Lauren SlaterOpeningSkinner'sBoxGreat Psychological Experiments
IntroductionI did my first psychological experiment when I was fourteen yearsold.There were raccoons living in the walls ofour old Maine vaca-tion house, and one day I stuck my hand in the crumbling plasterand pulled out a squalling baby, still milk-smeared, its eyes closedand its tiny paws pedaling in the air.Days later the sealed eye slitsopened, and because I'd heard ofKonrad Lorenz and his imprintedducklings,I made sure the mammal saw me first, its streaming fieldof vision taking in my form-hands and feet and face. It worked.Immediately the raccoon-I called her Amelia Earheart-began tofollow me everywhere,wreathing around my ankles, scrambling upmy calves when shewas afraid.She followed meto the town book-store,to school, down busy streets, into bed, but in truth, I began totake on more ofher behaviors than she mine.Even though I was theimprinter, with Amelia at my side I learned to fish in a pond withmy human paws; I learned to latch on to the soft scree at the base ofa rotting tree and climb, I learned the pleasures ofnocturnity, the sil-ver-wet grass, black rings beneath my tired eyes. The results:"Imprinting," I wrote in my science notebook, "happens to themother too."Who, I wondered, influenced whom in this symbioticpairing? Could species shift from their specific shapes and become
Introduction I did my first psychologica l experimen t whe n I was fourteen years old. Ther e wer e raccoon s living in the walls of our old Main e vaca - tion house, and on e day I stuck my hand in the crumblin g plaster and pulled out a squalling baby, still milk-smeared, its eyes closed and its tiny paws pedaling in the air. Days later the sealed eye slits opened, and becaus e I'd heard of Konra d Loren z and his imprinted ducklings, I made sure the mamma l saw me first, its streaming field of vision taking in my form—hand s and feet and face. It worked. Immediately the raccoon—I called he r Ameli a Earheart—bega n to follow me everywhere , wreathing around my ankles, scrambling up my calves whe n she was afraid. Sh e followed me to the town book - store, to school, down busy streets, into bed, but in truth, I began to take on mor e of he r behaviors than she mine . Eve n though I was the imprinter, with Ameli a at my side I learned to fish in a pon d with my human paws; I learned to latch on to the soft scree at the base of a rotting tree and climb; I learned the pleasures of nocturnity, the silver-we t grass, black rings beneath my tired eyes. Th e results: "Imprinting, " I wrot e in my scienc e notebook , "happens to the mothe r too. " Who , I wondered, influenced who m in this symbioti c pairing? Coul d species shift from their specific shapes and become
1iiiiiuuinnunthrough exposure,something altogether other?Was there really a boyraised by wolves, a chimpanzee who signed with words? The ques-tions fascinated me then, and still do today More fascinating to mebecame, over time,as I grew older, the means by which one exploredthese questions:the hypothesis, the experimental design, the detailedqualitative description, thebreathless orboring wait forresults.Iwasfirst hooked on Amelia and later hooked on the pure plot that struc-tures almost all psychological experiments, intentional or not.While it would bereductiveto saya raccoonrests at the bottom ofthis book, Amelia is certainly the image that comes to mind when Ithink ofits etiology.Beyond that, I have for a long time felt that psy-chological experiments are fascinating, because at their best they arecompressed experience, life distilled to its potentially elegant essence,the metaphorical test tube parsing the normally blended parts so youmight see love, or fear, or conformity, or cowardice play its role inparticular circumscribed contexts: Great psychological experimentsamplify a domain ofbehavior or being usually buried in the pell-mell ofour fast and frantic lives.Peering through this lens is to seesomething ofourselves.When I studied psychology in graduate school,I again had thechance to perform experiments and observations on all sorts ofani-mals.I saw the embryo ofan angel fishgrowfrom a few single cellsto a fully finned thing in forty-eight hours flat-life putting togetheritspuzzlepieces right before myeyes.I saw strokevictims deny theright sides oftheir faces and Hindsight patients mysteriously read let-ters despite their dead eyes.I observed people waiting for elevatorsand had this as my salient question: Why is it that people continu-ously press the button when they're waiting in the lobby, eventhough they know,if interviewed, that it won't make the elevatorcome any faster? What does "elevator behavior" say about humanbeings?I also, of course,read the classic psychological experimentswhere they had been housedin academic journals,mostly,repletewith quantified data and black-bar graphsand it seemed somewhatsad to me.It seemed sad that these insightful and dramatic stories
