Sunday, August 11, 2013

talking pictures

Call it what you will. Is it so hard to conceive of God with one’s senses? Why must he hide in a mist of vague promises and invisible miracles? How are we to believe the believers when we don’t believe ourselves? What will become of us who want to believe, but cannot? And what of those who neither will nor can believe? Why can I not kill God within me? Why does he go on living in a painful, humiliating way? I want to tear him out of my heart. But He remains a mocking reality which I cannot get rid of. I want knowledge. Not belief. Not surmise. But knowledge. I want God to put out his hand, show his face, speak to me. But he is silent. I cry to him in the dark, but there seems to be no one there.
The Seventh Seal (Ingmar Bergman, 1957)