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ASE Science Practice
teaching secondary
C H E M I S T RY
Second edition
Ed i to r: K e i t h S. Ta b e r
Titles in this series:
Teaching Secondary Biology 978 1444 124316
Teaching Secondary Chemistry 978 1444 124323
Teaching Secondary Physics 978 1444 124309
The Publishers would like to thank the following for permission to reproduce copyright material:
Photo credits
p.8 Photo Researchers/Alamy; p.13 l cartela – Fotolia; p.57 Philip Johnson; p.169 l 123idees –
Fotolia, r dk/Alamy; p.190 l Andrew Lambert Photography/Science Photo Library, r Paul Straathof,
www.paulslab.com; p.191 John Oversby; p.254 Jean-Claude Revy, ISM/Science Photo Library;
p.271 John Boud/Alamy; p.354 tl Nick Biemans – Fotolia, tr Vera Kuttelvaserova – Fotolia, b
Vincent RUF – Fotolia; p.355 a Holmes Garden Photos/Alamy, b Noam Graizer/Alamy, c F1online
digitale Bildagentur GmbH/Alamy, d Bill Bachman/Alamy, e Powered by Light/Alan Spencer/Alamy.
Every effort has been made to trace all copyright holders, but if any have been inadvertently
overlooked the Publishers will be pleased to make the necessary arrangements at the first opportunity.
Although every effort has been made to ensure that website addresses are correct at time of going to
press, Hodder Education cannot be held responsible for the content of any website mentioned in this
book. It is sometimes possible to find a relocated web page by typing in the address of the home page
for a website in the URL window of your browser.
Hachette UK’s policy is to use papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made
from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to
conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.
Orders: please contact Bookpoint Ltd, 130 Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4SB. Telephone:
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© Association for Science Education 2012
First published in 2012 by
Hodder Education,
An Hachette UK Company
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
Impression number 5 4 3 2 1
Year 2016 2015 2014 2013 2012
All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, no part of this publication
may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying and recording, or held within any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publisher or under licence from the Copyright Licensing Agency
Limited. Further details of such licences (for reprographic reproduction) may be obtained from the
Copyright Licensing Agency Limited, Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS.
Cover photo © BSIP, Laurent/Science photo library
Illustrations by Tony Jones/Art Construction
Typeset in 11.5 ITC Galliard by Pantek Media, Maidstone, Kent
Printed by MPG Books, Bodmin
A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
iv
Contributors
Vicky Wong taught Science and Chemistry in the UK, Spain and
New Zealand for ten years. She was the Royal Society of Chemistry
Teacher Fellow in 2004–2005 and now works as an independent
science education consultant running training courses for teachers,
writing curriculum materials and undertaking research.
v
Introduction
Keith S. Taber
This book is part of a series of handbooks for science teachers
commissioned by the Association for Science Education. This
particular handbook is intended to support the teaching of
chemistry at secondary level (taken here as ages 11–16 years),
whether as a discrete subject or as part of a broader science course.
The book has been written with a particular awareness of the needs
of new teachers and of those teaching chemistry who would not
consider it their specialism within the sciences. However, the book
should prove to be of interest and value to anyone teaching
chemistry topics at secondary level. The book has been written by a
team of authors who collectively have a wide range of experience in
teaching chemistry, supporting and developing teachers of
chemistry, and undertaking research into teaching and learning in
chemistry topics.
It is sometimes easier to characterise something by explaining
what it is not. This book is not a chemistry textbook for teachers,
although inevitably it discusses chemistry content as part of the
process of describing and recommending approaches to teaching
the subject. There are many good chemistry books available at
various levels, and any teacher who is concerned about their
knowledge and understanding in aspects of chemistry should first
do some work to develop their own subject knowledge before
considering approaches to teaching. So-called ‘pedagogic content
knowledge’ will only be sound when we are building on subject
knowledge that is sound (else we become very effective at teaching
poor chemistry).
The handbook does not set out to act as a teaching guide for any
particular curriculum or syllabus. We intend the book to be equally
useful across different courses: whether the course is arranged as a
set of traditional topics or organised in some other way, for example
teaching concepts through the contexts of major areas of
application of chemistry such as food, transport, fabrics, etc. The
book is not tied to a particular stream or ability level of student. In
some places chapters make explicit suggestions for differentiating
between different groups of students, but you should always
consider how the advice given here can best inform the teaching of
your particular classes.
Nor does the book set out to be a manual for teaching chemistry
in the sense of providing comprehensive coverage of all content that
might potentially be included in a secondary chemistry course.
Such a manual would inevitably be both voluminous and very
quickly out of date as chemistry and chemistry teaching move on.
vi
Introduction
ix
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INTRODUCTION
x
Introduction
xi
INTRODUCTION
12 Chemistry in the
secondary curriculum
xii
Introduction
xiii
INTRODUCTION
Other resources
MM Books
The ASE Guide to Secondary Science Education (Martin Hollins,
editor) offers a broad range of advice and information for those
teaching science in secondary schools. ASE Publications.
An introduction to how students learn in chemistry and the
nature and consequences of their alternative ideas, as well as a range
of classroom resources to diagnose student ideas, can be found in
Chemical Misconceptions – Prevention, Diagnosis and Cure. Taber,
K.S. (2002). London: Royal Society of Chemistry. Volume 1:
Theoretical background; Volume 2: Classroom resources.
To explore further ideas for teaching about the nature of science,
readers might refer to the companion handbook in this series,
Teaching Secondary How Science Works. Vanessa Kind and Per
Morten Kind (2008). London: Hodder Education.
xiv
Introduction
MM Websites
An introduction to the common alternative ideas
(‘misconceptions’) that students often develop in chemistry is
provided in Kind, V. (2004). Beyond Appearances: Students’
Misconceptions about Basic Chemical Ideas (2nd edn). London: Royal
Society of Chemistry. Available at: www.rsc.org/Education/
Teachers/Resources/Books/Misconceptions.asp
The Royal Society of Chemistry provides a wide range of resources
to support chemistry teaching, which may be searched at:
www.rsc.org/learn-chemistry
Examples of how students think about and explain chemistry (and
other science) topics can be found at the ECLIPSE (Exploring
Conceptual Learning, Integration and Progression in Science
Education) project website:
www.educ.cam.ac.uk/research/projects/eclipse
A range of resources for chemistry teachers recommended by
colleagues on two email discussion lists (Chemistry-Teachers@
yahoogroups.co.uk and [email protected]) are listed at:
http://camtools.cam.ac.uk/access/wiki/site/~kst24/teaching-
secondary-chemistry-resources.html
The magazine Education in Chemistry, published by the Royal
Society of Chemistry, includes a regular feature called ‘Exhibition
Chemistry’ offering ‘ideas for chemistry demonstrations to capture
the student’s imagination’. These are accompanied by a video of the
demonstration which can be viewed on the web:
www.rsc.org/Education/EiC/topics/Exhibition_chemistry.asp
xv
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1 Key concepts in chemistry
Keith S. Taber
MM Range of moles
problems
MM Coda
MM Choosing a route
This chapter will present key ideas that will be taught and
developed through a spiral curriculum. Increasingly advanced
treatments will be revisited throughout the secondary years in
different contexts. This is important because many of the ideas met
in chemistry are abstract, unfamiliar and even counter-intuitive.