I iiiiiuui n nu n through exposure, something altogether other? Was there really a bo y raised by wolves, a chimpanze e wh o signed with words? Th e questions fascinated me then, and still do today Mor e fascinating to me became , over time, as I grew older, the means by whic h on e explored these questions: the hypothesis, the experimenta l design, the detailed qualitative description, the breathless or borin g wait for results. I was first hooke d on Ameli a and later hooke d on the pure plot that struc - tures almost all psychological experiments, intentional or not. Whil e it would be reductive to say a raccoo n rests at the bottom of this book , Ameli a is certainly the image that come s to min d whe n I think of its etiology. Beyon d that, I have for a long time felt that psychologica l experiments are fascinating, because at their best they are compressed experience , life distilled to its potentially elegant essence, the metaphorica l test tube parsing the normally blended parts so you might see love, or fear, or conformity, or cowardice play its role in particular circumscribed contexts. Great psychological experiments amplify a domain of behavior or being usually buried in the pellmell of our fast and frantic lives. Peering through this lens is to see something o f ourselves. Whe n I studied psychology in graduate school, I again had the chanc e to perform experiments and observations on all sorts of animals. I saw the embry o of an angel fish grow from a few single cells to a fully finned thing in forty-eight hours flat—life putting togethe r its puzzle pieces right before my eyes. I saw stroke victims deny the right sides of their faces and Hindsight patients mysteriously read letters despite their dead eyes. I observed peopl e waiting for elevators and had this as my salient question: Wh y is it that peopl e continu - ously press the button whe n they're waiting in the lobby, even though they know, if interviewed, that it won't make the elevator com e any faster? Wha t does "elevator behavior " say about huma n beings? I also, of course, read the classic psychological experiments wher e they had bee n housed—in academi c journals, mostly, replete with quantified data and black-ba r graphs—and it seemed somewha t sad to me . It seemed sad that these insightful and dramatic stories
were reduced to the flatness that characterizes most scientific reports,and had therefore utterly failed to capture what only real narrativecan-theme, desire, plot,historythis is what we are. The experi-ments described in thisbook,and many others, deserve to be notonly reported on as research, but also celebrated as story,which iswhat I have heretried to do.Our lives, after all, are not data points and means and modes; theyare stories-absorbed, reconfigured, rewritten. We most fully inte-grate that which is told as tale. My hope is that some ofthese exper-iments will be more fully taken in by readers now that they havebeen translatedinto narrative form.Psychology and its allied professionsrepresent a huge disparatefield that funnels down to the single synapse while simultaneouslyradiating outward to describe whole groups of human beings,Thisbook does not contain, by any means, all the experiments that repre-sent the reach of that arc; it would take volumes to do that. I havechosen ten experiments based on the input ofmy colleagues and myown narrative tastes, experiments that for me and others seem toraise the boldest questions in some ofthe boldest ways.Who are we?What makes us human? Are we truly the authors of our own lives?What does it mean to be moral?What does it mean to be free? Intelling the stories ofthese experiments, I revisit them from my con-temporary point of view, asking what relevance they have for usnow, in this new world. Does Skinner's behaviorism have meaningfor current-day neurophysiologists who can probe the neural corre-lates of his habit-driven rats?Does Rosenhan's horrifying andcomedic experiment on mental illness, its perception and diagnoses,still hold true today,when we supposedly abide by more objectivediagnostic criteria in the naming of "disease"? Can we even defineas disease syndromes that have no clear-cut physiological etiology orpathophysiology? Is psychology,which deals halfin metaphor, halfinstatistics,really a science at all?Isn't scienceitselfa form ofmetaphor?A long time ago, in the late I8oOs,Wilhelm Wundt, long consideredpsychology's founding father,opened one of the first instrument-
