31Chapter 26. Legal Asymmetry: A Pandemic of Tacit Consent

Let’s imagine a simple scenario.

Tomorrow I, psychiatrist Kenan Ragimov, will open a small butcher shop in Baku. I procure raw materials. Make sausage. Print the ingredients on the packaging: “Beef 80%, pork 20%.” In reality, there’s more soy than meat in the sausage. I sell it.

What will happen?

In a few weeks or months, they’ll come. The sanitary-epidemiological service will take samples. The lab will run tests. There’s one question: what if the contents don’t match? Then—instant protocol, administrative court, a hefty fine, a temporary sales ban. And my name ends up on the list of dishonest vendors—for all to see. But that’s just the first door slamming shut. If violations pile up—a second one opens. Criminal charges. Fraud indictment. Just like that. Step by step. From a lab tube to the defendant’s bench.

This is how a functional legal system works. Any modern country has a multi-level infrastructure for quality control: consumer protection laws, compliance standards, lab tests, fines, sanctions. It covers sausage, milk, gasoline, children’s toys, car parts, shampoo.

Now, let’s consider another scenario.

Tomorrow, I’m not opening a butcher shop. I’m opening the “Kenan Ragimov Center for Spiritual Practices.” I rent a space. Hang a sign. Post elegant photos in white robes on Instagram. Caption: “I am an ancestral energy healer. My lineage traces back to the 17th century. I cleanse karma. I lift generational curses in a single session. Guaranteed. Price—40,000 rubles per hour.” 17th century. Three hundred years of tradition. One session. Forty grand. Check for yourself: no certificates, no diplomas, no witnesses—just white robes and a polished Instagram feed. And it works. Flawlessly.

I’ll post a few testimonials (written by me or my friends): “Kenan saved my life! My depression vanished after one session!” — “I struggled with infertility for ten years—after working with Kenan, I got pregnant!” — “I landed my dream job right after he cleared my ancestral programming!”

What will happen?

Nothing.

No government agency will show up to inspect. No lab will test my “services” against advertised claims—because no such lab exists. No inspector will file a report stating that “karma cannot physically be clean or dirty, and generational curses are a biological impossibility.” No court will ban my trade. My name won’t appear on any list of fraudulent healers—because no such list exists.

I’ll practice freely. I’ll make money. I’ll scale the business. Within a year, dozens of clients; five years, hundreds; ten years, thousands. I’ll speak at “healer” forums. Publish books. Get invited as a guest on popular shows. Hit 300K Instagram followers. And no one—not once, not in any post-Soviet jurisdiction—will hold me accountable for a thing.

Here lies the essence of legal asymmetry.

You can’t sell sausage that doesn’t match its stated ingredients. But you can sell “karma cleansing.” And that, as the epigraph I’ll mention a little later says, is an absurdity sustained by the silent complicity of all of us.

This asymmetry deserves a close look, because it holds the key to everything this book is about.

Legal protection against shoddy goods rests on a few basic principles in most countries.

The first is the principle of conformity to stated characteristics. If the label says “juice from natural apples,” then the package must contain juice from natural apples—not concentrate or sweetener with apple flavoring. If the product doesn’t match the description, the seller is liable.

The second is the principle of objective verifiability. The composition of juice can be tested in a lab. There are standards. There are methods. There are experts. There are instruments. If there’s a dispute, the lab issues an independent finding.

The third is the principle of accountability. A dishonest seller faces financial consequences (fines, refunds, damages) and administrative ones (loss of license), and in especially grave cases, criminal ones.

Legal protection against shoddy psychological and “spiritual” services doesn’t work on any of these principles in most post-Soviet countries.

The first principle crumbles to dust. Because it’s unclear what, exactly, has been “stated.” “Karma cleansing.” What is that? An undefinable service. “Working with ancestral programs.” What is that? An undefinable service. “Releasing limiting beliefs through the theta state.” What is that? Again—an undefinable service. Three signs. Three voids. Words strung onto words—constructions that could mean anything. Or nothing. And now, a question. Try confronting the seller: your “karma cleansing” doesn’t match what was stated. Just try. Legally, it’s impossible. Why? Because no one—not the court, not an expert, not even the seller—can determine what “matches” means. There’s no benchmark. No standard. No reference point. And where there’s no definition, there’s no violation. Only words. And silence behind them.

