Chapter 4

An enquiry that proceeds uninterruptedly, like a monologue, is not altogether without its dangers. One is too easily tempted to push aside thoughts that would interrupt it, and in exchange one is left with a feeling of uncertainty which one will drown in the end by over-decisiveness. I shall therefore imagine an opponent who follows my arguments with mistrust, and I shall let him interject remarks here and there.

An inquiry that continues without interruption, like a monologue, is not entirely without risks. We are too easily tempted to brush aside thoughts that would interrupt the inquiry. In return, we are left feeling uncertain, and eventually we drown that uncertainty by becoming overly decisive. So I shall imagine an opponent who follows my arguments with distrust. I shall let him interrupt with comments here and there.

I hear him saying: ‘You have repeatedly used the expressions “culture creates these religious ideas”, “culture places them at the disposal of its members”, which sounds strange to me somehow. I could not say why myself, but it does not sound so natural as to say that culture has made regulations about distributing the products of labour or about the rights over women and children.’

I hear him saying: ‘You have repeatedly used phrases like “culture creates these religious ideas” and “culture makes them available to its members”. These phrases sound strange to me somehow. I could not say why, but they sound less natural than saying that culture has made rules about distributing the products of labour. Or rules about rights over women and children.’

I think, nevertheless, that one is justified in expressing oneself thus. I have tried to show that religious ideas have sprung from the same need as all the other achievements of culture: from the necessity for defending itself against the crushing supremacy of nature. And there was a second motive: the eager desire to correct the so painfully felt imperfections of culture. Moreover, there is something particularly apposite in saying that culture gives the individual these ideas, for he finds them at hand, they are presented to him ready-made; he would not be in a position to find them by himself. It is the heritage of many generations which he enters into and which he takes over as he does the multiplication table, geometry, etc. There is certainly a distinction in this, but it lies elsewhere, and I cannot examine it at this point. The feeling of strangeness that you mention may be partly accounted for by the fact that this stock of religious ideas is generally offered as a divine revelation. But that is in itself a part of the religious system, and entirely leaves out of account the known historical development of these ideas and their variations in different ages and cultures.

Nevertheless, I think it is reasonable to put it this way. I have tried to show that religious ideas arose from the same need as all other achievements of culture. That need was to defend culture against the crushing power of nature. And there was a second motive: the intense desire to correct the painfully felt shortcomings of culture. Moreover, it is particularly fitting to say that culture gives the individual these ideas. He finds them already available, presented to him ready-made. He would not be able to discover them on his own. He inherits the legacy of many generations, accepting it just as he accepts the multiplication table, geometry, and so on. There is certainly a distinction here, but it lies elsewhere, and I cannot examine it now. The sense of strangeness you mention may partly arise because these religious ideas are generally presented as divine revelation. But that claim is itself part of the religious system. It completely ignores the known historical development of these ideas and their variations across different ages and cultures.

‘Another point which seems to me more important. You would derive the humanization of nature from the desire to put an end to human perplexity and helplessness in the face of nature’s dreaded forces, and from the necessity for establishing relations with, and finally influencing, these forces. But this explanation seems to be superfluous. For primitive man has no choice, he has no other way of thinking. It is natural to him, as if innate, to project his existence outwards into the world, and to regard all events that come under his observation as the manifestations of beings who fundamentally resemble himself. It is his only method of comprehension. And it is by no means self-evident, on the contrary it is a remarkable coincidence, that he should succeed in satisfying one of his great wants by thus indulging his natural disposition.’

‘Another point seems more important to me. You explain the humanization of nature as a response to human confusion and helplessness before nature’s feared forces. You also trace it to the need to establish relations with these forces and eventually influence them. But this explanation seems unnecessary. Primitive man has no choice, because he has no other way of thinking. He naturally projects his own existence onto the world around him, as if this tendency were inborn. He sees all the events he observes as expressions of beings fundamentally like himself. This is his only way of understanding them. And it is by no means obvious that following this natural tendency should satisfy one of his great needs. On the contrary, that is a remarkable coincidence.’

