Chapter 7: In which Elissa gets her M.A.

It has been brought to my attention that I’ve been remiss in updating my adoring public on important life events. I hereby repent in dust and ashes and officially announce that I have completed my M.A.!

I successfully defended my master’s thesis in December and was most gratified by the positive reception I received from my thesis committee—they approved it with no revisions and even nominated it for a university thesis award! As far as statistics go, the thesis is called Eleanor Gibson and the Visual Cliff Myth: The Biography of a Scientific Object, is 151 pages long, and has 166 separate references. Whew! I don’t think it’s my best writing ever, and so don’t feel the fierce pride that I often do for my writing, however it represents a huge expenditure of time and effort. As you can imagine, I’m quite relieved and happy to have it finally finished.

What’s next for me? Well, as it turns out completing the thesis doesn’t portend huge life changes: I will stay on at York and complete my Ph.D., so about 3-4 years more. I’m happy about this, as I have gotten established in the program, have a church that I love, and feel at home in Toronto now. As for what’s next in terms of academic projects (i.e., for my dissertation.), I’m thinking I will probably leave Eleanor Gibson and her visual cliff behind and write on Milicent Shinn.

_____________

Eleanor J. Gibson _____________________Milicent Shinn

(1910-2002) _______________________ (1858-1940)

Milicent Shinn was a psychologist from California who published The Biography of a Baby in 1900, the first systematic observation of a baby’s early years conducted in America. Like my thesis, this (potential) dissertation project focuses on a woman psychologist who did developmental psychology, but I expect that, also like my thesis, Shinn’s biographical details will provide an interesting point of departure for investigating larger psychological and historical questions.

I am somewhat bemused to be choosing another developmental psychology topic, since I did rather poorly in my undergraduate developmental psychology class, and didn’t particularly like the subject matter (these two tend to go together in my experience). But it seems to have grown on me, and then again, who doesn’t like babies? If you need convincing of the charm of babies, just watch this trailer:

Eleanor Gibson photo credit: Dr. James Maas, Cornell University.

What I did on my summer vacation

the visual cliff experiment,

Sadly, it's only two minutes long and so doesn't show rats and chickens and goats being tested on the visual cliff like the complete version does, but at least you can get an idea what the apparatus looks like. If you really want to know how more about Eleanor Gibson or the visual cliff here's a fairly informative obituary and an online reprint of the original 1960 Scientific American article which first publicized the results of the study. Oh, and you can also look at some funny pictures of pigs and babies and goats on the cliff which were taken for an article in Life Magazine (click on any of the 'Related Images' to see the other pictures).

Two Love Stories

I read the following at an arts event at my church focused on the topic of Love.