The second principle doesn’t work because these services are objectively unverifiable. There’s no lab that could measure the purity of karma. No instrument that could register the presence of an “ancestral program.” No experts in these fields—because these fields don’t belong to scientific knowledge. They lie outside science by definition.

The third principle is a dead end. An inescapable trap that follows from the first two. Picture it: you go to file a complaint, clutching a receipt, demanding justice. But justice stays silent. Why? The service you were given is a phantom. It can’t be measured, it can’t be evaluated. You stand before the court, and the defendant just shrugs: “What exactly didn’t you like? You were promised a session—you got one. You want to prove it didn’t work? And where are the criteria?” The victim of a “theta healer” can’t file a claim: “I was promised a cure in a single session.” The judge will reply coldly: “What is ‘a cure’? You received a meditation for personal growth. Did the session take place? It did. Therefore the service was provided.” And the lock clicks shut. You’re left outside the door. Empty-handed. With unexpressed anger. And with a question that will hang in the air: “So what, exactly, did I buy?”

This logic is formally airtight. And precisely this enables the existence of a multi-billion-dollar industry immune to any regulation.

My core message to the reader is this: physically impossible services should not be sold.

This is a fundamental principle that must be incorporated into modern legislation in any country serious about its citizens’ mental health.

A man sits across from you and says: I read karma. Fine. With what instrument? Where’s the measurement log entry? Where’s the trace on the photographic plate, the peak on the graph, the statistical significance—a verifiable number? He says: I’ll rewrite your fate. Fine. Where’s the original? Who held the draft? Who saw the layout? Show me the logarithmic ruler used to edit the text of fate. Produce the archives. He says: I fix ancestral energy fields. Fine. Technical specifications, please. Field intensity—in what units? Frequency range—from what to what? Absorption coefficient—how much? Without numbers, it’s not physics. It’s fiction. Call white white and black black. One rule separates science from pseudoscience. If a phenomenon is real—it can be measured. If not—then say so outright: it’s magic.

None of this can be produced. Because none of it exists in observable reality. Therefore, selling these “services” is selling what does not exist under the name of what does. This is structural fraud. Yet in most modern legal systems, it isn’t classified as fraud because:

— The victim subjectively believed in the service offered (consent is given), — Neither party can objectively prove the service wasn’t performed (the service’s subject is unverifiable), — The seller genuinely believes in what they’re selling (no fraudulent intent exists).

The last point is particularly interesting. Many “healers” sincerely believe in what they do. Here lies one of modern pseudoscience’s most frightening secrets. A classic con artist knows they’re lying—their eyes are open. But today’s “theta healer”? They devoutly believe they’re healing. How? They went through a paid course. There, methodically, step by step, their doubts were dismantled. They were convinced of the method’s reality. They received a certificate—a glossy slip of paper cementing the illusion. And then they see: clients “improve.” Their bodies relax, relief washes over their faces. Subjectively, it looks like absolute validation. But pull back the curtain. What’s really happening? The placebo effect. Plus the body’s natural return to baseline after temporary distress. There’s no miraculous cure—just biological inevitability that the healer mistakes for their triumphant sorcery.

This sincere self-delusion does not absolve one of responsibility. A doctor who genuinely believes that 100 mg of haloperidol daily helps with mild anxiety (the actual therapeutic dose is much lower, and antipsychotics aren’t indicated for mild anxiety to begin with) isn’t justified by their “sincerity.” They violated medical standards regardless of their personal beliefs.

By the same logic, a theta healer’s genuine faith in their connection to the Creator of All Things shouldn’t excuse them from failing to meet professional standards. There’s only one standard here: the service must demonstrate empirical effectiveness beyond the placebo effect, verified by independent randomized studies. If it doesn’t, it simply shouldn’t be sold.

France’s experience over the last two decades shows that legal tools to address this problem are possible—though difficult to implement.