Learners therefore need time to come to terms with these ideas; to
1
key concepts in chemistry
explore them and become familiar with them. Few students will be
able to master these ideas when first meeting them, so it is
important that the ideas are carefully introduced and then later
reviewed and reinforced in a variety of contexts. Luckily, chemistry,
as a subject, supports this teaching approach as many of the key
ideas are relevant to teaching and learning across all topics. A
balance will be needed between introducing new materials and
revisiting previous teaching. It is easy to overload students’ working
memories, as they can only keep a limited amount of new
information in their minds at any time. However, effective and
meaningful learning will require students to relate teaching to their
developing understanding of the subject. The key is to recognise
that while ideas are still novel (and often somewhat strange) they
will place a demand on the learner, but if they are regularly
reinforced in various contexts, then over time these increasingly
familiar ideas will shift from being an additional load on memory
to acting as suitable support (‘scaffolding’) for new learning.
It is recommended, therefore, that after a major new idea is
introduced (the distinction between chemical substances and
mixtures of substances, say), you should look for opportunities to
review the idea as often as possible over the next few weeks and
months. Initially treat the reviews as if dealing with new material
(for some students they will be received that way) and over time
shift your approach to treating the ideas as taken for granted within
the community of the chemistry class. Seeking regular formative
feedback (‘Jilly, can you remember what we called a substance with
only one type of atom?’; ‘Vijay, could you remind the class what we
mean by a chemical reaction?’) will provide guidance on how
quickly such shifts are possible with particular classes.
Similar advice would be appropriate to many subjects, but in
chemistry we have to deal with two particular complications that
do not always apply in other subjects. As some of our key ideas are
abstract and cannot be demonstrated directly, it is difficult to
explain them clearly without reference to other equally abstract
ideas. For example, consider the idea that a chemical change
produces different chemical substances. To understand this
statement, a student would already need to have a good grasp of the
concept of chemical substances, so it would seem chemical
substance needs to be introduced first. Yet understanding a
chemical substance as something that retains its identity through
phase changes (such as ice becoming water) to some extent requires
one to already have some notion that such changes are not
considered as chemical changes. Of course, a decision has to be
made about which ideas should be considered most suitable as a
starting point, but students will not be in a position to appreciate
2
1.1 Stuff, matter, materials
MM A teaching sequence
OO Defining chemistry as a science
Definitions in science are notoriously unhelpful. They tend either to
be very vague, too exclusive (i.e. seeming to omit things that should
be included) or so technical that they are only useful to someone
who already has a good understanding of what is being defined.
3
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key concepts in chemistry
OO Substances
One of the major simplifications adopted in chemistry is to focus
on substances. This is a simplification because, in our normal
environment, few of the materials we commonly come across are
strictly ‘substances’ in the chemical sense. Figure 1.1 sets out the
relationship between some key ideas in chemistry. So where ‘matter’
is a general term for stuff, we tend to use the term ‘materials’ for
well defined samples of stuff that we can work with – glass, wood,
sodium carbonate (washing soda), poly(ethene), diamond, sea
water, paint, etc. From a technological perspective, these materials
may have a similar status (different types of stuff that can be
obtained, worked in various ways or used in different applications),
4
1.1 Stuff, matter, materials
Matter
is a general term for any stuff
MM
Materials
are well defined samples of stuff
MM
Mixtures Substances
contain several substances mixed together
MM are chemically pure samples – one type of
MM
stuff
Elements Compounds
MMare considered fundamental types of are pure substances that can be synthesised
MM
5
key concepts in chemistry
6
1.1 Stuff, matter, materials
glass rod
filter paper
salt solution
stirred
mixture of sand
sand, salt and
water water
filter funnel
salt solution
heat
Figure 1.2 Separating sand and salt – salt is recovered by evaporation after dissolving
TS Chemistry 01.03 and filtering
7
key concepts in chemistry
will not work if the sand is mixed with iron filings. Conversely,
sand can be separated from iron filings by using a magnet, but this
will not have an effect on a sand/salt mixture. Laboratory exercises
in this area can easily become somewhat artificial: for example
giving students a deliberately prepared mixture of sand and salt for
them to separate. That is different from being able to take an
unknown material, find out if it is a mixture and – if so – separate it
into its components. That was the kind of challenge faced by Marie
and Pierre Curie when they carried out their work identifying new
chemical substances (the elements radium and polonium).
8
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anti-slavery novel, it still beats with that intense life which nearly
forty years ago awoke a deep responsive thrill in the repressed heart
of the North. We are at present chiefly concerned with its immense
practical success. It was a “shot heard round the world.” Ten
thousand copies were sold in a few days; over three hundred
thousand in a year; eight power-presses were kept running day and
night to supply the continual demand. The British Museum now
contains thirty-five complete editions in English; and translations
exist in at least twenty different languages. “Never did any American
work have such success!” exclaims Mrs. Child, in one of her
enthusiastic letters.... “It has done much to command respect for the
faculties of woman.” The influences are, indeed, broad and general,
which have since that day removed all restrictions tending to impress
inferiority on the woman writer, so that the distinction of sex is lost
in the distinction of schools. Yet a special influence may be attributed
to this single marked manifestation of force, to this imposing popular
triumph. In the face of the fact that the one American book which
had stormed Europe was the work of a woman, the old tone of
patronage became ridiculous, the old sense of ordained and
inevitable weakness on the part of “the female writer” became
obsolete. Women henceforth, whatever their personal feelings in
regard to the much-discussed book, were enabled, consciously or
unconsciously, to hold the pen more firmly, to move it more freely.
