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stand his critical interpretations of it as being direct expressions of his own psychology. The nature of Freud’s relation to religion most emphatically does not suggest that his theories on this subject were cool descriptions of what he just happened to observe in the lives of his patients.
Also extremely common in Freud’s reactions to religion was that most widespread, interesting, and probably most powerful of neurotic defenses (and one of Freud’s great discoveries): repression. Repression can so frequently be seen in Freud with respect to religion (as shown in many of the preceding pages—e.g., in the memory slips) that I hope that the claim that he defended himself by using this psychological mechanism is established beyond doubt. There is, however, one particular example of a common consequence of repression not previously discussed—namely, displacement—that will help us to bring this retrospective view of Freud into a final focus. Displacement involves the shift of energy from an original desired object to another object often similar or related to the original. The shift is required because of the anxiety associated with the original goal, an anxiety having its roots in a repressed experience. In spite of the shift, the true source and aim of the first desire remain the same; only what it is directed at has been changed. Another way of describing this is to remind ourselves that Freud was one of the greatest theorists of metonymy—of the motivations behind and psychological processes involved in shifts in meanings of words and actions. But what was Freud’s whole attitude toward Rome if not revelatory of a metonymic process of great importance to his life? To “go to Rome” means to become a Catholic, or to fulfill one’s life as a Catholic by going to visit the Seat of St. Peter. But Freud couldn’t stand consciously to think about wanting to become a Christian, for the very idea was unacceptable, most especially after his self-analysis and subsequent success. This desire was thus transformed (displaced) into another desire that was possible to realize: to go to the city of Rome, to visit Rome. Yet the remnants of the original, repressed desire were made evident in many details; his desire to go to Rome was repetitive. He wanted to go to Rome on Easter—not at any old time, but at the quintessentially Christian season. He referred to his visits as making him into a pilgrim. While in Rome, he spent much of his time in Christian edifices admiring Christian art. He spoke of Rome with great fondness (indeed, as this “divine town”); he said he never felt himself to be a stranger in Rome; he told of its constant capacity to renew his zest for life. Even when not in Rome, Freud found himself drawn to churches. He was always “going to church”: to the wonderful cathedral and chapel-like museum in Dresden; to Notre Dame de Paris, which he haunted; to the peninsula of St. Bartholomae, with its old church; to the shrine of the Virgin on the way to the mushroom hunt; to all the churches and chapels of his lovely Italy. |