Robert Mearns YERKES

• Birth: 26 May 1876, Breadysville, Bucks, Pennsylvania
• Death: 3 Feb 1936, New Haven, Connecticut
• Burial: New Haven, Connecticut

• Marriage: 16 Sep 1905, Twilight Park, Connecticut

1. Roberta Watterson YERKES
2. David Norton YERKES

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|--Robert Mearns YERKES 
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York Unive rsity, Toronto, Ontario ISSN 1492-3713 (Return to index <../index.htm>) Autobiography of Robert Mearns Yerkes First published in Murchison, Carl. (Ed.) (1930). History of Psychology in Autobiography (Vol . 2, pp. 381-407). Republished by the permission of Clark University Press, Worcester, MA. Ć 1930 Clark University Press. Posted March 2000 PSYCHOBIOLOGIST I continue to think of the surroundings into which on May 26, 1876, I came as a first-born ch ild, as nearly ideal. It was in the midst of a beautiful agricultural country, inhabited by i ntelligent, self- respecting, law-abiding, prosperous folk; hills and vales, forests and stre ams, as scenes of the ceaseless and ever-varying activities on large farm, with its rotatio n of crops, dairying, and woodcraft. There were domestic animals of many kinds, and many labo rers and mechanics came and went. The great city of Philadelphia was so near that our farm an d dairy products were hauled to it overnight in horse-drawn wagons. This is the picture tha t appears when I think of my childhood. If I were choosing now, I should not change that envi ronment. Pleasant occupations abounded. Fishing, swimming, skating, berry and nut gathering, fetchin g the cows, learning to care for, saddle and harness, ride and drive horses, and, finally, t o do, and in many instances to enjoy doing well, the multitude of things necessary to comfor t and prosperity on a large farm in eastern Pennsylvania, late in the nineteenth century, fil led my days and rendered them joyous. Dominant among the recollections of childhood are out-o f-door amusements; free, unrestricted, unaided study and enjoyment of nature; the care of hou sehold and farm pets; the capture and taming of wild animals. When the household cat one da y killed a pet albino rabbit, I was so inconsolable that my parents had the skin mounted an d thus I long kept it as a cherished possession. I was extremely fond of every sort of game , from parchesi, dominoes, checkers, and cards indoors to such rough outdoor sports as shinny , baseball, and football. Warm, after nearly fifty years, are my memories of gathering tortoi se and snake eggs in new lands when first plowed, of carrying them home in my hat, preparin g earth-filled boxes, "planting" them, and watching for the hatch. The young snakes usually m anaged to escape me, but the tortoises became treasures of entertainment. Thus happily passe d the first eight years of my life. I have delightful recollections of three of my great-grandparents, and I enjoyed and richly p rofited by long-continued acquaintances [p. 382] with all of my grandparents.[1] My parents , who belonged to families long resident in the vicinity of Philadelphia and devoted almost w ithout exception to agriculture, lived to see me established familially and professionally. B oth were ambitious, energetic, musical, religious by nature and training. My mother, a woma n of rare sweetness of disposition and unusual ability, beloved of all who knew her, was th e strongest influence in my early life, and I think also the wisest. My father and I were int imate merely because of blood and social relationship. We had little in common intellectually , and more often than not we disagreed in practical matters. Except for my attachment to my m other and the influence of a capable, level-headed young German then in the employ of my fath er, I probably should have run away from home before my fourteenth year. Lest this should app ear to belittle my father, I hasten to add that I have been described as a moody, strong-will ed, unsuggestible child, difficult to control. Father doubtless lacked the magic touch of sym pathetic insight. In early childhood I feared him; later, I actively disliked and disapproved ; and finally, in maturity, I came to pity him for characteristics which rendered his life re latively unhappy and unsuccessful. As I write I am reminded of many incidents of family life which are illuminating. Only a fe w may appropriately find place in this professional sketch, and as it happens those which I h ave chosen refer rather to my grandfathers than to my father or self. Grandfather Yerkes once told me, and he was then more than sixty years of age, that he did no t know what it meant to feel tired! The members of his household used to say that, on arisin g to his day's work about four o'clock in the morning, he would loudly call the poultry to br eakfast in order thoroughly to arouse the family and get things started. Father also was lik e that, and I should confess that in my own household I am sometimes called the slave driver. Lack of sympathy with my father and our temperamental incompatibility very definitely turne d me against his occupation and his vocational plans and desires for me. These misfortunes al so robbed me of much that should be most precious in paternal companionship, training, and gu idance. The following incident, taken from my relations with Grandfather Yerkes, partially ex plains my estrangement from Father, for his treatment of me was as direct and unsuited to [p . 383] my disposition as was that I would now describe. I had been set an irksome, arduous, f arm task which I performed as I thought proper and necessary, but with maximum economy of eff ort and simplicity of procedure! Subsequently, I learned that Grandfather had complained to F ather that the work might better have been left undone. I bitterly resented the criticism, wh ich I considered unjust, but even more the fact that Grandfather spoke to Father instead of t o me. Perhaps, had he come to me and tactfully explained why my method was unsatisfactory , I should have been the wiser and he respected instead of disliked. Radically different are my memories of Grandfather Carrell, for he genuinely sympathized wit h my intellectual interests and aspirations and always was ready to encourage and aid me in m y educational efforts. During childhood I was much alone. A sister some four years my junior, to whom I became devot ed, died when she was three, and I barely recovered from the same dreaded scarlet fever. Tw o brothers and another sister, born later, were so much younger that I looked upon them as ch arges rather than playmates. Because of its far-reaching influence on my physical and intellectual development and my voca tional choice, the scarlet fever tragedy should be more fully described. A man, prematurely d ischarged from a Philadelphia hospital or for other reasons a carrier of infection, came to u s as a farm laborer. He was friendly with us children and, from his arrival, we were much wit h him. When we became ill he disappeared, doubtless conscience-stricken or fearful of respons ibility. Many weeks later I learned that my little sister had gone from us. Vivid is my memor y of Mother's gentle, sad words as she told me of this when, for the first time, I sat up bes ide a favorite window in the sunshine of early spring. In my young life that loss was irrepar able. No one ever took the place of my infant sister and I continue to think of her as the mo st beautiful and altogether lovable of children. The family physician, during this fight with the forces of destruction, was a cousin, Dr. Joh n Beans Carrell, whose ministrations, often bitterly resented and opposed by my feverish self , nevertheless made lasting impressions and deeply stirred my admiration and vocational hero- worship. Ever since, in my daydreams, I have imagined myself as physician, surgeon, or, in ot her guise, alleviator of human suffering. This is the first indication of a social-mindednes s which subsequently came to pervade my life and to establish fellow service as its chief obj ective.