I had the opportunity to see Bergman's unofficial trilogy films, Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light, and The Silence many moons ago. I didn't comprehend their true nature and implications immediately. Realization dawned on me slowly, over the years, and as I was growing more accustomed to Bergman's films, life, and his personal views.

It’s a possibility that you don’t know who Ingmar Bergman is. Or you could be someone who’s heard of him due to his popular title The Seventh Seal, or you could be someone who’s a devout Ingmar Bergman fan and now wearing a smirk on their face seeing my plebeian assessment that someone might not have heard of the great filmmaker—whoever you are, I’d like to take some of your time and talk about why I fervently admire the faith trilogy by Mr. Bergman and why I think these films should be cherished with more enthusiasm even after all these years of their release.

Now, the faith trilogy isn’t really a trilogy per se in the traditional sense. The films do not take place in the same fictional world, location, nor do they follow one another narratively, the actors are different, the stories are quite distinct from each other. The only string that binds all three is a common theme-Faith. Even that is not pronounced all the time. You can literally take each film for itself and form your ideas around them. That's quite alright.

Faith. What exactly is faith?
Is it only your commitment and reliance on a higher power? Is it good wishes that someone else might do the right thing even though they might not gain anything from it? is it the assurance that my partner in life won’t be cheating on me? Is it the expectations an institution puts on its followers that they won’t be violating the set of regulations it imposes upon them? We use the word to describe an array of scenarios.

While Bergman uses social scenarios to imply the theme of faith, for instance, faith to one's moral virtue in The Silence, it is ultimately about faith in God. Berman was the son of a pastor, and his father was a strict practitioner. Through a considerable portion of his life, Bergman battled inwardly with his idea of faith and the nature of God—which he expressed through his art.

In Through a glass darkly (1961), the god appears to the schizophrenic protagonist as a monstrous spider-god, who wants to penetrate her. A god of suffering. Bergman denies the certainty of a just god, yet a question erupts. Existence of love as the proof of God. Love is, therefore God.

And in the second film, Winter Light (1963), a pastor's regular parishioner commits suicide—who was terrified of nuclear war. War is the opposite of love, and way more apparent than love. The concept of love as god is held hostage in the film, while uncertainty creeps in. Being unable to save his parishioner, the pastor questions his conviction.

The Silence (1963), the third film, is God's silence, as Bergman called it. Two characters serve as the opposing forces of human characteristics, as their constant will to battle each other bounces off the wall that is God's silence. One virtuous, one exploiting.

Each of these films deserves in-depth discussions and their own discussion threads. And anyone who has been dazzled with the barrage of introspective questions regarding their own faith might find them fascinating. I was there myself at one point in my life and looking back, they'd surely assist in my tumultuous moments for sure.

All of these three films are made in Sweden and in the Swedish language, hence foreign cinema. However, I've never felt any sort of distance from them. To me, the language barrier doesn't matter much. The frames speak loudly enough even without sound.