FREUD’S WRITINGS ON ART AND LITERATURE As with his attempts to annex religion and society as objects upon which psychoanalysis could usefully comment, Freud also found himself drawn towards the psychoanalytic analysis of art and literature. Richard Wollheim points out that Freud’s writings on art usually focus on the psychology of the artists, rather than on analyses of particular paintings or stories (Wollheim 1991:252). Freud’s essays on Leonardo da Vinci and Dostoevsky, ‘Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of his Childhood’ (1910) and ‘Dostoevsky and Parricide’ (1928), are psychoanalytic biographies; they comment on the artist, not the work of art itself. This brings us to a key question: can there be a psychoanalytic analysis without a human being who has memories, a childhood, desires on which to base a reading? What would it mean to have a psychoanalytic reading that was not of a person, but of a text? Psychoanalytically inclined literary critics post-Freud make these questions central to their project. I shall return to them in the next section of this chapter. For Freud himself, and for his early followers, reading an artwork psychoanalytically usually involved delving into the artist’s conscious and unconscious motivations for the work. In his article ‘Creative Writers and Day-dreaming’ (1908) Freud compares the artist’s work to child’s play: ‘Might we not say that every child at play behaves like a creative writer, in that he creates a world of his own, or, rather, rearranges the things of his world in a new way which pleases him?’ (Freud 1908a: 131–2). As we grow up this early period of play turns into the daydreams that we all indulge in during any given day. According to Freud, daydreams, like play, and the dreams of the night are geared primarily towards fulfilling wishes that we cannot fulfilin real life. In these wishes the unconscious roams free, satisfying in fantasy what is more difficult to satisfy in the real world. Fantasising is the adult equivalent of play, the residue of these childhood pleasures which we are loath to leave behind. If a person is talented enough at fantasising and converting those fantasies into artistic form, he or she may become an artist. Freud believed that the source of artistic creativity was the same as the source of all other formations of civilisation: sublimated instincts. (See Chapter 6 for definition of sublimation, p. 103.) As we saw in the last chapter, society as a whole is based on repression; in the course of everyday lives we all learn to repress. Some people do this more easily than others, however. If you remember, the effort of keeping neurotics’ desires and urges under psychic wraps consequently made them ill. By contrast, artists find a more creative outlet for these potentially neurosis-causing desires. According to Freud, great artists take their infantile sexual urges and successfully sublimate them into their work. As Freud was aware, this does not in any sense explain the source of artistic talent or genius – we all daydream, we all play childhood games, but very few of us create the works of Leonardo da Vinci or Dostoevsky. Freud did not pretend to explain the mechanism by which one person’s sublimations were considered beautiful and another’s the ravings of a madman, but these questions hover in the background of Freud’s assumptions about the relationship between art and repression. One drawback of Freud’s explanations is that they seem to lump artistic genius and neurosis together; both indicate an inability to deal with reality, a regression to childhood urges and desires. The artist differs from the neurotic only in so far as he has the talent to make his regressive tendencies pay. This assumption winds up binding talent and neurotic illness together in the figure of the ‘mad genius’. The early part of the twentieth century saw a series of ‘pathographies’ written by psychoanalysts and other psychologists, studies of particular artists that analysed their creations according to their pathological complexes; many early psychoanalytic
writings on art and literature fell into this category (Wright 1984:34). By ignoring the artistic status of a work of art – its form, rhyme scheme, dramatic structure, etc. – pathography leads to limited and unsatisfying psychoanalytic readings. Freud sometimes employs this method for deducing the childhood neuroses of artists, but he was not entirely convinced of it. When Freud does not speculate about the early instinctual motives of the artist – for instance, Leonardo’s homosexuality and attachment to his mother (‘Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of his Childhood’, 1910) – he usually analyses the content of various short stories, myths, novels and plays. He often uses literary sources to provide supporting evidence for his theories, most famously in his citation of Oedipus the King and Hamlet to support his ideas about the Oedipal crisis (see Chapter 3 for Oedipus). Freud the literary critic acts like Freud the analyst (and, for that matter, Freud the detective): he combs the texts carefully to uncover motivations that make the characters in the book behave as they do. He often finds these motivating factors, once again, buried in the characters’ pasts. To take an example from The Interpretation of Dreams: Freud asks why is it that, at a crucial moment in the play, Hamlet is unable to avenge his father’s death by killing his uncle Claudius, even though he is given the perfect opportunity to do so? According to Freud’s Oedipal reading of the play, Hamlet’s hesitation is based on the fact that he too closely identifies with the man he is required to kill. Claudius, who has murdered Hamlet’s father and married his mother, has simply acted out Hamlet’s own Oedipal desires: Hamlet is able to do anything – except take vengeance on the man who did away with his father and took that father’s place with his mother, the man who shows him the repressed wishes of his own childhood realised. Thus the loathing that should drive him on to revenge is replaced in him by self-reproaches, by scruples of conscience, which remind him that he himself is literally no better than the sinner whom he is to punish. (Freud 1900:367) This interpretation relies on certain assumptions that we might want to examine more closely. Here Freud shifts from analysing the character and motivations of the author of a work to analysing the personality and motivations of a character in a book or play. Yet similar objections to his methods still arise. How, we might well ask, can we interpret the motives of a character in a book as related to his or her childhood fantasies and desires when we know in fact that the character is simply an invention of the author and never had a ‘real’ childhood at all? Characters in novels do not have a store of traumatic memories to draw upon; they do not dream unless those dreams are explicitly described in their stories; they do not witness primal scenes of their parents having sex unless that event is included in the book itself. If there is an unconscious at play in the reading of a text, the word must have a meaning very different from the one it carries when applied to an individual human being. This is a problem we will return to in the psychoanalytic literary criticism section of this chapter, but for the moment let us examine closely an example of Freud’s methods when he analyses literary work.