Professor Paul C. Vitz

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The title of this paper, "The Psychology of Atheism," may seem strange.
Certainly, my psychological colleagues have found it odd and even, I might
add, a little disturbing. After all, psychology, since its founding roughly
a century ago, has often focused on the opposite topic-namely the
psychology of religious belief. Indeed, in many respects the origins of
modern psychology are intimately bound up with the psychologists who
explicitly proposed interpretations of belief in God.

William James and Sigmund Freud, for example, were both personally and
professionally deeply involved in the topic. Recall The Will to Believe by
James, as well as his still famous Varieties of Religious Experience. These
two works are devoted to an attempt at understanding belief as the result
of psychological, that is natural, causes. James might have been
sympathetic to religion, but his own position was one of doubt and
skepticism and his writings were part of psychology's general undermining
of religious faith. As for Sigmund Freud, his critiques of religion, in
particular Christianity, are well known and will be discussed in some
detail later. For now, it is enough to remember how deeply involved Freud
and his thought have been with the question of God and religion.

Given the close involvement between the founding of much of psychology and
a critical interpretation of religion, it should not be surprising that
most psychologists view with some alarm any attempt to propose a psychology
of atheism. At the very least such a project puts many psychologists on the
defensive and gives them some taste of their own medicine. Psychologists
are always observing and interpreting others and it is high time that some
of them learn from their own personal experience what it is like to be put
under the microscope of psychological theory and experiment. Regardless, I
hope to show that the psychological concepts used quite effectively to
interpret religion are two- edged swords that can also be used to interpret
atheism. Sauce for the believer is equally sauce for the unbeliever.

Before beginning, however, I wish to make two points bearing on the
underlying assumption of my remarks. First, I assume that the major
barriers to belief in God are not rational but-in a general sense- can be
called psychological. I do not wish to offend the many distinguished
philosophers-both believers and nonbelievers-in this audience, but I am
quite convinced that for every person strongly swayed by rational argument
there are many, many more affected by nonrational psychological factors.

The human heart-no one can truly fathom it or know all its deceits, but at
least it is the proper task of the psychologist to try. Thus, to begin, I
propose that neurotic psychological barriers to belief in God are of great
importance. What some of these might be I will mention shortly. For
believers, therefore, it is important to keep in mind that psychological
motives and pressures that one is often unaware of, often lie behind
unbelief.

One of the earliest theorists of the unconscious, St. Paul, wrote, "I can
will what is right, but I cannot do it . . . I see in my members another
law at war with the law of my mind . . ." (Rom. 7:18, 23). Thus, it seems
to me sound theology as well as sound psychology that psychological factors
can be impediments to belief as well as behavior, and that these may often
be unconscious factors as well. Further, as a corollary it is reasonable to
propose that people vary greatly in the extent to which these factors are
present in their lives. Some of us have been blessed with an upbringing, a
temperament, social environment, and other gifts that have made belief in
God a much easier thing than many who have suffered more or have been
raised in a spiritually impoverished environment or had other difficulties
with which to cope. Scripture makes it clear that many children-even into
the third or fourth generation-suffer from the sins of their fathers,
including the sins of fathers who may have been believers. In short, my
first point is that some people have much more serious psychological
barriers to belief than others, a point consistent with the scriptures'
clear statement that we are not to judge others, however much we are called
to correct evil.

My second point as qualification is that in spite of serious difficulties
to belief, all of us still have a free choice to accept God or reject Him.
This qualification is not in contradiction to the first. Perhaps a little
elaboration will make this clearer. One person, as a consequence of his
particular past, present environment, etc., may find it much harder than
most people to believe in God. But presumably, at any moment, certainly at
many times, he can choose to move toward God or to move away. One man may
start with so many barriers that even after years of slowly choosing to
move toward God he may still not be there. Some may die before they reach
belief. We assume they will be judged-like all of us- on how far they
traveled toward God and how well they loved others-on how well they did
with what they had. Likewise, another man without psychological
difficulties at all is still free to reject God, and no doubt many do.
Thus, although the ultimate issue is one of the will and our sinful nature,
it is still possible to investigate those psychological factors that
predispose one to unbelief, that make the road to belief in God especially
long and hard.

