चला तयारी करा , फ़ार थोडे दिवस आहेत आपल्या हातात , २१ डीसेंबर जवळ येतोय !

अर्थ जी

असे काही मेट्रीक आहेत का याची तर मला माहीती नाही पण कधी ह्या वागणुकीस सुरुवात होते कीती थरापर्यंत हे जस्टीफीकेशन जाते याचे या संदर्भात एक अत्यंत विलक्षण अशी सत्यकथा आहे एक एक्स्ट्राऑर्ड्रीनरी अ असलेली ही स्टोरी आहे जी माझ्याकडच्या पुस्तकात आहे ती येथे देतो ती जरुर वाचा.
I KNOW A story. It's one Festinger would probably like. N o t far from
m e , in the small city of Worcester, Massachusetts, lives a walking talking
epitome of rationalization. Her name is Linda Santo. Fifteen years
ago, her three-year-old daughter, Audrey, fell into the family swimming
pool and was discovered floating face down, in the deep end.
She was rescued and resuscitated, but her brain had been blotted out,
just a few electrical squiggles at the base, where the heartbeat is c o n trolled,
where the sweat glands send their signals, that sort of thing.
T h e base.
Fifteen years ago Linda Santo—about whom I have read many
articles and who has appeared many times on local television as halfhero,
half-oddity—fifteen years ago she brought her baby Audrey
home, hooked up to life support, a tracheotomy hole drilled in her
throat, and she bathed the child and turned her ten times a day so her
skin stayed rosy and not a single bedsore puckered, and she propped
her girl's head on white satin pillows, shaped like hearts, and she surrounded
her girl with religious relics, because Linda's Catholic faith
had always been strong. Audrey lay in bed while on a ledge above
her, Jesus held his heart and Mary looked on in an attitude of
ecstasy—tiny statues, huge statues, stigmata on porcelain palms, the
blood beet-red and dried.
A few months after the accident, according to various newspaper
articles, her husband left her. N o w she had no money. She had three
other children. T h e religious relics around Audrey's bedside began to
move. T h e y would, of their own accord, turn and face the tabernacle.
Real blood oozed out of Christ's cracked wounds. Strange oils began
to track the faces of the saints. And Audrey herself, well, her eyes
opened and ticked back and forth, back and forth, and every Lent she
screamed in pain, and then fell into a deep, deep sleep, on Easter.
People began to come to Audrey, people with multiple sclerosis
and brain tumors and heart disease and depression. T h e y began to
come and take home with them some of the miraculous holy oils
dripping from the relics. In the Santo household, miracles occurred
fast, one after the other, as the ill pilgrims kneeling by the girl's bedside
went from blindedness to sight, as Audrey herself began to bleed
from every orifice as though she were suffering the sins of t h e whole
world. Linda claims that she was not mystified. She knew her daughter
was a saint, that God had chosen Audrey to be a victim soul, to
take on the pains of other people so that they could be healed. Linda
had seen it with her own eyes. Furthermore, the date of Audrey's
drowning was August 9, at 11:02 in the morning, and only forty
years before that, on August 9, at 11:02 in the morning, the United
States had dropped the bomb on Nagasaki. O n e incident, according
to Linda, had shamed all of humankind; now this incident was to
redeem it.T h e Santo story is classic Festinger, the way the mother's mind
twists to turn a terrible tragedy into something of salvage, consonance
achieved through a series of rapid rationalizations. How, I
