Women in science: against all odds

Women in science: against all odds

Marie Curie was lone woman at 1927 congress on physics in Brussels (Public Domain)

Originally published 2 February 1987

Here’s a quiz for you: Name all the women you can think of who made an impor­tant con­tri­bu­tion to sci­ence before the year 1910.

If you named Marie Curie, award your­self three points out of a pos­si­ble 10. If you named any oth­er woman, give your­self the full 10 points.

My quiz is prompt­ed by a new book called Women in Sci­ence: Antiq­ui­ty through the Nine­teenth Cen­tu­ry, writ­ten by sci­ence his­to­ri­an Mar­i­lyn Bai­ley Ogilvie and pub­lished by the MIT Press. Ogilvie’s care­ful­ly-researched bio­graph­i­cal dic­tio­nary con­tains infor­ma­tion on 186 women sci­en­tists. It is a record that is strik­ing because of its skimpiness.

I know some­thing of the his­to­ry of sci­ence, and espe­cial­ly the his­to­ry of the phys­i­cal sci­ences. Of the 186 women list­ed in Ogilvie’s book, I rec­og­nized the names of eight. One of them, Queen Christi­na of Swe­den, was hard­ly a sci­en­tist, although a gen­er­ous patron of the arts and sci­ences of the 17th cen­tu­ry. Mary Somerville (1780 – 1872) was a bril­liant expos­i­tor of the sci­en­tif­ic ideas of oth­ers, best known for her lucid pop­u­lar­iza­tion of the celes­tial mechan­ics of the French physi­cist Laplace. Mary Anning (1799 – 1847) was an ama­teur fos­sil-hunter of Devon­shire, Britain, who in the ear­ly years of the 19th cen­tu­ry found the first com­plete skele­ton of an ichthyosaur, a ple­siosaur and a pterodactyl.

Four made mark in astronomy

Four oth­ers, Car­o­line Her­schel, Maria Mitchell, Annie Jump Can­non, and Hen­ri­et­ta Leav­itt, were astronomers. Car­o­line Her­schel (1750 – 1848) was the sis­ter of the great astronomer William Her­schel. She began as his assis­tant and went on to make impor­tant dis­cov­er­ies of her own. Maria Mitchell (1818 – 1889) learned the sci­ence of the stars from her father on Nan­tuck­et Island. She dis­cov­ered a comet in 1847, and for that achieve­ment was elect­ed the first female mem­ber of the Amer­i­can Acad­e­my of Arts and Sci­ences. Annie Jump Can­non (1863 – 1941) and Hen­ri­et­ta Leav­itt (1868 – 1921) were on the staff of the Har­vard Obser­va­to­ry. Can­non’s career involved the obser­va­tion, clas­si­fi­ca­tion, and spec­tro­scop­ic analy­sis of stars. Leav­itt stud­ied stars that vary in brightness.

And of course, there is Pol­ish physi­cist and chemist Marie Curie (1867 – 1934), who twice won the Nobel Prize for her inves­ti­ga­tions of radioac­tiv­i­ty and the dis­cov­ery of the ele­ments radi­um and polonium.

The sum total of the con­tri­bu­tion of women to sci­ence before our own cen­tu­ry is not impres­sive. What are impres­sive are the cul­tur­al bar­ri­ers that were required to be over­come if a woman was to make any con­tri­bu­tion at all. Mary Somerville’s fam­i­ly thought her sci­en­tif­ic activ­i­ties an unwom­an­ly pur­suit that might dam­age her health. Even in the case of Marie Curie, male sci­en­tists were quick — too quick — to assume that the real cre­ativ­i­ty in her sci­en­tif­ic work derived from her hus­band Pierre. The women strug­gled long and hard to be tak­en seri­ous­ly by their fam­i­lies, friends, and male colleagues.

The nature of that strug­gle was clear­ly rec­og­nized by the astronomer Maria Mitchell. After her dis­cov­ery of a comet, Mitchell went on to become pro­fes­sor of astron­o­my and direc­tor of the obser­va­to­ry at the new­ly found­ed Vas­sar Col­lege in Pough­keep­sie, New York. Her expe­ri­ences with Vas­sar stu­dents con­vinced her that women had the abil­i­ty to do first-rate sci­ence. More impor­tant than gen­der was edu­ca­tion and expec­ta­tion. In her lat­er life, Mitchell became increas­ing­ly com­mit­ted to the idea of high­er edu­ca­tion for women, and advo­cat­ed the endow­ment of wom­en’s colleges.

Unnecessary obstacles

Mitchel­l’s dream of gen­der-blind sci­ence has been long delayed. In physics, the worst case, women con­sti­tute only 3 per­cent of those hold­ing doc­tor­ates, and only 1.5 per­cent of senior fac­ul­ty posi­tions in uni­ver­si­ties grant­i­ng that degree. In the 1970s there was a dra­mat­ic rise in the num­ber of women earn­ing under­grad­u­ate degrees in sci­ence, but, except for com­put­er sci­ence and med­i­cine, that trend appears to have lev­eled off — at a lev­el well below the pro­por­tion of women in the gen­er­al population.

If women can do sci­ence, it is often asked, then where are the great female sci­en­tists? And why do women not achieve the same lev­el of suc­cess as their male col­leagues, as mea­sured, say, by the num­ber of pro­fes­sion­al pub­li­ca­tions? Per­haps hints to the answers to these ques­tions can be found in a care­ful read­ing of Ogilvie’s book. What comes across is the great love of doing sci­ence that many women have shared with men. What is also appar­ent are the for­mi­da­ble bar­ri­ers that have been thrown up against them.

Against almost insur­mount­able odds, women of ear­li­er cen­turies strug­gled to do qual­i­ty sci­ence, in iso­la­tion and with­out sup­port. The sit­u­a­tion has improved — doing sci­ence is no longer con­sid­ered dan­ger­ous to a wom­an’s health. Women have won three Nobel prizes in med­i­cine in the last 10 years, but there is still more progress required in order to achieve equal­i­ty in science.

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