Considerations on human anguish

José Fernando

“We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair.”
(Paul, 2 Corinthians 4:8)

Ingmar Bergman (1918–2007), a renowned director of so-called “existentialist” cinema, captivated audiences in the 1960s and 70s with films that performed a real psychological dissection of the most intriguing human emotions. Like a skilled surgeon of the soul, he delved deeply into it with his camera, performing it like an investigative scalpel, exposing the visceral, confused, and tormented feelings of his time.

A Swedish national, Bergman sought to portray a society that was already economically developed and provided its citizens with stability and peace, maintaining a neutrality that no longer exists today. However, this state of social prosperity was shaken by the international political pressures of the time. The world was on edge, anticipating a third great war between the former Soviet Union and the United States, an era which became known as the Cold War. At the same time, Marxist-Leninist China threatened to enter the conflict, claiming to be nearing completion of its atomic bomb project.

Bergman masterfully captured this atmosphere of existential anguish, portraying it with perfection in his acclaimed film Winter Light. A perfectionist director, he starts the film by guiding the cameraman to shoot in a suffocating environment, presenting in black and white the simple nave of an ancient church in a small Swedish town. The cinematographer slowly zooms in until reaches the sacristy, focusing in closing-up on the anguished features of the actor playing a middle-aged man in the midst of a panic attack. The character questions the priest, asking whether God would allow a nuclear catastrophe—an imminent threat constantly reinforced by the press of that time.

The enigmatic filmmaker directs the framing of the characters’ faces, instructing the actors to convey cold and distressing perplexity through their tragic expressions, with wide-eyed, silent dread. The film’s noir-like, foggy atmosphere—marked by scarce outdoor scenes dominated by austere, wintry landscapes, with twisted, leafless trees scattered across the icy white snow—immerses the viewer in this suffocating scenario, intensifying the tension as they anxiously anticipate the unfolding conversation between the protagonist and the priest. The tormented man asks why, even in a grave moment, does God remain silent. The close-up then shifts to the clergyman’s tense and uncertain face, revealing his complete helplessness and fear in the face of such a harsh and transcendental question.

The movie was released in 1962, but how about now, in 2025? Has anything changed?

Humanity now lives under the shadow of another potential nuclear catastrophe. Sixty-three years have passed, yet the same ominous anticipation felt by the character in Bergman’s film returns to the daily lives of the masses. Today, people are once again gripped by anxiety, pressured by the real-time media coverage that exposes the recklessness and absurdity of certain world leaders’ words and actions.

Let us reflect, then, on anguish—that elusive feeling often mistaken for anxiety. In terminology, anguish (from Latin angustia) conveys the idea of narrowness, constraint, scarcity, and lack. It manifests as a vague, dim fear, without a tangible or immediate object. More than a feeling, it is an ontological disposition—an essential part of human existence. We are born with it.

Anxiety, on the other hand, is a pathological state—a condition that turns unhealthy when aggravated. Unlike anguish, anxiety manifests in our daily lives. The anxious individual constantly anticipates fear: they check the door three times to ensure it is locked, fear being followed or attacked, and accumulate a stockpile of precautions that only serve to increase their distress. In other words, while we suffer from the torment of anguish in anticipation of the future, anxiety emerges as its symptom, robbing us of serenity in the present.

But is anguish a modern feeling, unique to our fast-paced times?

Anguish is an innate feeling, it has accompanied humanity since time immemorial. Philosophically, anguish is often described as the feeling of nothingness. It dominates the core themes of modern existentialist philosophy, particularly in the works of authors such as Søren Kierkegaard, Martin Heidegger, Jean-Paul Sartre and Bergman in his film. These contemporary writers and philosophers attribute an exaggerated weight to anguish, mainly in confronting the void that, according to them, awaits us beyond death.

(1) In ancient Greece, Plato, in his allegory The Myth of the Cave, part of the unforgettable book The Republic, foreshadowed the problem of anguish through his distinction between the sensible world (the physical body) and the true world (the realm of ideas—for us, the spiritual plane). The prisoner in the cave could only perceive objects through the shadows cast by the fire burning inside. However, intuitively, he felt anguish for the unknown and unreachable radiant sun, which, for him, could possibly exist outside. For Plato, escaping anguish meant transitioning from the darkness of the cave into the light of day.

(2) In traditional religions, humanity has lived in the darkness of evil since the beginning of everything. According to the biblical account, Adam and Eve, persuaded by the serpent, chose to eat the forbidden fruit, directly defying God’s command. This act symbolizes the rejection of God’s authority and the attempt to determine, on their own, what is good and evil. The consequences of this act extend beyond Adam and Eve’s individual mistake. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that Original Sin is not something committed, but inherited; it is a state, not an act, without a real or current object—matching the lexical definition of anguish.

Meanwhile, Eastern religions classify anguish as one of the consequences of karma, this almost endless cycle of cause and effect generated by each individual’s actions and thoughts.

The Spiritist Doctrine, in turn, presents interesting considerations when it invites us to reflect on the so-called “lost paradise.”

