All language subtitles for S01E03 - Freud

In 1886, a young physician

established a small
medical practice in Vienna.

Patients would come to
lie on this very couch.

And as he listened, they'd share
their innermost fears and anxieties.

Their intimate, very personal stories

would nourish a radical and controversial

new way of understanding our pasts,

our desires, what drives our every action.

Ideas that would take the world by storm.

Because this couch belonged
to Dr Sigmund Freud.

The 19th century witnessed
unprecedented change.

Transformed by revolutions in industry,
science and society.

It was an age that questioned
traditional authority

and produced three game-changing thinkers.

Karl Marx attacked the
social and economic order.

Friedrich Nietzsche took
on Christian morality.

And Freud questioned the
very essence of who we are.

Their penetrating,
often contentious ways of seeing the world

still shape how we make
sense of our lives today.

Sigmund Freud's ideas not only
spearheaded a massive leap forward

in how we treat illnesses of the mind,

they also had a pivotal cultural impact.

The freedom we take for
granted today to talk openly

about our deepest feelings,
from sexual difference to inner demons,

the slogans that power our consumer society,

stem in part from his ideas.

From Freud,
we get the notion of the unconscious mind

as a reservoir of irrational,
conflicting impulses.

His ideas have become part of our vocabulary.

Penis envy, the pleasure principle,
wish fulfilments

and, of course, the Freudian slip.

But Freud's always been controversial.

For some, he's not a genius,

but a charlatan obsessed with sex

whose speculative theories
are impossible to prove

and whose methods are positively dangerous.

Freud's ideas still provoke
intense debate today.

But what's not in doubt
is that his innovative

mapping of the human mind
challenged taboos and conventions

in ways that fundamentally
changed our conception of self.

To understand how Freud's ideas
evolved and how they add up,

it seems appropriate to adopt an
approach Freud himself pioneered.

Something that we now take for granted.

To look for the keys for
his motivation and character

by exploring his childhood experiences.

When Sigmund Freud was born here in 1856,

the town was called Freiberg, in Moravia.

Part of the Habsburg empire.

Freud was born with a caul.

That's when part of the foetal membrane
is still attached to the baby's head.

And in those superstitious times,
this was considered a good omen.

Freud's mother certainly interpreted
it as a sign that her newborn son

was destined for happiness and fame.

Freud's Jewish parents could only afford
to rent a single room in this building.

And family life was complex.

His mother was 20 years
younger than his father,

who'd been married before
and had two adult sons.

And so one of Sigmund's half-brothers

was even older than his mum.

Sigmund's closest playmate was,
in fact, his own nephew.

But they were to be wrenched apart.

Because when Sigmund was three,

his father's small business
selling wool collapsed.

Scattering the entire
family in search of work.

Life may have been imperfect,
but where Freud's family ended up

would prove to be a critical factor

in the future success of the young boy.

Vienna in the 1860s,

imperial capital of the Habsburg empire,

was a city at the forefront of social change.

The Europe-wide revolutions
of 1848 had undermined

aristocratic conservative rule here.

Allowing a kind of edgy liberalism
to flourish on the streets.

There were also an unusual
number of immigrants in the city.

So Freud would have grown up
surrounded by a cosmopolitan mix

of voices and cultures.

This is the Jewish district
where Freud's family first lived.

It was poor and overcrowded.

But many capitalised on the
opportunities that the city offered

and quickly rose from the margins.

They became newspaper magnates and bankers,
academics,

doctors and lawyers.

Freud's parents passionately wanted the same

for their clever eldest son.

Of his six siblings, he was the only
one given his own room to work in.

And he topped his class for seven years.

The young Freud's intense
studies seem to have fed into

his self-image as someone
destined for greatness.

He found inspiration in
ancient civilisations.

In the glory that was Greece
and the grandeur that was Rome.

And he came to identify with powerful,
heroic figures

from history and literature, like Moses

and Hannibal and Alexander the Great.

In 1873, at the age of 17,

Sigmund sought his own
glory at Vienna University.

Initially dabbling in philosophy and law,
he was soon drawn to

the university's celebrated
natural scientists,

and their guiding light,
the Englishman Charles Darwin.

Darwin's remarkable,
epoch-defining Theory of Evolution

chimed with Freud's desire
for kudos and celebrity.

