The Seventh Seal-The Point of the Game.

As a group of travelers settles down for the night, a man suffering the unimaginable terrors of the black plague appears just beyond their encampment and begs for something to quench his undying thirst. He, in intense agony, expresses his fear of death, a fear so human, we all sympathize with his troubles. But the more harrowing image presented to us in this scene is not this man on the verge of death, but rather the squire Jons as he comments on the futility of helping him. He refuses to give him water claiming, in effect, that the die is already cast. He has contracted the plague and is beyond help. This is a scene from one of the greatest foreign films of all time, The Seventh Seal. The films deals largely in metaphysical questions, the big questions of philosophy, but more importantly, the questions of dying men. Because when it comes down to it, we are all this dying man, we are all, in a manner of speaking, on the verge of death. It is, as they say, simply a matter of time before we check out, which in turn begs the question: Of what use is offering anyone help? We all stand with one foot out the door.

The film begins with a crusader, Antonius Block, and his squire, the aforementioned Jons, as they are on their journey home. The return to Sweden to find their homeland ravaged by the black plague, a constant reminder of the proximity of death. But Block is not reminded of death by the mottled corpses, it is the presence of Death itself. Death, a man in a black cloak without a sense of humor, approaches Block to tell him that his time is up, the die is cast. In a futile attempt to stall Death, to earn a few precious hours on earth, the knight challenges the reaper to a chess match. Block, riddled with doubt doesn't want to die until he can be sure of God's existence. As is the knightly norm, he embarks on a quest.

At first, this quest is a quest for knowledge. But he discovers soon that he will never be sure of God's existence. He will have to take the Kierkegaardian leap of faith. Reason and “knowledge” will just take him to the edge of the cliff. To truly understand he must jump. So he abandons this quest for knowledge and instead searches for some meaning. During one of their chess bouts (Death frequently leaves to go kill some people) Death asks about the knight's new traveling companions, suggesting that because he has brought them along, they too will expire.

To backtrack a little, this group that is traveling with Block is a portion of a troupe of actors. They make their living by going from town to town making people laugh. But when the masks come off, they somehow manage to stay above the grim cloud of despair that permeates everyone else's existence. Jof and his wife, Mia, and their son, Mikhail, brim with radiance at the world. They are joyous, despite every reason not to be. When one of their number leaves the troupe to pursue a woman, they are left alone. The knight stumbles upon their makeshift encampment and Mia offers him wild strawberries and fresh milk.

Jof somehow realizes that Block is playing chess with Death after a fateful glance from the knight, and realizes that if they wish to survive, they must leave at once. Block seizes the moment, knowing that Death will not notice their departure as he has checkmate in two moves. He knocks over the pieces. As Death places them back where they were, Jof and his family escape Death's clutches. Death, in his elitist drawl asks whether the knight gained anything by the delay. And he did. Meaning.

We are all playing chess with Death. We may not realize it, but we know that one day we will die. That is the nature of life. It enriches life, it empowers life. In fact, death is the only thing that makes life worth living. Yet somehow, when faced in the eye with our own mortality, we cower in fear, hoping it will pass. Death doesn't pass. Man never wins the game. Why then do we play? Because playing the game is winning. Playing the game circumvents Death. We live in troubled times: times of war, drought, AIDS, distrust, and an increasing state of alienation. It feels like the end of times, just as it did during the black plague. But to lay down and let Death take your queen is to let Death win. The outcome of the game does not determine the winners in this world or the next. It all comes down to the way you play the game.

Marcus Aurelius once said, “It is not death that a man should fear, he should fear never beginning to live.” He wants us to pick up the pieces and start a game that we will lose, for we are all mortal, just for the sake of the game. He wants us to look at Jof and his family, a group of people that represent a light in this world. To put out that light, or be responsible for its dousing, would be a nearly unforgivable sin. They give hope, they make people laugh, they offer a reprieve from this world of suffering.

Sullivan's Travels, one of my all-time favorite films, is a meditation on the need for comedy. At the end, Sullivan says “There's a lot to be said for making people laugh. Did you know that that's all some people have? It isn't much, but it's better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan.” This is what Jof does: he makes people laugh. He gives them a raison d'être. He understands why you play the game. For him it's family, for others it is friends. But perhaps the link between all of these is the creation of something beautiful. We must proactively let Beauty into this world. If we don't, we have a Pandora's box full of despair without the grain of Hope. In the end, it is the game of life that we are involved in; as long as we pick up the pieces and play with dignity, we can never truly lose.