[p. 384] I am wholly unable to confirm the observation, but Dr. Carrell assures me that my dispositio n radically changed during my grave and prolonged illness. Before it, according to him, I ha d been wilful, violent-tempered, obstinate, unruly, disagreeable. Thereafter I was so greatl y improved as to be fit to live with! Be this as it may, I am convinced that my illness so fa r conditioned my physique and interests as practically to determine vocational choice. Mine was not a home for formal educational regimen. Neither my parents nor any among my immed iate relatives were college graduates. I can recall no thirst for knowledge in early childhoo d, and, although from six to twelve years I was passionately fond of being read to, I read li ttle myself. Vocational imaginings came early, and, after transient longings for the delight s of old-iron collector, huckster, locomotive engineer, preacher, I turned, as intimated abov e, to medicine mixing, and for a physician. many years purposed to become a physician. My mot ives I suspect were chiefly utilitarian, for the physician's life appealed to me as less hars hly laborious, more interesting, exciting, heroic, useful, and altogether profitable than tha t of the farmer. In my eighth year, when first sent to school, I was unable to read well and so shy that I wen t unwillingly and with intense discomfort until I had become accustomed to the routine and ma de acquaintances. For some seven years I attended the nearby ungraded rural public schools . I worked hard in school because I liked to succeed and stand well in the class. Ambition an d social prestige evidently were primarily motivational, but usually I also liked the work it self and did it eagerly and without pressure in school or home. Subjects which induced lastin g attitudes were spelling, because difficult and irksome; arithmetic and algebra, because I f ound them stimulating, interesting, game-like -- their problems fascinated me, whereas memori zing repelled -- and physiology and hygiene, because their objectives, information, and princ iples impressed me as peculiarly important. I lacked gift of graphic expression, being then, as now, quite incapable of seeing or represe nting objects as does the naturally endowed artist. Musical ability, if present, I suppressed , for, despite my mother's eagerness to teach me and her urging and pleading, I never learne d to sing or to play any instrument. Probably music would have been difficult for me, but I s uspect that shyness and reluctance to try were the chief causes of my resistance. There are [ p. 385] few things which in later years I have more deeply regretted than lack of musical edu cation. Probably I was prepared for high school, possibly for college except in the ancient languages , when in my fifteenth year I was sent with a cousin, Leonard Slack, to the State Normal Scho ol at West Chester, Pennsylvania. This was my first experience away from home and my educatio nal baptism. I worked hard and achieved special commendation and promotions in mathematics. T he fact reminds me that subsequently in college a professor of mathematics suggested that I d evote myself to the subject professionally. During the year at West Chester I recall being as ked by my father whether I still wished to study medicine. My reply was an emphatic affirmati ve. Father, as I knew, hoped that I would follow agriculture, but, if I would choose a learne d profession, he preferred that it be the law. Mother, on the contrary, wished me to enter th e church. Almost certainly she would have become a foreign missionary had she been free to ch oose a career. I think it was about this time in my educational history that an incident occurred which fixe d itself permanently in my memory. Its significance is clear. An aunt, mindful of my exceptio nal educational opportunities, one day asked me some geographical and historical questions. W hen I admitted ignorance, she expressed surprise at the imperfection of my education. I wel l remember my mingled feelings of chagrin, resentment, and disapproval, for her conception o f education struck me as unsatisfactory. Even then my interest centered in constructive, crea tive effort toward the extension of knowledge, instead of in achievement of scholarship throu gh mere accumulation of facts. Thus early, my interest in research manifested itself. The inc ident suggests the query: Is it perhaps true that persons of exceptionally retentive memorie s tend to become encyclopedically learned, whereas those of relatively poor memories, among w hom I undoubtedly should number myself, tend rather to become inventive, inquiring, and const ructive? Whether, in such case, psychological traits are primarily conditions or results is t he question in point. So it happened that at the age of sixteen I possessed vocational orientation and determinatio n to obtain the educational preparation desirable for the profession of medicine. Undoubtedly , our family physician, Dr. Carrell, was chiefly responsible for this choice. His personalit y and professional example had stirred my imagination, and [p. 386] his interest, encourageme nt, suggestions, and advice provided the necessary basis for definite decision. Except for th e happening now to be narrated, I almost certainly would have gone to Dr. Carrell "to read me dicine" and thereafter have matriculated, probably without collegiate training, in his medica l alma mater, the Jefferson Medical College of Philadelphia. But things happened otherwise and thus. When I returned to the farm from my few months at Nor mal School, ways and means were not discernible for the continuation of my studies. Father wa s struggling to pay heavy indebtedness on his farm and there were three younger children to p rovide for. It was then that an uncle, Dr. Edward Atkinson Krusen, who had married one of m y mother's sisters and recently established himself as a homeopathic physician in Collegevill e, Pennsylvania, the seat of Ursinus College, offered me opportunity to earn my way in colleg e by doing the chores about his place. There was neither doubt nor hesitation on my part, an d I rejoiced greatly in my parents' consent to the arrangement. In the fall of 1892 I entered Ursinus Academy, and after a year's preparatory work, with conc entration on the ancient languages, I was admitted to the collegiate department of the instit ution. I elected the chemical-biological program of study, and, in addition, did preparator y medical work in human anatomy and physiology. But it was all work and no play, for my eager ness to progress held me to my academic tasks, and my duties in the Krusen home required al l my spare hours, morning, evening, and Saturday. As I look back on those happy, toilsome yea rs, it seems as though they would have been perfect if I could have afforded and arranged t o have had Saturday as holiday. Yet I was far from self-pity, and I always have considered my self fortunate in my opportunity to obtain collegiate training. After entering Ursinus I was at home only for short visits or for a few weeks during the summ er harvest season, when I worked as a paid laborer. From the small savings of my youth, which , on Dr. Carrell's advice, had been well invested, and from my current earnings in the Kruse n home, I was able to pay all of my expenses in college. In addition to board and room, afte r my first year in his home my uncle paid me a wage of ten dollars per month. This I consider ed generous and just. Indeed, to Uncle Doctor, as I always called him, my debt is incalculabl e. He was a wise, broad-minded, generous gentleman, a beloved physician, and a staunch, depen dable [p. 387] friend. Had he been my father, and, practically, from my sixteenth to my twent y-first years he stood in loco parentis, he could not well have done more for me. Disinterest edly, devotedly, affectionately, he advised, guided, and encouraged me. I cannot do less tha n thus acknowledge my debt of gratitude and love. A word further on personal influences. Up to the time of my entrance into college, my charact er, vocational leanings, educational endeavors and ambitions, had been markedly affected by s ix persons: my father and mother; the German farm laborer, Adolph Weise; my public school tea cher, Miss Eva Roberts; and the physicians, Drs. Carrell and Krusen. My father, I suspect, most strongly influenced me negatively. I desired to become what he wa s not: had he wished me to become a physician, doubtless I should have refused. My mother, o n the contrary, through affection, tactful suggestion, the inculcation of the moral code, pri nciples of character of the Christian religion and of her community, influenced me profoundl y and permanently. Father's employee, Adolph Weise, was my intimate, wise friend and counselo r in those years of early adolescence when I sorely needed guidance and stabilization. He rea d to me, talked with me of many things, aided with my lessons, and reasoned with me on endles s practical matters. By sheer simplicity and convincingness of argument, this strong, clear-m inded young German reasoned me away from the undesirable. Of swearing, which he abjured, alth ough most of our farm laborers were adepts, he always said: "It is a foolish, useless, disagr eeable habit. Don't