History is the mighty Tower of Experience… It is no easy task to reach the top of this ancient structure and get the benefit of the full view. There is no elevator, but young feet are strong and it can be done. —Hendrik Willem van Loon.
Psychiatry is a pseudoscience and an Inquisition. The chapter ‘From the Great Confinement of Louis XIV of France to a Chemical Gulag’ can now be read, in due order, on my Ex Libris page (here).
As I have said, while white nationalists know that in the universities some fields are pseudoscientific (for example, gender studies or so-called historical grievances), in the same universities there are other pseudoscientific areas that go completely unnoticed.
Psychiatry is one of them and, since I researched it a few years ago, having translated one of the chapters from my online book, why no translate a few others for this site?
But first I must finish the translation of a book I did not write: Deschner’s lifetime research on Christianity, from which I still have to add nine posts before the first volume is available, I hope, as a printed book through Lulu Inc.
The history of Christianity and the history of psychiatry have something in common. The System has hidden from us the facts of what happened. Reaching the mighty tower that Van Loon talks about is one of the objectives of this site.
7 replies on “View from the tower”
Thanks for spreading this information about the truth about psychiatry. May the ancestors bless you.
You are very welcome. In my opinion, WNsts have to awaken about quite a few realities before being able to save their race. They have analyzed the JQ to an amazing detail but in other important matters, they’re like normies that must be red-pilled. Psychiatry is only one of these subjects.
Isn’t it your experience that WNs are more likely to realise the truth about things like psychiatry than the general population?
Once Neo is unplugged by the robot-spider from the nape (race), yes: it’s easier the unplugging from the arms (e.g., psych).
“I, myself, spent 9 years in an insane asylum and never had any suicidal tendencies, but I know that every conversation I had with a psychiatrist during the morning visit made me long to hang myself because I was aware that I could not slit his throat.” – Antonin Artaud
“This is why a tainted society has invented psychiatry to defend itself against the investigations of certain superior intellects whose faculties of divination would be troublesome.
No, van Gogh was not mad, but his paintings were bursts of Greek fire, atomic bombs, whose angle of vision would have been capable of seriously upsetting the spectral conformity of the bourgeoisie.
In comparison with the lucidity of van Gogh, psychiatry is no better than a den of apes who are themselves obsessed and persecuted and who possess nothing to mitigate the most appalling states of anguish and human suffocation but a ridiculous terminology. To a man, this whole gang of pected scoundrels and patented quacks are all erotomaniacs.” – Antonin Artaud
How different the world would be if westerners sided with Antonin Artaud, Ernest Hemingway, Sylvia Plath and other depressed writers electro-shocked by psychiatrists! (Instead, they side with a pseudoscientific Inquisition…)
Do agree.
And one from Shakespeare at his very best:
MACBETH
I’ll put it on.
Send out more horses; skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.
How does your patient, doctor?
Doctor
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
MACBETH
Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Doctor
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
MACBETH
Throw physic to the dogs; I’ll none of it.
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff.
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me.
Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again. – Pull’t off, I
say. –
What rhubarb, cyme, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence?
Hear’st thou of them?
More than 400 years ago! Where is the “progress” of this species?