In New England fiction, what a leap from the work of Miss
Sedgwick, worthy as it is, to that of Mrs. Stowe! The field whence a
few hardy growths were peeping, seems to have been overflowed by a
fertilizing river, so rich is its new yield. It is the “soul of Down-East”
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range of Mrs. Stowe’s productions. They form links, more or less
shining, between a time of confused and groping effort on the part of
women and a time of definitely directed aims, of a concentration that
has, inevitably, its own drawbacks.
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unsurpassable in their fidelity to nature, their spontaneous flow,
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suddenly flashed into sight the brilliant exotics of Harriet Prescott,
who holds among American women a position as singular as that of
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gorgeous sunset-land; we feel that the Boston Common of “Azarian”
is based upon a cloud rather than solid Yankee earth, and the author
can scarce pluck a Mayflower but it turns at her touch to something
rich and strange. Native flavor there is in some of her shorter stories,
such as “The South Breaker,” and “Knitting Sale-Socks”; but a
sudden waft of foreign spices is sure to mingle with the sea-wind or
the inland lilac-scents. “The Amber Gods” and “A Thief in the Night”
skillfully involve the reader in a dazzling web of deceptive strength.
In “Temple House,” “Two Men,” and “The Morgesons,” the
peculiarly powerful works of Mrs. Stoddard, the central figures do
not seem necessarily of any particular time or country. Their local
habitation, however, is impressively painted; with a few swift
vigorous strokes, the old coast towns spring up before us; the very
savor of the air is imparted. Minor characters strongly smack of the
soil; old Cuth, in “Two Men,” dying “silently and firmly, like a wolf”;
Elsa, in the same book. There are scenes of a superb, fierce power,—
that of the wreck in “Temple House,” for instance. The curt and
repressed style, the ironic humor of Mrs. Stoddard, serve to grapple
her work to the memory as with hooks of steel; it is as remote as
possible from the conventional notion of woman’s writing.
The old conflict between the reformer’s passion and the art-
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with but little of the artist’s restraint. Exquisitely sensitive to the
significant beauty of the world, she is no less sensitive to the appeal
of human pain. In “Hedged In” and “The Silent Partner,” in her
stories of the squalid tenement and the storm-beaten coast, her
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fallen, the toiling and the tempted. Her passionate sympathy gives
her a power of thrilling, of commanding the tribute of tears, which is
all her own. An enthusiast for womanhood, she has given us in “The
Story of Avis,” and “Dr. Zay” striking studies of complementary
themes; “Avis,” despite certain flaws of style to which objection is
trite, remaining the greater, as it is the sadder, book. All Miss
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precisely Mrs. Cooke’s New England of iron farmers and stony farms;
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intellectual region whence “Woman in the Nineteenth Century”
sprang thirty years before. No other woman, among writers who have
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inheritance of New England’s past.
The changes brought about by the influx of foreigners into the
factory towns of the East, are reflected in the pages of Miss Phelps,
particularly in “The Silent Partner.” A recent worker of the same vein
is Lillie Chace Wyman, whose short stories, collected under the
symbolic title “Poverty Grass,” are marked by sincerity and simple
power. Sarah Orne Jewett roams the old pastures, gathering many
pungent handfuls of the familiar flowers and herbs that retain for us
their homely preciousness. She is attracted also by the life of the
coast. Without vigorous movement, her sketches and stories have
always an individual, delicate picturesqueness, the quality of a small,
clear water-color. “A Country Doctor” is to be noted for its very quiet
and true presentation of a symmetrical womanhood, naturally drawn
toward the large helpfulness of professional life.
A novel which has lately aroused much discussion, the “John
Ward, Preacher,” of Margaret Deland, is, although its scene is laid in
Pennsylvania, a legitimate growth of New England in its problem and
its central character. The orthodox idea of eternal future punishment
receives a treatment somewhat similar to that applied by Miss
Phelps, in “The Gates Ajar,” to the conventional heaven. The hero
seems a revisitant Thomas Shepard, or other stern yet tender Puritan
of the past, miraculously set down in a modern environment. The
incisiveness of portions of “John Ward,” as well as the grace of its
side scenes, gives promise of even more valuable coming
contributions to American fiction, by the poet of the charming “Old
Garden.” A still more recent New England production is the book of
stories by Mary E. Wilkins, “A Humble Romance”; vigorous work,
brimful of human nature.
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misdirection of intellectual effort, which so affected the work of
Southern women in literature that for some time they produced little
of enduring value. These causes have been of late fully set forth by a
writer of the New South, Thomas Nelson Page; who, in naming the
women of Southern birth or residence most prominent as novelists
before the Civil War, places Mrs. Terhune in a class by herself. “Like
the others, she has used the Southern life as material, but has
exhibited a literary sense of far higher order, and an artistic touch.”
Mrs. Rebecca Harding Davis, a native of West Virginia, has chosen a
Pennsylvanian background for some of her best work; producing,
perhaps, nothing stronger than “Life in the Iron Mills,” published
long since in the Atlantic; a story distantly akin to those of Miss
Phelps and the author of “Poverty Grass.” The hopeless heart-hunger
of the poor has seldom been so passionately pictured. A
distinguishing characteristic of the work of Mrs. Davis is her
Browning-like insistence on the rare test-moments of life. If, as in
the complicated wartime novel “Waiting for the Verdict,”—a work of
high intention,—the characters come out startlingly well in the
sudden lights flashed upon them, the writer’s idealism is tonic and
uplifting.
It was a woman of the North who pictured, in a series of brief tales
and sketches full of insight, the desolate South at the close of the
Civil War: Constance Fenimore Woolson, the most broadly national
of our women novelists. Her feeling for local color is quick and true;
and though she has especially identified herself with the Lake
country and with Florida, one is left with the impression that her
assimilative powers would enable her to reproduce as successfully
the traits of any other quarter of the Union. Few American writers of
fiction have given evidence of such breadth, so full a sense of the
possibilities of the varied and complex life of our wide land. Robust,
capable, mature,—these seem fitting words to apply to the author of
“Anne,” of “East Angels,” of the excellent short stories in “Rodman
the Keeper.” Women have reason for pride in a representative
novelist whose genius is trained and controlled, without being tamed
or dispirited.
