college prison experiment gone wrong

One of Psychology's Most Famous Experiments Was Deeply Flawed

The Stanford Prison Experiment — the infamous 1971 exercise in which regular college students placed in a mock prison suddenly transformed into aggressive guards and hysterical prisoners — was deeply flawed, a new investigation reveals.

The participants in the experiment, who were male college students, didn't just organically become abusive guards, reporter Ben Blum wrote in Medium . Rather, Philip Zimbardo, who led the experiment and is now a professor emeritus of psychology at Stanford University, encouraged the guards to act "tough," according to newfound audio from the Stanford archive .

Moreover, some of the outbursts from the so-called prisoners weren't triggered by the trauma of prison, Blum found. One student prisoner, Douglas Korpi, told Blum that he faked a breakdown so that he could get out of the experiment early to study for a graduate school exam. [ 7 Absolutely Evil Medical Experiments ]

"Anybody who is a clinician would know that I was faking," Korpi told Blum. "I'm not that good at acting. I mean, I think I do a fairly good job, but I'm more hysterical than psychotic."

In the experiment, Zimbardo paid nine student participants to act as prisoners and another nine to assume the role of prison guards. The experiment, housed in a mock jail built in the basement at Stanford, was supposed to last two weeks. But Zimbardo's girlfriend convinced him to shut it down after six days when she saw the bad conditions, Blum reported.

Since then, results from the Stanford Prison Experiment have been used to show that unique situations and social roles can bring out the worst in people. The experiment has informed psychologists and historians trying to understand how humans could act so brutally in events ranging from the Holocaust to Abu Ghraib prison (now called the Baghdad Central Prison) in Iraq. Many psychology textbooks in universities across the country also describe the experiment.

But the new discoveries could change all that.

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For instance, in a series of June 12 tweets , Jay Van Bavel, an associate professor of psychology and neural science at New York University, wrote, "The bottom line is that conformity isn't natural, blind or inevitable. Zimbardo was not only deeply wrong about this — but his public comments misled millions of people into accepting this false narrative about the Stanford Prison Experiment."

Rather, scientists "have been arguing for years that conformity often emerges when leaders cultivate a sense of shared identity. This is an active, engaged process — very different from automatic and mindless conformity," Van Bavel tweeted .

Zimbardo initially denied some of the charges but agreed to talk with Blum again when Thibault Le Texier, a French academic and filmmaker, published "History of a Lie" (Histoire d’un Mensonge) in April, which took a deep dive into newly released documents from Stanford's archives. When Blum asked if he thought Le Texier's book would change the way people saw the experiment, Zimbardo said, "In a sense, I don't really care. At this point, the big problem is, I don't want to waste any more of my time. After my talk with you, I'm not going to do any interviews about it."

The hullabaloo over the experiment might have been avoided if the scientific community and media had been more skeptical back in the 1970s, other psychologists said. For instance, the results weren't published in a reputable peer-reviewed psychology journal but rather the obscure journal Naval Research Reviews . Given that respected, mainstream journals tend to have rigorous publication standards, "apparently, peer review did its job [in this case]," David Amodio, an associate professor of psychology and neural science social at New York Univeristy, wrote on Twitter .

In addition, other researchers failed to replicate Zimbardo's results, Blum reported. But the notion that people's behavior is largely dictated by their environment and social positions has lingered in the scientific and popular domains for years, possibly because the idea removes some of the blame for despicable acts from the people who commit them, he said.

"The appeal of the Stanford Prison Experiment [SPE] seems to go deeper than its scientific validity, perhaps because it tells us a story about ourselves that we desperately want to believe: that we, as individuals, cannot really be held accountable for the sometimes-reprehensible things we do," Blum wrote.

"As troubling as it might seem to accept Zimbardo's fallen vision of human nature, it is also profoundly liberating," Blum continued. "It means we're off the hook. Our actions are determined by circumstance. Our fallibility is situational. Just as the Gospel promised to absolve us of our sins if we would only believe, the SPE offered a form of redemption tailor-made for a scientific era, and we embraced it."

Original article on Live Science .

Laura is the archaeology and Life's Little Mysteries editor at Live Science. She also reports on general science, including paleontology. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, Scholastic, Popular Science and Spectrum, a site on autism research. She has won multiple awards from the Society of Professional Journalists and the Washington Newspaper Publishers Association for her reporting at a weekly newspaper near Seattle. Laura holds a bachelor's degree in English literature and psychology from Washington University in St. Louis and a master's degree in science writing from NYU.

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The Shocking Truth Behind the Stanford Prison Experiment: A Psychology Study Gone Wrong

The Stanford Prison Experiment is one of history’s most famous and controversial psychological experiments. Conducted in the summer of 1971 by psychology professor Philip Zimbardo and his team of researchers, the experiment aimed to investigate the effects of situational variables on participants’ reactions and behaviors. The study simulated a prison environment and recruited college students to play the roles of prisoners and guards.

During the two-week experiment, the participants quickly became immersed in their roles, with the guards exhibiting abusive and authoritarian behavior towards the prisoners. The study was intended to last for two weeks, but it was terminated after only six days due to the extreme and dangerous behavior of the participants. The experiment has been widely criticized for its ethical implications, as well as its scientific validity.

Despite the controversy surrounding the Stanford Prison Experiment, it remains a significant case study in psychology. The study’s findings have been used to inform research on the effects of power and authority on human behavior and the role of situational variables in shaping our actions and attitudes. In this article, we will explore the history and significance of the Stanford Prison Experiment and examine its lasting impact on psychology.

Background of the Experiment

We are going to discuss the background of the infamous Stanford Prison Experiment. It is a well-known psychological study in August 1971 at Stanford University. The experiment was designed to investigate the psychological effects of power and authority on individuals in a prison environment.

Philip Zimbardo, a psychology professor at Stanford University, led the study. The U.S. Office of Naval Research funded the experiment, which was conducted in Jordan Hall’s basement. The participants were recruited through a local newspaper ad, and they were all college students who were paid $15 per day to participate.

The study examined the psychological effects of power and authority on individuals in a prison environment. The participants were randomly assigned to be either prisoners or guards. The prisoners were stripped of their identities and given a uniform, while the guards were given a uniform and a nightstick.

The experiment was supposed to last for two weeks, but it was terminated after only six days due to the extreme and abusive behavior of the guards toward the prisoners. The guards became increasingly brutal and sadistic towards the prisoners, and the prisoners began to show signs of extreme stress and emotional distress.

The study has been highly controversial and criticized for its lack of ethical considerations and for the harm it caused to the participants. However, it has also contributed to our understanding of the power dynamics in institutions and how they can affect the behavior of individuals.

The following section will discuss the experiment’s procedure in more detail.

Aim and Hypothesis

The Stanford Prison Experiment (SPE) was conducted in 1971 by Philip Zimbardo and his colleagues. The study aimed to investigate the influence of situational factors on human behavior. Specifically, the researchers wanted to examine whether the brutality reported among guards in American prisons was due to the sadistic personalities of the guards or had more to do with the prison environment.

The study hypothesized that their assigned roles would determine the participants’ behavior. The researchers expected that the participants assigned to the role of guards would become more aggressive and authoritarian. In contrast, those who were assigned to the role of prisoners would become more passive and submissive.

To test this hypothesis, Zimbardo and his colleagues recruited 24 male participants from a pool of volunteers. The participants were randomly assigned to the roles of either guards or prisoners. The guards were instructed to maintain order within the prison, while the prisoners were asked to follow the rules and regulations of the prison.

The study was designed to last for two weeks, but it was terminated after only six days due to the extreme behavior of the participants. The guards became increasingly abusive and authoritarian, while the prisoners became more passive and submissive. The study demonstrated the power of situational factors in influencing human behavior and has had a lasting impact on psychology.

Methodology

To conduct our study on the Stanford Prison Experiment, we followed the same methodology used by Philip Zimbardo in 1971. The experiment explored how people’s behavior changes in a simulated prison environment. The study involved selecting college students to play the roles of prisoners and guards in a mock prison.

The participants were randomly assigned to play the role of either a prisoner or a guard. The guards were instructed to maintain order in the prison, while the prisoners were told to follow the rules and regulations set by the guards. The roles were assigned to create a power dynamic between the two groups, with the guards having more authority over the prisoners.

Environment Setup

A basement in the Stanford University psychology building was converted into a mock prison to simulate a prison environment. The environment was set up to resemble a real prison, with cells, a cafeteria, and a yard. The cells were small, with no windows, and had only a bed and a toilet. The environment was designed to be uncomfortable and oppressive, to create a sense of confinement and isolation.

Subject Selection

The participants were selected through an advertisement that asked for volunteers to participate in a study of the psychological effects of prison life. The study received more than 70 responses, and 24 participants were selected based on their physical and mental health. The participants were all male and were paid $15 per day for their participation.