But to match up to his hero
meant hours of meticulous,

painstaking,
not obviously-glamorous laboratory work.

Trying to unravel the mysteries
of the nervous system of fish.

Freud himself said that his studies
in anatomy, zoology, chemistry

and botany made him a godless
medical man and an empiricist.

And certainly his time here
nurtured a scientific worldview

that never left him.

If you look at this picture of him
from the time, you can just imagine

the precise, clinical fish-dissector.

A man who seems to be both neat and orderly

in appearance and character.

But aged 25, Freud fell wildly
in love with a young woman -

Martha Bernays.

Their early correspondence reveals

an altogether different side to Freud.

There's probably 1,600 letters in all.

Huh!
They were writing more or less every day.

Sometimes two or even three letters a day.

Bits have been released of his letters alone,

but this is the first time now
that we're seeing her letters.

How brilliant! So we've got Martha's voice,
what is she saying?

What does she write about here?

Well, anything and everything.

I mean, in this case,
she had just sent Freud a lock of her hair

to put in a little brooch, as lovers do.

And Freud had written back,
"I hope you didn't tear it out,

"or did it come out when you were combing?"

So here, in this letter here,

she is taking him to task for his ignorance.

She says, "You're a doctor,
you have no idea of the code of love.

"One does not send one's lover
ripped-out or combed-out hair."

I suppose this is the first time
he's had a full-blown love affair.

It's his first and his only.

And this is one of the
things about these letters,

you get an insight into Freud
you'll get nowhere else.

And he's losing his control sometimes.

He really is almost on the
edge of a nervous breakdown

when he feels they can't go on,

when he feels there's an impossible
disagreement between her.

She is for sweeping it under the carpet.

She says, "Why do you wallow around

"in this stuff that makes us miserable?"

And he says, "You have to face it,
you have to talk through it."

That's fascinating.

So it's almost like we've got Freud,
the proto-psychoanalyst here.

Yes. I mean, the psychoanalytic dictum is,
say everything that's on your mind.

Don't censor, don't repress.
It's there already.

Martha had opened Freud's eyes to
a world of demanding human emotion.

And the financial pressures
of their engagement saw him

casting around for
opportunities beyond the lab.

Eventually, he abandoned his
research career to study medicine.

And one day,
when he was reading a medical journal,

he came across something that he
was convinced would make his name.

In 1884,
he wrote to Martha about a magical drug

little known at the time, cocaine.

In this pretty sober analysis, he says,

"I take very small doses of it regularly

"against depression and against indigestion.

"And with the most brilliant success."

But, then, just listen to this,
when he's also writing to Martha,

where he sounds suspiciously
like he's under the influence.

"Woe to you, my princess, when I come.

"You shall see who is the stronger.

"A gentle little girl
who does not eat enough,

"or a big,
wild man who has cocaine in his body."

At first,
Freud denied that cocaine was harmful.

But his rash endorsement
would damage his reputation.

When he gave it to a friend
suffering from morphine addiction

in the hope that cocaine would cure him,

the consequences were disastrous.

His friend became as addicted to the
new drug as he had been to the old.

Freud did manage to give up cocaine,

but his appetite for experimentation
would not be stilled.

He had a new interest - neurology,
the study of nervous diseases.

And he made a very canny move,

travelling to the centre
of this burgeoning science,

an intellectual hotspot.

This is Salpetriere.

In Freud's day, a kind of medical poorhouse.

A bleak dumping ground for some 5,000 women.

Many of whom were diagnosed as hysterical.

Hysteria, from the Greek word for womb,
was a mysterious condition

that was thought to afflict women
from the ancient world onwards.

Really, it was just a catchall diagnosis

for all kinds of nervous symptoms.

From fits and paralysis
to anxiety and headaches.

And for centuries,

it was a dangerous tool in
the hands of male doctors

who were trigger-happy in
diagnosing women as hysterical,

to the point where they incarcerated
perfectly sane individuals

in hospitals and asylums.

Freud came here to Salpetriere to study with

the pre-eminent pioneer of neurology,
Jean-Martin Charcot.

Having discovered that some nervous
conditions, like multiple sclerosis,

were the result of lesions on the brain,

Charcot turned his attention
to the mysteries of hysteria.

Charcot approaches hysteria more
scientifically and more seriously

and doesn't think of it as
simply a woman's ailment.