Similar surefootedness and mastery of means are displayed by
Mary Hallock Foote in her picturesque western stories, such as “The
Led Horse Claim: A Romance of the Silver Mines,” and “John
Bodewin’s Testimony”; in which a certain gracefulness takes the
place of the fuller warmth of Miss Woolson. One is apt to name the
two writers together, since they represent the most supple and
practiced talent just now exercised by women in the department of
fiction. Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, English by birth and
education, and influenced by the Dickens tradition, though reflecting
the tone of her environment wherever fate may lead her, touches
American literature chiefly on the Southern side, through
“Louisiana” and “Esmeralda.” Despite the ambitious character of her
novel of Washington society, “Through One Administration,” her
most durable work is either thoroughly English, or belongs to the
international school. This particular branch of fiction we cannot now
pause to note, though conscious that such books as the beautiful
“Guenn” of Blanche Willis Howard have their own distinct value.
A truly native flower, though gathered in a field so unfamiliar as to
wear a seemingly foreign charm, is Mrs. Jackson’s poetic “Ramona.”
A book instinct with passionate purpose, intensely alive, and
involving the reader in its movement, it yet contains an idyl of
singular loveliness, the perfection of which lends the force of contrast
to the pathetic close. A novel of reform, into which a great and
generous soul poured its gathered strength, it none the less possesses
artistic distinction. Something is, of course, due to the charm of
atmosphere, the beauty of the background against which the plot
naturally placed itself; more, to the trained hand, the pen pliant with
long and free exercise; most, to the poet-heart. “Ramona” stands as
the most finished, though not the most striking example, that what
American women have done notably in literature they have done
nobly.
The magazine-reading world has hardly recovered yet from its
shock of surprise, on discovering the author of “In the Tennessee
Mountains,” a book of short stories, projecting the lines on which the
writer has since advanced in “The Prophet of the Great Smoky
Mountain” and “The Despot of Broomsedge Cove.” Why did Miss
Murfree prefer to begin her literary career under the masculine name
of “Charles Egbert Craddock”? Probably for the same reason as
George Sand, George Eliot, Currer Bell; a reason stated by a stanch
advocate of woman, in words that form a convenient answer to the
common sneer. “Not because they wished to be men, but because
they wished for an unbiassed judgment as artists.” The world has
grown so much more enlightened on this point, that the biassed
critic is now the exception, and the biassed editor is a myth. The
precaution of disguise cannot much longer remain a necessity, if,
indeed, it was necessary in the case of Miss Murfree.
From whatever cause adopted, the mask was a completely
deceptive one. Mr. Craddock’s vivid portrayal of life among the
Tennessee Mountains was fairly discussed, and welcomed as a
valuable and characteristic contribution from the South; and nobody
hinted then that the subtle poetic element, and the tendency to
subordinate human interest to scenery, were indications of the
writer’s sex. The few cherishers of the fading superstition that
women are without humor, laughed heartily and unsuspiciously over
the droll situations, the quaint sayings of the mountaineers. Once
more the reductio ad absurdum has been applied to the notion of
ordained, invariable, and discernible difference between the literary
work of men and that of women. The method certainly defers to
dullness; but it also affords food for amusement to the ironically
inclined.
This review, cursory and incomplete as it is, of the chief
accomplishment of American women in native fiction, serves to
bring out the fact that they have, during the last forty years, supplied
to our literature an element of great and genuine value; and that
while their productions have of course varied in power and richness
they have steadily gained in art. How wide the gap between
“Hobomok” and “Ramona”! During the latter half of the period, the
product gives no general evidence of limitation; and the writers
would certainly be placed, except for the purposes of this article,
among their brother authors, in classes determined by method, local
background, or any other basis of arrangement which is artistic
rather than personal.
In exceptional cases, a reviewer perhaps exclaims upon certain
faults as “womanish”; but the cry is too hasty; the faults are those of
individuals, in either sex. It is possible to match them from the work
of men, and to adduce examples of women’s work entirely free from
them. Colonel Higginson has pointed out that the ivory-miniature
method in favor with some of our masculine artists is that of Jane
Austen. Wherein do Miss Sprague’s “Earnest Trifler,” or “The
Daughter of Henry Sage Rittenhouse,” display more salient
indications of sex than works of similar scope by Mr. Henry James?
“The almost entire disappearance of the distinctively woman’s
novel,”—that is, the novel designed expressly for feminine readers,
such as “The Wide, Wide World,” and “The Lamplighter,”—has lately
been commented upon. It is to be observed that this species—chiefly
produced in the past by women, as the Warner sisters, Maria S.
Cummins, Elizabeth Payson Prentiss, the excellent Miss McIntosh—
has become nearly extinct at the very time when women are
supplying a larger proportion of fiction than ever before; and,
further, that the comparatively few “domestic semi-pious” novels
very popular in late years have been of masculine production. The
original and suggestive, though perhaps at times over-subtle, work of
Mrs. Whitney, thoroughly impregnated with the New England spirit,
and portraying, with insight, various phases of girlhood, takes
another rank. Whatever may be concluded from the decadence of
fiction written of women, for women, by women, it is certainly
probable that women will remain, as a rule, the best writers for girls.
In connection with this subject must be mentioned the widely known
and appreciated stories of Louisa M. Alcott, “Little Women,” and its
successors,—which “have not only been reprinted and largely sold in
England, but also translated into several foreign languages, and thus
published with persistent success.” We are told that when “Little
Men” was issued, “its publication had to be delayed until the
publishers were prepared to fill advanced orders for fifty thousand
copies.”
A like popularity is to be noted of the spirited and artistic “Hans
Brinker, or the Silver Skates,” of Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge; which
“has had a very large circulation in America; has passed through
several editions in England; and has been published in French at
Paris, in German at Leipsic, in Russian at St. Petersburg, and in
Italian at Rome.... The crowning tribute to its excellence is its
perennial sale in Holland in a Dutch edition.” No name in our
juvenile literature so “brings a perfume in the mention” as that of
Mrs. Dodge, who for years has been as “the very pulse of the
machine” in the production of that ideal magazine for children,
which is not only an ever-new delight but a genuine educational
power.
In poetry, the abundant work of women during the last half-
century shows a development corresponding to that traced in the
field of fiction. As the flood of sentimentalism slowly receded,
hopeful signs began to appear; the rather vague tints of a bow of
poetical promise. The varying verse of Mrs. Oakes Smith, Mrs.
Kinney, Elizabeth Lloyd Howell, and Harriet Winslow Sewall,
represents, in different degrees, a general advance. The “little
vagrant pen” of Frances Sargent Osgood, as she confessed,
“wandered lightly down the paper,” but its fanciful turns had now
and then a swift, capricious grace. The poems of Sarah Helen
Whitman, belonging to the landscape school of Bryant, are of marked
value, as are also the deeply earnest productions of Mrs. Anna Lynch
Botta; which display anew distinctness of motive, possibly
attributable to the influence of Longfellow. The same influence is felt
in some of the early work of Alice Cary; whose individual strain of
melancholy melody clings to remembrance, its charm stubbornly
outliving our critical recognition of defects due, in great measure, to
over-production. Emily Judson sometimes touched finely the
familiar chords, as in the well-known poem of motherhood, “My
Bird.” The tender “Morning Glory” of Maria White Lowell, whose
poems are characterized by a delicate and childlike simplicity, will be
remembered.