The methodology used in the Stanford Prison Experiment aimed to create a simulated prison environment to explore how people’s behavior changes when placed in a position of power. The study involved selecting college students to play the roles of prisoners and guards in a mock prison, and the environment was designed to be uncomfortable and oppressive. The study received more than 70 responses, and 24 participants were selected based on their physical and mental health.

Results and Findings

In the Stanford Prison Experiment, the participants were randomly assigned roles of prisoners or guards. The experiment was expected to last two weeks. Still, it was terminated after only six days due to the extreme behavior of the guards and the emotional distress of the prisoners.

The results showed that the guards became increasingly abusive towards the prisoners, using physical and psychological tactics to assert their authority. Conversely, the prisoners became passive and submissive, showing signs of depression and anxiety.

The experiment demonstrated the powerful influence of social roles and situational factors on human behavior. It also revealed the potential for abuse of power in institutional settings, such as prisons.

Furthermore, the study challenged the dispositional hypothesis, which suggests that individual personality traits are the primary determinants of behavior. Instead, it supported the situational hypothesis, which suggests that the context in which behavior occurs is more important than individual differences.

Ethical Considerations

When discussing the Stanford Prison Experiment, it is impossible to ignore the ethical considerations raised by the study. The experiment was highly controversial, and its findings have been criticized for being unethical and inhumane.

One of the study’s main ethical concerns was the participants’ treatment. The prisoners were subjected to psychological and physical abuse by the guards, which caused some of them to experience significant psychological distress. This raises questions about the researchers’ responsibility for their participants’ well-being.

Another ethical issue raised by the study was the lack of informed consent. The participants needed to be fully informed of the nature of the experiment, and some may have been coerced into participating. This raises concerns about the validity of the results and the ethical implications of using human subjects in research.

Furthermore, the use of deception in the study has also been criticized. The participants needed to be made aware of the true nature of the experiment, which raised concerns about the ethical implications of using deception in research.

Impact and Influence

The Stanford Prison Experiment has significantly impacted psychology, and its influence can still be seen today. Here are some of how the experiment has impacted the field:

• Ethics in research:  The experiment raised essential questions about research ethics and researchers’ responsibilities to their subjects. The unethical treatment of the participants in the experiment has led to stricter guidelines for research involving human subjects.
• Social psychology:  The experiment demonstrated the powerful influence of social roles and situational factors on human behavior. It has been cited as evidence for the social identity theory and the power of conformity.
• Media and popular culture:  The experiment has been the subject of numerous books, documentaries, and movies, including “The Stanford Prison Experiment” (2015). It has become a cultural touchstone, often referenced in power dynamics and authority discussions.
• Criminal justice system:  The experiment has been used to inform discussions about the criminal justice system and the treatment of prisoners. It has been cited in debates about using solitary confinement and the psychological effects of imprisonment.

Despite its impact, the experiment has also been the subject of controversy. Critics have pointed out that the experiment needed more scientific rigor and that the results may not be generalizable to other contexts. Additionally, the unethical treatment of the participants has raised questions about the validity of the findings.

Criticism and Controversy

The Stanford Prison Experiment has been the subject of much criticism and controversy since its inception. Many have questioned the ethics of the experiment, as well as its scientific rigor. Some have even gone so far as to call it a fraud.

One of the main criticisms of the experiment is that it needed proper controls. Critics have argued that the participants were not randomly assigned to their roles as prisoners or guards and that the experiment was not adequately blinded. This means that the participants may have been influenced by the experimenters’ expectations rather than the experiment’s actual conditions.

Another criticism of the experiment is that it was unethical. Participants were subjected to psychological stress and trauma, and many of them suffered from long-term psychological effects as a result. Additionally, the experimenters did not adequately debrief the participants, which may have contributed to their negative experiences.

Despite these criticisms, the Stanford Prison Experiment remains an essential landmark in psychology. It has inspired numerous follow-up studies and has helped to shed light on the nature of authority and power in human relationships. However, it is essential to remember that the experiment had flaws and that its findings should be interpreted cautiously.

Replications and Follow-Up Studies

We know that the Stanford Prison Experiment is one of the most famous and controversial studies in psychology. It has been replicated in various forms over the years, with mixed results. Let’s take a look at some of the notable replications and follow-up studies.

BBC Prison Study

The BBC Prison Study was a partial replication of the Stanford Prison Experiment conducted with the assistance of the BBC. The study was broadcast in a documentary series called The Experiment. The results and conclusions differed from Zimbardo’s, leading to several publications on tyranny, stress, and leadership.

Stanford Prison Experiment: A Simulation Study of the Psychology of Imprisonment

This replication was conducted by Haney, Banks, and Zimbardo in 1973. The study was similar to the original but with some modifications. The results were consistent with the original experiment, which suggested that the findings were not due to chance.

Standford Prison Experiment: Reactions to the Study

This study was conducted by Zimbardo and his colleagues in 1973. The study examined the reactions of participants to the original experiment. The results showed that the participants had mixed reactions to the experiment. Some participants felt the experiment was valuable, while others felt it was unethical.

Criticisms and Controversies

Critics of the Stanford Prison Experiment have pointed out several flaws in the study. For example, some have argued that the study needed ecological validity, meaning the findings may not apply to real-world situations. Others have criticized the study’s methodology, suggesting that demand characteristics may have influenced the results.

While the Stanford Prison Experiment remains a highly influential study in psychology, it is essential to consider its limitations and the mixed results of replications and follow-up studies.

Legacy of the Experiment

The Stanford Prison Experiment significantly impacted psychology and our understanding of human behavior. The study demonstrated the power of social roles and situational factors in shaping individual behavior. It also highlighted the importance of ethical considerations in research, mainly when conducting studies involving human subjects.

One of the most significant legacies of the experiment was the recognition of the potential harm that can result from the abuse of power. The study showed how individuals in positions of authority can become abusive when given unchecked power over others. This finding has important implications for understanding the dynamics of abusive relationships, workplace harassment, and other forms of power-based violence.

The experiment also demonstrated the importance of deindividuation in shaping behavior. When individuals are stripped of their identities and placed in group settings, they may be more likely to engage in behaviors they would not normally engage in. This phenomenon has important implications for understanding group dynamics, mob behavior, and other forms of collective action.

Moreover, the study significantly impacted social psychology, leading to the development of new research areas. The study’s lead researcher, Philip Zimbardo, developed new lines of research on topics such as good and evil, time perspective, and shyness.

Despite the many contributions of the Stanford Prison Experiment, the study has also been subject to criticism. Some have argued that the study needed more scientific rigor and that the findings may not be generalizable to other contexts. Others have raised ethical concerns about the study, particularly regarding the well-being of the participants.

The legacy of the Stanford Prison Experiment has been a mixed one. While the study has contributed significantly to our understanding of human behavior, it has also raised important questions about the ethics of research and the responsibility of researchers to protect their participants. As such, the study serves as a cautionary tale for researchers and underscores the importance of ethical considerations in all forms of scientific inquiry.

Frequently Asked Questions

What were the ethical issues surrounding the stanford prison experiment.

The Stanford Prison Experiment was heavily criticized for its ethical issues. The participants were subjected to psychological and emotional stress, which could have caused long-term harm. The experiment lacked informed consent, as the participants were not fully aware of what they were signing up for. Additionally, the researchers did not intervene when the situation became abusive, which violated the ethical principle of beneficence.

What was the hypothesis of the Stanford Prison Experiment?

The hypothesis of the Stanford Prison Experiment was to test the effects of power and authority on human behavior. The researchers wanted to see how people would react when placed in a simulated prison environment, with some acting as prisoners and others as guards. They hypothesized that the guards would become abusive and the prisoners would become passive and helpless.

What happened during the Stanford Prison Experiment?

During the Stanford Prison Experiment, participants were randomly assigned to be either prisoners or guards. The guards were given complete control over the prisoners, and they quickly became abusive. The prisoners were subjected to psychological and emotional stress and some even developed mental health issues. The experiment was cut short after just six days due to the increasingly disturbing behavior of the guards.

Why was the Stanford Prison Experiment considered disturbing?

The Stanford Prison Experiment was considered disturbing because of the extreme psychological and emotional stress that the participants were subjected to. The guards became increasingly abusive, and the prisoners became passive and helpless. The experiment highlighted the dangers of power and authority and raised questions about the ethics of conducting such experiments.

Were any legal actions taken against the Stanford Prison Experiment?

No legal actions were taken against the Stanford Prison Experiment. However, the experiment did lead to changes in the way that psychological experiments are conducted. Ethical guidelines were put in place to ensure that participants are fully informed and protected from harm.

What were the long-term effects on the participants of the Stanford Prison Experiment?

The long-term effects of the Stanford Prison Experiment on the participants are not fully known. However, some participants reported experiencing psychological and emotional trauma as a result of their participation in the experiment. The experiment highlighted the importance of protecting participants in psychological experiments and raised questions about the ethics of conducting such experiments in the future.

