"Can I read it?"I ask, andJulie says,"Sure."We are both whisperingnow, hushed in the past preserved. She pulls it out.His handwriting iscramped and messy, and only very little ofit is legible. I read,"for thegood of man" and then, several sentences later,"to preserve and sur-vive we must," and toward the end of the old decaying page, whatlookslike,"IwonderifI amworthwhile."I look at Julie."Are you going to formally archive this material?" Iask,"Or are youjust going to keep it here?"Her eyes are brilliant inthe study's dimness, and that, along with the way she has obsessivelyenshrined her father's world, leads me to think that, for her, he is theone contingency she will never question,the one environmental cueshe is truly enslaved to.Would B.F.Skinner have wanted such slavishdevotion or would he have encouraged her to go forth, go wider insearch of new reinforcers that would generate new responses thatwould give rise to new data and ideas while the pigeons peck and theratskeep running and running,"You see this,"saysJulie, and shepoints to a small end table next to areclining chair,"Here is the piece of chocolate my father was eatingjust before the coma came," and when I look down, it is there, a pieceofdark chocolate on a china plate with a real B.F.bite mark fossilizedin the chunk."I want to save this chocolate forever."she says.I ask."How old is it?"and she says, "It's over a decade old and still in goodshape."I stare at her. A little later, after she leaves the room, I lift thegnawed square and study it closely.I see precisely where his mouth metthe candy's edge, and then, pulled by some string I cannot see, a cue Inever knew was coming, or perhaps a streak ofutter freedom (for I donotknow the answer after all this, I do not know the answer),I raisemy arm-or my arm is raisedand I put the chocolate in my mouth.Old chocolate,dusty chocolate,I take a tiny bite,leave my mark rightnextto his, and on my teeth thetaste ofsomething very strange andslightlysweet
"Ca n I read it? " I ask, and Juli e says, "Sure. " We are bot h whispering now, hushed in the past preserved. She pulls it out. His handwriting is cramped and messy, and only very little of it is legible. I read, "for the goo d of man " and then, several sentences later, "t o preserve and survive we must," and toward the end of the old decaying page, wha t looks like, " I wonde r if I am worthwhile. " I loo k at Julie . "Ar e you going to formally archive this material? " I ask, "O r are you just going to keep it here? " He r eyes are brilliant in the study's dimness, and that, along with the way she has obsessively enshrined her father's world, leads me to think that, for her, he is the on e contingenc y she will never question, the on e environmental cue she is truly enslaved to. Woul d B. F. Skinne r have wanted such slavish devotion or would he have encouraged her to go forth, go wide r in search of ne w reinforcers that would generate ne w responses that would give rise to new data and ideas whil e the pigeons peck and the rats keep running and running. "Yo u see this," says Julie, and she points to a small end table next to a reclining chair. "Her e is the piece of chocolat e my father was eating just before the coma came, " and whe n I look down, it is there, a piece of dark chocolat e on a china plate with a real B. F. bite mark fossilized in the chunk. "I want to save this chocolat e forever," she says. I ask, "Ho w old is it? " and she says, "It's over a decade old and still in goo d shape." I stare at her. A little later, after she leaves the room, I lift the gnawed square and study it closely. I see precisely wher e his mout h me t the candy's edge, and then, pulled by some string I cannot see, a cue I never knew was coming, or perhaps a streak of utter freedom (for I do not know the answer after all this, I do not know the answer), I raise my arm—o r my arm is raised—and I put the chocolat e in my mouth. O l d chocolate, dusty chocolate, I take a tiny bite, leave my mark right next to his, and on my teeth the taste of something very strange and slightly sweet