The Psychology of Atheism: Social and Personal Motives

There seems to be a widespread assumption throughout much of the Western
intellectual community that belief in God is based on all kinds of
irrational immature needs and wishes, but atheism or skepticism is derived
from a rational, no- nonsense appraisal of the way things really are. To
begin a critique of this assumption, I start with my own case history.

As some of you know, after a rather weak, wishy-washy Christian upbringing,
I became an atheist in college in the 1950s and remained so throughout
graduate school and my first years as a young experimental psychologist on
the faculty at New York University. That is, I am an adult convert or, more
technically, a reconvert to Christianity who came back to the faith, much
to his surprise, in my late thirties in the very secular environment of
academic psychology in New York City.

I am not going into this to bore you with parts of my life story, but to
note that through reflection on my own experience it is now clear to me
that my reasons for becoming and for remaining an atheist-skeptic from
about age 18 to 38 were superficial, irrational, and largely without
intellectual or moral integrity. Furthermore, I am convinced that my
motives were, and still are, commonplace today among intellectuals,
especially social scientists.

The major factors involved in my becoming an atheist-although I wasn't
really aware of them at the time-were as follows.

General socialization. An important influence on me in my youth was a
significant social unease. I was somewhat embarrassed to be from the
Midwest, for it seemed terribly dull, narrow, and provincial. There was
certainly nothing romantic or impressive about being from Cincinnati, Ohio
and from a vague mixed German-English-Swiss background. Terribly middle
class. Further, besides escape from a dull, and according to me unworthy,
socially embarrassing past, I wanted to take part in, in fact to be
comfortable in, the new, exciting, even glamorous, secular world into which
I was moving. I am sure that similar motives have strongly influenced the
lives of countless upwardly mobile young people in the last two centuries.
Consider Voltaire, who moved into the glittery, aristocratic, sophisticated
world of Paris, and who always felt embarrassed about his provincial and
nonaristocratic origin; or the Jewish ghettos that so many assimilating
Jews have fled, or the latest young arrival in New York, embarrassed about
his fundamentalist parents. This kind of socialization pressure has pushed
many away from belief in God and all that this belief is associated with
for them.

I remember a small seminar in graduate school where almost every member
there at some time expressed this kind of embarrassment and response to the
pressures of socialization into "modern life." One student was trying to
escape his Southern Baptist background, another a small town Mormon
environment, a third was trying to get out of a very Jewish Brooklyn
ghetto, and the fourth was me.

Specific socialization. Another major reason for my wanting to become an
atheist was that I desired to be accepted by the powerful and influential
scientists in the field of psychology. In particular, I wanted to be
accepted by my professors in graduate school. As a graduate student I was
thoroughly socialized by the specific "culture" of academic research
psychology. My professors at Stanford, however much they might disagree on
psychological theory, were, as far as I could tell, united in only two
things-their intense personal career ambition and their rejection of
religion. As the psalmist says, ". . . The man greedy for gain curses and
renounces the Lord. In the pride of his countenance the wicked does not
seek him; all his thoughts are, 'There is no God'" (Psalm 10:3-4).

In this environment, just as I had learned how to dress like a college
student by putting on the right clothes, I also learned to "think" like a
proper psychologist by putting on the right-that is, atheistic-ideas and
attitudes.

Personal convenience. Finally, in this list of superficial, but
nevertheless, strong irrational pressures to become an atheist, I must list
simple personal convenience. The fact is that it is quite inconvenient to
be a serious believer in today's powerful secular and neo-pagan world. I
would have had to give up many pleasures and a good deal of time.

