Women Philosophers Volume II: Entering Academia in Nineteenth-Century America 9781350070875, 9781350070905, 9781350070882

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WOMEN PHILOSOPHERS VOLUME II

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM BLOOMSBURY Women Philosophers Volume I: Education and Activism in Nineteenth-Century America, Dorothy Rogers The Bloomsbury Companion to Arendt, Ed. Peter Gratton and Yasemin Sari Classical American Philosophy: Poiesis in Public, Rebecca Farinas Why Iris Murdoch Matters, Gary Browning On the Feminist Philosophy of Gillian Howie: Materialism and Mortality, Ed. Daniel Whistler and Victoria Browne

WOMEN PHILOSOPHERS VOLUME II Entering Academia in Nineteenth-Century America

DOROTHY ROGERS

BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2021 Copyright © Dorothy Rogers, 2021 Dorothy Rogers has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. vi constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover design by Charlotte Daniels Cover images: Sculpture © Olivier Duhamel Letters: Smith College Archives; Bentley Historic Library Archives; University of Chicago Special Collections; Bancroft Library Archives, University of California, Berkeley All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-1-3500-7087-5 ePDF: 978-1-3500-7088-2 eBook: 978-1-3500-7089-9 Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments  vi About the Cover  ix

1 Introduction: Women and Early Academic Philosophy in America 1 2 Institutional Strength and Support: Women at Cornell 11 3 A Window of Opportunity: Women at Michigan 99 4 Beyond Philosophy: Women at Chicago 145 5 Isolated in the Ivy League, Prestige without Support: Women at Harvard and Yale 195 6 Overcoming the Odds: Women on Their Own at Johns Hopkins, Smith, Bern, and the Sorbonne 237 7 Conclusion 291 Notes 303 References 347 Index 355

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As with any academic endeavor, there are a number of people who deserve thanks for their assistance and support of my research. I again thank my editors at Bloomsbury for their enthusiasm and helpful directives along the way. Lucy Russell provided organizational and editorial guidance throughout the writing process. Lisa Goodrum coordinated the review process and addressed technical issues. Claire Weatherhead provided direction on the permissions process. The sections on Marietta Kies and Eliza Sunderland were first published in my monograph, America’s First Women Philosophers: Transplanting Hegel, 1860– 1925 (Continuum Publishing, 2005), and appear here with relatively minor changes; they are used by permission of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc. I thank colleagues at Cornell University for readily providing me with valuable information and resources about the university in its early years. Michelle Kosch, editor of The Philosophical Review, shared information and helped make connections with Cornell graduate student, Erin Gerber. Immense thanks to Ms. Gerber for reviewing materials in advance of my visit there and devoting time to conducting research along with me in the university’s archives. Dalhousie University librarians, Geoffrey Brown and Creighton Barrett also deserve thanks for providing me with access to university catalogues and for following up to share information about Eliza Ritchie that surfaced days before I was due to deliver my manuscript to the publisher. I am grateful to Mother Miriam, CSM, of St. Mary’s Convent in Greenwich, New York, for taking time to share the information available about Grace Neal Dolson when she served at the convent. Librarians at Bentley Library, University of Michigan, were eager to follow up on previous research to be sure that there were no materials I’d missed. Many thanks to Madeleine Bradford and Diana Bachman for their assistance.

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I was delighted to receive the university’s recently compiled list of all women doctorates from the 1880s until 1950 and thank Caitlin Moriarty for providing them. Similarly, Sarah Hutcheon at Radcliffe’s Schlesinger Library was kind to send me a list of the institution’s first women doctorates between 1902 and 1930—a valuable resource. Catherine Ueckerat at the University of Chicago conducted preliminary archival searches on my behalf in the James Hayden Tufts papers and directed me to the library’s list of freelance researchers in the area. Hilary “Mac” Austin proved to be a wonderfully efficient and effective researcher, making visits to the archives on my behalf and sending top-notch photos of correspondence for my perusal. Chris Bennett and Jeanna Purses at Lake Erie College, William Garvin at Drury College, and Helen Bergamo at Wells College each were kind enough to check and double-check special collections and alumni/staff files for information about women who studied or taught at their institutions. Although no materials surfaced, I do appreciate their time and help. The late Mary Pryor at Rockford College was able to provide helpful information about its former president, Julia Gulliver. Research conducted on my behalf years ago at Wilberforce and Oberlin by Bonita Kates, at that time a staff member and student at Montclair State University, proved to be immensely helpful. I thank Ms. Kates for her time, effort, and foresight in collecting materials from the alumni files of Anna Julia Cooper, which filled in many question marks about her life and career. I appreciated the willingness of Paul Raushenbush, director of public affairs at Interfaith Youth Core and descendant of Walter Rauschenbusch, to share information with me about his great-great aunt, Emma Rauschenbusch. Our conversation reinforced my sense that her academic work deserves more attention. Again, I have received support close to home. Librarians at Montclair State have been readily available whenever a research inquiry arises: Interlibrary Loan staff have quietly but efficiently worked behind the scenes to locate even

viii Acknowledgments

the most elusive and obscure nineteenth-century texts. Catherine Baird and Siobhan McCarthy continued to help me to locate hard-to-find items and to navigate online materials when hard copies were not to be found. Colleagues at Montclair State have provided ongoing support throughout my research and writing process: Mark Clatterbuck, Maureen Corbeski, Yasir Ibrahim, Jessica Restaino, John Soboslai, Jeff Strickland, and Kate Temoney each deserve recognition for exchanging ideas and/or providing feedback. Montclair State alumna, Erica Rankin provided valuable editing and proofreading assistance and produced the index. Those closest to me also deserve recognition and thanks. My sister-inlaw, Andria Smith, was thoughtful and diligent enough to read the entire manuscript of this volume and provide expert proofreading and editorial comments. Ira L. Smith, and our daughter, Alma, have continued to support me in my research on women in philosophy and cheered me on when the task seemed endless. They were also willing to listen when my reflections on these women appeared to be endless! They were again patient when my papers and books took over territory that was not rightfully mine to take. For this and much more, they deserve my deep and sincere thanks.

ABOUT THE COVER

The book cover was designed by Charlotte Daniels, Bloomsbury Publishers. The Thinkeress is a work by sculptor Olivier Duhamel, who readily and graciously gave permission to use this image. The letter collage, as arranged by Ms. Daniels, depicts correspondence by or about women in this volume, with these key passages visible, from bottom left to right: James Creighton to Henry Norman Gardiner, recommending Grace Neal Dolson for a faculty position (April 6, 1899): “Miss Dolson is anxious to teach philosophy but the opportunities for women in this line are not very numerous. If you are interested I shall gladly write you in more detail about her work. She is a woman who will rank with Miss Calkins and Miss Washburn in ability and influence.” In Henry Norman Gardiner Papers. Used with permission from Smith College Archives. Lucinda Hinsdale Stone to James B. Angell, president of the University of Michigan, urging Eliza Sunderland’s appointment to a faculty position (October 19, 1891): “I know that Mrs. Sunderland is second only to Dr. Dewey. . . . Why should she not be an instructor in that department?”  In James B. Angell Papers. Used with permission from Bentley Historic Library Archives. Celia Parker Woolley to Harry Pratt Judson, president of the University of Chicago, objecting to racist campus housing policies (August 16, 1907): “The case of Miss [Georgiana] Simpson . . . is one which has aroused deep interest and concern. . . . We understand that your action in this matter was based upon the consideration of the feelings of southern students. We respectfully submit that nearly every colored young man and woman seeking the benefits of your institution is a ‘southern’ student, whose rights and feelings deserve equal consideration. . . . Moreover, [other white] southerners remained in the hall and expressed approval of the action of Miss Breckenridge and Dean Talbot in

x About the Cover

admitting the colored student.” In Office of the President Harper, Judson, and Burton Administrations Records 1869–1925; available online: https​://ww​w.lib​ .uchi​cago.​edu/e​ad/pd​f/ofc​presh​jb-00​41-01​3.pdf​. Used with permission from the University of Chicago special collections. Caroline Miles Hill to Eliza Sunderland, while on fellowship at Bryn Mawr (February 13, 1892): “The Prof. of Pol. Econ. is reported to have said that it is no longer a question whether women do not work better than men, but whether it does not pay better to educate them. He is the best man there is here (Giddings) and Miss Kies says he is the strongest in theory of anyone who has yet written in America.” In Eliza Read Sunderland Papers. Used with permission from Bentley Historic Library Archives. Marietta Kies to George Holmes Howison, regarding faculty positions in philosophy (June 15, 1892): “Mrs. Cheney has written to me the result of her interview with you. I had been thinking for some time that I would write to you about the matter. I very much wish that an arrangement could be made by which I could do some teaching at the University.” In George Holmes Howison Papers. Used with permission from Bancroft Library Archives, University of California, Berkeley.

1 Introduction Women and Early Academic Philosophy in America

The first volume in this pair of works on women in the history of philosophy in North America focused on women who entered philosophical discourse through education and social/political activism in the nineteenth century. The sixteen women in that volume generally studied philosophy far less formally than we do today—among fellow educators in the public schools, in parlor discussions, or in and through social/political conflict. The group under discussion in the current volume are the first women to have completed doctoral work and to teach philosophy or related disciplines at colleges and universities in the United States. The majority of them earned their degrees before 1900. At the turn of the twentieth century, the academic world was becoming more accessible to women. Prior to 1900, just over 200 women were awarded doctoral degrees in all fields—or just over 7 percent of the total doctoral degrees awarded by 1900. Twenty of these women completed doctoral degrees in philosophy proper, and twenty-seven more did so in related fields—twelve in psychology, two in sociology, five in political science, four in economics, two in religion, and two in law.1 After they earned their degrees, the majority of the women in philosophy secured full-time positions, primarily in women’s

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colleges, and became active in professional networks, like the Association of Collegiate Alumnae (now AAUW) and the American Philosophical Association (APA). In fact, several of the women in this volume were charter members of the APA: Mary Whiton Calkins (Harvard/Radcliffe, 1895), Anna Alice Cutler (Yale, 1896), Grace Neal Dolson (Cornell, 1899), Clara Hitchcock (Yale, 1900), Vida Moore (Cornell, 1900), and Ellen Bliss Talbot (Cornell, 1898).2 For the first three decades of the APA’s existence, women made up just over 10 percent of its membership. In 1918, the APA elected its first woman president. Mary Whiton Calkins was well known and well respected as chair of the department of philosophy at Wellesley College, and served well in this role. A few years later, Anna Alice Cutler was the first woman to serve on the APA’s Executive Committee. Women’s participation in the APA is more significant than it may at first appear, because membership in the organization was by invitation only at the time. This leads to another critical factor in women’s success in academic philosophy: male allies. Henry Norman Gardiner and James E. Creighton were among the founders of the APA and were highly supportive of women in the discipline—serving as thesis advisors, soliciting or reviewing work for publication, and providing referrals or recommendations for open positions. A number of male colleagues, both within academia and outside of it, were supportive in similar ways: J. G. Schurman, George S. Morris, William Torrey Harris, Thomas Davidson, George Holmes Howison, John Dewey, James Tufts, George Herbert Mead, William James, and Josiah Royce. Even with the support of male colleagues, larger social forces often shaped women’s career options. Of the twenty-five women discussed at length in this volume, the majority taught at single-sex colleges. Only five held positions at coeducational institutions: Anna Julia Cooper (Wilberforce, 1885–7; Frelinghuysen [no longer in operation], 1930–43), Marietta Kies (Butler College, 1896–9), Ella Flagg Young (Chicago, 1900–5), Eva B. Dykes (Howard, 1929–44), and Georgiana Simpson (Howard, 1931–9). With some overlap, just over half of the women in this volume held positions at women’s colleges for ten years or more. Again with some overlap, roughly a quarter of the women under



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discussion taught at secondary schools for up to ten years after completing their doctorates. Four women were unable to obtain full-time college-level positions at all, primarily due to sex-biased hiring policies, especially against married women with children: Christine Ladd-Franklin taught part-time or on a volunteer basis at Johns Hopkins and at Columbia University. Eliza Sunderland taught informal classes at the University of Michigan. Caroline Miles Hill taught and served as a principal at some fledgling private schools, volunteered at Hull House, and held a part-time librarian position at the University of Chicago. Ethel Puffer Howes does not seem to have held any full-time positions after she married. Two additional women appear to have remained outside the academic world by choice: Emma Rauschenbusch worked as a missionary, and Anna Louise Strong became a journalist and an activist. In regard to the larger social forces that influenced women’s career choices, however, we need to take a step back and ask ourselves: Who earned doctoral degrees in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries? The demographic profile of this group of women speaks volumes about gender, culture, and privilege in this era. (And, sadly, evidence points to demographic patterns being similar today.) Across academic fields, women in this era tended to be older than men when they entered graduate programs and earned their degrees. Often women’s personal circumstances or social norms led them to delay attending college or embarking on graduate study. Nine women in this volume completed their degrees before the age of thirty, but the average age at time-of-degree was thirty-five years. Six women earned their doctorates after the age of fortyfive. Interestingly enough, May Preston Slosson was the first woman to earn a doctoral degree in philosophy, in 1880, and she was one of the youngest at time-of-degree: twenty-two years old. Anna Julia Cooper was the last woman featured in this volume to earn her degree, in 1925. She was sixty-seven years old at the time. Slosson was the daughter of a white clergyman. Cooper was born into slavery. And the two were born in the same year.

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Slosson was among twenty-one women in this volume who were of European descent. Roughly two-thirds of them were from middle or upper-middle class families, with fathers who were educators, ministers, lawyers, or businessmen. Four or perhaps five of them were from poor or working-class families. Four or five more appear to have been extremely wealthy. Even geographically, there was little diversity in this group. Nine were from the northeastern United States. Nine were from the midwestern states. Only three were born in the mid-Atlantic or southern states. Two were raised in the western plains, and two were from the maritime provinces in Canada. Two were the children of immigrants. This is one of two important reasons for going beyond the confines of philosophy proper in this study: diversity. Given the barriers to higher education that were in place for white women in this period, it should come as no surprise that barriers were even greater for women of color. Based on extensive searches, it appears that the first woman with Latin American heritage to earn a doctorate in philosophy was Matilde Castro who completed her studies at the University of Chicago in 1907. The first woman of Asian descent to do so was Grace Lee Boggs over three decades later—at Bryn Mawr in 1940. The first woman of African descent to earn a doctorate in philosophy proper, Joyce Mitchell Cook, did so two decades after that—at Yale in 1965. The record is not much better among men of color. Only three African American males earned degrees in philosophy proper before 1930. If we expand to related fields—religion, sociology, and history—that number increases to only nine in the same period of time.3 I have not been able to locate documentation about other doctoral recipients who were men of color, but it seems clear that philosophy has not had the best track record in regard to cultural inclusion. In order to be inclusive as I explored the contributions of women to the development of American philosophy as it became a professional academic enterprise, I made two decisions that disrupt any neat categories of thought that might currently exist in the discipline: I extended the period under discussion from 1900 to the early 1920s, and I included women whose work



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was in “philology” and history rather than only “philosophy” proper. While doing so did not retroactively dismantle barriers to the advanced study of philosophy that so many women faced in the past, it did open a passageway in the barrier, which allows us to consider their work today. These two decisions have allowed me to include five women of color in this volume. Three of these women completed their studies at the University of Chicago: Matilde Castro, mentioned before, who earned a doctorate in philosophy in 1907; Rachel Caroline Eaton, a Native American woman who completed a doctorate in history in 1919; Georgiana Simpson, who earned a doctoral degree in German philology in 1921. Eva Dykes also studied philology, but focused on English literature, earning a degree from Radcliffe in 1921. Anna Julia Cooper completed a degree in history at the Sorbonne in 1925. The work these women produced either intersected with ideas under discussion in philosophy at the time or bring our attention to issues of importance to philosophy today. The last four contributed to laying the foundation for critical race theory to develop later in the twentieth century. They, along with Sadie Mossell (economics, Chicago, 1921) and Otelia Cromwell (literature, Yale, 1926) were the first women of color to earn doctorates in any field before 1930. I seriously considered including these two women in the volume as well. Unfortunately, Mossell produced few publications and devoted her career to practical work in economics. And the majority of Cromwell’s writings were produced in the 1930s and 1940s; thus her work took on a more modern, twentieth-century tone than the other women in this volume. Perhaps there will be an occasion to study their lives and work in a future project. Yet, even if I had been content to ignore the lack of diversity in philosophy, inclusion of these women makes sense, because disciplinary boundaries were considerably more fluid at the turn of the twentieth century than they are today. The social sciences were just emerging as independent fields of study in this period. Many women who earned doctoral degrees in “philosophy” wrote dissertations in psychology, published additional work in this newly emerging field, and were offered positions in which they taught psychology

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throughout their career. This is true of nearly half of the women who earned doctorates in philosophy from Cornell. Similarly, education/pedagogy was often central to the curriculum in philosophy departments in this period. At both long-established traditional departments, like Yale, and at new and innovative departments, like Cornell and Chicago, the study of pedagogical methods as well as courses in the history and theory of education were key features of graduate education in philosophy until roughly 1910. Among the twenty-five women discussed at some length in this volume, therefore, eight crossed today’s disciplinary boundaries in this way. This volume is arranged in clusters with each chapter focusing on women who earned degrees within a specific institution, each of which conferred doctoral degrees on three or more women. An exception is the final chapter— on women who did not have female peers at their degree-granting institution. Cornell University was the first institution to open the study of philosophy to women in 1880. Like most departments of philosophy in this era, German idealism was influential, but women at Cornell appear to have been free to explore ideas and thinkers that interested them. A total of eleven women studied philosophy at Cornell by 1900, five of whom moved into psychology or education. The remaining six women are featured in this volume: May Preston Slosson, Eliza Ritchie, Ethel Gordon Muir, Ellen Bliss Talbot, Grace Neal Dolson, and Vida Frank Moore. Their written work demonstrates that they were independent thinkers, discussing matters like aesthetics and free will, along with the ideas of Spinoza, Henry More, Nietzsche, Fichte, and Lotze. Each of these Cornell women also succeeded in obtaining teaching positions and held them for ten years or more. Three of them remained in academia throughout their careers. The next institution to produce a core group of women doctorates was the University of Michigan, in 1891 and 1892. German idealism was again a central focus, although the department also seems to have encouraged study of the history of philosophy, including American intellectual traditions. Marietta Kies, Caroline Miles Hill, and Eliza Read Sunderland completed



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doctoral studies there, and the influence of German idealism is apparent in their work—in Kies’s political theory, in Sunderland’s discussion of religious and philosophical history, and in Miles Hill’s attempt to reconcile transcendentalism and idealism. Kies and Miles Hill held faculty positions for considerable periods of time. Sunderland was in her fifties when she completed degree work and was never considered for the academic positions for which she applied. Women began studying at the University of Chicago as soon as it opened in 1892. This institution became well known for producing an “instrumentalist” school of philosophy and facilitating growth of the pragmatist tradition. At this early stage in its history, pedagogy and psychology were also important features of the curriculum, as was the institution’s commitment to serving the needs of the city of Chicago. Six women who completed degrees here are discussed in this volume: Ella Flagg Young, Clara Millerd, Anna Louise Strong, Matilde Castro, Rachel Caroline Eaton, and Georgiana Simpson. These women’s career paths were diverse. Young remained solidly within education/ pedagogy and produced several publications. She held a faculty position at Chicago before becoming the superintendent of the city’s schools. Strong took on the study of philosophy to challenge herself, then abandoned academia by choice. Millerd, Castro, and Simpson remained in academic positions most of their lives. Millerd spent the majority of her career at Grinnell College and the University of Oregon. Castro taught at Vassar for a short time, then helped establish a strong program in pedagogy at Bryn Mawr. Eaton spent the majority of her career at reservation schools, namely, the Cherokee Female Seminary and Nowata tribal school. Simpson taught at the well-regarded Dunbar High School in Washington, DC, before closing out her career at Howard University. Yet with the exception of Young and Strong (who became a journalist), none of these women published a great deal. Like many academics in this era, they were expected to teach rather than conduct research—especially in women’s college networks. This was also the case with the women who completed doctorates at Yale, interestingly enough.

