Though it came and went from theaters without much (relative) critical fanfare and impressive box-office numbers, the film I was most excited about from late 2016 into 2017 was Martin Scorsese’s Silence, an adaptation of the Japanese author Shusaku Endo’s novel of the same name. Any Scorsese project is going to grab my attention, but Silence was one in which I was particularly interested as it was a long-gestating passion project for the famed American director. In the run-up to the film’s release, I came across a book by the painter Makoto Fujimura entitled Silence and Beauty: Hidden Faith Born of Suffering. I’d heard about Fujimura from a couple different people, both that he wrote this book and he was holding a discussion with Martin Scorsese to discuss the film (you can find a video of that discussion here).
Silence and Beauty is an interesting work to try to talk about because it does not fit neatly into one specific category or genre (making my trying to appraise it a very difficult task, but I digress). It is not solely about Endo’s novel nor Scorsese’s adaptation of the film yet it is constantly returning to that primary text. It is not a work of literary criticism in the traditional sense, yet it reveals and helps one to better understand the novel. It is not a memoir, but Fujimura draws very much from his own life and experience. It is about Endo’s novel but it is also about art, both Fujimura’s own art as well as Japanese art in general. It provides an interesting window into much of the history of Japan yet the history does not dominate and it is not interesting solely as an account of a country’s history. It is all of those things and yet not solely that, it is certainly a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.
The book was described in this way by its publisher:
Endo’s Silence took internationally renowned visual artist Makoto Fujimura on a pilgrimage of grappling with the nature of art, the significance of pain and his own cultural heritage. His artistic faith journey overlaps with Endo’s as he uncovers deep layers of meaning in Japanese history and literature, expressed in art both past and present. He finds connections to how faith is lived in contemporary contexts of trauma and glimpses of how the gospel is conveyed in Christ-hidden cultures. In this world of pain and suffering, God often seems silent. Fujimura’s reflections show that light is yet present in darkness, and that silence speaks with hidden beauty and truth.
I think the word “reflection” is particularly apropos in this instance and does a good job of explaining what exactly this book is. Fujimura uses Endo’s Silence as a beginning point, reflecting on what was said and depicted in the novel and then using it to explore aspects of his life, his art, his faith, and Japanese art, culture, and history. It is not really a thesis-driven work, one trying to make a specific point or argument about the text upon which Fujimura focuses, but rather it uses the text as a window into these different arenas. It displays how one can meditate upon a great work of art (in whatever medium) and use it as a means to consider the most important questions and concerns one can have.
The sections of the book that were particularly interesting to me were the sections that focused on Japanese history and culture. Part of it was because I just did not know all that much about the history of Japan. What Fujimura provides here is a window into what constitutes Japanese culture and why it is that way, particularly as it relates to the themes and topics that emerge from Endo’s novel. The idea of the insider culture versus the outsider, the fumi-e and the specifics surrounding that, Fujimura illuminates those ideas and topics so that a novice such as myself can better understand their importance and relevance to Endo’s novel. However, the history does not overwhelm the reader as Fujimura is sure to focus on the things that are relevant for the “narrative” he is trying to tell in this book. It certainly made certain aspects of Silence much more clear or meaningful to me as a reader while also giving me a better sense of a culture I knew next-to-nothing about and that now I wish to understand even better.
But what I responded to the most in Fujimura’s book was the way in which he engaged religion and religious belief. Fujimura depicts the mind of the believer and provides a window into it as a way of considering one’s thinking. One sentence really stuck with me and stuck me (though that is not to say that there weren’t many more throughout the book that did, but this one was far and away my favorite): “Doubt is not the opposite of faith but only an honest admission of our true condition, wrestling against the fallen world in which God seems to be silent.” It is this idea that Fujimura returns to throughout his book and what he puts forth as perhaps the most central component to understanding Silence. Though the narrative of Silence takes place in what seems like (and in many ways is) a whole other world, Fujimura brings out this point that is still relevant to the world we live in, one that sees doubt and questioning as a rejection of faith and belief and that values certainty to the point of rigid and unchanging ideology. This is where Silence and Beauty becomes more than merely a reflection upon Endo’s novel. Fujimura engages with questions about what does it mean to be a believer, a Christian, and how does this manifest itself in one’s life. What Fujimura does is to bring to the light the deep and rich faith that is hidden in Silence. It is not faith as we might initially conceive of it or that we understand most easily and directly, but it is something that is strong and lasting and powerful. I certainly know that Fujimura’s conception of faith and the way he describes it is very much in line with what I believe and how I see myself, and thus it was something that greatly resonated with me.
Makoto Fujimura’s Silence and Beauty: Hidden Faith Born of Suffering is a fascinating book. It provides helpful context as well as illuminative readings of Shusaku Endo’s novel Silence (as well as Martin Scorsese’s recent film adaptation). Fujimura also addresses art, faith, and Japan in a way that goes beyond a mere discussion of Endo’s work. As an accomplished artist, a Christian, and one of Japanese descent, he is perhaps uniquely qualified to discuss and examine these topics and he does so effectively and thoughtfully. Silence and Beauty provides a focused reflection upon a novel and film adaptation that is still relevant in our world today, and that we all would benefit from considering the lessons of that novel and reflecting on its meaning in our own lives. It is definitely something I would recommend, not just to those who have read Silence or seen Scorsese’s film adaptation (though it certainly helps) but to anyone who is interested in thinking about the larger and important questions as well as man and his place in the cosmos and relative to the divine.