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Stanford Prison Experiment

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• BBC News - Stanford prison experiment continues to shock
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Stanford Prison Experiment , a social psychology study in which college students became prisoners or guards in a simulated prison environment . The experiment, funded by the U.S. Office of Naval Research, took place at Stanford University in August 1971. It was intended to measure the effect of role-playing, labeling, and social expectations on behaviour over a period of two weeks. However, mistreatment of prisoners escalated so alarmingly that principal investigator Philip G. Zimbardo terminated the experiment after only six days.

More than 70 young men responded to an advertisement about a “psychological study of prison life,” and experimenters selected 24 applicants who were judged to be physically and mentally healthy. The paid subjects—they received $15 a day—were divided randomly into equal numbers of guards and prisoners. Guards were ordered not to physically abuse prisoners and were issued mirrored sunglasses that prevented any eye contact. Prisoners were “arrested” by actual police and handed over to the experimenters in a mock prison in the basement of a campus building. Prisoners were then subjected to indignities that were intended to simulate the environment of a real-life prison. In keeping with Zimbardo’s intention to create very quickly an “atmosphere of oppression,” each prisoner was made to wear a “dress” as a uniform and to carry a chain padlocked around one ankle. All participants were observed and videotaped by the experimenters.

On only the second day the prisoners staged a rebellion. Guards then worked out a system of rewards and punishments to manage the prisoners. Within the first four days, three prisoners had become so traumatized that they were released. Over the course of the experiment, some of the guards became cruel and tyrannical, while a number of the prisoners became depressed and disoriented. However, only after an outside observer came upon the scene and registered shock did Zimbardo conclude the experiment, less than a week after it had started.

The Stanford Prison Experiment immediately came under attack on methodological and ethical grounds. Zimbardo admitted that during the experiment he had sometimes felt more like a prison superintendent than a research psychologist. Later on, he claimed that the experiment’s “social forces and environmental contingencies” had led the guards to behave badly. However, others claimed that the original advertisement attracted people who were predisposed to authoritarianism . The most conspicuous challenge to the Stanford findings came decades later in the form of the BBC Prison Study, a differently organized experiment documented in a British Broadcasting Corporation series called The Experiment (2002). The BBC’s mock prisoners turned out to be more assertive than Zimbardo’s. The British experimenters called the Stanford experiment “a study of what happens when a powerful authority figure (Zimbardo) imposes tyranny.”

The Stanford Prison Experiment became widely known outside academia . It was the acknowledged inspiration for Das Experiment (2001), a German movie that was remade in the United States as the direct-to-video film The Experiment (2010). The Stanford Prison Experiment (2015) was created with Zimbardo’s active participation; the dramatic film more closely followed actual events.

The Stanford Prison Experiment 50 Years Later: A Conversation with Philip Zimbardo

In April 1971, a seemingly innocuous ad appeared in the classifieds of the Palo Alto Times : Male college students needed for psychological study of prison life. $15 per day for 1-2 weeks. In no time, more than 70 students volunteered, and 24 were chosen. Thus began the Stanford Prison Experiment (SPE), conducted inside Jordan Hall on the Stanford campus. Originally scheduled to last two weeks, it was ended early over concerns regarding the behavior of both “prisoners” and “guards.” Still today, the SPE spikes enormous interest. Movies and documentaries have been made, books published, and studies produced about those six days. It’s clear today the research would never be allowed, but it was motivated by genuine concern over the ethical issues surrounding prisons, compliance with authority, and the evil humans have proved capable of. What was learned and at what cost? What is still being learned?

The Stanford Historical Society sponsors a look back at the controversial study with its leader, social psychologist Philip Zimbardo , Stanford Professor Emeritus of Psychology. Zimbardo is joined in conversation by Paul Costello who served as the chief communications officer for the School of Medicine for 17 years. He retired from Stanford in January 2021.

This program is organized by the Stanford Historical Society and co-sponsored by the Department of Psychology at Stanford University.

Additional resources

Watch video

Image credit: Stanford Prison Experiment (Special Collections and University Archives, Stanford Libraries)

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Philip Zimbardo defends the Stanford Prison Experiment, his most famous work

What’s the scientific value of the Stanford Prison Experiment? Zimbardo responds to the new allegations against his work.

by Brian Resnick

For decades, the story of the famous Stanford Prison Experiment has gone like this: Stanford professor Philip Zimbardo assigned paid volunteers to be either inmates or guards in a simulated prison in the basement of the school‘s psychology building. Very quickly, the guards became cruel, and the prisoners more submissive and depressed. The situation grew chaotic, and the experiment, meant to last two weeks, had to be ended after five days.

The lesson drawn from the research was that situations can bring out the worst in people. That, in the absence of firm instructions of how to act, we’ll act in accordance to the roles we’re assigned. The tale, which was made into a feature film , has been a lens through which we can understand human-rights violations, like American soldier’s maltreatment of inmates at the Abu Ghraib in Iraq in the early 2000s.

This month, the scientific validity of the experiment was boldly challenged. In a thoroughly reported exposé on Medium, journalist Ben Blum found compelling evidence that the experiment wasn’t as naturalistic and un-manipulated by the experimenters as we’ve been told.

A recording from the experiment reveals that the “warden,” a research assistant, told a reluctant guard that “the guards have to know that every guard is going to be what we call a ‘tough guard.’” The warden implored the guard to act tough because “we hope will come out of the study is a very serious recommendation for [criminal justice] reform.” The implication being that if the guard didn’t play the part, the study would fail.

Additionally, one of the “prisoners” in the study told Blum that he was “acting” during a what was observed to be a mental breakdown.

These new findings don’t mean that everything that happened in the experiment was theater. The “prisoners” really did rebel at one point, and the “guards” were cruel. But the new evidence suggests that the main conclusion of the experiment — the one that has been republished in psychology textbooks for years — doesn’t necessarily hold up. Zimbardo stated over and over the behavior seen in the experiment was the result of their own minds conforming to a situation. The new evidence suggests there was a lot more going on.

I wrote a piece highlighting Blum’s exposé and putting the prison experiment in the larger context of psychology’s replication crisis. Our headline stated “we just learned it [the Stanford Prison Experiment] was a fraud.”

Fraud is a moral judgment. And Zimbardo, now a professor emeritus, wrote to Vox, unhappy with this characterization of his study. (You can Zimbardo’s full written response to the criticisms here .)

So I called Zimbardo up to ask about the evidence in Blum’s piece. I also wanted to know: As a scientist, what do you do when the narrative of your most famous work changes dramatically and spirals out of your own control?

The conversation was tense. At one point, Zimbardo threatened to hang up.

Zimbardo believes Blum (and Vox) got the story wrong. He says only one guard was prodded to act tougher. (We did not discuss Blum’s evidence that the “prisoners” in the experiment were held against their will, despite pleas to leave.)

After talking with him, the results of the prison experiment still seem unscientific and untrustworthy. It’s an interesting demonstration, but should enduring lessons in psychology be based off of it? I doubt it.

Here’s our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity.

Brian Resnick

Here’s my understanding of the criticisms that have come to light recently about the Stanford Prison Experiment.

For years, the conclusion that has been drawn from the study was that circumstances can bring out the worst in people or encourage bad behavior. And when some people are given power, and some people are stripped of it, that fosters ugly behavior.

What’s comes to light — what I got out of that Ben Blum’s report — was that it might not have all been the circumstance. That these guards that you employed were possibly coached in some ways.

There’s audio. And for me, it sounded pretty compelling that the warden in your experiment, who I understand was an experimental collaborator — was calling out a guard for not being tough enough. [The warden told the guard, “The guards have to know that every guard is going to be what we call a ‘tough guard.’” Listen to the tape here .]

So does that not invalidate the conclusion?

Philip Zimbardo

Not at all!

And why not?

Because he’s talking to one guard who was doing nothing. These are people we’ve hired who are doing it for a salary, $15 a day, to play the role of guard. And Jaffe [the warden] picks on this guy because he is doing nothing. He’s sitting on the sideline, doing nothing, watching. He’s gotta earn his keep as a guard.

The point is telling a guard to be tough does not mean telling a guard to be mean, to be cruel, to be sadistic, which many of the guards became of their own volition playing the role of what they thought was a prison guard. So I reject your assumption entirely.

Here’s the description of the experiment as written on your website: It says “the guards made up their own set of rules which they carried into effect.” In another paper , you wrote that the guards’ behavior was left up “to each subject’s prior societal learning of the meaning of prisons.”

But here’s a different possibility: Do you think it is possible that some of these guards were acting to please you, to please the study, and to do something good for science?

Even without telling the guards to explicitly do something, they might have gotten the impression that it was important for them to play these roles. And they were compelled to because of your authority.

Some of them might, but I think most of them didn’t.