wer e reduced to the flatness that characterizes most scientific reports, and had therefore utterly failed to capture wha t only real narrative can—theme , desire, plot, history—this is what we are. Th e experiments described in this book , and many others, deserve to be no t only reported on as research, but also celebrated as story, whic h is wha t I have here tried to do. O u r lives, after all, are not data points and means and modes; they are stories—absorbed, reconfigured, rewritten. We most fully inte - grate that whic h is told as tale. My hop e is that some of these experiments will be mor e fully taken in by readers now that they have bee n translated into narrative form. Psychology and its allied professions represent a huge disparate field that funnels down to the single synapse whil e simultaneously radiating outward to describe whol e groups of human beings. This boo k does not contain, by any means, all the experiments that represent the reach of that arc; it would take volumes to do that. I have chosen ten experiments based on the input of my colleagues and my o wn narrative tastes, experiments that for me and others seem to raise the boldest questions in some of the boldest ways. Wh o are we ? Wha t makes us human? Ar e we truly the authors of our own lives? Wha t does it mea n to be moral? Wha t does it mea n to be free? In telling the stories of these experiments, I revisit them from my con - temporary point of view, asking wha t relevance they have for us now, in this new world. Doe s Skinner's behaviorism have meanin g for current-day neurophysiologists wh o can probe the neural corre - lates of his habit-driven rats? Doe s Rosenhan's horrifying and comedi c experimen t on menta l illness, its perception and diagnoses, still hold true today, whe n we supposedly abide by mor e objective diagnostic criteria in the naming of "disease"? Ca n we even define as disease syndromes that have no clear-cut physiological etiology or pathophysiology? Is psychology, whic h deals half in metaphor, half in statistics, really a scienc e at all? Isn't scienc e itself a form of metaphor ? A long time ago, in the late 1800s, Wilhelm Wundt, long considered psychology's founding father, opene d on e of the first instrument-
based psychology labs in the world, a lab dedicated to measurement,and so a science ofpsychology was born.But as these experimentsdemonstrate, it was born breech, born badly, a chimerical organismwith ambiguous limbs.Now,over one hundred years later, the beasthas grown up.What is it? This book doesn't answer this question, butit does address it in the context ofStanleyMilgram's shock machine,Bruce Alexander's addicted rats, Darley and Latane's smoke-filledrooms, Moniz's lobotomy,and other experiments as well.In this book we see how psychology is inevitably,ineluctably.moving toward a deeper and deeper mining ofbiological frontiers.We see how theclumsy cuts ofMoniz transformed, or transmogri-fied,depending on your point ofview, into the sterile bloodless sur-gery called cingulotomy.We hear about the inner workings of aneuron, and how genes encode proteins that build those blue eyes,that memory, right there, And yet, while we can explain somethingof the process and mechanisms that inform behavior and eventhought, we are far from explaining why we have the thoughts, whywe gravitate toward this or that, why we hold some memories anddiscard others,what those memories mean to us, and how they shapea life. Kandel,or Skinner, or Pavlov,orWatson can demonstrate aconditioned response, or operant, and the means bywhich it getsencoded in the brain. but what we do with that information once it'sthere depends on circumstances outside the realm ofscience entirely.In other words, we may be able to define the physiological substratesofmemory, but in the end we are still the ones who weave, or not,still the ones who workthe raw material into itsfinal form andmeaning.Writing about these experiments has been, therefore, an exercisein writing about both science and art.It has provided me with achance to learn about outcomes while studying the personalities ofthe players who chose to investigate, for all sorts ofreasons, the set ofevents that led them to their final data. And then to observe how thatdata fueled their futures and their pasts, how they used it, or failed todo so. This book, above all, has been a chance for me to go back in
