25Chapter 21. The Past-Life Market: Regressology and “Proprietary Methods”

On Instagram, a Russian-speaking specialist bills herself as a “psychologist, educator, founder of her own online school and ‘unique proprietary method,’ host of her own show, and bestselling author” — commanding an audience of 100,000 followers across social media.

More than one hundred thousand people.

For context: the medical journal Psychiatry and Psychopharmacotherapy in the same Russian-speaking sphere has a print circulation of just a few hundred copies. The largest professional association of psychiatrists in Russia counts about 3,000 active members. The top clinical psychology journal has a few thousand subscribers to its website.

A single blog by one person with an uncertified method reaches an audience dozens of times larger than the entirety of Russia’s professional psychiatric community. And this is just one of dozens of such figures in the Russian-speaking world.

This illustrates what’s now called authority inflation in the age of social media—a phenomenon we’ll explore in detail later, in the chapter on the social media pandemic. For now, let’s focus on the specific market segment that produces and sells this authority.

Regression therapy, or “past-life regression,” claims to guide clients into a hypnotic or “trance” state to “recall” past events—often from previous lives. The idea is chillingly enticing: unresolved issues in your current life—unexplained fears, chronic illnesses, relationship struggles, financial failures—are supposedly echoes of traumas carried over from past incarnations. But what if you could delve into that darkness? Remember those traumas, “process” them, and watch them dissolve—finally fixing your present life.

Here’s what really underpins this. A chain spanning millennia: Hindu and Buddhist concepts of reincarnation. 19th-century Franco-Spanish spiritualist traditions—Allan Kardec. Mid-20th-century American New Age. Three streams. One idea. But who turned ancient belief into a Western self-help technique? American hypnotherapist Michael Newton (1931–2016). Author of two books—Journey of Souls and Destiny of Souls—he became the key theorist behind modern regression therapy in its Western form. And here’s the twist. Newton claimed that under regression hypnosis, patients didn’t just describe past lives. They spoke of something else—the “spaces between lives.” There, they said, souls planned their next incarnation, met “spiritual guides,” and stood before “councils of elders.” Past lives were merely the doorway. Beyond it lay the blueprint for the next.

Another major figure was Dolores Cannon (1931–2014), a British-American hypnotherapist who developed the “Quantum Healing Hypnosis Technique” (QHHT).

In the Russian-speaking world, regression therapy spread throughout the 2000s and 2010s as part of a broader movement known as “esoteric psychology.” Gradually it grew into an industry in its own right, complete with its own hierarchy, training centers, and certifying bodies.

What does serious science have to say about regression therapy?

Is reincarnation a myth? Or a scientific reality? The answer lies not in vague prophecies but in rigorous laboratories. For years, scientists searched for physical, biological, genetic, or neural mechanisms that could preserve and transmit information about past lives. Not one. Zero. Nothing. Not a single confirmation. Not a single lead. All that remains for believers in reincarnation is faith. And that is their right. But science says otherwise: the brain, memory, genes — everything we know about them contradicts the idea of souls migrating from one body to another. Reincarnation? It’s a beautiful idea. But it isn’t science.

And this is where the real danger begins. Regression hypnosis is a procedure that scientific psychology has long and officially regarded as a high-risk practice capable of generating false memories. This is not a conjecture or a hypothesis. It is a well-studied phenomenon. Behind it stands a name — Elizabeth Loftus, a professor at the University of California, Irvine. For several decades she conducted one experiment after another, and those experiments became classics. What did she demonstrate? Under directed pressure from a hypnotist, a psychotherapist, or an interrogator, the human brain is capable of generating memories — entirely fabricated ones, events that never happened. And here is the paradox that chills the blood: to the person themselves, these memories are absolutely real. They are not lying, not faking. They genuinely remember.

In the 1980s and early 1990s, North America experienced a veritable epidemic of so-called “recovered memories” of satanic ritual abuse. Thousands of adult women, guided by regression therapists, “recalled” how their parents had participated in satanic rituals during their childhood, sacrificed children, and performed ritual rapes. On the basis of these “memories,” families were torn apart, criminal cases were opened, and innocent parents were sent to prison. Subsequently, a significant portion of these cases was reviewed, convictions were overturned, and the method of “memory recovery” was recognized as a dangerous pseudotherapy. In the 1990s, the American Psychological Association published an official document warning against its use.

If this applies to “recovered memories” of one’s current life, it applies all the more to “memories” of previous lives. Here, even the debate about the possible reality of trauma is meaningless: there simply is no reality.