(3) Emmanuel, when discussing the historical trajectory of earthly humanity in his beautiful book On the Way to the Light, mentions the arrival on Earth, in its early days, of spirits originating from the Constellation of Capella. The noble mentor refers to spiritual entities who, due to their tendencies still inclined toward evil, were banished from Capella and incarnated on Earth, which was then a primitive planet. Unfitted to life in Capella, a world already regenerated, these spirits—accustomed to living in a progressive and culturally advanced globe—had their lives radically transformed. In agreement with Emmanuel’s words:

“[…] they would languish in the night of millennia of longing and sorrow; they would reincarnate in the midst of ignorant and primitive races and would remember the paradise they had lost in far-off skies.”

It is interesting to mention that this hypothesis, presented by Emmanuel, was also defended by the Swiss writer Erich Von Däniken in his memorable book Chariots of the Gods?, published in 1968. In his book, Erich believes that enigmatic constructions such as the Incan and Egyptian pyramids, the moai of Easter Island, the perfect lines of Nazca, and other ancient monuments were built by extraterrestrials who were more skilled and culturally advanced than the humans of that distant time.

(4) Another singular reflection was brought to us by the Spirit – François de Genève in The Gospel According to Spiritism, entitled “Melancholy,” when he expressed:

“Do you know why sometimes a vague sadness fills your heart, leading you to consider that life is bitter? This is because your Spirit, aspiring to happiness and liberty, on finding itself tied to the physical body which acts like a prison, becomes exhausted through vain efforts to seek release. On recognizing that these attempts are useless, the soul becomes discouraged, and as the body suffers the influence of the Spirit, it feels itself weary, apathetic, full of despondency, and it is then that you judge yourself to be unhappy.”

This anguishing melancholy often seizes us as we gaze in ecstasy at the fascinating alternating colors during the evening sunset. So, why, at such a grave hour, this “silence of God”? as the protagonist of the film in question asked, and even today, the anguished and hopeless men of little faith sigh. The attitude of the Lutheran priest in Ingmar Bergman’s film is understandable; surprised and stunned, he remained in grave silence, feeling unable to console his distressed parishioner, sticking to the imperative of the fatality of the so-called “mysteries of God.”

(5) Allan Kardec, in his comments in The Spirits’ Book on the origin of the Creator, the Intelligent Principle and the Spirit, in line with traditional religions, also endorses this thesis, stating: “All these are mysteries which it would be useless to try to penetrate and on which nothing more can be done than to construct systems.”

(5) Allan Kardec, in his comments included in The Spirits’ Book , regarding the origin of the Creator, the Intelligent Principle, and the Spirit, in accordance with traditional religions, also endorses this thesis by stating: “This is a mystery that would be useless to search out, and regarding which, as we have said, we can only construct theories.”

Fortunately, our beloved Doctrine, which is profoundly sensible and optimistic, brings us consolation, peace and hope by constantly proving, through the sacred practice of mediumship with Jesus, that death is not the end of everything and that the survival of the Spirit and the possibility of reincarnation in new worlds of this infinite Universe is real, logical and incontestable.

Fortunately, our beloved Doctrine, deeply sensible and optimistic, brings us comfort, peace, and hope by constantly proving, through the sacred practice of mediumship with Jesus, that death is not the end of everything and that the continuation of the Spirit and the possibility of reincarnation in new worlds of this infinite Universe are real, logical, and undeniable.

(6) Kardec concludes:

“Spiritism enables us to see things from such a height that earthly life loses three fourths of its importance and we are no longer disturbed by its tribulations. Hence, we have more courage in our troubles and more moderation in our desires.”

After all, is Jesus not the pure expression of True Love?

(7) And, as a certain poet once said:

“Anguish, defeat, and loss,
All these I have seen through.
Yet no despair I come across
On the path of Christ so true”

(1) Title: The Republic Author: Plato Publisher: Independent Year: 380 B.C. – 1st Edition Number of Pages: 467 License: Public Domain.
(2) Aquino, Prof. Felipe – Book “O Pecado Original – O Que a Igreja Ensina”. 224 pages. Publisher: Canção Nova.
(3) Chico Xavier / Emmanuel – Book “On the Way to the Light” – 21st Edition. FEB – Chapter III – Spirits Exiled on Earth, p. 35.
(4) Kardec, Allan – Book “The Gospel According to Spiritism” – Historical Edition – 131st Ed. FEB – Chapter V – Item 25 – Melancholy.
(5) Kardec, Allan – The Spirits’ Book [translated by Guillon Ribeiro] – 93rd Ed. – 2nd printing (Historical Edition) – Brasília: FEB, 2016 – Part Two – Chapter XI, p. 292.
(6) Kardec, Allan – The Spirits’ Book, same edition – Chapter II – Part Four – Conclusion – Item VII, p. 470.
(7) Xavier, Francisco Cândido – Book Parnaso de Além-Túmulo – FEB, p. 132 – “Quadras”.