based psychology labs in the world, a lab dedicated to measurement, and so a scienc e of psychology was born . Bu t as these experiments demonstrate, it was bor n breech, bor n badly, a chimerica l organism with ambiguous limbs. Now, over on e hundred years later, the beast has grown up. Wha t is it? This boo k doesn't answer this question, but it does address it in the contex t of Stanley Milgram's shock machine , Bruc e Alexander's addicted rats, Darley and Latane's smoke-filled rooms, Moniz's lobotomy, and othe r experiments as well. In this boo k we see ho w psychology is inevitably, ineluctably, movin g toward a deepe r and deepe r mining of biologica l frontiers. We see ho w the clumsy cuts o f Moni z transformed, o r transmogrified, depending on your point of view, into the sterile bloodless surgery called cingulotomy. We hear about the inne r workings of a neuron, and how genes encod e proteins that build those blue eyes, that memory, right there. An d yet, whil e we can explain something of the process and mechanisms that inform behavior and even thought, we are far from explaining wh y we have the thoughts, wh y we gravitate toward this or that, wh y we hold some memorie s and discard others, wha t those memorie s mea n to us, and how they shape a life. Kandel, or Skinner, or Pavlov, or Watson can demonstrate a conditioned response, or operant, and the means by whic h it gets encode d in the brain, but wha t we do with that information onc e it's there depends on circumstances outside the realm of scienc e entirely. In othe r words, we may be able to define the physiological substrates of memory, but in the end we are still the ones wh o weave, or not, still the ones wh o work the raw material into its final form and meaning. Writin g about these experiments has been, therefore, an exercise in writing about both scienc e and art. It has provided me with a chanc e to learn about outcome s whil e studying the personalities of the players wh o chos e to investigate, for all sorts of reasons, the set of events that led them to their final data. An d then to observe ho w that data fueled their futures and their pasts, ho w they used it, or failed to do so. This book , above all, has bee n a chanc e for me to go back in
history, and to thinkforward as well.What comes next, in thistwenty-first century? I have an inkling.In the meantime, Pavlov's bellis ringing.Surgeons are, this very moment,mining our crenulatedbrains.We are conditioned,revealed, freed, and accountable. Someoneshouts an order.We do or do not obey. Now, turn the page
history, and to think forward as well. Wha t come s next, in this twenty-first century? I have an inkling. In the meantime , Pavlov's bell is ringing. Surgeons are, this very moment , minin g our crenulated brains. We are conditioned, revealed, freed, and accountable . Someon e shouts an order. We do or do not obey. Now, turn the page
一OpeningSkinner's BoxB.F.SKINNER'SRATRACEB.FSkinner,America's leading neo-behaviorist, was born in 1904and died in1990.He is known in thefield ofpsychology for hisfamous animal experiments in which he demonstrated the power ofrewards and reinforcements to shape behavior. Using food, levers, andother environmental cues, Skinner demonstrated that what appear tobe autonomous responses are really cued, and in doing so he threw intoquestion the long-cherished notion of free will. Skinner spent much ofhis scientific career studying and honing what he came to call operantconditioning,the means by which humans can train humans and otheranimals to perform a whole range of tasks and skills through positivereinforcement.Skinner claimed that the mind, or what was then called mentalism,was irrelevant, even nonexistent, and that psychology should onlyfocus on concrete measurable behaviors. His vision was to build aworldwide community where the government would consist of behav-ioral psychologists who could condition, or train, its citizens intophalanxes of benevolent robots. Ofall the twentieth century's psychol-ogists, his experiments and the conclusions he drew about the mecha-nistic nature of men and women may bethe most reviled, yetcontinuously relevant to our increasingly technological age.6