So what actually happens in a past-life regression session?

The client is sunk in hypnotic relaxation. The body feels heavy, the pulse slows. And then comes a series of leading questions: “Look at your feet — what shoes are you wearing? Is that sand around you, or cobblestone? What are you dressed in — a gown or armor? Are you a man right now, or a woman? What era is this?” The brain, primed by these questions, instantly begins generating images. More often than not, they’re vivid, emotional, frighteningly detailed. What is this? A revelation? Forgotten lives coming back to life? No. It’s called confabulation. The ruthless manufacture of plausible but entirely false memories.

Then the “regressionist” steers these images in the desired direction: “Now look — why do you have this fear of water in your current life? Who is doing this to you? What is he saying?” And the client “remembers” that in a past life they drowned, or were drowned, or drowned someone else. Once the “regression” is over, the regressionist offers an interpretation: “Your present fear of water is tied to that trauma. We’ve worked through it. The fear should now go away.”

Sometimes the fear does go away — for a while. This effect is well known to evidence-based psychotherapists: experiencing a coherent narrative about your fear can bring temporary relief. That’s how placebo works. That’s how confession works. That’s how talking to a friend works. There is nothing specific to regression therapy in that relief.

And then the fear comes back. Because the real mechanisms behind it have never been touched. So the client returns for the next session. “Clearly we need to dig deeper.” “There’s an even earlier trauma, in an even more distant life.” The process can go on for years.

In the Russian-speaking world, the past fifteen years have produced an entire generation of “specialists” whose business is built on this scheme. Several types stand out.

The first type is the relatively modest practitioner, working within a small circle of clients, with no claims to broad fame. Their services run from three to fifteen thousand rubles per session. They rarely step into the public eye.

The second type is the mid-tier blogger, with somewhere between a thousand and a hundred thousand followers on social media. They run Instagram accounts, hold online webinars, sell self-study courses. Prices range from twenty to a hundred thousand rubles per course.

The third type is the major influencer. A hundred thousand followers or more. Events for thousands of people in rented halls. Bestselling books. Their own “schools.” Sometimes a YouTube show or appearances in other media. Incomes in the tens of millions of rubles a year.

A striking representative of the third type is the Russian figure I mentioned earlier. Her public biography, as laid out in her own social media and open sources, goes like this. She began her career as a regressionist — that is, a practitioner of “past-life recall” in the classic sense. Then she moved into a broader range of activities: “Hellinger constellations,” “working with the ancestral program,” proprietary trainings. At some point came a rebranding: dropping direct references to “past lives” and shifting to a “proprietary method.”

She calls her method a “unique proprietary technology.” According to her own publications, the essence of the method is to help the client “become aware of their role in creating their own reality,” “acknowledge the truth about themselves,” and “become the cause of their own life.” She has written a bestselling book about “accepting the causality of one’s life,” and she puts out a weekly author’s show.

At the level of wording, this doesn’t sound so bad. “Acknowledge your role,” “become the cause of your life”—these are statements that could come up in evidence-based psychotherapy (cognitive behavioral therapy really does work with the client’s responsibility for their decisions; acceptance and commitment therapy is even more direct about it). The problem isn’t the wording. The problem is the content of the actual sessions, the methods, the qualifications, the results.

The actual content of this practitioner’s sessions, as shown in her own public appearances and in clips posted online, often involves work with “past lives,” “ancestral programs,” and the “collective unconscious.” The client is told that their current problem is “karma,” an “ancestral script,” an “unfulfilled task of the soul.” Then this gets “worked through” via visualizations, conversations with the “inner child,” and “ancestral forgiveness.” It’s exactly what any regression therapist does—just under a new brand.

The perfect trajectory. The script is calibrated down to the millimeter. Public perception of the method is falling apart. “Hellinger constellations” or “regressive therapy”—these names no longer inspire enthusiasm. They provoke revulsion. Criticism appears in the press. Skeptics bare their teeth. Exposé articles land one after another, hitting the target dead-on. And what do the practitioners do? They change the name. An instant repaint. The “constellation facilitators” peel off the old label and become “systemic-phenomenological therapists.” The “regression therapists” shed their skin and turn into “specialists in method X.” The essence? The method stays the same. Only the packaging changes.

This is the industry’s survival strategy under growing criticism. A similar approach is used in the commercial sphere when a product gets a bad reputation: it’s renamed, redesigned, and its advertising is adjusted. Except in this case, the thing being sold isn’t cookies—it’s psychological services for people in emotional pain.