Since 2001, France has had a law known as the About-Picard Act, which introduced the concept of “abuse of weakness” (abus de faiblesse)—the exploitation of psychological techniques to manipulate vulnerable individuals into harmful actions. Originally targeting cult leaders, the law has since been applied in certain cases involving pseudomedical healers.

In 2024, France passed an even stricter amendment by adding “psychological subjection” (assujettissement psychologique) as a standalone criminal offense. It carries penalties of up to three years in prison and fines of €375,000; in aggravated cases (involving minors, individuals in vulnerable health, online communication, or organized crime groups), sentences can reach seven years with fines up to €1 million.

The key distinction in the French approach is that beliefs themselves are not criminalized. French law doesn’t prohibit believing in anything you want. Instead, it targets the psychological manipulation techniques often used by cult leaders or unscrupulous “coaches” to exploit their followers.

France’s approach remains controversial, facing criticism from human rights groups who argue it dangerously blurs the line between protecting victims and restricting freedom of belief. Yet the fact that a major European state is seriously pursuing legal remedies for this issue is telling.

Most post-Soviet countries have nothing comparable. Consumer protection laws don’t cover esoteric services, and while criminal codes penalize classic fraud (e.g., Article 159 in Russia, with equivalents in Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, and Belarus), applying these statutes to a theta healer who earnestly believes in their own method proves technically challenging.

The result: we find ourselves facing a complete legal vacuum surrounding services that generate hundreds of billions of rubles annually while causing documented harm to millions of people.

Now, to the heart of this chapter. To the moral dimension of the issue.

There’s a phrase often attributed (not entirely accurately but essentially correctly) to Martin Luther King Jr.: “The greatest tragedy is not the appalling words of bad people, but the appalling silence of good people.”

This is exactly our situation.

The terrible things being done today under the guise of psychological, spiritual, or energy healing aren’t happening because society is full of evil people. They are carried out by a relatively small number. And they thrive because the vast majority of good, rational, professionally competent people remain silent.

Silent. Every single one of them. Lawmakers—silent. Regulatory bodies—silent. Professional associations of psychiatrists and psychologists—silent. Universities—silent. And yet, they know. They know in the psychology departments. The educators—they know. They know full well: most of their graduates go on to work in an industry that doesn’t meet scientific standards. They know. And they stay silent. They don’t tell students. Not a word. Journalists stay silent. It’s easier for them—entertaining pieces about “new methods.” Catchy headlines. Ratings. But analytical exposés—who needs those? Psychiatrists stay silent. The very ones who see. They see patients harmed by pseudo-healers. They see—and they stay silent. “It’s not our concern.” “We’re not politicians.” “Let everyone decide for themselves.” Silence. Thick, impenetrable silence.

And millions of ordinary people stay silent too—the relatives of patients harmed by pseudo-treatment. They often don’t know what to do. They feel ashamed. They fear “offending religious sensibilities” (even though this has nothing to do with authentic religion). They’re unsure if they have the right to speak up.

This silence is the pandemic.

A virus spreads not only because there are infected individuals and susceptible hosts. It spreads because no one says “stop.” No one initiates vaccination. No one enforces quarantine. Everyone hopes it will “go away on its own,” “it’s not our problem,” “let others deal with it.”

It doesn’t go away on its own. And each of us must take responsibility.

What exactly I suggest.

For lawmakers: introduce into national legislation the concept of prohibiting the sale of physically impossible services. This isn’t about banning beliefs—everyone is free to believe what they want. It’s about banning the commercialization of services lacking an evidence base under the guise of helping. Esoteric beliefs can be practiced freely as personal spiritual practices. But they cannot be sold as health-improving services for money, as this violates the fundamental principle of consumer protection.

For regulatory bodies: expand the competencies of sanitary-epidemiological services, consumer protection agencies, and tax authorities into the realm of “alternative services.” Mandatory licensing of psychological services, including a state-administered exam. A public registry of certified specialists detailing their education and professional status.

For professional psychiatric and psychological associations. A public stance against pseudoscientific methods. Raising public awareness through clear, accessible language. Initiatives to establish joint expert councils for evaluating commercial “methods” for scientific validity.