2ObscuraANDSTANLEYMILCRAMTOOBEDIENCEAUTHORITYIn 1961, a twenty-seven-year-old Yale assistant professor of psychol-ogy, Stanley Milgram, wanted to study obedience to authority. In apost-Holocaust world,peoplewerestruggling to understand howscoresof Ss officers had shot, gassed, noosed, and otherwise tortured twelvemillion people to death, supposedly on orders from their commandersin chief. The generally accepted explanation had to do with the then-popular notion of "the authoritarian personality,"which hypothesizedthat certain kinds of childhood experiences of a strict, Teutonic cast pro-duced people who would do amything to anyone if instructedMilgram, a social psychologist, suspected that this explanation was toonarrow. He purportedly believed the answer to destructive obediencelay less in the power ofpersonality and more in the power of situationIn Milgram's view, any especially persuasive situation could cause anyrational human being to abandon moral precepts and, on orders, com-mit atrocities. To test his hypothesis, Milgram set up one of psychol-ogy's grandest and most horrible hoaxes. He created a fake butconvincing "shock machine."He recruited hundreds ofvolunteers andordered themto deliver what they believed were lethal levels of electric-ity to an actor who feigned pain and even death. How far would peo-ple go under orders? What percentage of ordinary civilians would obeythe experimenter's mandates to shock? What percentage would rebel?Hereiswhat hefound
2 Obscura STANLE Y MILCRA M AN D OBEDIENC E T O AUTHORIT Y In 1961, a twenty-seven-year-old Yale assistant professor of psychology, Stanley Milgram, wanted to study obedience to authority. In a post-Holocaust world, people were struggling to understand how scores of SS officers had shot, gassed, noosed, and otherwise tortured twelve million people to death, supposedly on orders from their commanders in chief. The generally accepted explanation had to do with the thenpopular notion of "the authoritarian personality," which hypothesized that certain kinds of childhood experiences of a strict, Teutonic cast produced people who would do anything to anyone if instructed. Milgram, a social psychologist, suspected that this explanation was too narrow. He purportedly believed the answer to destructive obedience lay less in the power ofpersonality and more in the power of situation. In Milgram's view, any especially persuasive situation could cause any rational human being to abandon moral precepts and, on orders, commit atrocities. To test his hypothesis, Milgram set up one of psychology's grandest and most horrible hoaxes. He created a fake but convincing "shock machine." He recruited hundreds of volunteers and ordered them to deliver what they believed were lethal levels of electricity to an actor who feigned pain and even death. How far would people go under orders? What percentage of ordinary civilians would obey the experimenter's mandates to shock? What percentage would rebel? Here is what he found
PARTONE:THEEXPERIMENTPossibly you are late.You are running down a small side street inNew Haven, Connecticut.It isJune 196l,and ahead ofyouloomthespiresoftheYaleEpiscopalian Church.The streetssmell ofsummer,wet crushedflowersand spoiled fruit,and maybe,because ofthis, you already feel a little ill. In anticipation. Because ofthe odor.Something sweet and singed in the air.Or perhaps you are not late, Perhaps you are the responsible type,with minutes to spare, and so you are strolling and there is no moonbecause it is raining, a summer rain darting down silver and sidewaysand making the streets smell strongly of sewage and cement.In thisscenario, as well, you already feel a little sick, in anticipation,althoughofwhat you cannot say.There is that odor, something rotting in the air.You are carrying the ad.Just two weeks ago you ripped it from itsnewsprint page:"We Will Pay You s4.oo for One Hour ofYourTime,Persons Needed for a Study ofMemory."And because it wasYale,and because of the cash,enough to buy a new blender toreplace the one that went kaput, and because, well, it's all in the nameofscience,you said yes.Nowyou are on your way.On your way!Theside streets are so ... sideways, they curve and tip, the bricks buckling,green weeds thrusting up between the pavers.You trip.You straightenyourself up.You come to the address-Linsly-Chittenden Hall, a graydoorand you are iust about to open it when it opens itself and aman comes from the other side, his face all redand could those betears streaming down his cheeks? He hustles off into the shadows,and you, it's your turn.You go in.First off, you are paid.You go into a room, which is in worse shapethan the sidewalk that led you here, walls flaking, naked pipes in acomplexmeshwork on the ceiling,and a stern man in a white coatwho gives you three fresh smackers and four quarters, cold in yourpalm.Hesays,"Hereisyourcompensation.Itisyourstokeepregard-less of what happens,"or some such thing.What,you wonder,isgoingto happen?