form it." As I could not meet his arguments, I naturally followed his exa mple in this and many other matters. My first public school teacher, Eva Roberts, later for m any years a highly successful and esteemed teacher in Girard College, Philadelphia, deeply im pressed and influenced me by her strength of character and purpose, mastery of pedagogical me thod, soundness of judgment, and utter justice in the treatment of pupils. I admired her almo st worshipfully. There was also the all-pervasive and continuing influence of my cousin, Dr . Carrell, which certainly initially determined and confirmed my choice of medicine as a care er; and, finally, that of my uncle, Dr. Krusen. To these few I owe my life and its main trait s and trends. My heart goes out to them now in gratitude and affection. Would they were all h ere to receive such reward of appreciation as I can offer. In June, 1897, I was graduated from Ursinus College after four [p. 388] profitable years of s trenuous intellectual work. Two Ursinus teachers profoundly influenced me. Colonel Vernon Rub y, Professor of English, more, perhaps, than anyone else, taught me the importance of careful , thorough, honest work. My ability to use my mother tongue I owe principally to him and to t he subsequent practice which his precept and example encouraged. Dr. P. Calvin Mensch, biolog ist, I worked with as pupil, disciple, and friend. His ideals and his enthusiasm for creativ e endeavor became mine. Probably my debt to him is greater than to any other teacher. Completion of work at Ursinus found me at a crossroads, for a deus ex machina had unexpectedl y appeared and I was offered the loan of one thousand dollars for graduate work in Harvard Un iversity. Choice was between the study of medicine in Philadelphia or the unexcelled opportun ities for graduate work in biology, psychology, and philosophy at Harvard. It was a momentou s decision which, as now appears, determined the course of my professional career. I was jus t twenty-one. Readily I convinced myself that I was young to enter medical school and might b etter devote at least a year to special work in Harvard before completing my medical training . It was my earnest desire to work with pre-eminently able investigators and teachers. So, in the fall of 1897 I entered Harvard, not as a graduate student, but with provisional un dergraduate classification and opportunity to demonstrate preparedness for professional work . At the end of the first year I was awarded the A. B. degree and given graduate status. I mi ght then naturally have turned to medical studies, but instead I leaned toward preparation fo r research in some department of biology. Encouraged by my teachers and aided by appointment s to assistantship and scholarship, I decided finally to become a candidate for the degree o f doctor of philosophy instead of doctor of medicine. Again a crossroads which compelled important decision. I was keenly interested in zočology an d also in psychology. At the suggestion of Josiah Royce, to whom I had gone for advice whe n I first arrived in Cambridge in 1897, and who became my teacher, friend, and colleague, I u ndertook to combine these interests by devoting myself to what was then called comparative ps ychology. Introduced and recommended by Professor Royce, I consulted with Professor Mčunsterbe rg about opportunities in animal psychology. He was encouraging and the outcome was my transf er in 1899 from the [p. 389] laboratories of zočology, where I had enjoyed the rare privileg e of working with E. L. Mark, G. H. Parker, C. B. Davenport, and W. E. Castle, to the laborat ory of psychology, in which, during the succeeding eighteen years, as student, assistant, ins tructor, or professor, I conducted psychobiological research and instructional courses in com parative and genetic psychology. From the beginning of our acquaintance, Hugo Mčunsterberg, with almost paternal interest and s olicitude, and with rare generosity, aided me both professionally and personally, and, althou gh I never was able to admire him as scientist, I learned to prize highly his friendship, ent husiasm for research, and scholarship. Throughout our association from 1899 until his death i n 1916 our relations were intimate, and I was constantly the beneficiary because of his learn ing, extensive professional acquaintance and knowledge of the world, and his devotion to rese arch. I seriously doubt whether I should have remained in Harvard more than one or two year s except for his influence and encouragement. Thus I acknowledge a great debt. In 1902 I wa s granted the doctorate of philosophy in psychology and offered an instructorship in comparat ive psychology in the University, with half time for research and a salary of one thousand do llars per year. I well remember Professor Mčunsterberg's friendly question when he told me o f the opportunity: "Can you afford to accept it, Yerkes?" "No," I replied, "but I shall, neve rtheless." Thus began a period of professional service to Harvard University and science whic h continued until it was interrupted by the World War in 1917. During those fifteen happy, eventful, fruitful years of research and teaching I gave my bes t to Harvard and received incomparably more benefits from rare associations and companionship s than I could give in return. It was for me a period of intellectual and cultural growth an d enlightenment, of constant stimulation to improvement and achievement, and of precious insp irational influence. For, unworthily, as it seemed to me, I was a member of a university facu lty group of pre-eminently great scholars and great personalities, which at one time or anoth er during the period in question included Josiah Royce, George Herbert Palmer, William James , Hugo Mčunsterberg, Francis Peabody, George Santayana, Dickinson Miller, Robert MacDougall, E dwin B. Holt, and Ralph Barton Perry. These, my colleagues in the Division, which was then in clusive of philosophy, social ethics, and psychology, were men of such personal quality, [p . 390] originality, and creativeness, as seldom are found in an academic group. Thus, with victory for the latter, ended in 1902 the struggle between medicine and psychobiol ogy in my vocational imaginings. My taste for scientific research, if not my ability, had lon g before been revealed at Ursinus when my teacher and master, Professor Mensch, himself a doc tor of medicine and of philosophy, proposed for my training the investigation of a problem i n physiological chemistry. I did not solve the problem, but in the attempt I learned much abo ut myself and the attractiveness of biological research. From that time I knew positively tha t I wished to give my life to constructive work in the biological sciences rather than to pra ctical service in medicine or surgery. It was then that I first resolved that making a livin g should, so far as practicable, be merely incidental to my life work. And so, as it turns ou t, it has been, these thirty years! But when I abandoned the study of medicine, lively intere st in its varied problems and in the sciences basic to both medicine and surgery persisted. A lthough I lack a medical degree, my dominant interests classify me with the profession. Muc h of my work has been conducted in medical institutions; more might have been, and my friends hips and companionships continue to bear witness to my natural taste and my initial vocationa l leaning and choice. All this merely to establish the fact that in reality my original choic e of career was modified, not abandoned, and my professional interest broadened and liberaliz ed instead of turned into unrelated channels. A plan, whose realization after nearly thirty years has now been nearly achieved in Yale Univ ersity, came to me as a stirring vision of usefulness during my graduate days in Harvard. I t was the establishment and development of an institute of comparative psychobiology in whic h the resources of the various natural sciences should be used effectively for the solution o f varied problems of life. Naturally, psychological and physiological interests dominated i n this vision. For a time it seemed that the dream might speedily come true in Harvard, but P resident Eliot, wise and far-sighted promoter of productive scholarship and of medical educat ion and research, retired from his responsibilities just too soon. Instead of receiving encou ragement in such seemingly impractical planning as I had been indulging in, I was gently an d tactfully advised by the new administration that educational psychology offered a broader a nd more direct path to a professorship and to increased academic usefulness than