I Opening Skinner's Box B . F . SKINNER' S RA T RAC E B. F. Skinner, America's leading neo-behaviorist, was born in 1904 and died in 1990. He is known in the field of psychology for his famous animal experiments in which he demonstrated the power of rewards and reinforcements to shape behavior. Using food, levers, and other environmental cues, Skinner demonstrated that what appear to be autonomous responses are really cued, and in doing so he threw into question the long-cherished notion of free will. Skinner spent much of his scientific career studying and honing what he came to call operant conditioning, the means by which humans can train humans and other animals to perform a whole range of tasks and skills through positive reinforcement. Skinner claimed that the mind, or what was then called mentalism, was irrelevant, even nonexistent, and that psychology should only focus on concrete measurable behaviors. His vision was to build a worldwide community where the government would consist of behavioral psychologists who could condition, or train, its citizens into phalanxes of benevolent robots. Of all the twentieth century's psychologists, his experiments and the conclusions he drew about the mechanistic nature of men and women may be the most reviled, yet continuously relevant to our increasingly technological age. 6
SD this,perhaps,is the story.There's a man called Skinner,whichimage ofa skinned fish flopping on a hot dock, its heart barely visiblein its mantle ofmuscle,ka-boom.And this man Skinner, this mania-cal psychologist with a grizzly head ofcoarse white hair, he suppos-edly raised his own baby in a box so as to better train her, like somecircus animal, like some seal with a bright ball on its nose.The storygoes that B. F. Skinner, who had covert connections to the Nazis,desired nothing more than to shape-and shape is the operative wordherethe behavior ofpeople subjected to gears and boxes and but-tons and strict schedules of reinforcement so that,under his hand,whatever humanity he touched turned to bone.Say the name "Skinner'to twenty college-educated people,andfifteen ofthem will respond with an adjective like"evil."This I knowto be true, as I have done it as an experiment, Of those fifteen whoresponded,ten brought up the baby in the boxwhat was her namethey ask,Julia,Kimberly,Annie May?-who was so traumatized byher father's protocols throughout her infancy that she wound upkilling herselfin a hotel room, with rope and a pistol-the details areunclear.This much we presume we know:Her name was Deborah.He wanted to train her, so he kept her caged for two full years,plac-ing within her cramped square space bells and food trays and allmanner ofmean punishments and bright rewards, and he tracked herprogress on a grid,And then, when she was thirty-one and franklypsychotic, she sued him for abuse in a genuine court oflaw,lost thecase,and shot herselfin a bowling alley inBillings,Montana.Boom-boom went the gun.Its resonating sound signaled the end ofbehav-iorism's heyday and the beginning of the dark suspicions that haveclouded itever since.In the1960s, Skinnergave an interviewto biographer RichardI.Evans in which he openly admitted that his efforts at social engineer-ing had implications for fascism and might be used for totalitarianends. Such a man it would be better to ignore, but we can't.In I97l
S o this, perhaps, is the story.There's a ma n called Skinner, whic h is an ugly name by any account, a name with a knife in it, an image of a skinned fish flopping on a hot dock, its heart barely visible in its mantle of muscle, ka-boom. An d this man Skinner, this mania - cal psychologist with a grizzly head of coarse whit e hair, he supposedly raised his own baby in a bo x so as to bette r train her, like some circus animal, like some seal with a bright ball on its nose. Th e story goes that B. F. Skinner, wh o had covert connections to the Nazis, desired nothing mor e than to shape—and shape is the operative word here—th e behavior of peopl e subjected to gears and boxes and buttons and strict schedules of reinforcement so that, under his hand, whatever humanity he touche d turned to bone . Say the name "Skinner " to twenty college-educated people, and fifteen of them will respond with an adjective like "evil." This I kno w to be true, as I have done it as an experiment. Of those fifteen wh o responded, ten brought up the baby in the box—wha t was her name they ask, Julia, Kimberly, Anni e May?