Spiritual crisis in the face of doubt-ridden silence
Spiritual crisis is, I’m afraid to say, inevitable. Whether you’re devout or live a divinity-free life, at some point, at many points, you’ll be faced with unanswerable questions about what lies beyond – a sort of cognitive dissonance kicks, where you’re both so sure about what you believe and must also reckon with the fact that you’ll never truly know. Faith isn’t a given in this life, it’s a battlefield, and artists have navigated that battlefield for centuries now. In particular, three interconnected filmmakers navigated that precarious terrain with absolute mastery, showing how this conversation can span decades and still carry the same weight and fervor as always.
The three films in question were given to us by Carl Theodor Dreyer, Ingmar Bergman, and Paul Schrader. The first two filmmakers were highly active in the 1940s, 50s, and 60s, and their two projects in question for this Film Flight, Ordet and Winter Light, released as each director was at the heights of their respective powers, were adorned as the Scandinavian core of cinematic religious inquiry. Then, decades later, Paul Schader, who has referenced his affinity for both of those legendary filmmakers on several occasions, created First Reformed, a modern film that wears their influence like a hair shirt. Altogether, these three filmmakers openly expose how doubt is absolutely essential to shaping one’s faith – whether doubt strengthens it or distinguishes it, faith lives and dies by our inevitable questioning of it.
The Three Films
- Ordet (1955, dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer)
In a small Danish village, the three sons of a devout farmer – one lost, one fanatical, and one naïvely hopeful – embody three different relationships to faith. When tragedy strikes, a miracle – or, perhaps, a madness – offers an impossible test of belief. - Winter Light (1963, dir. Ingmar Bergman)
A grieving country pastor struggles through an afternoon of services, all while navigating doubts and personal crises as his prayers seem to vanish into an uncaring void. This brutally honest portrait of spiritual exhaustion and isolation stands as a true test of faith. - First Reformed (2017, dir. Paul Schrader)
A lonely minister at a dwindling historic church grapples with despair in the face of ecological doom as he tries to recover from a particularly troubling encounter. With this introspection, Schrader fuses the spiritual agony of Dreyer and Bergman into a raw, modern howl.
How They Use Doubt to Shape Faith
In each of these three films, faith is not shown as pure peace, but instead an overwhelming burden – they ask the question, What happens to belief when confronted with suffering. With despair? With – and this is the true consuming connection between each film – deafening silence? The “voice of God” is absent in all three of these films – silence, as we all must discover, is often the only answer we receive.
In Ordet, Morten represents a hardened, patriarchal past where faith was all you had in the face of poverty and fatigue, in both the physical and existential sense, while his three sons showcase the different directions faith can pull us. The biggest delineation exists between Mikkel, who has no faith in God, and Johannes, who believes himself to be the son of God – these polar extremes leave us in the middle to wonder who is more hopeless – is Mikkel highly logical and clear-headed, or simply lost? Is Johannes a savior, or simply insane? As tragedy grips the family, each character is pushed to even more radical positions, leaving Morden and the youngest brother, Anders, to doubt their faith – this is the space where the movie explores its point – faith can be romantic, but it can also feel alien and uncomfortable – time can feel as though it’s stopped in the moments where we discuss what we believe in, echoing God’s silence as we search for answers – faith can guide us, but rarely offers a definitive solution, complete resolution. There’s a show-stopping scene that ends the film, but the real conversation exists in the trying atmosphere leading up to that moment – the film is not shaped by such a seeming resolution, but by how long someone can persist despite hopelessness.
That sort of hopelessness completely debilitates Tomas, the main character of Winter Light, a man whose very job is to believe but finds himself completely unable to do so. His struggle highlights the fine line between doubt and rejection, and how easily God’s silence can push us over the edge, into a vacant land where there is no God, where there is only ourselves and other men and the tension that hangs over us all as we co-exist. As a priest, Tomas is asked to comfort others in their moments of doubt, as nuclear warfare threatens man’s very existence, but his inability to do so mirrors his own inner emptiness, the soul-crushing silence that radiates throughout the church as he preaches words he may no longer believe – his faith here isn’t tested by a single great tragedy, but chiseled away by spiritual loneliness. Unlike Ordet, which provides direction in the end, Winter Light exists in the precariousness of faith, the unanswerable questions that loom over us as we slowly trot towards the deathbed. Ordet found beauty in its silence, in its embracement of slow cinema, and Winter Light can be seen as its spiritual sister – a masterclass in mise-en-scene, where every lighting choice and set design comments upon such a struggle – a melancholic tour-de-force in depicting the inner turmoil of the doubt that tortures unquestioning faith.
We can think of Reverend Ernst Toller, the doubt-ridden man of faith in First Reformed, as an extension of Johannes and Tomas, as he is visibly shaped by both. It seems clear, especially given Schrader’s open discussions of both Ordet and much of Bergman’s work, that he drew from Dreyer’s slow cinema, introspective aesthetic, as well as the inner torment Bergman brings from himself to his characters – Toller’s isolation, his physical sickness, his existential dread echo both films – his journey entries reflect the slow, meandering conversations that flood Ordet, and his fear of environmental destruction recall the nuclear anxieties of Winter Light – the very structure of First Reformed seems identically modeled after Winter Light, as a limited timespan, quiet rituals, and a spiritual crisis plays out across small conversations, while the very aesthetic of Schader’s film mimics Ordet, with its long takes, minimal camera movement, and stark interiors. Perhaps where we can finally see the message extending beyond the influences of Dreyer and Bergman and into the 21st century is the exhausting presence of isolation, as characters like Tomas have lovers and characters like Mikkel have family – Toller is truly alone in his church, forced to deal with physical ailments that parallel his spiritual decline in silence as he searches for answers about the state of a world in clear decline – the isolation isn’t minimal, like it is for Tomas, but planetary – yet they feel equal in their weight.
Flight Notes: What to Look For
- The use of stillness and silence to communicate spiritual tension.
- How each film boxes in its central character visually, as a metaphor for existential and religious confinement.
- The subtle but powerful ways performances shift when faith cracks but does not yet completely collapse.
Suggested Pairings
If you’re looking for more films about faith in crisis, here are five other great options:
- The Diary of a Country Priest (1951)
- The Seventh Seal (1957)
- Wise Blood (1979)
- The Apostle (1997)
- Calvary (2014)
