a spider god

a spider god
from Winter Light, an Ingmar Bergman film

I had great dreams once. I was going to make my mark on the world. The sort of ideas you have when you’re young. I knew nothing of evil or cruelty. When I was ordained, I was innocent as a baby. Then everything happened at once.
I was a seaman’s pastor in Lisbon, during the Spanish Civil War. I refused to see what was going on. I refused to accept reality. My God and I resided in an organized world where everything made sense.
You see, I’m no good as a clergyman. I put my faith in an improbable and private image of a father god. One who love mankind, of course, but me most of all. Do you see what a monstrous mistake I made? An ignorant, spoiled and anxious wretch makes a rotten clergyman.
Picture my prayers to an echo-god, who gave benign answers and reassuring blessings. Every time I confronted God with the realities I witnessed, he turned into something ugly and revolting. A spider god, a monster.
So I sought to shield Him from life, clutching my image of Him to myself in the dark. The only person I showed my god to was my wife. She supported me, encouraged me and helped me. . . .
Forgive me for talking in such a confused manner, but all this suddenly hit me.
If there is no God, would it really make a any difference? Life would become understandable. What a relief. And thus death would be suffering out of life. The dissolution of body and soul. Cruelty, loneliness and fear—all these things would be straightforward and transparent. Suffering is incomprehensible, so it needs no explanation. There is no creator. No sustainer of life. No design. . . .
God . . . why have you forsaken me? . . .
Now I’m free. Free at last.
I had this fleeting hope that everything wouldn’t turn out to be illusions, dreams and lies.