Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, Vol. 52(1), 60–62 Winter 2016 View this article online at Wiley Online Library (wileyonlinelibrary.com). DOI: 10.1002/jhbs.21768
C 2015 Wiley Periodicals, Inc.
FRANZ SAMELSON AS THE GENTLE AGENT SENT TO PUNISH THE SIN OF PRIDE JOHN C. BURNHAM
The Ohio State University
Cheiron has over the years served many useful purposes, for many different people. One of the benefits as well as delights has been the mixing of disciplinary practitioners of the social and behavioral sciences with historians, to the benefit of both. And one of the great payoffs that I personally got from Cheiron was getting to know Franz Samelson. Those who might not have had the chance to encounter Samelson may be a little bemused as to why any one member might be picked out for special attention and be made the object of a special session. It would not be unreasonable to infer that the occasion was just a bunch of the older members sentimentally honoring someone everybody likes, someone who in his own way was enthusiastic and supportive of others’ work. And you all know how old people like to honor senior colleagues, in the hope that some of the honor bestowed on one will rub off on everyone who claims a bit of longevity. Franz, however, is not being honored because of back scratching or deference to seniority. Of course there are other possible explanations that may have occurred to those who have not experienced Samelson. For example, several years ago, when postmodernism was modish, the trendy move to biography and the personal might have explained such a session. But nowadays, when so many intellectual currents swirl around us in the new eclecticism, a bit more justification ought to be demanded. And I think I can answer such an inquiry—why this session?—quite directly: Samelson is important because he became a role model for so many of us and remains a role model for anyone who has the sense to pick up the obvious cue of: a session on Samelson. One of the obvious contributions of Franz Samelson to history has been his originality. He has seen what others have not seen, but once he points out what he has perceived, his insight is obvious to the rest of us. Of course not all of his contributions have been fully appreciated. His remarkably creative discernment (Samelson, 1978) of the way that psychologists turned from racial comparisons to studies of prejudice in the early 1930s is still making its way. Graham Richards (1997), for example, has built on this work to extend the history of race psychology, but it will take probably another generation before the full impact of Samelson’s work on racial prejudice is properly recognized. My own experience with Samelson may not be typical, but it is, I think, illustrative. At some point, Franz picked up on an article that I had published on the origins of behaviorism (Burnham, 1968), which had appeared in the peer-reviewed Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences in 1968. In that article, I had deviated from the then standard account of John B. Watson as founder of a school of thought and had suggested (1) Watson’s (1913) manifesto was important because of the reaction it elicited from his colleagues (the ideas he put together had been around for a while already); and (2) that behaviorism constituted a Kuhnian paradigm shift (this was long before such characterizations were commonplace). I took considerable pride— too much pride—in that article. And everyone knows what happens when the sin of pride is committed. The agent of fate in this case was Franz Samelson. Now Franz treated me with undue deference, because I was a professional historian, and I preached a lot to the psychologist practitioners who were learning to double as historians themselves. But I understood that it was not personal deference on Franz’s part so much as simply his deep customary respect for 60
THE SIN OF PRIDE
61
Franz Samelson, circa 1960
scholarship. And a few years after my article had appeared, he started writing to me about his own inquiry into the early history of behaviorism. His first tack was to ask an obvious question. Where, please, he asked me, could he find the references that would show that Watson’s manifesto had a great impact on his colleagues? Now it might be possible for the unwary to think that a standard Samelson strategy is to play dumb. Such an idea is both ungenerous and inaccurate. The Samelson mind just happens to work by going back to assumptions and questioning them. Franz was gifted with the ability to cut through common beliefs—what everyone knows is true—without falling into the folie a doubt or the paralyzing conservative skepticism of David Hume. Samelson was not content, however, with just a negative answer, that except for one striking quote from an eyewitness (Wells, 1913), I could not, in fact, show that psychologists were affected at all by Watson’s formal introduction of behaviorism. As for the eyewitness, Frederick Lyman Wells, by the way, Samelson eventually noted, “He seemed so fired up about Watson,” but why then did he not mention Watson in his 1914 paper?1 Franz then started working his way through archives across the country, pursuing the origins of behaviorism in unpublished correspondence and other materials. And I started getting letters from him reporting on his progress in uncovering how psychologists had reacted—or, in fact, not reacted—to behaviorism. In other words, how wrong I was. Here, then, was a second mark of the Samelson style: an unrelenting pursuit of evidence, and especially of hard, detailed evidence, carefully read and considered. I quote from a letter written in response to my comments on a draft of his: As to your . . . general criticism, concerning the knocking down of straw men, I do see your point; [of course he saw the point, and probably a great deal more—this was a bright guy] but I will also try to defend what I did. It was definitely not a phony straw man whom I invented to knock down. When I started out, I did expect a lot more support for Watson, and I was genuinely surprised by what I found . . . . afterwards I did not find it all that surprising any more. So much for my naivet´e. But there are, of course, other places in histories of psychology, where the impression is created that behaviorism spread like wildfire—which does not seem to have been the case, [and then he adds the whimsical doubting that has made his influence so effective] although I am still a bit unsure about what happened . . . . [In answer to a defensive suggestion of mine, Samelson 1. Samelson apparently meant 1915, not 1914. Wells (1914) had written another annual report on “Dynamic Psychology” in 1914, one that started out with a discussion of E. B. Titchener’s (1914) refutation of Watson’s manifesto, in which Wells was not convinced by Titchener. But Wells’s (1915) annual summary did not mention behaviorism or anything like it. (Both articles begin on almost the same page in their respective volumes, and so misunderstanding would be very easy.)
JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs
62
JOHN C. BURNHAM
then continued:} Obviously there must have been a good deal of internal discussion [and then in parentheses, he added:] (I would love to find some relevant archival material.) [which of course meant he had looked all over for it, and it did not exist. Then he went on:] But not too much of this discussion got into publications [a characteristic understatement] and when I looked for clear and direct effects, I was not too successful. [again, understatement, and then he added] Though I am not a behaviorist, one of the things they taught us was to look at what people do, not just listen to what they say.) Besides, one of my more presentist points . . . is that the published literature may not reflect accurately what psychologists are really concerned with. Part of the problem is, of course, that I don’t know what people meant when they used the term behaviorist; often it seems like very loose usage—most obviously so in Ruckmich’s (1916) review, when he classified papers from 1905 (!) on as behaviorist. The end of the story can be read in Samelson’s classic published papers (Samelson 1981, 1985). But I think that this letter gives a nice sample of how Franz Samelson’s continuing and direct influence has worked to upgrade the cognitive abilities of all of us and to stimulate our intellectual curiosity. I wish to make the point, then, that it is not just Samelson’s persistent, genuine, and enthusiastic intellectualism that makes him a role model. It is his ability to ask skeptical questions and to pursue difficult inquiries. This ability transcends discipline and early on impressed on me how professional identities have little to do with the ability to produce quality history. I should probably mention one other aspect of the Samelson style. His obvious fair mindedness and regard for ideas tend to dissipate personal reactions—even from those whom he is correcting. I take the liberty of quoting once again from an ancient document. This time it is my own letter to Franz recording my own reaction as I read Franz’s first paper in which he took apart, piece by piece, the evidence in the paper on behaviorism in which I had taken so much pride: “I read your paper with the most intense pleasure,” I wrote, and then I added a mischievous descriptor that I knew would tease the good Professor Samelson, “just sub-orgasmic, wiggling and chortling through the whole thing . . . . I shall always treasure the memory of my feelings while reading [your paper].” And I still treasure that memory. REFERENCES Burnham, J. C. (1968).On the origins of behaviorism. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 4, 143–151. Richards, G. (1997). “Race”, racism and psychology: Towards a reflexive history. London: Routledge. Ruckmich, C. R. (1916). The last decade of psychology in review. American Journal of Psychology, 27, 109–120. Samelson, F. (1978). From “Race Psychology” to “Studies in Prejudice”: Some observations on the thematic reversal in social psychology. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 14, 265–278. Samelson, F. (1981). Struggle for scientific authority: The reception of Watson’s behaviorism, 1913–1920. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 17, 399–425. Samelso, F. (1985).Organizing for the kingdom of behavior: Academic battles and organizational policies in the twenties. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 21, 33–47. Titchener, E. B. (1914). On “Psychology as the behaviorist views it.” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 53, 1–17. Watson, J. B. (1913). Psychology as the behaviorist views it. Psychological Review, 20, 158–177. Wells, F. L. (1913). Dynamic psychology. Psychological Bulletin, 10, 434. Wells, F. L. (1914). Dynamic psychology. Psychological Bulletin, 11, 404–405. Wells, F. L. (1915). Dynamic psychology. Psychological Bulletin, 12, 405–408.
JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs
C 2015 Wiley Periodicals, Inc.
FRANZ SAMELSON AS THE GENTLE AGENT SENT TO PUNISH THE SIN OF PRIDE JOHN C. BURNHAM
The Ohio State University
Cheiron has over the years served many useful purposes, for many different people. One of the benefits as well as delights has been the mixing of disciplinary practitioners of the social and behavioral sciences with historians, to the benefit of both. And one of the great payoffs that I personally got from Cheiron was getting to know Franz Samelson. Those who might not have had the chance to encounter Samelson may be a little bemused as to why any one member might be picked out for special attention and be made the object of a special session. It would not be unreasonable to infer that the occasion was just a bunch of the older members sentimentally honoring someone everybody likes, someone who in his own way was enthusiastic and supportive of others’ work. And you all know how old people like to honor senior colleagues, in the hope that some of the honor bestowed on one will rub off on everyone who claims a bit of longevity. Franz, however, is not being honored because of back scratching or deference to seniority. Of course there are other possible explanations that may have occurred to those who have not experienced Samelson. For example, several years ago, when postmodernism was modish, the trendy move to biography and the personal might have explained such a session. But nowadays, when so many intellectual currents swirl around us in the new eclecticism, a bit more justification ought to be demanded. And I think I can answer such an inquiry—why this session?—quite directly: Samelson is important because he became a role model for so many of us and remains a role model for anyone who has the sense to pick up the obvious cue of: a session on Samelson. One of the obvious contributions of Franz Samelson to history has been his originality. He has seen what others have not seen, but once he points out what he has perceived, his insight is obvious to the rest of us. Of course not all of his contributions have been fully appreciated. His remarkably creative discernment (Samelson, 1978) of the way that psychologists turned from racial comparisons to studies of prejudice in the early 1930s is still making its way. Graham Richards (1997), for example, has built on this work to extend the history of race psychology, but it will take probably another generation before the full impact of Samelson’s work on racial prejudice is properly recognized. My own experience with Samelson may not be typical, but it is, I think, illustrative. At some point, Franz picked up on an article that I had published on the origins of behaviorism (Burnham, 1968), which had appeared in the peer-reviewed Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences in 1968. In that article, I had deviated from the then standard account of John B. Watson as founder of a school of thought and had suggested (1) Watson’s (1913) manifesto was important because of the reaction it elicited from his colleagues (the ideas he put together had been around for a while already); and (2) that behaviorism constituted a Kuhnian paradigm shift (this was long before such characterizations were commonplace). I took considerable pride— too much pride—in that article. And everyone knows what happens when the sin of pride is committed. The agent of fate in this case was Franz Samelson. Now Franz treated me with undue deference, because I was a professional historian, and I preached a lot to the psychologist practitioners who were learning to double as historians themselves. But I understood that it was not personal deference on Franz’s part so much as simply his deep customary respect for 60
THE SIN OF PRIDE
61
Franz Samelson, circa 1960
scholarship. And a few years after my article had appeared, he started writing to me about his own inquiry into the early history of behaviorism. His first tack was to ask an obvious question. Where, please, he asked me, could he find the references that would show that Watson’s manifesto had a great impact on his colleagues? Now it might be possible for the unwary to think that a standard Samelson strategy is to play dumb. Such an idea is both ungenerous and inaccurate. The Samelson mind just happens to work by going back to assumptions and questioning them. Franz was gifted with the ability to cut through common beliefs—what everyone knows is true—without falling into the folie a doubt or the paralyzing conservative skepticism of David Hume. Samelson was not content, however, with just a negative answer, that except for one striking quote from an eyewitness (Wells, 1913), I could not, in fact, show that psychologists were affected at all by Watson’s formal introduction of behaviorism. As for the eyewitness, Frederick Lyman Wells, by the way, Samelson eventually noted, “He seemed so fired up about Watson,” but why then did he not mention Watson in his 1914 paper?1 Franz then started working his way through archives across the country, pursuing the origins of behaviorism in unpublished correspondence and other materials. And I started getting letters from him reporting on his progress in uncovering how psychologists had reacted—or, in fact, not reacted—to behaviorism. In other words, how wrong I was. Here, then, was a second mark of the Samelson style: an unrelenting pursuit of evidence, and especially of hard, detailed evidence, carefully read and considered. I quote from a letter written in response to my comments on a draft of his: As to your . . . general criticism, concerning the knocking down of straw men, I do see your point; [of course he saw the point, and probably a great deal more—this was a bright guy] but I will also try to defend what I did. It was definitely not a phony straw man whom I invented to knock down. When I started out, I did expect a lot more support for Watson, and I was genuinely surprised by what I found . . . . afterwards I did not find it all that surprising any more. So much for my naivet´e. But there are, of course, other places in histories of psychology, where the impression is created that behaviorism spread like wildfire—which does not seem to have been the case, [and then he adds the whimsical doubting that has made his influence so effective] although I am still a bit unsure about what happened . . . . [In answer to a defensive suggestion of mine, Samelson 1. Samelson apparently meant 1915, not 1914. Wells (1914) had written another annual report on “Dynamic Psychology” in 1914, one that started out with a discussion of E. B. Titchener’s (1914) refutation of Watson’s manifesto, in which Wells was not convinced by Titchener. But Wells’s (1915) annual summary did not mention behaviorism or anything like it. (Both articles begin on almost the same page in their respective volumes, and so misunderstanding would be very easy.)
JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs
62
JOHN C. BURNHAM
then continued:} Obviously there must have been a good deal of internal discussion [and then in parentheses, he added:] (I would love to find some relevant archival material.) [which of course meant he had looked all over for it, and it did not exist. Then he went on:] But not too much of this discussion got into publications [a characteristic understatement] and when I looked for clear and direct effects, I was not too successful. [again, understatement, and then he added] Though I am not a behaviorist, one of the things they taught us was to look at what people do, not just listen to what they say.) Besides, one of my more presentist points . . . is that the published literature may not reflect accurately what psychologists are really concerned with. Part of the problem is, of course, that I don’t know what people meant when they used the term behaviorist; often it seems like very loose usage—most obviously so in Ruckmich’s (1916) review, when he classified papers from 1905 (!) on as behaviorist. The end of the story can be read in Samelson’s classic published papers (Samelson 1981, 1985). But I think that this letter gives a nice sample of how Franz Samelson’s continuing and direct influence has worked to upgrade the cognitive abilities of all of us and to stimulate our intellectual curiosity. I wish to make the point, then, that it is not just Samelson’s persistent, genuine, and enthusiastic intellectualism that makes him a role model. It is his ability to ask skeptical questions and to pursue difficult inquiries. This ability transcends discipline and early on impressed on me how professional identities have little to do with the ability to produce quality history. I should probably mention one other aspect of the Samelson style. His obvious fair mindedness and regard for ideas tend to dissipate personal reactions—even from those whom he is correcting. I take the liberty of quoting once again from an ancient document. This time it is my own letter to Franz recording my own reaction as I read Franz’s first paper in which he took apart, piece by piece, the evidence in the paper on behaviorism in which I had taken so much pride: “I read your paper with the most intense pleasure,” I wrote, and then I added a mischievous descriptor that I knew would tease the good Professor Samelson, “just sub-orgasmic, wiggling and chortling through the whole thing . . . . I shall always treasure the memory of my feelings while reading [your paper].” And I still treasure that memory. REFERENCES Burnham, J. C. (1968).On the origins of behaviorism. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 4, 143–151. Richards, G. (1997). “Race”, racism and psychology: Towards a reflexive history. London: Routledge. Ruckmich, C. R. (1916). The last decade of psychology in review. American Journal of Psychology, 27, 109–120. Samelson, F. (1978). From “Race Psychology” to “Studies in Prejudice”: Some observations on the thematic reversal in social psychology. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 14, 265–278. Samelson, F. (1981). Struggle for scientific authority: The reception of Watson’s behaviorism, 1913–1920. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 17, 399–425. Samelso, F. (1985).Organizing for the kingdom of behavior: Academic battles and organizational policies in the twenties. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 21, 33–47. Titchener, E. B. (1914). On “Psychology as the behaviorist views it.” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 53, 1–17. Watson, J. B. (1913). Psychology as the behaviorist views it. Psychological Review, 20, 158–177. Wells, F. L. (1913). Dynamic psychology. Psychological Bulletin, 10, 434. Wells, F. L. (1914). Dynamic psychology. Psychological Bulletin, 11, 404–405. Wells, F. L. (1915). Dynamic psychology. Psychological Bulletin, 12, 405–408.
JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF THE BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES DOI 10.1002/jhbs