In 1873 a critic not generally deemed too favorable to growths of
the present day, recorded the opinion that there was “more force and
originality,—in other words more genius,—in the living female poets
of America than in all their predecessors, from Mistress Anne
Bradstreet down. At any rate there is a wider range of thought in
their verse, and infinitely more art.” For the change first noted by
Mr. Stoddard there is no accounting; the tides of genius are
incalculable. The other gains, like those in fiction, are to be
accounted for partly by the law of evolution working through our
whole literature, by the influence of sounder models and of a truer
criticism, and by the winnowing processes of the magazines; partly
also, by the altered position and improved education of women in
general—not necessarily of the individual, since change in the
atmosphere may have important results in cases where other
conditions remain unchanged.
The poems of Mrs. Howe express true womanly aspiration, and a
high scorn of unworthiness, but their strongest characteristic is the
fervent patriotism which breathes through the famous “Battle-Hymn
of the Republic.” The clear hopeful “orchard notes” of Lucy Larcom—
it is impossible to refrain from quoting Mr. Stedman’s perfect phrase
—first heard long since, have grown more mellow with advancing
years.
The dramatic lyric took new force and naturalness in the hands of
Rose Terry Cooke, and turned fiery in those of Mrs. Stoddard; whose
contemplative poems also have an eminent sad dignity of style. The
fine-spun subjective verse of Mrs. Piatt flashes at times with felicities
as a web with dew-drops. Many names appear upon the honorable
roll: Mrs. Fields, Mrs. Spofford,—whose rich nature reveals itself in
verse as in the novel,—Mrs. Margaret J. Preston, Mrs. Mary Ashley
Townsend; Elizabeth Akers Allen, Julia C. R. Dorr, Mrs. Stowe, Mrs.
Whitney, Mrs. Dodge, Mrs. Moulton; Mrs. Thaxter, the sea’s true
lover, who has devoted herself to the faithful expression of a single
phase of natural beauty; Mrs. Mary E. Bradley, Kate Putnam Osgood,
Nora Perry, Mary N. Prescott, and Harriet McEwen Kimball; Mary
Clemmer Hudson, Margaret Sangster, Miss Bushnell, “Susan
Coolidge,” “Howard Glyndon,” “Stuart Sterne,” Charlotte Fiske
Bates, May Riley Smith, Ella Dietz, Mary Ainge De Vere, Edna Dean
Proctor, the Goodale sisters, Miss Coolbrith, Miss Shinn, “Owen
Innsley,” Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, and Alice Wellington Rollins.
There is a kind of white fire in the best of the subtle verses of “H.
H.”—a diamond light, enhanced by careful cutting. Generally
impersonal, the author’s individuality yet lives in them to an unusual
degree. We may recognize, also, in the Jewish poems of Emma
Lazarus, especially in “By the Waters of Babylon” and the powerful
fourteenth-century tragedy, “The Dance to Death,” “the precious life-
blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a
life beyond life.” The poems of Edith M. Thomas, with their exquisite
workmanship, mark the high attainment of woman in the mastery of
poetic forms, and exhale some breath of that fragrance which clings
to the work of the young Keats. Miss Hutchinson’s “Songs and
Lyrics” have also rare quality. The graceful verse of Mrs. Deland has
been quick to win the ear of the public. Louise Imogen Guiney,
sometimes straining the voice, has nevertheless contributed to the
general chorus notes of unusual fullness and strength. In other
branches of literature, to which comparatively few women have
chosen to devote themselves, an increasing thoroughness is
apparent, a growing tendency to specialism. The irresponsible
feminine free-lance, with her gay dash at all subjects, and her
alliterative pen-name dancing in every melée like a brilliant pennon,
has gone over into the more appropriate field of journalism. The
calmly adequate literary matron-of-all-work is an admirable type of
the past, no longer developed by the new conditions. The articles of
Lucy M. Mitchell on sculpture and of Mrs. Schuyler van Renssalaer
on art and architecture; the historical work of Martha J. Lamb and of
Mary L. Booth, the latter also an indefatigable translator; the studies
of Helen Campbell in social science; the translations of Harriet
Waters Preston—these few examples, given at random, are typical of
the determination and concentration of woman’s work at the present
day. We notice in each new issue of a magazine the well-known
specialists. Miss Thomas has given herself to the interpretation of
nature in prose as in verse; “Olive Thorne” Miller to the loving study
of bird-life. Mrs. Jackson, the most versatile of later writers,
possessed the rare combination of versatility and thoroughness in
such measure that we might almost copy Hartley Coleridge’s saying
of Harriet Martineau, and call her a specialist in everything; but her
name will ever be associated with the earnest presentation of the
wrongs of the Indian, as that of Emma Lazarus with the impassioned
defense of the rights of the Jew.
The just and genial Colonel Higginson expresses disappointment
that woman’s advance in literature has not been more marked since
the establishment of the women’s colleges. “It is,” he says,
“considerable and substantial; yet in view of the completeness with
which literary work is now thrown open to women, and their equality
as to pay, there is room for some surprise that it is not greater.”
The proper fruit of the women’s colleges in literature has, in fact,
not yet ripened. It may at first seem strangely delayed, yet reflection
will suggest the reasons. An unavoidable self-consciousness hampers
the first workers under a new dispensation. It might appear at a
casual glance that those released from the burden of a retarding
tradition were ready at once for the race; but in truth the weight has
only been exchanged for the lighter burden of the unfamiliar.
College-bred women of the highest type have accepted, with grave
conscientiousness, new social responsibilities as the concomitant of
their new opportunities.
“Pealing, the clock of Time
Has struck the Woman’s hour;
We hear it on our knees,”
wrote Miss Phelps for the graduates of Smith College ten years ago.
That the summons has indeed been reverently heard and faithfully
obeyed, those who have followed the work of the Association of
Collegiate Alumnæ can testify. The deed, and not the word, engages
the energy of the college woman of to-day; but as these institutions
grow into the life of our land, that life will be everywhere enriched;
and the word must follow in happy time. Individual genius for
literature is sure sooner or later to appear within the constantly
widening circle of those fairly equipped for its exercise. It would be
idle to expect that the cases in which native power and an adequate
preparation go hand in hand, will be frequent; since they are
infrequent among men. The desirable thing was, that this rare
development should be made a possibility among women. It is
possible to-day; some golden morrow will make it a reality.