I do not find that so striking. For do you suppose that men’s thought-processes have no practical motives, that they are simply the expression of a disinterested curiosity? That is surely very improbable. I believe, rather, that when he personifies the forces of nature man is once again following an infantile prototype. He has learnt from the persons of his earliest environment that the way to influence them is to establish a relationship with them, and so, later on, with the same end in view, he deals with everything that happens to him as he dealt with those persons. Thus I do not contradict your descriptive observation; it is, in point of fact, natural to man to personify everything that he wishes to comprehend, in order that later he may control it—the psychical subjugation as preparation for the physical—but I provide in addition a motive and genesis for this peculiarity of human thought.

I do not find that so striking. Do you suppose that people’s thinking has no practical motives, and simply expresses curiosity without any personal stake? That is surely very unlikely. I believe, instead, that when people give the forces of nature human qualities, they are again following a childhood model. They learned from the people around them in early childhood that forming relationships was the way to influence those people. So later, with the same aim, they handle everything that happens to them as they once handled those people. Thus I do not disagree with your description. People do naturally give human qualities to everything they wish to understand, so that they can later control it. Mastering something in the mind prepares the way for mastering it physically. But I also explain the motive behind this feature of human thinking and how it began.

‘And now yet a third point. You have dealt with the origin of religion once before, in your book Totem und Tabu. But there it appears in a different light. Everything is the son-father relationship; God is the exalted father, and the longing for the father is the root of the need for religion. Since then, it seems, you have discovered the factor of human weakness and helplessness, to which indeed the chief part in the formation of religion is commonly assigned, and you now transfer to helplessness everything that was formerly father complex. May I ask you to enlighten me on this transformation?’

‘And now a third point. You have discussed the origin of religion before, in your book Totem und Tabu. But in that book, religion appears in a different light. Everything centers on the relationship between son and father. God is the exalted father, and longing for the father is the root of the need for religion. Since then, it seems, you have discovered the role of human weakness and helplessness. Indeed, helplessness is commonly given the main role in the formation of religion. You now attribute to helplessness everything you formerly attributed to the father complex. May I ask you to explain this change?’

With pleasure. I was only waiting for this invitation. But is it really a transformation? In Totem und Tabu it was not my purpose to explain the origin of religions, but only of totemism. Can you from any standpoint known to you explain the fact that the first form in which the protecting deity revealed itself to men was that of an animal, that a prohibition existed against killing or eating this animal, and that yet it was the solemn custom to kill it and eat it communally once a year? It is just this that takes place in totemism. And it is hardly to the purpose to argue whether totemism should be called a religion. It has intimate connections with the later god-religions; the totem animals become the sacred animals of the gods; and the earliest, and the most profound, moral restrictions—the murder prohibition and the incest prohibition—originate in totemism. Whether or not you accept the conclusions of Totem und Tabu, I hope you will admit that in that book a number of very remarkable isolated facts are brought together into a consistent whole.

With pleasure. I was only waiting for this invitation. But is it really a transformation? In Totem und Tabu, my aim was not to explain the origin of religions, but only the origin of totemism. Can any viewpoint you know explain why the protecting deity first appeared to humans as an animal? Why was killing or eating this animal forbidden? And why, despite this ban, was killing and eating it together once a year a solemn custom? These are precisely the practices found in totemism. And arguing over whether totemism should be called a religion is hardly relevant. Totemism is closely connected with later religions centered on gods. The totem animals become the gods’ sacred animals. And the earliest and most profound moral restrictions, the bans on murder and incest, originate in totemism. Whether or not you accept the conclusions of Totem und Tabu, I hope you will acknowledge what the book achieves. It brings together a number of very remarkable, isolated facts into a coherent whole.

Why in the long run the animal god did not suffice and why it was replaced by the human—that was hardly discussed in Totem und Tabu, and other problems of the formation of religion find no mention there at all. But do you regard such a limitation as identical with a denial? My work is a good example of the strict isolation of the share that psycho-analytic observation can contribute to the problem of religion. If I am now trying to add to it the other, less deeply hidden, part, you should not accuse me of inconsistency, just as before I was accused of being one-sided. It is of course my business to point out the connecting links between what I said before and what I now put forward, between the deeper and the manifest motivation, between the father complex and man’s helplessness and need for protection.

