Instructor's note: B. F. Skinner, perhaps the greatest psychologist of the 20th century, developed the school of Behaviorism, which influenced clinical psychology and counseling therapy (e.g. behavior modification).
The Cold War period after World War 2 produced more dystopias than utopias, but in 1945 Skinner wrote a widely-read utopian novel of the post-WW2 period, Walden Two, published in 1948, the year before George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four.
Walden Two was titled after Walden; or, Life in the Woods (1854) by Henry David Thoreau, who began his (non-communal) experiment in better living at Walden Pond in 1845, a century before Skinner wrote Walden Two. As with Thoreau's experiment and text, the fictional community of Walden Two avoids the spirit-wasting competition and material waste of modern industrial civilization in favor of satisfying work and leisure. However, Thoreau's Walden advocates self-determination and individualism, while Walden Two emphasizes the community over the individual and, instead of self-determination or free will, the shaping of behavior by environmental conditioning.
Skinner as professional psychologist and utopian novelist appears to fit "Objective 1d. To identify the utopian author both within and beyond traditional literary categories—e.g., as writer + activist, agitator, reformer, prophet / visionary?" During his undergraduate studies at Hamilton College, Skinner intended to become a writer. He graduated with a B.A. in English in 1926 and, after graduation, spent time at his parents' home trying to become a professional writer before beginning graduate studies at Harvard, where he concentrated on psychology.
The psychological principles of Behaviorism developed by Skinner can be identified in Walden Two. Skinner relocated psychological considerations from the depths of the mind to the mind's empirical responses to external conditions. Changing the environment of stimuli and rewards that the thinking person meets (positive / negative reinforcement) can alter the person's behavior in observable and verifiable ways.
In Walden Two, a party of academic intellectuals, some of whom have recently returned from military service in World War 2, hears of an experimental community in the countryside not far from campus and drives there to visit. The Walden Two community has "nearly a thousand members." As a standard convention of the utopian genre, one of its members--Frazier, part of the community's 6-person Board of Planners--acts as the visitors' guide, explaining and defending the policies and arrangements the visitors observe. The settings are efficiently, sometimes luminously described, but much of the text's intellectual pleasure derives from the Socratic dialogues between Frazier and the visitors, especially Castle. As the novel ends, some of the visitors stay behind to join the community. The novel's narrator Burris first returns to his university campus but soon decides to return to Walden Two.
Twin Oaks links (intentional community in Virginia inspired by Walden Two)
Los Horcones (intentional community in New Mexico inspired by Walden Two)
[A later development of behavior-mod as social policy is the "nudge concept" developed by Richard H. Thaler & Cass R. Sunstein, Nudge: Improving Decisions About Health, Wealth, and Happiness (2008)
Authors' interview at Yale University Press; review of Sunstein, Why Nudge?: The Politics of Libertarian Paternalism (2014) at New York Review of Books (9 October 2014).
In a recent study of the utopias and anti-utopias written during the past century,1 Walden Two was singled out as a "methodological utopia." It not only portrayed a way of life that was free of many of the things we object to in the world today, it claimed to show how such a life could be arranged. I wrote the book in 1945 just as the Second World War was coming to an end. We had not yet learned the worst about the Nazi regime and the atom bomb had not yet been dropped on Hiroshima, but it was clear that it was time to think about a better world.
Eight years earlier I had published another book 2 in which I reported some laboratory research (if only with white rats) where, under certain conditions, behavior was fairly precisely controlled. In that book I refused to consider what control could mean outside the laboratory ("Let him extrapolate who will," I said), but the war had made it clear that extrapolation might be worthwhile. Something might be done to build a better way of life.
Some of the things I thought could be done were these: Children could be raised and educated much more successfully and better prepared for the world in which they would live as adults. Unpleasant work could be reduced to a minimum, and work conditions could be made more enjoyable. Personal relations could be improved by reducing the need for possessive and competitive behavior. There would be much more room for the enjoyable things of life.
