Silence of God in times of Suffering

Introduction

Reading Shūsaku Endō’s Silence was a deep and unsettling experience for me. Though it is a novel about Christianity in seventeenth-century Japan, it raises questions that go far beyond any one religion. It explores faith under pressure, human courage and fear, cultural identity, and the silence of God in times of suffering.

I approach this book not as a Christian or a theologian, but as a Hindu bhakta of the Lord — a devotee shaped by the Indic worldview of dharma. What follows is not a theological critique, but a reflection born out of lived faith.

Faith and Identity

Early in the book, Endō writes that Catholicism had entered him so deeply in his youth that he could never fully cast it away. It had become part of his very self:

“There were many times when I felt I wanted to get rid of my Catholicism, but I was finally unable to do so. It is not just that I did not throw it off, but that I was unable to throw it off. The reason for this must be that it had become a part of me after all. The fact that it had penetrated me so deeply in my youth was a sign, I thought, that it had, in part at least, become coextensive with me.” (p. xix)

This resonated with me strongly. Faith is not merely a set of beliefs we accept or reject at will. What enters us deeply in our formative years shapes our identity, emotions, and way of seeing life. In the same way, my Hindu identity and devotion to the Lord are not separate from my life — they are woven into it. Faith, whether Hindu or Christian, is not just something we have; it is something we become.

Faith and Culture: The “Swamp” Image

Endō describes Japan as a “swamp” that absorbs foreign ideas and reshapes them according to its own nature. Christianity, he suggests, could not easily take root there without being transformed:

“Japan is a swamp because it sucks up all sorts of ideologies, transforming them into itself and distorting them in the process. It is the spider’s web that destroys the butterfly, leaving only the ugly skeleton.” (pp. xix-xx)

From my Hindu perspective, this image highlights an important truth: no faith enters a culture unchanged. Culture is not an empty vessel. Every civilization has its own worldview, values, and way of understanding life.

Indian civilization, rooted in dharma, has historically absorbed many ideas — religious, philosophical, and cultural — without losing its core nature. But this openness also requires alertness. When faith becomes only external or fashionable, it may lose its inner depth. For a bhakta, the challenge is to remain rooted in devotion while engaging openly with the world.

Suffering, Fear, and Human Weakness

One of the most painful themes in Silence is human weakness under extreme suffering. The priests, the villagers, and especially Kichijiro fail repeatedly. Fear overtakes courage:

“Faith could not turn a man into such a coward.” (p. 39)

This does not surprise me. Bhakti never assumes human perfection. Fear, doubt, and weakness are part of human life. What matters is not flawless heroism, but the struggle to remain aligned with bhakti and dharma. Faith is tested not in comfort, but in suffering. Silence does not give easy answers — and perhaps that is its strength.

Symbols and Community

The secret Christians in the novel desperately long for crucifixes and holy images. These symbols sustained them in isolation:

“One more interesting point. The peasants here…kept pressing me for a small crucifix or medal or holy picture or some such thing. And when I replied that I had left all these things behind, they looked quite crushed…Apparently they had not had such crucifixes for many, many years.” (p. 45)

In Hindu bhakti too, symbols, images, and rituals are important — not as ends in themselves, but as supports for remembrance and devotion. They help ordinary people stay connected to the divine, especially when community and guidance are scarce.

At the same time, Silence reminds us that devotion cannot survive on symbols alone. Faith needs community, shared practice, and inner commitment.

Divine Silence

Perhaps the most disturbing experience in the novel is the silence of God. People suffer, cry out, and yet heaven seems silent. Endō captures the anguish of faithful Christians under persecution:

“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.” (p. 93)

The novel emphasizes prudence and moral discernment in extreme circumstances:

“Its moral was that a priest does not exist in order to become a martyr; he must preserve his life in order that the flame of faith may not utterly die when the church is persecuted.” (p. 112)

Faith does not demand reckless heroism. Courage is exercised in sustaining the continuity of devotion, in protecting life and community to allow dharma and faith to thrive. Similarly, Hindu bhaktas must navigate challenges in daily life — ethical, social, and spiritual — balancing adherence to bhakti, dharma with practical wisdom.

As a Hindu bhakta, I recognize this experience. Silence does not always mean absence. Often, devotion means continuing one’s bhakti and dharma without clear answers, trusting that meaning exists even when it is hidden. Faith matures not when God speaks loudly, but when the devotee learns to stand steady in silence.

Conclusion

Silence is not just a Christian story. It is a mirror held up to every devotee. It reminds us that:

• Faith shapes identity deeply
• Human weakness does not cancel devotion
• Culture and faith always interact
• Symbols support, but do not replace, inner surrender
• Divine silence is part of the spiritual journey

Erode, 16 January 2026