by Jon Rappoport
July 31, 2013
If you’re a propagandist, you’ll always be on the lookout for symbols that seem to have very specific meaning…but fade into obscurity and dead-end in a nowhere land.
Such symbols can snare many people and drag them into slave-camps of the mind.
If you want people to become far more ignorant than they already are, as well, you need look no further than the field of psychiatry, which is rife with useful symbols, which are…
The names of so-called mental disorders. There are about 300 in the official psychiatric bible. They appear to designate actual mental states, but upon close inspection, they’re empty of scientific meaning.
Pretending to represent erudite research, they impart gibberish.
An acceptance of these mental-disorder symbols automatically short-circuits any investigation of the mind’s true potential or power.
False map, no authentic territory, no treasure.
As a psychiatrist who left his profession in disgust once wrote me, “I was playing a shell game with my patients. I could label a person with one disorder, prescribe a drug, then follow up with a new drug, eventually diagnose a new disorder, combine drugs, adjust the dosages, and go on this way for many appointments. But all the labels were shams…”
They’re symbols. They appear to stand for something solid, but they don’t.
As I’ve shown in several articles, all so-called mental disorders are based on no definitive diagnostic tests. No saliva, no blood, no genes, no brain scans, for any of the 300 labels.
So what we have in psychiatry is a secular organized religion, a Tower of Babble outfitted with thousands of entirely fictional symbols. Which the priests know how to use. They have that training.
People in the general population are asking for shorthand explanations, and the professional symbol-talkers fulfill that need. That’s the exchange. That’s the transaction. The psychiatrist announces a symbol, which is the label for a disorder, the patient asks what it means, and the doctor explains.
Without the symbol, however, nothing happens. Nothing is consummated.
Give a human a symbol and he’s all ears. He wants to know. He must know. A symbol functions like a scent to a dog. He has to track it down.
Heavily organized religions all operate in this way. The priest, who has superior arcane knowledge, mentions a few symbols that decorate a story. The prospective adherent is intensely curious. He wants to know what the signs point to.
They’re fictional, but of course that doesn’t stop the priest. He offers answers. Instructions. The student accepts the explanation because it is filling a void that has been created by the high priest in the first place.
Symbol=mystery. Explanation solves it.
This game was probably discovered about two minutes after human life first appeared on planet Earth.
It’s important to understand that the game reflects an earnest and authentic search. A person wants to understand his own life. Whether or not he admits it, he needs to seek out answers to basic and profound questions. They’re always percolating in his subconscious landscape.
But the high priests and propagandists step in with symbols to short-cut the search and derail it. They already have the answers. They’ve been given these pearls from a Higher Source. And they will dispense the pearls, for a price.
You serve up your consciousness and psyche on a platter, and you get the pearls.
Psychiatry is just the latest version of the operation. It utilizes the medium of the Age: science. Or rather, puerile fiction dressed up as science.
If psychiatrists could make it work, they’d wear purple robes embroidered with esoteric shapes and signs and a tall hat topped by a star. They’d gaze into a pond and stir the water with a stick and produce Insight. They’d channel an entity from Ursa Minor in a dark room with organ music.
Art has never been popular with the masses because it tends to lop off that layer of priesthood. Art abandons short-cut translations of symbols. It offers, instead, the invention of stand-alone worlds born out of imagination.
What art reflects is the creative immortality of the individual.
It doesn’t close off life, it opens it up endlessly.
It’s no accident that, fueled by cocaine-induced pretensions, Freud concocted a method that allowed him to psychoanalyze art, on the absurd basis that all creative endeavors were merely expressions of hidden mental disorders.
Psychiatry and its related branches required a static and unchanging picture of the mind. Having asserted such a picture, they then moved on to a dog-and-pony show. Each symbol they introduced represented part of a description of that picture.
That was their story, and they stuck to it. They cleared the decks for a made-up science of symbol-and-interpretation.
Freud’s nephew, Edward Bernays, the father of modern public relations, used his skills to promote his uncle’s work. Surely, Bernays saw, in Freud, a brilliant salesman, who had invented a whole new library of symbols that could be dumped on the masses, and then translated for public consumption.
A new church of the mind would be born.
Aware of the much freer core creative power of the individual, Freud and his allies considered it a nemesis, and they set out to bury it under their new iconography.
They were just the latest incarnation of high priests in the tower.