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Harvard was formally closed to women, and when Mary Whiton Calkins and Ethel Puffer (later Howes) challenged the institution by studying with Harvard faculty and completing all requirements for the doctoral degree, the college balked. Harvard was a men’s institution, and it was not until 1902 that women could be conferred with a Radcliffe doctoral degree, which Eva B. Dykes received in 1921. The work these women produced does not resemble each other. Calkins succeeded in balancing her interests in philosophy and psychology; Howes did a bit of work in experimental psychology and in aesthetics. Dykes completed her degree work considerably later, and with an advisor who had previously taught ethics but had moved to literary theory. Yale opened its doors to women for graduate study in 1892, but there was a lack of cohesiveness in the philosophy department at this time.4 The institution had very traditional roots, and the new faculty who were eager to explore the then-new field of psychology were rebelling against the chair, George Ladd, and other senior faculty. Yale produced a small group of women doctorates in philosophy who spent their careers as teaching professors at women’s colleges: Anna Alice Cutler chaired the department at Smith College, Blanche Zehring taught biblical studies at Wells College, and Clara Hitchcock taught philosophy and psychology at Lake Erie College. Available accounts indicate that these women were beloved professors, but none of them produced scholarship beyond their dissertations. The closing chapter is devoted to a discussion of women who were “solo acts”— that is, women who were the first to complete degrees in the discipline in this era without the benefit of female peers to confer with when needed. Their areas of focus are as distinctive as the institutions at which they studied: Christine LaddFranklin (Johns Hopkins) was an intellectual powerhouse who published work on mathematics, psychology (specifically color theory), and logic. Julia Gulliver (Smith College) focused on social and political theory. Emma Rauschenbusch (University of Leipzig) produced what is quite likely the first full-length study of Mary Wollstonecraft by a woman. Anna Julia Cooper (Sorbonne) focused on social/political thought, especially as related to race.



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Each of the women under discussion in this volume was highly accomplished. Yet, they were exchanging ideas apart from their male colleagues, and at this point in history, men were in more prestigious and powerful institutions. Women in philosophy did not get as broad a hearing as they would have had they taught in coeducational institutions or elite men’s institutions. Still, investigating the work of these women is instructive, both in terms of mapping out the genealogy of women’s thought in America, and as a way to point to the directions philosophy might have taken had it been more gender inclusive.

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2 Institutional Strength and Support Women at Cornell

Introduction Eleven women completed doctoral degrees in philosophy at Cornell between 1880 and 1900—more than at any other institution in the United States in the nineteenth century. The majority of them were academically successful, holding faculty positions for a decade or more. Six of these women established themselves within philosophy and are featured at some length here: May Preston Slosson (1880), Eliza Ritchie (1889), Ethel Gordon Muir (1896), Ellen Bliss Talbot (1898), Grace Neal Dolson (1899), and Vida Frank Moore (1900). With the social sciences under development during this period, four other Cornell doctoral alumni in philosophy moved into careers in psychology: Margaret Floy Washburn (1894), Alice (Hamlin) Hinman (1896), Eleanor Acheson McCulloch Gamble (1898), and Stella Emily Sharp (1898). Given the relatively fluid disciplinary boundaries that existed at this time, another doctoral recipient, Louise Hannum (1895), settled into a position as an English professor and dean of women at a teachers college. The majority of these women were active in academic professional organizations: Washburn,

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Hinman, Gamble, Sharp, and Hannum became members of the American Psychological Association shortly after it was founded in 1892; Talbot, Dolson, and Moore joined the organization after the turn of the century. Ritchie, Washburn, Hinman, Talbot, Dolson, and Moore were active in branches of the American Philosophical Association. Hinman became a charter member of the (philosophy) APA’s western division in 1900; Washburn, Talbot, and Moore hold the same distinction in its eastern division in 1901. The women featured in this chapter earned their doctorates and remained primarily within philosophy. Each of them entered academia after completing their degrees, but just two finished out their careers as a college professor: May Preston Slosson focused on aesthetics and taught at Hastings College in Nebraska for a decade before serving as a prison chaplain, then moving on to feminist issues and community work. Her only published work was a book of poetry. Eliza Ritchie started her career at Wellesley College, teaching there for ten years before returning home to Nova Scotia, where she volunteered for a time as the dean of women at Dalhousie University. During this period, she also devoted herself to social and cultural concerns in Halifax, women’s issues among them. Ritchie published a fair number of works about the nature of personhood, philosophy of religion, the free will/determinism debate, and Spinoza’s ethics and metaphysics. Ethel Muir held positions at a number of institutions: Mount Holyoke, Pennsylvania College for Women (now Chatham University), Briarcliff School (no longer in existence), Wilson College, and Lake Erie College. She published only her dissertation, a discussion of Adam Smith. Her biggest commitments were to teaching and to volunteer work in a small fishing community in Newfoundland, where she took a group of students each summer. Ellen Bliss Talbot was the most successful Cornell graduate in philosophy. She taught at Mount Holyoke College for over thirty years, chairing the department for much of that time. She also published a good deal—on Fichte, ontology, and metaphysics. Grace Neal Dolson taught at Wells College and at Smith for a total of fifteen years before undergoing a personal transformation and entering a women’s religious order. Her published work consisted of articles



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on Henry More, Malebranche, and Bergson and her dissertation on Nietzsche. Vida Frank Moore earned her doctoral degree in the first year of the twentieth century. Like Talbot, she entered academia and remained there, teaching at Mount Holyoke College and Elmira College for nearly twenty years before her life was cut short by illness. After publishing her dissertation on Lotze, Moore did not produce original work but only a handful of book reviews. As noted, Ritchie, Talbot, Dolson, and Moore were among the first women to join the American Philosophical Association. Talbot, Dolson, and Moore also maintained membership in the (psychology) APA for many years. Although the university did not admit women when it was first established in 1865, key members of Cornell’s leadership urged for gender inclusion, and it became a fully coeducational institution in 1870. There is every reason to believe that this early commitment to equality was genuine and ran deep, as evidenced by the charming letter founder Ezra Cornell wrote to his granddaughter in 1867 when she was just four years old: I want to have girls educated in the university as well as boys, so that they may have the same opportunity to become wise and useful to society that the boys have. . . . I want you to keep this letter until you grow up to be a woman and want to go to a good school where you can have a good opportunity to learn, so you can show it to the President and Faculty of the University to let them know that it is the wish of your Grand Pa, that girls as well as boys should be educated at the Cornell University.1 This commitment to equity was matched with major funding by Henry Sage and his wife, Susan Linn Sage, in 1872 to provide adequate housing, accommodations, and graduate fellowships for female students. Evidence shows that Cornell’s first president, Andrew White, and the majority of faculty he hired were “on board” with educational egalitarianism, although May Preston Slosson reported resistance to allowing her to study at the graduate level. White would later marry Helen Magill, the first woman to earn a doctoral degree at any institution in the country—a PhD in Greek

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from Boston University in 1877. Cornell was among the most welcoming institutions available to women, other than a same-sex college. Thus, the institution provided an ideal environment for them to thrive as they studied at an advanced level and prepared for careers in academia. Unfortunately, there is little evidence of racial, cultural, religious, or economic diversity among women who earned doctorates in philosophy at Cornell. The first women of color with graduate degrees from the institution did not appear until the mid-1930s, and they studied the sciences. The first doctoral recipient among them completed her work in 1936, with a degree in nutrition.2 All of the women under discussion in this chapter were white, appear to have been Protestant, and were certainly middle or upper-middle class. Women of color fared better at Chicago—and Radcliffe, interestingly enough, where a modest Howard-to-Harvard/Radcliffe pipeline began to develop after W. E. B. DuBois’s success at Harvard on the cusp of the twentieth century. Cornell’s pivotal role in providing opportunities to women is relatively easy to trace. The institution has a good deal to be proud of and makes its history accessible online. Archival materials for both the department in this early period and the journal it housed, The Philosophical Review, were also preserved, allowing more detailed documentation of women and their role at the university than is the case at many institutions.

Faculty and the Academic Climate at Cornell The philosophy department changed considerably in the span of time during which this group of women studied at Cornell—a period of twenty years. When May Preston Slosson was a student in 1878–80, a small collection of faculty members provided instruction in philosophy and related areas of study: William Dexter Wilson, professor of intellectual and moral philosophy; Charles Chauncy Shackford, professor of rhetoric and oratory; William



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Channing Russell, professor of history; and Hiram Corson, professor of English literature. University catalogs and histories show that Wilson and Shackford were considered philosophers. As was the case with so many colleges and universities in this era, both men had studied theology and spent time in parish ministry before joining the faculty at Cornell. Wilson was trained as a Unitarian, but found it too liberal, so became an Episcopalian. He remained involved in his chosen denomination throughout his life. Shackford was trained as a Congregationalist but grew to be more progressive over time, so became a Unitarian. He and Wilson were hired in the first few years of Cornell’s existence. Wilson was something of an academic “utility man” at the institution. Not only did he teach a rather daunting array of courses over the years—moral philosophy, history of philosophy, philosophy of history, political philosophy, political economy, logic, psychology, history, Constitutional law, geography, physiology, and Hebrew—he also served as the university’s registrar and its primary student advisor. Interestingly enough, Slosson recognized the influence of Shackford, Russell, and Corson by name in an alumni update she provided to the university later in life, but she failed to mention Wilson—a member of the staff who was formally identified with philosophy.3 By the time Eliza Ritchie entered the university ten years later, Wilson and Shackford had retired. Corson was still teaching English literature, but given Ritchie’s interests, it is more likely that she studied with Horatio Stevens White, a professor of Greek, Latin, and German who had joined the faculty in 1876. It is clear that she also studied under J. G. Schurman, who had been a professor at Dalhousie University when Ritchie was among that institution’s first women graduates. He made his own transition to a faculty position at Cornell just before Ritchie undertook doctoral study there. She would do so alongside fellow graduate student and Dalhousie alumnus, James Creighton, who would later become a central figure as a Cornell faculty member and co-editor of The Philosophical Review with Schurman in the 1890s. All available materials demonstrate that both Schurman and Creighton were egalitarian-minded leaders at Cornell who supported women’s achievements in philosophy,

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although traces of the gender hierarchies and implicit bias that prevailed in academic life at this time are sometimes evident. Jacob Gould Schurman (1854–1942) was born on Prince Edward Island and attended colleges in Nova Scotia before graduating with a degree in philosophy from the University of London in 1877. He completed graduate work at Edinburgh and London, earning a doctorate in 1878. By 1882, he was teaching both English and philosophy at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia—the same year the university began admitting women, among them Eliza Ritchie and her sisters. In 1886, he began teaching at Cornell. Both Ritchie and her fellow Dalhousie student, James Creighton, would soon follow him there. In 1890, Schurman was named the dean of Cornell’s Sage School of Philosophy, not only providing administrative leadership but also teaching courses on ethics and ethical thinkers deemed important in the day, most notably, Wundt, Spencer, Martineau, and Sidgwick. He also team-taught a course with James Creighton on “Kant’s Critical Philosophy” in 1895–96.4 In 1892, he became Cornell’s president, serving in that capacity until 1920. As a thinker, Schurman focused on ethics and philosophy of religion, publishing a number of works while both a professor and an administrator: Kantian Ethics and the Ethics of Evolution (1881), The Ethical Import of Darwinism (1888), Belief in God (1890), and Agnosticism and Religion (1896). He was also interested in practical affairs. Even while Cornell’s president, he became involved in international diplomacy, by establishing the US Philippine Commission (1899), then serving as US ambassador to Greece (1912–13), minister to China (1921–5), and ambassador to Germany (1925–9).5 James Creighton (1861–1924) was born and raised in Nova Scotia and studied alongside Eliza Ritchie at Dalhousie University, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in 1887.6 Following J. G. Schurman to Cornell, Creighton earned a doctorate in philosophy in 1892 at which time he was immediately offered a position as an assistant professor of philosophy at the university. By 1895 he was appointed chair of the department and remained in this position until 1914 when he began serving as the dean of Cornell’s graduate school.



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During the period of time the women featured here studied, Creighton taught courses that explored logic, metaphysics, and post-Kantian idealism. He also offered seminars on figures who have long been considered important in modern philosophy—Spinoza, Leibniz, Berkeley, Hume, and Kant—as well as Lotze, Fichte, Bradley, and Bosanquet. He team-taught courses on occasion, not only with Schurman, as noted earlier, but also with Ernest Albee, on metaphysics.7 Creighton co-edited The Philosophical Review alongside Schurman for eight years before becoming its lead editor and serving in that capacity throughout his career (1894–1924). He served concurrently as the American editor for Kant-Studien most of that time (1896–1924). His book, An Introductory Logic, was used as a textbook in the field for over two decades. He worked with Albert Lefevre to translate Immanuel Kant: His Life and Doctrine, by Friedrich Paulsen, and collaborated with E. B. Titchener to translate Wundt's Human and Animal Psychology. The remainder of his work was published in The Philosophical Review, Journal of Philosophy, and International Journal of Ethics. In a memorial address Creighton’s former student, Katherine Gilbert (1886– 1952), noted his many contributions to the discipline while also highlighting the philosophical ideals he embraced. As the first president of the APA, for instance, Creighton presented a paper entitled “The Social Nature of Thinking,” about the value of this new organization, because in his view philosophy is a communal endeavor. He remained a philosophical idealist until the end of his life, writing to her about the importance of the distinction “between what may be called the physiological mind and the historical mind—between Seele and Geist. . . . [which allows an individual] to become conscious of itself as spirit.”8 Like many idealists, Creighton was critical of philosophical pragmatism, which he believed is “still trying to construe reality as if they were pre-Kantian.” In his view, pragmatism does not make use of “that better tool for the understanding of reality which is called the ‘transcendental method.’”9 A number of other influential men held full-time positions in the philosophy department at Cornell by the mid-1890s, when Talbot, Dolson, and Moore

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entered the institution. Henry Sage had supplemented his already laudable gifts to the university with a fund to endow the department of philosophy. Now it was filled with faculty who taught alongside Schurman and Creighton and would become prominent in academic philosophy as it entered the twentieth century: William Hammond, F. C. Schiller, and Ernest Albee taught philosophy in the department throughout the 1890s. William Hammond was a specialist in ancient philosophy, regularly teaching courses on Plato, Aristotle, and ancient understandings of both ethics and metaphysics. He was the up-andcoming intellectual who penned a scathing review of Ellen Mitchell’s book on Greek philosophy, discussed in volume one.10 F. C. Schiller (1864–1937) held a master’s degree from Oxford and began teaching while a doctoral student at Cornell. He became the department’s expert on realism and skepticism during the 1890s, and later would become well known for his contributions to pragmatism and humanist thought. Ernest Albee (1865–1917) also began teaching while he was a doctoral student at Cornell, delivering a wide range of courses: metaphysics, Spinoza’s ethics, utilitarianism, and psychology. Albee provided what appears to be the first course at Cornell on “rationalism” versus “empiricism.” As noted in volume one, a formalized distinction between these two approaches to epistemology had only begun to emerge in this era, as is apparent in the majority of courses listed in Cornell’s catalog in the late 1890s.11 Other faculty who made their mark on Cornell in this period include David Irons (1869–1907), another of Cornell’s doctoral recipients, who began work as a teaching fellow in the department in 1892–93 and became an instructor in 1895–96. At Cornell, Irons taught courses that focused on German philosophy, including Lotze and Schopenhauer. He also offered a seminar on Bradley’s Appearance and Reality. He then accepted a short-term position at the University of Vermont before becoming an associate professor at Bryn Mawr in 1899, chairing its philosophy department.12 James Seth (1860–1925) also held a position at the institution for a short time, between 1896 and 1898. But he returned to his native Scotland to teach alongside his brother, Andrew Seth (1856–1931) at the University of Edinburgh, where James chaired moral