—wh o was so traumatized by he r father's protocols throughout he r infancy that she woun d up killing herself in a hote l room, with rope and a pistol—the details are unclear. This muc h we presume we know: He r name was Deborah . He wanted to train her, so he kept he r caged for two full years, plac - ing within he r cramped square space bells and food trays and all manne r of mea n punishments and bright rewards, and he tracked he r progress on a grid. An d then, whe n she was thirty-one and frankly psychotic, she sued him for abuse in a genuine court of law, lost the case, and shot herself in a bowling alley in Billings, Montana . Boom - boo m went the gun. Its resonating sound signaled the end of behaviorism's heyday and the beginning of the dark suspicions that have clouded it ever since. In the 1960s, Skinne r gave an interview to biographe r Richar d I. Evans in whic h he openly admitted that his efforts at social engineering had implications for fascism and might be used for totalitarian ends. Suc h a man it would be bette r to ignore, but we can't. In 1971
Time magazine named him the most influential living psychologist.Anda1975 surveyidentifiedhim as thebest-known scientist intheUnited States.His experiments are still held in the highest esteem byour contemporary Nobel laureates,our neurophysiologists.He dis-covered something that has stayed.What is it?Type"B.F. Skinner into your search engine and you will getthousands of hits, among them the Web site of an outraged fatherwho damned the man for murdering an innocent child; a Web sitewitha skull, and AynRand writing,"Skinner is so obsessed with ahatred ofman's mind and virtue, so intense and consuming a hatredthat it consumes itself and in the end what we liave are only grayashes and a few stinking coals'; a memorial of sorts for Deborah,who had supposedlydied inthe198Os:"Deborah,ourheartsgo outto you."And then a tiny red link that reads,"For Deborah Skinnerherself, click here."I did. A picture of a brown-haired middle-agedwoman scrolled down,"My name is Deborah Skinner,"the captionread,"and my suicide is a myth. I am alive and well.The box is notwhat it seems.My father is not what he seems. He was a brilliant psy-chologist, a compassionate parent.I write to dispel the legends.Legends,Stories. True tales. Tall tales.Perhaps the challenge ofunderstanding Skinner's experiments will be primarily discrimina-tory, separating content from controversy, a sifting through.Writespsychologist and historian John A. Mills, "[Skinner] was a mysterywrapped in ariddlewrapped in an enigma."I decided towade in, slowly.HEWASBORNinI9o4.Thismuchisforsure.Beyondthat,though,what I find is a tangle ofcontradictions. He was one ofAmerica's pre-mier behaviorists, a man of real rigidity who slept in a bright yellowcubicle from Japan called a beddoe, but at the same time he could notwork unless his desk was cluttered, and he said ofhis own course,"Itisamazing the number of trivial accidents which have made a differ-
Time magazine name d him the most influential living psychologist. A n d a 197 5 survey identified him as the best-known scientist in the Unite d States. His experiments are still held in the highest esteem by our contemporar y Nobe l laureates, ou r neurophysiologists. He discovered something that has stayed. Wha t is it? Type "B . F. Skinner " into your search engine and you will get thousands of hits, amon g them the We b site of an outraged father w h o damned the man for murdering an innocen t child; a We b site with a skull, and Ayn Ran d writing, "Skinne r is so obsessed with a hatred of man's min d and virtue, so intense and consumin g a hatred that it consume s itself and in the en d wha t we liave are only gray ashes and a few stinking coals" ; a memoria l of sorts for Deborah , w h o had supposedly died in the 1980s: "Deborah , our hearts go out to you." An d then a tiny red link that reads, "Fo r Debora h Skinne r herself, click here." I did. A picture of a brown-haired middle-aged woma n scrolled down. "M y name is Debora h Skinner, " the caption read, "and my suicide is a myth. I am alive and well. Th e bo x is not wha t it seems. My father is not what he seems. He was a brilliant psychologist, a compassionate parent. I writ e to dispel the legends." Legends. Stories. Tru e tales. Tall tales. Perhaps the challenge of understanding Skinner's experiments will be primarily discrimina - tory, separating conten t from controversy, a sifting through. Write s psychologist and historian Joh n A. Mills, "[Skinner] was a mystery wrapped in a riddle wrapped in an enigma. " I decided to wade in, slowly. HE WAS BOR N in 1904.This muc h is for sure. Beyon d that, though, what I find is a tangle of contradictions. He was one of America's premie r behaviorists, a man of real rigidity wh o slept in a bright yellow cubicle from Japan called a beddoe, but at the same time he could not work unless his desk was cluttered, and he said of his own course,"It is amazing the numbe r of trivial accidents whic h have made a differ-