did [p. 391 ] my special field of comparative psychology, and that I might well consider effecting a chan ge. In disregarding this well-meant and wholly reasonable advice, I ran true to form. To do w hat I had especially prepared myself for, what I felt pre-eminently fitted for, and what, abo ve everything else, I wished to do, seemed to me incomparably more important and desirable th an a professorship at Harvard. Several of my professional colleagues agreed with me. Many tim es since I have had to confirm that decision or to make similar ones. I never have regrette d the abiding determination to live my own professional life, irrespective of administrativ e and other practical considerations. During the first year of my Harvard instructorship, opportunity appeared for a brief visit t o Germany and Switzerland to study the organization and equipment of physiological and psycho logical institutes. This was in preparation for the planning of suitable building and facilit ies for comparative and other branches of psychological work in Harvard. The experience natur ally was very valuable to me. It was seventeen years before I again visited Europe, and the n it was to England and France that I journeyed. This neglect of international professional c ontacts was due to financial limitations and the demands of my research, not to lack of inter est or desire. Indeed, it has proved a very serious disadvantage. As I write these words, I a m on my third professional foreign tour, which includes visitation of numerous psychobiologic al establishments in the principal countries of Europe, and, in addition, the laboratories o f the Pasteur Institute at Kindia, French Guinea. In 1905, when I was fairly started in my career as a psychobiologist, began a partnership wit h Ada Watterson (Yerkes), which perfectly blended our lives and incalculably increased our pr ofessional and social usefulness. Successful marriages appear in these times to be not unwort hy of record and remark. Moreover, from 1905 my professional autobiography is no longer min e alone. At this moment our partnership is publishing jointly, as the outcome of six years o f continuous preparatory labor, a book on anthropoid life, The Great Apes. Crowded with interesting activities were the years between 1902, the beginning of my professi onal life, and America's entrance into the World War. My intellectual environment was stimula ting, conditions within and without were favorable to creative endeavor, incentives to servic e abounded. I was busy, contented, happy in my [p. 392] scientific work, my family life, an d friendships. As my colleague Ernest E. Southard once remarked, professionally speaking, fo r years I lived on cream. To supplement my small and obviously insufficient Harvard salary, w hich during fifteen years of service as instructor and assistant professor averaged about tw o thousand dollars a year, I taught in Radcliffe College, Harvard Summer School, and the Univ ersity Extension Department in Boston. It was through my teaching of elementary psychology th at I first was brought into contact with Edward B. Titchener. Use of his textbooks in my cour ses provoked exchange of opinions, discussion, and, on my part, endless questions, for in int rospective method and its results I was the novice, he the master. I treasure a folder of let ters which represent much of my vital exchange with the most learned psychologist I have eve r known. Whatever interest I have in introspection, competence in its use, and appreciation o f its results, and whatever I know of the psychology of the self, as contrasted with objectiv e psychology, I owe primarily to Titchener. With his aid I came to distinguish sharply betwee n my special interest in the materials and problems of psychobiology and psychology as the sc ience of experience. Efforts to systematize my thinking in this direction for the benefit o f my students resulted in the publication of my Introduction to Psychology, the first and onl y textbook I have had the will to write. My professional debt to Titchener is equaled only b y that to Mčunsterberg, Royce, and Holt. In the midst of intensive work with students and colleagues in the Harvard Psychological Labo ratory I found time for several profitable adventures in cooperation. These are some of them . From association as pupil and assistant with Edward L. Thorndike at the Marine Biological L aboratory at Woods Hole, I profited much. Later for some years I labored with John B. Watso n for the improvement and the standardization of methods for the comparative study of visio n in animals. At this time Watson was in Baltimore, I in Cambridge, and our exchanges were mo stly by letter. One spring, to my great satisfaction, I was granted leave of absence from Har vard to acquire knowledge of neuro-surgical technique through association with that skillfu l technician and brilliant investigator, Professor Harvey Cushing. My weeks in the Hunteria n Laboratory of the Johns Hopkins University, under the guidance of Cushing, provided stimula ting, enlightening, and revealing experience, whose effects were permanent. In addition to te chnical training and new [p. 393] professional insight, I carried from the laboratories of co mparative surgery an enduring friendship. That I have made no noteworthy contributions to neu rology or psychobiology by way of surgical techniques is the fault of circumstances beyond m y control. Yet another important season was that spent with my former pupil, Gilbert V. Hamil ton, in his ideally situated private laboratory at Santa Barbara, California. And with anothe r pupil, Daniel W. La Rue, who, like Hamilton, returned with interest what little I had bee n able to give as teacher, I planned, used in courses of instruction, and finally published A n Outline of the Study of the Self. Much more than an episode in my almost too full professional life of the young century was op portunity, on recommendation of Ernest E. Southard, Professor of Neuropathology in the Harvar d Medical School, and Scientific Director of the Psychopathic Department of the Boston Stat e Hospital, to serve as psychologist in the Hospital. This was my introduction to research i n psychopathology. During five years I gave half of my time to the direction of psychologica l service and research in the Hospital. It was here I discovered certain urgent needs of psyc hiatry for improved techniques of psychobiological examining and measurement, and here also , with the aid of graduate students and assistants, I developed the point-scale method of mea suring aspects of intellectual activity and the multiple-choice method for the study of ideat ional behavior. Naturally, both practical and theoretical relations of psychobiology to medic ine, and more particularly to psychopathology and psychiatry, commanded my attention and I th ought and talked much about ways of rendering these subjects more helpful to one another. I have mentioned Ernest Southard as my master in psychopathology. He was that and much more , for, even after a decade of separation from his influence, his brilliant originality, visio n, versatility, and tireless industry, continue to stir my imagination and to spur me to mor e fruitful effort. His was a remarkable intellect, backed by exceptional training and vision , which neurology and psychiatry could ill afford to lose either early or late.