wonder, would a person who so embodies Festinger's theory actually
react to its explication?
L I N D A ' S V O I C E ON the phone i s hoarse and slow; something in its
sound surprises me. I 'm a writer, I tell her. I've seen her on TV. I 'm
exploring b e l i e f and faith and a man named Festinger—
"What is it you want to know?" Linda asks. Perhaps what I hear is
simply celebrity fatigue. O n e more interview in the thousands she's
given, but she'll do it again if she has to—for Audrey, to spread the
word.
" I f you're a journalist who wants to come photograph my girl, I
can tell you right now, you have to ask the church—"
"No," I say. "I want to know if you know of a man named
Festinger, and his experiments . . . "
"Festinger," she says, cackling, and then she doesn't say anything else.
" T h e r e was once this group," I say, "and they believed a savior
would come for them on December 2 1 , and Festinger, a psychologist,
studied what happened when December 21 came around and
they weren't saved."
There's a long pause on the phone. What I 'm doing seems suddenly
cruel. When they weren't saved. In the background I can hear
mysterious sounds, a knocking, the screech of a crow flying skyward.
"Festinger," Linda says. " I s that a Jewish name?"
"Absolutely," I say.
"Jewish people ask good questions," she says.
"And Catholics?" I say.
"We can question. Faith in our God," Linda says. " I t isn't always
absolute. Even if you have a direct email to Jesus, the line goes down
sometime." She stops speaking; I can hear something clotted in her
voice.
" F o r you?" I say. "Has the line gone down?"
"I have breast cancer," Linda continues. "I've had it for the last
seven years. I just found out I 'm in my fifth recurrence, and I'll tell
you, today I 'm tired."
I lift my hand to my own chest, which has its own chiseled spots
from multiple biopsies, the cells beneath the skin squirming recklessly.
"Can Audrey, would you ask her to heal—"
Linda interrupts me. "You want to know the truth?" she says, her
voice sharp. " D o you and Festinger want to know what's what? On a
bad day, a day like today, I doubt whether suffering has meaning.
W r i t e that down," she says.And yet, Linda Santo points to the flaws in this theory, and the
experiments designed to test it. Somewhere, not far from me, right
this minute, sits a woman in semidarkness, and she can cling to nothing.
Her cancer, and her daughter's failure to heal it, are dissonant
with her prevailing paradigm, but instead of seeking consonance
through rationalization, as Festinger, and I, predicted, Linda seems to
be in some suspended place, where beliefs break up and form new
patterns we cannot yet quite see. W h o knows what new shapes of
faith might emerge from Linda's willingness to withhold rationalization
for real revision? Festinger never explored this phenomenon—
how dissonance leads to doubt and doubt leads to light. N o r does he
explore why some people choose rationalization as a strategy, and
others choose revision. I think about Linda. I think about others.
What allowed Isaac Newton to exchange the palm of god for gravity,
or Columbus to come away with a curved rimless world? Throughout
all of history there have been examples of people who, instead of
clapping their hands over their ears, pushed into dissonance, willing
to hear what might emerge. Festinger, actually, i s one of those people.
His ideas and experiments were highly dissonant with the Skinnerian
wisdom of his day. And he pursued it. Why?