Without going into details it is not hard to imagine the sexual pleasures
that would have to be rejected if I became a serious believer. And then I
also knew it would cost me time and some money. There would be church
services, church groups, time for prayer and scripture reading, time spent
helping others. I was already too busy. Obviously, becoming religious would
be a real inconvenience.

Now perhaps you think that such reasons are restricted to especially callow
young men-like me in my twenties. However, such reasoning is not so
restricted. Here I will take up the case of Mortimer Adler, a well known
American philosopher, writer, and intellectual who has spent much of his
life thinking about God and religious topics. One of his most recent books
is titled How to Think About God: A Guide for the 20th Century Pagan
(1980). In this work, Adler presses the argument for the existence of God
very strongly and by the latter chapters he is very close to accepting the
living God. Yet he pulls back and remains among "the vast company of the
religiously uncommitted" (Graddy, 1982). But Adler leaves the impression
that this decision is more one of will than of intellect. As one of his
reviewers notes (Graddy, 1982), Adler confirms this impression in his
autobiography, Philosopher at Large (1976). There, while investigating his
reasons for twice stopping short of a full religious commitment, he writes
that the answer "lies in the state of one's will, not in the state of one's
mind." Adler goes on to comment that to become seriously religious "would
require a radical change in my way of life . . ." and "The simple truth of
the matter is that I did not wish to live up to being a genuinely religious
person" (Graddy, p. 24).

There you have it! A remarkably honest and conscious admission that being
"a genuinely religious person" would be too much trouble, too inconvenient.
I can't but assume that such are the shallow reasons behind many an
unbeliever's position.

In summary, because of my social needs to assimilate, because of my
professional needs to be accepted as part of academic psychology, and
because of my personal needs for a convenient lifestyle-for all these needs
atheism was simply the best policy. Looking back on these motives, I can
honestly say that a return to atheism has all the appeal of a return to
adolescence.[2]

The Psychology of Atheism: Psychoanalytic Motives

As is generally known, the central Freudian criticism of belief in God is
that such a belief is untrustworthy because of its psychological origin.
That is, God is a projection of our own intense, unconscious desires; He is
a wish fulfillment derived from childish needs for protection and security.
Since these wishes are largely unconscious, any denial of such an
interpretation is to be given little credence. It should be noted that in
developing this kind of critique, Freud has raised the ad hominem argument
to one of wide influence. It is in The Future of an Illusion (1927, 1961)
that Freud makes his position clearest:

     [R]eligious ideas have arisen from the same needs as have all the
     other achievements of civilization: from the necessity of
     defending oneself against the crushing superior force of nature.
     (p. 21)

Therefore, religious beliefs are:

     illusions, fulfillments of the oldest, strongest
     and most urgent wishes of mankind . . . As we
     already know, the terrifying impression of
     helplessness in childhood aroused the need for
     protection-for protection through love-which
     was provided by the father . . . Thus the benevolent rule of a
     divine Providence allays our fear of the danger of life. (p. 30)

Let us look at this argument carefully, for in spite of the enthusiastic
acceptance of it by so many uncritical atheists and skeptics, it is really
a very weak position.

In the first paragraph Freud fails to note that his arguments against
religious belief are, in his own words, equally valid against all the
achievements of civilization, including psychoanalysis itself. That is, if
the psychic origin of an intellectual achievement invalidates its truth
value, then physics, biology, much less psychoanalysis itself, are
vulnerable to the same charge.

In the second paragraph Freud makes another strange claim, namely that the
oldest and most urgent wishes of mankind are for the loving protecting
guidance of a powerful loving Father, for divine Providence. However, if
these wishes were as strong and ancient as he claims, one would expect
pre-Christian religion to have strongly emphasized God as a benevolent
father. In general, this was far from the case for the pagan religion of
the Mediterranean world-and, for example, is still not the case for such
popular religions as Buddhism and for much of Hinduism. Indeed, Judaism and
most especially Christianity are in many respects distinctive in the
emphasis on God as a loving Father.

