The Social Animal - Elliot Aronson - 8th Edition 1999
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0716733129/
Ethical Problems
Using deception may be the best (and perhaps the only) way to get
useful information about the way people behave in most complex and
important situations, but it does present the experimenter with
serious ethical problems. Basically, there are three problems:
1. It is simply unethical to tell lies to people. This takes on even
greater significance in the post-Watergate era, when it has been
revealed that government agencies have bugged citizens illegally, that
presidents tell outright lies to the people who elected them, and that
all manner of dirty tricks, fake letters, forged documents, and so on
have been used by people directly employed by the president. Can
social scientists justify adding to the pollution of deception that
currently exists?
2. Such deception frequently leads to an invasion of privacy. When
participants do not know what the experimenter is really studying,
they are in no position to give their informed consent. For example,
in Asch's experiment, it is conceivable that some students might not
have agreed to participate had they known in advance that Asch was
interested in examining their tendency toward conformity rather than
their perceptual judgment.
3. Experimental procedures often entail some unpleasant experiences,
such as pain, boredom, anxiety, and the like.
I hasten to add that ethical problems arise even when deception is not
used and when experimental procedures are not extreme. Sometimes even
the most seemingly benign procedure can profoundly affect a few
participants in ways that could not easily have been anticipated—even
by the most sensitive and caring experimenters. Consider a series of
experiments conducted by Robyn Dawes, Jeanne McTavish, and Harriet
Shaklee. Typically, in their investigations of "social dilemmas,"
participants are faced with the decision to cooperate or to "defect."
If everyone cooperates, everyone benefits financially; but if one or
more participants choose to defect, they receive a high payoff, and
those who choose to cooperate are at a financial disadvantage.
Responses are anonymous and remain so throughout the course of the
study. The rules of the game are fully explained to all participants
at the beginning of the experiment. And no deception is involved. This
scenario seems innocuous enough.
But 24 hours after one experimental session, an elderly man telephoned
the experimenter. He had been the only defector in his group and had
won $190. He wanted to return his winnings and have them divided among
the other participants (who had cooperated and won only $1 each).
During the conversation, he revealed that he felt miserable about his
greedy behavior, that he hadn't slept all night, and so on. After a
similar experiment, a woman who cooperated while others defected
reported that she felt gullible and had learned that people were not
as trustworthy as she had earlier believed.
Despite careful planning by the investigators, the experiments had a
powerful impact on participants that could not have been easily
anticipated. I intentionally chose the experiments by Dawes, McTavish,
and Shaklee because they involved no deception and were well within
the bounds of ethical codes. My point is simple but important: No code
of ethics can anticipate all problems, especially those created when
participants discover something unpleasant about themselves or others
in the course of their participation.
Social psychologists who conduct experiments are deeply concerned
about ethical issues—precisely because their work is constructed on an
ethical dilemma. Let me explain. This dilemma is based on two
conflicting values to which most social psychologists subscribe. On
the one hand, they believe in the value of free scientific inquiry. On
the other hand, they believe in the dignity of humans and their right
to privacy. This dilemma is a real one and cannot be dismissed either
by piously defending the importance of preserving human dignity or by
glibly pledging allegiance to the cause of science. And social
psychologists must face this problem squarely, not just once, but each
and every time they design and conduct an experiment—for there is no
concrete and universal set of rules or guidelines capable of governing
every experiment.
Obviously, some experimental techniques present more problems than
others. In general, experiments that employ deception are cause for
concern because the act of lying is, in itself, objectionable—even if
the deception is at the service of uncovering the truth. And
procedures that cause pain, embarrassment, guilt, or other intense
feelings present obvious ethical problems.
More subtle but no less important ethical problems result when
participants confront some aspect of themselves that is not pleasant
or positive. Recall the experiences of the participants in the
relatively mild experiments by Dawes, McTavish, and Shaklee. And many
of Solomon Asch's participants learned that they would conform in the
face of group pressure; many participants in our own experiment
(Aronson and Mettee) learned that they were capable of cheating at a
game of cards; many of Milgram's participants learned that they would
obey an authority even if such obedience (apparently) involved harming
another person. Finally, recall from Chapter 1 that participants in
the Stanford Prison Study engaged in acts of cruelty in the absence of
direct, explicit commands to do so.
It could be argued that such self-discovery is of therapeutic or
educational benefit to participants; indeed, many participants
themselves have made this point. But this does not, in itself, justify
these procedures. After all, how could an experimenter know in advance
that it would be therapeutic? Morever, it is arrogant of any scientist
to decide that he or she has the right or the skill to provide people
with a therapeutic experience without their prior permission to do so.
