《实验心理学》课程教学课件（书籍教材）Opening Skinner's Box - Great Psychological Experiments of the Twentieth Century.pdf_P31-P35

and loons, and Wallace, whose voice comes crackling at you througha tiny microphone,also seems happy."Keep 'em coming boy!"heshouts, and you lob him chocolate, waffle, valentine, cupid, and that'swhen he makes his first mistake. He forgets the cupid, unlucky inlove.You give the first shock,just I5 volts, a kittenish tickle, nothingtoworryabout.But that first shock changes things.You can just tell. Wallace'svoice, when he repeats the next word pair, is somber, serious, but,goddamn it,he makes another mistakel Yougive him 3o volts.Nexttry,good boy, he gets it right, and then again, he gets it right.You findyou're rooting for him, and then he screws up tree house. Then hescrews up dahlia and grass and before you know it, you're up to Il5volts; you watch your finger land on the press-pad, the nacreous nail,the knuckle, which is the hardest part of the hand.You press down.Through the microphone comes the sound ofa scream."Let me out,let me out! I've had enough, let me outta here!"You're starting to shake.You can feel wet crescents under yourarms.You turn to the experimenter."Okay,"you say."I guess we gottastop.Hewantsout.""The experiment requires that you continue,"this poker face says."But he wants outi" you say."we can't continue ifhe wants out.""The experiment requires that you continue," he repeats, asthough you're hard of hearing, which you're not, you're not! Yourhearing's fine, and so is your vision, twenty-twenty,You have theabsurd desire to tell this man all about your clean bill of health andyour excellent eyes and your good grades in college and your recentpromotion at work.You want to tell Mr.White Coat that you're adecent person who has always wanted to help, who would do any-thing not to disappoint, but you're so sorry, so sorry,you cannot con-tinue the experiment, you hate to disappoint but-"Please continue,"hesays.You blink.Sometimes the sun blinks in and out, on days whenclouds scuttle across the sky. That is the best kind of day, fresh bluesky, clouds as white as bandages, a crisp flag snapping at the tip ofits

and loons, and Wallace, whos e voic e come s crackling at you through a tiny microphone , also seems happy. "Kee p 'em comin g boy! " he shouts, and you lob him chocolate, waffle, valentine, cupid, and that's whe n he makes his first mistake. He forgets the cupid, unlucky in love.You give the first shock, just 15 volts, a kittenish tickle, nothin g to worr y about. B u t that first shock changes things. Yo u can just tell. Wallace's voice, whe n he repeats the nex t word pair, is somber, serious, but, goddamn it, he makes anothe r mistake! Yo u give him 30 volts. Nex t try, goo d boy, he gets it right, and then again, he gets it right.You find you're rooting for him, and then he screws up tree house. The n he screws up dahlia and grass and before you kno w it, you're up to 11 5 volts; you watch your finger land on the press-pad, the nacreous nail, the knuckle , whic h is the hardest part of the hand. Yo u press down. Throug h the microphon e come s the sound of a scream. "Le t me out, let me out! I've had enough, let me outta here! " You're starting to shake. Yo u can feel we t crescents under your arms.You turn to the experimenter. "Okay, " you say. " I guess we gotta stop. He wants out." "Th e experimen t requires that you continue, " this poke r face says. "Bu t he wants out!" you say. "W e can't continue if he wants out." "Th e experimen t requires that you continue, " he repeats, as though you're hard of hearing, whic h you're not, you're not! You r hearing's fine, and so is your vision, twenty-twenty. Yo u have the absurd desire to tell this ma n all about your clean bill of health and your excellent eyes and your goo d grades in college and your recent promotio n at work. Yo u want to tell Mr. Whit e Coa t that you're a decent person wh o has always wanted to help, wh o would do anything not to disappoint, but you're so sorry, so sorry, you cannot con - tinue the experiment, you hate to disappoint but— "Please continue, " he says. Y o u blink. Sometime s the sun blinks in and out, on days whe n clouds scuttle across the sky. Tha t is the best kind of day, fresh blue sky, clouds as whit e as bandages, a crisp flag snapping at the tip of its

