DE Weekly: Bergman, The Seventh Seal, & The Dance Macabre
Below is an archived email originally sent on February 2, 2026.
Bergman, The Seventh Seal, & The Dance Macabre
More than anything, Existentialism arose as a profound symptom of its time. In the mid-twentieth century––amid a torrent of war and of tumult and of death unlike anything seen before in history––its philosophers turned their attention to the “Why?” of it all.
In a world ravaged by suffering, what are we to do? Where can we find meaning when God seems silent and the inevitability of death so prescient?
Outside of existentialist literature, there are films which explore the same themes, and do so excellently. One of those films is Swedish director Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal.
I recently watched The Seventh Seal for the first time. It had been on my watchlist for quite a while, and I lament that I put it off for as long as I did.
Bergman, considered one of the most important filmmakers of his era, explores the existential and religious questions outlined above in a way that makes this 1957 film a cornerstone of existential cinema.
The film’s title owes to the “seventh seal” in the Bible’s Book of Revelation, referring to the seal opened by Jesus Christ in heaven, resulting in a half hour of silence signaling the coming of God’s judgment.
This is an apt title for the film: the plot follows medieval Swedish knight Antonius Block and his squire Jöns as they return from a ten-year stint fighting in the Holy Crusades.
When they land back in Sweden, the country is suffering the grips of the Black Death. In the opening scene, Death himself appears to Antonius, telling him his time is up. Eager to continue living, Antonius challenges Death to a game of chess; the stakes are his life.
It becomes clear that this game of chess might not be one that Antonius believes he can actually win to escape death. However, he is determined to draw the game out long enough to complete one redemptive act while he still lives. To this end, he attempts to evade Death just long enough to accomplish that. So, Death allows him to live for as long as the game continues.
We might ask ourselves, what is it that we are always looking for in life? In Antonius’s case, is it simply more time? Not quite: Antonius is searching for answers. After ten years of travel and battle in the Crusades fighting in God’s name, Antonius is at a point where he is searching for meaning.
He describes his life as a “futile life,” one where God Himself has fallen silent on his ears. Throughout the film, he prays for an answer, unable to find one.
In true existentialist fashion, he discovers he will find no meaning through waiting to hear from God, but rather must find meaning through his own actions.
Antonius and Jöns meet a traveling troupe of actors named Jof and Mia, accompanied by their young child Mikael.
After sharing a meal and an afternoon together, Antonius is able to recognize the inherent meaning in the pleasant time he shared in their company.
It is around this time that, returning to his game of chess with Death, Death tells him that he won’t be cheated––if he can’t have Antonius’s life, he’ll take another: the child Mikael’s.
Determined not to let this happen and, almost by human instinct, Antonius knocks the pieces off the chess board and allows his new friends time to escape. This was his meaningful deed, his one redeeming act he was prolonging his life for.
Antonius tells Death he is done playing their game. It’s over. He allowed Jof, Mia, and their son to escape; now he’s ready.
Another question pervades our minds now: did Antonius find meaning? Maybe. Maybe not.
I suppose the existentialist point of view would be that he realized he was never going to find meaning while Death trailed closely behind him, because there was none. There was meaning not in his own life at this point but only in the actions he chose to take.
In the end, it was his actions that gave meaning to his life, and nothing else.
We are reminded of Jean-Paul Sartre’s quote, “Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give life a meaning.”
There is a medieval art genre called the Danse Macabre (Dance of Death) that portrays skeletons and corpses leading a dance procession of people to the grave.
The Seventh Seal represents that “dance macabre” we all play every day of our lives, that is, the dance with death we all partake in. The final scene of the movie literalizes this allegory by showing the recently departed dancing joyously in such a procession.
Death is the one inevitability of life; it comes for us all. Despite this inevitability, we all find meaning somehow. In the present moment, through our actions, through human connection.
This is one thing I like to highlight when it comes to existentialism: simply because it emphasizes death does not mean we must view it as a morbid philosophy.
For it is through our own death that we can learn to love and appreciate life. It is through the certainty of life (for I am certainly alive now) that I can draw certainty on everything else life encompasses.
Certainty of the worth of my life, of my actions, of human connection, of love, of meaning.
“I shall remember this moment: the silence, the twilight, the bowl of strawberries, the bowl of milk. Your faces in the evening light . . . I shall carry this memory carefully in my hands as if it were a bowl brimful of fresh milk. It will be a sign to me, and a great sufficiency.” –– Antonius Block, The Seventh Seal
Thanks for reading.
Sincerely,
Brandon J. Seltenrich
P.S.––
I can’t recommend this film highly enough. I will admit it can feel a little slow and dated, but try and look past that (and get comfy reading the subtitles, unless you speak Swedish). It is well worth it.
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