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philosophy and Andrew chaired logic and metaphysics. Frank Thilly (1865– 1934) spent the majority of his career at Cornell, but he was not on the faculty during the time the women under discussion studied there. After being hired as an instructor in 1891, Thilly accepted positions at the University of Missouri (1893–1904) and Princeton (1904–6) before returning to Cornell (1906–34). With pedagogy, religion, and psychology still considered branches of philosophy, Charles M. Tyler (1832–1918), Samuel G. Williams (1827–1900), and E. B. Titchener (1867–1927) were members of the department at this time. Tyler was an ordained minister who held an endowed position in the history of philosophy and religion as well as Christian ethics early in the 1890s. By 1897 he shifted focus and began teaching courses on applied ethics; Lotze; Martineau; and the philosophy of religion, including pantheism, agnosticism, and theism. He is one of the first thinkers to focus on comparative religion at a university in the United States. By contrast, Williams remained solidly within his own area of specialization—pedagogy and the history of education—until his death in 1900. Pedagogical theory and practice continued to be considered branches of philosophy into the opening decades of the twentieth century at Cornell and a number of other institutions. Titchener was the most influential among these cross-disciplinary educators in regard to the career development of women, although he certainly had a mixed legacy. While he is said to have been a strong supporter and mentor to female students, he had contentious relationships with some women in his peer group. He rather famously did his best to bar female colleagues from attending meetings of an experimental philosophy organization he established, for instance.13 Perhaps he was more comfortable working with women when a combination of professional and gendered hierarchy was in play. The courses he taught at Cornell examined aesthetics, experimental psychology, and systematic philosophy. Cornell was founded with egalitarian educational ideals in mind, and the contributions of the men who shaped the philosophy department in its first decades helped the institution realize those ideals. Schurman and Creighton as a team not only set high standards for excellence in

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philosophy, but also facilitated women’s entry into the discipline as it became a professional academic enterprise. Correspondence between each of the two men in university archives demonstrates that they had collegial relationships with Cornell women, among them Ritchie, Talbot, and Washburn, as well as women at other institutions, like Mary Whiton Calkins at Wellesley and Julia Gulliver at Rockford. With the Review, the pair elevated the level of philosophical discourse in the United States. Creighton told Katherine Gilbert that he “would rather stop issuing The Philosophical Review than publish what was poor or mediocre in its kind, . . . [and] he returned a large proportion of the manuscripts submitted” that were not up to par.14 Holding all writers to the same standard, Schurman and Creighton provided a venue in which many women published their earliest work. Now it is time to turn to an examination of the work and careers of such women.

Philosophy’s First Female Doctorate May (Preston) Slosson (1858–1943) BA, Hillsdale College (1878) PhD, Philosophy, Cornell University (1880) Dissertation: “Different Theories of Beauty” Career: Hastings College (1880–91); Wyoming State Penitentiary, chaplain (1899–1903) May Preston Slosson was born in Ilion, New York, the daughter of Mary (Gorsline) and Levi Preston, a Baptist minister.15 When she was a young child, her father moved the family to Kansas where they were among the first white settlers in the region before moving to Michigan about 1875. The details of her early education are not clear, but she attended Hillsdale College in Michigan, a Baptist school to which her grandfather had donated money, graduating in 1878. Hillsdale was one of the first institutions to admit women in the United



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States and it is the college that Marietta Kies, discussed in Chapter 3, attended for a short time in the early 1870s. The very first woman to earn a doctoral degree in philosophy in the United States and only the third woman to earn a doctorate in any field at Cornell, Slosson completed graduate work in 1880, producing just one expository work, a thesis entitled “Different Theories of Beauty.” Like Caroline Miles Hill, discussed in Chapter 3 and Eliza Ritchie, discussed later, she also published a book of poetry, From a Quiet Garden: Lyrics in prose and verse (1920). She was married and had two children, but like many women in this era, her professional life was shaped by her husband’s career path. Preston was first hired as the “assistant principal” of Hastings College in Nebraska, but then was enlisted to teach philosophy and Greek. She worked for a total of ten years at Hastings before marrying Edwin Emery Slosson, who was offered a position in chemistry at the University of Wyoming in Laramie and whom she described as “versatile + brilliant.”16 As their children grew in the 1890s, she began volunteering at the local prison, occasionally offering addresses on Sundays that were so well received she established a lecture series, which featured her husband and other university professors. Reportedly, inmates requested that she serve in the role of chaplain when a position opened at the prison, and (perhaps more remarkably) administrators listened. As chaplain, she gave a sermon on Sundays and made visits each Wednesday.17 She insisted on volunteering her time and directed the funds for her salary to be used for books in the facility’s library. Prison administrators offered their praise: “Mrs. May Preston Slosson . . . is the only lady prison chaplain in the world, and possesses an extraordinary influence over her convict flock. She has already averted one dangerous mutiny, and has done much to ameliorate the lot of the prisoners.”18 In addition, the warden marveled that there was a 50 percent decrease in punishments when Slosson was chaplain. She worked at the penitentiary in Laramie until it was moved to a new facility in the town of Rawlins. In 1903, Edwin Slosson made a career shift and accepted a position as editor of the New York Independent magazine, so the couple relocated. May

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did not hold a professional/paid position after that time but moved again in 1920 when her husband had accepted a position as director of the Science Service news agency in Washington, DC. Following Edwin’s death in 1929, she went to live with her son, a history professor at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, and remained in his household for the rest of her life. At her request, she was cremated, and her ashes buried in the same cemetery as her young son, Raymond, who had died in Laramie in 1900. Much like Eliza Ritchie, discussed further in the chapter, May Preston Slosson was active in local women’s rights organizations and in educational and cultural institutions all her life. She was especially devoted to promoting the arts in community life. In addition, she and her husband both lectured in support of women’s voting rights in New York. No documents survive to reveal their lines of thought on this issue, but she reported having a disagreement with the suffrage leader, Carrie Chapman Catt: Slosson and her husband wanted to be vocal about their experience in Wyoming where women had voting rights and where Slosson had been urged to run for Congress before Jeanette Rankin became the first woman to do so. Catt’s response was characteristic of moderate feminists of that era, however. Rather than encourage them to share their perspectives with the somewhat more conservative women on the east coast, Catt instead “impressed on us that we were to be quiet.”19 Slosson was active in the Association of Collegiate Alumnae (now American Association of University Women) and supported the then-new humanitarian organization, Save the Children. Unlike many women of European descent in both volumes of this study, Slosson crossed racial and cultural lines. Biographical sketches suggest that she became sensitive to cultural difference while living close to a Native American community as a young girl in Kansas. Toward the end of her life, she attended the worship services of both a predominantly white Baptist church and Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Ann Arbor. She also actively supported Ann Arbor’s Dunbar Community Center, which evolved from a small housing program for migrant workers that was established by the African American community in 1923 to a thriving educational and cultural organization.20



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Philosophically speaking, May Preston Slosson did not make a big impact. Her doctoral thesis is a slim volume of roughly 5,000 words. By today’s standards, a paper of this length would be more suitable as a dissertation proposal than as the thesis itself. Even so, years later she reported that opposition to admitting a woman into graduate study in philosophy led to a “compromise” in which faculty decided she would take “a harder course.” In her words: “I was to cover a certain amt. of work, more than required of a man. One week, 8 hrs. a day on examination.”21 It appears, then, that expectations for doctoral study had not been standardized and gender equity was far from a reality when she was a graduate student. While at Cornell, Slosson eagerly did extra work, “because it was fascinating.” Her “great temptation,” she said, “was to read in the library. I read Plato + Hegel in the original.”22

May Preston Slosson’s Philosophical Work Slosson’s doctoral thesis demonstrates that she had read widely and had given her topic, “Different Theories of Beauty,” a good deal of consideration. This work provides us with evidence of the range of sources students of philosophy were required to become familiar with and of the ways in which disciplinary lines were blurred at this time. It also belies Slosson’s own critical distance from philosophy as a branch of study. As will be discussed at the close of this section, her commentary about some thinkers—German idealists in particular—strongly suggests that she was not one of philosophy’s early “true believers,” but was instead a skeptic who saw philosophical work as one of many forms of literature—and a rather abstruse one at that. Written with a great deal of nineteenth-century flourish, May Preston Slosson’s thesis, “Different Theories of Beauty” provides an overview of a number of philosophical and literary attempts to explain what “beauty” is and speaks to the adequacy of each view. Toward the beginning of the work, she notes that in some sense, any attempt to describe the beautiful or to agree

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on the best theory of beauty will be subjective: “Who dares attempt invidious selection among theories of beauty? . . . The choice dictated by prejudice will be criticized by counter-prejudice, and perhaps the critic will have a right to complain if his favorite [theory] is left behind.”23 She readily dismisses three dominant theories as she understands them—Friedrich Schiller’s view that beauty is a relation of our faculties; David Hume’s claim that beauty is not an independent quality, but instead a product of the mind; and Immanuel Kant’s notion that the beautiful is what we find pleasing.24 “Paradoxical as it may sound, Beauty does not always please (especially at first sight), and that which pleases may in many instances be far from beautiful. Still, such is our unconscionable self-conceit, that we are sure to call our own pet and private predilections by a name quite disproportionate to their value.”25 Presenting another set of theories, Slosson is not satisfied with Aristotle’s attempt to logically/scientifically explain beauty. Nor does she accept Edgar Allen Poe’s assertion that beauty is somehow a vague “immortal instinct.”26 She also rejects the “associationists”—Francis Jeffrey and Archibald Alison—who, she charges, attempt to describe beauty as merely a response to memory, a reminder of previous interactions, or a representation of other objects and/ or experiences. Similarly, she is unhappy with thinkers who, in her view, link beauty to utility: Socrates, David Hume, and George Berkeley.27She simply lampoons Edmund Burke, who “in the fashion of universal geniuses . . . has an opinion of his own upon every conceivable subject [and] invented a most astonishing theory of Beauty . . . an effeminating, enervating principle.” She then quotes Burke’s description of a response to beauty at length—one complete with eyes rolling, a mouth agape, and half-audible, unselfconscious sighs, which he asserts are “accompanied by an inward sense of melting.”28 Next on the list of theories that fall short in Slosson’s view: Francis Hutcheson’s “internal sense,” Charles Batteaux’s “fidelity to nature,” Denis Diderot’s perception of a relation, and Baron de Montesquieu’s surprise or novelty.29 Slosson prefers instead Plato’s observation that beauty is distinct from, yet related to, goodness. She approves even more of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s



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embellishment of Plato’s view, as she understands it, that beauty is an expression of “the universe”—one element in quasi-divine triad: Truth, Goodness, and Beauty.30 Continuing in this vein, Slosson settles on a theory that combines Emerson’s view with the dynamism she sees in Herbert Spencer and Jean Charles Leveque. She appreciates the attempt to cast beauty as a transcendent, almost metaphysical force, which is what she sees in Emerson. After all, at one point she reminds her readers that “our failure to find [or define] it is no fault of Beauty, nor is it the slightest proof of its non-existence as an independent entity.”31 She values Spencer’s evolutionary claims that human progress has led to an accumulation of cultural artifacts, art and creativity among them. This, combined with the sense of vitality and life force she sees in Leveque, yields a theory of beauty that Slosson embraces—active, somewhat chaotic, but vibrant. After all, high levels of activity in the organic world bring forth “the highest types of beauty,” in her view. And at this point she retracts part of her earlier critique of Schiller who “speaks of imagination, the creative power in art, as the ‘Spieltrieb,’ the play-impulse of the mind. May it not be the playimpulse of potential energy, liberated from long imprisonment,” she asks, “which causes the loveliness of material things?”32 In Slosson’s view, Chaos/Spontaneity as a pair of forces in nature are active, expansive, and meant to be a catalyst to fuel our passions. This duo stands in contrast to Virtue/Order as a pair of forces in society that is meant to rein us in.33A theory that unites an organic, dynamic understanding of science alongside a sense of creative energy strikes her as far more explanatory than theories that are abstract and removed from our experience in the world. It is this theory that she settles on as her thesis draws to a close. The fact that this essay is Slosson’s only expository work in philosophy is significant, especially when taking into consideration some of the intellectually comical comments she makes within the text. As noted before, she mocks Edmund Burke, both for casting himself as an expert on any and all topics and for what she saw as his overly expressive theory of beauty. This is not surprising, given Burke’s place in intellectual history. His ideas would not have been in vogue at this time, with

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the progressive era on the horizon. More telling is Slosson’s dismissive approach to German idealism, G.W.F. Hegel in particular: “We come to the German systems, of more or less comprehensibility,” she says, then observes wryly, “There is small advantage gained by explaining anything one does not understand by what [one] understands still less. But it is an axiom of which German philosophers have not always felt the force.” She continues this line of criticism: Schelling and Hegel have much to say concerning the ‘absolute ideal,’ ‘subject and object,’ and use various other phrases that have the doubtful merit of not being too intelligible. Hegel defines Beauty as “The ideal shining through a sensuous medium” . . . [others] descant upon “the movement of the Supreme Idea” in a manner sufficiently bewildering to an average understanding. Even Schiller calls the Sublime, “the applied infinite.”34 It appears that German idealism, which was so dominant within philosophical discourse in the United States at this time, did not mesh well with Slosson’s intellectual inclinations. This, in combination with the personal interests and priorities she had as a wife and mother, may have led her to abandon her early interest in philosophy, “that most temperate of all the sisterhood of sciences”35 in favor of the social and political issues that she saw around her in the everyday world.

Scholarship Set Aside Eliza Ritchie (1856–1933) BA, Dalhousie University (1887) PhD, Philosophy, Cornell (1889) Dissertation: “The Problem of Personality” Career: Vassar (1889–90); Wellesley (1890–1899); Study in Leipzig and Oxford (1892–93); Dalhousie University, volunteer positions (1900–1930)



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Life and Career One of twelve children and the youngest daughter of John W. and Amelia (Almon) Ritchie, Eliza Ritchie was born into a wealthy and influential family in Halifax, Nova Scotia.36 Her father was a lawyer and politician who became a member of the Supreme Court of Nova Scotia in 1870.37 He and other male family members served on the Board of Governors of Dalhousie University for decades. Eliza and her sisters were educated at home as children, then attended Dalhousie after it began admitting women in 1882–83. Two sisters, Mary and Ella, shared Eliza’s interest in women’s rights and joined her in becoming prominent feminists in northeastern Canada. Although they often worked collaboratively, a contemporary “described the differences in their personalities thus: Ella was ‘charming,’ Mary ‘dynamic,’ [and] Eliza ‘superior and aloof.’”38 Ritchie was among the first group of women to enroll at Dalhousie after it became a coeducational institution. The university made efforts not only to admit women but also to provide a positive environment for them, reportedly posting a notice, “Ladies, we bid you welcome within the precincts of Dalhousie College.”39 She was one of just three female students in a class of fifteen to graduate with a bachelor’s degree in the liberal arts in 1887. Later in life she reflected on the welcoming atmosphere the university provided for women. Dalhousie, she said, succeeded in “relieving apprehensions of the timid and encouraging the efforts of the ambitious.”40 The department of philosophy in the 1880s consisted of James Ross, the former “principal” of the college who taught there from 1863 to 1885; William Lyall (1863–90); J. G. Schurman (1882–6); and James Seth (1886–92). Schurman was the first philosophy professor at Dalhousie who was not also an ordained minister and was offered the George Munro chair of philosophy and literature in 1884. (The same year he married Barbara Munro, the daughter of the philanthropist for whom this chair was named.) Ritchie noted that women readily enrolled in Schurman’s literature classes before he left for Cornell where he rose through the ranks to

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become dean of the Sage School of Philosophy, then the university’s president. Years later, she corresponded with Schurman and a fellow student at both Dalhousie and Cornell, James E. Creighton. A handful of these letters were preserved in the Cornell University archives. Although Ritchie was the fourth woman to earn a doctoral degree in philosophy in the United States, she was the first Canadian woman to do so— at home or abroad.41 She was a woman of “firsts” in other ways as well. She was the first warden of a Dalhousie women's dormitory (Forrest Hall, 1912–15), the first woman to serve as a member of the Dalhousie Board of Governors (1919–25), and the first woman to receive an honorary degree from Dalhousie (1927).42 She was also the first woman to publish discussions of Spinoza in a philosophy journal in the United States. As was common for career-oriented women in her era, she was unmarried. Ritchie taught briefly at Vassar College before accepting a position at Wellesley in 1890. She was appointed as an instructor, then promoted to associate professor at Wellesley. Just two years into her tenure there, she began to investigate opportunities to study in Europe. Writing to J. G. Schurman at Cornell, she mused that Leipzig would probably be the best option, “tho’ if Berlin were possible, it may offer more advantages in some respects.”43 In 1892–93, she took a leave of absence to study at Leipzig and Oxford. Ritchie returned to Wellesley the following year and remained there until the 1898–9 academic year. Her departure from Wellesley presents a puzzle. Patricia Palmeiri identifies her as a casualty of comprehensive changes implemented by Julia Irvine (1848–1930), who was president of the college from 1894 to 1899. Yet the faculty terminated during that time were generally senior professors who had been at the college for decades and did not hold advanced degrees.44 Ritchie held a PhD when she was appointed at Wellesley, had only been there a few years when Irvine became president, was described as characteristic of the “new woman” by students, and did not reach the rank of full professor. It is hard to imagine why Irvine, a fellow Cornell alumna (BA 1875, MA 1876) would have terminated Ritchie’s employment at Wellesley.



