In one of Hans Andersen's fairy-tales, the emperor was exhibiting himself in splendid new raiment. But it was a hoax: the swindling tailors had provided no clothes at all; they had succeeded by black magic in imposing a belief that whoever should fail to see and adore the imperial robes was thereby betraying his own stupidity and unworthiness. All, all were taken in, by their fear and ambition, until a little child, ignoring the beauty of holiness, the sacredness of majesty, the inviolability of sovereignty, blurted out the simple truth—”the emperor is entirely without robes.” So I invite you to look with fearless candor at sundry sacred cows. They may be nothing but cunning contraptions of lath and plaster and camouflage paint. Let us candidly and naively say what we see.

As we look back 45 years to the origin of our Association, there are striking changes to be observed. The atom, then regarded as the ultimate indissoluble unit, has turned out to be complex like a solar system; its fission, whether for useful power or for the destruction of us all, has become a defiant challenge to our generation, the $64 question: Has our inventiveness in engines of destruction perilously outdistanced our power of moral growth?

Our kind of scientist observes that in our parlous political position new pathological factors are coming to light, symptoms that call for clear identification, conditions that require treatment if one is to hope for amelioration of health, peradventure for cure. We see about us not only blood, sweat, and tears—they might well inspire us to unwonted effort and more effective toil—but also corruption, gangrene.