The Little Albert Experiment was conducted at Johns Hopkins University by John B. Watson and Rosalie Raynor, who later married. It involved teaching a nine-month-old infant to fear various animals and objects by hitting a loud bar behind his head upon his exposure to them. There was no time for the conditioning to be undone before Albert was taken home.
March, 1920. Watson is uncaging the bunnies, the monkey, the rat,
the dog, and laying down the Santa mask. Watson is in love with Rosalie,
his assistant, the woman who has helped him to condition baby Albert
to fear all of the above, plus Watson’s wooly hair and cotton—all white
softness put before him. After this, Rosalie will marry Watson.
For now they exchange just surreptitious touches, quiet gazes.
And when the bar crash-bangs, when the bunnies level their red gazes
on him and his thumb is pulled from his mouth to be placed on the rat’s
ropey tail, is Albert learning too to fear this love of Rosalie and Watson?
At home, seeing his father gently touch his mother’s arm, will he hear Rosalie’s
sigh as she is touched and shriek? During family picnics, seated under clouds white
and wooly as Watson’s hair as he leans in for a kiss, will Albert
feel the world bending over him in sinister collusion? What of when Albert
meets a woman he could love but for the way she gazes
at him longingly, as over heads of unsuspecting children? The white
chalk grinds down on blank slate. Flash of the monkey, the rat,
the dog, the beard, the cotton, and smoking newspapers. Flash of Rosalie
smiling at the smiling, white-bearded Santa under which looms grim Watson
with his own hair spilling out the top. Even without Watson’s
broad hand hitting the bar, we know a bit of being Albert.
A bar crash-bangs and we open our arms for our Rosalie,
our Watson. We watch for our affections mirrored in a gaze,
learn to fear another’s death by touching their skin—just as, in that room, the rat’s
thick tail rubs dread on Albert’s hand. We fear: creatures with white
fur, newspapers, wooly hair, beards. Or: the empty pillow’s white
beside us—the lover gone, the lover out of love. So bring back Watson,
curious and eager to map the human state. Bring back the bunnies, the rat,
the dog, the monkey, and the rest. We must uncondition. We must empty Albert
of his fears if not our own. This time the bar is silent as he meets the timid gaze
of each and every animal. The bar is silent as he’s held by Rosalie.
The bar is silent as his mother takes him from the arms of Rosalie,
nudging his soft lips open for his thumb, wrapping him in swaddling of white
cotton. Behind the one-way glass, a team of scientists gazes
with approval as the boy is held and rocked. Among them is Watson.
All falls into nativity tableau: the beasts warm a circle around Albert,
his hand lain in mild, indifferent love on the back of the nearest rat.