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Mary Whiton Calkins’s reference to Ritchie in a letter to James Creighton during the 1899–1900 academic year fails to bring clarity: “I had probably misunderstood Dr. Ritchie’s plans about returning to Wellesley. I shall be very sorry if she does not come back.”45 At this time, Mary Whiton Calkins was operating Wellesley’s experimental psychology laboratory, the first at a women’s college in the United States, and was joined by Cornell alumna Eleanor Gamble to further advance experimental psychology and heighten the college’s profile in this regard. Based on Ritchie’s published work, the emphasis on experimental psychology at Wellesley did not match her talents and academic interests. Two years after she had left, she made it clear to James Creighton that she missed the academic world she had left behind: Living as I do at present in complete isolation from every one [who is] saturated in philosophical matters, the opportunity for self-expression is limited to writing. . . . I am much hampered by not having access to any books but those I own. Can you tell me if I would be allowed Library privileges at Cornell if I were to go [there] for a month or so next autumn?46 Whatever the circumstances leading to her departure from Wellesley, historical accounts report that she held the college in high regard throughout her lifetime.47 After leaving Wellesley, Ritchie returned to her home in Halifax. Some sources suggest she taught philosophy at her alma mater, but Dalhousie University’s yearly catalogues from the period show no evidence of this. Walter C. Murray was the sole professor of philosophy and chair of the department from 1892 until 1908. He was followed by Robert Magill (1908–13), John Laird as chair and Rupert Lodge as lecturer (1913–14), and Herbert Leslie Stewart (1914–47). In an era in which academic credentialing was not as standardized as it is today, only Robert Magill and Herbert Stewart held doctoral degrees, from Jena and Oxford, respectively.48 Yet, despite the fact that Ritchie held a doctorate and had prior teaching experience, she may not have been considered a candidate for a position in philosophy at Dalhousie, because gender often

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trumped credentials in this era. She had already seen gender hierarchies in place during graduate study. She and James Creighton were contemporaries who earned baccalaureates at Dalhousie the same year and were graduate school classmates at Cornell. Yet it was Creighton who was offered a faculty position there, not Ritchie. In their gendered academic world, this was not unusual. With the doctorate in hand in 1889, Ritchie was considered an ideal candidate for a position at a women’s college. Creighton, on the other hand, was groomed for a position at Cornell, a large and increasingly prestigious coeducational research institution. And he was offered that position in 1892, after completing his degree—three years after Ritchie, incidentally. As we will see in the chapters that follow, other women had similar experiences. Given the gendered nature of professional life in this era, two factors were likely to have been in play when Ritchie first returned to Nova Scotia. First, she may have been fully aware that (as a woman) she would not be able to obtain a faculty position and never pursued one. Second, she was a person of privilege who had received a sizable inheritance after her parents’ death. Therefore, she had no need to earn a living and/or may have had little interest in maintaining a professional identity.49 If she sought a philosophy position at the university just after returning but was overlooked, she may not have been overly concerned. After roughly a decade of life back in Halifax, however, words from Ritchie’s pen give us a better sense of both her role at Dalhousie and her own self-perception. In 1912, she was in her mid-fifties and was invited by the journalist John Daniel Logan to be included in his photograph and autograph collection of prominent figures in the region. This was her response: “I feel that I cannot send my photograph for the purpose you name. I am assuredly no ‘philosopher,’ and I could not in any way countenance my being so represented even when . . . ‘poetic license’ is admitted.”50 Although one of the first women to earn a doctorate in the discipline and one of the most prolific, it seems that Ritchie no longer identified as a philosopher. Of course, we cannot be sure of her tone when she wrote these words—whether in mock self-deprecation, satirically, dismissively, or with the false humility that was



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common among women in this era. Yet those of us who have studied gender dynamics cannot help but suspect that a combination of what we now identify as “stereotype threat” and “imposter syndrome” were in play. For those not familiar with these terms from psychology: stereotype threat describes the anxieties a person feels about biased expectations of them, based on race/ ethnicity, gender, or social class. Imposter syndrome may be a more familiar term, since it has crept into workplace parlance. It describes insecurity about one’s achievements—a person’s sense that they are undeserving of recognition or status they have attained. One needs only to review the foregoing paragraphs to see how and why a woman in Ritchie’s era might have succumbed to both dynamics and developed a diminished professional sense of self. Certainly, it is possible that Ritchie simply decided philosophy was no longer of interest to her. But given what we know about professional life for women in this era, it is likely that the gender-biased practices she had seen over the years took a toll on her. Colleagues she had studied alongside or exchanged competitive academic barbs with were now at the height of their careers, but at this point in her life she felt unworthy or unwilling to refer to herself as a philosopher. No additional records or correspondence have been found to give us a better picture of Ritchie’s interaction with colleagues at Dalhousie, but we do know that she joined forces with Dalhousie’s philosophy department chair, Herbert Stewart, to establish a literary journal, Dalhousie Review, in 1921. She wrote for the journal and served on its editorial board until the end of her life. She was also devoted to the university itself, generously giving her time and resources to it. She helped raise funds for a women’s residence hall and served as its “warden” from 1912–13 until 1914–15. The university formally recognized her commitments to the university in its catalog, listing her as an advisor to female students between 1912–13 and 1917–18; as a member of the Board of Governors from 1919–20 until 1925–26; and as an interim lecturer— in art, not philosophy—in 1930–31. Like May Preston Slosson, Ritchie developed strong commitments to promoting the fine arts in both education and community life after leaving

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academia behind. She helped establish the Nova Scotia School of Art and Design and the Nova Scotia Museum of Fine Arts, for instance. She was also active in social reform and women’s issues in Halifax, serving in leadership positions of the Victoria Order of Nurses, a health and social service agency; the feminist-minded National Council of Women and Local Council of Women; and the Nova Scotia Equal Suffrage League.51 She had plenty of projects to occupy her time when she returned to her home turf without holding a position at the university. As a public intellectual and community leader in Nova Scotia, Ritchie worked closely with the feminists, Agnes Dennis and Edith Archibald. She appears to have been associated with the art historian, James William Falconer; the politician and theorist, Sir Robert Borden; and the writers and historians, Archibald MacMechan, E. J. Pratt, Charles G. D. Roberts, and Frederick Philip Grove. M. Josephine Shannon was a colleague who not only contributed to the Dalhousie Review but also held positions at the university—as a reader in English and as an assistant librarian. It is not clear if Ritchie maintained close ties with her female colleagues at Cornell, but she certainly shared their philosophical interests. Most notably, like Ellen Bliss Talbot, Ritchie produced discussions of the philosophy of religion, including the free will/determinism debate. She also crossed paths with some of the early academic women discussed in this volume: Mary Whiton Calkins and Caroline Miles Hill both held positions at Wellesley in the 1890s when Ritchie was at the institution—Calkins from 1887 until 1892, then again after 1895; Miles Hill from 1893 until 1895. In addition, Julia Gulliver and Marietta Kies both studied in Leipzig the same year that Ritchie was there, in 1892–93. She may also have crossed paths with Emma Rauschenbusch who studied at Leipzig in the early 1890s. Unfortunately, no correspondence remains to tell us whether of any of these women were close associates. Ritchie contributed several articles and book reviews to The Philosophical Review and the International Journal of Ethics, but published only two philosophyrelated articles after 1905—a sketch of the life and influence of Erasmus (1926) and



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a similar sketch that focused on Spinoza (1932). Like May Preston Slosson and their contemporary at Michigan, Caroline Miles Hill, Ritchie published poetry toward the end of her life: an edited volume, Songs of the Maritimes (1931); and a collection of original work, In the Gloaming, published posthumously (1936). Ritchie’s published work focused on ontology, the free will/determinism debate, Spinoza’s thought and influence, and philosophy of religion. Unlike many early academic women, she openly expressed her feminist views, although more in the popular press than in academic outlets.

Eliza Ritchie’s Philosophical Work The Problem of Personality Ritchie published her dissertation, The Problem of Personality, in 1889, the same year she completed her doctorate. In this volume she explores the nature of personhood, beginning with the mind/body problem before moving to an examination of consciousness, identity, and individuality. Next, she considers “character” as related to moral culpability, which then allows her to discuss one of her central interests: the free will/determinism debate. The volume concludes with the assertion that individual persons are manifestations of a greater and ultimate absolute or Spirit, and in a sense that aligns with the metaphysics of Spinoza and Hegel. The work as a whole serves as an illustration of Ritchie’s historical placement within philosophy at the intersection of new developments within the discipline, long-held traditions in religion, and challenges to both from the emerging social sciences. An overview of her arguments in the book will make this more clear. In the introductory paragraphs of The Problem of Personality, Ritchie makes a bold statement: If philosophical study is to be a living force, leading [thinkers] to new truths or giving them insights into truths already known, surely it must effect its

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purpose—not by ignoring the results of modern scientific research . . . but rather by cordially accepting the new side lights thus thrown upon its problems.52 This is what Ritchie sets out to do in this work—draw on scientific research, primarily from the relatively new discipline of psychology, and use it to better inform philosophy. She begins by noting that the old philosophical and religious concept of soul might better be conceived of as an ego, which is even more aptly described in terms of personhood. Yet the concept of “person” is not self-evident. Clarifying that she wants to set aside religious understandings of personhood, soul, or spirit, Ritchie asserts that the term “person” is generally invoked in reference to (a) a human individual (b) consisting of a mind or spirit that (c) “is connected with a human organism, or body,” which (d) experiences states of consciousness as a series that “pertain to itself ” and (e) has an ability to anticipate future events.53 Examining these aspects of person is a weighty task, and Ritchie recognizes this. Citing Descartes on the mind/ body problem as well as Kant’s “unity of apperception” (sans “transcendental” in Ritchie’s text), she notes that these are problems “on the borderland between psychology and metaphysics.” Her goal is not to solve Descartes’ mind/body problem nor to challenge Kant’s “unity of apperception,” which she considered the accepted “theory of cognition” of the day.54 Instead, her goal is to “mark out the limits of mind.”55 As she proceeds with her argument, Ritchie engages in a careful discussion of the mind/body problem, as elucidated by then-new developments in psychology. Many of the claims she makes have long since been superseded by neuropsychology. Even so, in this section of the work she articulates some innovative ideas in regard to the interplay between cognition, consciousness, sensation, volition, and bodily motions and/or responses. As a result of her consideration of the mind/body connection, she draws two conclusions: first, that humans are not the only creatures that have consciousness and perhaps self-consciousness; second, that all material has some degree of mind—a “psychical side” in Ritchie’s parlance.56



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Ritchie then returns to matters more central to her overall concerns: the connections between personhood/personality and (self-)consciousness. As she plays out her argument—that a central feature of personhood is the ability of an individual to identify a series of conscious states as their own—she recognizes that this ability entails memory. And although any given memory can differ “in respect to its clearness, vivacity, and extent,” she maintains that “some degree of the power of recollection seems absolutely necessary to the recognition of personal identity.”57 The ability to recall our experiences is not one that exists, fully functioning in each human being, however. Instead, it has evolved slowly in the human species and develops over time within individuals as each person grows and matures. Self-consciousness is linked to memory in this regard. “We can hardly speak of self-consciousness as actually present till there is a distinctly individual memory” or series of experiences in each person.58 In their simplest form, then, the two—consciousness and memory— are inseparable in Ritchie’s view. Yet, the subject-object dichotomy presents itself in Ritchie’s discussion, and she aims to reconcile it by drawing on the idealist epistemology and ontology that was current in her day. In one sense, we are isolated individuals, locked, as it were, in our own unique set of experiences that we identify as a self. Ritchie describes this dynamic as a “stream of impressions . . . which in their relatedness as a series constitute, in Kantian phraseology, our ‘empirical ego.’”59 And although we perceive others with their own “streams of impressions,” Ritchie notes that “the life of each individual seems a thing apart . . . the assumption generally made [is] that the individuality of each person is thorough and inviolable.”60 Ultimately, she determines that each individual is witness to the activities of other individuals, and that all “streams” are manifestations of a larger metaphysical reality—namely, Spirit. Setting aside this set of claims for the time being, she turns to “character” as a component of personhood that merits consideration. Ritchie notes that an individual’s “own distinctive marks, mental, moral, and physical . . . habits, preferences, modes of speech, gesture and action . . .

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constitute [their] personality.”61 Yet, it has long remained unclear the degree to which individual characteristics are due to a person’s heredity or to their environment. Rather than delude herself and her readers into thinking she can solve this puzzle, she instead makes a bold move and discusses these two influences as a pair: with “full and exact knowledge” of all aspects of a person’s nature (heredity) and environment, she says, their “character might be deduced . . . with mathematical accuracy.”62 From here, Ritchie embarks on a discussion of moral culpability, and ultimately enters the free will/determinism debate. She launches some common arguments against determinism that are mounted by the free will camp. If an individual’s actions were to be determined—whether by heredity or circumstances—they would then be exempt from culpability. An individual is accountable for their behavior only if they are free to choose their own course of action. Drawing on Spinoza and Leibniz, Ritchie embraces the determinist’s view, although the stance she takes could be called a qualified determinism. Ritchie maintains that, as human beings, we are physical and psychological entities with a fixed nature. Science can tell us more about both our physical nature and our psychological behavior, thus helping us to predict which choices we will make in any given situation. The fact that we are determined in this way does not mean we are free from culpability, in Ritchie’s view, because we are aware of the breadth of our options within the fixed system in which we live. Furthermore, we are able to make conscious decisions, routinely choosing from the wide range of alternatives before us. In addition, the universe in which we live has been created by God/Spirit. In this universe, God/Spirit is the author of the laws of nature, and (a la Spinoza) God acts according to God’s own nature. God has also put us into existence—making us such that we too necessarily act according to our own nature—as physical and psychological beings who can make choices. At this point, Ritchie uses the analogy of a cog in a machine, saying the cog (i.e., a human being) plays a role in making the machine (i.e., the universe) run properly. The human-as-cog in Ritchie’s universe has a fixed role, but



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one that it consciously participates in fulfilling. Yet it is difficult to see how and why, she believes this analogy serves to demonstrate that the individual is free. Further muddying the determinist waters, Ritchie draws on Leibniz’s claim that if the magnet in a compass had consciousness, it would consider the directions in which it could turn, then choose to turn north.63 It is unfortunate that Ritchie chose to retain the mechanical analogies that were current in the era of Leibniz and Spinoza. Her aim was to demonstrate that human nature is conscious and that we have the ability not only to form intentions but also to make contributions to a dynamic and active universe. Yet the cog/machine analogy locks human beings into a fixed system with no room for variability or creativity. As she closes her discussion, Ritchie makes sure to establish that God does not stand outside nature. Instead, God/Spirit is the force of existence itself, of which nature is the manifestation. God is not merely “bound” by the laws of nature. Instead God is, in essence, the laws of nature in action. Therefore, Ritchie concludes that God has not necessarily predetermined any specific human actions. Instead, God has determined what our nature will be— as individuals and as a species—and we are free to act in accordance with that nature. There are two aspects of Ritchie’s line of reasoning that are curious: first, she insists that her notion of God is not pantheistic. It appears her concern is that to embrace pantheism would be to argue that human beings are the highest form of mind or spirit. But at this point in her life, she was devoted to retaining the concept of a God that initiates, animates, and sustains all of existence. Therefore, she takes pains to explain that humans are comprised of spirit, but that only God is Spirit. As noted further in the chapter, later in life Ritchie espoused atheism. It would be interesting to discover if, as an atheist, she came to fully reject the concept of any ultimate reality, or if she continued to affirm the Spinoza-inspired Spirit she embraced at this early stage in her career. The other curiosity is Ritchie’s reaction against a religious version of the free will/determinism debate in the opening pages of this volume. She appears

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to deride the religious concern that individuals must be held accountable for their actions—a distaste for traditional religion that becomes more evident in the essay she published four years later, “The Ethical Implications of Determinism,” in The Philosophical Review.