Why did the animal god eventually become inadequate, and why was it replaced by a human god? These questions were hardly discussed in Totem und Tabu. Other problems concerning the development of religion were not mentioned there at all. But do you see such a limited scope as the same thing as a denial? My work is a good example of keeping strictly to what psychoanalytic observation can contribute to understanding religion. If I now try to add the other, less deeply hidden part, you should not accuse me of inconsistency. You accused me of being one-sided before. Of course, I must explain the links between what I said before and what I now propose. I must connect the deeper motives with the obvious ones, and the father complex with humanity’s helplessness and need for protection.

These connections are not difficult to find. They consist in the relation of the child’s helplessness to the adult’s continuation of it, so that, as was to be expected, the psycho-analytic motivation of the forming of religion turns out to be the infantile contribution to its manifest motivation. Let us imagine to ourselves the mental life of the small child. You remember the object-choice after the anaclitic type, which psycho-analysis talks about? The libido follows the paths of narcissistic needs, and attaches itself to the objects that ensure their satisfaction. So the mother, who satisfies hunger, becomes the first love-object, and certainly also the first protection against all the undefined and threatening dangers of the outer world; becomes, if we may so express it, the first protection against anxiety.

These connections are not hard to find. They link the child’s helplessness to the helplessness that continues into adulthood. So, as expected, the psychoanalytic explanation for religion’s formation reveals the childhood contribution to its more obvious motives. Let us imagine the mental life of a small child. Do you remember what psychoanalysis calls the anaclitic type of object-choice, in which love follows dependence? The libido follows the paths of narcissistic needs and attaches itself to the objects that satisfy those needs. So the mother, who satisfies hunger, becomes the first object of love. She certainly also becomes the first protection against all the vague, threatening dangers of the outside world. If we may put it this way, she becomes the first protection against anxiety.

In this function the mother is soon replaced by the stronger father, and this situation persists from now on over the whole of childhood. But the relation to the father is affected by a peculiar ambivalence. He was himself a danger, perhaps just because of that earlier relation to the mother; so he is feared no less than he is longed for and admired. The indications of this ambivalence are deeply imprinted in all religions, as is brought out in Totem und Tabu. Now when the child grows up and finds that he is destined to remain a child for ever, and that he can never do without protection against unknown and mighty powers, he invests these with the traits of the father-figure; he creates for himself the gods, of whom he is afraid, whom he seeks to propitiate, and to whom he nevertheless entrusts the task of protecting him. Thus the longing-for-the-father explanation is identical with the other, the need for protection against the consequences of human weakness; the child’s defensive reaction to his helplessness gives the characteristic features to the adult’s reaction to his own sense of helplessness, i.e. the formation of religion. But it is not our intention to pursue further the development of the idea of God; we are concerned here with the matured stock of religious ideas as culture transmits them to the individual.

The stronger father soon replaces the mother in this role, and the arrangement continues throughout childhood. But the child’s relationship with his father involves a peculiar mix of opposing feelings. The father himself was a danger, perhaps precisely because of the child’s earlier relationship with his mother. So the child fears his father no less than he longs for and admires him. Signs of these conflicting feelings are deeply embedded in all religions, as shown in Totem und Tabu. Now the child grows up and discovers that he is destined to remain a child forever. He can never do without protection against unknown and powerful forces. So he gives these forces the traits of a father figure. He creates gods whom he fears and tries to win over, yet also trusts to protect him. Thus, explaining religion through longing for the father is the same as explaining it through the need for protection. Both concern protection against the consequences of human weakness. The child’s defensive response to helplessness shapes the adult’s response to his own sense of helplessness, i.e. the formation of religion. But we do not intend to explore the development of the idea of God any further. Our concern here is the fully developed body of religious ideas that culture passes on to the individual.