VI.
WOMAN IN JOURNALISM.
BY
SUSAN E. DICKINSON.
BY
“Fifty years hence, it will be difficult to gain credit for the assertion that American women acquiesced
throughout the former half of the 19th century, in the complete monopoly of the medical profession by men,
even including midwifery, and the diseases peculiar to women. The current usage in this respect is
monstrous.”—New York Tribune, Editorial, 1853.
The history of the movement for introducing women into the full practice of the medical
profession is one of the most interesting of modern times. This movement has already
achieved much, and far more than is often supposed. Yet the interest lies even less in what
has been so far achieved, than in the opposition which has been encountered: in the nature
of this opposition; in the pretexts on which it has been sustained, and in the reasonings,
more or less disingenuous, by which it has claimed its justification. The history, therefore,
is a record not more of fact, than of opinion. And the opinions expressed have often been
so grave and solid in appearance, yet proved so frivolous and empty in view of the
subsequent event, that their history is not unworthy careful consideration among that of
other solemn follies of mankind.
In Europe, the admission of women to the profession of medicine has been widely
opposed because of disbelief in their intellectual capacity.[32] In America it is less often
permitted to doubt—out loud—the intellectual capacity of women. The controversy has
therefore been shifted to the entirely different ground of decorum.
At the very outset, however, two rival decorums confronted each other. The same
centuries of tradition which had, officially, reserved the practice of medicine for men, had
assigned to women the exclusive control of the practice of midwifery. It was assumed that
midwifery did not require the assistance of medical art,—that the woman in labor traversed
a purely physiological crisis, and required only the attendance of kindness, patience, and
native sagacity,—all obtainable without scientific knowledge, from her own sex. This being
taken for granted, the propriety of limiting such attendance to women appeared so self-
evident, that, from the beginning of the world till the eighteenth century A.D., the custom
was not seriously questioned. There is an exact parallelism between the relations of men to
midwifery and of women to medicine. The limitation of sex in each case was decided by a
tradition so immense, as to be mistaken for a divinely implanted instinct, intended by
Providence as one of the fundamental safeguards of society and of morals. In each case the
invasion by one sex of a “sphere” hitherto monopolized by the other, aroused the coarsest
antagonism of offended delicacy. In each case finally, a real basis existed for the traditional
etiquette: there was some reason for protesting against the introduction of the male
accoucheur into the lying-in room, or of the ardent young girl into the medical school. But
in each case, whatever reasons for protest existed, were outnumbered and outweighed by
others, to whose greater importance they were finally compelled to give way. Other things
being equal, it was unpleasant for a woman to be attended in the crisis of her confinement
by a man. But when the necessity for knowledge was recognized, when men became skilled
while midwives remained ignorant,—the choice was no longer possible; the greater
decorum of female midwifery was obliged to yield to the greater safety of enlightened
masculine practice. Similarly, it was occasionally unpleasant for young women students to
find themselves engaged in certain subjects of medical study together with classes of young
men. But in proportion as midwifery became enlarged by the new province of gynæcology,
did occasions multiply on which it was extremely unpleasant for non-medical women to be
medically treated by men. The difficulties of educating a relatively few women in medicine
were compelled to be accepted, in order to avert the far greater difficulties of medical
treatment for a very large number of women.
The history of medical women in the United States, to which these pages exclusively
apply, may be divided into seven periods, as follows:
First, the colonial period of exclusively female midwifery,[33] many of whose
practitioners, according to their epitaphs, are reported to have brought into the world one,
two, or even three thousand babies apiece. The Mrs. Thomas Whitmore of Marlboro,
mentioned in the note, is especially described as being “possessed of a vigorous
constitution, and frequently traveling through the woods on snow-shoes from one part of
the town to another by night and by day, to relieve the distressed.”[34]
During this period of female midwifery, the medical profession proper of the colonies
remained entirely unorganized and inarticulate.[35] Without making especial inquiry, a
superficial observer could have almost overlooked the existence of doctors, as a special
class, in the community.
There followed, however, a second period, that, namely, of the Revolution, and the years
immediately preceding and following it. During the former, physicians began to travel to
Europe for instruction. During the Revolutionary war their public services in the military
hospitals, though apparently not very useful to the sick,[36] yet served to bring the
profession, for the first time, out of obscurity; and the opportunities afforded for the
collective observation of disease on a large scale, first breathed the spirit of medical science
into the American profession. The first achievement of the new-born interest in medical art
and education was the expulsion of “females,” from even the outlying provinces of the
profession, and from their world-old traditional privileges as accoucheurs.[37] It was a
harsh return to make for the services rendered to the infant settlements by these valiant
midwives, who had been tramping through the snow by night and by day to bring into a
very cold world the citizens of the future republic![38]
Third. After this, however, came a period of reaction. In 1848, a Boston gentleman, Mr.
Samuel Gregory, began to vehemently protest against the innovation of “male midwives,”
and, opened a crusade on behalf of the women, with something of the pathetic ardor of the
Emperor Julian for a lost cause.[39] To judge by the comments of the public press, Mr.
Gregory’s protest against “man-midwifery” awoke sympathetic echoes in many quarters. At
the present day the interest in the movement thus roused, at once progressive and
reactionary, lies chiefly in the remarkable similarity between the arguments which were
then advanced against the intrusion of men into midwifery, and those which were
subsequently urged against the admission of women to medicine. Thus:
“The employment of men in midwifery practice is always grossly indelicate, often immoral, and always
constitutes a serious temptation to immorality.”—Summary of Mr. Gregory’s argument in “Man-Midwifery
Exposed,” 1848.
“I view the present practice of calling on men in ordinary births, ... as a means of sacrificing delicacy and
consequently virtue.”—Thomas Ewell, M.D., of Virginia.
“The practice (of male midwifery) is unnecessary, unnatural, and wrong,—it has an immoral tendency.”—
W. Beach, M.D., New York.
“There are many cases of practice among women ... in which the sense of propriety would decide that the
presence of a female practitioner is more desirable than that of a man.”—New York Observer, 1850.
“There are a few self-evident propositions which it would be questioning the common sense of mankind to
doubt. One is that women are by nature better fitted than men to take care of the sick and the suffering.”—
Godey’s Lady’s Book, 1850.