[2] Those were particularly stirring years, for when I accepted hospital duties I gave up no port ion of my teaching burden or program of research in the Cambridge laboratories. Doubtless, i t was fortunate for my health that in its fifth year this dual life was abruptly ended by th e World War. The internal values of my concentrated [p. 394] practical experience in psychopa thology it would be difficult to overestimate. The external results are scant because I publi shed relatively little. Throughout my Harvard connection several graduate students each year shared my labors and ent husiasm for discovery and invention. I then considered the university the logical and altoget her fitting home for research, and I now even more strongly hold that conviction after some t hirty years of varied professional experience, both within and without American universities . Stable in my professional life and not over-eager for increased income or rank, the curren t ran smoothly and it seemed that I might continue at Harvard until the end of the chapter. I t had been relatively easy to refuse numerous opportunities to migrate. Then out of the war-c louded sky came an attention-compelling, insistent call to reorganize psychological work an d take direction of the laboratory in the University of Minnesota. At first I declined though tfully and reluctantly, with the urgent advice of Professors Royce and Mčunsterberg. But when , a year later, the offer was made even more alluring, I hesitated and was lost to my univers ity birthplace and home. It was a difficult decision, opposed I recall by such disintereste d friends and advisers as Professors Royce and Herbert W. Rand, but supported by such as ex-P resident Eliot and Professors Mčunsterberg and Taussig. I was in my fortieth year when, in the spring of 1917, I accepted the Minnesota appointment . Barely had I made this new arrangement than America's entrance into the War upset all of m y plans. For two years after resigning my appointments in Harvard and in the Boston Psychopat hic Hospital I held my western academic post and during that time made necessary recommendati ons for staff reorganization, planned the establishment of a department of psychology, and ar ranged for the transfer of the laboratory to a new site and building. It was a profitable exp erience, although in the end I resigned my post without having at any time been resident in M inneapolis. For this circumstance the War was wholly responsible. The members of my staff i n Minnesota who, after my resignation, carried on effectively included, in addition to Herber t Woodrow, who was originally on the ground, Richard M. Elliott, William S. Foster, Mabel Fer nald, and Karl S. Lashley. A better-trained, more able, and altogether competent group of you ng psychologists was not to be found.[p. 395] Thus, with America's declaration of war ended one of the most important periods of my profess ional career -- measured by twenty years as student, teacher, and investigator in Harvard Uni versity. It is appropriate to note here the distinctive characteristics of my research intere sts and results during this period. My first scientific paper was published from the Laboratory of Comparative Zočology of Harvar d in 1899, when I was twenty-three years of age. It was the outcome of suggestions received f rom my teacher, Charles B. Davenport, and of observations made under his direction. The titl e of this maiden publication in psychobiology, Reaction of Entomostraca to Stimulation by Lig ht, indicates one of my major fields of interest, namely, organic receptivity, its nature, co nditions, and relations to behavioral expression and to experience. There followed several pa pers on phases of receptivity and response in invertebrates. All show the helpful influence o f my biological teachers, Messrs. Mark, Parker, and Davenport, and all are classifiable unde r the physiology of the nervous system, although even then it would have been fairer to my in terest and point of view to place them in psychobiology. Shortly my interest extended to include organic adaptivity, which then was almost universall y designated as habit formation, and from 1905 to 1912 I published several reports of investi gations on adaptivity and receptivity in such relatively lowly vertebrates as the amphibian s and reptiles. Other aspects of physiological process which at this time suggested to me imp ortant neurological problems were temporal relations of response, inhibition, and facilitatio n. A little later I became profoundly interested in problems of instinct versus individual ac quisition, and several of my investigations and those conducted under my direction were conce rned with the essential characteristics and relations of maturational or so-called hereditar y modes of response and their neuromuscular mechanisms. I still consider solution of the assemblage of problems suggested by these phrases of the utm ost theoretical and practical importance. Many times my work on the mechanisms and behaviora l expressions of inheritance and acquisition has been interrupted, once by the loss of my col ony of dancing mice, and again by the World War, which found me with apparatus ready for cont inuation of work with mice. Investigation of the behavior of wildness and savageness in rats , well begun with the cooperation of Professor William E. Castle, I abandoned because conditi ons of experimentation were not favorable to reliable results.[p. 396] Especially conspicuous in my research has been interest in methods and efforts to advance com parative psychobiology by invention, adaptation, and improvement thereof. My work, I suspect , has been characterized rather by ingenuity and originality than by technical skill and mech anical gift. Theoretically, method conditions progress; practically, it has always seemed t o me more important than observation. My investigations, I think, entirely support this convi ction, for the greater part of my life has been devoted to methodological work in the biologi cal sciences. I have mentioned my abiding interest in the problems of organic receptivity, adaptivity, an d instinct. Always my research has been more nearly physiological than psychological, for I h ave dealt with problems of behavior, not with experience. Therefore my constant use of the de scriptive term psychobiology. That either my interests or methods of work, my descriptions o r interpretations, have become consistently more or less objective during the past thirty yea rs I am not aware. Certainly there have been fluctuations of opinion, and gradually the convi ction has strengthened that open-mindedness, willingness to envisage all problems and all tru stworthy results, and to consider and test the value of all types of method, are prime essent ials for the advancement of knowledge. With extreme objectivism, as voiced during the early y ears of my career by such eminent biologists as Loeb, Beer, Bethe, and von Uexkčull, I have ne ver been able to sympathize unreservedly because it impressed me as dangerous in its restrict ions and negations. On similar grounds I have rejected the more recent objectivism, or as h e calls it, behaviorism, of Watson, for it is characterized by the same logical and practica l defects which appear in the historical types of psychological objectivism. More forcibly th an ever, after thirty years of earnest thought and persistent study of problems of organic be havior and experience, it strikes me as wholly indefensible, and extremely unprofitable, to d eny the possibility of scientifically investigating phenomena of experience in their relation s to other vital happenings. That my own interest has always centered in problems of organic structure and function in n o degree prejudices me against the study of consciousness and mind. Instead, I consider the p roblem of the nature and relations of consciousness as at once the most fascinating and the m ost important in biology, and it is my earnest hope that I may live to help in some measure t oward its solution. That my path is not obviously directed toward this end needs neither expl anation nor apology. My course in research is pragmatic.[p. 397] The scope of my research was broadened in 1913 by the addition of psychopathology, for it wa s in that year I accepted appointment in the Boston Psychopathic Hospital. Naturally, I under took work in psychotechnology which promised to be helpful to psychiatry, but at the same tim e I formulated and, with my peculiar equipment as comparative psychobiologist, attempted to s olve certain problems relative to the nature and causation of psychobiological disturbances a nd defects. Unwittingly I was thus prepared for the military opportunities and demands whic h were shortly to confront me. Had I planned my adventure in practical mental measurement wit h full knowledge of what awaited me in the World War I could not have arranged things better . My work at the Hospital was abruptly terminated by the War, but, even without it, removal t o the University of Minnesota would have caused a break. Much of my work in psychopathology c ontinues as I then left it, unfinished. It was thus the presidential proclamation of April, 1917, found me. At the moment a group o f experimental psychologists was meeting informally at Harvard University. Naturally, we aske d ourselves what professional service American psychologists might hope to render in the mili tary emergency. Discussion revealed eagerness, coupled with optimism and assurance that some , at least, of our techniques could be made serviceable. Because I happened to be President of the American Psychological Association, it became my pr ivilege and duty to take the initiative in organizing our group and in attempting to discove r ways in which we might be useful. It is indicative of my lifelong professional leaning an d affiliations that I promptly established relations with the Medical Department of the Arm y and that the major service for which I was personally responsible throughout the War, the p sychological examining of recruits, should have been conducted in that arm of the service. The story of psychological service his elsewhere been told officially and completely, if no t in detail.