the martyr’s crown

I read everything, or very nearly so, that my friend Adam Roberts publishes, online or in print, so when I read this post by Adam I immediately checked to see if indeed I did respond — and in most cases I did. One of Adam’s essays in particular, this post from 2017, now strikes me as particularly important, and my response to it somewhat trivial. (It’s possible that I also responded in an email, but if so I can’t find it.) Now that I read the post again, something leaps out at me that I regret not having acknowledged at the time. TYhe context here is Shusaku Endo’s novel Silence.

Adam writes,

If you were tortured for your beliefs, it would of course take strength to hold out. But if others are tortured for your beliefs, and you still refuse to yield, do we still call that strength? Doesn’t it look more like a kind of pitilessness? Or even disingenuousness, like a person donating to charity with somebody else’s money and taking all the credit? […]

What would Christ have done if the the Sanhedrin, or Pilate, had not tortured and crucified him, but had instead made him watch as they tortured and crucified his disciples, or his mother, or random citizens? He was strong enough to accept his own suffering, but would he have been strong enough to endure that? And if he was, if he gladly accepted the suffering of others whilst he himself remained unharmed, would we even call that strength?

This is a powerful point. But to the question “He was strong enough to accept his own suffering, but would he have been strong enough to endure that?” we have an answer: Yes. Indeed, Jesus promised that we his followers would suffer on account of him and that he would not intervene to prevent that suffering:

“Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves, so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of men, for they will deliver you over to courts and flog you in their synagogues, and you will be dragged before governors and kings for my sake, to bear witness before them and the Gentiles. When they deliver you over, do not be anxious how you are to speak or what you are to say, for what you are to say will be given to you in that hour. For it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you. Brother will deliver brother over to death, and the father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death, and you will be hated by all for my name’s sake. But the one who endures to the end will be saved. […]

“So have no fear of them, for nothing is covered that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known. What I tell you in the dark, say in the light, and what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops. And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered.”

And on those who do suffer in this cause he pronounces a great blessing: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” This idea, that we should rejoice in our sufferings, is strongly reinforced by Paul and Peter.

So, if we look with a cold and remorseless eye at these passage, then we will say that when Rodrigues apostatizes to end the suffering of his fellow Christians, he is depriving them of a great blessing, he is denying them what Christians have historically called “the martyr’s crown.” And he knows this:

But I know what you will say: ‘Their death was not meaningless. It was a stone which in time will be the foundation of the Church; and the Lord never gives us a trial which we cannot overcome… Like the numerous Japanese martyrs who have gone before, they now enjoy everlasting happiness.’ I also, of course, am convinced of all this.

But then, having made that acknowledgment, he continues: “And yet, why does this feeling of grief remain in my heart?”

That feeling of grief remains because Rodrigues is doing precisely what I would do in the same situation: He is weighing options in the balance. He’s looking for an optimal strategy. He’s thinking:

If Jesus’s promises are true, then their suffering will end soon and their reward will be great: their glory will last forever. As Paul says, “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

If Jesus’s promises are not true, then their suffering now is enormous and pointless, and anything that I can do to end that suffering is what I should do.

And even if Jesus’s promises are true, and my intervention would deprive my friends of the martyr’s crown, they still belong to Him and will be among the blessed in Heaven.

Therefore apostatizing makes sense, because it eliminates a potential great evil without exacting a terrible cost.

So Rodrigues and I reason. And the reasoning is sound! — but it’s not the reasoning of a truly faithful person. The truly faithful person says, “I will follow Jesus, I will trust wholly in Him, I will not hedge my bets or count the cost of obedience.”

I see that, but when I try even to contemplate such faith, I am like Kierkegaard’s Johannes de silentio contemplating Abraham, the sine qua non of faith:

Love, after all, has its priests in the poets, and occasionally one hears a voice that knows how to keep it in shape; but about faith one hears not a word, who speaks in this passion’s praises? Philosophy goes further. Theology sits all painted at the window courting philosophy’s favour, offering philosophy its delights. It is said to be hard to understand Hegel, while understanding Abraham, why, that’s a bagatelle. To go beyond Hegel, that is a miracle, but to go beyond Abraham is the simplest of all. I for my part have devoted considerable time to understanding the Hegelian philosophy, believe also that I have more or less understood it, am rash enough to believe that at those points where, despite the trouble taken, I cannot understand it, the reason is that Hegel himself hasn’t been altogether clear. All this I do easily, naturally, without it causing me any mental strain. But when I have to think about Abraham I am virtually annihilated.

Me too. Faith such as that is beyond my capacity to achieve — indeed, even to imagine.

P.S. Not relevant to the post, but it’s worth noting that a great many American Christians — if you were to judge by social media you’d think all of them, though you shouldn’t judge by social media — ignore this teaching. They complain ceaselessly about how unfairly they are treated (even though they are in no danger of martyrdom) and seek to inflict retribution on everyone they feel has slighted them. Most of them know what Jesus and the apostles say on such matters — they have also heard the phrase “turn the other cheek” — but I don’t think it ever occurs to them for one instant that such teachings might be applicable to them.