The public is seduced by their patronising manner, by their engineered metality, by their ten-thousand shibboleths, and their prattling "well-adjusted" minds.

Under their direction people pursue "real" living, against public and family shams; altruism is deplored because "subconsciously" the motive may be (and therefore, is) selfish, and all the while an eccentric figure with a goatee looks over our shoulders and in the succulence of wet jams, describes to us the terrible and deep things that lie dormant in the human psyche.

Long words by the gross are churned out by the universities, school-children are branded with I.Q. numbers stigmatizing them for life, brains are dissected into a thousand pieces, pigeons peck endlessly at coloured discs, white rats gallop down endless corridors, sentences stick out of mouths like splinters of shattered granite, steam escaping, taps dripping—the emotional flow has become staccato.

An explosion would be a relief, but Psychology is not going to explode into a world of new ideas—it is going to solidify into a formalistic dogma.

There is only one decision any honest psychologist can make at this stage, and that is to screw up the old ideas, put a line through all the jargon, head up a clean sheet, and start again.

However, in order to cure the patient, and in this case the doctor, we must first understand the disease, and this article is an endeavour in that direction.