The setup appeared simple. A participant arrived at Yale University's psychology laboratory, having responded to a newspaper advertisement offering $4.50 for one hour's participation in a study of memory and learning. They were introduced to another participant — actually a confederate, an actor — and assigned the role of "teacher" through an apparently random draw that was secretly rigged. The confederate was assigned the role of "learner."
The learner was taken to an adjacent room and strapped to a chair with electrodes attached to their wrists. The teacher was seated in front of a shock generator — a convincing piece of equipment with 30 switches ranging from 15 volts to 450 volts, labelled in 15-volt increments from "Slight Shock" through "Danger: Severe Shock" to, at the highest level, simply "XXX." The teacher's task was to read word pairs to the learner, test their recall, and administer an electric shock for each wrong answer — increasing the voltage by 15 volts with each error.
The learner — the actor — gave wrong answers according to a predetermined script and responded to the increasing shocks with escalating protests: grunts at 75 volts, complaints at 120 volts, demands to be released at 150 volts, refusal to answer at 300 volts, and silence thereafter. When participants hesitated or refused to continue, the experimenter — a stern man in a grey lab coat — delivered one of four standardised prods: "Please continue," "The experiment requires that you continue," "It is absolutely essential that you continue," and "You have no other choice, you must go on."
No actual shocks were delivered. The learner was unharmed. But the participants did not know this. They believed — and their physiological responses confirmed — that they were causing genuine pain to a real person. And 65% of them administered shocks all the way to the maximum 450 volts.