And he sees distinct phases.

He talks about the epileptoid phase,
atonic phase, a fit.

And the fit was epileptic rigidity.

He then talks about clonic phase,
or the clown phase,

where these huge thrashing
movements take place.

So, he's identified these different phases,
what kinds of methods

is he using to further
his scientific inquiry?

Well, Charcot uses hypnosis to
diagnose hysteria. He thinks that if

women are susceptible,
men are susceptible to hypnosis,

that's probably a sign
that they do have hysteria.

But he also uses hypnosis in
his great public lectures, to

which, you know, all of Paris comes.
Getting a ticket to go to one

of Charcot's public lectures is like
going to the best play in London.

So, the patients were on display
in these public lectures?

The patients were on display,
and, under hypnosis, they will

begin to walk and they will talk,
and they will effectively do

what the medic asks of them.

So, we know that Freud's there,
he's in the audience, he's one of

Charcot's pupils. Do we know what
kind of an impact this had on Freud?

Well, I think it has an immense impact.
He begins to see that

there are different forms of
thinking and activity going

on in the human mind simultaneously.

And that there are whole areas
of the human mind that are there,

ready to be plumbed.

Freud returned to Vienna, aged 29,
full of new ideas and career plans.

But things certainly weren't easy for Freud.
When he first

opened his practice in this
apartment block in 1886,

business was depressingly slow.

Sometimes he couldn't even afford
a cab to make house calls, and

he could only marry Martha in
the same year thanks to gifts and

loans from friends.

One of Freud's principal benefactors
was the eminent physician

Joseph Breuer.

Like Freud, Breuer was curious

about the scientific mysteries of hysteria.

One of his old patients stood out.

Breuer had treated a highly
intelligent young woman from

an affluent Jewish family,
called Bertha Pappenheim, giving her

the pseudonym "Anna O".

She experienced hallucinations and
suffered from partial paralysis.

At times, she could only speak English.
She appeared to have

a split personality.

Now, Anna's case really fascinated Freud,
partly because of her

extreme symptoms,
but also because of the innovative way that

Breuer treated her.

During Breuer's consultations,
Anna fell into a state of

hypnosis, and revealed melancholic
details of her personal history.

The talking revived significant
or painful memories of past events

that had been forgotten or
somehow blocked up and suppressed.

Breuer found that he could trace
Anna's numerous symptoms back to

original traumas.

When Anna showed an
aversion to drinking water,

Breuer linked it back to her
seeing a dog being allowed to

drink out of the glass of its owner,
but once she expressed her

submerged disgust, her hydrophobia vanished.

Freud realised that Breuer might
have stumbled upon, not just

an explanation, but a cure for hysteria.

Working from new larger premises
at number 19 Berggasse, he began to

apply Breuer's cathartic treatment
to his own neurotic patients.

But Freud had a problem -
he just couldn't hypnotise all of his

patients, so he smartly turned
a failing into a virtue and

developed his own version
of a talking therapy.

Freud asked his patients to lie
on this couch while he sat here

behind them, out of sight.
He encouraged them to say whatever

came into their minds,
almost as if they were talking to themselves.

He proved to be an alert listener,
systematically sifting

through and probing his patients' memories.

Interpreting their confessions rapidly,
intuitively, he

attempted to unlock what
was being suppressed.

Freud gave his new free-association
method a new name. He took

the ancient Greek word for mind
or life-breath, psyche, and

added to it a robust scientific term -
analyse.

Psychoanalysis was born.

In 1895,
Breuer and Freud published their findings

in a landmark book - Studies On Hysteria.

Freud was keen to find a single
unifying reason for hysteria

and neurosis, to offer their theory
a kind of breakthrough moment,

and he started to see sex as a central issue.

The more cautious Breuer disagreed.

But another friend proved
far more receptive -

the physician Wilhelm Fliess.

Sexual morality had long been
framed by religion, and by and large

had been unremittingly
repressive for centuries.

But Fliess was one of a growing
number of medical researchers

who embarked on a scientific
study of sexual identity and

behaviour, unconstrained by orthodox
moral judgments and what was

generally considered to be perversion.

Encouraged by the open-minded Fliess,
Freud began to hone

his ideas about hysteria and sexual issues.

In April 1896,
he went to read a paper to the

Viennese Society For
Psychiatry and Neurology.