However, let us put these two intellectual gaffes aside and turn to another
understanding of his projection theory. It can be shown that this theory is
not really an integral part of psychoanalysis- and, thus cannot claim
fundamental support from psychoanalytic theory. It is essentially an
autonomous argument. Actually, Freud's critical attitude toward and
rejection of religion is rooted in his personal predilections and is a kind
of meta psychoanalysis-or background framework which is not well connected
to his more specifically clinical concepts. (This separation or autonomy
with respect to most psychoanalytic theory very likely accounts for its
influence outside of psychoanalysis.) There are two pieces of evidence for
this interpretation of the projection theory.

The first is that this theory had been clearly articulated many years
earlier by Ludwig Feuerbach in his book The Essence of Christianity (1841,
1957). Feuerbach's interpretation was well-known in European intellectual
circles, and Freud, as a youth, read Feuerbach avidly (see Gedo & Pollock,
1976, pp. 47, 350). Here are some representative quotes from Feuerbach
which make this clear:

     What man misses- whether this be an articulate and therefore
     conscious, or an unconscious, need-that is his God. (1841, 1957,
     p. 33)

     Man projects his nature into the world outside himself before he
     finds it in himself. (p. 11)

     To live in projected dream-images is the essence of religion.
     Religion sacrifices reality to the projected dream. . . (p. 49)

Many other quotes could be provided in which Feuerbach describes religion
in "Freudian" terms such as wish-fulfillment, etc. What Freud did with this
argument was to revive it in a more eloquent form, and publish it at a
later time when the audience desiring to hear such a theory was much
larger. And, of course, somehow the findings and theory of psychoanalysis
were implied as giving the theory strong support. The Feuerbachian
character of Freud's Illusion position is also demonstrated by such notions
as "the crushing superior force of nature" and the "terrifying impression
of helplessness in childhood," which are not psychoanalytic in terminology
or in meaning.

The other piece of evidence for the nonpsychoanalytic basis of the
projection theory comes directly from Freud, who explicitly says so
himself. In a letter of 1927 to his friend Oskar Pfister (an early
psychoanalyst, and believing Protestant pastor), Freud wrote:

     Let us be quite clear on the point that the views expressed in my
     book (The Future of an Illusion) form no part of analytic theory.
     They are my personal views. (Freud/Pfister, 1963, p. 117).

There is one other somewhat different interpretation of belief in God which
Freud also developed, but although this has a very modest psychoanalytic
character, it is really an adaptation of Feuerbachian projection theory.
This is Freud's relatively neglected interpretation of the ego ideal. The
super-ego, including the ego ideal is the "heir of the Oedipus complex,"
representing a projection of an idealized father-and presumably of God the
Father (see Freud, 1923, 1962, pp. 26-28; p. 38).

The difficulty here is that the ego ideal did not really receive great
attention or development within Freud's writings. Furthermore, it is easily
interpreted as an adoption of Feuerbach's projection theory. Thus, we can
conclude that psychoanalysis does not in actuality provide significant
theoretical concepts for characterizing belief in God as neurotic. Freud
either used Feuerbach's much older projection or illusion theory or
incorporated Feuerbach in his notion of the ego ideal. Presumably, this is
the reason Freud acknowledged to Pfister that his Illusion book was not a
true part of psychoanalysis.

Atheism as Oedipal Wish Fulfillment

Nevertheless, Freud is quite right to worry that a belief can be an
illusion because it derives from powerful wishes- from unconscious,
childish needs. The irony is that he clearly did provide a very powerful,
new way to understand the neurotic basis of atheism. (For a detailed
development of this position see Vitz and Gartner, 1984a, b; Vitz, 1986, in
press.)