For many of them, it was simply a way to make $15 a day during a two-week summer break between summer school and the start of classes in September. It was nothing more than that. It was not wanting to help science.

Some of them were increasingly mean, cruel, and sadistic way beyond any definition of tough. Some of them were guards who simply enforced the rules. And some of them were “good guards” who never did anything abusive to the prisoners. So it’s not that the situation brought a single quality in the guard. It’s a mix.

The criticism that you’re raising, that Blum raised, that others are raising, is that we told the guards to do what they ended up doing. And therefore, [the results were due to] obedience to authority, and it’s not the evolution of cruel behavior in the situation of a prison-like environment.

And I reject that.

Is it possible that some of the “prisoners” in your experiment were acting, playing along?

Zero? How can you say zero?

Okay, I can’t say.

I mean, the point was they locked themselves in their cells, they ripped off their numbers, they’re yelling and cursing at the guards. So, yeah, they could be acting. But why would they be acting. ... What would they get out of that?

Blum quoted one of the prisoners, Douglas Korpi, who had a breakdown. Korpi told Blum that he was acting. That he was in the midsts of studying for the GREs and just really wanted to get out of the experiment. Korpi told Blum, “Anybody who is a clinician would know that I was faking.”

Brian, Brian, I’m telling you every fucking thing that Ben Blum said is a lie; it’s false.

Nothing Korpi said to Ben Blum has any truth, zero. Look at Quiet Rage [a documentary about the prison experiment], look at where he says, “I was overcome in that situation. I broke down, I lost control of myself.”

Retrospectively now, he’s ashamed of having broken down. So he says he “was studying the Graduate Record Exam, I was faking it, I wanted to show I could get out and liberate my colleagues,” etc, etc.

So he is the least reliable source of any information about the study, except he documents the power of the situation to get somebody who’s psychologically normal, 36 hours before, who in an experiment, knowing it’s an experiment, has an emotional “breakdown,” and had to be released.

Let’s say: Regardless of whether guards were coached or not...

Brian, I’m gonna stop you.

Can I finish the question?

A guard, a single guard, okay? When you say guards you’re slipping back into your assumption, you’re slipping back to be like Blum. A guard was coached to be tough, and end of sentence there.

[Note: As a reminder, the tape of the experiment quoted the Jaffe, the “warden,” who played a critical role in leading the experiment, as saying, “The guards have to know that every guard is going to be what we call a ‘tough guard.’” Also, as Blum discovered in the Stanford archives, Jaffe wrote in his notes , “I was given the responsibility of trying to elicit ‘tough-guard’ behavior.” Which, again, raises suspicions that the experiment wasn’t as naturalistic as the experimenters implied.]

What I want to ask is: What is the case that this experiment should be seen as anything more than an anecdote? I don’t think anyone denies its historical value. It’s an interesting demonstration. Ideas that generated from it are worthwhile to follow up on and to study more carefully. Do you think the experiment itself has a definitive scientific value? If so, what is it?

It depends what you mean by scientific value. From the beginning, I have always said it’s a demonstration. The only thing that makes it an experiment is the random assignment to prisoners and guards, that’s the independent variable. There is no control group. There’s no comparison group. So it doesn’t fit the standards of what it means to be “an experiment.” It’s a very powerful demonstration of a psychological phenomenon, and it has had relevance.

So, yes, if you want to call it anecdote, that’s one way to demean it. If you want to say, “Is it a scientifically valid conclusion?” I say ... it doesn’t have to be scientifically valid. It means it’s a conclusion drawn from this powerful, unique demonstration.

Would you agree, as a scientist, that an early demonstration of an idea is bound to be reinterpreted in time, bound to be reevaluated?

Oh, they should. The essence of science is you don’t believe anything until it has a) been replicated, or b) been critically evaluated, as the study is being done now. I’m hoping a positive consequence of all of this is a better, fuller appreciation of what happened in the Stanford prison study.

Let me just add one thing: There are many, many classic studies that are now all under attack. ... by psychologists from a very different domain. It’s curious.

I’ve talked to a lot of researchers who are interested in replication, and reevaluating past work. They want to correct the record. I think they’re scared about what happens to the credibility of science if they don’t scrutinize the classics.

And I wonder from your point of view, as a scientist, do you need to be okay with losing control of the narrative of your work as it gets reevaluated?

Of course. The moment, the moment any of it was published, the moment any of this was put online, which I did as soon as I could, I lost. ... You lose control of it. Once it’s out there it’s not in your head anymore. Once it’s out in any public forum, then, of course, I lost control of “the narrative.”

Is it a study with flaws? I was the first to admit that many, many years ago.

A study like the prison experiment might just be too big and complicated, with too many inputs, too many variables, to really nail down or understand a single, simple conclusion from it.

The single conclusion is a broad line: Human behavior, for many people, is much more under the influence of social situational variables than we had ever thought of before.

I will stand by that conclusion for the rest of my life, no matter what anyone says.

I’m just unsure if we have the evidence to say if it’s true or not.

There are other researchers who are trying to drill down more into understanding what turns bad behavior on and off. And I’m sure you’re not a fan of him, but Alexander Haslam — [a psychologist who has tried to replicate the prison experiment study, and an academic critic of Zimbardo’s conclusions]

Oh, God! ... no, no, no.

You don’t want to talk about him.

Yeah, okay, No, I don’t want to talk about [him] at all.

Well, the gist of what he and his colleagues are arguing is this: Social identity is a really powerful motivator. And it’s perhaps more influential than situational factors. And perhaps the guards in your experiment became cruel because your warden used his authority to foster a social identity within them. [Here’s a new paper with their latest arguments. ]

I reject that. No, no. That’s their shtick, that’s what they’re pushing.

You don’t assume good faith on their part?

I’m not saying good faith. That’s what their claim to fame is the importance of social identity.

Of course people have social identity. But, there’s also something called situational identity. In a particular situation, you begin to play a role. You are the boss, you are the foreman, you are the drill sergeant, you are the fraternity hazing master. And in that role, which is not the usual you, you begin to do something which is role-bound. ... This is what anybody in this role does. And your behavior then changes.

Is there experimental evidence outside the prison experiment that supports that view?

The view that situation can make a difference?

Yeah. There are plenty of examples in history and current events, but is that something we know as a fact, as an experimental fact?

I don’t know off the top of my head. ...

I’ve always said it’s an interaction. I’m an interactionist. What I’ve said, if you read any of my textbooks, it’s always an interaction between what people bring into a situation, which means genetics and personality, and what the situation brings out in you, which is a social/psychological power of some situations over others. And I will stand by that, my whole career depends on that.

It’s not like I’m mindlessly promoting the situation is dominating everybody.

What would you fear might happen if people stop believing in the integrity of the Stanford Prison Experiment?

The fear is they will lose an important conclusion about the nature of human behavior as being, to some extent, situationally influenced.

You’re afraid they’ll lose an important conclusion even though the study is just a demonstration?

You demonstrate gravity by throwing a ball up and seeing if it comes down. I think you’re insisting on a traditional view of what is scientific, what is a scientific experiment, what is a scientifically validated conclusion. And I am saying from the beginning the Stanford Prison Experiment is a unique and powerful demonstration of how social/situational variables can influence the behavior of some people, some of the time. That’s a very modest conclusion.

All of this controversy is happening now because you gave your notes and tapes from the prison experiment to the Stanford archives. That transparency is commendable. Do you regret it?

No, I don’t regret it. The reason I did it is to make it available for researchers, for anybody, and people have gone through it.

So again, the last thing in the world I need is for people to doubt my honesty, my professional credibility. That’s an attack on me personally, and that I reject and I’m arguing it’s absolutely wrong.

Is it okay if we just move on from the Stanford Prison Experiment? Like you said, it’s a demonstration. Maybe we need to ground our understanding of acts of evil in something a little bit more scientific, to be honest.

At this point, I don’t want anyone to reject that basic conclusion that I’ve said several times in this interview. I don’t want that to be rejected. I would love for there to be better, more scientific evaluation of this conclusion, rather than a bunch of bloggers saying, “We’re gonna shoot it down.”

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The Real Lesson of the Stanford Prison Experiment

On the morning of August 17, 1971, nine young men in the Palo Alto area received visits from local police officers. While their neighbors looked on, the men were arrested for violating Penal Codes 211 and 459 (armed robbery and burglary), searched, handcuffed, and led into the rear of a waiting police car. The cars took them to a Palo Alto police station, where the men were booked, fingerprinted, moved to a holding cell, and blindfolded. Finally, they were transported to the Stanford County Prison—also known as the Stanford University psychology department.