What’s needed here is absolute clarity. I am not filing a lawsuit against this practitioner. I am not bringing criminal charges. But let’s look at the facts. Her entire chain of techniques—posted in open sources, available to anyone—has no scientific basis. Zero. Nothing. So why do thousands of people hand her money? The answer is harsh: her business model hits the target dead-on. She coldly exploits psychological vulnerability. People get hooked by their own fears and pain. This is my professional assessment. And it isn’t forged from rumors. Its foundation is material open to the whole world. But imagine: one day this practitioner makes a different choice. She discards the mysticism of “past lives.” She cuts away the occult “ancestral programs.” She moves toward evidence-based psychology—toward scientific truth. I’ll be the first to celebrate.

The problem isn’t any single individual. The problem is the industry itself. The hundreds or thousands of people operating under the same schemes. The lack of regulation. The fact that someone with an accredited university degree in psychology is legally equivalent to someone who took a three-day paid course in “Method X”—both equally entitled to call themselves “psychologists” and charge money for “consultations.”

Let me share one specific clinical case. Details have been altered for anonymity, but the essence remains unchanged.

A thirty-eight-year-old woman came to see me—we’ll call her Aygün. She had textbook anxiety disorder with panic attacks. The first episode occurred at thirty-two, after her divorce. Then it escalated: panic attacks, avoidance of public transport, agoraphobia, insomnia, nausea.

Six years before meeting me, Aygün had avoided psychiatrists—she “didn’t want to be on medication,” as she put it. A friend recommended a “great regression therapist.” Price: eight thousand rubles per session. Over two years, Aygün underwent about forty-five sessions. Total cost: roughly three hundred sixty thousand rubles.

During these sessions, Aygün “recalled” no fewer than six “past lives.” She had been a French peasant in the 14th century, a Middle Eastern merchant, a drowned river girl, and a warrior slain in battle. Each ended in a gruesome death. The regression specialist linked every “memory” to her current symptoms. The pieces formed a terrifying puzzle. “This is why you fear going outside—you were murdered there in a past life.” One sentence—and her brain flinched with icy recognition. “These choking sensations? You drowned.” Phantom water flooded her throat. But how? Did her body really remember? Or was someone feeding fresh trauma to her fear?

The panic attacks didn’t stop. Each session brought a few days of “relief”—then the wave would crash over her again. The therapist would say, “You haven’t reached the deepest layer yet. We must continue.”

By the time Aygün came to me, she was exhausted. Clinically: anxiety disorder with untreated panic attacks. No schizophrenia. No past lives. A standard condition, highly treatable with cognitive behavioral therapy—or SSRIs in severe cases.

We started treatment. Significant improvement after six months. Near-total remission within a year. Cost: the standard price of real treatment, roughly one-tenth what she’d paid the regression therapist.

Those three hundred sixty thousand rubles are gone forever. So are those six years of her life.

And this brings me back to the core idea of this book.

Aigun is not insane. Aigun is an ordinary person. An intelligent woman with a university degree, a job, a family. She was looking for help. Someone recommended it to her. She went.

Is the friend who recommended it insane? No. She is a kind friend who had a similar experience herself, and she sincerely wanted to help.

Is the regression therapist insane? An interesting question. Formally, no — he has no psychiatric diagnosis. But what he says in earnest — earnestly claims to remember his clients’ past lives, earnestly links their present symptoms to fourteenth-century France — is closer in content to psychotic experience than to scientific practice. Only he isn’t suffering. He’s earning.

Here is the question that jolts through every page of this book: which of them is insane? One is in the acute ward. Diagnosis: schizophrenia. He whispers to the doctors that he hears the voice of his ancestor. The response is instant: antipsychotics. An injection. His world rapidly contracts to four hospital walls. The other is in the very center of Moscow. Openly declares: “I channel the voices of my clients’ past lives.” A hundred thousand eyes eagerly follow him on social media. His fee per session is eight thousand rubles. Psychiatric hospitalization — never. Diagnosis — never. Disciplinary action — never. One hears the voice of an ancestor — and gets an injection. The other hears the voices of strangers’ past lives — and gets paid. Who here is in a state of insanity?

This is not a rhetorical question. It is a question for which the modern world, in the midst of a pandemic of madness, has no legal answer. And it should.

RED FLAG. If the cause of your problems is being sought in “past lives” or in “repressed memories” that you are invited to “recall” under hypnosis — know this: the science of memory has shown that such methods do not retrieve memories; they create them. You will leave the session with someone else’s biography and your same old diagnosis. Leave earlier.