Investigations
The facts about truth serum
In a fascinating chapter of Mesmerized: Powers
of Mind in Victorian Britain (Chicago, 1998) associate professor
of history Alison Winter, AB’87, details how mesmerism was
commonly used to treat chronic illness. Originally called “animal
magnetism” and later “mesmerism” after its creator,
Franz Anton Mesmer, the practice required the mesmerist (usually
a man) to make “magnetic passes” over his subject (usually
a woman) to bend her to his will. These passes—long, sweeping
hand gestures over the surface of the subject’s skin—were
close enough that each felt the body heat of the other, without
actually touching.
In the chapter, “Emanations from the Sickroom,”
well-known Victorian intellectuals—and invalids—including
poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, mathematician Ada Lovelace, and
journalist Harriet Martineau describe mesmerism’s power. Their
accounts are so persuasive that a reader could be sucked into the
Victorian mindset, convinced—for a while, anyway—that
the technique had curing ability.
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But Mesmerized is not at all concerned
about whether mesmerism “worked.” Instead Winter, who
earned her Ph.D. at the University of Cambridge in 1993, reconstructs
the Victorian debate over mesmerism’s validity—a challenging
task, given that when she started her research she considered the
practice “totally ridiculous,” though as a historian
she suspended such judgments.
Taking a similarly nonjudgmental approach to
her current project, Winter is exploring the notion of a “truth
serum” or “truth technique.” Last year she received
a Guggenheim fellowship to support her research, which traces the
science of memory from the 19th century to the present.
Her truth-sera account begins in the 1910s with
Robert House, an obstetrician in Ferris, Texas. Like many country
doctors of the time, House used scopolamine, or “twilight
sleep,” to ease labor pains. He claimed that his patients,
though seemingly incapacitated by the drug, could answer questions—and
always spoke the truth. The example he gave to support his claim
was hardly an issue worth lying about: when House asked the husband
where the scale was (to weigh the newborn), he didn’t know,
but the mother heard House and answered correctly that it was hanging
on a nail in the kitchen. “Maybe she actually said something
that was more of a revelation,” Winter speculates, “or
maybe she said other stuff too,” but House was too decorous
to include it in his account.
Although truth sera have been associated with
hostile police interrogations since the 1930s, House publicized
his research for the opposite purpose: to exonerate the innocent.
Convinced that the justice system was deeply corrupt, he gave “scopolamine
interviews” to suspects protesting their innocence. Most courts
rejected these interviews, which presented a “neat circular
issue,” Winter explains. For the truth-sera testimony to be
reliable, it would have to be given involuntarily; but involuntary
testimony would violate the legal principle against compelling a
suspect to testify, even in his own defense.
Next Winter traces the psychiatric use of two
synthesized “truth drugs,” sodium amytal and sodium
pentothal, which made patients more communicative. During World
War II these drugs were dispensed to treat a mental condition known
as “battle exhaustion.” In a classic catch-22, military
doctors were taught that the drugs were so powerful, patients who
didn’t recover must be faking and were sent back to the front.
If the treatment worked, the soldiers were considered better and
also were sent back to the front. After the war the applications
for these drugs changed yet again, when CIA researchers experimented
with a “lie serum”—a “technique for fabricating
memory and even an understanding of one's self”—to brainwash
subjects.
Winter’s chronological survey, which includes
“truth technologies” such as polygraphs and forensic
laboratories, concludes with the controversy over recovered memories—from
eyewitness testimony to adult memories of childhood abuse—a
subject that indirectly inspired the entire project. At the California
Institute of Technology, where she taught from 1994 until 2001,
Winter was often asked by her scientist colleagues to explain mesmerism
in contemporary terms: “Was it like hypnotism is now?”
“But hypnosis doesn’t have the broad cultural resonance
that mesmerism had in the 19th century,” she says. The closest
analogue, Winter decided, was the recovered memory debates, which
were “incredibly important in the ‘80s and the early
‘90s.”
Ferreting out the truth about truth technologies
has been more difficult than Winter anticipated. Partly she was
spoiled by the ease of researching the Victorians, who were obsessed
with “documenting their own lives,” she says. Many wrote
daily letters, preserved the letters in books, and willed the books
to descendants. The increasingly tight control over contemporary
U.S. government documents makes research more difficult: some CIA
files that were once in the public domain, for example, have since
been quietly withdrawn.
—Carrie Golus, AB’91, AM’93
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