They were willing participants in the Stanford Prison Experiment, one of the most controversial studies in the history of social psychology. (It’s the subject of a new film of the same name—a drama, not a documentary—starring Billy Crudup, of “Almost Famous,” as the lead investigator, Philip Zimbardo. It opens July 17th.) The study subjects, middle-class college students, had answered a questionnaire about their family backgrounds, physical- and mental-health histories, and social behavior, and had been deemed “normal”; a coin flip divided them into prisoners and guards. According to the lore that’s grown up around the experiment, the guards, with little to no instruction, began humiliating and psychologically abusing the prisoners within twenty-four hours of the study’s start. The prisoners, in turn, became submissive and depersonalized, taking the abuse and saying little in protest. The behavior of all involved was so extreme that the experiment, which was meant to last two weeks, was terminated after six days.

Less than a decade earlier, the Milgram obedience study had shown that ordinary people, if encouraged by an authority figure, were willing to shock their fellow-citizens with what they believed to be painful and potentially lethal levels of electricity. To many, the Stanford experiment underscored those findings, revealing the ease with which regular people, if given too much power, could transform into ruthless oppressors. Today, more than forty-five years later, many look to the study to make sense of events like the behavior of the guards at Abu Ghraib and America’s epidemic of police brutality. The Stanford Prison Experiment is cited as evidence of the atavistic impulses that lurk within us all; it’s said to show that, with a little nudge, we could all become tyrants.

And yet the lessons of the Stanford Prison Experiment aren’t so clear-cut. From the beginning, the study has been haunted by ambiguity. Even as it suggests that ordinary people harbor ugly potentialities, it also testifies to the way our circumstances shape our behavior. Was the study about our individual fallibility, or about broken institutions? Were its findings about prisons, specifically, or about life in general? What did the Stanford Prison Experiment really show?

The appeal of the experiment has a lot to do with its apparently simple setup: prisoners, guards, a fake jail, and some ground rules. But, in reality, the Stanford County Prison was a heavily manipulated environment, and the guards and prisoners acted in ways that were largely predetermined by how their roles were presented. To understand the meaning of the experiment, you have to understand that it wasn’t a blank slate; from the start, its goal was to evoke the experience of working and living in a brutal jail.

From the first, the guards’ priorities were set by Zimbardo. In a presentation to his Stanford colleagues shortly after the study’s conclusion, he described the procedures surrounding each prisoner’s arrival: each man was stripped and searched, “deloused,” and then given a uniform—a numbered gown, which Zimbardo called a “dress,” with a heavy bolted chain near the ankle, loose-fitting rubber sandals, and a cap made from a woman’s nylon stocking. “Real male prisoners don't wear dresses,” Zimbardo explained, “but real male prisoners, we have learned, do feel humiliated, do feel emasculated, and we thought we could produce the same effects very quickly by putting men in a dress without any underclothes.” The stocking caps were in lieu of shaving the prisoner’s heads. (The guards wore khaki uniforms and were given whistles, nightsticks, and mirrored sunglasses inspired by a prison guard in the movie “Cool Hand Luke.”)

Often, the guards operated without explicit, moment-to-moment instructions. But that didn’t mean that they were fully autonomous: Zimbardo himself took part in the experiment, playing the role of the prison superintendent. (The prison’s “warden” was also a researcher.) /Occasionally, disputes between prisoner and guards got out of hand, violating an explicit injunction against physical force that both prisoners and guards had read prior to enrolling in the study. When the “superintendent” and “warden” overlooked these incidents, the message to the guards was clear: all is well; keep going as you are. The participants knew that an audience was watching, and so a lack of feedback could be read as tacit approval. And the sense of being watched may also have encouraged them to perform. Dave Eshelman, one of the guards, recalled that he “consciously created” his guard persona. “I was in all kinds of drama productions in high school and college. It was something I was very familiar with: to take on another personality before you step out on the stage,” Eshelman said. In fact, he continued, “I was kind of running my own experiment in there, by saying, ‘How far can I push these things and how much abuse will these people take before they say, ‘Knock it off?’ ”

Other, more subtle factors also shaped the experiment. It’s often said that the study participants were ordinary guys—and they were, indeed, determined to be “normal” and healthy by a battery of tests. But they were also a self-selected group who responded to a newspaper advertisement seeking volunteers for “a psychological study of prison life.” In a 2007 study, the psychologists Thomas Carnahan and Sam McFarland asked whether that wording itself may have stacked the odds. They recreated the original ad, and then ran a separate ad omitting the phrase “prison life.” They found that the people who responded to the two ads scored differently on a set of psychological tests. Those who thought that they would be participating in a prison study had significantly higher levels of aggressiveness, authoritarianism, Machiavellianism, narcissism, and social dominance, and they scored lower on measures of empathy and altruism.

Moreover, even within that self-selected sample, behavioral patterns were far from homogeneous. Much of the study’s cachet depends on the idea that the students responded en masse, giving up their individual identities to become submissive “prisoners” and tyrannical “guards.” But, in fact, the participants responded to the prison environment in all sorts of ways. While some guard shifts were especially cruel, others remained humane. Many of the supposedly passive prisoners rebelled. Richard Yacco, a prisoner, remembered “resisting what one guard was telling me to do and being willing to go into solitary confinement. As prisoners, we developed solidarity—we realized that we could join together and do passive resistance and cause some problems.”

What emerges from these details isn’t a perfectly lucid photograph but an ambiguous watercolor. While it’s true that some guards and prisoners behaved in alarming ways, it’s also the case that their environment was designed to encourage—and, in some cases, to require—those behaviors. Zimbardo himself has always been forthcoming about the details and the nature of his prison experiment: he thoroughly explained the setup in his original study and, in an early write-up , in which the experiment was described in broad strokes only, he pointed out that only “about a third of the guards became tyrannical in their arbitrary use of power.” (That’s about four people in total.) So how did the myth of the Stanford Prison Experiment—“Lord of the Flies” in the psych lab—come to diverge so profoundly from the reality?

In part, Zimbardo’s earliest statements about the experiment are to blame. In October, 1971, soon after the study’s completion—and before a single methodologically and analytically rigorous result had been published—Zimbardo was asked to testify before Congress about prison reform. His dramatic testimony , even as it clearly explained how the experiment worked, also allowed listeners to overlook how coercive the environment really was. He described the study as “an attempt to understand just what it means psychologically to be a prisoner or a prison guard.” But he also emphasized that the students in the study had been “the cream of the crop of this generation,” and said that the guards were given no specific instructions, and left free to make “up their own rules for maintaining law, order, and respect.” In explaining the results, he said that the “majority” of participants found themselves “no longer able to clearly differentiate between role-playing and self,” and that, in the six days the study took to unfold, “the experience of imprisonment undid, although temporarily, a lifetime of learning; human values were suspended, self-concepts were challenged, and the ugliest, most base, pathological side of human nature surfaced.” In describing another, related study and its implications for prison life, he said that “the mere act of assigning labels to people, calling some people prisoners and others guards, is sufficient to elicit pathological behavior.”

Zimbardo released video to NBC, which ran a feature on November 26, 1971. An article ran in the Times Magazine in April of 1973. In various ways, these accounts reiterated the claim that relatively small changes in circumstances could turn the best and brightest into monsters or depersonalized serfs. By the time Zimbardo published a formal paper about the study , in a 1973 issue of the International Journal of Crim__i__nology and Penology , a streamlined and unequivocal version of events had become entrenched in the national consciousness—so much so that a 1975 methodological critique fell largely on deaf ears.

Forty years later, Zimbardo still doesn’t shy away from popular attention. He served as a consultant on the new film, which follows his original study in detail, relying on direct transcripts from the experimental recordings and taking few dramatic liberties. In many ways, the film is critical of the study: Crudup plays Zimbardo as an overzealous researcher overstepping his bounds, trying to create a very specific outcome among the students he observes. The filmmakers even underscore the flimsiness of the experimental design, inserting characters who point out that Zimbardo is not a disinterested observer. They highlight a real-life conversation in which another psychologist asks Zimbardo whether he has an “independent variable.” In describing the study to his Stanford colleagues shortly after it ended, Zimbardo recalled that conversation: “To my surprise, I got really angry at him,” he said. “The security of my men and the stability of my prison was at stake, and I have to contend with this bleeding-heart, liberal, academic, effete dingdong whose only concern was for a ridiculous thing like an independent variable. The next thing he’d be asking me about was rehabilitation programs, the dummy! It wasn’t until sometime later that I realized how far into the experiment I was at that point.”

In a broad sense, the film reaffirms the opinion of John Mark, one of the guards, who, looking back, has said that Zimbardo’s interpretation of events was too shaped by his expectations to be meaningful: “He wanted to be able to say that college students, people from middle-class backgrounds ... will turn on each other just because they’re given a role and given power. Based on my experience, and what I saw and what I felt, I think that was a real stretch.”

