, first hidden away by Christian villagers, and then under guard after he is captured. This is also–perhaps mostly–a spiritual journey for the priest, a quest to feel God, hear him in answer to the abject suffering of Japanese Christians that Rodrigues is forced to witness.
Repeatedly, Rodrigues sees the suffering and the martyrdom of the Christians, and repeatedly he is confronted by the feeling of God’s absence. After two villagers are killed for their faith and Father Rodrigues is made to witness their deaths, he laments:
“What do I want to say? I myself do not quite understand. Only that today, when for the glory of God Mokichi and Kchizo moaned, suffered and died, I cannot bear the monotonous sound of the dark sea gnawing at the shore. Behind the depressing silence of the sea, the silence of God…the feeling that while men raise their voices in anguish God remains with folded arms, silent.”
There is constant tension between the priest’s need to believe and the untenable suspicion that if there is no God, then this is all for nothing: his journey, his suffering, the Japanese converts’ poverty and death. Indeed, the whole Catholic mission would be meaningless and destructive.
“The sound of those waves all night long, as they broke meaninglessly, receded, and then broke again on the shore. This was the sea that relentlessly washed the dead bodies of Mokichi and Ichizo, the sea that swallowed them up, the sea that, after their death, stretched out endlessly with unchanging expressions. And like the sea God was silent. His silence continued.
No, no! I shook my head. If God does not exist, how can man endure the monotony of the sea and its cruel lack of emotion? (But supposing…of course, supposing, I mean.) From the deepest core of my being yet another voice made itself heard in a whisper. Supposing God did not exist…
This was a frightening fancy. If he does not exist, how absurd the whole thing becomes.”
In my reading, Father Rodrigues wanted so badly to have his doubts assuaged by either finding the supposed apostate Father Ferreira and confirming to himself that Ferreira was wrongly accused of such and was still living a faithful life in hardship; or by being put to the test himself and achieving his own suffering and martyrdom in the face of torture and persecution. Rodrigues repeatedly expresses his desire to be like Christ, his hero: to suffer and die for his faith.
As I read through to the ending, I found myself slightly unsatisfied. Father Rodrigues sees others martyred, but does not become a martyr himself. When he finds Father Ferreira, his former mentor, Ferreira has become a sort of puppet of the state, and seems resigned to his fate, but tells Rodrigues that he should apostatize because if he does, then actual Japanese Christians that are pawns in this political game will be spared.
Ferreira says, “‘The reason I apostasized…are you ready? Listen! I was put in here and heard the voices of those people for whom God did nothing. God did not do a single thing. I prayed with all my strength but God did nothing."
The greater thing is to renounce the faith, he implies. When Rodrigues is finally put to the test and commanded to apostasize, he does so, and then, very suddenly, the point of view switches and the lens widens to a historical context in the ensuing years, and Rodrigues too becomes a quiet instrument of the state.
However, as I sat with this ending, I liked it better. That there is no martyrdom, no public heroism, no approval from the Catholic church organisation is a decidedly realistic outcome. It is understated, quiet and mundane. Endō, in my mind, never really answers the question of the existence of God, though I think Father Rodrigues remains a believer, albeit in a wholly transformed personal faith, one of pragmatism and acceptance of his own lesser role.
There is a lot more here, including themes of cultural colonisation and the politics of trade between Japan and the Europeans at that time. There is a comment on Buddhism and Christianity and the differences between the two in a historical Japanese context. I considered the possibility that Endō had made the Japanese leadership of the day the villain here, but I don’t really think so, as I interpret it. Both the Japanese shogunate and the Catholic church were generally morally ambiguous in this complex historical context; both pushing their own agendas. The central story is very much the inner transformation of Father Rodrigues.
Reading Silence has given me more historical context for the history of European trade in the Nagasaki area of Kyushu and the Shimibara rebellion. I’ll be able to visit some of the relevant sights, something I’m excited to do.
***
Notes from Kyushu (October 2026)
I visited Nagasaki and area October 10-14, 2026 and it was one of the most interesting and meaningful parts of my Kyushu trip. The city has such a rich history, in which it has transformed and been transformed. It feels welcoming and laid-back, and also industrial. Both its history as a gateway welcoming the West centuries ago, and its role in allowing extremely limited trade with the Dutch on Dejima Island from the 1600s to the late 1800s show its political importance. During this time the Japanese leadership suppressed Japanese Christians, and this history is visible at many sights and museums. In the late 1800s, Nagasaki opened to the West again and became a major gateway for “modernisation” (their words!), something the city celebrates with several historical sites. And then the atomic bomb of 1945 and the destruction.
I was so fortunate to be able to visit the Endō Shūsaku Literary Museum, located north of Nagasaki on a beautiful coastal road. It’s a peaceful setting overlooking the water. It was a small space, but beautifully curated and though much of the information was in Japanese, I used my phone to translate much of it.
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| The entrance to the Endō Shūsaku Literary Museum |
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| His desk! The sign reads, "Nothing in life is wasted, not even the most unpleasant events or memories." |
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| I found a copy of "The Sea and Poison," in the museum's library. |
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| Before leaving, we checked out the beautiful reading room, complete with copies of Endō's books to read. |
The next day I visited the Nagasaki Museum of History and Culture, and learned more about the persecution of the Christians in that area. This is a picture of a “fumie,” which is an image of Christ or the Virgin that suspected Christians were asked to place their foot on in order to disaffirm their faith, something that comes up frequently in Endō’s novel Silence.
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| Example of a fumie at the Nagasaki Museum of History and Culture |
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Check out the other posts in my Reading Japan—Kyushu Edition:
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