The Oedipus Complex

The central concept in Freud's work, aside from the unconscious, is the now
well-known Oedipus Complex. In the case of male personality development,
the essential features of this complex are the following: Roughly in the
age period of three to six the boy develops a strong sexual desire for the
mother. At the same time the boy develops an intense hatred and fear of the
father, and a desire to supplant him, a "craving for power." This hatred is
based on the boy's knowledge that the father, with his greater size and
strength, stands in the way of his desire. The child's fear of the father
may explicitly be a fear of castration by the father, but more typically,
it has a less specific character. The son does not really kill the father,
of course, but patricide is assumed to be a common preoccupation of his
fantasies and dreams. The "resolution" of the complex is supposed to occur
through the boy's recognition that he cannot replace the father, and
through fear of castration, which eventually leads the boy to identify with
the father, to identify with the aggressor, and to repress the original
frightening components of the complex.

It is important to keep in mind that, according to Freud, the Oedipus
complex is never truly resolved, and is capable of activation at later
periods-almost always, for example, at puberty. Thus the powerful
ingredients of murderous hate and of incestuous sexual desire within a
family context are never in fact removed. Instead, they are covered over
and repressed. Freud expresses the neurotic potential of this situation:

     The Oedipus-complex is the actual nucleus of neuroses . . . What
     remains of the complex in the unconscious represents the
     disposition to the later development of neuroses in the adult
     (Freud, 1919, Standard Edition, 17, p. 193; also 1905, S.E. 7, p.
     226ff.; 1909, S.E., 11, p. 47).

In short, all human neuroses derive from this complex. Obviously, in most
cases, this potential is not expressed in any seriously neurotic manner.
Instead it shows up in attitudes toward authority, in dreams, slips of the
tongue, transient irrationalities, etc.

Now, in postulating a universal Oedipus complex as the origin of all our
neuroses, Freud inadvertently developed a straightforward rationale for
understanding the wish-fulfilling origin of rejecting God. After all, the
Oedipus complex is unconscious, it is established in childhood and, above
all, its dominant motive is hatred of the father and the desire for him not
to exist, especially as represented by the desire to overthrow or kill the
father. Freud regularly described God as a psychological equivalent to the
father, and so a natural expression of Oedipal motivation would be
powerful, unconscious desires for the nonexistence of God. Therefore, in
the Freudian framework, atheism is an illusion caused by the Oedipal desire
to kill the father and replace him with oneself. To act as if God does not
exist is an obvious, not so subtle disguise for a wish to kill Him, much
the same way as in a dream, the image of a parent going away or
disappearing can represent such a wish: "God is dead" is simply an
undisguised Oedipal wish-fulfillment.

It is certainly not hard to understand the Oedipal character of so much
contemporary atheism and skepticism. Hugh Heffner, even James Bond, with
their rejection of God plus their countless girls, are so obviously living
out Freud's Oedipal and primal rebellion (e.g., Totem and Taboo). So are
countless other skeptics who live out variations of the same scenario of
exploitative sexual permissiveness combined with narcissistic self-worship.

And, of course, the Oedipal dream is not only to kill the father and
possess the mother or other women in the group but also to displace him.
Modern atheism has attempted to accomplish this. Now man, not God, is the
consciously specified ultimate source of goodness and power in the
universe. Humanistic philosophies glorify him and his "potential" much the
same way religion glorifies the Creator. We have devolved from one God to
many gods to everyone a god. In essence, man-through his narcissism and
Oedipal wishes-has tried to succeed where Satan failed, by seating himself
on the throne of God. Thanks to Freud it is now easier to understand the
deeply neurotic, thoroughly untrustworthy psychology of this unbelief.

One interesting example of the Oedipal motivation proposed here is that of
Voltaire, a leading skeptic about all things religious who denied the
Christian and Jewish notion of a personal God-of God as a Father. Voltaire
was a theist or deist who believed in a cosmic, depersonalized God of
unknown character.