He described the job of treating
patients with hysteria in

epic terms,
as if he were an explorer archaeologist

sifting through the remains of
an ancient ruined city, trying

to find clues and evidence.

"Imagine that an explorer
arrives in a little-known region

"where his interest is aroused by
an expansive ruins, with remains

"of walls, fragments of columns..."

'Freud claimed to have found
a singular cause in all his

'neurotic cases,
something he likened to discovering

'the source of the Nile.'

His daring theory -
the seduction theory - was that all

neuroses were the result of some
kind of sexual abuse in childhood,

typically by the father.

But, rather than the glory that
he was expecting, the paper was

met with bewilderment and scepticism.

One eminent neurologist in
the audience dismissed it

as "a scientific fairy tale".

This frosty reception just enhanced
Freud's view that he was an

embattled pioneer, tackling taboo subjects.

However, in little more than a year,
even he would concede that

his seduction theory was fatally flawed.

Hysteria was so widespread that
to imagine so many men were

paedophilic abusers was highly implausible.
With hysteria

afflicting Freud's own family,
the idea that his father Jacob

could also be guilty was the final straw.

Other speculations, however,
would prove far more enduring.

At the heart of Freud's thinking
was how and why discomforting

past thoughts could become repressed,
only to be woven into the

symptoms and psychic knots of everyday life.

Freud believed that the
unconscious mind held the key.

The unconscious mind had been
imagined and debated right

across the human experience for
many centuries, but Freud was one

of the first to take a really
systematic approach, to try

to add precision to the perceptions
of the unconscious mind.

A painful personal tragedy would
trigger his big breakthrough.

In 1896, Freud was devastated
by the death of his father.

Freud wrote to Fliess, "My inner self,
my whole past has been

"re-awakened by this death.
I now feel completely uprooted."

But, in fact, these complex,
intense thoughts would have

a catalysing effect on him.

Freud had been experimenting
with self-analysis, scrutinising

his fragmentary childhood
memories and deep-seated terrors.

The loss of his father intensified
that exploration. And the

secret of his self-analysis?

He started to analyse his own dreams.

Few saw dreams as having
any scientific substance.

But Freud chose to think differently.

He looks at dreams as something

that is multi-layered.

There is the story that people

remember when they wake up,

but, for Freud,
that story is only the surface of our dream.

What lies underneath is what he calls the
"latent dream thoughts".

But those latent thoughts become distorted,
they become censored.

Why does this censorship need to happen?

Well, you see, these dream thoughts,
they contain all the

repressed wishes and thoughts
and fantasies that consciousness

considers to be disturbing and troubling.

Were they not to be censored,
then they would manifest

themselves in all their disruptive force.

For Freud, a dream is essentially a
fulfilment of an unconscious wish.

How are Freud's ideas about the
unconscious evolving at this time?

For Freud, the unconscious is no
longer just a set of traumatic

memories, it's a container of
wishes and thoughts and fantasies

that have been self-generated by the
mental life of every human being.

What's the value of these for Freud?

What's he doing with this raw material?

Within his clinical practice,
he would piece together the

various associations that people
bring to the story that they

remember, and, with those bits and pieces,
he would try to

arrive at a certain understanding
of those unconscious repressed

wishes that sit underneath.

With Freud's theory, we as human
beings can look and think about our

dreams as productions of our
minds that actually reveal

something about who we are,
and that is extraordinarily valuable.

Freud's book, The Interpretation Of Dreams,
offered a radical new

understanding of human nature,
with the unconscious, a reservoir

of repressed inner desires
and irrational impulses,

the hidden source of what
motivates and makes us.

There's an interesting detail in
the story of the publication of

The Interpretation Of Dreams.

Although this book was actually
published 1n 1899, it was

branded with the date 1900.

Freud was telling the world that
the theories in here would define

the 20th century,
and that they'd herald the birth of a daring,

brave new world.

But this brave new world
was riddled with anxiety.

It was said that to be Viennese
was to be a question mark.

Liberalism had failed to deliver
real power to the middle classes,

who felt threatened by a
rising urban population.

In this climate, an appetite grew
for new experimental art that

explored beneath the rational
surface of human existence.

Freud's theories perfectly
matched the zeitgeist.

In his next book,
The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life,

he continued to dig deep.