I have been surprised by how many other advantages now seem to follow from the way of life portrayed in Walden Two. The community is minimally consuming. There is very little waste. The resources of the earth are modestly consumed. It is a way of life that is minimally polluting. Although women have babies at an earlier age (I would change that today) there are many fewer reasons to have children (for example, as helpers, as additional sources of income, as support in old age, and so on) and greater opportunities to enjoy children whether or not they are one's own. A world of Walden Twos would be much less likely to need nuclear weapons.
Of course, the design of any way of life raises problems. For one thing, it suggests an authoritarian figure who controls everyone's behavior. I discuss issues of that kind in Walden Two as I discussed them with a group of friends during the war. (One character in the book is close to one of those friends.)
Whatever the danger in design, the greater danger is in doing nothing. Walden Two is a sample of one kind of thing that might be done, and it will be no great loss if its principal effect is to suggest other ways.
B. F. Skinner
1 Krishan Kumar, Utopia and Anti-Utopia in Modern Times. Oxford: Basil Blackwood, Ltd., 1987
2 B. F. Skinner, The Behavior of Organisms. NY: Appleton Century, 1938.
The quarters for children from one to three consisted of several small playrooms with Lilliputian furniture, a child's lavatory, and a dressing and locker room. Several small sleeping rooms were operated on the same principle as the baby cubicles. The temperature and the humidity were controlled so that clothes or bedclothing were not needed. The cots were double-decker arrangements of the plastic mattresses we had seen in the cubicles. The children slept unclothed, except for diapers. There were more beds than necessary, so that the children could be grouped according to developmental age or exposure to contagious diseases or need for supervision, or for educational purposes.
We followed Mrs. Nash to a large screened porch on the south side of the building, where several children were playing in sandboxes and on swings and climbing apparatuses. A few wore "training pants"; the rest were naked. Beyond the porch was a grassy play yard enclosed by closely trimmed hedges, where other children, similarly undressed, were at play. Some kind of marching game was in progress.
As we returned, we met two women carrying food hampers. They spoke to Mrs. Nash and followed her to the porch. In a moment five or six children came running into the playrooms and were soon using the lavatory and dressing themselves. Mrs. Nash explained that they were being taken on a picnic.
"What about the children who don't go?" said Castle. "What do you do about the green-eyed monster?"
Mrs. Nash was puzzled.
"Jealousy. Envy," Castle elaborated. "Don't the children who stay home ever feel unhappy about it?"
"I don't understand," said Mrs. Nash.
"And I hope you won't try," said Frazier with a smile. "I'm afraid we must be moving along."
We said good-bye, and I made an effort to thank Mrs. Nash, but she seemed to be puzzled by that too, and Frazier frowned as if I had committed some breach of good taste.
"I think Mrs. Nash's puzzlement," said Frazier, as we left the building, "is proof enough that our children are seldom envious or jealous. Mrs. Nash was twelve years old when Walden Two was founded. It was a little late to undo her early training, but I think we were successful. She's a good example of the Walden Two product. She could probably recall the experience of jealousy, but it's not part of her present life."
"Surely that's going too far!" said Castle. "You can't be so godlike as all that! You must be assailed by emotions just as much as the rest of us!"
“We can discuss the question of godlikeness later, if you wish," replied Frazier. "As to emotions—we aren't free of them all, nor should we like to be. But the meaner and more annoying—the emotions which breed unhappiness—are almost unknown here, like unhappiness itself. We don't need them any longer in our struggle for existence, and it's easier on our circulatory system, and certainly pleasanter, to dispense with them.”
"If you've discovered how to do that. you are indeed a genius," said Castle. He seemed almost stunned as Frazier nodded assent. "We all know that emotions are useless and bad for our peace of mind and our blood pressure ' he went on. "But how arrange things otherwise?"
“We arrange them otherwise here," said Frazier. He was showing a mildness of manner which I was coming to recognize as a sign of confidence.
"But emotions are—fun!" said Barbara. "Life wouldn't be worth living without them."