The psychologically important thing about Voltaire is that he strongly
rejected his father-so much that he rejected his father's name and took the
name "Voltaire." It is not exactly certain where the new name came from but
one widely held interpretation is that it was constructed from the letters
of his mother's last name. When Voltaire was in his early twenties (in
1718), he published a play entitled "Oedipus" (Edipe), the first one of his
plays to be publicly performed. The play itself recounts the classic legend
with heavy allusions to religious and political rebellion. Throughout his
life, Voltaire (like Freud) toyed with the idea that he was not his
father's son. He apparently felt the desire to be from a higher, more
aristocratic family than his actual middle-class background. (A major
expression of this concern with having a more worthy father is the play
Candide.) In short, Voltaire's hostility to his own father, his religious
rejection of God the Father, and his political rejection of the king-an
acknowledged father figure-are all reflections of the same basic needs.
Psychologically speaking, Voltaire's rebellion against his father and
against God are easily interpretable as Oedipal wish fulfillment, as
comforting illusions, and therefore, following Freud, as beliefs and
attitudes unworthy of a mature mind.

Diderot, the great Encyclopaedist and an avowed atheist-indeed he is one of
the founding brothers of modern atheism-also had both Oedipal preoccupation
and insight. Freud approvingly quotes Diderot's anticipatory observation:

     If the little savage were left to himself, preserving all his
     foolishness and adding to the small sense of a child in the
     cradle the violent passions of a man of thirty, he would strangle
     his father and lie with his mother (from Le neveau de Rameau;
     quoted by Freud in Lecture XXI of his Introductory Lectures
     (1916- 1917), S.E., 16, pp. 331-338).

The Psychology of Atheism: The Theory of Defective Father

I am well aware of the fact that there is good reason to give only limited
acceptance to Freud's Oedipal theory. In any case, it is my view that
although the Oedipus complex is valid for some, the theory is far from
being a universal representation of unconscious motivation. Since there is
need for deeper understanding of atheism and since I don't know of any
theoretical framework-except the Oedipal one-I am forced to sketch out a
model of my own, or really to develop an undeveloped thesis of Freud. In
his essay on Leonardo da Vinci, Freud made the following remark:

     Psychoanalysis, which has taught us the intimate connection
     between the father complex and belief in God, has shown us that
     the personal God is logically nothing but an exalted father, and
     daily demonstrates to us how youthful persons lose their
     religious belief as soon as the authority of the father breaks
     down (Leonardo da Vinci, 1910, 1947 p. 98).

This statement makes no assumptions about unconscious sexual desires for
the mother, or even about presumed universal competitive hatred focused on
the father. Instead he makes the simple easily understandable claim that
once a child or youth is disappointed in and loses his or her respect for
their earthly father, then belief in their heavenly Father becomes
impossible. There are, of course, many ways that a father can lose his
authority and seriously disappoint a child. Some of these ways-for which
clinical evidence is given below-are:

  1. He can be present but obviously weak, cowardly, and unworthy of
     respect- even if otherwise pleasant or "nice."
  2. He can be present but physically, sexually, or psychologically
     abusive.
  3. He can be absent through death or by abandoning or leaving the family.

Taken all together these proposed determinants of atheism will be called
the "defective father" hypothesis. To support the validity of this
approach, I will conclude by providing case history material from the lives
of prominent atheists, for it was in reading the biographies of atheists
that this hypothesis first struck me.

We begin with Sigmund Freud's relationship to his father. That Freud's
father, Jacob, was a deep disappointment-or worse-is generally agreed to by
his biographers. (For the supporting biographical material on Freud see,
for example, Krull, 1979, and Vitz, 1983, 1986.) Specifically, his father
was a weak man unable to financially provide for his family. Instead money
for support seems to have been provided by his wife's family and others.
Furthermore, Freud's father was passive in response to anti-Semitism. Freud
recounts an episode told to him by his father in which Jacob allowed an
anti-Semite to call him a dirty Jew and to knock his hat off. Young
Sigmund, on hearing the story, was mortified at his father's failure to
respond, at his weakness. Sigmund Freud was a complex and in many respects
ambiguous man, but all agree that he was a courageous fighter and that he
greatly admired courage in others. Sigmund, as a young man, several times
stood up physically against anti-Semitism- and, of course, he was one of
the greatest of intellectual fighters.

