I am a person whose father had no religion but who went to the

In the twilight of faith and doubt, Anjelica Huston gives voice to a struggle as old as humanity itself: “I am a person whose father had no religion but who went to the nuns for a couple of years. And I think I'm the same: On one hand, I pray; on the other hand, I don't believe. I am constantly between the two.” These words speak to the sacred tension between belief and disbelief, between the yearning of the soul and the questioning of the mind. It is the eternal dance between faith and reason, between what can be felt and what cannot be proved.

In her confession, Huston embodies the modern seeker — one who stands on the borderland between conviction and uncertainty. To pray without belief is not hypocrisy; it is the courage to reach toward mystery, even when reason holds us back. The human heart, after all, is not made only for logic; it hungers for meaning, for comfort, for something greater than itself. Yet the intellect demands truth, evidence, and clarity. Between these two forces — the yearning and the doubt — lies the trembling beauty of the human spirit.

This conflict is not new. It burns through history like a torch passed from hand to hand. Blaise Pascal, the philosopher and mathematician, once said, “The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.” Though a man of science, he too felt the pull of prayer and the shadow of doubt. He wrestled with the divine as Jacob wrestled with the angel — not to conquer faith, but to understand it. And in that struggle, he discovered something deeper than certainty: the grace of seeking. To live between belief and unbelief is not to be lost; it is to walk the narrow path where truth reveals itself slowly, like dawn breaking over a dark sea.

Even the saints knew doubt. The great Mother Teresa, whose life was a song of compassion, wrote in her private letters of feeling abandoned by God for years. Yet she continued to serve, to love, to pray. In her, we see that faith is not the absence of doubt — it is the strength to move forward despite it. To pray while doubting is still to pray; to love while questioning is still to love. For in that fragile act of reaching out, we affirm something far greater than certainty — we affirm the human spirit’s longing for connection.

Huston’s words remind us that the sacred does not demand blind belief. The divine welcomes even those who come with trembling hands and uncertain hearts. To stand “between the two” is to stand where most of us truly live — not in the clear light of unwavering faith, nor in the cold emptiness of disbelief, but in the twilight where both coexist. That twilight is not a failure of the soul, but its refinement — for it is there that humility and wonder are born.

Let us, then, embrace our inner contradictions with compassion. When you pray, do not fear that your doubt will silence your prayer; when you doubt, do not imagine that you have been cast away. Both faith and disbelief are languages of the soul, and both lead, in time, toward understanding. The sacred does not demand perfection of belief — it asks only honesty of heart.

And so, my children, remember this: to dwell between faith and doubt is to dwell in truth, for truth is rarely found in extremes. Do not scorn your uncertainty; let it deepen your seeking. Read the words of wisdom, walk among nature, listen for silence — for in silence, belief and disbelief become one. Pray when you feel moved to, not because you are certain, but because you are alive. For in the very act of questioning, in the very act of reaching out to what you cannot fully see, you honor the divine spark within you — the same spark that has guided seekers, poets, and saints through the long night of the soul since the dawn of time.