Silence (2016)

Martin Scorsese brings us a film which is, in many ways, compelling, beautiful, and spiritually powerful, but ultimately squanders all that by providing a counterfeit Christ

*spoilers*

Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world.

1 John 4:1

Martin Scorsese’s Silence is a challenging and, in many ways, a compelling film. Thematically, it has many commonalities with The Mission, and having reviewed that on Friday I couldn’t resist comparing it with Silence. Like The Mission, Silence follows Jesuit missionaries as they attempt to bring Christ to a hostile people; seventeenth century Japan, in this case. Like The Mission, these priests face suffering and martyrdom, not just for themselves but also for the people they came to serve. And like The Mission, when their people are suffering and it seems as though Christ and His Church have abandoned them, these priests must face a crisis of faith, one which will test the limits of their endurance and the strength of their fidelity to the love of Christ. Fr. Gabriel is able to pass the test, dying while literally carrying Christ among his suffering people. In Silence, Fr. Rodrigues fails, albeit under heavy physical and psychological torture. Both films are visually stunning, well-told, and emotionally moving, but both claim that Jesus Christ walked with their protagonist in his final decision. Only one, however, truly embodies a Catholic understanding of love and suffering.

Silence follows the mission of Fr. Sebastiao Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield), a Portuguese Jesuit who enters Japan to search for his lost mentor, Fr. Ferreira (Liam Neeson), who is rumored to have apostatized and begun living as a Japanese Buddhist. As soon as he arrives, however, his true mission becomes clear to him: he and his confrere Fr. Garupe (Adam Driver) must minister to the hidden community of Japanese Christians, who have survived without a priest for over a decade in the face of fierce persecution by the Inquisitor Inoue (Issey Ogata). As Fr. Rodrigues watches several members of his flock be executed for their faith in gruesome ways, he must grapple with the apparent silence of Jesus in their suffering. Where is God, when he seems to have abandoned his people to torture and death? Would these people have been better off if missionaries like Fr. Rodrigues never have arrived? How can a loving God allow such terrible things to happen to those who have faith in him?

Silence is at its best when it grapples with the problem of evil. The first two-thirds of this film, indeed, are thoroughly excellent. There are no easy answers to these questions, and Fr. Rodrigues wrestles with them constantly, searching for God’s presence in this land of horrors he has walked into. This first part of the film has some of the most moving depictions of Christian martyrdom I have ever seen put to film. Scorsese contrasts the brutality of the punishment with the strength and fidelity of the martyrs in a truly beautiful way. He also portrays the strength of temptations to give up, the psychological torture the devil can impose on a person to get them to renounce their faith. I heard the words of Satan, sometimes threatening, sometime honey-tongued, in the words of Fr. Rodrigues’ Japanese torturers. “What’s true in Portugal is not true in Japan.” “These people aren’t dying for Christ; they’re dying for you.” “They will be spared if you trample this image of Christ and apostatize.”

All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.

Fr. Rodrigues, although his inner monologue reveals his doubts and weakness, remains strong through all of these tactics, encouraging his fellow prisoners even as he privately struggles through a dark night of the soul. However, when five people are being tortured to death he is brought out and told he can save them by trampling Christ. As he faces down the image, he hears a voice speak to him.

Come ahead, now. It's alright. Step on me. I understand your pain. I was born into this world to share men's pain. I carried this cross for your pain. Your life is with me now. Step.

The film would have us believe this is the voice of Jesus, finally breaking that silence and speaking to Fr. Rodrigues. This is clearly the message that the film wants to leave us with: a little apostasy, a little infidelity, is okay to alleviate human suffering. To put this message in the mouth of Our Lord is blasphemy. This “Christ” offers the easy way out; the true Christ offers nothing but the Cross.

St. Martin of Tours’ biographer Sulpicius Severus relates that Martin once encountered a vision claiming to be Jesus, dressed in magnificent robes and demanding adoration. St. Martin was not fooled, seeing Satan in disguise, and immediately challenged him:

Where are the marks of the nails? Where the piercing of the spear? Where the crown of thorns? When I see the marks of the Passion I shall adore my Lord.

The “Christ” who speaks in Silence is the same counterfeit as the one St. Martin encountered, no matter what his namesake Scorsese puts to film 1600 years later. And he brings Rodrigues no peace; he must continuously renew his apostasy to please his captors, and even help to rat out fellow Christians and destroy their precious sacramentals. Scorsese would have us believe that Rodrigues somehow kept the faith in his heart, even though all of his outward actions were contrary to it. Perhaps this is true; perhaps there is some hope for redemption for him. But Silence portrays this as an acceptable and, indeed, a laudable course of action and this is not authentically Catholic. We are called to show radical love to those around us, to carry Christ to them even to the last, like Fr. Gabriel of The Mission. Silence, even though there is very much here which is praiseworthy, taints the whole thing with a bad ending and in doing so ruins what could have been the most spiritually powerful film of the 21st century.