अर्थ जी

असे काही मेट्रीक आहेत का याची तर मला माहीती नाही पण कधी ह्या वागणुकीस सुरुवात होते कीती थरापर्यंत हे जस्टीफीकेशन जाते याचे या संदर्भात एक अत्यंत विलक्षण अशी सत्यकथा आहे एक एक्स्ट्राऑर्ड्रीनरी अ असलेली ही स्टोरी आहे जी माझ्याकडच्या पुस्तकात आहे ती येथे देतो ती जरुर वाचा.
I KNOW A story. It's one Festinger would probably like. N o t far from
m e , in the small city of Worcester, Massachusetts, lives a walking talking
epitome of rationalization. Her name is Linda Santo. Fifteen years
ago, her three-year-old daughter, Audrey, fell into the family swimming
pool and was discovered floating face down, in the deep end.
She was rescued and resuscitated, but her brain had been blotted out,
just a few electrical squiggles at the base, where the heartbeat is c o n trolled,
where the sweat glands send their signals, that sort of thing.
T h e base.
Fifteen years ago Linda Santo—about whom I have read many
articles and who has appeared many times on local television as halfhero,
half-oddity—fifteen years ago she brought her baby Audrey
home, hooked up to life support, a tracheotomy hole drilled in her
throat, and she bathed the child and turned her ten times a day so her
skin stayed rosy and not a single bedsore puckered, and she propped
her girl's head on white satin pillows, shaped like hearts, and she surrounded
her girl with religious relics, because Linda's Catholic faith
had always been strong. Audrey lay in bed while on a ledge above
her, Jesus held his heart and Mary looked on in an attitude of
ecstasy—tiny statues, huge statues, stigmata on porcelain palms, the
blood beet-red and dried.
A few months after the accident, according to various newspaper
articles, her husband left her. N o w she had no money. She had three
other children. T h e religious relics around Audrey's bedside began to
move. T h e y would, of their own accord, turn and face the tabernacle.
Real blood oozed out of Christ's cracked wounds. Strange oils began
to track the faces of the saints. And Audrey herself, well, her eyes
opened and ticked back and forth, back and forth, and every Lent she
screamed in pain, and then fell into a deep, deep sleep, on Easter.
People began to come to Audrey, people with multiple sclerosis
and brain tumors and heart disease and depression. T h e y began to
come and take home with them some of the miraculous holy oils
dripping from the relics. In the Santo household, miracles occurred
fast, one after the other, as the ill pilgrims kneeling by the girl's bedside
went from blindedness to sight, as Audrey herself began to bleed
from every orifice as though she were suffering the sins of t h e whole
world. Linda claims that she was not mystified. She knew her daughter
was a saint, that God had chosen Audrey to be a victim soul, to
take on the pains of other people so that they could be healed. Linda
had seen it with her own eyes. Furthermore, the date of Audrey's
drowning was August 9, at 11:02 in the morning, and only forty
years before that, on August 9, at 11:02 in the morning, the United
States had dropped the bomb on Nagasaki. O n e incident, according
to Linda, had shamed all of humankind; now this incident was to
redeem it.T h e Santo story is classic Festinger, the way the mother's mind
twists to turn a terrible tragedy into something of salvage, consonance
achieved through a series of rapid rationalizations. How, I
wonder, would a person who so embodies Festinger's theory actually
react to its explication?
L I N D A ' S V O I C E ON the phone i s hoarse and slow; something in its
sound surprises me. I 'm a writer, I tell her. I've seen her on TV. I 'm
exploring b e l i e f and faith and a man named Festinger—
"What is it you want to know?" Linda asks. Perhaps what I hear is
simply celebrity fatigue. O n e more interview in the thousands she's
given, but she'll do it again if she has to—for Audrey, to spread the
word.
" I f you're a journalist who wants to come photograph my girl, I
can tell you right now, you have to ask the church—"
"No," I say. "I want to know if you know of a man named
Festinger, and his experiments . . . "
"Festinger," she says, cackling, and then she doesn't say anything else.
" T h e r e was once this group," I say, "and they believed a savior
would come for them on December 2 1 , and Festinger, a psychologist,
studied what happened when December 21 came around and
they weren't saved."
There's a long pause on the phone. What I 'm doing seems suddenly
cruel. When they weren't saved. In the background I can hear
mysterious sounds, a knocking, the screech of a crow flying skyward.
"Festinger," Linda says. " I s that a Jewish name?"
"Absolutely," I say.
"Jewish people ask good questions," she says.
"And Catholics?" I say.
"We can question. Faith in our God," Linda says. " I t isn't always
absolute. Even if you have a direct email to Jesus, the line goes down
sometime." She stops speaking; I can hear something clotted in her
voice.
" F o r you?" I say. "Has the line gone down?"
"I have breast cancer," Linda continues. "I've had it for the last
seven years. I just found out I 'm in my fifth recurrence, and I'll tell
you, today I 'm tired."
I lift my hand to my own chest, which has its own chiseled spots
from multiple biopsies, the cells beneath the skin squirming recklessly.
"Can Audrey, would you ask her to heal—"
Linda interrupts me. "You want to know the truth?" she says, her
voice sharp. " D o you and Festinger want to know what's what? On a
bad day, a day like today, I doubt whether suffering has meaning.
W r i t e that down," she says.And yet, Linda Santo points to the flaws in this theory, and the
experiments designed to test it. Somewhere, not far from me, right
this minute, sits a woman in semidarkness, and she can cling to nothing.
Her cancer, and her daughter's failure to heal it, are dissonant
with her prevailing paradigm, but instead of seeking consonance
through rationalization, as Festinger, and I, predicted, Linda seems to
be in some suspended place, where beliefs break up and form new
patterns we cannot yet quite see. W h o knows what new shapes of
faith might emerge from Linda's willingness to withhold rationalization
for real revision? Festinger never explored this phenomenon—
how dissonance leads to doubt and doubt leads to light. N o r does he
explore why some people choose rationalization as a strategy, and
others choose revision. I think about Linda. I think about others.
What allowed Isaac Newton to exchange the palm of god for gravity,
or Columbus to come away with a curved rimless world? Throughout
all of history there have been examples of people who, instead of
clapping their hands over their ears, pushed into dissonance, willing
to hear what might emerge. Festinger, actually, i s one of those people.
His ideas and experiments were highly dissonant with the Skinnerian
wisdom of his day. And he pursued it. Why?