They met on a ferry returning to Toronto from Niagara. Jonathan had just been to a Bible conference at Niagara-on-the-Lake; Rosalind been on a picnic with friends. A mutual friend introduced them. Rosalind was initially unimpressed by Jonathan’s rather shabby appearance, but intrigued by his enthusiasm. He was a student at Knox College involved in ministries all over Toronto; she was a talented artist in the final year of an art program.
They met again at Toronto Mission Union, where Jonathan regularly preached, one evening when Rosalind agreed to serve as the accompanist for a service. Rosalind took this opportunity to check out Jonathan’s Bible, which he had left on a chair near her. Finding the book marked all the way through and worn nearly to shreds, she immediately decided that Jonathan was the man for her. Apparently Jonathan had similar feelings for Rosalind, since he asked her to marry him some months later. But there was a problem. Jonathan felt strongly that God had called him to China, but Rosalind had promised her late father, a famous artist, that no matter what, she would continue her artistic training in England. She decided marry Jonathan and go to China, but it meant family disapproval: her mother kicked her out of the house upon learning her plans.
And there would be other sacrifices. Shortly after their engagement Jonathan asked Rosalind if she would mind if he didn’t buy her an engagement ring—he had just bought a hundred more missionary booklets on the spiritual needs of China and he needed the money for postage to send them to churches all over Canada. Rosalind, whose family was quite well off, gulped, but agreed to forgo a ring.
They were married that fall and spent their first months together preparing to leave for China. On January 19, 1888, at Knox Presbyterian Church in Toronto, Jonathan and Rosalind Goforth dedicated their lives to God’s service in China. The huge church which could seat over one thousand (not this building, but the old Queen Street Knox building) couldn’t contain all the people who showed up for the service—Jonathan’s professors, fellow students, and the many poor people touched by his years of ministry in the East End Slums.
After a long train ride across Canada followed by a horribly rough voyage, the Goforths arrived in Shanghai, China. Rosalind, who was now pregnant, had brought several precious items with her: a self-portrait of her father and her mother’s china set, and set about making their small rented house comfortable. One night their dinner was interrupted by noise outside. Jonathan went to investigate and found that the roof of their house was on fire! After getting Rosalind to safety, Jonathan ran back into the house to see what he could save. He grabbed his study Bible, their money jar, her sewing machine and his language study notes. Rosalind’s paintings, china and their wedding gifts all burned.
This incident was echoed six years later, just before the Goforths were about to leave for home on their first furlough. A nearby river rose, covering the mission house with eight feet of water. The Goforths and their children could do nothing but wait on the roof. The only thing salvageable was their organ.
Perhaps it was just as well that they learned early to hold loosely to possessions, for one of Jonathan’s favorite evangelistic methods took a heavy toll on the family’s worldly goods. After several years of living in Chinese-style houses with dirt floors and smoky interiors, the Goforths decided to build a Western-style house. Taking advantage of the neighbors’ curiosity, the Goforths offered tours of their home, which were preceded by a sermon by Jonathan and a punctuated by a hymn played on the organ by Rosalind. As they escorted groups of 20 through the house, the tourists would inevitably take souvenirs of their visit: cutlery, pictures, combs, the children’s clothing, anything that wasn’t hidden away. For years Rosalind found herself unable to keep a pair of scissors in the house. For an extended period leading the tours took up their entire day. At the peak of this activity the Goforths counted and found that they had given tours to 1,800 men and 500 women in a single day! But it was worthwhile: their hospitality meant open doors in villages for miles around, and there were several new believers as a result of their work.
But there were more difficult things to cope with than lost scissors. Soon after their arrival in China, their first child, Gertrude, died of dysentery. She was less than a year old. Gertrude was not the only child they would bury in China. Their second born, Donald, died as the result of a fall. Florence, from meningitis, Grace from malaria and Constance from typhoid. In all, the Goforths lost five out of their eleven children in China.
And it was not only their children’s lives that were endangered by their service in China. In June of 1900, they received a letter from the American consul, telling them to flee for their lives—it was the Boxer Rebellion and Westerners all over the country were being killed. Unfortunately the letter had taken three weeks to arrive, and the escape route that the consul recommended was now cut off. The Goforths and the eight other local missionaries bid farewell to their tearful converts (who were themselves in danger of being killed), loaded their belongings into hired oxcarts, and set out west, praying that the route they had chosen was still open.
However, a week into their journey, at village where they stopped for the night an angry crowd surrounded the inn, pelting its gates with rocks. After waiting several hours for the mob to disperse, they had no choice by to move on, so, after a prayer, they loaded up the oxcarts and set out into the crowd. Rosalind held a pillow over six-month-old Wallace, attempting to protect him from the rocks showering down on them. When the crowd began to shoot the oxen, Jonathan jumped from the cart shouting “Take everything, but don’t kill!” In response he received a blow from a sword to his neck, which somehow did not decapitate him, followed by a deep cut to the back of the head that penetrated his skull. When Jonathan raised his arms to protect ward off the blows, the man with the sword stabbed him repeatedly in the forearm. Bleeding profusely, Jonathan lost consciousness.
When he regained consciousness, Jonathan saw that Rosalind and the children were still safe in the cart—the crowds had been momentarily distracted as they fought each other to loot the carts. In spite of the fact that Rosalind had lost track of three year old Ruth, at Jonathan’s insistence she quickly abandoned the cart and they fled towards a nearby village with their remaining children. Pursued by members of the mob who were still pelting them with stones, Rosalind shoved the baby into Jonathan’s arms and turned to face their attackers, saying “Kill me, but spare the children.” Taken aback by her grasp of Chinese, the men hesitated. Taking a look at Jonathan, who was covered in blood and barely able to stand, the leader of the group said “We’ve killed her husband, let her go” and they returned to robbing the carts. The Goforths were taken in by the nearby Muslim villagers, and able to recover enough to continue on their journey.
This is not nearly the end of the story of their escape from China. As they continued on they found Ruth, lost track of Paul, their 9 year old, for several days, found Paul and experienced God’s miraculous provision of a bottle of antiseptic, which was able to save Jonathan from gangrene. Several times they were stopped by angry mobs, but since all their possessions had already been stolen, they were allowed to go on their way. In one case, a group of bandits who had intended to rob them provided them with protection instead. Their story was not typical: the Boxer Rebellion killed more than 32,000 Chinese Christians and several hundred foreign missionaries, including many children.
Although the Goforths left for Canada with nothing but the clothes on their back, they returned to China as soon as the rebellion died down and continued work there for many years, converting many Chinese and sparking one of the biggest revivals in history. Finally, when Jonathan’s sight failed him and Rosalind’s ill health began to be too much for her, they returned to Canada, looking more or less as you see them here—radiant, white haired saints, glowing in the assurance of the good work well done and still burning with zeal for China. Jonathan spoke in churches around Canada, and Rosalind wrote his biography, chronicling their adventures, which is how we come to know so much about their story.
I’m not entirely sure how I feel about the Goforth’s love story, to be perfectly honest. The struggles of their life show up in their writings veiled by an enthusiastic pietism that saw life as a series of answered prayers and lessons from God. Yet I know from my grandparents’ experience on the mission field the drastic, destructive impact that these trials can have on a family, and on a couple. The Goforth’s cute, chick flick-worthy love story was interrupted by God’s calling. And yet he didn’t spare them danger or sorrow, seeming more than willing to destroy his servants in fulfilling his purpose. There is something very wrong about the death of their five children, and I don’t like the ways in which Jonathan prioritized ministry above Rosalind, even though I suppose she had fair warning, since before they married, he asked her to promise that she would always allow him to put God and his work first, even above her.
Yet there is also something very right about how Jonathan and Rosalind were caught up in a greater love story, and their small love story made more glorious as a result. The story of God’s desperate love for the nameless Chinese peasant with no chance of hearing the gospel is no less beautiful than the Goforth’s love for each other, even if it is harder for us to grasp. The lives of Jonathan and Rosalind Goforth, for whom this hall is named, offer us a glimpse of the strange and wonderful consequences of the collision of human and divine love.
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Photos:
1) A typical ferry of the time.
2) Icon dedicated to the Chinese Christians killed in the Boxer rebellion.
3) The Goforths circa 1935. Courtesy Wheaton College.