If the Stanford Prison Experiment had simulated a less brutal environment, would the prisoners and guards have acted differently? In December, 2001 , two psychologists, Stephen Reicher and Alexander Haslam, tried to find out. They worked with the documentaries unit of the BBC to partially recreate Zimbardo’s setup over the course of an eight-day experiment. Their guards also had uniforms, and were given latitude to dole out rewards and punishments; their prisoners were placed in three-person cells that followed the layout of the Stanford County Jail almost exactly. The main difference was that, in this prison, the preset expectations were gone. The guards were asked to come up with rules prior to the prisoners’ arrival, and were told only to make the prison run smoothly. (The BBC Prison Study, as it came to be called, differed from the Stanford experiment in a few other ways, including prisoner dress; for a while, moreover, the prisoners were told that they could become guards through good behavior, although, on the third day, that offer was revoked, and the roles were made permanent.)

Within the first few days of the BBC study, it became clear that the guards weren’t cohering as a group. “Several guards were wary of assuming and exerting their authority,” the researchers wrote. The prisoners, on the other hand, developed a collective identity. In a change from the Stanford study, the psychologists asked each participant to complete a daily survey that measured the degree to which he felt solidarity with his group; it showed that, as the guards grew further apart, the prisoners were growing closer together. On the fourth day, three cellmates decided to test their luck. At lunchtime, one threw his plate down and demanded better food, another asked to smoke, and the third asked for medical attention for a blister on his foot. The guards became disorganized; one even offered the smoker a cigarette. Reicher and Haslam reported that, after the prisoners returned to their cells, they “literally danced with joy.” (“That was fucking sweet,” one prisoner remarked.) Soon, more prisoners began to challenge the guards. They acted out during roll call, complained about the food, and talked back. At the end of the sixth day, the three insubordinate cellmates broke out and occupied the guards’ quarters. “At this point,” the researchers wrote, “the guards’ regime was seen by all to be unworkable and at an end.”

Taken together, these two studies don’t suggest that we all have an innate capacity for tyranny or victimhood. Instead, they suggest that our behavior largely conforms to our preconceived expectations. All else being equal, we act as we think we’re expected to act—especially if that expectation comes from above. Suggest, as the Stanford setup did, that we should behave in stereotypical tough-guard fashion, and we strive to fit that role. Tell us, as the BBC experimenters did, that we shouldn’t give up hope of social mobility, and we act accordingly.

This understanding might seem to diminish the power of the Stanford Prison Experiment. But, in fact, it sharpens and clarifies the study’s meaning. Last weekend brought the tragic news of Kalief Browder’s suicide . At sixteen, Browder was arrested, in the Bronx, for allegedly stealing a backpack; after the arrest, he was imprisoned at Rikers for three years without trial . (Ultimately, the case against him was dismissed.) While at Rikers, Browder was the object of violence from both prisoners and guards, some of which was captured on video . It’s possible to think that prisons are the way they are because human nature tends toward the pathological. But the Stanford Prison Experiment suggests that extreme behavior flows from extreme institutions. Prisons aren’t blank slates. Guards do indeed self-select into their jobs, as Zimbardo’s students self-selected into a study of prison life. Like Zimbardo’s men, they are bombarded with expectations from the first and shaped by preëxisting norms and patterns of behavior. The lesson of Stanford isn’t that any random human being is capable of descending into sadism and tyranny. It’s that certain institutions and environments demand those behaviors—and, perhaps, can change them.

How Did the Stanford Prison Experiment Get Out of Hand?

Forty years later, participants describe what they were thinking

Forty years ago researchers at Stanford University conducted a controversial experiment, creating a fake jail, using volunteers to act as prisoners and guards: The Stanford Prison Experiment. Less than halfway through, the situation got out of hand, as the jailed volunteers, reacting to abuse from the volunteer guards, began to revolt and crack. The researchers let the situation deteriorate for six days until one finally spoke out. For the anniversary of the experiment, Romesh Ratnesar interviewed some of the participants for Stanford Magazine , giving us insight into what kept things running, even as things completely devolved.

Phil Zimbardo Superintendent: In Denial A professor in Stanford’s psychology department, Zimbardo acted the part of superintendent, overseeing the prison's authority. At the beginning of the experiment, the participants didn't take to their parts, "After the end of the first day, I said, 'There's nothing here. Nothing's happening.' The guards had this anti-authority mentality. They felt awkward in their uniforms. They didn't get into the guard mentality until the prisoners started to revolt," explains Zimbardo. While the guards transformed into brutal figures and the prisoners into victims, this mentality didn't change for Zimbardo, "Throughout the experiment, there was this conspiracy of denial—everyone involved was in effect denying that this was an experiment and agreeing that this is a prison run by psychologists."

Even his girlfriend at the time, fellow Stanford graduate student Christina Maslach, tried to get him to snap out of it. Zimbardo recalls an argument the two had, where she points out the injustices, "It's terrible what you're doing to these boys. How can you see what I saw and not care about the suffering?" But, even then, both his denial and the experiment continued, "But I didn't see what she saw." Influenced by Maslach, eventually Zimbardo ended the study. In love with each other, Maslach kept pushing Zimbardo to reconsider, "because this was someone I was growing to like a lot, I thought that I had to figure this out.It's an interesting question: Suppose he kept going, what would I have done? I honestly don't know."

Dave Eshelman, Guard: Just Playing the Part  He answered the ad hoping to find interesting summer work but felt it was important to take his role seriously. He very much planned his unsavory demeanor,

What came over me was not an accident. It was planned. I set out with a definite plan in mind, to try to force the action, force something to happen, so that the researchers would have something to work with. After all, what could they possibly learn from guys sitting around like it was a country club? So I consciously created this persona.

Here we see how seriously the guards took their roles:

Richard Yacco,  Prisoner: I Did It For Science's Sake  Yacco helped instigate the revolt below and researchers later released him early after he exhibited signs of depression. Yacco explains his participation  When I asked [Zimbardo's team] what I could do if I wanted to quit, I was told, "You can't quit--you agreed to be here for the full experiment."

Ratnesar, whose day job is the deputy editor of Bloomberg Business Week , has much more from the participants and his full story is well worth the read .

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Shocking “prison” study 40 years later: What happened at Stanford?

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• Social Psychology

It’s considered one of the most notorious psychology experiments ever conducted – and for good reason. The “Stanford prison experiment” – conducted in Palo Alto, Calif. 40 years ago – was conceived by Dr. Philip G. Zimbardo as a way to use ordinary college students to explore the often volatile dynamic that exists between prisoners and prison guards – and as a means of encouraging reforms in the way real-life prison guards are trained.

But what started out as make-believe quickly devolved into an all-too-real prison situation. Some student “guards” became sadistic overlords who eagerly abused the “prisoners,” many of whom began to see themselves as real prisoners.

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The 1971 Stanford Prison Experiment Showing Authoritarian Abuse Still Relevant Today

by Michael Fortino, Ph.D.

You may not remember the 1971 Stanford University Prison Experiment. Maybe you were not yet born, but the outcome of this infamous study depicted a reality where everyday people, when assigned the role of “jailer,” almost immediately morph into sadistic, power-hungry, conformists who manage to find pleasure in abusing their prisoners. The study is as relevant in analyzing today’s unbridled prison guards or police officers, as it was in a controlled environment nearly 50 years ago.

The experiment was the brainchild of Stanford University psychology professor Dr. Philip Zimbardo, who provided unequivocal proof that, under the right conditions, power and authority often blur the lines of right and wrong and corrupt the psyche to perform unthinkable acts, including the abuse of our fellow human.

The 1971 study recruited 24 students to participate in a roleplay experiment in which nine would be assigned as “jailers” or “prison guards” and 15 would be assigned as captives. The experiment took place in the basement of one of the Stanford buildings, which was converted into a makeshift jail, complete with impenetrable jail cells. The structure was designed to assure that the “imprisoned” students could not casually discontinue the experiment at their will, and it also assured that the prison guards had complete and utter control over their captives.

The roleplay would be performed over a two-week period but was subsequently shut down after only five days because the student guards became so physically and verbally abusive to student prisoners that irreparable harm seemed likely. Zimbardo was forced to intervene out of fear for the wellbeing of his imprisoned students who displayed signs of extreme stress, anxiety, and helplessness as a result of the excessive force and abuse being levied against them.

Was it the role that each student played when assigned the authority as “guard,” or did these student guards already have a violent and controlling disposition prior to their assignment? The answer was obvious to Zimbardo in that the selection process was entirely random, and the students selected as “jailers” showed no obvious sign of aggression when compared to those selected as “prisoner.” Zimbardo’s findings suggest that it is the role given to the student “guards” that changed their personality and relaxed their sense of conscience. The title of “jailer,” in and of itself it seems, inspired a larger than life, more authoritarian role, and one that seemed to permit them to believe they could act with impunity.