PAR T ONE : TH E EXPERIMEN T P ossibly you are late.You are running down a small side street in N e w Haven, Connecticut. It is Jun e 1961 , and ahead o f you loom the spires o f the Yale Episcopalian Church . Th e streets smell o f summer, we t crushed flowers and spoiled fruit, and maybe , because of this, you already feel a little ill. In anticipation. Becaus e of the odor. Somethin g sweet and singed in the air. Or perhaps you are not late. Perhaps you are the responsible type, with minutes to spare, and so you are strolling and there is no moo n because it is raining, a summe r rain darting down silver and sideways and making the streets smell strongly of sewage and cement. In this scenario, as well, you already feel a little sick, in anticipation, although of what you cannot say. Ther e is that odor, something rotting in the air. Y o u are carrying the ad. Just two weeks ago you ripped it from its newsprint page: "W e Will Pay Yo u $4.0 0 for On e Hou r o f You r Time . Persons Neede d for a Study of Memory. " An d because it was Yale, and because of the cash, enoug h to buy a new blende r to replace the on e that went kaput, and because, well, it's all in the name of science, yo u said yes. No w you are on your way. On your way! Th e side streets are so . . sideways; they curve and tip, the bricks buckling, green weeds thrusting up betwee n the pavers.You trip.You straighten yourself up. Yo u com e to the address—Linsly-Chittenden Hall, a gray door—and you are just about to open it whe n it opens itself and a man come s from the othe r side, his face all red—and could those be tears streaming down his cheeks ? He hustles off into the shadows, and you, it's your turn.You go in. First off, you are paid.You go into a room, whic h is in worse shape than the sidewalk that led you here, walls flaking, naked pipes in a comple x meshwor k on the ceiling, and a stern ma n in a whit e coat w h o gives you three fresh smackers and four quarters, cold in your palm. He says, "Her e is your compensation. It is yours to keep regardless of wha t happens," or some such thing. What , yo u wonder, is going to happen?
Another man comes into the room.He's got a round face and a sillygrin and a straw hat sideways on his head. He's got blue eyes, but they'renot the ice blue ofintelligence or the cornflower blue ofpassion; they'rea bland, boiled blue. Even before all that happens, you think, This mandoes notlooksmart Hisname,he says,isWallace something or other.Hi,you say,my nameis Goldfarb, orWentworthpick a name,anynamewill do.Just remember, either way, whatever name, this is you.The experimenter says, "We are interested in learning about theeffects ofpunishment on learning.There has been very little system-atic research into this subject, and we are hoping our findings will beof some help to educational systems."He says,"In this experiment,one ofyou will be the learner and receive shocks when you make amistake in word pairs read to you, and the other one will be theteacher, who will administer the shocks when the word pair repeti-tion is wrong.Now,"the experimenter asks,"which oneof youwould like to be the learner, which one the teacher?"You look at-what's his name?Wallace.And Wallace shrugs.Youshrug.The experimenter says,"We'll do a drawing."He holds outtwo pieces of folded paper.You pick one, Wallace picks one.You openyours:"teacher,"it says.Thank god.Wallace says,laughing,"Looks likeI'm thelearner."Theexperimenter motions for you and Wallace to follow him.Youdo.You go down a short dark hallway and into a room that looks likea cell."Sit in this chair,"the experimenter says toWallace,andWallacedoes.This is no ordinary chair.This is a goddamn electric chair, witha switch plate on the table and straps and strange suckers to put onthe skin. "We've got to strap him down,' the experimenter says,meaning strap Wallace down, and suddenly you're bending over thisbig man, buckling him into the seat as though he's just a baby,hisskin, when you brush it,surprisingly soft. The experimenter takes acan ofpaste and says,"Rub this on his hands,forthe electrodes,"andbefore you know it, you are massaging grease into this loose-fleshedman, and you feel oddly ill and a tad aroused, and the experimentersays, "Tighten those belts," and so you do.You grease and tighten
Anothe r man come s into the room. He's got a round face and a silly grin and a straw hat sideways on his head. He's got blue eyes, but they're not the ice blue of intelligence or the cornflower blue of passion; they're a bland, boiled blue. Even before all that happens, you think, This man does not look smart. His name, he says, is Wallace something or other. Hi, you say, my name is Goldfarb, or Wentworth—pic k a name, any name will do. Just remember, either way, whatever name, this is you. T h e experimente r says, "W e are interested in learning about the effects of punishment on learning. Ther e has bee n very little systematic research into this subject, and we are hoping our findings will be of some help to educational systems." He says, "I n this experiment, on e of you will be the learner and receive shocks whe n you make a mistake in word pairs read to you, and the othe r on e will be the teacher, wh o will administer the shocks whe n the word pair repetition is wrong. Now, " the experimente r asks, "whic h on e of yo u would like to be the learner, whic h on e the teacher? " Y o u loo k at—what's his name?