Bibliographical Sources:
Benge, Janet & Geoff. (2001). Jonathan Goforth: An Open Door in China. Seattle: YWAM Publishing.
Worldwide Missions Missionary Biographies. Rosalind Goforth (taken from Goforth of China)
http://www.wholesomewords.org/missions/biomrsgoforth.html

Goforth, Rosalind. (1921). How I know God Answers Prayer: The Personal Testimony of One Lifetime. http://www.whatsaiththescripture.com/Promises/I_Know_God_Answers.html

Ghosts and Grad school

I rarely buy new CDs, generally sticking to my dear old favorites, which more often then not are classical, which limits somewhat the selection of new CDs that are relevant (how many interpretations of Bach do you actually need?). However, I have a new favorite CD! It’s is Ghosts and Spirits, by Phil Woodward, available for purchase here, or to see the lyrics or hear the music, see the CD site, here. It’s inspired by C.S. Lewis’ book The Great Divorce, and so each song corresponds to a different scene, sentiment or character in the book. For example:

• The man who refuses “bleeding charity” because he wants his good works to count for something.
• The woman who is consumed with love for her dead son, and is thus unable to accept divine love.
• The man constantly fighting the lizard on his back, who, finally surrendering the battle to another, finds the monster transformed.
• The artist who has forgotten his first love—why he began painting—and wants to paint heaven.
• The saint who, unrecognized for her simple acts on earth, is enthroned as a glorious queen in heaven.

