““Before now, it has never occurred to me that someone might pray for me. An odd sensation all the odder because I no longer know what a soul is. One would have thought after a lifetime of listening to them, treating them, peering into them, I would understand better. I have said it to student analysts under my supervision, and I have said it to myself: that everything Freud wrote was an attempt to accord the soul a rational form, a credible image. Did he succeed? Did anyone believe him? Did I? I no longer know. Is the soul one of those necessary fictions we cannot, in the end, do without? I have thought God to be such a fiction too, as surely you must have, Father. Sometimes it is impossible to believe what we believe. I should confess that I have been praying, I who believe nothing.””