—Wallace . An d Wallace shrugs. Yo u shrug. Th e experimente r says, "We'll do a drawing." He holds out two pieces of folded paper. Yo u pick one , Wallace picks one.Yo u open yours: "teacher, " it says. Than k god.Wallac e says, laughing, "Look s like I 'm the learner." T h e experimente r motions for yo u and Wallace to follow him. Yo u do.You go down a short dark hallway and into a room that looks like a cell. "Sit in this chair," the experimente r says to Wallace, and Wallace does. This is no ordinary chair. This is a goddamn electric chair, with a switch plate on the table and straps and strange suckers to put on the skin. "We'v e got to strap him down," the experimente r says, meaning strap Wallace down, and suddenly you're bending over this big man, buckling him into the seat as though he's just a baby, his skin, whe n you brush it, surprisingly soft. Th e experimente r takes a can of paste and says, "Ru b this on his hands, for the electrodes," and before you kno w it, you are massaging grease into this loose-fleshed man, and you feel oddly ill and a tad aroused, and the experimente r says, "Tighte n those belts," and so you do. Yo u grease and tighten
pulling the straps on the black belts so Wallace is harnessed and wiredup,and just before you leave, you look at him,a captured man, hispale eyes a little scared,just a glint offear, and you want to say,"ShhhNothingbad will happen here."NOTHING BAD WILL happenhere.Nothingbadwill happenhere.You repeat thattoyourselfas you followthe experimenter out ofone cell-like room and into another cell-like room where there is noelectric chair, but instead a huge generator with dime-shiny buttons,beneathwhich areprinted thevoltages15,30,45,all thewayup to45o."Danger, Extreme Shock, xxx,"it says on the top-level levers.Jesus H Christ.Who is HI Did Jesus have a middle name? Haley,Halifax, Huston? You are starting to think seriously about Jesus'middle name; sometimes that happens to youyou think about thewrong thing, so you won't have to think about the right thing.Halifax. Haley.Huston.And meanwhile the experimenter is saying,"You will read these word sequences to Wallace through the micro-phone. For each mistake he makes, you give him a shock.You start atthe lowest, I5, and go up.May I give you a sample shock?"Oh sure,you've always liked samples, sample spoons of ice cream,sample fabric swatches, miniature shampoo samples in drug stores, sowhy not a sweet little sample shock?You offeryour arm.It looks whiteand floppy in the fluorescent laboratory lights.It is an ugly arm, withdark dots where the hairs spring up. The experimenter lowers someprongeddevice onto your very own skin and you feel a pair of hotfangs, the kiss of a stingray.You flinch away.That was 45 volts,"theexperimenter says."Just so you'll know what the punishment is like."Okay okay,You begin.LAKE,LUCK,HAY,SUN.Tree,loon,laughter, childTheword pairshave a kind ofpoetry to them, and now you are happy, all these lakes
pulling the straps on the black belts so Wallace is harnessed and wired up, and just before you leave, you loo k at him, a captured man, his pale eyes a little scared, just a glint of fear, and you want to say,"Shhh. Nothin g bad will happen here." NOTHIN G BAD WIL L happen here. Nothin g bad will happen here. Y o u repeat that to yourself as you follow the experimente r out of on e cell-like room and into anothe r cell-like room wher e there is no electric chair, but instead a huge generator with dime-shiny buttons, beneath whic h are printed the voltages—15 , 30 , 45 , all the way up to 450 . "Danger, Extreme Shock , xxx, " it says on the top-level levers. Jesus H Christ. Wh o is HI Di d Jesus have a middle name ? Haley, Halifax, Huston? Yo u are starting to think seriously about Jesus' middle name ; sometime s that happens to you—yo u think about the wron g thing, so you won't have to think about the right thing. Halifax. Haley. Huston. An d meanwhil e the experimente r is saying, "Yo u will read these word sequences to Wallace through the micro - phone . For each mistake he makes, you give him a shock.Yo u start at the lowest, 15 , and go up. Ma y I give you a sample shock? " Oh sure, you've always liked samples, sample spoons of ice cream, sample fabric swatches, miniature shampoo samples in drug stores, so why not a sweet little sample shock? You offer your arm. It looks white and floppy in the fluorescent laboratory lights. It is an ugly arm, with dark dots wher e the hairs spring up. Th e experimente r lowers some pronged device onto your very own skin and you feel a pair of hot fangs, the kiss of a stingray. Yo u flinch away. "Tha t was 45 volts," the experimente r says. "Just so you'll know what the punishment is like." Oka y okay. Yo u begin. LAKE , LUCK , HAY, SUN. Tree, loon, laughter, child. Th e word pairs have a kind of poetry to them, and no w you are happy, all these lakes