"Some of them, yes” said Frasier. “The productive and strengthening emotions—joy and love. But sorrow and hate—and the high-voltage excitements of anger, fear, and rage are out of proportion with the needs of modern life, and they're wasteful and dangerous. Mr. Castle has mentioned jealousy, a minor form of anger, I think we may call it. Naturally we avoid it. It has served its purpose in the evolution of man; we've no further use for it. If we allowed it to persist, it would only sap the life out of us. In a cooperative society there's no jealousy because there's no need for jealousy.”
"That implies that you all get everything you want," said Castle. "But what about social possessions? Last night you mentioned the young man who chose a particular girl or profession. There's still a chance for jealousy there, isn't there?"
"It doesn't imply that we get everything we want," said Frazier. "Of course we don't. But jealousy wouldn't help. In a competitive world there's some point to it. It energizes one to attack a frustrating condition. The impulse and the added energy are an advantage. Indeed, in a competitive world emotions work all too well. Look at the singular lack of success of the complacent man. He enjoys a more serene life, but it's less likely to be a fruitful one. The world isn't ready for simple pacifism or Christian humility, to cite two cases in point. Before you can safely turn out the destructive and wasteful emotions, you must make sure they're no longer needed."
“How do you make sure that jealousy isn't needed in Walden Two?” I said.
"In Walden Two problems can't be solved by attacking others" said Frazier with marked finality.
"That's not the same as eliminating jealousy, though" I said.
"Of course it's not. But when a particular emotion is no longer a useful part of a behavioral repertoire, we proceed to eliminate it."
"Yes, but how?"
"It's simply a matter of behavioral engineering," said Frazier.
"You're baiting me, Burris. You know perfectly well what I mean. The techniques have been available for centuries. We use them in education and in the psychological management of the community. But you're forcing my hand" he added. "I was saving that for this evening. But let's strike while the iron is hot."
We had stopped at the door of the large children's building. Frazier shrugged his shoulders, walked to the shade of a large tree, and threw himself on the ground. We arranged ourselves about him and waited. [Setting of scene resembles comparable brief scenarios in Plato's dialogues.]
Chapter 14 [note resemblances to Platonic dialogue: thesis, antithesis, questioning; also cf. More's Utopia]
"Each of us," Frazier began, "is engaged in a pitched battle with the rest of mankind."
“A curious premise for a Utopia," said Castle. "Even a pessimist like myself takes a more hopeful view than that.”
"You do, you do," said Frazier. "But let's be realistic. Each of us has interests which conflict with the interests of everybody else. That's our original sin, and it can't be helped. Now, 'everybody else' we call 'society.' It's a powerful opponent, and it always wins. Oh, here and there an individual prevails for a while and gets what he wants. Sometimes he storms the culture of a society and changes it slightly to his own advantage. But society wins in the long run, for it has the advantage of numbers and of age. Many prevail against one, and men against a baby. Society attacks early, when the individual is helpless. It enslaves him almost before he has tasted freedom. The 'ologies' will tell you how its done. Theology calls it building a conscience or developing a spirit of selfless. Psychology calls it the growth of the super ego.
"Considering how long society has been at it, you'd expect a better job. But the campaigns have been badly planned and the victory has never been secure. The behavior of the individual has been shaped according to revelations of 'good conduct,' never as the result of experimental study. But why not experiment? The questions are simple enough. What's the best behavior for the individual so far as the group is concerned? And how can the individual be induced to behave in that way? Why not explore these questions in a scientific spirit?
“We could do just that in Walden Two. We had already worked out a code of conduct—subject, of course, to experimental modification. The code would keep things running smoothly if everybody lived up to it. Our job was to see that everybody did. Now, you can't get people to follow a useful code by making them into so many jack-in-the-boxes. You can't foresee all future circumstances, and you can't specify adequate future conduct. You don't know what will be required. Instead you have to set up certain behavioral processes which lead the individual to design his own 'good' conduct when the time comes. We call that sort of thing 'self-control.' But don't be misled, the control always rests in the last analysis in the hands of society.