Fast forward to today. As we view the scenes on national news that illuminate from the flat screens in our living room, we become mesmerized by the violence playing out in the streets of cities like Portland, Rochester, Kenosha, or Minneapolis. Suddenly, we find ourselves taking sides with a certain faction of that unrest, and we allow a small part our personality to become enraged even while sitting alone at home. We experience anger, frustration, stress, or helplessness, depending on the social narrative we have adopted for ourselves. The Stanford experiment may actually play out in our life as we view world events from the sidelines. We find ourselves deeply committed to the narrative with which we have aligned. We take sides and often block out the opposition’s perspective as nonsense or doublespeak. Even from our living room, we find ourselves playing the role of protestor, or anti-protestor, or law enforcement, and we fantasize about how we might make a difference. We grow more emotionally vested from the energy that radiates out of our television or computer screen, and we begin to realize that we relate to the role of authoritarian or that of victim, but seldom are we able to appreciate both.

Consider a recent scene involving a group of protesting mothers in Portland, each standing side by side in a show of resistance with interlocked arms. These “moms,” clad in bicycle helmets, took a position in front of other protestors both as a show of solidarity and also as a statement that they wished to protect fellow protestors from police brutality. They believed that their presence, as a group of non-violent, peaceful moms, would likely curtail police from further brutality. The moms were dead wrong. It seems that several military-clad law enforcement officers assigned to contain the protest perceived these particular protestors as no different from any other and, as such, proceeded to spray tear gas in the face of several “moms” in a show of force that suggested, “we have the authority, you don’t.”

What compelled these officers to act with such unnecessary aggression? Was it the uniform? Was it the energy from the street? Was it the sense of camaraderie and loyalty they held for their fellow officers as part of a larger systemic mission? Zimbardo would likely suggest that their sense of authority in that environment devolved into something known as “structural violence.”

Dr. Bandy X. Lee, a forensic psychiatrist at Yale School of Medicine, attests that, much like the Stanford Prison Experiment, it is “about the influence of institutional structure. In defense of such overzealous or authoritarian actions by individuals representing law enforcement, we make the convenient excuse that it is merely the actions of ‘a few bad apples.’” Lee, however, believes that such acts of aggression are a product of “structural violence,” which she describes as “the most lethal form of violence.”

Punishment v. Therapy

“Structural violence” is borne out of an authoritarian regime or a culture of punitive rules and laws. It is the mindset that believes punishment, rather than behavioral therapy, is a more effective means of criminal justice. Consider the prison system. One may simply evaluate a prison system’s record on re-offense and recidivism. The U.S. maintains one of the worst recidivism rates on the world stage yet qualifies as one of the most punitive systems, housing more prisoners per capita and under longer sentences than any other country in the world. Simply put, it is failure on multiple levels.

Societies such as those found in the Netherlands, Germany, and Switzerland follow a very different criminal justice and penal philosophy. The premise for these advanced countries is to focus on reform rather than retribution. From the moment of entry, the system is designed to focus on re-entry back to society. These penal systems are staffed predominantly by behavioral psychologists and social workers dedicated to behavioral enhancement. The programming is designed to assimilate a prisoner back to his community as a productive member of society. Prisoners are often housed in apartment-style living quarters where they are tasked with maintaining a budget while supporting a work schedule. They are praised for accomplishments rather than condemned for simply having been incarcerated. And, in many of these more advanced penal systems, prisoners are released with a sealed record so that no one in society is aware that the prisoner was ever incarcerated. To brand an individual as a felon for life is considered ludicrous by most advanced countries. Their mission is to give prisoners a true second chance at life.

Unfortunately, the opposite is true for the American penal system. In fact, nearly every aspect of the system is designed to disenfranchise a prisoner in an attempt to assure that he or she remains a “ward of the state” for life. Most prisoners, upon entry, are immediately dehumanized and are identified simply as a file number. Prison guards are instructed to use first names, never to shake hands or interact on a personal level, and they are discouraged from offering compliments or encouragement to even the most productive prisoner. “Correctional officer” is the epitome of oxymoronic, yet it is used throughout the American penal system.

We also must consider the number of prisoners in the U.S., both state and federal, who perish at the hands of violent authoritarian guards. According to another contributor to the authoritarian theory of “structural violence,” Dr. David Reiss, also a professor at Yale, states that, “under certain circumstances, people can act in ways that are very sadistic, that are very authoritarian, that are not part of what they consider their usual personality.”

‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’

We see this every day in America’s prisons. Correctional officers who travel to work from their home in a suburban neighborhood who have families, attend church, volunteer as coaches, and are otherwise good, decent, God-fearing individuals until they arrive “at the office.” Many guards as well as police officers undergo a kind of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” metamorphosis when they begin their shift. Some guards arrive onto the prison yard with a certain vengeance against their captives. They take on the role of disciplinarian driven by a personal crusade to punish those in prison for the prisoner’s previous misdeeds.

We see the same disposition displayed by police officers arriving on scene at a protest. All too often, these are the same individuals who deny that they are cruel, sadistic, or imposing, and they are often the very officers who receive praise and promotion from their superiors after an act of aggression. Reiss goes on to suggest, “it’s a process of first having to get past the denial and acknowledge that there is a problem.”

An observation that came out of the Stanford experiment was gleaned from the students who played the role of prisoner. They each felt powerless at the hands of their captors, and they began to believe that there was nothing they could do or say that would make a difference in those who were given the authority to imprison them. This very sentiment seems to resonate among many of the anti-authoritarian protesters who petition for justice through peaceful protests yet find their plea for change simply falling on deaf ears. Most believe that individual officers are compassionate and have empathy for a system in need of reform, but they play a role during the protest and often find themselves acting as part of a cohesive fighting unit commissioned to “defeat the enemy.”

Once an officer dons the uniform, he or she now represent the “authoritarian rule” of “law and order.” The regime takes on a personality of its own, tasked with the mission of presenting an overwhelming show of force to protect the sanctity of the system. This seems to be the moment when the peaceful protest and the role of peacekeeper breaks down. It is at this boiling point that projectiles are thrown, batons are unleashed, and sometimes bullets fly. It is war with Americans on one side and Americans on the other.

The “authoritarian rule” and the unintended outcome of “structural violence” happens in our prisons and on our streets, and throughout the criminal justice system. Unlike the Stanford experiment, today’s criminal justice system is unfortunately not an experiment. In 1971, the Stanford experiment quickly reached a level of uncontrollable chaos and would have presented catastrophic results had professor Zimbardo not intervened. All that may be needed today is the same level-headed leadership to intervene, to “pull the plug” and to snap everyone back to the reality – a reality that we are all on the same side. 

Source: salon.com

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More from this issue:

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• Fourth Circuit Announces Discretionary Conditions of Supervision Must Be Orally Pronounced at Sentencing , by Anthony Accurso
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• Sixth Circuit Finds IAC for Failure to Raise ‘Clearly Foreshadowed’ Change in Law on Appeal , by Dale Chappell
• Ninth Circuit: Use of Unconvicted Conduct Too Dissimilar to Charged Offense Violates Due Process , by Dale Chappell
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• Federal Judge Criticizes Qualified Immunity and Challenges SCOTUS to Abolish It , by Anthony Accurso
• Fifth Circuit Reverses Conviction Based on Prejudicial Prosecutorial Misconduct , by Douglas Ankney
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• Mississippi Supreme Court Vacates Capital Murder Conviction Obtained With Bite Mark Comparison Evidence , by Matthew Clarke
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• First Circuit: Dangerousness of Machine Guns Not Justification for Above-Guidelines Sentence , by Dale Chappell
• Eleventh Circuit: Time Served Adjustment Is Mandatory Under Sentencing Guidelines Even After Booker , by Matthew Clarke
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• California Court of Appeal: ‘Violent Victim Rule’ Doesn’t Require Defendant to Have Had Knowledge of Victim’s Propensity for Violence , by Douglas Ankney
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• Missouri Supreme Court: Circuit Court Erred in Excluding Expert Witness Testimony Regarding Accuracy of Eyewitness Identification , by Douglas Ankney
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The Stanford Prison Experiment

Now a major film, to be released this week, decades after the “experiment.”.

Posted July 15, 2015

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By Philip Zimbardo

Forty-four years ago, I conducted a research experiment that could have been the bane of my existence. Instead, what has become known as the Stanford prison experiment (SPE) drove me to extensively pursue the question: Why do good people do evil things? After three decades of research on this subject, I recorded my findings in The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good People Turn Evil (Random House, 2007). But the SPE also lead me to study why, in difficult situations, some people heroically step forward to help others – oftentimes complete strangers - while others stand by and watch. The psychological time warp experienced by participants of the SPE – not knowing if it was day or night or what day it was - lead to my research in our individual time perspectives and how these affect our lives. Rethinking shyness as a self-imposed psychological prison led me to conduct research on shyness in adults, and then create a clinic in the community designed to cure shyness.

