I have a confession to make: I love Lewis Lapham. Yes he is often lampooned, (in particular
Slate loves to mock his
predictable pretentiousness) but I don't care. I don't mind his occasional over the top metaphor or searing indignation at the idiocy of it all: why haven't we learned this yet? Sure I often get angry too, but mostly I find his writings comforting-I like being reminded that there is a long view. I simply love history. That the same tiresome games of war and hubris are constantly replayed is certainly distressing, but it seems to me that the overall trend is clear- we are getting better. We do slowly learn even if every two steps forward are often accompanied by a huge step backwards.
So When Mr. Lapham left his perch as editor of Harper's and started
Lapham's Quarterly, I signed up immediately. Each quarterly devoted to a particular topic and includes a series of disparate historical pieces from throughout the world (and time) around that theme. The outrageously priced magazines are also beatiful, lushly printed on a heavy stock with a clean layout punctuated with tasteful maps and art. Often I admit I don't get a chance to read them all but I skim them and give a good effort (between books, friends, TPM cafe!, and working- well time is short). Maybe I am just an naive armchair wannabe, but I am fine with that. The world is more intersting, and more hopeful.
Last night I read this piece and for some reason I found it quite moving. From This quarter's issue:
Elizabeth Backwell Gains Admission. (I have chosen not to blockquote it for ease of reading)
While making applications to the different medical colleges of
Philadelphia for admission as a regular student, I enlisted the
services of my friends in the search for an alma mater. The interviews
with the various professors, though disappointing, were often amusing.
May 27
Called on Dr. Jackson (one of the oldest professors in Philadelphia), a
small, bright-faced, gray-haired man, who looked up from his newspaper
and saluted me with, "Well, what is it? What do you want?" I told him I
wanted to study medicine. He began to laugh, and asked me why. Then I
detailed my plans. He became interested, said he would not give me an
answer then--that there were great difficulties, but he did not know
that they were insurmountable; he would let me know on Monday. I came
home with a lighter heart, though I can hardly say hope. On Monday, Dr.
Jackson said he had done his best for me, but the professors were all
opposed to my entrance. Dr. Horner advised me to try the Filbert Street
and Franklin schools. A professor of Jefferson College thought it would
be impossible to study there and advised the New England schools.
June 2
Felt gloomy as thunder, trudging round to Dr. Darrach. He is the most
noncommittal man I ever saw. I harangued him, and he sat a full five
minutes without a word. I asked at last if he could give me any
encouragement.
"The subject is a novel one, madam, I have nothing to say either for
or against it; you have awakened trains of thought upon which my mind
is taking action, but I cannot express my opinion to you either one way
or another."
"Your opinion, I fear, is unfavorable."
"I did not say so. I beg you, madam, distinctly to understand that I
express no opinion one way or another; the way in which my mind acts in
this matter I do not feel at liberty to unfold."
"Shall I call on the other professors of your college?"
"I cannot take the responsibility of advising you to pursue such a course."
"Can you not grant me admittance to your lectures, as you do not feel unfavorable to my scheme?"
"I have said no such thing; whether favorable or unfavorable, I have
not expressed any opinion, and I beg leave to state clearly that the
operation of my mind in regard to this matter I do not feel at liberty
to unfold." I got up in despair, leaving his mind to take action on the
subject at his leisure.
The fear of successful rivalry which at that time often existed in
the medical mind was expressed by the dean of one of the smaller
schools, who frankly replied to the application, "You cannot expect us
to furnish you with a stick to break our heads with," so revolutionary
seemed the attempt of a woman to leave a subordinate position and seek
to obtain a complete medical education. A similarly mistaken notion of
the rapid practical success which would attend a lady doctor was shown
later by one of the professors of my medical college, who was desirous
of entering into partnership with me on condition of sharing profits
over five thousand dollars on my first year's practice.
During these fruitless efforts my kindly Quaker adviser, whose
private lectures I attended, said to me, "Elizabeth, it is of no use
trying. You cannot gain admission to these schools. You must go to
Paris and don masculine attire to gain the necessary knowledge."
Curiously enough, this suggestion of disguise made by good Dr.
Warrington was also given to me by Dr. Pankhurst, the professor of
surgery in the largest college in Philadelphia. He thoroughly approved
of a woman's gaining complete medical knowledge, told me that although
my public entrance into the classes was out of the question, if I would
assume masculine attire and enter the college, he could entirely rely
on two or three of his students to whom he should communicate my
disguise, who would watch the class and give me timely notice to
withdraw should my disguise be suspected.
But neither the advice to go to Paris nor the suggestion of disguise
tempted me for a moment. It was to my mind a moral crusade on which I
had entered, a course of justice and common sense, and it must be
pursued in the light of day, and with public sanction, in order to
accomplish its end.