In this, he argued that our
repressed desires emerged not

just in our dreams,
but infiltrate our waking lives, too.

One interesting case he cites
was when a high-ranking Austrian

politician opened an
important debate in Parliament

with these words,

"I announce the presence of so
many honoured gentlemen, and

"therefore declare the session as closed."

This very public slip revealed
his repressed frustration that the

session would be a complete waste of time.
And, of course, we still use

the phrase "Freudian slip"
in everyday life today,

usually to refer to a revealing
or embarrassing verbal faux pas.

Although Freud believed that
our unconscious desires broke

through due to triggers in our current lives,
it was how

those mysterious impulses were
shaped by our past experiences

that really preoccupied him,

something that finds echo
in his consulting room.

When Freud enthusiastically
gathered together all these fabulous

ancient artefacts,
he didn't think of them as dead objects.

For him, the past wasn't a kind
of museum that you could choose

whether or not to visit.

It was a live dynamic present in our
day-to-day lives. He thought that

past experiences had something
vital to tell us. In fact, it was a

story from classical Greece that
would inspire his next big idea.

Freud attended a performance of
a Greek tragedy by Sophocles.

Oedipus Rex tells the story of
a young man who inadvertently

kills his father and then marries
and has children with his mother.

When he first discovers the terrible truth,
he stabs out his own eyes.

Freud saw this story as a paradigm
to explain his own repressed

sexual feelings.

This is what he wrote to Fliess,

"A single idea dawned on me.
I found in my own case, too, the

"phenomena of being in love
with my mother and jealous of my

"father, and I now consider it a
universal event in early childhood."

Freud named this psychosexual
drama the Oedipus complex.

He came to believe that little
boys had to work through hidden

fears of castration by their fathers,
punishment for

desiring and seeking
possession of their mothers,

and that little girls were
infatuated by their fathers

but had to deal with complex
feelings of inferiority

because they themselves didn't have a penis -

what Freud calls "penis envy".

Freud believed that if these

complicated feelings weren't resolved,

internal conflicts would be stored up,
only to cause adult

neuroses later in life.

Freud was keen to test out
his theories about repressed

sexual issues.

And in October 1900,
the opportunity arose to do just that.

A new patient walked into his office,
a 17-year-old girl

who he'd give the pseudonym Dora.

She was his first and his
most famous case study.

Dora was exhibiting hysterical symptoms,
a nervous cough and

suicidal thoughts.

One of the most shocking
things in the story is that,

when she was 13 or 14,

her father's best friend, Herr K,

manipulated the situation to

get her alone in his office

and kissed her. And Freud says,
well, this was thoroughly hysterical

that she was disgusted by the kiss.

And then he goes on to say that
she must have felt his erect penis

against her body,
and that this must have sexually aroused her.

And he makes it his business,
really, to show her that she

really does sexually desire Herr K,
and that she's repressed that

desire from consciousness.

I have to say, when you look at Dora's case,
there does seem

to be a trope developing here,
that you have these young women

who are very troubled,
and men like Freud kind of pounce on them,

to use them for medical material.

Yes. It has the sort of arrogance
of the man of science, and that

he uses Dora and other patients
as simply guinea pigs for his

confident scientific position.

How does it end?
I mean, how does Dora take all of this?

Not well, not well. Dora walks out on Freud.

And what he learns from that,
though, is that he should

have paid attention to the way
in which she had transferred on

to him all her feelings of hostility
to Herr K, and in fact, after

this case, he introduced the
theory that psychoanalysis must pay

attention to the ways in
which patients transfer their

unconscious and conscious
feelings about significant people

in their lives on to the
psychoanalyst or the therapist.

Freud learnt valuable
lessons from the Dora case.

Yet his seemingly scientific
method relied on subjective,

some would argue, self-fulfilling judgments.

It was a fundamental problem,
articulated by his once loyal

confidant, Fliess, during a heated argument.

"The reader of thoughts is merely
reading his own thoughts into

"other people,"
was Fliess's damning assessment.

In 1902, Freud sent out a
written invitation to four Jewish

doctors, inviting them to come
and meet here in his apartments.

What would come to be known as the
Wednesday Psychological Society

gathered every week in his waiting room,
and their first topic

was a subject very close to Freud's
own heart - the psychological

function of smoking.