On Determinism In “Ethical Implications” (1893), Ritchie covered much of the same ground about the free will/determinism debate that she had discussed in her dissertation. She refined and reified key elements of her argument in this essay, however: she places greater emphasis on the need to incorporate discoveries from the sciences into moral philosophy. She clarifies the role that human cognition and intention play in her understanding of determinism. Finally, she explains how culpability comes into play in a determinist understanding of human nature. The work of a moral philosophy is to establish such general principles as may afford a rational support for . . . practical ethics, and a guide for the formation of moral standards and judgments. And for this purpose we must accept the validity of the scientific category of causation.64 This statement forms the foundation of Ritchie’s discussion in this article. In her view, philosophers must use science, rather than speculative theories or worn-out religious dogmas, to fully understand human behavior and thus develop a rational moral philosophy. She reminds her readers that there are no “uncaused events” in science.65 Why should human behavior be any different? Although hereditary and environmental factors may cause human beings to act as they do, Ritchie claims that we can still “recognize certain classes of action as free.”66 Why? Moving away from her earlier mechanical analogy, she asserts that human beings are not machines, they are free agents. A person “is a conscious mechanism, [who] knows what will be the result [of their actions] and why they will subserve an end [they] desire.” In short, human beings act



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with “a purpose in view.”67 The key feature here is Ritchie’s emphasis on human consciousness, the ability to see alternatives, weigh options, and arrive at a decision. In a sense, then, her understanding of freedom is an epistemological one: “Only in so far as it is a product of a reasoning process, can we call [an action] voluntary or free.”68 Because human knowledge is limited, Ritchie concedes that the freedom she affirms may be an ideal that is not actually attainable. At the same time the more we use our rationality, the more free we become. Furthermore, actions performed by habit or involuntarily have no moral worth in her view. Although Ritchie drew on thinkers like Spinoza, Leibniz, and Hegel in developing her determinist moral epistemology, it is not clear that her system really works. Her contemporary, Julia Gulliver, discussed in Chapter 6, wrote a response to this article, saying just that. Gulliver cited Ritchie’s claim that antecedent conditions—whether hereditary or environmental—fix the selfhood of any given individual: “The ‘I’ of tomorrow,” Ritchie said, “is the outcome of the ‘I’ of today . . . the ‘I’ of today is a product of the ‘I’ of yesterday.” Reasonably enough, Gulliver charges that this statement demonstrates that there is, in fact, no room for freedom in Ritchie’s system. It is difficult to imagine how anyone could fail to agree with Gulliver on this point. Yet, Ritchie was convinced that her view was the most reasonable one by far. From her perspective, proponents of libertarian free will were naïve and their arguments were weak. In reference to an unnamed male critic, she wrote to James Creighton, “It seems a pity your professional correspondent should allow ‘gallantry’ to interfere with his knocking my deterministic arguments on the head.” Instead, he should exercise “true chivalry [and] come to the aid of the ‘libertarians’ who need all the help they can get!”69 Ritchie also had a larger philosophical project in mind. Her ultimate goal in this essay is not only to establish how individuals can be held morally accountable but also to demonstrate that modern social science can be used to intervene and alter outcomes. The dominance of Christian morality, she argues, has made ethics seem “peculiar and unique” to each individual. But

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by making use of social science to study behavior, we can anticipate social dysfunctions, intervene when necessary, and influence the outcome: What should be done is to introduce [a wrong-doer] into such new conditions as shall be suited to modify [their] character. . . . Hence punishment as reformatory is in perfect harmony with determinists’ contentions.70 Conversely, praising good behavior “is to some extent helpful in the production of such conduct.”71 That is, if we reward good behavior, we will produce more moral and/or benevolent acts. In this way, we can bring more goodness into the world. Ritchie holds further that modern science has demonstrated a link between goodness and beauty. (Note that her colleague at Cornell, May Slosson, made similar statements.) And at this point, she re-aligns herself with Spinoza’s thought, asserting that there is a unity, wholeness, and harmony underlying the determinists’ worldview. Interestingly, in this article she places less emphasis on the spiritual aspects of Spinoza’s thought and is also less concerned about distancing herself from pantheism.

On Spinoza Eliza Ritchie was among a select group of scholars and the first woman to produce work on Spinoza at the turn of the twentieth century in US-based academic journals.72 She published two articles in The Philosophical Review, “Notes on Spinoza’s conception of God” (1902) and “The reality of the finite in Spinoza’s system” (1904). Her work was followed by an article in 1907 in the American Journal of Psychology by another early woman academic, Amy Elizabeth Tanner (Chicago, 1898). As noted, Ritchie also published an overview of Spinoza in the Dalhousie Review decades later, thereby introducing a more general audience to the main lines of his thought. Ritchie’s “Notes on Spinoza’s conception of God” was the lead article in The Philosophical Review when it appeared in print. In this essay, Ritchie makes it clear that she was well-acquainted with his thought, first explaining his



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concepts of substance, attributes, and modes of existence to her readers. She then pre-emptively addresses common misreadings of Spinoza, asserting that Substance is not a personal or anthropomorphic god figure; that the attributes of Substance are infinite, despite the fact that we encounter only two—thought and extension; and that modes are simply the way we encounter the infinite manifold of experience, not independent entities apart from Substance. Ritchie also makes sure to note that Spinoza’s decision to employ a cumbersome geometric proof format was misguided and renders his ideas unduly difficult to digest.73 Her next move is to put Spinoza in context, historically and philosophically. She recognizes that Spinoza accepted an idea argued by Descartes—that God’s essence must entail existence—and this necessarily influences other aspects of his system. As Ritchie explores Spinoza’s system in this essay, her placement as an early academic thinker becomes clear. She had gained both breadth and depth in her study of philosophy at Cornell, but she took pains to link Spinoza’s ideas to idealism, which dominated philosophy in the decades following nascent discussions of German thinkers among the New England transcendentalists and St. Louis idealists. In fact, her interest in squaring Spinoza with Hegel’s thought is the main focus of her second article about Spinoza, discussed later. Ritchie recognizes that Hegel objected to aspects of Spinoza’s thought by charging that his understanding of God led to a concept of Being that is too abstract. God and Being, Hegel said, has to be concrete and experienced (or experience-able), but in Spinoza’s system both are far removed from material realities, distant and unknowable. Ritchie tries to defend Spinoza, saying that in his view Being is a vague and poorly conceived term. In her understanding, Spinoza held that an abstract term like “Being” is “in the highest degree confused,” and is in use only because of “the limitations of the human imagination.”74 Ritchie further explains that “The philosophy of Spinoza is not an idealism in the sense . . . [of] the metaphysics of Fichte and Hegel. He never builds up the existent world out of the thought-material of consciousness. For him, the fact of facts . . . is the real itself.”75

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At this point, Ritchie addresses other misinterpretations of Spinoza. Erdmann, she says, understood Spinoza’s attributes to be essentially predicates, but this too is misplaced. The source of his error is “attaching the attributes to the understanding.” She clarifies that the attributes are not a faculty of the mind for Spinoza but are characteristics of Substance itself.76 Trendelenburg’s error, on the other hand, was to conceive of Spinoza’s attributes as eternal independent entities, detached from Substance. She maintains instead that the attributes have no separate existence of their own, but simply emanate from God. Human beings may have the experience of viewing God’s attributes independently, but they are, in fact, wholly of God. They express God’s nature but are not separate from God in any sense.77 Ritchie’s discussion of Erdmann and Trendlenburg is likely to have been influenced by James Creighton when the article was under consideration at The Philosophical Review. She wrote: Thank you much for your suggestions in re the Spinoza article. I must have been too vague in writing of ‘the attributes,’ though the distinction between my own view and Erdmann’s is pretty clear in my own mind . . . I should like to rewrite or at least revise that part of the paper, so please send it back to me.78 Ritchie then brings a brief discussion of Kant into the mix. As an illustration of the development of these ideas in early academic philosophy, it is worth quoting her at length on this point: It is not without interest to compare these somewhat shadowy conceptions of Spinoza with the equally ghostly noumena of the Critique of Pure Reason. The student of Kant will recall his dictum, “the concept of a noumenon is, therefore merely limitative, and intended to keep the claims of sensibility within proper bounds, it is therefore, of negative use only.” So we might say that the Spinozistic attributes (other than thought and extension) are intended to keep the claims of finite consciousness within proper bounds; they are for the freeing of reality from limitations of all kinds, and are, therefore, epistemologically of negative use only. It must be observed,



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however, that Spinoza is not hereby positing the existence of an ultimate reality which by its nature is unknowable and unapproachable like the Spencerian Absolute; rather he claims for the infinite real that it is the knowable, and as infinite must be knowable by an infinite number of ways, of which, however, but two lie open to us.79 Having laid these misreadings of Spinoza to rest, Ritchie provides some of her own insights into his thought. Most notably, she makes it clear that for Spinoza, Substance cannot be static, but is active—in its very essence. God’s “power is no mere possibility of acting, but is action itself.”80 Refining her argument on this point, she continues, “God is being, but being in its very essence is active. . . . Being and only being is, but since it is, it acts. God's essence and His power are one, and this power is not mere potentiality . . . for the infinite things which come from infinite nature He necessarily does.”81 Therefore, Ritchie concludes that in Spinoza’s view it is just as impossible to conceive of God as not acting as to conceive of God not having existence. After acknowledging the challenges that continue to plague Spinoza—for instance, the supposed infinite number of attributes, only two of which we can experience, or the tautological nature of his claims about Being—she moves to the question of whether Spinoza’s Substance has consciousness. In her view, the problem is critics’ failure to see that Spinoza rejected anthropomorphic understandings of God. Although he “frequently refers both to the divine power and to the ‘infinite intellect’ of God, yet he also expressly warns us that we cannot ascribe intellect and will to God, save in a sense wholly unlike that in which we apply them to human beings.”82 Her conclusion on this point is that “Spinoza’s God . . . is consciousness per se, eternal, all-embracing, and self-sufficient; . . . [which] is cognizable by our reason, which . . . misleads us when it represents it as analogous to our own [reason], since the latter, being only a ‘mode,’ is finite, transitory, and dependent.”83 Two years after this article appeared, Ritchie published a second discussion, “The Reality of the Finite in Spinoza’s System,” also in The Philosophical

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Review. Here her main objective is, again, to defend Spinoza from the charge that his system “relegate[s] the phenomenal world to the limbo of the illusory and unreal”—a charge made by Hegel.84 In her view, Hegel misunderstood Spinoza’s epistemology and ontology. The Spinozian attributes and modes are not independent processes or objects that are separate and distinct from Substance. Human beings do not possess faculties that are akin to or that participate in the powers of the attributes. Instead, his attributes are the means through which we are able to perceive aspects of the nature of Substance. Similarly, his modes are not entities that stand apart from Substance; they are simply manifestations of Substance (as perceived through the attributes) that emanate from and retain some measure of the nature of Substance. Spinoza’s Substance is a central and integrated whole in Ritchie’s view, a cosmic unity that is expressed in and through diversity. He is guilty of neither atheism— the most common charge against him, particularly in his own day—nor “acosmism,” as Hegel suggests. In this article, Ritchie went to great lengths to represent Spinoza fully and fairly, and she largely succeeded in doing so. Ritchie’s eagerness to debunk charges of atheism against Spinoza is interesting, because she took pride in her own religious skepticism. Reportedly she announced her atheism while in college and once told a younger cousin that becoming an atheist is “like coming out of a darkened room into the light of day.”85 Even so, as we have seen, she expended a good deal of time discussing ideas related to religion: the free will/determinism debate, discussed earlier, religious truth claims, and morality in relation to belief.

Philosophy of Religion In a set of writings published just before and after 1900, Ritchie questioned the nature of religion itself, the duty of an individual to examine their own religious views, and the common assumption that religious belief serves as a moral compass. She addresses the first question in “The Essential in Religion” (1901). This article stands as a good example of academic views of religion at



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the dawn of the twentieth century, outlining as it does emerging approaches to the study and analysis of religion—as creeds, communal practices, sentiments, or intellectual postulates. To today’s scholar of religion, there is not a great deal that is new in this article. Yet, there is much of value in it. Ritchie begins by defining the term in question: Religion is the intimate and vital apprehension, by the individual, of what is conceived to be reality, in its fullest sense, la vraie vérité of things; whether such reality be regarded as co-extensive with, as included in, as inclusive of, or as distinct from, the world of natural phenomena . . . as in some way related to the individual . . . [A]ny such apprehension must embrace belief, emotional response, and the determination of conduct.86 In the pages that follow, however, Ritchie’s skepticism becomes apparent. She declares that intellectuals have two alternatives in regard to religious belief. They may “set as their mark, not truth, but orthodoxy, and search out with painful ingenuity the strongest attainable props and guards for their tottering creed, . . . till they at last ‘with much toil attain to half-belief.’” The other option? An intellectual who wants to face the challenges that rationality and science had presented in recent decades “must boldly apply to all theological questions . . . the same methods, with equal frankness and impartiality, that they would [use] for the disentangling of knotty problems in secular concerns.” She then warns: “In the former case, the structure of credulity becomes subject to dry rot, and in time will crumble away; in the latter case, it is liable to be shattered at a blow.”87 In the end, Ritchie calls for a transformed understanding of religion in this short essay, one that was embraced by the majority of New England’s transcendentalists decades earlier and would be prevalent as humanism in both academic life and popular culture after the turn of the twentieth century. Authentic religion, she says, is the quest for truth in its highest forms. Truth transcends religious creeds, community worship practices, and emotional faith commitments. Therefore, our traditional understandings of religion will

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evolve and transform over time. She assures her audience in closing that this “will involve the loss only of what is temporary and extrinsic, and will lead the way to a higher and purer form of religious life.”88 Published the previous year, Ritchie’s “Truth-Seeking in Matters of Religion” consists of a somewhat more generous discussion, perhaps because her intention was to guide others as they sift through their own beliefs. Here Ritchie asserts that evaluating one’s views is a duty, one that has the potential to open new doors to understanding. Of course, a person is at liberty to follow Pascal’s lead and assert belief merely because doing so may be worth the gamble. But Ritchie clearly has little respect for the “profound and almost cynical skepticism that underlay” Pascal’s wager.89 Again making the claim that truth is the real aim of religion, in “TruthSeeking” Ritchie recognizes that intellectual postulates are not enough to fulfill human beings. We have emotional and aesthetic needs, and religious art, music, and literature certainly help to meet those needs. At this point, she looks at literature as a helpful example. We believe in characters within literature, she says, not as historical figures, but as “types.” In this sense, Ritchie anticipates claims that would develop within theology in the late twentieth century—the mytho-poetic understanding of truth and its companion, “useful fictions” in literature. On some levels, she says, this alternative view of truth suits us well, though ultimately Ritchie rejects it: The more knowledge increases, the more do we recognize . . . the essential truth, of a great work of the creative imagination. . . . [Yet] rigorous skepticism if applied, let us say, to the most sacred of all the New Testament narratives, . . . will be for us not the less, but the more, “true,” when we have learnt to distinguish what in it was merely accidental and unhistorical. “We live by admiration, hope and love” we repeat, but these must be founded, not on dreams or fancies, but on the real, the vital, and the permanent.90 In the final pages of this article, Ritchie fully embraces a humanist understanding of religion, both epistemologically and ethically:



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If the world should cease to be regarded as the work of a supremely good and great Person, . . . the more urgent would be the demand for human strength, and knowledge, and sympathy. If there be no wisdom higher than that of weak, fallible man, the greater must be the need for the best efforts . . . to feed the little lamp of human reason, and to bring as many as possible within the circle of its light.91 In closing, she insists that religious belief can and must be subjected to rigorous examination. Otherwise, it is little more than superstition. In “Morality and Belief in the Supernatural” (1897), Ritchie’s acquaintance with early anthropology of religion is evident. She opens by making a distinction between religion—as a body of creeds, a set of practices, and an expression of culture—and belief. She then makes it clear that her aim is to discuss belief, not religion as a whole, as related to morality. Recognizing that religion can influence morality, Ritchie notes that it does so in several ways: by dictating the content of moral codes, by enforcing obedience to those codes, by linking emotion to morality, and by creating aesthetic connections to morality. But the development of morality itself, Ritchie maintains, takes place within a given community or culture. Morality does not originate from within religion, but is imported, as such, into religious traditions. “In no case is the origin of the moral distinctions to be found in a supposed supernatural sphere.”92 Belief is able to give “vividness, strength, and permanence to the moral ideal,” and in this sense “religious faith has doubtless helped to raise humanity to a higher moral plane.”93 Even so, this is the result of the influence of belief working in combination with social sanctions imposed by religious bodies—not a product of religion itself. Ritchie continues by looking at the central role rewards and punishments can play in enforcing morality. She laments that belief in the wrathful god of Christianity who demands assent to specific doctrines and creeds has led to a “gloomy record of forced conversions, religious wars, persecutions, and martyrdom” that have “darkened the pages of history.”94 Thankfully, she notes,

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religious belief has also contributed to producing altruism and beneficence— but, again, as an outgrowth of moral codes and mandates that coincide with religious practice. “Those who regard the religious sanction as essential to morality . . . fail to see that it is in truth an extra-moral sanction.”95 As she brings this discussion to a close, Ritchie acknowledges that widespread recognition of the distinction between religion and morality may be disruptive to the believing public. And this could result in a decline in moral standards. Even so, she is convinced that if implemented gradually (for the sake of our “weaker brethren” who need strong social sanctions to guide them) the sacrifice would be worth it.96 There would be only a temporary dip in morality, which would be followed by moral observance that is better informed and more genuine.