Jacob's actions as a defective father, however, probably go still deeper.
Specifically, in two of his letters as an adult, Freud writes that his
father was a sexual pervert and that Jacob's own children suffered from
this. There are also other possible moral disasters that I have not
bothered to note.

The connection of Jacob to God and religion was also present for his son.
Jacob was involved in a kind of reform Judaism when Freud was a child, the
two of them spent hours reading the Bible together, and later Jacob became
increasingly involved in reading the Talmud and in discussing Jewish
scripture. In short, this weak, rather passive "nice guy," this schlemiel,
was clearly connected to Judaism and God, and also to a serious lack of
courage and quite possibly to sexual perversion and other weaknesses very
painful to young Sigmund.

Very briefly, other famous atheists seem to have had a similar relationship
to their fathers. Karl Marx made it clear that he didn't respect his
father. An important part in this was that his father converted to
Christianity-not out of any religious conviction-but out of a desire to
make life easier. He assimilated for convenience. In doing this Marx's
father broke an old family tradition. He was the first in his family who
did not become a rabbi; indeed, Karl Marx came from a long line of rabbis
on both sides of his family.

Ludwig Feuerbach's father did something that very easily could have deeply
hurt his son. When Feuerbach was about 13, his father left his family and
openly took up living with another woman in a different town. This was in
Germany in the early 1800s and such a public rejection would have been a
scandal and deeply rejecting to young Ludwig-and, of course, to his mother
and the other children.

Let us jump 100 years or so and look at the life of one of America's best
known atheists-Madalyn Murray O'Hair. Here I will quote from her son's
recent book on what life was like in his family when he was a child.
(Murray, 1982) The book opens when he is 8-years-old: "We rarely did
anything together as a family. Hatred between my grandfather and mother
barred such wholesome scenes." (p. 7) He writes that he really didn't know
why his mother hated her father so much-but hate him she did, for the
opening chapter records a very ugly fight in which she attempts to kill her
father with a 10-inch butcher knife. Madalyn failed but screamed, "I'll see
you dead. I'll get you yet. I'll walk on your grave!" (p. 8)

Whatever the cause of O'Hair's intense hatred of her father, it is clear
from this book that it was deep and that it went back into her
childhood-and at least psychological (e.g. p. 11) and possibly physical
abuse is a plausible cause.

Besides abuse, rejection, or cowardice, one way in which a father can be
seriously defective is simply by not being there. Many children, of course,
interpret death of their father as a kind of betrayal or an act of
desertion. In this respect it is remarkable that the pattern of a dead
father is so common in the lives of many prominent atheists.

Baron d'Holbach (born Paul Henri Thiry), the French rationalist and
probably the first public atheist, is apparently an orphan by the age of 13
and living with his uncle. (From whom he took the new name Holbach.)
Bertrand Russell's father died when young Bertrand was 4-years-old;
Nietzsche was the same age as Russell when he lost his father; Sartre's
father died before Sartre was born and Camus was a year old when he lost
his father. (The above biographical information was taken from standard
reference sources.) Obviously, much more evidence needs to be obtained on
the "defective father" hypothesis. But the information already available is
substantial; it is unlikely to be an accident.

The psychology of how a dead or nonexistent father could lay an emotional
base for atheism might not seem clear at first glance. But, after all, if
one's own father is absent or so weak as to die, or so untrustworthy as to
desert, then it is not hard to place the same attribute on your heavenly
Father.

Finally, there is also the early personal experience of suffering, of
death, of evil, sometimes combined with anger at God for allowing it to
happen. Any early anger at God for the loss of a father and the subsequent
suffering is still another and different psychology of unbelief, but one
closely related to that of the defective father.

Some of this psychology is captured in Russell Baker's recent
autobiography. (Baker, 1982) Russell Baker is the well-known journalist and
humorous writer for the New York Times. His father was taken to the
hospital and died there suddenly when young Russell was five. Baker wept
and sorrowed and spoke to the family housekeeper, Bessie:

     . . . For the first time I thought seriously about God. Between
     sobs I told Bessie that if God could do things like this to
     people, then God was hateful and I had no more use for Him.