"One of our Planners, a young man named Simmons, worked with me. It was the first time in history that the matter was approached in an experimental way. Do you question that statement, Mr. Castle?"
“I'm not sure I know what you are talking about," said Castle.
“Then let me go on. Simmons and I began by studying the great works on morals and ethics—Plato, Aristotle, Confucius, the New Testament, the Puritan divines, Machiavelli, Chesterfield, Freud—there were scores of them. We were looking for any and every method of shaping human behavior by imparting techniques of self-control. Some techniques were obvious enough, for they had marked turning points in human history. 'Love your enemies' is an example—a psychological invention for easing the lot of an oppressed people. The severest trial of oppression is the constant rage which one suffers at the thought of the oppressor. What Jesus discovered was how to avoid these inner devastations. His technique was to practice the opposite emotion. If a man can succeed in loving his enemies and 'taking no thought for the morrow,' he will no longer be assailed by hatred of the oppressor or rage at the loss of his freedom or possessions. He may not get his freedom or possessions back, but he's less miserable. It's a difficult lesson. It comes late in our program."
"I thought you were opposed to modifying emotions and instinct until the world was ready for it," said Castle. "According to you, the principle of 'love your enemies' should have been suicidal."
"It would have been suicidal, except for an entirely unforeseen consequence. Jesus must have been quite astonished at the effect of his discovery. We are only just beginning to understand the power of love because we are just beginning to understand the weakness of force and aggression. But the science of behavior is clear about all that now. Recent discoveries in the analysis of punishment—but I am falling into one digression after another. Let me save my explanation of why the Christian virtues—and I mean merely the Christian techniques of self-control—have not disappeared from the face of the earth, with due recognition of the fact that they suffered a narrow squeak within recent memory.
"When Simmons and I had collected our techniques of control, we had to discover how to teach them. That was more difficult. Current educational practices were of little value, and religious practices scarcely any better. Promising paradise or threatening hell-fire is, we assumed, generally admitted to be unproductive. It is based upon a fundamental fraud which, when discovered, turns the individual against society and nourishes the very thing it tries to stamp out. What Jesus offered in return for loving one's enemies was heaven on earth, better known as peace of mind.
"We found a few suggestions worth following in the practices of the clinical psychologist. We undertook to build a tolerance for annoying experiences. The sun shine of midday is extremely painful if you come from a dark room, but take it in easy stages and you can avoid pain altogether. The analogy can be misleading, but in much the same way it's possible to build a tolerance to painful or distasteful stimuli, or to frustration, or to situations which arouse fear, anger or rage. Society and nature throw these annoyances at the individual with no regard for the development of tolerances. Some achieve tolerances, most fail. Where would the science of immunization be if it followed a schedule of accidental dosages?
“Take the principle of 'Get thee behind me, Satan,' for example," Frazier continued. "It's a special case of self-control by altering the environment. Subclass A 3, I believe. We give each child a lollipop which has been dipped in powdered sugar so that a single touch of the tongue can be detected. We tell him he may eat the lollipop later in the day, provided it hasn't already been licked. Since the child is only three or four, it is a fairly diff---- "
"Three or four!" Castle exclaimed.
"All our ethical training is completed by the age of six," said Frazier quietly. "A simple principle like putting temptation out of sight would be acquired before four. But at such an early age the problem of not licking the lollipop isn't easy. Now, what would you do, Mr. Castle, in a similar situation?"
"Put the lollipop out of sight as quickly as possible."
"Exactly. I can see you've been well trained. Or perhaps you discovered the principle for yourself. We're in favor of original inquiry wherever possible, but in this case we have a more important goal and we don't hesitate to give verbal help. First of all, the children are urged to examine their own behavior while looking at the lollipops. This helps them to recognize the need for self-control. Then the lollipops are concealed, and the children are asked to notice any gain in happiness or any reduction in tension. Then a strong distraction is arranged—say, an interesting game. Later the children are reminded of the candy and encouraged to examine their reaction. The value of the distraction is generally obvious. Well, need I go on? When the experiment is repeated a day or so later, the children all run with the lollipops to their lockers and do exactly what Mr. Castle would do—a sufficient indication of the success of our training."
