Historical Thinking: Scale
On September 28, 1914, Reverend Dr. John Franklin Goucher left for Japan. His departure was significant enough to warrant a polite paragraph in the society section of the Washington Herald, a few sentences detailing the means of his passage, the steamship Manchuria, and destination—Yokohama and "other ports of the Far East." The article was neatly sandwiched between a piece on the Firestone Company's upcoming convention and one entitled "Modernizing The Automobile," probably forgotten by most readers within a couple minutes, perhaps recollected briefly for a conversation with a colleague in passing.
If the representation of history is truly comparable to the drawing of a map, as John Lewis Gaddis suggests in his Landscape of History (2002), then Goucher's trip marks a departure in more ways than one; it can serve as a starting point from which to explore missionary activity in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, or to go even broader, the rise of globalism, and with it a shift in human perception of the world. This point, like any other seemingly unremarkable event, is assigned significance through the manipulation of scale, audience, and level of detail—elements necessary in crafting both a historical narrative and a chart of the Japanese coastline.
If the representation of history is truly comparable to the drawing of a map, as John Lewis Gaddis suggests in his Landscape of History (2002), then Goucher's trip marks a departure in more ways than one; it can serve as a starting point from which to explore missionary activity in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, or to go even broader, the rise of globalism, and with it a shift in human perception of the world. This point, like any other seemingly unremarkable event, is assigned significance through the manipulation of scale, audience, and level of detail—elements necessary in crafting both a historical narrative and a chart of the Japanese coastline.
This is a powerful idea; history as a landscape, the historian as its cartographer.
History is the interpretation of human events in time by means of evidence left behind. Time is relatively easy to measure, if not to define; we break it up into pieces called centuries and decades, years and days, et cetera, ad infinitum. The hours, minutes, and seconds of time are like the measurements of height, width, and depth for space. However, there is another, more subjective way to organize the continuum—by dividing it into past, present, and future. Gaddis argues that the spatial equivalent of this division is a map. To use his words, "both reduce the infinitely complex to a finite, manageable frame of reference." The compression of information is his primary comparison, and it provides the necessary background for a discussion on the power of scale, or the ability to navigate time and space on both a macroscopic and microscopic level.
Let's apply this to Goucher's aforementioned departure: It is impossible to describe every single detail of a landscape in a map-- to do so would be to recreate the landscape itself. In the same way, one cannot describe all the minutiae of a historical event. For the brief narrative vignette at the beginning of this page, only a select few details are mentioned, the better to emphasize a single aspect of the event: In this case, its apparent insignificance.
Scale is hardly a new concept. Like many of the other ideas Gaddis examines, it's something historians seem to naturally grasp and utilize without ever consciously thinking about the mechanics behind their decision. The narrative vignette is one particularly recognizable instance, but adjustment of scale is a constant in historical thinking. The application of smaller events to better understanding of larger movements is an inherently scale-based process. Gaddis claims that there is another way to characterize this conception, though, just as there is another side to our awareness of time. The word he uses is expansion.
There is an understanding now that "great macro-events…can't be satisfactorily explained apart from the workings of micro-processes we've only come to understand in the last hundred years." When applied to the mapping metaphor, this is akin to zooming in or out to see the details of terrain or human development that would otherwise be invisible, but still comprise a large part of the landscape as a whole. The infrastructure, so to speak. This expansion of microscopic insight into macroscopic interpretations of the past is only possible through shifting scale. The distinction is that small events aren't just convenient ways to describe complex larger phenomena; they actually shape them.
There is an understanding now that "great macro-events…can't be satisfactorily explained apart from the workings of micro-processes we've only come to understand in the last hundred years." When applied to the mapping metaphor, this is akin to zooming in or out to see the details of terrain or human development that would otherwise be invisible, but still comprise a large part of the landscape as a whole. The infrastructure, so to speak. This expansion of microscopic insight into macroscopic interpretations of the past is only possible through shifting scale. The distinction is that small events aren't just convenient ways to describe complex larger phenomena; they actually shape them.
John Franklin Goucher was born in a small Pennsylvania town, the son of a doctor. He was raised a devout Methodist, attended Dickinson College, then married and spent several years establishing mission schools across Asia. He died a founder of the women's college in Baltimore that now bears his name, president emeritus of the American Methodist Historical Society, and honored with the Order of the Rising Sun by the emperor of Japan and the Order of Chia Ho by the president of China. 9
On September 28, 1914, he embarked on one of many trips to Japan.
On September 28, 1914, he embarked on one of many trips to Japan.
The day Goucher left for Japan is not outstanding in any respect when compared to other events of his life. However, it is one of innumerable microscopic occurrences that, when combined, create the compelling narrative we associate with him today. If used in the correct context, the seemingly mundane can illustrate change more succinctly than any grand overview of a topic. John Franklin Goucher's routine voyage overseas encapsulates the increasing popularity of international travel, and with it, greater awareness of the world as a whole and one's place in it.
Tools of Research
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Sample Transcription: John Franklin Goucher's 1897 diary
[left side] Goucher's description of TAJ MAHAL - incomparably beautiful not assertive as the Colosseum at Rome, not so suggestive of mere force as the Pyramids of Egypt, not so imposing as St. Peters nor so impressive as the columns of the Nat. Capitol or the new Library at Washington, but more pervasive in its beauty of proportion & outline than any other building I have seen. It fascinated & allured & suggest emotion leading to admiration & reverence which held one [right side] captive & made one loath to break the spell or turn away to the grosser forms of everyday life. TAJ MAHAL - Mausoleum of white marble, built by SHA JEHAN (1628-1658) at Agra, containing the tomb of 'his favorite wife' MUMTASI MAHAL and of himself. Page 2459 Funk & Wagnal Standard Dict. of the English LANG, 1914. |
Sources Consulted
Goucher, John F. John Franklin Goucher diary for 1897, 1897. Diary. From Digital Maryland, The John Franklin Goucher Papers. http://collections.digitalmaryland.org/cdm/ref/collection/gojg/id/1115 (accessed December 11, 2016).
Gaddis, John Lewis. The Landscape of History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Gaddis, John Lewis. The Landscape of History. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.