मी जी !
फ़ेस्टींजर ने एक विषय घेतला एका महत्वाच्या मानवी प्रवृत्ती वर फ़ोकस करुन तीच्यावर संशोधन केल. आता त्यात त्याच्या काळानुसार त्याने बघितलेल्या त्या वेळच्या कल्ट मेंबर्स च्या निरीक्षणातुन ही गोष्ट हा पॉईंट त्याला महत्वाचा वाटला की माणस अस जस्टीफ़िकेशन जुन्या श्रद्धेत मॉडीफ़िकेशन करुन अथवा त्या जागी नविन श्रध्दा प्रस्थापित करुन आपल्या मुळ चुकीच्या च धारणांना का चिकटुन राहतात? नकळत पणे असे का वागतात ? त्यामागे परस्परविरोधाने निर्माण झालेल्या डिसोनन्स ची व्याकुळते ची प्रेरणा कशी असते ? त्याच्याशी माणस कस डील करतात ? इतक्या प्रश्नांची उत्तर शोधण्यासाठी प्रयोग केलेत आणि काही अतिशय उपयोगी अशी सिध्दांत शोधुन काढली. हे जे इतके केले हे ही करण सोप काम नाही. इतक्या सिध्दते साठी ही बराच वेळ एनर्जी अर्थातच लागते. आता हे खरे आहे की हा प्रॉब्लेम काय आहे तो डिफ़ाइन केला मात्र सोल्युशन काय त्याने दिलेल दिसत नाही. पण मला सर्वात आश्चर्य या गोष्टीच वाटत की त्याने जी इतकी महत्वाची मुलभुत संकल्पना जी मांडली ते योगदान काय कमी आहे का? आणि संशोधन अस च होत असत एक माणुस सर्वच प्रश्नांची उत्तर नाही देउ शकत. आता पुढील येणारे संशोधक या बिंदुपासुन पुढे सरकतात व पुढच्या सोल्युशन चा शोध घेतात. त्यांना इथपर्यंत केलेल्या कामाच्या पायरीवरुन पुढच्या पायरीवर पाय ठेवता येतो. ही तर सलग चालणारी एक अखंड प्रक्रिया आहे ती फ़ेस्टींजर ने च पुर्णत्वाला न्यावी अशी अपेक्षा थोडी अन्यायकारक आणि त्यापेक्षा अव्यव्हार्य ही वाटते.आणि काही प्रॉब्लेम व्यवस्थित मांडण हे तर कधी कधी सोल्युशनपेक्षाही अतिशय महत्वाच ठरत. उदा. वैद्यकीय क्षेत्रात जस एखादा रोगाच कारण निश्चीत करण कशामुळे होतो हे अगोदर जस शोधण महत्वाच असत तस. मग ऒषध सोल्युशन्स ची निर्मीती त्या नंतर क्रमाने होत च असते.पण मुळात रोग काय कशामुळे होतो ते ही शोधण महत्वाच नाही का ?

अमुक जी

या काही चांगल्या लिंक्स या विषयावरच्या यातील प्रिझन चा प्रयोग जबरदस्त आहे. माझा लेख फारच त्रोटक व अपुरा आहे पण खालील वाचनाने या विषयाचे
आकलन अधिक व्यवस्थित व अचुक होइल अशी खात्री वाटते व माझ्या मांडणीतील कच्चे दुवे ही क्लीअर नक्कीच होतील असा विश्वास वाटतो.

१-http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_dissonance
२-http://web.mst.edu/~psyworld/cognitive_dissonance.htm
३-http://psychclassics.yorku.ca/Festinger/