A good cigar after a meal was
part of bourgeois Viennese

culture, but Freud took cigar
indulgence to a whole new

level. He smoked 20 cigars a day
and considered the pleasures of

the cigar a substitute for what he called

"the single greatest habit" -

masturbation.

The Wednesday Group discussions
helped Freud to advance his

ideas on sexuality,

resulting in a ground-breaking publication -

Three Essays On The Theory Of Sexuality.

So, what he does in this book,

he introduces a concept of

enlarged sexuality.

Because, at the time,

sexuality was very much

restricted to people having sex,

whereas, for Freud,
it's about eroticism, it's about

attraction, it's about excitement,
and everything in between.

He also sees it being at work in children.

I mean, that's very controversial, isn't it?

So, how does he see this sex drive,
this libido, developing in children?

Shortly after a child is born,
it goes through an oral phase.

Freud observes that when a
child is being fed, that it can

derive some satisfaction
or gratification from that

which allows us to look at that
experience as something that

can be deservedly called erotic.

So, he thinks he's identified
this sex drive in children,

in what way does he see this
playing out in adult life?

It plays out insofar as it
informs our sexual identity,

our sexual fantasies,
our sexual orientation.

It informs who we are as human beings.

But it's not a formula.
Each and every individual has to find

his or her way through this process.

As result of which, in a sense,
one could say that we are all

equally abnormal.

There is a possibility, though,
isn't there, that that he's

got this all wrong,
that it's not all about sex?

Yes.

People have said Freud's got it all wrong,
but I think if we use

an enlarged concept of sexuality,
we actually do come to the

conclusion that a lot of our mental
world is conditioned by this drive.

Freud's progressive theories of
sexuality spoke to a generation

of young Viennese, cynical about
the Church and repressive morality.

But his growing popularity had its dangers.

Freud feared, not without reason,
that, because his circle was

mainly Jewish,
anti-Semitism would mean that his ideas would

never be fully accepted.

He was anxious that
psychoanalysis would be labelled

a "Jewish science".

A solution came in the form of
a Swiss gentile from Zurich who

visited him in 1907.

Carl Jung was one of the brightest
young psychiatrists of the day.

Freud bestowed rapturous praise on him and,
in return,

Jung came to revere Freud.

Given Freud's antipathy to religion,
it's rather ironic

that his movement was beginning
to look a bit like a religious

cult with psychosexuality its key doctrine,
Freud its high priest

and Jung the evangelist who'd
promote Freud's message.

But the evangelist soon became a heretic.

Jung reinterpreted one of Freud's key terms,
libido, which

Freud understood as sexual drive,
to mean all mental energy.

He also took issue with what he
saw as Freud's obsessive focus on

the Oedipus complex.

When he had thoughts on a thing,
then it was settled.

While I was doubting all along the line.

Their friendship ended acrimoniously,
with Freud

calling Jung "crazy" and "out of his wits",
while Jung's parting shot

was no less provocative.

"Your technique of treating
your pupils like patients is a

"blunder. In that way,
you produce either slavish sons or impudent

"puppies. I am objective enough
to see through your little trick."

But whilst Freud faced dissent
and a splintering of his movement,

his name and his ideas were to
reach global prominence due to a

pivotal event.

In 1914, the heir to the
Habsburg throne was assassinated,

triggering a war with Serbia.

Freud's sons left for the front
line of a conflict that would

become World War I.

The war threw up new challenges
for physicians - the mysterious

breakdowns suffered by soldiers.

Their disconnected speech and
nightmares were diagnosed as

symptoms of physical shocks to the brain -
shellshock.

But it quickly became apparent
that soldiers who weren't

operating on the front line,
who weren't exposed to exploding

shells, were also suffering.

So, the physiological
explanations just didn't stand up.

Often written off as cowardly or weak,
many of these soldiers

were forced back into
action within a few days.

But Freud started a debate
which would lead to today's

widely accepted condition of
post-traumatic stress disorder.

Freud believed that war neurosis
was a psychological rather than a

physical problem.

He thought that shellshock must
be an emotional trauma triggered

by the horrors of conflict.

And by the end of the war,
others were starting to believe him.

World War I was a breakthrough moment

for the psychoanalytical movement.

But, for Freud personally,
it cast a long shadow.

Post-war inflation wiped out most
of his savings, undermining his

comfortable life in Vienna.