“The especial propriety of qualifying women to practice among children and their own sex, will be admitted
I hope by all.”—Rt. Rev. Bishop Potter, 1850.
“We have long been persuaded that both morality and decency require female practitioners of medicine.
Nature suggests it; reason approves it; religion demands it.”—Northern Christian Advocate, 1850.
“This is one of the most important projects of the day for the improvement of the condition of women.”—
Zion’s Herald, 1850.
“The employment of men as ‘midwives’ is a modern custom, and one not to be commended.”—Phil.
Saturday Post, 1850.
“To attend medical clinics in company with men, women must lay aside their modesty. There are still
enough gentlemen who would blush to expose their mothers or sisters or wives to what, before women,
would be improper and indecent.”—Letter to editor N. Y. Med. Record, 1884, by M. K. Blackwood.
“History, physiology, and the general judgment of society unite in the negative of woman’s fitness for the
medical office.”—“Woman and her Physician.” Lecture, Theoph. Parvin, Prof. Dis. Women, 1870.
“If I were to plan with malicious hate the greatest curse I could conceive for women, if I would estrange
them from the protection of women, and make them as far as possible loathsome and disgusting to man, I
would favor the so-called reform which proposed to make doctors of them.”—Editorial Buffalo Med. Journal,
1869, p. 191.
“There are free-thinkers in the medical profession as there are free-lovers in social life.... The opposition of
medical men arises because this movement outrages all their enlightened estimate of what a woman should
be. It shocks their refined appreciation of woman to see her assume to follow a profession with repulsive
details at every step, after the disgusting preliminaries have been passed.”—Sherry, Med. and Surg.
Reporter, July 6, 1867.
“It is obvious that we cannot instruct women as we do men in the science of medicine; we cannot carry
them into the dissecting room and hospital; many of our more delicate feelings, much of our refined
sensibility must be subdued before we can study medicine; in females they must be destroyed.”—Remarks on
Employment of Females as Practitioners, Boston, 1820.
“The ceremonies of graduating Miss Blackwell at Geneva may well be called a farce. I am sorry that Geneva
should be the first to commence the nefarious process of amalgamation. The profession was quite too full
before.”—Letter by D. K. to Boston Journal, Feb. 1849.
“The bare thought of married females engaging in the medical profession is palpably absurd. It carries with
it a sense of shame, vulgarity, and disgust. Nature is responsible for my unqualified opposition to educating
females for the medical profession.”—Dissert. on Female Phys. by N. Williams, M.D., read before a N. Y.
Med. Soc., June 6, 1850.
“Females are ambitious to dabble in medicine as in other matters, with a view to reorganizing society.”—
Edit. Boston Med. and Surg. Jour., 1852, p. 106.
“The serious inroads made by female physicians in obstetrical business, one of the essential branches of
income to a majority of well established practitioners, make it natural enough to inquire what course to
pursue.”—Ibid., Feb. 1853.
These parallel columns might be extended much further, did our space permit. We
cannot, however, pass by the following gem of eloquence from an English source, but
quoted in the Cincinnati Lancet and Clinic for 1881. It is from the address at the British
Medical Association by the President of that year:
“I am not over-squeamish, nor am I over-sensitive, but I almost shudder when I hear of
things that ladies now do or attempt to do. One can but blush, and feel that modesty, once
inherent in the fairest of God’s creation, is fast fading away. You gentlemen, who know the
delicacy of women’s organization,—you must know that constitutionally they are unfit for
many of the duties of either doctor or nurse.
“May not habit so change that fine organization, that sensitive nature of women, as to
render her dead to those higher feelings of love and sympathy which now make our homes
so happy, so blessed?
“Will not England’s glory fade without its modest sympathizing women, and its race of
stalwart youths and blooming maidens?
“You now, gentlemen, know my views as to the propriety of ladies becoming doctors or
nurses.”[40]
The Fourth period of woman’s medical history was initiated when Mr. Gregory,
supported by the popular enthusiasm he had aroused, succeeded in opening a School of
Medicine (so called) for women, in Nov. 1848.[41] The first term lasted three months: a
second term began the following April, 1849;—and with the announcement for the second
year it was declared that the twenty pioneer pupils had not only followed the lectures, but
“had attended above 300 midwifery cases with the most satisfactory success.”
In the prospectus issued for the second year of the school, Mr. Gregory brought forward
a new set of arguments in its support, in addition to those previously adduced. There was
then (1849) in New England, a surplus female population of 20,000 persons,—and
“hundreds of these would be willing to devote any necessary length of time to qualify
themselves for a useful, honorable, and remunerative occupation.” They could afford,
moreover, to give their services at a much cheaper rate than men, charging about a third
the ordinary fees,—thus $5 instead of $15 for attendance on a confinement case.
Thus not only would the morals of the community be preserved, but the burdens on its
purse be considerably lightened by the employment of educated women as obstetricians.
As the medical profession had just become keenly alive to the peculiarly lucrative character
of obstetrical and gynæcological practice, this suggestion that it might now profitably be
undersold naturally aroused the keenest resentment. It was soon retorted that the cheaper
practitioners were to be prepared by a system of education so cheap as to be absolutely
worthless; and unfortunately the early history of the first medical schools for women
entirely justified this accusation.
To support Mr. Gregory’s school, a Female Medical Education Society was formed in
Boston, and incorporated with a state charter. Nothing seemed at the outset fairer than the
promises of the new college,—but it had one fatal defect. There was no one connected with
it who either knew or cared what a medical education should be. It followed that, under the
name of medical education, was offered a curriculum of instruction, so ludicrously
inadequate for the purpose, as to constitute a gross usurpation of the name,—in a word, to
be an essentially dishonest affair. And still more unfortunately, the same inadequacy,
naïvely or deliberately unconscious of itself, continued in greater or less degree, to
characterize all efforts for the isolated medical education of women for the next twenty
years. This, the fourth period of their medical history,—deserves therefore to be considered
by women rather as a pre-medical or preliminary epoch; where purposes were enunciated
that were only to be fulfilled many years later.
