A Hidden Life: Waiting for Plowshares
“Don’t they know evil when they see it?”
In Tree of Life, Terrence Malick gave us his majestic statement of ontology; in A Hidden Life, we receive his applied theology. Though markedly different in scope and plot, they feel like companion pieces. In his earlier film, Malick attempted to answer such lofty questions as “Who are we? Where did we come from? and Where are we going?” Working from this same foundation, A Hidden Life considers the question of “What, then, must we do in this life?”
A Hidden Life follows Franz and Fani Jägerstätter as they care for their family and community in Austria during World War II. Franz and Fani hold deeply to their biblical faith and treasure the community of St. Radegund in which they live. However, as the war ravages the continent, the unity of the village begins to crack as many succumb to the xenophobic lies of the Nazis. Despite the consequences to their family, Franz and Fani rebuke the hatred and evil which is overtaking their land. Eventually, Franz is called up for service, but is thrown in prison when he refuses to swear loyalty to Hitler. The film then depicts the distinct sufferings of both Franz and Fani as they struggle to hold to their convictions and faith amidst isolation and hostility.
Malick’s visual style is on full display throughout A Hidden Life , and it underscores his intent. At times throughout the film, Franz, Fani, and others wonder whether God sees their suffering, whether he truly cares about their pain. It is Jörg Widmer’s cinematography which answers. Often in movies, the camera is either omniscient and cold, showing events without comment or emotion, or it is humanistic, following characters closely. Widmer’s camera is something unique: vibrantly alive, it weaves amidst villagers, flows through fields, and at times seems to become distracted by the sheer awe of nature. When the family is in a playful mood, the camera responds, becoming quick and buoyant. Later, as Franz is beaten in prison, each blow sends the camera reeling. Malick uses the cinematography to gives us a “God’s eye view,” but it turns out that God’s perspective is far closer than we imagine. His witness to our suffering is not distant and uncaring, but it is present with us. He identifies intimately with us in our suffering. He feels the injustices we feel. He rejoices in beauty and in family at play.
A Hidden Life’s sound design also deserves mention for what it concentrates on. For a film set in World War II, it is surprising that the loudest sounds do not come from guns or even airplanes, but from the liturgies of rural life. The scythe makes a deeper impression than any weapon. The blacksmith’s tools and the saw, the church bell, the mill. Malick presents the brokenness of evil as a juxtaposition of the serene. Even amidst such pain and evil, we are reminded of the beauty of peace and gentleness. The evil we witness makes us long for these all the more.
Malick makes similar decisions with the structure of the film. The threat of violence constantly looms, but the film never revels in brutality. Instead, A Hidden Life trusts the audience to understand the context: the desperate plight of Jewish people, the unrelenting brutality of the Nazi regime, the terror of life in prison. By doing so, Malick chooses to focus on another aspect so rarely depicted in movies. The film opens on a wartime parade, showing masses of Germans swept up in the nationalistic rhetoric of Hitler. We watch as the villagers increasingly adopt these views, swearing that the inclusion of Jews and other immigrants will lead to the downfall of their culture. Malick shows us the rhetorical power the Nazis employed, the fearful sway it held over so many people. It is easy to look back in movies and know that the Nazis were incomparably evil, but we often forget that such evil can also amass innumerable followers. It is a crucial truth: evil will do all that it can to take on convincing form, it will use its rhetoric to twist fears and manipulate desires until many no longer see another way.
One of the tenets of A Hidden Life is the vitality of asking “What must one do?” versus the fatalism of “What can one do?” Franz is plagued by a cacophony of tempting voices. Some are vitriolic and accusatory, others resigned and dejected, but all of them try to convince him to give in. The most frequent argument is that such a feeble act of resistance can bring no lasting good against the power of evil. We watch as civil and religious leaders succumb to this cynical, hopeless perspective, abandoning the truth they claim to honor and accepting the lies of the Nazi regime. When truth is abandoned, fatalistic self-preservation reigns and allows for the vilest of compromises. Franz’s life stands as a beautiful testimony to the power of obedience to God. Despite the pain of his execution, we are nourished by bearing witness and encouraged to hold fast to truth.
It would be wrong to merely view A Hidden Life as a comment on our present culture. The atrocities of World War II were real atrocities, and the suffering of Franz and Fani Jägerstätter was of a true and devastating nature. To only view the film through the lens of our current day would be to diminish the lives and deaths of Franz and so many millions of others. However, it would be equally wrong to ignore such questions entirely. Malick made this movie in 2019, and the questions it probes are asked of an audience surrounded by our current political and social strife. How will we live amidst a government which stokes fears of immigrants, painting them as enemies and portending crime as a result? Will we, like so many in the village of St. Radegund, buy into such rhetoric? Will we be deceived into thinking that our own flourishing must come at the expense of the vulnerable?
The persistence of white nationalism, anti-Semitism, and racially motivated violence has been increasingly brazen throughout the past decade. We cannot deny that such evil exists within our present culture. As we watch Franz live out a Spirit-led resistance, we should also ask how we are called to live. In our current culture, with its various evils and brokenness, how can we glorify God in our lives? How will our actions display biblical truth, even if it means societal rebuke?
The hope of A Hidden Life is the hope of the gospel, the certainty that God will work redemption and make all things new, the faith that the grace and love of Christ is sufficient for us amidst the worst that this world has to offer. The film ends with Fani looking toward the time when swords will become plowshares, when our losses will be finally transformed and reconciled. This Christ-centered hope grounded and guided them through the devastations of war and the atrocities of evil in power. It was enough for them, and it is enough for us in our present day. With the life that we have in Christ and the certainty of hope, what must we do?