pole.You continue. Somewhere between the cloud and the flag youfound yourself going on. You don't know why, you hate to disap-point,and this experimenter seems so sure ofhimselfand as you con-tinue,you recall how once,when you were a child, there was aneclipse, and the sun and the moon merged in a golden burningminute.Wallace makes a mistake.He makes three, four mistakes, and nowyou're up to I5o volts, and he's screaming,"1 have a heart condition.Let me out ofhere! I no longer wish to be in this experiment,"andthe experimenter is standing right next to you and saying,"Go on,please, the shocks are painful but they are not harmful. There will benopermanenttissuedamage."You are fighting tears.Your name is Goldfarb,orWinegarten,orWentworth.What is your name?You're not so sure."But he has aheart condition,"you say,you think you say, or is your mind justwhispering to itself?"There will be no permanent tissue damage," herepeats, and you shout,"For god's sake, what about temporary dam-age?" and he says,"The experiment requires that you continue," andyou say,you're crying now,or you're laughing now,your stomach'slaughing hee-hee-haw while your eyes are dribbling tears, you say,"why don't we just go in there and check on him? Let's just makesure he's okay," and Mr.White Coat shakes his head, you can hear thebones click in his neck-click click, no no,go on, you touch yourown neck and you are shocked,no pun intended,you are shocked tofeel how slippery wet it is, from sweat,and also how oddly boneless itis; you press and press, but you cannot find any scaffolding in yourneck. Is this experimenter a doctor?"Are you a doctor?"you ask."Are you convinced there will be no permanent tissue damage?" Heseems so sure ofhimself,just likea doctor,whichyou're not,eventhough you got good grades in school, he knows what he's doing.You don't.He wears a white coat. So you continue up the ladder oflevers,reading word pairs, and something strange has happened toyou.You concentrate totally on your task.You read each word paircarefully, carefully, you press the levers like a pilot at his panel.Your

pole. You continue . Somewher e between the cloud and the flag you found yourself going on. Yo u don't kno w why, you hate to disappoint, and this experimente r seems so sure of himself and as you con - tinue, you recall ho w once , whe n you were a child, there was an eclipse, and the sun and the moo n merge d in a golden burning minute. Wallace makes a mistake. He makes three, four mistakes, and now you're up to 15 0 volts, and he's screaming, "I have a heart condition. Le t me out of here! I no longe r wish to be in this experiment, " and the experimente r is standing right nex t to you and saying, "G o on, please, the shocks are painful but they are not harmful. Ther e will be no permanen t tissue damage." Y o u are fighting tears. You r name is Goldfarb, or Winegarten , or Wentworth . Wha t is your name ? You're not so sure. "Bu t he has a heart condition, " you say, you think you say, or is your min d just whispering to itself? "Ther e will be no permanent tissue damage," he repeats, and you shout, "Fo r god's sake, wha t about temporary damage? " and he says, "Th e experimen t requires that you continue, " and you say, you're crying now, or you're laughing now, your stomach's laughing hee-hee-haw whil e your eyes are dribbling tears, you say, "Wh y don't we just go in there and chec k on him? Let's just make sure he's okay," and Mr. Whit e Coa t shakes his head, you can hear the bone s click in his neck—clic k click, no no, go on, you touc h your own nec k and you are shocked, no pun intended, you are shocked to feel how slippery we t it is, from sweat, and also how oddly boneless it is; you press and press, but you cannot find any scaffolding in your neck. Is this experimente r a doctor? "Ar e you a doctor? " you ask. "Ar e you convince d there will be no permanent tissue damage? " He seems so sure of himself, just like a doctor, whic h you're not, even though you got goo d grades in school, he knows wha t he's doing. You don't. He wears a whit e coat. So you continue up the ladder of levers, reading word pairs, and something strange has happened to you. Yo u concentrat e totally on your task. Yo u read each word pair carefully, carefully, you press the levers like a pilot at his panel. You r

range of vision narrows to the mechanic s at hand. Yo u are flying into something. Yo u are flying through something, but wha t it is you can - not say.You have a jo b to do. This is no t about the sky outside. This is not about sun, bones, blinks, flags. Yo u have a jo b to do, and so flesh fades away, and Wallace fades away, and in his place, a gleaming machine . At 31 5 volts Wallace gives on e last, blood-curdling scream and then stops. He falls silent. At 34 5 volts you turn to the experimenter. Yo u feel very odd. Yo u feel hollow, and the experimenter, whe n he speaks, seems to fill you up with his air. "Conside r silence a wron g answer," he says, and that seems so funny you start to sneeze and laugh.You just laugh and laugh and press those levers, because there is no way out, no way to say, "No ! No ! No! " In your head you can say it, but in your hands you can't, and you understand no w ho w great the distance betwee n the head and the hands—it is miles of unbro - ken tundra. Wit h your head you say no and with your hands you tapdance up and down the shock board, in and around the words—skirt, flair, floor, swirl;goose, feather, blanket, star—and all the whil e there is just this eerie silence punctuated by electric skillet sizzles, and no man. Ther e is no ma n here. IT IS LIK E waking up. It is like falling asleep and dreaming o f loons and sharks and then waking up, and the whol e thing is over. Th e experimente r says, "W e can stop now," and through the door come s Wallace, his hat still sideways on his head, not a hair out of place. He looks fine. "Boy , you really shook me up in there," he says, "but no hard feelings." He pumps your hand. "Wow, " he says, "you're sweating. Calm down. Gee z I'm known for my melodrama, but I'm fine," and the experimente r echoes, "Wallace is just fine. Th e shocks weren't as bad as they seemed. Th e danger, lethal level, that's only for small labo - ratory animals, whic h is what we usually use the generator for." Oh, you think. Wallace leaves. A spry little ma n name d Milgram enters the room