The Gregory Medical School maintained a precarious existence until 1874, when, by an
enabling act of the Legislature, the funds were handed over to the Boston University, just
founded,—upon condition that women should be admitted to the medical department of
the latter. This condition was punctually fulfilled; women students were rendered eligible
to all departments of the new university. But as the medical school, for some reason,
became exclusively homœpathic,—the fortunes of medical women in the regular profession
were not thereby greatly advanced.[42]
Now, however, the movement for women had widened and reached Philadelphia, where
two schools were started. One of these, the Penn Medical School, ran a permanently
unenviable career of unfitness, and was finally extinguished. The other, the Woman’s
Medical College of Pennsylvania, was founded in 1850, and after a long and precarious
period of struggle, finally touched upon a solid basis of medical realities, and thence began
its prosperous modern career. In the mean time, and fortunately for the cause, a new
departure had been taken in several other directions. The Gregory School had been
founded with the avowed intention of educating women for midwives; and it did not
succeed even in this limited aim, because it was either ignorant of or indifferent to the rigid
system of education imposed, wherever, as in Europe, midwives are recognized and
educated. In America, where hostility to class distinctions is so profound as to interfere
with the recognition of even the intellectual distinctions which are alone just,—it was
probably a foregone conclusion that the various ranks in medicine which exist in European
countries would never here become officially established.[43] But a startlingly long step was
taken at a stride, when, thirty years after the pæan of victory had been sounded over the
complete suppression of female midwifes, so that not even this corner of possible medicine
might remain in possession of women,—that then, half a dozen women, unknown to each
other, and widely separated in this immense country, should appear almost simultaneously
upon the scene, and demand the opportunity to be educated as full physicians. Their
history marks a fifth period in the movement.
The first of this remarkable group of women was Harriet K. Hunt of Boston.
This lady had for several years assumed the responsibility of practicing medicine, while
yet unprovided with a medical diploma. This was reprehensible, but from a practical
standpoint, the course seems to have been justified by subsequent events. For when, in
1847, Miss Hunt requested permission to attend lectures at the Harvard Medical School,
her request was promptly refused. After the graduation of Elizabeth Blackwell at Geneva in
1849, Miss Hunt thought that the times might have become more favorable, and, in 1850,
repeated her application at Harvard. In mobile America, three years may sometimes effect
such a change in sentiment as would require three centuries in the Old World. On this
occasion, five out of the seven members of the Faculty voted “That Miss Hunt be admitted
to the lectures on the usual terms, provided that her admission be not deemed inconsistent
with the statutes.”[44] A week later, the President and Fellows of the University announced
that the statutes of the Medical School offered no obstacle to the admission of female
students to their lectures. But, on the eve of success, Miss Hunt’s cause was shipwrecked,
by collision and entanglement with that of another of the unenfranchised to privileges. At
the beginning of the session, two, and later a third, colored man, had appeared among the
students, and created by their appearance intense dissatisfaction. When, as if to crown this
outrage to gentlemanly feeling, it was announced that a woman was also about to be
admitted, the students felt that their cup of humiliation was full, and popular indignation
boiled over in a general meeting. Here resolutions were adopted, remonstrating against the
“amalgamation of sexes and races.” The compliant Faculty bowed their heads to the storm,
yielded to the students, who, though young and inexperienced, were in the majority, and
might possibly withdraw in a body to Yale,—and, to avoid the obloquy of rejecting, under
pressure, a perfectly reasonable request, advised the “female student” to withdraw her
petition. This she did; the storm subsided, and the majesty of Harvard, already endangered
by the presence of the negro, was saved from the further peril of the woman. Miss Hunt
returned to her private medical practice, which, though unsanctioned by law and
condemned by learning, was so successful that, in 1872, she celebrated her silver wedding
to it.[45]
Thus, on this first occasion, it was not a sentiment of delicacy that forbade the Harvard
students to share their privileges with a woman; but a sense of offended dignity of sex,
which distinctly allied itself with the other and equally touchy dignity of race. The odd idea
was advanced on this, as on so many other occasions, that whenever a woman should
prove herself capable of an intellectual achievement, this latter would cease to constitute
an honor for the men who had previously prized it. Hence the urgent necessity of excluding
women from all opportunity of trying.
In 1849, “Diplomas and advanced courses of study were things entirely outside the
intellectual life of women.”[46] The pioneer female colleges, the Troy Seminary and the Mt.
Holyoke school, had scarcely been founded,[47] and women everywhere received only the
most rudimentary education. On the other hand, the medical education of men, was, as
compared with the objects to be attained by it,—in about an equally rudimentary
condition. The intrinsic tests were so shifting and unreliable, the standard of attainments
so low, that it was proportionately necessary to protect the dignity of the profession by
external, superficial, and arbitrary safeguards. Of these the easiest to apply was the
distinction of sex. It was often difficult to decide, in the absence of intrinsic tests, whether
a given individual were or were not a competent physician: but it was of course always easy
to recognize that he was a man. This simple principle of distinction was adopted, therefore,
as the guiding rule in future controversies. All men, however or wherever educated, were to
be considered competent physicians, if only they chose to say so themselves. And all
women were correlatively to be declared incompetent, no matter what care they had taken
to prepare themselves. The principle was well suited to crude and uncultured societies, and
became proportionately popular.
Elizabeth and Emily Blackwell were led to the study of medicine in a different manner
than Harriet Hunt, their immediate predecessor. While still quite young girls, they were,
by the sudden death of their father, unexpectedly confronted with the necessity of
supporting not only themselves, but their mother, and a large family of younger brothers
and sisters. “Then we realized the infinite narrowness and pettiness of the avenues open to
women, and the crowds of competitors who kept each other down in the struggle. We
determined that we would endeavor to open a new door, and tread a fresh path,—rather
than push for a footing in one already filled to overflowing.”[48]
In this determination a new key-note was sounded. The Blackwells, and especially
Elizabeth, were less the associates of Harriet Hunt, and of their own immediate successors,
than the spiritual daughters of Mary Wollstonecraft, whose courageous demand for a wider
field for her sex had remained hitherto almost alone, like a voice crying in the wilderness.
They did not seek wider opportunities in order to study medicine, but they studied
medicine in order to secure wider opportunities for all women.[49]
It was by sheer force of intellect, and of the sympathetic imagination born of intellectual
perception, that Elizabeth Blackwell divined for women the suitableness of an occupation
whose practical details were, to herself, intrinsically distasteful. Among all the pioneer
group of women physicians, hers chiefly deserves to be called the Record of an Heroic Life.
For with her, the struggle with bitter and brutal prejudices in the world was not sustained
by the keen and instinctive enthusiasm for medicine, which has since carried hundreds of
women over impossibilities. Rather was the arduousness of the struggle intensified by a
passionate sensitiveness of temperament, which, under a cold exterior, rendered her
intensely alive to the hardships of the social obloquy and ostracism which she was destined
to encounter in such abundance.