Superiority of Exorcism to Psychiatry

How is exorcism superior to psychiatry?

Unless he works on patients involuntarily committed to his care by the state, a shrink needs the patient's permission to cure him.

In the case of driving out devils, the exorcist doesn't generally need the patient's permission because he's not treating the patient he's expelling a tresspasser. He's working on another entity that lacks the protections of natural law.

The Day They Took the Times and the Post

The current contretemps on treason in the MSM reminded me of the following scene in Allen Drury's 1973 novel Come Ninevah, Come Tyre. In the novel (one of two alternate endings to the string of novels beginning with 1959's Advise and Consent), a Soviet dupe has become president of the United States and "bad things" are happening. After initially supporting good liberal President Edward Montoya Jason, the Times, the Post, and columnist Walter Dobius (Walter Lippmann) publish editorials and news stories designed to expose his complicity in murder and treason. Then:

It might have been entitled, had there been a wry historian to record it, "The Day They Took the Times and the Post"; and it posed for many Americans--who did not then have, and would never again have, the opportunity to answer them--many questions:

How would you react, for instance, if you were walking down a street in New York or a street in Washington, and suddenly you saw some sort of disturbance going on at the doors of two distinguished newspapers? Not a big disturbance, you understand, just a minor sort of scuffling, a quick coming and going, a few frightened people, a flurry, a fuss?

Just the sudden arrival at the doors at the same moment in each city, of a couple of police vans . . . the sudden entry into both buildings of small groups of armed and uniformed men . . . a pause of perhaps ten minutes . . . and then the emergence of the uniformed men, hustling along between them a handful of other men, handcuffed or with guns at their backs, obviously angry, terrified, protesting, some dressed in business suits, some with coats off and sleeves rolled up, some, perhaps, crying with a bitter irony, "But this is the Times! (or the Post!) You can't do this to us!" . . . and then a swift clanging and locking of doors, a sudden roaring of engines, a sudden disappearance down the crowded street . . . and then, just visible from the sidewalks, a momentary cluster and swirl of frantic people inside . . . and then their abrupt, hurried, almost furtive dispersal, so that all is quiet again . . . and the streets returning immediately to their normal hustle and bustle, the uncaring rush and hurry of life, after an elapsed time of perhaps a quarter of an hour. . . .

Just exactly what would you do, in such a circumstance? Would you shout out frantically to your fellow passers-by, "Help! Help! They're taking the Times! (or the Post!) Help, citizens! Help, freedom lovers! Help, fellow believers in American democracy! They're taking--they're taking--they're taking-the press?"
Would you immediately leap forward, in company with all your fellow citizens, alerted and made knowledgeable by your cry, a great, angry, overwhelming mass, noble and not to be denied, to rescue in savage scuffle, yourselves unarmed against armed and ruthless men, the once arrogant but now wan and horrified souls being dragged off to--who knows what?

Would you, if rescue failed, throw yourselves heroically in front of the vans, the sheer weight of your massed bodies stopping their escaping surge with a sickening and bloody crunch?

Would you cry havoc and let slip the dogs of civil rebellion to save your free press?

Why, no, of course you wouldn't.

In the first place, two thirds of you wouldn't even glance up from your busy scurrying down the streets on your own private affairs.

And of the third of you who did notice, perhaps only a handful would be informed enough and sophisticated enough to have an inkling of what was going on.
And of that handful, half would think, very quickly, Well, it's none of my affair, I'd better get on by just as fast as I can and forget about it, I can't afford to get involved.

And half again would think, Oh dear, they can't do that, but how can I stop them, oh, dear, I might get hurt, I guess I'd better not try to do anything, oh, dear.

And of the three or four left, perhaps one or two of you might half start forward--and then as abruptly stop, appalled by the unbelievable occasion, paralyzed by the knowledge of your own unarmed vulnerability, aware that you were almost entirely alone, aware that you might very well be instantly shot down. . . .

And so they would take the Times and the Post, and any others across the country they might want to take, in exactly the same way . . . and in the offices so swiftly and smoothly made vacant, other men would suddenly appear, from outside, perhaps, but more likely from other editorial desks, or from obscure offices on other floors, rising from their places in the composing room, or converging swiftly from the library stacks, or entering from the business department--just as they actually have in so many other newsrooms in so many other doomed lands . . . and presently, without the world being aware of even a pause or a hitch, the presses would roll again . . . and next day, just as always in the world where the Times and the Post and their sister publications are such permanent, immutable and reassuring fixtures, the regular editions would appear, containing editorials, headlines and news stories fervently praising the President of the United States, hailing his Administration and all its works, endorsing his policies in every phase--praising, praising, praising, praising the Russians for their forbearance and cooperation--urging, urging, urging the people of the United States to accept with a docile and unprotesting compliance the yoke so shrewdly, cleverly and unanswerably prepared. . . .