[3] It is appropriate here to consider its principal relations to my professiona l life.[p. 398] For nearly two years I lived in military psychology, with scarcely a thought of the psychobio logical problems which previously had occupied me. The novel opportunity which my professio n created for itself in the American military establishment called for constructive planning , combined with methodological resourcefulness and skill. For these demands, as contrasted wi th many which more usually come to the academician and investigator, it shortly appeared tha t I possessed unusual qualifications. During my term of military service I wrote little for publication. There was no time. But m y official correspondence was both extensive and profoundly important for my intellectual an d technical growth and the development of facility in verbal expression. It was necessarily d escriptive, expository, argumentative, for my chief task, aside from making clear what we pla nned and proposed, was to convince military and civil officials that what we desired to under take possessed practical value. Often it seemed that my foremost duty and obligation -- one f or which I usually felt myself peculiarly unsuited -- was to vanquish seemingly insuperable d ifficulties by overcoming the passive resistance of ignorance and the active opposition of je alousy, misinformation, and honest disagreement. Fortunately, I flourished amidst difficulties and discouragements, and the service which my g roup rendered finally yielded abundant satisfaction. It has been characterized by those who o bserved it from above the battle as uniquely significant alike for military progress and fo r the development of psychology and its technologies. Assuredly it was highly beneficial to m e to be carried by force of circumstance from the comfortably sheltered provincialism of a gr eat university into the swirling current of world conflict. As never otherwise could have hap pened, I was brought into active give-and-take contact with men of varied interests, abilitie s, and points of view, at a time when every man rose superior to himself; with national and i nternational problems, plans, and programs; with organizations, methods of administration, an d ideals which are foreign to academic experience. Necessity made me at home in this novel si tuation and I was able to present [p. 399] and maintain the needs, claims, and merits of my p rofession as determinedly, and I think also as effectively, as I could have done in my custom ary environment. As obligations and opportunities multiplied, so also my knowledge, insights , faith, and will to succeed, and when suddenly the great conflict ended I was so completel y engrossed in helping to increase the efficiency of the military organization of my countr y that for a time I felt like a person without a calling. If ever I have spoken or written as though the contribution of military psychology in Army o r Navy was largely mine, I would beg here to correct the impression. Mine, as it happened, wa s the responsibility for initiative and leadership, but scores of my colleagues enthusiastica lly and loyally gave their best. To mention names would be invidious and in bad taste, becaus e the honor roll is too long to be reproduced entire. I could have accomplished little indee d without the whole-hearted, generous, and efficient constructive work of my fellows. The rew ard of growth, self-revelation, and confidence in my ability to serve mankind which came to m e by reason of my share in the great conflict is more than adequate compensation for the ardu ous labors of the most trying years of my life. As never otherwise could have happened, military opportunities, demands, and achievements gav e American psychology forward and directed impetus. Owing primarily to an endless successio n of difficulties, resultant delays, and finally the termination of the War just when our ser vice was fully organized, our methods perfected, and authority granted for the extension of o ur work throughout the Army, the strictly scientific as contrasted with the practical return s of our labors, although by no means unimportant, proved meager in comparison with what we h ad planned for and legitimately expected. It will be long, however, before our profession ent irely escapes from the directive influence of psychotechnological military developments or fo rgets that almost incredibly extensive and precious gift of professional service, which to th e laity and the military profession was the more impressive because wholly unexpected and uns olicited. When discharged from the Army shortly after the Armistice, I found myself faced with choice b etween continuation of work in Washington in connection with the National Research Council, t hrough which much of our psychological military service had been organized and rendered, or r eporting for duty in the University of Minnesota. For two reasons, chiefly, I hesitated and t hen decided to resign my academic post: I wished to complete and superintend the [p. 400] pub lication of the official report of our psychological work during the War, and, picking up th e threads of my psychological past, to endeavor to find financial support for systematic util ization of the anthropoid apes in biological research. The latter interest, as one of the mos t important in my professional career, here demands brief historical comment. In the course of comparative studies of receptivity and adaptivity which I conducted or direc ted in Harvard University, and especially because of the work of my student, M. E. Haggerty , on imitative tendency in monkeys, and varied observations of my own on marmosets, monkeys , and orangutans, I had become convinced that, for certain major groups of psychobiological p roblem to whose solution I hoped to dedicate my life, the primates, and, more particularly, t he great apes, promised to be supremely and perhaps also uniquely serviceable. My convictio n found expression in a plan of action which I formulated for publication as early as 1916.[4 ] Following the publication of this plan several offers of assistance came to me, but no on e of them could be safely accepted because I was not financially independent and thus able t o give my time to the project without compensation. From 1917 to 1919 my efforts to finance s uitable laboratories were necessarily in abeyance, but my dream recurred with increased vivid ness and compelling power when the war clouds vanished. So it happened that I was ready and e ager to serve the National Research Council as chairman of one of its divisions, in part beca use the connection enabled me to remain in Washington where conditions seemed peculiarly favo rable for the promotion of my pet project. When I originally decided to stay in Washington instead of going to the University of Minneso ta, I supposed that it would be for only one or two years, for I was optimistic that within t hat period I should succeed in arranging to go forward with my research. But it was not so. D isappointments succeeded one another as in the Army, and the period stretched to five years b efore I escaped to more congenial activities. In the meantime my personal research was almos t wholly in abeyance and my only noteworthy service to my particular branch of science was th e organization and facilitation of research in problems having to do with aspects of sex an d human migrations. This work was done primarily through the agency of committees. I initiate d and for more than two years served as Chairman of the Com-[p. 401]mittee on Scientific Prob lems of Human Migration of the National Research Council,[5] and simultaneously gave much o f my time to the Chairmanship of the Council's Committee for Research in Problems of Sex. Dur ing my association with these committees we were able to secure, through the National Researc h Council for the support of our programs of research, sums aggregating eight hundred thousan d dollars. That our promotional endeavors were fruitful is convincingly established by the co ntent of scores of reports which have been published by cooperating investigators. Although i t was far enough from my primary interest and desire, I nevertheless took great satisfactio n in this promotional work, and I even dared to hope that the committee method as we develope d it might become so well established as to continue in