M1111f1NDEX-9WPCence...,I don't believe my life was planned at any point."But then heoften wrote he felt like god and"a sort ofsavior to humanity."When Skinner was a fellow at Harvard, he met and fell in lovewith a woman namedYvonne,who would later become his wife.Isee them on Friday nights, driving to Monhegan's Gull Pond withtheblack convertible topfolded back and somekind ofmoodyjazzplaying on the radio.Once at the pond, they take offtheir clothesand skinny-dip, the brackish waters on their bodies, the cool nightair, the moon a snipped hole in the sky.I read in a dusty text in thebasement of a library that after training sessions, he used to take hiscaged pigeons out and hold them in his huge hand, stroking theirdowny heads with his first finger.I was very surprised to learn that before he went to Harvard tostudy psychology in 1928, Skinner's aspiration was to be a novelist,and he had spent eighteen prior months holed up in his mother'sattic writing lyric prose.How he went from lyric prose totimed ratesofreinforcement is not all clear to mehowa man can make such asharp swerve. He writes that when he was around twenty-three, hecame across an article by H. G.Wells in the New York Times Magazinein which Wells stated that given the chance between saving the life ofIvan Pavlov or George Bernard Shaw,Wells would choose Pavlov,because science is more redemptive than art.And indeed, the world needed redemption. The Great War hadended one decade ago. Shell-shocked soldiers suffered from flash-backs and depressions; asylums were packed; there was an urgentneed for some kind of treatment scheme. When Skinner went toHarvard, in 1928, as a graduate student, the scheme was largely psy-choanalytic.Everyoneeverywhere waslying down:onleathercouches and fishing ephemeral tidbits from their pasts. Freud ruled,along with the venerable William James, who hadwrittenTheVarieties of Religious Experience, a text about introspective soul states,with not one equation in it.That, in fact, was the state ofpsychologywhen Skinner entered; it was a numberless field sharing more with
WpCUlIl g tMllllf l N DUX 9 ence. . I don't believe my life was planned at any point." Bu t then he often wrot e he felt like god and "a sort of savior to humanity." Whe n Skinne r was a fellow at Harvard, he me t and fell in love with a woma n name d Yvonne , wh o would later becom e his wife. I see them on Friday nights, driving to Monhegan's Gull Pon d with the black convertible top folded back and some kind of mood y jaz z playing on the radio. Onc e at the pond, they take off their clothes and skinny-dip, the brackish waters on their bodies, the coo l night air, the moo n a snipped hol e in the sky. I read in a dusty text in the basement of a library that after training sessions, he used to take his caged pigeons out and hold them in his huge hand, stroking their downy heads with his first finger. I was very surprised to learn that before he wen t to Harvard to study psychology in 1928 , Skinner's aspiration was to be a novelist, and he had spent eighteen prior months holed up in his mother's attic writing lyric prose. Ho w he went from lyric prose to timed rates of reinforcement is not all clear to me—ho w a man can make such a sharp swerve. He writes that whe n he was around twenty-three, he came across an article by H. G.Wells in the New York Times Magazine in whic h Wells stated that given the chanc e betwee n saving the life of Ivan Pavlov or Georg e Bernar d Shaw, Wells woul d choos e Pavlov, because scienc e is mor e redemptive than art. A n d indeed, the world needed redemption. Th e Great Wa r had ended on e decade ago. Shell-shocked soldiers suffered from flashbacks and depressions; asylums were packed; there was an urgent need for some kind o f treatment scheme . Whe n Skinne r wen t t o Harvard, in 1928 , as a graduate student, the scheme was largely psychoanalytic. Everyon e everywher e was lying down on leather couche s and fishing ephemera l tidbits from their pasts. Freud ruled, along with the venerable William James, wh o had written The Varieties of Religious Experience, a text about introspective soul states, with not on e equation in it. That, in fact, was the state of psychology whe n Skinne r entered; it was a numberless field sharing mor e with