The Experiment in a Nutshell

In August 1971, I lead a team of researchers at Stanford University to determine the psychological effects of being a guard or a prisoner. The study was funded by the US Office of Naval Research as both the US Navy and the US Marine Corps were interested in the causes of conflict between military guards and prisoners. In the study, 24 normal college students were randomly assigned to play the role of guard or inmate for two weeks in a simulated prison located in the basement of the Stanford Psychology Department building. But the guards quickly became so brutal, and I had become so caught up in my role as superintendent, that the experiment had to be shut down after only six days.

Challenging the Truth

There seems to be powerful silent barriers to dealing with new truths emanating from psychological laboratories and field experiments that tell us things about how the mind works, which challenge our basic assumptions. We want to believe our decisions are wisely informed, that our actions are rational, that our personal conscience buffers us against tyrannical authorities, and also in the dominating influence of our character despite social circumstances. Yes, those personal beliefs are sometimes true, but often they are not, and rigidly defending them can get us in trouble individually and collectively. Let’s see how.

Denial and Finger Pointing

When we discover two of three ordinary American citizens administered extreme electric shocks to an innocent victim on the relentless commands of a heartless authority, we say, “no way, not me.” Yale University psychologist Stanley Milgram’s obedience to authority research has been in the public arena for decades, yet we ignore its message of the power of unjust authority in undercutting our moral conscience. Similarly, the SPE research made vivid the power of hostile situational forces in overwhelming dispositional tendencies toward compassion and human dignity. Still, many who insist on honoring the dominance of character over circumstance reject its situational power message.

In 2004, people around the world witnessed online photos of horrific actions of American Military Police guards in Iraq’s Abu Ghraib Prison against prisoners in their charge. It was portrayed as the work of a “few bad apples” according to military brass and Bush administration spokesmen. I publicly challenged this traditional focus on individual dispositions by portraying American servicemen as good apples that were forced to operate in a Bad Barrel (the Situation) created by Bad Barrel Makers (the System). I became an expert witness in the defense of the Staff Sergeant in charge of the night shift, where all the abuses took place. In that capacity I had personal access to the defendant, to all 1000 photos and videos, to all dozen military investigations, and more. It was sufficient to validate my view of that prison as a replica of the Stanford prison experiment—on steroids, and my defendant, Chip Frederick, as a really Good Apple corrupted by being forced to function 12-hours every night for many months in the worse barrel imaginable. My situation-based testimony to the military Court Martial hearings helped reduce the severity of his sentence.

“The Stanford Prison Experiment” Film

On July 15, The Stanford Prison Experiment premiers in New York City. The Los Angeles premier – as well as nationwide release is scheduled for July 17. The film stars Billy Crudup as me and Olivia Thrilby as Christina Maslach, the whistle-blowing graduate student (whom I later married) who pointed out the experiment had gone awry and had changed me to such a degree that she didn’t know who I was anymore. In January, The Stanford Prison Experiment received two awards at the Sundance Film Festival: best screenwriting and best science feature.

What is special about the The Stanford Prison Experiment movie is the way it enables viewers to look through the observation window as if they were part of the prison staff watching this remarkable drama slowly unfold, and simultaneously observe those observers as well. They are witnesses to the gradual transformations taking place, hour- by- hour, day- by- day, and guard shift- by- guard shift. Viewers see what readers of The Lucifer Effect book account can only imagine. As these young students become the characters inhabited in their roles and dressed in their costumes, as prisoners or guards, a Pirandellian drama emerges.

The fixed line between Good, like us, and Evil, like them, is relentlessly blurred as it becomes ever more permeable. Ordinary guys soon slip into doing extraordinarily bad things to other guys, who are actually just like them except for a random coin flip. Other healthy guys soon get sick mentally, being unable to cope with the learned helplessness imposed on them in that unique, unfamiliar setting. They do not offer comfort to their buddies as they break down, nor do those who adopt a “good guard” persona ever do anything to limit the sadistic excesses of the cruel guards heading their shifts.

Finally, the movie also tracks the emotional changes in the lead character—me-- as his compassion and intellectual curiosity get distilled and submerged over time. The initial roles of research creator-objective observer are dominated by power and insensitivity to prisoner suffering in the new role of Prison Superintendent. The six-day process of transformations in the original experiment is crunched down to 2 hours, but the magic of the movie’s acting, directing and editing psychologically expands that time frame’s full force. We feel the power of social situations dominating personalities; as viewers are encouraged to ponder:

What kind of Guard would I be? What kind of Prisoner? What kind of Superintendent? And would I have blown the whistle to end this drama sooner, or not?

My hope is that this movie can do what my writings about this special research into human nature have not been fully able to do. Perhaps now viewing and reliving this adventure will enable the general public to better appreciate the value of what “research shows” about mind, behavior and the pervasive power of situational forces.

Here is a recent Huffington Post interview that includes the movie trailer:​

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/stanford-prison-experiment-creator-… ?

Visit the official Stanford Prison Experiment website to learn more about the experiment that inspired the film: www. prisonexp.org

Heroic Imagination

I should add that along with continuing research in time perspectives and time perspective therapy , my new mission in life has been to empower everyone to wisely resist negative situational forces and evil by becoming Everyday Heroes in Training. Our non-profit Heroic Imagination Project (HIP) http://heroicimagination.org/ teaches ordinary people how to stand up, speak out and take effective actions in challenging situations in their lives.

Working and learning together, we can create a new generation of ordinary everyday heroes who will do extra-ordinary deeds of daily heroism in their families, schools, businesses, and communities.

Phil Zimbardo

Learn more about yourself and how to cope with stress and anxiety , visit www.discoveraetas.com .

For in depth information about how your life is affected by the mental time zones that you live in, please check out our website: www.timeperspectivetherapy.org , and our books: The Time Cure at www.timecure.com and The Time Paradox at www.thetimeparadox.com

Rosemary K.M. Sword and Philip Zimbardo are authors, along with Richard M. Sword, of The Time Cure: Overcoming PTSD with the New Psychology of Time Perspective Therapy.

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‘The Stanford Prison Experiment’ Review: Real-Life Study Gone Wrong Makes for Gripping Drama

Armed with an extraordinary ensemble, director Kyle Patrick Alvarez isn’t afraid to expand truth into drama with an unexpected dose of comedy

Both based on real events and unafraid to expand truth into drama, director Kyle Patrick Alvarez’s “The Stanford Prison Experiment” recreates perhaps the most infamous psychological study in history. Stanford Psychology professor Philip Zimbardo (here played by Billy Crudup), seeking to do some work over the slow 1971 summer break, took 24 students and created a mock jail in a Stanford campus basement with paid volunteers made into either guards or prisoners. Partly military-funded, the experiment was to observe the psychological effects that these roles would have on those who had volunteered for the study; it ended in disaster and scandal.

Alvarez’s direction here is impressive: The film is afraid of neither silence nor darkness, and the framing of most scenes puts a focal point front and center while other elements — conspiracies, doubts, whispered complaints — take place at the sides or in the background. Cinematographer Jas Shelton is an indie veteran (“Jeff, Who Lives at Home,” “C.O.G.”), but his work here evokes period-appropriate studio films like “All The President’s Men” as his camera creates a world defined by either bruise-blue darkness or punishingly bright fluorescent lighting. The excellent music by Andrew Hewitt (“The Double,” “The Brass Teapot”) incorporates a metronomic ticking on occasion, as if God were watching events with one eye on some cosmic stopwatch and making notes for Himself.

The performances are great, brief but real sketches of real people. Michael Angarano (“Wild Card”) is a standout as a volunteer who asks to be made a criminal but gets to be a guard, and then sinks into his role as comfortably as if it were a pair of fur-lined jackboots, riffing on “Cool Hand Luke” and other prison-movie dialogue, taking to the part a little too well. Nelsan Ellis (“True Blood,” “Get On Up”) is also superb as a real-life ex-con brought on board to give the experiment some first-hand knowledge, and who later glimpses how badly things are going.

For all of the tension and trouble in the film, there’s also no small amount of comedy — and, later, as things devolve, no small amount of compassion. Ezra Miller is notable for his work as a prisoner who cracks under the real tensions of a simulated situation; Olivia Thirlby stands out as Christina Maslach, Zimbardo’s then-partner who dropped by to see how things were going early on and quickly became the sole voice of reason encouraging Zimbardo to stop the experiment immediately. And the always excellent, always under-utilized Crudup is also great, as Zimbardo watches his experiment start lumbering forward under its own unstoppable power, like a shaggy-haired ’70s riff on Mickey Mouse in “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.”

What Alvarez, screenwriter Tim Talbott and the cast do, superbly, is remind us of the what actually transpired in the real experiment, making it clear that what happened that summer at Stanford wasn’t only about the guards who beat their charges or the prisoners who submitted to those beatings: It was also about the people in charge who watched and who failed to act when events devolved to that brutal level. Disturbing, honest and compelling, “The Stanford Prison Experiment” turns a well-known story into must-see storytelling, depicting the ugly truth through gorgeous filmmaking.