use. In this, the migrations organiza tion proved disappointing, whereas that for the study of problems of sex has continued with i ncreasing usefulness to the date of writing. As I reflect on my experiences I realize that personal relations during my sojourn in Washing ton were far too significant professionally to be ignored. My period of military service wa s slightly less than two years. The National Research Council elected me to membership in 191 7 and for several years I served that organization in various capacities. Among the many deli ghtful and professionally invaluable acquaintances and friendships which came to me during se ven years' residence in Washington, I mention the following because of their pre-eminently gr eat influence on my professional career: with George E. Hale, astronomer, the boldly imaginat ive and constructive genius of American science; with John C. Merriam, paleontologist, wise , far-sighted organizer and director of research; with Raymond Dodge, physiological psycholog ist, gifted in methodological inventiveness, friendship, and loyalty; with Clarence E. McClun g, zoologist, socially minded, devoted investigator and leader in the organization of researc h; with Victor C. Vaughan, bacteriologist-physician, beloved and widely influential teacher , investigator, friend; with William H. Welch, pathologist, fount of wisdom, adviser of unnum bered thousands of medical students, colleagues, and friends.[p. 402] As, earlier in life, it was my good fortune in Harvard University to be intimately associate d with men of genius in scholarship and in the art of living, so somewhat later I enjoyed i n Washington the incomparable advantages of working with men such as I have named, of wider a nd different experience, more thorough scholarship, more varied insights, and better intellec ts than my own. One's professional achievements may not be understood if such aspects of soci al environment as these are overlooked. In the spring of 1924, seven years after I left Harvard to enter the Army, I was enabled to r eturn to my professional career by appointment to a professorship in the Institute of Psychol ogy of Yale University. This research position I accepted with the understanding that I shoul d be free to devote myself to comparative psychobiology and to promote, as might prove practi cable, achievement of facilities for the scientific utilization of anthropoid subjects. The a greement was for a term of five years. Although it did not provide immediately precisely th e type of establishment and equipment which I had long desired and labored to bring into exis tence, it did supply an institutional connection which, largely because of the sympathetic in terest and professional knowledge of President James R. Angell, promised to be incomparably u seful. Turning immediately from my administrative and promotional activities in the National Researc h Council, I devoted the summer of 1924 to anthropoid research in Havana, Cuba, where, thank s to the generosity of Seänora Rosalia Abreu, and with the cooperation of the Carnegie Institu tion of Washington, I was able to observe a large colony of primates. On returning from Cuba , I took up residence in New Haven. Progress has been rapid in several lines of endeavor during the five years which I have spen t in Yale University. Signally important for the realization of my plans are the following ac hievements: (1) The establishment in New Haven of a special laboratory for psychobiological s tudy of primates; (2) completion of an inclusive survey of the naturalistic and experimenta l literature of anthropoid life, preparation of an informational catalogue, abstracts, and in dices, and the publication of the source book for investigators previously mentioned as The G reat Apes; (3) supplementation of the New Haven primate laboratory by establishment near Jack sonville, Florida, of a subtropical anthropoid station in which subjects may be bred and obse rved; (4) perfecting of arrangements for systematic natural-[p. 403]istic study of the chimpa nzee and gorilla in Africa; (5) preparation and publication of a program of psychobiologica l research with anthropoid subjects; and, finally, (6) formulation of plans for a departmen t of comparative psychobiology in Yale University which shall include the existing primate la boratory and be conducted in conjunction with, and as the academic headquarters of, the Flori da station. Throughout this period of continuous intense activity I have endeavored to prepare the way fo r effective use of anthropoid apes and other primates in the solution of assemblages of probl ems which include the psychobiological, physiological, psychopathological, anthropological, a nd sociological. Always the ape has been thought of as means to an end: namely, the solutio n of important problems which may not readily be approached initially by aid of human subject s. Despite considerable contributions of fact, this section of my professional life may bes t be characterized as one of systematic preparation for work which doubtless will engage man y investigators over an indefinite period. In 1929, after fifteen years of persistent effort, the provision for anthropoid research whic h I first proposed and urgently recommended in 1916 finally was achieved. Above I have referr ed to this consummation of my efforts as the establishment of special primate or anthropoid l aboratories and station. Not even the difficulties and discouragements of psychological milit ary service equaled those which at one time or another confronted me in my attempts to secur e suitable provision for study of the anthropoid apes. Visionary, impracticable, promising sl ight returns, too difficult of realization, impossible, are some of the unfavorable character izations offered as objections to investment in the plan. To have succeeded after so long a p eriod of endeavor is heartening indeed. It renews and redoubles my faith in both plans and ob jectives and my desire to press forward. As I write these words (September, 1929) I am on an extended tour of those foreign laboratori es whose research equipment, personnel, and publications bear obviously important relations t o the psychobiological work which I have projected. I have visited several institutions and c onferred with many colleagues in Europe and am now homeward bound from the African laboratori es of the Pasteur Institute at Kindia, French Guinea, which some eight years ago were establi shed for utilization of the chimpanzee and other African primates in the investigation of pro blems of disease. Few experiences [p. 404] are more inspiring than discovery or rediscovery o f the fact that scientific interest, activity, and sympathetic appreciation recognize no geog raphical, national, or racial limitations. My immediate work and my plans for the future find appropriate setting in the recently establ ished Institute of Human Relations of Yale University, in which the former Institute of Psych ology has been incorporated, and in the Human Welfare Center of which the Institute is an imp ortant part.[6] I firmly believe today, as ever, that comparative method and infrahuman organ isms may and will be made to contribute increasingly and importantly to the solution of a mul titude of pressing human problems. I believe also in the logic and fitness of establishing la boratories of comparative psychobiology in conjunction with those of physiology in a great ce nter for research in social biology, and as supplementary to the appropriate special establis hments for human psychology, psychotechnology, and the various social sciences. Such value as this account of my professional life may have for the reader, aside from the sa tisfaction of his legitimate curiosity, is more likely to come from analysis and revelation o f character, motives, and methods, than from simple record of achievements or failures. Thi s assumption is my excuse for concluding with an attempt at revelation and appraisal which, i f not complete and adequate, is at least honest. Physically handicapped from my seventh year by scarlet fever, I have had to conserve my stren gth and act circumspectly in order to work continuously and efficiently. Probably this explai ns why intellectual and especially professional satisfactions have come to dominate over phys ical pleasures. Endowed with a mentality in many respects ordinary, I have always had the adv antage of a few wholly extraordinary abilities. Love of work and the power to tap new reservo irs of energy seem to have been paternal heritages which the circumstances of my life greatl y strengthened. From childhood I have been able to work