For media outlets. Applying the same fact-checking standards to “psychological” and “healing” content as to medical reporting. Rejecting advertisements for unproven treatments. Discontinuing entertainment formats that normalize supernatural abilities (e.g., shows like “Psychic Challenge” should be removed from channels broadcasting news programming).

For educational systems. Mandatory scientific literacy and critical thinking courses in school curricula. Teaching adolescents to distinguish scientific claims from pseudoscience, evidence from assertion, and medical advice from commercial advertising.

For each of us personally: Speak up. Write. Publish. Discuss. Warn loved ones. Don’t stay silent when a neighbor says she’s “started visiting an energy healer.” Don’t stay silent when a doctor you know refers patients to a “generational trauma specialist.” Don’t stay silent when a school friend sells “tarot-based therapy” on Instagram.

Speak gently, respectfully—but speak. Explain. Present facts. Recommend alternatives—qualified psychiatrists, licensed psychotherapists, accredited medical centers.

Silence isn’t neutrality. Silence is choosing sides. The side of the pandemic.

I know how the industry will respond to this chapter.

They’ll say: “The author is intolerant. The author is imposing their views. The author opposes freedom. Don’t people have the right to believe what they want? Can’t they freely choose their specialists? We live in a democracy, not some totalitarian system of scientific monopoly.”

These are standard arguments. And they demand clear responses.

Freedom of belief is non-negotiable. Believe in karma—your right. Believe in reincarnation—your right. Believe God personally hears your prayers—your right. Believe in nothing—also your right. As a psychiatrist, I take no issue with any worldview—if it remains a personal matter.

Commercial activity is regulated. The moment any practice becomes a paid service, it automatically falls under oversight. Faith in miracles is personal. Selling “miracle sessions” is commerce—subject to quality control like sausage production, car sales, or any other product or service.

Especially regarding mental health. Patients with depression, anxiety, psychosis, or borderline conditions are trapped in heightened vulnerability. Their minds can’t rationally resist manipulation like a healthy car buyer would. The state fiercely protects consumers from dishonest car dealers yet abandons depressed patients to unscrupulous “healers.” Isn’t that hypocrisy? Isn’t that illogical? This glaring contradiction leaves one solution: either abandon consumer protections entirely—or extend them to all spheres where consumers are truly vulnerable.

There is no such thing as “freedom for pseudoscience.” Pseudoscience is not a religion, not a philosophy, not an art form, not a personal conviction. Pseudoscience is a commercial proposition that masks the absence of any scientific foundation behind pseudoscientific jargon. It should be fought with the same tools we use against counterfeit medicines, fake cosmetics, and investment pyramid scams.

One last thing. In this chapter I write as a physician, but I am addressing my fellow citizens — the citizens of the post-Soviet space, readers in Russia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Ukraine, Belarus, Georgia, and other countries of our region.

A shared responsibility. We are talking about a region that has become one of the primary targets of a pandemic of madness — the toll runs into the millions, and that is not a metaphor. This is not a curse. Not nature. Not fate. It is a sum. Weak regulation — that’s one. The traumatic legacy of the Soviet era — that’s two. And here is the key: official medicine discredited itself in the eyes of part of society, and that fissure has not healed for decades. The explosive growth of social media — that’s three. Without a parallel rise in media literacy — that’s four. Economic stratification — that’s five. This is where the real drama unfolds: the inexpensive services of pseudo-healers compete with the more expensive services of real doctors. And in that competition, the winners are not those who have knowledge. The winners are those who have a lower price.

All of this is fixable. But fixing it requires work. It requires professional solidarity. It requires political will. It requires public discussion. It requires, ultimately, each individual person willing to speak up rather than stay silent.

If someone in your circle is dependent on a constellation facilitator, a regression therapist, a theta healer — tell them. Gently, but directly. Offer an alternative. Show them this book. Show them other scientific sources.

If you yourself are a specialist in some related field — a journalist, a lawyer, a teacher, an administrator, a politician — use your profession. Publish an article. Support a bill. Speak at a forum. Write on social media.

If you are simply a reader who grew up in this environment — stop being a silent part of the pandemic. Start talking. At least at home. At least with friends. At least one honest conversation.

Silent acquiescence is the main source of energy for this pandemic. Stop feeding it.