"I wish to report an objective observation of my reaction to your story," said Castle, controlling his voice with great precision. "I find myself revolted by this display of sadistic tyranny."
"I don't wish to deny you the exercise of an emotion which you seem to find enjoyable," said Frazier. "So let me go on. Concealing a tempting but forbidden object is a crude solution. For one thing, it's not always feasible. We want a sort of psychological concealment—covering up the candy by paying no attention. In a later experiment the children wear their lollipops like crucifixes for a few hours."
" 'Instead of the cross, the
"I wish somebody had taught me that, though," said Rodge, with a glance at Barbara.
"Don't we all?" said Frazier. "Some of us learn control, more or less by accident. The rest of us go all our lives not even understanding how it is possible, and blaming our failure on being born the wrong way."
"How do you build up a tolerance to an annoying situation?" I said.
"Oh, for example, by having the children 'take' a more and more painful shock, or drink cocoa with less and less sugar in it until a bitter concoction can be savored without a bitter face."
"But jealousy or envy—you can't administer them in graded doses," I said.
"And why not? Remember, we control the social environment, too, at this age. That's why we get our ethical training in early. Take this case. A group of children arrive home after a long walk tired and hungry. They're expecting supper; they find, instead, that it's time for a lesson in self-control: they must stand for five minutes in front of steaming bowls of soup.
"The assignment is accepted like a problem in arithmetic. Any groaning or complaining is a wrong answer. Instead, the children begin at once to work upon themselves to avoid any unhappiness during the delay. One of them may make a joke of it. We encourage a sense of humor as a good way of not taking an annoyance seriously. The joke won't be much, according to adult standards—perhaps the child will simply pretend to empty the bowl of soup into his upturned mouth. Another may start a song with many verses. The rest join in at once, for they've learned that it's a good way to make time pass."
Frazier glanced uneasily at Castle, who was not to be appeased.
“That also strikes you as a form of torture, Mr. Castle?" he asked.
"I'd rather be put on the rack," said Castle.
"Then you have by no means had the thorough training I supposed. You can’t imagine how lightly the children take such an experience. It's a rather severe biological frustration, for the children are tired and hungry and they must stand and look at food; but it's passed off as lightly as a five-minute delay at curtain time. We regard it as a fairly elementary test. Much more difficult problems follow."
"I suspected as much," muttered Castle.
"In a later stage we forbid all social devices. No songs, no jokes—merely silence. Each child is forced back upon his own resources—a very important step."
"I should think so," I said. "And how do you know it's successful? You might produce a lot of silently resentful chidren. It's certainly a dangerous stage."
"It is, and we follow each child carefully. If he hasn't picked up the necessary techniques, we start back a little. A still more advanced stage"—Frazier glanced again at Castle, who stirred uneasily—"brings me to my point. When it's time to sit down to the soup, the children count off—heads and tails. Then a coin is tossed and if it comes up heads, the 'heads' sit down and eat. The 'tails' remain standing for another five minutes."
"And you call that envy?" I asked.
"Perhaps not exactly," said Frazier. "At least there's seldom any aggression against the lucky ones. The emotion, if any, is directed against Lady Luck herself, against the toss of the coin. That, in itself, is a lesson worth learning, for it's the only direction in which emotion has a surviving chance to be useful. And resentment toward things in general, while perhaps just as silly as personal aggression, is more easily controlled. Its expression is not socially objectionable."
Frazier looked nervously from one of us to the other. He seemed to be trying to discover whether we shared Castle's prejudice. I began to realize, also, that he had not really wanted to tell this story. He was vulnerable. He was treading on sanctified ground, and I was pretty sure he had not established the value of most of these practices in an experimental fashion. He could scarcely have done so in the short space of ten years. He was working on faith, and it bothered him.