Education and Community Development Ethel Gordon Muir (1857–1940) BL, Dalhousie University (1891) ML, Dalhousie University (1893) PhD, Philosophy, Cornell (1898) Dissertation: “The Ethical System of Adam Smith” Career: Mount Holyoke College (1897–1900); Pennsylvania College for Women, Pittsburgh (1900–03); Briarcliff School, New York (1903–1918); Wilson College (1918–19); Lake Erie College (1919–37); volunteer at Grenfell Mission, Labrador (summers, 1909–32)

Life and Career Ethel Gordon Muir was born in Halifax, Nova Scotia, the second of seven children born to William and Harriet (Wisdom) Muir.97 Her father was



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a businessman who became prosperous in the shipping industry in the Canadian maritimes in the mid-nineteenth century. He was well-known in the community in Halifax and served as a volunteer firefighter much of his life. Little is known about Muir’s mother; even her birth and death dates are unknown to family genealogists. Both parents had more than a dozen siblings, and Ethel maintained ties with many of her relatives, including those who moved to Canada’s west coast, the United States, and Australia. She established an educational trust to benefit her parents’ descendants after her death; a fund that is still in existence. Muir and her sister Mary attended Nova Scotia’s Provincial Normal School. Records are incomplete, but it appears that Ethel earned a teaching certificate at the school sometime before 1885. Like so many intellectual women in her era, she started her career as a K-12 teacher. In letters to family in 1882, she made comments about teaching along with her sister at “Mrs. Dashwood’s Establishment” at Cambridge House, which she playfully referred to as “our aristocratic Halifax Boarding School.”98 By 1890, Muir had entered Dalhousie University, where she earned both a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree. Two long-time faculty members, James Ross and William Lyall, had retired and J. G. Schurman had accepted a position at Cornell. James Seth was still at Dalhousie when she earned her first degree in 1891. But by the time she had completed her master’s work in 1893, Seth had departed and Walter C. Murray (1866–1945) had joined the department. Murray later became the chair of Dalhousie’s philosophy department, serving in that capacity until 1908 when he became president of the University of Saskatchewan. At this point, no documents have surfaced to provide more information about Muir’s studies while she was in Halifax. From Dalhousie, she took the same path as fellow alumni, Eliza Ritchie and James Creighton, heading to Cornell for doctoral study. She is an example of a woman who crossed disciplinary boundaries in this period. When she entered Cornell in 1893–4, she was listed in the philosophy department, with metaphysics, ethics, and social science as her areas of study. The following two years “history of philosophy” replaced “metaphysics” as one of these areas

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of study.99 She wrote her dissertation on the political philosopher and early economist, Adam Smith. The “definitive list” of women who earned doctorates before 1900, compiled by Walter Crosby Eells in 1956 indicates that her degree was in economics.100 The last year of her doctoral work, Muir began teaching at Mount Holyoke College, a school for women in western Massachusetts. Mount Holyoke generally hired philosophy faculty with expertise in ethics or political theory at this stage in its history: Marietta Kies (1885–91), Caroline Miles Hill (1892–3), and Vida Frank Moore (1893–6) were each appointed to teach philosophy and political economy. Alice Hamlin is an exception. In 1896–7, she was listed in the college catalog as teaching only philosophy, and a historian named Anna Soule taught courses in both her own field and political economy. When Muir was hired, the philosophy and political theory pairing was back in force until the metaphysically minded Ellen Bliss Talbot joined the faculty in 1900.101 Muir left Mount Holyoke for a position at Pennsylvania College for Women (now Chatham University) near Pittsburgh, where she remained for three years. She then accepted a position at a new institution, Briarcliff School, later a women’s two-year college in the Hudson River valley near Ossining, New York.102 Briarcliff was a school she devoted her time to for many years, managing to weather the storm when the institution’s founders, Mary Elizabeth Dow and Mary Alice Knox, parted ways around 1905. Muir wrote about the schism to James Creighton: Yes, Miss Dow and Miss Knox intend next year to have separate schools. . . . I am going with Miss Dow and have never spoken of the proposed change to Miss Knox. . . . I am enjoying my work here very much. . . . [T]he girls seem more truly interested in both Psychology and Philosophy than any of my previous classes.103 In 1918, Dow began preparations to retire from Briarcliff, so appointed an assistant principal, Edith Cooper Hartman, who then took Dow’s place as



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principal in 1920. Hartmann added domestic science programs to the Briarcliff curriculum in 1919 and a two-year college degree in 1923. It may be that Muir disagreed with those decisions or that she considered herself the rightful successor to Dow after helping to establish the school fifteen years earlier, because at this point she took a position at Wilson College where she taught for only a year. In 1919, she began teaching at another school for women, Lake Erie College in Painesville, Ohio, filling the vacancy left by Clara Hitchcock, discussed in Chapter 5. Muir remained at Lake Erie until her retirement in the 1930s. While teaching at both Briarcliff and Lake Erie, Muir spent her summers as a volunteer at the Grenfell Mission in Labrador. Her first visit to the mission was in 1909, and over the years, she contributed to many of its community development projects within the fishing community there. She assisted with gardening and building projects, helped villagers develop new skills or retain long-held traditional practices, and—ever important in the eyes of an academic—established schools. Muir delivered both liberal arts instruction and “Sunday school” training to students of all ages at Grenfell and was formally named its “superintendent” of education in 1920. Even before being recognized in this way, however, she had been recruiting, training, and supervising volunteers who accompanied her each summer—primarily her students at Briarcliff and Lake Erie. For these young women, working with Muir at Grenfell became an integral part of their educational experience. Each year a cohort of up to fifteen students joined her and are sometimes mentioned in the mission’s newsletter, Among the Deep Sea Fishers, to which Muir often contributed updates or short reflections about her work. Leaders at the mission expressed appreciation for Muir on many occasions, as in this paean of sorts toward the end of her career: “The work of Miss Ethel Gordon Muir at Black Duck Cove is beyond all praise. Here this indefatigable lady built a splendid school and dwelling all in one, and for many years has given her summer vacations to the great work of uplifting and improving minds” in the community.104

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Muir’s Philosophical Work Muir’s only published academic work is her dissertation, “The Ethical System of Adam Smith.” There has been no shortage of work about Adam Smith (1723– 1790) in intellectual history, broadly speaking. He is best known, of course, as the author of The Wealth of Nations (1776), but he also received recognition for A Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759). Muir’s focus is on the earlier work, which sets her apart from her contemporaries who were publishing in US academic journals before the turn of the twentieth century. In the 1890s, we see just ten articles and reviews of Adam Smith.105 Five focused on Smith’s economic theory; two of these are comparative studies. One of the discussions of Smith as an economic theorist was produced by another early woman academic, Hannah Robie Sewall (1861– 1926; Minnesota PhD, 1898).106 Among the remaining five, Langford L. Price (1862–1950) discussed Smith’s role and influence in political history. Charles F. Bastable (1855–1945) published a discussion of Smith’s jurisprudential thought. Wilhelm Hasbach (1849–1920) looked at his views regarding justice, law, and the use of force. The only thinkers in this group who focused on Smith’s moral theory were August Oncken (1844–1911) and Muir herself. Muir’s analysis of Smith grew out of her study of the history of philosophy under James Creighton’s supervision at Cornell.107 The majority of her discussion is devoted to analyzing the role of sympathy in Smith’s theory as compared to Shaftesbury (1671–1713), Hutcheson (1694–1746), and Hume (1711–1776). She begins by noting that each of these thinkers strongly objected to the hyper-individualism and egoism that Hobbes put forth in his political philosophy. Shaftesbury in particular emphasized the deeply social nature of human beings. In his view, isolated individualism is impossible, because human beings are part of a social system. Hutcheson added that altruism is just as natural to human beings as egoism; our moral and political theories need to take both into account.108 Shaftesbury went further than Hutcheson in regard to the value of other-regarding behavior, however. He asserted that human



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beings derive pleasure from acts of benevolence and will sacrifice themselves when others are in need. Hutcheson clarified that a benevolent act cannot be performed primarily because it brings pleasure to the person performing such an act—what today is called psychological egoism: “The wish to benefit others is quite distinct from the desire for the pleasure arising from benevolence,” he said.109 Muir approves of this distinction, but also charges that Hutcheson tended to confuse emotions and ideas in his moral theory. Hume tried to address this issue, but Muir has her doubts. Hume’s claim is that we have a moral sense, and it is linked to sympathy. She approves of this move. His “treatment of sympathy,” she says, “is one of the most interesting features of his work.”110 Yet he too falls short in that he seems to say sympathy is universal—a claim he cannot explain, given his overall framework. Muir explores this further. Hume wants to claim that “other people closely resemble ourselves, and this resemblance makes us easily enter into their sentiments. The relations of contiguity and causation assist, and all, together, convey the impression or consciousness of one person to the idea of the sentiments or passions of others.”111 But Muir does not see how Hume can establish this within his system of thought. “For a writer to whom the mind is nothing but a series of separate impressions, and who holds that we can know only our own feelings, to insist upon our knowledge of, and entrance into the feelings of others, is most inconsistent.”112 Muir has serious reservations about Hume in this regard. To his credit, he attempts to improve upon this aspect of his theory in the Enquiry; she sees him as almost indistinguishable from Hutcheson in this sense. But, like Hutcheson, Hume intertwines pleasure and pain into his discussion. In this sense he lets sympathy become “so hopelessly mixed with utility,” in Muir’s view “that, as the source of moral distinctions, it [is] most unsatisfactory.”113 Muir sees Adam Smith’s ability to account for sympathy as the source of both our moral distinctions and our moral judgments as a major strength. Smith agrees with both Hutcheson and Hume that “sympathy is pleasing,

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both to the person principally concerned, and to the spectator.”114 The pleasure a person derives from helping another is natural to us as human beings. This is our moral sense at work. But our reasons for acting when we help those in need are also a function of our moral sense. And in this regard Muir believes Smith succeeds in establishing the value of sympathy, not only as a feeling but also as a form of judgment. The sympathy of the spectator is called forth by the utility of the consequences, or the merit of an action. . . . An action is proper [or appropriate] when the impartial spectator is able to sympathize with the [person in need]. It is meritorious when [they] can sympathize also with [the] end or effect [of the action]. Propriety demands that the feelings shall be suitable to their object; merit [demands], that the consequences of an act shall be beneficial to others.115 In Smith’s characterization of sympathy, both the feelings of compassion that motivate us to act and the sense of goodness and balance we derive from seeing the outcome of our actions are fundamental to our moral sense. Both arise from sympathy and both have moral status. Muir discusses Smith’s view of conscience in relation to moral sentiment at some length as well. She is especially interested in contrasting his views with Hume on this point, largely because she is troubled by Hume’s relegation of conscience to habit or social custom. She stresses aspects of Smith’s view of conscience that border on what now is known as moral psychology. Although Smith considered conscience to be an innate faculty of the mind, which was instilled in us by God, he also identified conscience with reason. On this point, Muir aligns his thought with Plato. Reason for Smith is the “judging faculty.” We use it to make judgments about what is true and false and of what is proper and improper in relation to other people—ideally as “impartial spectators.” A person’s conscience comes into play when they make judgments about their own actions. In this sense, a person must become their own impartial spectator. Muir describes how this takes place:



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I divide myself, as it were, into two persons. I, the examiner and the judge . . . [and] I, the person whose conduct is examined . . . and judged. The first is the spectator, whose sentiments with regard to my own conduct, I endeavor to enter into, by placing myself into his situation, and by considering how it would appear to me, when seen from that particular point of view. The second is the agent, the person whom I properly call myself, and of whose conduct, under the character of a spectator, I am endeavoring to form some opinion. The first is the judge, the second the person judged.116 Muir credits Smith with recognizing, “as few ethical writers have done, the importance to morality of both reason and sense. . . . Ethics, all questions of conduct, arise out of the fact of the duality of man’s nature, and an extreme insistence upon either reason or sense, to the exclusion of the other, cannot fail to produce a false view of morality.”117 She is critical of thinkers who said Smith’s moral theory relied too heavily on “state of mind” (Richard B. Haldane), emotion (Henry Sigdwick), or social rules (Johannes Schubert). She also harshly criticizes her contemporary, August Oncken, a prominent German thinker who claimed that Smith’s and Kant’s moral theories were almost identical: “This complete similarity between the ethical systems of Smith and Kant seems to me purely imaginary.” Smith, she said, places immense importance on feeling and sympathy and opposes a “purely rational and ascetic” system as well as a “purely non-rational system of morality.”118 In her view, Smith’s moral theory is related to Kant’s only by way of opposition. The only similarity to Kant that she can identify is the relation of sense to reason: To Smith, as to Kant, conception without perception is empty, and perception without conception is blind. . . . Just as Kant found that neither reason nor sense is, of itself, competent to form an object, . . . so Smith argues that, in the moral sphere, it is by sympathy alone that the perceptions can be collected, out of which reason forms the moral object, the moral

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judgment. Smith thus recognizes the great fact, neglected by Kant in his ethics, that man is by no means purely rational.119 Muir agrees with Smith that “our emotions are, as it were the raw material of morality,” which can be understood and transformed by reflecting on them through the use of reason.120 As much as Muir approves of Smith’s emphasis on sympathy and benevolence, she also recognizes the significant role self-interest can play in moral life. Self-interest is also an innate human faculty, and it can lead us to delude ourselves when we act immorally. Yet “nature leads us to form insensibly, by observations upon the conduct of others, general rules, concerning what is fit and proper. . . . and we fix this general rule in our minds, in order to correct the misrepresentations of selflove.”121 Toward the end of her discussion, Muir explains what could be considered a schism between Smith’s moral and economic theories. While we must be impartial spectators in judging our own moral behavior and while sympathy must be a central feature of our moral decision-making, Smith accepts and affirms self-interest in the economic realm. Why? Because “each [person] is, naturally, better fitted to take care of [him or herself] than of any other person. . . . [Each individual’s] chief business is to govern the affairs of [their] own daily life.”122 Using the example of wealthy landowners who produce an over-abundance of crops, Muir explains that their actions, though selfish, will have a positive impact. Since individual landowners cannot reap or consume the full yield of crops alone, they will hire workers to do the harvesting; they will then sell the produce at low rates to people with limited means. In this way, self-regarding behavior results in productivity and “selfishness . . . works out the same beneficial results in society, that would have been promoted by benevolence or sympathy.”123 Essentially, Muir was endorsing a version of trickle-down economics—a view to compare to Marietta Kies, discussed in Chapter 3, who proposed an altruistic approach to economic and political life just a few years earlier.



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An Academic Success Story Ellen Bliss Talbot (1867–1968) BA, Ohio State University (1890) PhD, Philosophy, Cornell (1898) Dissertation: “The Fundamental Principle of Fichte’s Philosophy” Career: Dresden, Ohio, teacher (1890–91); Troy, Ohio, teacher (1891–94); Emma Willard’s School, teacher (1898–1900); Mount Holyoke (1900–36); University of Chicago, post-doc (1901); APA charter member (1902); study in Berlin (Fall 1904) and Heidelberg (Spring 1905)

Life and Career Ellen “Nellie” Talbot was born in Iowa City, the second of four children in a prominent family.124 Her father, Benjamin Talbot, was the principal, first of Ohio Institution for the Deaf (1854–63), then of Iowa Institution for the Deaf (1863–78). He had also studied theology at Yale and was ordained as a Congregationalist minister, although he never served in a church. Her mother, Harriett (Bliss) Talbot, did not formally hold positions at either school, but is likely to have assisted her older sister, Mary (Bliss) Swan (1813–91), who was the ‘matron’ of the institution in Iowa. In 1880, Benjamin returned to Ohio Institution for the Deaf to serve as interim principal, and he finished out his career as a teacher there (1880–99). Ellen and two siblings attended Ohio State University, from which she graduated in 1890; shortly thereafter she began using the name Ellen Bliss Talbot, a recognition of her maternal heritage.125 Ellen’s sister, Mignon (1869–1950), was also a successful academic. As the first woman to earn a PhD in geology in the United States (Yale 1904), she taught alongside Ellen at Mount Holyoke College. Their brothers were both businessmen who worked across a range of sectors. Benjamin was a

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stenographer and bookkeeper who worked in the transportation sector early in his career and in a state mental health institution after 1900. Toward the end of his career, Herbert operated a poultry farm near his sisters’ home in South Hadley, Massachusetts. He appears to have raised special breeds of the birds, which were playfully referred to as “highbrow chickens” in an alumni magazine.126 Both Ellen and Mignon remained unmarried, as was the case for many professional women in their era. The Talbot family lived on the campus of each of the schools Benjamin served, which acquainted Ellen and her siblings with Deaf language and culture. Until Ellen was at least ten years old, the family’s residence was a dormitory that housed twenty students ranging in age from twelve to twenty-two.127 No doubt, this childhood experience influenced her personal development, thus it will be valuable to provide a brief sketch of her father’s views. Given the paternalistic attitudes about Deafness that were in force in the last half of the nineteenth century, Benjamin Talbot held relatively progressive ideas about Deaf education. To be clear, he did not meet our twenty-firstcentury standards for Deaf self-determination and autonomy. Like so many educators in this era, he believed there was value in incorporating the “articulation” method into the school’s curriculum—that is, teaching Deaf students how to vocalize and read lips. Yet in a report to the state legislature as principal of the Iowa Institution for the Deaf in 1867, he insisted that Deaf students should not be taught using only oral forms of communication. In a school for the Deaf, he said, oral instruction alone “is of no practical value whatever. It is trying and painful to the pupil, exhausting and discouraging to the teacher, and above all wastes much valuable time that could be spent to vastly greater profit in the acquisition of written language and of valuable knowledge from books.”128 He hired Deaf teachers and at least two hearing teachers who were familiar with “signs.” In addition, he defended the school’s use of sign language, which many educators in this period considered merely a signal-system. The example he used to advance his argument points toward



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nascent linguistic and pedagogical theories that would be developed more fully in the twentieth century: Words, whether spoken, written, or printed, are only conventional signs for ideas which people have agreed should mean certain things . . . [whether] visible objects, qualities, actions, or states of being. For instance, the letters h-a-t combined into the word hat no more represent in themselves the thing which a man wears on his head than they do a covering for the foot or anything else. . . . [O]ne might repeat the word hat a hundred or a thousand times to a person [who does not speak] English without conveying the slightest notion of its meaning. . . . [Yet] a hat or a picture of one may be exhibited in connection with the word hat, written in full view, and . . . a connection between them will soon be established in the mind of the pupil. . . [T]he word will come to represent the object, just as it does to hearing people when spoken.129 Benjamin Talbot further affirmed the value of sign language, saying it “will continue to be the most natural, most convenient, and most effective form of communication [for the Deaf] and will therefore probably always hold [a] place in our institutions.”130 As was fairly common for women (and some men) in this era, Ellen Bliss Talbot taught at high schools before entering Cornell University for graduate study in philosophy. She benefited from Cornell’s egalitarian approach to higher education, but the academic environment beyond the graduate programs of universities like Cornell was not always friendly to women. Even after earning a doctorate, she was not readily able to find a position at the college level. Like many of her colleagues in this volume, Marietta Kies, Caroline Miles Hill, Eliza Sunderland, Georgiana Simpson, and Eva Dykes, Talbot returned to secondary school teaching after completing doctoral work. In her case, this was Emma Willard’s school for girls in Troy, New York. It was during this time that she also faced the painful task of attending her parents’ funeral after the pair succumbed to tuberculosis within a two-day period in January 1899. In