Spanish flu swept through the city,
killing his beloved daughter Sophie.

And even though all his sons returned,

they were scarred by the experience.

Freud began to question
some of his core theories.

For him, sexuality had been
singularly responsible for neuroses,

but, in 1920,
he published Beyond The Pleasure Principle,

and posited a second
basic force in the mind -

a death drive.

Before, he'd seen aggression as
a sadistic aspect of the sexual

instinct - the urge for mastery,
the drive to dominate the sexual object.

But now, with the raw experience
of humanity's dreadful capacity

for self-destruction,
he started to focus instead on the fatal

psychological impulses within us.

Freud wanted us to face up
to inward as well as outward

aggression. He suggested that the
death drive was part of the human

condition, a powerful deep-seated
wish to undo the bonds of life.

But Freud's revisions didn't end here.

Freud proposed that the mind
was made up of three elements.

There was the id -
an entirely unconscious part, the

cauldron of our passions,
where our death drive and our urge for sex

could be found.

Then there was what he called the superego -
an internal conscience

which could impose impossible ideals
and inflict merciless criticism.

The superego was a kind of strict
moral guardian, in conflict

with the pleasure and
death-seeking urges of the id.

Navigating between the warring
mind and external reality was what

Freud called the ego.

Freud thought that psychoanalysis
could help to strengthen the ego.

Although he never imagined
that we'd be free of these

internal conflicts, the best we
can do is simply to live with them.

1920S JAZZ MUSIC PLAYS

Freud's ideas were eagerly taken
up by a post-war generation

in revolt against traditional values.

In Europe and the US,
a new egocentric permissiveness

embodied in the glamour-driven
world of dance music

and moving pictures was taking hold.

In 1925, the head of MGM,
Samuel Goldwyn, called Freud

"the greatest love specialist in the world",
and reportedly

offered him 100,000 to advise on
the making of Antony and Cleopatra.

Freud curtly declined.

Yet, as Freud's cultural influence soared,

other more insidious forces were gathering,

forces which would threaten
his very existence.

In neighbouring Germany,
Adolf Hitler rose to power.

Jews were immediately targeted,

and Freud's books were
burned in the streets.

In 1938, troops marched into Vienna.

It's me.

There is a crowd cheering Hitler.

Look at the crowd.

That's our house with those swastikas on it.

Just days later,
the Gestapo knocked at his door.

Martha, ever the good host,
asked them to leave their rifles in

the umbrella stand.

They behaved appallingly,
throwing their weight around and

breaking into the safe.

But a line was crossed when
they ransacked Martha's kitchen

and tossed her table linen onto the floor.

She gave them a thorough tongue-lashing

and they left.

Freud now realised that he had to escape.

But it's here we can start to
get a measure of the broad appeal

that Freud was starting to enjoy.

Wildly disparate players collaborated

to secure his safe passage,

from the American President to
a descendant of Napoleon, and

even a Nazi bureaucrat who'd
been blown away by his work

when he was a student.

For the second time in his life,
Freud would be displaced.

After 78 years in Vienna,
his belongings were hastily packed up.

This trunk, in the Freud Museum in Vienna,
has revealed poignant

new evidence of Freud's
traumatic break with the past.

We kind of rediscovered it after it had

been sitting right in this

corner for, like, two decades.

Yeah.

And when we moved it,

we discovered this.

A label, "Wien Westbahnhof to London."

Ah! So, we know that this is
physically one of the bits of

luggage that Freud would
have taken with his family

on the day that he left.

And you can still open it, can you?

Yes,
we can open it and see what's inside now.

Because one thing that we
discovered was very exciting to us,

a squashed little box bearing
Freud's handwriting, stating,

"Martha, for your 21st birthday,
from a poor happy man."

It's a tiny little thing, isn't it?

But that is freighted with
history and memory.

Yes. Absolutely.
Even without the jewellery inside,

but still keeping the box with
this personal little message.

Yeah.

What Freud encouraged us to do
was to face up to our own pasts

so that we could live better lives,
and here is Freud and

Martha's past incarnate.

That's very moving.

This is when three men of the Royal Society

came to present the book of the
Royal Society for signature to my

father, and I think on the same
picture is a signature of Darwin.

That was a very nice moment.

But Freud was frail and severely ill.

We had this couch put up
for my father to rest.