Given these problems, do the ends of social psychological research
justify the means? This is a debatable point. Some argue that, no
matter what the goals of this science are and no matter what the
accomplishments, they are not worth it if people are deceived or put
through some discomfort. On the opposite end of the spectrum, others
insist that social psychologists are finding things out that may have
profound benefits for humankind, and accordingly, almost any price is
worth paying for the results.
My own position is somewhere in between. I believe the science of
social psychology is important, and I also believe experimental
participants should be protected at all times. When deciding whether a
particular experimental procedure is ethical or not, I believe a cost-
benefit analysis is appropriate. That is, how much good will derive
from doing the experiment and how much harm will be done to the
experimental participants should be considered. Put another way, the
benefits to society are compared with the costs to the participants,
and this ratio is entered into the decision calculus. Unfortunately,
such a comparison often is difficult to make because, typically,
neither the benefit to society nor the harm to participants is known
or calculable. Furthermore, even the anticipated result of an
experiment may alter our evaluation of its ethics. Would we question
the ethics of the Milgram procedure if none of the participants had
administered shocks beyond the moderate level? Apparently not. One
study found that individuals' ratings of the harmfulness of the
Milgram procedure varied according to the type of outcome they
believed to have happened. That is, individuals who were told that a
high proportion of the participants were obedient rated the procedure
as more harmful than individuals who were told that a low proportion
were obedient. On a more general note, the ethics of any experiment
may be less open to question when the results tell us something
pleasant or flattering about human nature and more open to question
when they tell us something we'd rather not know.
In sum, my decision to do an experiment depends on the particular
costs and benefits associated with the research at hand. There are,
however, five guidelines I subscribe to at all times:
1. Procedures that cause intense pain or intense discomfort should be
avoided. If experimenters exercise a great deal of ingenuity and
caution, they can usually succeed in testing their hypotheses without
using extreme methods. Although a less intense procedure usually
produces less clear results, experimenters should choose to sacrifice
some clarity in the interest of protecting their participants.
2. Experimenters should be ever alert to alternative procedures to
deception. If some other viable procedure can be found, it should be
used.
3. Experimenters should provide their participants with the option of
quitting the experiment if their discomfort becomes too intense.
4. Experimenters should spend considerable time with each participant
at the close of the experimental session, carefully explaining the
experiment, its true purpose, the reasons for the deception, and so
on. They should go out of their way to protect the dignity of
participants, to avoid making them feel stupid or gullible about
having "fallen for" the deception. They should make certain that
participants leave the scene in good spirits—feeling good about
themselves and their role in the experiment. This can be accomplished
by any earnest experimenter who is willing to take the time and effort
to repay each participant (with information and consideration) for the
very important role that participant has played in the scientific
enterprise.
5. Finally, experimenters should not undertake an experiment that
entails deception or discomfort "just for the hell of it." Before
entering the laboratory, experimenters should be certain their
experiment is sound and important—that they are seeking the answer to
an interesting question and doing so in a careful, well-organized
manner.
Experimenters in social psychology try hard to be as sensitive as
possible to the needs of their participants. Although many experiments
entail procedures that cause some degree of discomfort, the vast
majority of these procedures contain many safeguards for the
protection of participants. For example, from the point of view of
participant discomfort, most readers would agree that Stanley
Milgram's experiment on obedience is one of the most difficult studies
reported in this book. There has been considerable debate as to
whether or not the experiment should have been conducted. Yet it is
evident that Milgram worked hard after the experiment to turn the
overall experience into a useful and exciting one for his
participants. It is also clear that his efforts achieved a high degree
of success: Several weeks after the experiment, 84 percent of the
participants reported that they were glad to have taken part in the
study; 15 percent reported neutral feelings; and only 1 percent stated
that they were sorry they had participated. (We should view these
findings with caution, however. The discussion of cognitive dissonance
in Chapter 5 has taught us that people sometimes justify their
behavior by changing their previously held attitudes.) More convincing
evidence comes from a follow-up study: One year after the experimental
program was completed, a university psychiatrist interviewed a random
sample of the participants and found no evidence of injurious effects;
rather, the typical response was that their participation was
instructive and enriching.
The Postexperimental Session. The postexperimental session, sometimes
called debriefing, is an important part of the experiment. Not only is
it of great value as a means of eliminating any discomfort that might
have occurred during the experimental session, but it also affords the
experimenter an opportunity to provide additional information about
the topic so that the experiment can become an educational experience
for the participants. In addition, the experimenter can determine the
extent to which the procedure worked—and find out from the one person
who knows best (the participant) how the procedure might be improved.