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1900, Talbot followed the most common career path for women academics in this era, accepting a position at Mount Holyoke, a women’s college in western Massachusetts, where she replaced Ethel Muir. Talbot would remain at the college throughout her career. After joining the faculty at Mount Holyoke, Talbot was on her way to becoming one of Cornell’s most successful alumna to earn a doctoral degree before 1900. She studied under John Dewey as a postdoctoral student in Chicago in the summer of 1901. Three years later, she spent a year doing postdoctoral work in Heidelberg and Berlin. During her stay, she wrote to James Creighton to provide long and informative updates about her academic experiences in Germany. She reported that she began her stay that summer with daily language lessons while living with a German family. In the fall semester, she planned to devote two hours each day to preparing her thesis for publication, partly because she feared she would be barred from attending lectures as a woman since she had not yet been officially conferred a degree at Cornell. Talbot did a good deal of verbal handwringing over this issue in a letter she sent in September before classes were due to start in early October. According to her account, a new policy had been announced at Cornell while she was writing her thesis, which required students to publish their dissertations before being granted a doctoral degree.131 Louise Hannum wrote to Creighton the following year to express her anxieties about the very same problem.132 Later correspondence from Talbot demonstrates that Creighton provided a statement to validate her academic success at Cornell and confirm that she was qualified to study in German institutions. In a letter to Creighton in January 1905, Talbot reported that she was in Berlin and taking a class in German “for foreigners.” She had been attending lectures on ethics by Georg Simmel (1858–1918), a neo-Kantian who would become influential in early sociological theory.133 She also went to lectures by Max Dessoir (1867–1947), a specialist in aesthetics and a pioneer in experimental psychology who later developed interests in paranormal phenomenon.134She lamented the fact that the idealist philosopher Friedrich Paulsen (1846–1908)



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was teaching courses that did not interest her—one on pedagogy and another on Spinoza’s ethics.135 So she sat in on lectures on Renaissance literature instead. In this letter, she also penned colorful descriptions of her classroom experiences. For instance, she enjoyed Simmel’s discussion of ethics in relation to contemporary social problems, but said he could be a bit difficult to follow at times: “He doesn’t speak distinctly in the first place. . . . Then he has the unfortunate habit of lowering his voice almost to a whisper at the most important places. . . . His theatrical manner of lecturing is very annoying. Why a staid professor of philosophy should try to imitate an actor is more than I can understand.”136 She also explained that she had given up on a course on nineteenth-century philosophy offered by Paul Menzer (1873–1960), a recent doctoral recipient who went on to become a Kant scholar at the University of Halle.137 The material was interesting, but he spoke too rapidly for her to retain the material while also taking notes. She complained that even in English Menzer would have been difficult to understand.138 When she returned from Europe for the 1905–6 academic year, Talbot became Mount Holyoke’s chair of the department of philosophy and psychology and remained at the college until she retired in 1936. Active in the APA throughout her career, she was acquainted with a number of prominent contemporaries beyond Cornell or was in dialogue with them in print: James E. Creighton, William James, E. E. C. Jones, Ralph Barton Perry, Arthur K. Rogers, Josiah Royce, Andrew Seth, and Mary Whiton Calkins. She reviewed several books, two of which were written by Calkins: Der DoppelteStandpunkt in der Psychologie and The Persistent Problems of Philosophy.139 Like Anna Julia Cooper, discussed in Chapter 6, Talbot lived for just over a century and remained active in community life in the college town of South Hadley, Massachusetts, for many years after her retirement. Her longevity provided me with a rare opportunity to learn about her as a citizen of the college town she called home for more than fifty years. Former Mount Holyoke philosophy professor, Richard Robin (1926–2010) related that Talbot often attended town meetings where she spoke with conviction about local issues.

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She was small in stature but had a commanding presence and was respected in the community. In the last years of her life she moved to Spartanburg, South Carolina, to live with a niece and her family.140 Talbot produced more published work than the majority of women in this volume. Eliza Ritchie nearly matches her in that regard; only Mary Whiton Calkins and Christine Ladd-Franklin surpassed her. Most of her work focuses on Fichte, who sought to build a philosophical system to overcome the dualism he saw in Kant—namely, the chasms between subject and object, between the ideal and the real. These discussions appear in her dissertation, “The nature of Fichte’s fundamental principle with special reference to its relation to the individual consciousness” (1898) as well as several articles that drew on her dissertation: “The Relation between Human Consciousness and its Ideal as Conceived by Kant and Fichte” (1900), “The Relation of the Two Periods of Fichte’s Philosophy” (1901), Fundamental Principles of Fichte’s Philosophy (1906), “The Philosophy of Fichte in its Relation to Pragmatism” (1907), and “Fichte’s Conception of God” (1913).141 She also explored notions and philosophical quandaries that were prevalent at this time in a handful of articles: “The Doctrine of Conscious Elements” (1895), “Individuality and Freedom” (1909), and a more lengthy two-part discussion, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life” (1914, 1915).

Ellen Bliss Talbot’s Philosophical Work On Fichte Talbot was, first and foremost, a student of Fichte’s work, and her discussions of him provide today’s reader with context for both thinkers in their respective historical settings. Decades before Talbot came of age, there had been a flurry of interest in Fichte in the United States. A. E. Kroeger (1837–82) produced translations of his work as well as a short article comparing Kant, Fichte, and Hegel, in the country’s first philosophy periodical, The Journal of Speculative



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Philosophy, in 1872. An active member of the St. Louis idealist movement in philosophy, he was an associate of William Torrey Harris and would have known several of the women discussed in volume one of this study. In 1878, a comparison of Kant and Fichte by Robert C. Ware also appeared in JSP. This paper was Ware’s bachelor’s degree thesis at Massachusetts Institute of Technology while George Howison was chair of the philosophy department. Howison was also associated with the St. Louis movement and appears to have supported the professional development of Marietta Kies, discussed in Chapter 3.142 Little evidence of interest in Fichte appears again in the United States until the mid-1890s. Mary Whiton Calkins contributed a review of Fichte’s Grundlage der Wissenschaftslehre to The Philosophical Review in 1894, although it is clear that she had little tolerance for the abstruse nature of his work.143 No doubt this is an early signal of the different philosophical orientations we see in Calkins and Talbot. An article by James A. Leighton (1870–1954) about Fichte’s concept of God was published in the Review the next year.144 Leighton is likely to have known Calkins, Talbot, and other women in this volume. Just prior to publishing this article, he had completed a doctorate at Cornell. This was followed by a degree at Episcopal Theological Seminary, where he also studied informally at Harvard with William James and Josiah Royce. Two years after his article appeared in the Review, Leighton accepted a position at Hobart College (1897–1910) and later became chair of philosophy at Ohio State University (1910–41). The last person to produce work on Fichte in the United States prior to 1900, Anna Boynton Thompson (1848–1923), is an interesting figure.145 In 1877, she began teaching history at Thayer Academy, a coeducational high school near Boston and was a central faculty member there for nearly fifty years. Yet Thompson did not earn degrees from Radcliffe until midlife—a bachelor’s degree in 1898 and a master’s in 1899. Prior to this, she published a 250-page study of Fichte, The Unity of Fichte's Doctrine of Knowledge (1896), which featured an introduction by Josiah Royce and was published in the Radcliffe College Monograph Series. Thompson’s academic

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focus remained in history, primarily of ancient Greece and Egypt, however. After being awarded an honorary doctorate by Tufts in 1902, she did not produce more published philosophical work. Talbot became a central figure in Fichte studies in the United States just before and after the turn of the twentieth century. She published her dissertation as well as five of the first eight articles on Fichte after the turn of the century in Philosophical Review, The Monist, and Kant-Studien.146 She valued Fichte’s approach to epistemology and metaphysics, seeing his system as a way to reconcile the subject-object divide that had developed in the history of modern philosophy. In her view, Fichte helped address questions left unanswered by Kant regarding the nature of human consciousness in relation to the world of experience—questions that, in her era, were at the intersection of philosophy of mind and psychology. In his early work, she says, Fichte attempted to answer these questions by turning to the self or the Ego, which he considered the ultimate organizing principle in the world. But as his thought developed, he determined that the Ego failed to unify experience, much as Kant’s transcendental unity of apperception failed to account fully for the gulf between subject and object. In his later work, Fichte began using terms like “knowing” or “absolute knowing” to refer to the Ego, ultimately making Ego secondary to a greater reality, which he called the Absolute. With the aim of finding a pathway out of what he saw as Kantian dualism, Fichte established the Ego, which he sometimes called the Idea of the Ego, as the ultimate principle that brings unity to all of reality. As Talbot conceives of it, Ego in Fichte’s system is equivalent to Kant’s transcendental unity of apperception.147 There are two critical differences between Kant’s transcendental unity and Fichte’s view, however. While Kant may have intended his distinctions between form and content, the activity of the mind and the manifold that it grasps, to be merely formal, his system left a gap between our mental processes and the material it encounters—at least this was Talbot’s view. Kant’s transcendental unity cannot help but appear to be a function of the mind. By contrast, Fichte insists that the faculties of the



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mind and the manifold of experience are not distinct from each other. Fully embracing an idealist ontology, Fichte conceived of consciousness as, not an entity, but instead as both the ability to unite form and content and the act of uniting the two in experience. In this sense, Fichte could be characterized as an early phenomenologist, as argued in recent years.148 Each individual has a consciousness, which is, of course, finite. Yet, Fichte also believed that these finite instances of consciousness aggregate to form a unity of consciousness— that is, the Ego—which transcends any given individual consciousness. In this sense, Ego is the instantiation of unity in the form of consciousness. Further, in Fichte’s view consciousness is “what is actual, what really exists,”149 both on the individual level and in aggregate. Consciousness comprises all of reality, and is dynamic and active, not static. Talbot recognizes that in his early work, Fichte appeared to default to a dualistic view—in which self and not-self were a central focus. This contributed to the same divide between subject and object, the ideal and the real, which he originally sought to overcome. Over time Fichte aimed to remedy this problem, but Talbot maintains his understandings of metaphysics and ontology remained consistent. He saw the subjective form as primary and the unified form as secondary in both logical priority and theoretical importance. But the central point for Fichte was that this dual character of Ego cannot be denied. Ego is by nature a unity in duality. In her view, he shifted emphasis in his later work, and this does have implications for the way his ideas were interpreted, but his system as a whole did not change. In his later work Fichte held that the Ego has two forms: as pure subject (form alone) and as the unity of subject and object (form and matter together). Fichte also established God or the Absolute as the highest principle in his later period and made Ego dependent upon it. The Absolute, now Fichte’s highest principle according to Talbot, subsumes the Ego, which is a unified duality. She then explains that he sees the true Absolute not as an object separate and distinct from ourselves, but as an activity, a knowing, or an active being. The Absolute is that in which and through which we have our being.

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Talbot expands on his view of God in an article published in The Monist in 1913. Here, she explains that for Fichte, all of human experience is essentially a striving—intellectually in relation to knowledge acquisition, aesthetically in regard to our creative efforts, and morally in our individual expressions of will. In her understanding, Fichte’s God is “that ideal of unity which, through its many wanderings and error, humanity is striving to reach. [God] is the goal . . . toward which, through all the progress of the ages, the spirit of [humanity] has been struggling. The perfect harmony of all individuals with one another.”150 She is quick to clarify that God is not merely an ideal that arises out of superficial dissatisfactions, however. Instead, God is an “absolute standard” for Fichte and in this sense has “absolute value” and “intrinsic worth” and is “the indwelling force in the world-process.”151 Overall, however, Fichte’s focus was not on traditional notions of God, but on the Absolute, which, as Talbot informs her readers, should be understood “not as being, set over against knowing [or Ego], but as ‘the living Wir in sich,’ a principle which lives in us and manifests itself through us.”152 Ultimately Fichte articulated a pluralistic metaphysics—the cosmos is a plurality that is held in unity in his system. The mature Fichte clarified that “the actual world is not a single consciousness, but a number of consciousnesses, a multiplicity of finite beings. . . . The sense-world is not an organic whole, but an aggregate; not a universe, but a ‘multiverse.’”153 Talbot not only explains but also defends Fichte’s theory, because in her view it does a better job than rival theories to explain how subject and object can stand in opposition to each other, while at the same time being a unity. Yet she recognizes that he was not able to fully reconcile some ongoing philosophical debates—about plurality in/and unity, for instance. She was also aware that some of her claims about Fichte’s thought were controversial. Her more traditional idealist contemporaries might not have approved of the view that a plurality of consciousnesses must be maintained in unity by a quasitranscendent Absolute. Yet, she maintained that Fichte’s system inevitably leads to this conclusion.



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Philosophy versus Psychology Talbot’s first published article appeared in The Philosophical Review in 1895. In “The Doctrine of Conscious Elements” she distinguishes between the methods of inquiry used in philosophy and psychology as the latter was emerging as a new and far more empirical discipline. Interestingly enough, she was among the women in this volume who remained solidly within philosophy. She conducted only one fledgling psychological study, “An Attempt to Train the Visual Memory,” early in her career.154 Even so, she embarked on her critique, charging that many thinkers err when they use old (philosophical) methods of inquiry when they are trying to understand a foundational principle, or “element” at the core of a concept—an “element” that simply is not there to be found. Such thinkers fail “to see that we cannot go behind our elements” that “ultimates have been reached [which] must be accepted.”155 She then outlines the errors that old-school thinkers make because they have not yet adjusted to new understandings and methods of inquiry. First, they seek to discover fundamental “elements” of thought or experience that defy examination or further explanation, such as “idea,” “sensation,” or “will.” Second, old-style thinkers rely on metaphysical assumptions—outdated notions such as “soul,” for instance, or “inherent powers.” Third—and this is a charge that May Preston Slosson made as well: they attempt to explain what is unknown by drawing on additional unknowns, inventing a term like “faculty” as a power or capacity of the mind, for instance. Citing George Trumbull Ladd of Yale, Talbot provides an example to illustrate this point. New methods of inquiry cannot draw on a concept like “faculties as an explanation, because ‘the formation and development of faculty is itself the chief thing which scientific psychology has to explain.’”156 Finally, old-style thinkers fail to collect and analyze data, resorting instead to theories that are vague and archaic. Talbot sees a good deal of promise in psychology and its new scientific approach. First it has no interest in the empty abstractions of metaphysics. Second, it recognizes when its “ultimates” have been reached. Thus, it resists

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trying to explain them further. The process of knowing, for instance, was understood in philosophy as a capacity or a faculty of the mind. In Talbot’s time, psychology had begun to understand knowing as a set of processes that can be examined, such as sensation, affection, and conation. Talbot claims that psychology is content with stopping at this level of analysis and accepting this more narrowly described set of processes as “ultimates.” Related to this is another strength of psychology’s methods of inquiry: it focuses on observing and measuring its “elements” or “ultimates” rather than further theorizing about their nature or substance. For instance, as a type of knowing, sensation has certain characteristics that can be observed and measured. As psychology advances, practitioners may be able to explain what is “behind” different types of knowing—to find the “ultimates” that give rise to elements like sensation. But until then, it will not build unverifiable theories about sensation as an ontological or metaphysical entity. Psychology’s next strength is its recognition that analysis comes first and—once an activity or process has been fully examined—synthesis can follow. Finally, psychology focuses solely on experience. It does not get bogged down with moral constructs or metaphysical systems that import other factors into the examination of individual human lives.157 Talbot cautions that new methods of inquiry in psychology may also have shortcomings, however. Psychology can be too focused on data collection and “never get beyond [mere] facts.”158 Thus, this new science could fail to take account of the fullness of human experience. As psychology and its research methods develop over time, it may not even care to do so.