     Bessie told me about the peace of Heaven and the joy of being
     among the angels and the happiness of my father who was already
     there. The argument failed to quiet my rage.

     "God loves us all just like His own children," Bessie said.

     "If God loves me, why did He make my father die?"

     Bessie said that I would understand someday, but she was only
     partly right. That afternoon, though I couldn't have phrased it
     this way then, I decided that God was a lot less interested in
     people than anybody in Morrisonville was willing to admit. That
     day I decided that God was not entirely to be trusted.

     After that I never cried again with any real conviction, nor
     expected much of anyone's God except indifference, nor loved
     deeply without fear that it would cost me dearly in pain. At the
     age of five I had become a skeptic . . . (Growing Up, p. 61).

Let me conclude by noting that however prevalent the superficial motives
for being an atheist, there still remain in many instances the deep and
disturbing psychological sources as well. However easy it may be to state
the hypothesis of the "defective father," we must not forget the
difficulty, the pain, and complexity that lie behind each individual case.
And for those whose atheism has been conditioned by a father who rejected,
who denied, who hated, who manipulated, or who physically or sexually
abused them, there must be understanding and compassion. Certainly for a
child to be forced to hate his own father-or even to despair because of his
father's weaknesses is a great tragedy. After all, the child only wants to
love his father. For any unbeliever whose atheism is grounded in such
experience, the believer, blessed by God's love, should pray most
especially that ultimately they will both meet in heaven. Meet and embrace
and experience great joy. If so, perhaps the former atheist will experience
even more joy than the believer. For, in addition to the happiness of the
believer, the atheist will have that extra increment that comes from his
surprise at finding himself surrounded by joy in, of all places, his
Father's house.

REFERENCES

Adler, M. (1976). Philosopher at large. New York: Macmillan.

Adler, M. (1980). How to think about God: A guide to the twentieth century
pagan. New York: Macmillan.

Baker, R. (1982). Growing up. New York: Congdon & Weed.

Feuerbach, L. (1891/1957). The essence of Christianity. Ed. and abridged by
E. G. Waring & F. W. Strothman. New York: Ungar.

Freud, S. (1910/1947). Leonardo da Vinci, New York: Random.

Freud, S. (1927/1961). The future of an illusion. New York: Norton.

Freud S. (1923/1962). The ego and the id. New York: Norton.

Freud S. & Pfister, 0. (1963). Psychoanalysis and faith: The letters of
Sigmund Freud and Oskar Pfister. New York: Basic.

Gedo, J. E. & Pollock, G. H. (Eds.). (1967). Freud: The fusion of science
and humanism. New York: International University.

Graddy, W.E. (1982, June). The uncrossed bridge. New Oxford Review, 23-24.

Krull, M. (1979). Freud und sein Vater. Munich: Beck. Murray, W.J. (1982).
My life without God. Nashville, TN: Nelson.

Vitz, P.C. (1983). Sigmund Freud's attraction to Christianity: Biographical
evidence. Psychoanalysis and Contemporary Thought, 6, 73-183.

Vitz, P.C. (1986). Sigmund Freud's Christian unconscious. New York:
Guilford, in press.

Vitz, P.C. & Gartner, J. (1984a). Christianity and psychoanalysis, part 1:
Jesus as the anti-Oedipus. Journal of Psychology and Theology, 12, 4-14.

Vitz, P.C., & Gartner, J. (1984b). Christianity and psychoanalysis, part 2:
Jesus the transformer of the super-ego. Journal of Psychology and Theology,
12, 82-89.

FOOTNOTES

  1. Address: New York University, Department of Psychology, 6 Washington
     Place, New York 10003.
  2. I understand there is a sequel to the story of Adler. I've recently
     been told that about 2 years ago Adler became a Christian, and
     Anglican.