It's in his last year already.

For around 15 years,
his jawbone was riddled with cancer.

Despite over 30 operations that
affected his hearing and his heart,

he refused to surrender the oral pleasure

that was almost certainly killing him.

When his mouth was too painful to open,
he'd wedge it with a

clothes peg,
just wide enough so he could smoke a cigar.

He set up his study,
just as it had been arranged in Vienna,

and continued to see patients.

When Freud sensed that death was near,
he asked for his bed to

be brought down here,
so he could be close to his desk,

his books and his beloved
collection of ancient artefacts.

In September 1939, Freud arranged to
be given a fatal dose of morphine.

But even after death,
Freud's ideas continued to gain momentum.

One of the impetuses that Freud
gave to the 20th century was

giving people permission

to be different from other people,
to recognise that there is

very little that is abnormal,
because the abnormal is so normal.

And perhaps most important of all,
really making it possible to

talk about sex.
That really, I think, helped hugely.

In the century after Freud's time,
homosexuality, sexual

variety, much more sympathetic
understandings about things

that just used to be thought of
as perverse... That was a big, big

change in our sensibility,
certainly in the western world, anyway,

and something for which we should thank him.

There is an issue, though, isn't there?
Because some of his

ideas, they're... It's not just pop science,

it's positively bad science.

It may even not be science at all,
really, because the empirical

basis for Freud's work is incredibly slender.
I mean, he self-analysed,

he analysed his wife and daughter,
and a few neurotic Viennese ladies,

and this is a very poor starting
point for any well of theory.

He looked a lot at the unconscious,
how far does that stand up against

what we now know from science,
from neuroscience, for example?

Well, of course,
neuroscience is making enormous strides now

that there are instruments,
like the MRI scanner,

the Magnetic Resonance Imaging scanner,

and we've learned quite a lot.

One thing we've learned is that
most mental computation takes

place in a non-conscious way,
below the level of consciousness,

and so memory is stored,
physically stored, in the brain, and

this must mean that many of the layers of,
as it were,

psychic deposits of all our lives
are in there and could be recovered,

and so it's not a million miles away
from what Freud was groping for.

He had the kind of strength
to imagine what we're now

understanding to be true.

That's exactly, exactly right.
He was an imaginative genius, a

wonderful storyteller, and,
you know, even if you do a

destructive job, which is you
tear down a conventional fabric of

ideas, that gives us an opportunity
to see things differently,

and I think he had enough wonderful
insight to have struck the

bell, just very occasionally,
in ways that make us think,

"This is an interesting aspect,

"an interesting perspective
on human experience."

While theories like the Oedipus
complex and death drive have

been widely questioned,
there's no doubting Freud's huge

cultural influence.

His ideas have become so embedded,
they're buried so deep within

our day-to-day experiences
that we take them for granted.

So, when advertisers scrutinise
consumers to create brands

that appeal to our irrational desires,
they are drawing on

Freud's psychoanalytical techniques.

It's one of the reasons that
products are packaged in ways that

promise youthful freedom, prestige,
and, of course, sex appeal.

And Freud's influence is also there
in how we make sense of who we are,

the importance that we place
on childhood experiences,

our openness to talk about the
emotional complexity of our lives.

Some people even see his focus
on looking inwards as promoting

our narcissistic,
individualistic culture, making us

self-absorbed, self-obsessed.

What really mattered to Freud,
I'd argue, is right here.

His ashes are still in this ancient urn,
one of his favourites, which

celebrates the Greek god Dionysius,

the god of wild, irrational impulses.

So, here in his final resting place,
you have sex and lust and

death and mania and the power of the past,
all mixed up together.

For a man who told the world he
was a scientist, this is a madly,

wonderfully romantic last gesture.

And a reminder too, perhaps,
that Freud believed, no matter how

deeply we interrogate ourselves,
there is an irrational part

of our mind destined to stay in the dark.

It's true that many of Freud's
theories have been dismissed

as wildly speculative,
criticised for being unscientific.

But the questions that he left
us with are as cogent now as

they were back then.

Are we hostages to our pasts
and to our hidden anxieties,

or can we ever learn to understand
our psyches, to be truly

masters of our own minds?

If the mind of Freud has made you think,
then why not explore

further with the Open University
to discover how other great

minds have shaped our world today?

Go to the address on the bottom
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