In short, the prudent experimenter regards participants as colleagues—
not as objects. It is unnecessary to describe the details of the
postexperimental session here. For those of you who would like to know
more about it, I can direct you to some of my more technical essays on
the topic.
In this chapter, I have discussed the advantages of the experimental
method and have shown how complex and challenging it is to design a
laboratory experiment in social psychology. In addition, I have shared
some of the excitement I feel in overcoming difficulties and discussed
ways of ensuring the well-being, as well as the learning, of the
participants in our experiments. The knowledge, information, and
insights into human social behavior described in the first eight
chapters of this book are based on the techniques and procedures
discussed in this chapter. They are also based on the cooperation of
tens of thousands of individuals who have allowed us to study their
behavior in laboratories all over the world. We owe them a lot.
Ultimately, our understanding of human beings in all 'their complexity
rests on our ingenuity in developing techniques for studying behavior
that are well controlled and impactful without violating the essential
dignity of those individuals who contribute to our understanding by
serving as experimental participants.
The Morality of Discovering Unpleasant Things
There is one additional ethical consideration—a rather knotty one: the
moral responsibility of the scientist for what he or she discovers.
Throughout this book, I have been dealing with some powerful
antecedents of persuasion. This was particularly true in Chapter 5,
where I discussed techniques of self-persuasion, and in some of the
subsequent chapters, where I discussed applications of these
techniques. Self-persuasion is a very powerful force because, in a
very real sense, the persuaded never know what hit them. They come to
believe that a particular thing is true, not because). Robert Oppen-
heimer or T S. Eliot or Joe "The Shoulder" convinced them it is true,
but because they have convinced themselves. What's more, they
frequently do not know why or how they came to believe it. This
renders the phenomenon not only powerful but frightening as well. As
long as I know why I came to believe X, I am relatively free to change
my mind; but if all I know is that X is true—and that's all there is
to it—I am far more likely to cling to that belief, even in the face
of a barrage of disconfirming evidence.
The mechanisms I have described can be used to get people to floss
their teeth, to stop bullying smaller people, to reduce pain, or to
love their neighbors. Many people might consider these good outcomes,
but they are manipulative just the same. Moreover, the same mechanisms
can also be used to get people to buy particular brands of toothpaste
and perhaps to vote for particular political candidates. Isn't it
immoral to discover ways of manipulating people?
As the reader of this volume must know by this time, as a real person
living in the real world, I have many values—and have made no effort
to conceal them; they stick out all over the place. For example, I
would like to eliminate bigotry and cruelty. If I had the power, I
would employ the most humane and effective methods at my disposal in
order to achieve those ends. I am equally aware that, once these
methods are developed, others might use them to achieve ends I might
not agree with. This causes me great concern. I am also aware that you
may not share my values. Therefore, if you believe these techniques
are powerful, you should be concerned.
At the same time, I hasten to point out that the phenomena I have been
describing are not new. It was not a social psychologist who got Mr.
Landry hooked on Marlboros, and it was not a social psychologist who
induced Lieutenant Galley to attempt to justify the wanton killing of
Vietnamese civilians. They did what they did on their own. Social
psychologists are attempting to understand these phenomena and scores
of others that take place in the world every day — some of which have
been occurring since the first two people on earth began interacting.
By understanding these phenomena, the social psychologist may be able
to help people understand the processes and consequences involved and
possibly refrain from performing a particular behavior when they
themselves decide it is dysfunctional.
But the mere fact that we, as working social psychologists, know that
the phenomena we deal with are not of our own creation does not free
us from moral responsibility. Our research often crystallizes these
phenomena into highly structured, easily applicable techniques. There
is always the possibility that some individuals may develop these
techniques and use them for their own ends. In the hands of a
demagogue, these techniques could conceivably turn our society into an
Orwellian nightmare. It is not my intention to preach about the
responsibilities of social psychologists. What I am most cognizant of
are what I believe to be my own responsibilities. Briefly, they are to
educate the public about how these techniques might be used and to
remain vigilant against their abuse as I continue to do research aimed
at furthering our understanding of us social animals — how we think,
how we behave, what makes us aggressive, and what makes us loving.
Frankly, I can think of no endeavor more interesting or more
important.
The Social Animal - Elliot Aronson - 8th Edition 1999
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0716733129/
