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groups of villagers, mostly illiterate, had continued to practice Christianity in secret. These hidden Christians had passed down their religion to their children for seven generations, without copies of the Bible, priests or sacraments (except baptism). Isolated and imperiled, they clung to their faith. Just as remarkably, even after the toleration of Christianity in 1873, about half of them refused to rejoin the Roman Catholic Church, preferring to carry on the traditions of their parents. When I first heard this story it prompted a host of questions, and my interest was fueled by Shusaku Endo’s compelling novel Silence (1966). What had motivated simple Japanese peasants to risk death and the ruination of loved ones? Why were the authorities so determined to stamp out the religion when there was a long history of pluralism in Japan? Why were the hidden Christians reluctant to rejoin Catholicism? And what makes Japan so resistant to Christianity, even now when membership is only 1 percent of the population? In unpacking the answers to these questions, I sensed I would be picking at the very essence of the cultural differences between the Confucian and Socratic traditions. As I mulled over the encounters of the past, I felt a compulsion to see for myself where the events had taken place. My motivation was secular, for I wanted to understand more fully the country in which I had chosen to make my home. With around only 1,000 aging hidden Christian practitioners left, I knew that I would have to start my journey soon. One fine day in 2010, I set out from my home in Kyoto for a faraway island of which I knew nothing. The East-West encounter had started with a chance happening in Tanegashima (now home to Japan’s largest space development center), south of Kyushu, and it was there that I began to follow the course of history. My journey into the past took me around some of the most attractive parts of Kyushu. Kagoshima, Nagasaki, Unzen, Shimabara, Hirado and the Goto and Amakusa islands were a delight to visit, though the experience was darkened by revelations of crucifixions, torture, massacre and an atomic bomb that exploded above a onetime hidden Christian enclave. The history was as shocking as it was intriguing.
John Dougill
The exploration of the past led eventually to the present. In meeting contemporary practitioners, I realized how much they and their ancestors had absorbed elements of Japanese folk belief. In the process, they had created a syncretic and decidedly Japanese type of religion. It was symptomatic of the way Japan adopts and adapts foreign culture—a trait evident in the country’s ongoing Westernization. Many hidden Christian practices involved curious hybrids. Catholic flagellation whips were used as purification tools. Prayers handed down in Latin had descended into doggerel but were still memorized. Maria Kannon statues looked like the Buddhist deity of compassion but to believers they represented the Madonna. A hidden Christian “holy book,” with its fabulous tales and Japanese elements, was an approximation of the Bible. By the end of the journey I had developed a greater appreciation for the liberties and luxuries we take for granted in modern life. I had also reached some unexpected conclusions about Japanese culture. I believe that the hidden Christians have much to teach us not just about Japan, but about life in general. They may well be passing into history now, but their legacy deserves to be cherished. If director Martin Scorsese fulfills his dream of filming Silence this year, they will surely receive the attention they deserve. o Dougill is a professor at Kyoto’s Ryukoku University.
In Search of Japan’s Hidden Christians: A Story of Suppression, Secrecy and Survival is available at the Library.
Literary gems at the Library 11