easily, effectively, and joyously, ev en when associates whom I considered my superiors physically and intellectually faltered or f ailed. This I attribute more largely to exceptional planfulness, persistence, sustained inter est, and abiding faith in the values [p. 405] of my objectives, than to unusual intellectua l gifts or acquisitions. My love of planning and a degree of prophetic insight therein, whic h sometimes seems to approach genius, have, I suspect, more than compensated in my profession al life for relatively poor memory, a degree of inaptitude for the acquisition of languages w hich, to the amusement of my family, I often refer to as linguistic idiocy, and almost comple te lack of power of artistic expression either graphically or vocally. As I view my life in retrospect, its professional achievements, and especially its originalit y, constructivity, and fruitfulness, which many of my colleagues characterize as exceptional , are attributable primarily to the habit of planning with care, foresight, and acquired skil l whatever I propose to undertake, to steady unflagging interest and constancy of purpose, an d, finally, to persistence which is slow alike to yield to discouragement or to admit failure . At the age of fifty-three, and though deriving from long-lived stock, I cannot say, as did m y paternal grandfather in his sixties, that I have never known fatigue. Instead, it is wha t I most often have had to work against. Reputed among my intimate friends and my family to b e a hard worker, I have never been able to accept the fact, for during most of my years of in tense professional activity I have worked not more than eight in each twenty-four hours. It i s true, however, that during hours of application my concentration usually is intense and m y efficiency relatively high. That the chief if not the only secret of my professional progre ss is hard work finds illustrative support in my ability to use my native tongue. Not infrequ ently, when I speak to professional friends of my joy in writing, they voice either surpris e or envy. I think I enjoy composition almost as much as I do inventing, planning, or perfect ing apparatus and methods or the act of observation, but I cannot discover in my present meas ure of ability unusual native or inborn gift. To me it seems instead the product of ceaseles s practice from youth to the present moment. It is said that I have published much, perhaps i t might be said too much, but nevertheless of what I have written during the last thirty year s I estimate that barely one-tenth has been published. Letter writing has, I am sure, immense ly increased my facility in expression. If relieved of the irksomeness of making a multiplici ty of symbols, I usually would rather write to a friend than eat my dinner! Aside from the improving influence of practice in writing, I attribute my power of verbal exp ression to systematic use of the diction-[p. 406]ary early and late, with resultant growth o f vocabulary and increase in the precision of use of words. As a boy of twelve I carried in m y pocket a handy English dictionary which I consulted on opportunity during the day's farm wo rk. Often in later years I have wondered whose suggestion led me to this method of self-impro vement. Were I required to single out the one characteristic which, above all others, has influence d my professional career it would have to be planfulness. Whenever I have had to compete wit h my fellows I have succeeded, if at all, by prophetic planning rather than by greater activi ty or longer effort. The purity of my joy in creative effort -- it may as appropriately be ca lled play as work -- probably is due chiefly to self-determination, for more often than no t I have followed freely and consistently my judgments, plans, preferences, and desires, inst ead of another's. Whether it be a merit or a shortcoming, I am not a good follower. It cramp s my dominant trait, planfulness, and reduces me to a species of intellectual slavery. The lo w levels in my career are due to inhibition of initiation through limitation of self-determin ation, and, correlatively, the high levels to large freedom for planning and achievement. Looking backward over thirty years of diligent labor and abundant intellectual, social, and m aterial rewards, I am impelled to view all as preparation for the future. It is as if I wer e now on the threshold of a great undertaking which from the first was dimly envisaged and la ter planned for with increasing definiteness and assurance. Whether in this characterizatio n of my past and prophecy for my future I am substantially correct, time will reveal. As ever , I am optimistic and determined. The prospect is alluring, for, as never before, and in a me asure beyond my hopes, it promises the fulfilment of my persistent dream for the progress o f comparative psychobiology and the enhancement of its values to mankind through the wise uti lization of anthropoid apes and other primates as subjects of experimental inquiry. My professional self and the program of research which has become identified with that self a re parts of a movement which will dominate the twentieth century, the socializing of biology . In this great movement, as in the problems which must be solved and the practical service s rendered for its facilitation, I am single-mindedly and intensely interested. As a rule rem ote or inclusive objectives are hidden or obscured by a multiplicity of immediate demands an d responsibilities. Therefore, I have presumed to point a goal toward [p. 407] which all mank ind is struggling and to claim it as my own. It should not be difficult to merge the self wit h such a goal or to lose one's life completely in its quest. It is ungracious to preach to one's professional colleagues. Here they should stop. Only thos e whose careers are in prospect may safely continue! The wisdom which has come to me from vic issitudes and achievements finds expression thus: to recognize and accept one's limitations c heerfully, bravely, but also intelligently; to choose as vocation, and to render service thro ugh, work for which one is well fitted by nature and acquisition, and, in so doing, to utiliz e one's special abilities to the utmost. This is the best recipe I have discovered for socia l usefulness and for personal happiness. I have done scant justice to my creditors in this brief human document. What throughout I hav e referred to as such actually is not mine. More truly and largely it belongs to those whos e work throughout the ages prepared the way for my constructive efforts and to those also wh o have labored for and with me as teachers, pupils, assistants, colleagues. In contemplatio n of my debts, I stand humble and reluctant to use the personal pronoun, for the professiona l strivings and achievements which I have recorded are ours and thine even more than mine. Th is is my inadequate acknowledgment to those who have gone before and to those who have person ally companioned, guided, enlightened, and inspired me. Notes [1] Yerkes and Carr (paternal); Carrell and Addis (maternal). [2] Doctor Southard died February 8, 1920. [3] Report of the Psychology Committee of the National Research Council. Psychol. Rev., 1919 , 26, 83-149. Psychology in relation to the war. Psychol. Rev., 1918, 25, 85-115. The measure ment and utilization of brain power in the army. Science 1919, 44, 221-226, 251-259. Yerkes, R. M., and Yoakum, C. S. Army mental tests. New York: Holt, 1920. Pp. 303. Cobb, M. V., and Yerkes, R. M. Intellectual and educational status of the medical professio n as represented in the United States Army. Bull. Nat. Res. Council, 1921, 1, 457-532. The personnel system of the United States Army. Vol. 1. History of the personnel system; Vol . 2. The personnel manual. Published by the War Department, Washington, D. C., 1919. Psychological examining in the United States Army. Mem. Nat. Acad. Sci., 1921, 15 (Official r eport). [4] See "Provision for the study of monkeys and apes," Science, 1916, 43, 231-234. [5] Yerkes, R. M. The work of the Committee on Scientific Problems of Human Migration. Reprin t and Circular Series of the National Research Council, 1924, No. 58. Wissler, C. Final report of the Committee on Scientific Problems of Human Migration. Reprin t and Circular Series of the National Research Council, 1929. No. 87. [6] Since this was written two years ago. the plan of organization has been altered. My wor k is now administratively a section of the Department of Physiology of the School of Medicine , Yale University, and I am in charge of the Laboratories of Comparative Psychobiology.

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