But summarizing these more direct correspondences to book doesn’t do justice to the originality
of the lyrics. These characters, whether ghosts or spirits, merely provide the inspiration for the songs, but then are developed further and differently than in the book. Woodward ties in other Lewis references or ideas, such as one character who says about the grey town “I know it’s not good but it’s safe”, turning Lewis’s description of Aslan on its head (“Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.”).

The song that most causes me to exclaim “How true, how like life!” (to quote E. Nesbit) is one that that is only loosely inspired by the book. I don’t have any evidence for this, but I suspect this song was influenced more by The Abolition of Man, Lewis’ comment on the state of education. It’s a recitative in positively Screwtapesque tones called Thirst for Water, Inquiry for Truth. You really have to hear the intonation to really appreciate it, but here are the lyrics:

Thank God (in an abstract sense) that we’ve
Mustered up the courage to leave
The battered ranks of the naïve.
Remember that angst, that earnestness,
That intellectual distress,
That accompanied our youthfulness?
My friends, ’tis clearly a priori
That cultures espouse a meta-story
A veritable intellectual quarry
From which they draw their sense of shame,
Their paradigmatic value claims,
And their institutes of praise and blame.
But we, the academic heroes, rise
Above their existential cries
For we need no answers to be wise:
For wisdom lies neither in value nor fact,
But in modesty, honesty, courage, and tact
And in confessing what our academies have lacked,
Their myopic, close-minded approach to thought,
All the unnecessary battles they’ve fought,
And their delightfully one-sided concept of God.
So, tirelessly toil we, on their behalf
And rejoice in the day when they give even half
Of the heart we so nobly put into our craft.
And together we’ll stand, amidst a whole host
Of trivial drivel, and raise high a toast
To the death of the things that matter the most.

I reproduce the text here because it is scarily close to the attitude that I've found to be prevalent in grad school. I don’t mean to single out any of my colleagues, but I think it’s a hazard that we in history of psychology are particularly prone to. Not only can we cast ourselves as “the academic heroes” in terms of the misguided Whig history of yesteryear, but we can also do so by comparing ourselves to modern empirical psychology, which we see as still in thrall to the positivist myth.

But while presentism (dismissing the past as ignorant and regarding modern views as the correct standard for judging the past) has been at least been recognized as a hazard in history, what most worries me about this view is its relativism. For all their faults, at least historians of the past were searching for an objective truth, valued fact and had a purpose for their inquiry. I think most of my professors would argue that truth, value and morality are all constructed, products of our meta-story, the metanarrative of our culture, or perhaps our particular sub-culture (Christianity, for me, of course). What we are to do as historians is uncover the metanarratives of the past, the meaning which people constructed for their lives; we cannot judge the past by modern standards, we are not looking for any sort of objective, universal truth. I could not disagree with this view more. While I acknowledge some of the insights of postmodernism and I agree that what sense people in the past made of their lives is essential for understanding their history, I am convinced that we must be able to make judgments about the truth and falsity of their views. Just because they believed something (that the four humors controlled health, for example) does not make it “true for them”, a category above criticism. Obviously this calls for a post in its own right, and perhaps I’ll do that sometime in the future. But meanwhile check out Ghosts and Spirits and enjoy some great music!





P.S. The first image in the post is the CD cover, but the others are Great Divorce-themed images that I found on the web. The second image is from this blog where someone posted photos they took of an art show and there are several other Great Divorce-themed works there. The third is from Flicker, and is the work of an artist who has many other really nice pieces, some of them of Narnia. Both are really worth a look!