I tried to bolster his confidence by reminding him that he had a professional colleague among his listeners. "May you not inadvertently teach your children some of the very emotions you're trying to eliminate?" I said. "What's the effect, for example, of finding the anticipation of a warm supper suddenly thwarted? Doesn't that eventually lead to feelings of uncertainty, or even anxiety?"
"It might. We had to discover how often our lessons could be safely administered. But all our schedules are worked out experimentally. We watch for undesired consequences just as any scientist watches for disrupting factors in his experiments.
"After all, it's a simple and sensible program," he went on in a tone of appeasement. "We set up a system of gradually increasing annoyances and frustrations against a background of complete serenity. An easy environment is made more and more difficult as the children acquire the capacity to adjust."
"But why?" said Castle. "Why these deliberate unpleasantnesses—to put it mildly? I must say I think you and your friend Simmons are really very subtle sadists."
“You've reversed your position, Mr. Castle," said Frazier in a sudden flash of anger with which I rather sympathized. Castle was calling names, and he was also being unaccountably and perhaps intentionally obtuse. "A while ago you accused me of breeding a race of softies," Frazier continued. "Now you object to toughening them up. But what you don't understand is that these potentially unhappy situations are never very annoying. Our schedules make sure of that. You wouldn't understand, however, because you're not so far advanced as our children."
Castle grew black.
"But what do your children get out of it?" he insisted, apparently trying to press some vague advantage in Frazier's anger.
"What do they get out of it!" exclaimed Frazier, his eyes flashing with a sort of helpless contempt. His lips curled and he dropped his head to look at his fingers, which were crushing a few blades of grass.
"They must get happiness and freedom and strength," I said, putting myself in a ridiculous position in attempting to make peace.
"They don't sound happy or free to me, standing in front of bowls of Forbidden Soup," said Castle, answering me parenthetically while continuing to stare at Frazier.
"If I must spell it out," Frazier began with a deep sigh, "what they get is escape from the petty emotions which eat the heart out of the unprepared. They get the satisfaction of pleasant and profitable social relations on a scale almost undreamed of in the world at large. They get immeasurably increased efficiency, because they can stick to a job without suffering the aches and pains which soon beset most of us. They get new horizons, for they are spared the emotions characteristic of frustration and failure. They get—" His eyes searched the branches of the trees. "Is that enough?,” he said at last.
"And the community must gain their loyalty," I said, "when they discover the fears and jealousies and diffidences in the world at large."
"I'm glad you put it that way," said Frazier. “You might have said that they must feel superior to the miserable products of our public schools. But we're at pains to keep any feeling of superiority or contempt under control, too. Having suffered most acutely from it myself, I put the subject first on our agenda. We carefully avoid any joy in a personal triumph which means the personal failure of somebody else. We take no pleasure in the sophistical, the disputative, the dialectical." He threw a vicious glance at Castle. "We don't use the motive of domination, because we are always thinking of the whole group. We could motivate a few geniuses that way—it was certainly my own motivation—but we'd sacrifice some of the happiness of everyone else. Triumph over nature and over oneself, yes. But over others, never."
"You've taken the mainspring out of the watch," said Castle flatly.
"That's an experimental question, Mr. Castle, and you have the wrong answer."
Frazier was making no effort to conceal his feeling. If he had been riding Castle, he was now using his spurs. Perhaps he sensed that the rest of us had come round and that he could change his tactics with a single holdout. But it was more than strategy, it was genuine feeling. Castle's undeviating skepticism was a growing frustration.
"Are your techniques really so very new?" I said hurriedly. "What about the primitive practice of submitting a boy to various tortures before granting him a place among adults? What about the disciplinary techniques of Puritanism? Or of the modern school, for that matter?"