and says,"Do you mind ifi ask you some questions?"Then he showsyou a picture ofa schoolboy being flogged and takes down your edu-cation level and whether you've ever been in the army and whatreligion you are and you are so numb-you answereverythingandyou are also so confused.So the shock generator was geared for mice,not men? Are you a mouse or a man? IfWallace really wasn't hurt,then why did he scream so loud? Why did he holler about his heart?You know about hearts.You know about bones and blood,whichyou happen to have on your hands. A rage rises up.You look at thisnimble little Milgram and you say,"I get it. This wasn't about learn-ing at all. This was an experiment about obedience, obedience toauthority," and Milgram, who is only twenty-seven years old and ter-ribly young to be pioneering such a controversial, damaging, illumi-nating, and finally famous setup, Milgram turns to you. He has greeneyes, the color oflollipops, and a little red scribble ofa mouth."Thiswas about obedience,"you repeat, and Milgram says,"Yes, it was.Ifyou hadn't guessed it, I would have told you later,in a standard letterI mail to my subjects.Sixty-five percent ofmy subjects behavedjustas you did. It is totally normal for a person to make the choices youdid in the situation we put you in.You have nothing to feel badlyabout,"but you,you won't be taken in.You won't be reassured.Hefooled you once, but he won't fool you twice.There are no reassur-ing words for what you've learned in his lab tonight. Lake LoonSwan. Song.You have learned you have blood on your hands.And abodybuilt forthewords ofothermen.OTHER MEN.Maybe that one across the street or in the house nextdoor, but not you. This is what you, the reader, may be thinking.Should you have had the outrageous luck to have found yourself inLinsly-Chittenden Hall at Yale University on a limpid June night inI96l,you would not havedone sucha thing.Your name,after all, isnot Goldfarb or Winegarten orWentworth.Youare,perhaps,aBuddhist.A vegetarian.A hospice volunteer.You work with troubled

and says, "D o you min d if I ask you some questions?" The n he shows you a picture of a schoolboy being flogged and takes down your education level and whethe r you've ever bee n in the army and wha t religion you are and you are so numb—yo u answer everything—and you are also so confused. So the shock generator was geared for mice , not men ? Are you a mous e or a man? If Wallace really wasn't hurt, then why did he scream so loud? Wh y did he holler about his heart? Yo u kno w about hearts. Yo u kno w about bone s and blood, whic h you happen to have on your hands. A rage rises up. Yo u loo k at this nimbl e little Milgram and you say, "I get it. This wasn't about learning at all. This was an experimen t about obedience , obedienc e to authority," and Milgram, wh o is only twenty-seven years old and terribly young to be pioneering such a controversial, damaging, illuminating, and finally famous setup, Milgram turns to you. He has green eyes, the colo r of lollipops, and a little red scribble of a mouth . "This was about obedience, " you repeat, and Milgram says, "Yes, it was. If you hadn't guessed it, I would have told you later, in a standard letter I mail to my subjects. Sixty-five percent of my subjects behaved just as you did. It is totally norma l for a person to make the choice s you did in the situation we put you in. Yo u have nothing to feel badly about," but you, you won't be taken in. Yo u won't be reassured. He fooled you once , but he won't fool you twice . Ther e are no reassuring words for wha t you've learned in his lab tonight. Lake. Loon. Swan. Song. Yo u have learned you have bloo d on your hands. An d a body built for the words of othe r men . OTHE R MEN . Mayb e that on e across the street or in the hous e next door, but no t you. This is wha t you, the reader, may be thinking. Should you have had the outrageous luck to have found yourself in Linsly-Chittenden Hall at Yale University on a limpid Jun e night in 196 1 , you would not have done such a thing. You r name , after all, is not Goldfarb or Winegarte n or Wentworth . Yo u are, perhaps, a Buddhist. A vegetarian. A hospice volunteer.You wor k with troubled