The following letter to Mrs. Willard of Troy, the well-known
educationalist, describes the difficulties through which the young
student had to walk warily:
Philadelphia, May 24.
I cannot refrain from expressing my obligations to you for directing me
to the excellent Dr. Warrington. He has allowed me to visit his
patients, attend his lectures, and make use of his library, and has
spoken to more than one medical friend concerning my wishes; but with
deep regret I am obliged to say that all the information hitherto
obtained serves to show me the impossibility of accomplishing my
purpose in America. I find myself rigidly excluded from the regular
college routine, and there is no thorough course of lectures that can
supply its place. The general sentiment of the physicians is strongly
opposed to a woman's intruding herself into the profession;
consequently, it would be perhaps impossible to obtain private
instruction, but if that were possible, the enormous expense would
render it impracticable, and where the feelings of the profession are
strongly enlisted against such a scheme, the museums, libraries,
hospitals, and all similar aids would be closed against me. In view of
these and numerous other difficulties, Dr. Warrington is discouraged
and joins with his medical brethren in advising me to give up the
scheme. But a strong idea, long-cherished till it has taken deep root
in the soul and become an all-absorbing duty, cannot thus be laid
aside. I must accomplish my end. I consider it the noblest and most
useful path that I can tread, and, if one country rejects me, I will go
to another.
Through Dr. Warrington and other sources, I am informed that my plan
can be carried out in Paris, though the free government lectures
delivered by the faculty are confined to men, and a diploma is strictly
denied to a woman--even when (as in one instance, it is said) she has
gone through the course in male attire. Yet every year, thorough
courses of lectures are delivered by able physicians on every branch of
medical knowledge, to which I should be admitted without hesitation and
treated with becoming respect. The true place for study, then, seems
open to me; but here again some friendly physicians raise stronger
objections than ever. "You, a young, unmarried lady," they say, "go to
Paris, that city of fearful immorality, where every feeling will be
outraged and insult attend you at every step--where vice is the natural
atmosphere, and no young man can breathe it without being contaminated!
Impossible. You are lost if you go!"
After a short, refreshing trip with my family to the seaside, the
search was again renewed in Philadelphia. But applications made for
admission to the medical schools both of Philadelphia and of New York
were met with similarly unsuccessful results.
I therefore obtained a complete list of all the smaller schools of
the northern states, "country schools," as they were called. I examined
their prospectuses and quite at a venture sent in applications for
admission to twelve of the most promising institutions, where full
courses of instruction were given under able professors. The result was
awaited with much anxiety, as the time for the commencement of the
winter sessions was rapidly approaching. No answer came for some time.
At last, to my immense relief (though not surprise, for failure never
seemed possible), I received the following letter from the medical
department of a small university town in the western part of the state
of New York:
Geneva, October 20.
To Elizabeth Blackwell,
I am instructed by the faculty of the medical department of Geneva
University to acknowledge receipt of yours of application. A quorum of
the faculty assembled last evening for the first time during the
session, and it was thought important to submit your proposal to the
class (of students), who have had a meeting this day and acted entirely
on their own behalf, without any interference on the part of the
faculty. I send you the result of their deliberations--and need only add
that there are no fears but that you can, by judicious management, not
only disarm criticism, but elevate yourself without detracting in the
least from the dignity of the profession.
Wishing you success in your undertaking, which some may deem bold in the present state of society, I subscribe myself,
Yours respectfully,
Charles A. Lee, Dean of the Faculty
This letter enclosed the following unique and manly letter, which I
afterward copied on parchment, and esteem one of my most valued
possessions:
At a meeting of the entire medical class of Geneva Medical College,
held this day, October 20, 1847, the following resolutions were
unanimously adopted:
1. Resolved--That one of the radical principles of a
republican government is the universal education of both sexes; that to
every branch of scientific education the door should be open equally to
all; that the application of Elizabeth Blackwell to become a member of
our class meets our entire approbation; and in extending our unanimous
invitation, we pledge ourselves that no conduct of ours shall cause her
to regret her attendance at this institution.
2. Resolved--That a copy of these proceedings be signed by the chairman and transmitted to Elizabeth Blackwell.
--T. J. Stration, Chairman
With an immense sigh of relief and aspiration of profound gratitude to
Providence, I instantly accepted the invitation, and prepared for the
journey to western New York.
Leaving Philadelphia on November 4, I hastened through New York,
traveled all night, and reached the little town of Geneva at 11 P.M. on
November 6.
The next day, after a refreshing sleep, I sallied forth for an
interview with the dean of the college, enjoying the view of the
beautiful lake on which Geneva is situated, notwithstanding the cold,
drizzling, windy day. After an interview with the authorities of the
college I was duly inscribed on the list as student No. 130 in the
medical department of the Geneva University.