"In one sense you're right," said Frazier. "And I think you've nicely answered Mr. Castle's tender concern for our little ones. The unhappinesses we deliberately impose are far milder than the normal unhappinesses from which we offer protection. Even at the height of our ethical training, the unhappiness is ridiculously trivial—to the well-trained child.
"But there's a world of difference in the way we use these annoyances," he continued. "For one thing, we don't punish. We never administer an unpleasantness in the hope of repressing or eliminating undesirable behavior. But there's another difference. In most cultures the child meets up with annoyances and reverses of uncontrolled magnitude. Some are imposed in the name of discipline by persons in authority. Some, like hazings, are condoned though not authorized. Others are merely accidental. No one cares to, or is able to, prevent them.
"We all know what happens. A few hardy children emerge, particularly those who have got their unhappiness in doses that could be swallowed. They become brave men. Others become sadists or masochists of varying degrees of pathology. Not having conquered a painful environment, they become preoccupied with pain and make a devious art of it. Others submit—and hope to inherit the earth. The rest—the cravens, the cowards—live in fear for the rest of their lives. And that's only a single field—the reaction to pain. I could cite a dozen parallel cases. The optimist and the pessimist, the contented and the disgruntled, the loved and the unloved, the ambitious and the discouraged— these are only the extreme products of a miserable system.
"Traditional practices are admittedly better than nothing," Frazier went on. "Spartan or Puritan—no one can question the occasional happy result. But the whole system rests upon the wasteful principle of selection. The English public school of the nineteenth century produced brave men—by setting up almost insurmountable barriers and making the most of the few who came over. But selection isn't education. Its crops of brave men will always be small, and the waste enormous. Like all primitive principles, selection serves in place of education only through a profligate use of material. Multiply extravagantly and select with rigor. Its the philosophy of the 'big litter' as an alternative to good child hygiene.
"In Walden two we have a different objective. We make every man a brave man. They all come over the barriers. Some require more preparation than others, but they all come over. The traditional use of adversity is to select the strong. We control adversity to build strength. And we do it deliberately, no matter how sadistic Mr. Castle may think us, in order to prepare for adversities which are beyond control. Our children eventually experience the 'heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.' It would be the cruelest possible practice to protect them as long as possible, especially when we could protect them so well."
Frazier held out his hands in an exaggerated gesture of appeal.
"What alternative had we?" he said, as if he were in pain. "What else could we do? For four or five years we could provide a life in which no important need would go unsatisfied, a life practically free of anxiety or frustration or annoyance. What would you do? Would you let the child enjoy this paradise with no thought for the future—like an idolatrous and pampering mother? Or would you relax control of the environment and let the child meet accidental frustrations? But what is the virtue of accident? No, there was only one course open to us. We had to design a series of adversities, so that the child would develop the greatest possible self-control. Call it deliberate, if you like, and accuse us of sadism; there was no other course." Frazier turned to Castle, but he was scarcely challenging him. He seemed to be waiting, anxiously, for his capitulation. But Castle merely shifted his ground.
"I find it difficult to classify these practices," he said. Frazier emitted a disgruntled "Ha!" and sat back. “Your system seems to have usurped the place as well as the techniques of religion."
"Of religion and family culture," said Frazier wearily. "But I don't call it usurpation. Ethical training belongs to the community. As for techniques, we took every suggestion we could find without prejudice as to the source. But not on faith. We disregarded all claims of revealed truth and put every principle to an experimental test. And by the way, I've very much misrepresented the whole system if you suppose that any of the practices I've described are fixed. We try out many different techniques. Gradually we work toward the best possible set. And we don't pay much attention to the apparent success of a principle in the course of history. History is honored in Walden Two only as entertainment. It isn't taken seriously as food for thought. Which reminds me, very rudely, of our original plan for the morning. Have you had enough of emotion? Shall we turn to intellect?"
Frazier addressed these questions to Castle in a very friendly way and I was glad to see that Castle responded in kind. It was perfectly clear, however, that neither of them had ever worn a lollipop about the neck or faced a bowl of Forbidden Soup.