Psychology is a field created by idiots who wanted to be philosophers but didn’t have the aptitude. In the face of alonehood, they became basket cases, and decided that instead of facing your fears, you must categorize them into a pathology, talk about your feelings, then eventually medicate yourself in an attempt to remove these feelings, because anything other than falling in line and becoming a sheep is the beginning of the end, and these strange feelings are a nightmare that can be compartmentalized and fixed by popping a pill. Depression, dissociation, anxiety, schizophrenia, bipolar syndrome. Write a prescription, because there is no such thing as patience.

The grand design is based on filtering psychiatry through whatever remnants of Freud are still plausible. Their knowledge of history is all textbook, and they cannot handle even the ideas of spirit and soul, so must fall back to materialism. They contradict themselves immediately by then referencing the mind itself. But what is a mind?

A brain is a physical object acting as seat for the mechanical / electrochemical control structures of the body. Supposedly, it also contains the mind, the intangible identity that can reference itself as separate from the body while still being “housed” within it (what, truly, does brain chemistry “generate?”). It’s an idea, an idea seeding more ideas. Now if you want to talk about soul and spirit you are lost, and forced to make comparison with light (soul) and volition (spirit).

In the age of the directionless, where SUVs and making babies with morons is more important than being honest and seeking knowledge, all history, nuance, and complexity is lost, or hidden deep in thick books collecting dust, because no one wants to spend time learning difficult things that won’t get them a trophy wife or a luxury apartment in a trendy neighborhood. So things like spirit and soul become watered down into a singular concept that loses its value and can be treated with drugs. Clinical psychology is the natural end result.

Therefore, to affect a larger audience, the one that lives off emotion thus must be scared into submission, you have to become a literalist: your soul is a ghost that will float around and haunt idiots when you die. In the face of death, you must apparently become a moron too, because death is the final unknown, and your last chance to impart the esoteric secrets upon the realists.

Faced with the implications of these ideas however, these same realists lose their gusto, because their methods do not work in a space that hides itself from common occurrence, and, ironically, calls itself reality. While realism maintains your equilibrium in connection with the mundane, and materialism keeps you desensitized to the horror of strife, these have no answer for the intangible forces that are described in detail by systems of thought comprehensible only to the brave and willing. Finally, the finite nature of life will force those who are not dead inside to reach beyond what they thought were their limits, to push themselves to places they never knew they could go, where they will risk much if not all, to gain the highest rewards life has to offer. And here materialism holds no sway.