Free Will versus Determinism In the free will/determinism debate, like Eliza Ritchie, Talbot comes down on the side of determinism. And while many of the claims she makes in “Individuality and Freedom” (1909) are similar to Ritchie’s assertions, she attempts to clarify how we can experience a sense of free choice within a



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determinist framework. She begins by examining why it is common to resist or reject determinism. We have a sense that genuine individuality consists in having a unified sense of self, uniqueness, and self-sufficiency. Unity in the qualitative, not simply the numerical sense, involves both internal complexity and inner coherence. Uniqueness entails differentiating oneself from others, not in the sense of “pass[ing] over into bizarrerie,” but by developing a distinctive personality while also “speak[ing] the common language of humanity.”159 Selfsufficiency could also be called completeness or self-direction. Self-sufficiency consists in having the ability to direct one’s own life, although she recognizes that human beings are interdependent, therefore as “part of a whole, [they] can never attain to complete self-sufficiency.”160 In Talbot’s view, in order to live a truly moral life, human beings must make choices. And, like Ritchie, she affirms that the choices we make will necessarily be based on the particularities of a given individual’s circumstances. In a very real sense, all of our choices could not be otherwise. The influence of family, social relationships, personal history, and specific circumstances beyond our control will determine the choices we make. Yet, our impulse is to cling to a notion of free will—a belief that we have “real alternatives”—because the ability to choose is linked to our understanding of an individual’s unity, uniqueness, and self-sufficiency. In an effort to demonstrate that individuality will not be damaged or lost, even within a solid determinist framework, Talbot examines each of these elements in turn. Briefly, the qualitative (not simply numerical) unity that a human being possesses is central to identity. Even with a “lack of consistency in our opinions, the variability of our feelings, and . . . the sense of inner discord”161 many of us experience, the majority of individuals remain a unity within themselves, with an understanding of their identity and a sense of self that persists through time. Similarly, despite the fact that heredity, social influences, and our environment shape who we are, generally, each person has a sense that their own history and surroundings make them unique. Finally, our notion of self-sufficiency is intertwined with a belief that we are able to establish our own goals and

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priorities and take responsibility for attaining them. Each of these elements of individuality is compatible with determinism, in Talbot’s view. Regarding unity and uniqueness, what is more central to our sense of selfhood than the ability to take stock of our situation and make a choice than by acting in accordance with our own nature? At the heart of the problem is the question of whether “real alternatives” exist. Due to our understanding of human beings as unified, unique, and selfsufficient selves, we want to believe we are able to make genuine and novel choices. But Talbot assures us that, even within a determinist framework, we are able to make truly meaningful choices at any given moment. We experience our decisions as being freely made. At every moment, every thought and its relation to the will, and every situation is unique to each of us. Further, the experience and personality of each individual is also unique. We ourselves cannot predict how we would act in a given situation, so how could others do so? Each choice we make is an expression of the self, demonstrating the continuity of the character of any one of us, because personal decisions are forms of judgment, and judgment requires the use of both intellect and will. When we face even a simple choice—whether to go to a movie to relax or to stay at home to finish a paper, for instance—we are making a judgment. For Talbot, this and more complex judgments require the individual involved to use their intellect not only to assess the plusses and minuses of engaging in a certain act but also to use their will to act in that way. When we decide to go to the movies instead of writing, what we are doing is taking an inventory of our personal nature, history, and circumstances in such a way as to determine that recreation is more important than work at the moment. But for Talbot, the moral philosophical backdrop is the same: a person knows him/herself intimately and makes the decision based on this intimate—and perhaps subconscious—knowledge of what the best act is, for that moment in time at least. An individual could not have decided otherwise, because her/his personal history and will to act could not have brought him/her to anything other than that point in place and time.



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Individuality through Time “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life” (1914–15) is a two-part article in which Talbot examines the nature of human moral development and interpretations of it—by outside observers as well as by the individual in question. In part one of the article, she looks at the aesthetic, intellectual, moral, and hedonic elements of human experience. Here she aims to establish whether our understandings of a person’s character are shaped by time, and if so to what degree this is the case. Her main claim is that experiences later in life are generally understood to supersede a person’s earlier experiences. A person who has had a successful and productive life in their youth is looked upon with pity if their life ends in debility or tragedy. Conversely, a person who struggles or stumbles to make their way in their early years but succeeds at the end of their life is generally considered to be redeemed. There are reasons for this in Talbot’s view, and her description makes it clear that they are based on common understandings of the self, particularly as influenced by philosophical idealism in her day. A moral downfall in the latter part of a [person’s] history leads us to suspect that the earlier goodness was not genuine. The weakness that made possible this breakdown must have been present, we say, from the first. . . . [When a person] begins to order his life aright only in its later years . . . [we say] there is really much of good in him from the beginning; but through the force of circumstance it was prevented from manifesting itself during the earlier years. . . . The later stages are more important for the estimation of its worth, mainly because they reveal that worth more clearly.162 This assessment is held more firmly when it relates to an individual’s moral and hedonic experiences than to intellectual or aesthetic achievements. A person whose moral development (in a broad sense of the term “moral”) has gone awry is thought to deserve pity or condemnation. Generally, this person would also experience a good deal of pain or anguish at their failures. Talbot

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conjectures that this is due to the fact that our moral selves and our own experiences of pleasure and pain are seen to be deeply connected to our true identities: “Morality is primarily a matter of the personal life, and to consider it simply in its effect upon others is to neglect its fundamental aspect.”163 Failures or shortcomings in developing intellectually or aesthetically (specifically the products of each) are judged less harshly, both because they are at a remove from the individual him/herself and because the products of our intellectual and aesthetic selves have an existence and a permanence apart from the person who created them. According to Talbot, “Truth and beauty . . . are protected from the vicissitudes of time in a way in which neither pleasure nor moral excellence is.” Therefore, “intellectual and aesthetic achievement . . . seem to [be] more objective and impersonal than either moral attainment or happiness.”164 We cannot fault a person who does not create a great work of art. They may not have experienced the needed moments of inspiration or had access to adequate time or resources to do so. If a person’s moral character is good and they have lived with a sense of contentment (a harmonious family life, for instance), their life is judged to be good in and of itself. As this part of the discussion comes to a close, Talbot asks whether the assessment by outside observers of an individual’s development—intellectual, aesthetic, and moral—is similar to the experience of the person him/herself. It seems clear that this cannot be the case, since an observer can never understand the quality of another’s experiences or know their moral worth. She puts forth another proposal, however. We can consider the assessment of a person’s experiences in two ways: an individual may begin as a complete self when they enter the world. On this view, the course of their life then involves an unfolding of an individual self. Alternatively, an individual may develop step by step, until they arrive at a completion or fullness of the self at the end of their life. Talbot favors the latter view, and she discusses it at some length in the second installment of this article. In “Time-Process,” part two, Talbot looks at individual moral development by taking up two central questions: (a) whether time is truly continuous,



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leading each of us toward a period of fruition, as such, in our lives; (b) whether the changes we experience are a genuine process of transformation, or simply a disconnected series of events. Both views have serious implications, because if time is not continuous and change is not genuine, then our experiences or questions about them do not have reality, ontological worth, or moral value. A central problem in this discussion is time and our relationship to it. We experience our lives through time, which is irreversible. The present seems to build on the experiences of the past and in a sense to supersede them. The future will have the same effect on the present moments we now embrace. Through this progression of time, we will also experience change and growth. But philosophical idealists and early phenomenologists in this era wanted to establish how continuity through time and genuine change occurs. Are both simply a matter of perception? And how do the two relate to each other? In Talbot’s view we have a sense of building on the past and moving toward a future that brings genuine and meaningful change. And we can rely on this understanding of both time and change if we do the following: a) accept the order and the irreversibility of time; b) accept idea of the dependence of one event on the next; c) accept the reality of change/transformation; d) “suppose that the later [events] include the earlier and thus in a sense keep them in existence.”165 In her discussion of time, it becomes clear that Talbot leans toward what is now seen as an existential brand of phenomenology, although branches of this field within philosophy had not quite emerged in this early period. She recognizes that as time passes, each moment or stage of life “passes into non-existence.” As time progresses, “the past has no power to alter the value of the present [although] the present seems in a certain sense able to affect . . . the past. The present, since it alone is real, is all in all.” The only thing any given individual can assert as time progresses: “I am only that which I am now.”166

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Critics could charge that Talbot has sketched out only the bare outline of individuality that is void of content. Yet she maintains that each human being is a unity, “not merely when you take it in cross-section, but also when you take it longitudinally. Each of its successive stages includes within itself all the preceding ones, and includes them in such fashion that they are at once preserved and transformed.”167 It would be simple, and some would say reasonable, to conclude from this that Talbot’s understanding of the unity of an individual through time and its many experiences can be explained in terms of memory. After all, it is common to assume that a person’s identity is based on memories that accrue over time. Philosophers might add that whatever we remember is still present in our lives, in a sense. But Talbot rejects this claim. “The appeal to the fact of memory is far from giving us a solution. . . . In the first place, if no more of my past is preserved for me than my memory can illuminate, it is probable that the larger part of it is gone forever.”168 Second, Talbot charges that memory alone cannot account for the ways in which more recent experiences seem to overcome and supersede those that are in our more distant past. At this juncture, Talbot returns to a point she made briefly in the first half of the article: “We could say that the very first stage of an individual history is virtually the whole life. . . . Everything is there, folded up in that earliest stage.” The development of the self through time is like the “unrolling of a scroll upon which all the characters are already inscribed.” Conversely, we could say that “the later [individual] contains the earlier. . . . The whole life would thus be the sum total of these stages.” As previously noted, however, Talbot embraces the second view: My present is my whole life, so far as that life has yet been lived; . . . [it] will be taken up and preserved . . . not merely in so far as it is preserved in memory, not merely by virtue of the subtle influence of past thoughts and deeds upon present character and conduct, but also because the later state is the earlier, the earlier enlarged, enriched, transformed.169



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Talbot makes it clear that this is not to say an individual is a “timeless unity.” In her understanding it is nonsensical to suggest that a person could exist as a whole, a self-contained entity. Instead, an individual develops and becomes realized as a person in and through time. In Talbot’s words, an individual is “a unity that has its very being in time.”170 In order for Talbot’s theory to work, however, she has to establish the nature of experiences and events in an individual’s life as well. Any given experience in the present, she says, must involve “not only their preservation, but also their transformation.”171 The changes we experience through time do not simply march along in a series, with the content of one experience replacing the other. Instead, each event or experience transforms from one into another. The illustration Talbot provides here is helpful. If we have a series of experiences—a, b, c, etc.,—these experiences are not simply singular events without a relationship to the event that precedes or follows it. Rather, each experience provides the conditions under which the next experience can take place. Each experience thereby becomes interconnected while also being transformed. When an individual reaches experience g, for instance, due to the transformative nature of change, that event may more closely resemble experience n than it will experience b. In Talbot’s view, this is not simply a matter of sequence, but a function of the dependence of one event or experience upon another and its relationship to the next. Talbot recognizes that her concept of transformation through time could be construed as simply a signal that an individual comes nearer to completion over the course of their lives. But she distinguishes this view from her own, casting her claims in moral terms, and it is worth quoting her at some length on this point: What I am trying to bring out is the difference . . . between an existing whole and a whole that comes to be. An existing whole cannot be completely good unless each of its simultaneously existing parts is good. But a whole that comes to be, might be completely good in spite of the fact that some of its (serial)

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parts were bad. It will always be true . . . that certain of the earlier stages were evil. But when they have grown into the final stage, they have become good.172 Again, she rejects the claim that an individual’s character is fixed and unchanging. “The true self,” she says, “is manifested in different degrees of adequacy in the various stages of life, but more fully in the later stages. . . The quality of the later stages is the more important because these reveal more fully what the life essentially is.” She adds that “belief in the supreme importance of the later stages can be defended only if we conceive the temporal character of human life in the way that we have suggested.”173 Toward the end of this article, the last of Talbot’s academic work to appear in print, she ends on a note of humility: “I do not profess to have proved that my conception of the relation of the individual life to the time-process is correct. But it seems to me that I have shown that . . . we must either accept it or repudiate all those evaluations of life that give it its deepest significance for us.” Those who wish to reject her claims must ask these questions about their own moral theory: Is progress possible? Is progress actual? Is progress “significant, desirable, valuable. Is it any better than retrogression?”174 The third question is her main concern: any theory of individuality must account for growth and change over time. She tells her readers that she is not interested in demonstrating that progress actually does take place in human lives. Rather, she wants to argue “that as progress it can have no value” unless the later stages of human experience supersede those that preceded it. She closes by saying that if “we accept the reality of change and . . . the temporal aspect of human life in the way that I have proposed, we have a theory that implies the desirability of progress and thus furnishes an adequate basis for our most fundamental judgments as to the value of life.”175 In this two-part article, Talbot clearly demonstrated that she believes an individual’s self-development is progressive, which is certainly not the consensus view—although the promise of progress may have been more readily embraced in her own time than today. Even so, her discussion is an interesting



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one, particularly as an example of academic work at the intersections of idealist philosophy, psychological theories about the self, and the emerging field of phenomenology at this time.

On Fichte and Pragmatism Talbot sought to establish the relevance of idealism in her age, as is evident in “The Philosophy of Fichte in its Relation to Pragmatism,” published in 1907. This was an odd move on her part. It is hard to imagine two more disparate approaches to philosophical inquiry than Fichte’s brand of idealism and American pragmatism. Certainly, a discussion of Fichte in relation to the newly emerging discourse known as phenomenology would have been a better fit. Edmund Husserl (1859–1938) is credited with establishing phenomenology as a school of thought, although an argument can be made for identifying it with earlier thinkers, like Fichte. Husserl developed his understanding of phenomenology as an outgrowth of his studies on the border of philosophy and psychology just after 1900, but it is not clear if Talbot crossed paths with him at this stage in her career.176 When Talbot studied at Heidelberg and Berlin in 1904–5, Husserl was a faculty member at Gottingen. He went to Berlin in March 1905 to for a discussion with Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911), and it was in part this exchange that prompted Husserl to begin his work as a phenomenologist. Although the men’s meeting appears to have taken place over a semester break, there is evidence that Dilthey incorporated new ideas into his lectures after Husserl’s visit. Yet, as noted before, Talbot does not seem to have studied with Dilthey while in Berlin. At least there is no mention of her doing so in her letters to James Creighton while she was studying abroad. By 1912, Husserl was at Freiberg and began publishing the Jahrbuchfür Philosophie und Phänomenologische Forschung (“Yearbook for Philosophy and Phenomenological Research”). Talbot appears to have either been unaware of him and his work or not interested in pursuing a new approach. As noted earlier, her last published work appeared in print in 1915.

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Talbot’s aim in “The Philosophy of Fichte in its Relation to Pragmatism” (1907) is to address some key components of Fichte’s thought that align well with—and (she believes) improve upon—pragmatism, particularly in relation to its understanding of the value of ideas/knowledge. Pragmatism famously makes the claim that the value of an idea is in its ability to be put to use in a realworld context. Talbot agrees and also asserts that Fichte would share this view. Fichte, she says, eschewed the idea that a transcendent reality exists apart from lived experience. He also embraced a pluralistic worldview. The world we experience is not monistic, according to Fichte, but pluralistic; we live not in a universe, but a multiverse. On both accounts, Fichte and pragmatists would agree, although his work has a heavy metaphysical bent that does not factor into the work of pragmatism, except perhaps in John Dewey’s “instrumental logic.” William James had begun discussing “pure experience” in 1904–05, but this work would not appear as a collection until the posthumous publication of Essays in Radical Empiricism in 1912. Talbot sees Fichte’s idealism and American pragmatism as having a common interest in putting knowledge to practical use. For Fichte, humanity is constantly striving for unity, and this is a driving force in our quest for knowledge. Both Fichte and Talbot’s contemporaries in pragmatism believed that knowledge acquisition entails more than intellectual efforts alone, although they do so in different ways. A strength of pragmatism is its recognition that knowledge acquisition is active, according to Talbot. We often “put questions to nature, set traps” for it, or force nature “to surrender [its] secrets.”177 Pragmatists were also aware that we face external constraints in our attempt to gain knowledge, but Fichte addressed this challenge in ways that could be valuable to them. He recognized that “in every intellectual process, . . . we come . . . face to face with a ‘not-ourselves’ which constrains and to which we must conform if we would know.” Once we encounter these constraints and understand the information they provide, “we are no longer free to think what we will.”178We can try to ignore or reject the facts we have gathered, but we are faced with a reality we simply cannot deny. Citing William James, F. C. Schiller, and



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A. K. Rogers, Talbot then makes the charge that, while pragmatists recognize the challenges external constraints present to us as we aim to acquire knowledge, Fichte’s concept of Ego provides the unity that pragmatism lacks. Ego, Talbot explains, provides us with a common idea, a common purpose, and a common directive force that will bring harmony and meaning to our search for knowledge. Pragmatists try to overcome the theory/practice divide simply by making the claim that “'theory is an outgrowth of practice and incapable of truly independent existence.” Quoting Schiller, she continues: “‘Properly speaking,’ they tell us, ‘such a thing as pure or mere intellection cannot occur.’”179 From Talbot’s perspective, however, Fichte improves upon this view. “His insistence that human life is throughout activity, and that all activity is purposive, is a distinctive feature of his philosophy.”180 For Fichte there are two senses of the practical in regard to thought. We can engage in thinking solely for the sake of effecting change in the world, or we can engage in thinking in order to fulfilling the desire to know. In Talbot’s view, pragmatists focus solely on attempting to effect change in the world. But one of Fichte’s strengths is his emphasis on the practical value of pursuing knowledge for its own sake. And here’s why: strictly speaking, there is no “thought which is not also will and no will which is not also thought” in Talbot’s interpretation of Fichte. “All real thinking is aiming toward an aim or purpose and in this sense is initiated and, to some extent, directed by will.”181 In this way, Fichte’s understanding of thought and knowledge has a moral component: first, “all judgment implies reference to a norm” or a standard of truth, and we use our powers of judgment when we measure information we have gathered against that norm.182 This in turn involves an act of will—the will to make distinctions between what is true or false, accurate or inaccurate. The decision to act must accompany the discovery of truth, and this “involves, at least theoretically, an element of constraint on the will. I do not judge what I would [or simply wish]” to be the case, Talbot tells her readers, “I judge what I can [i.e., am able to] and must” make judgments about, based on the evidence at hand.183

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Pragmatists fail to adequately take account of this aspect of the knowledge acquisition process, in her view. In the end, for Talbot there is a moral element in play. “One thing which I cannot—nay, if you like, which I will not—doubt is that this is a moral universe, that we have duties and the ability to perform them.” This is “not so much a theoretical as practical attitude . . . a will, more or less steadfast, to conform one’s life to the requirements of the moral ideal.”184

From College to Convent Grace Neal Dolson (1874–1961) BA, Cornell (1896) MA, Philosophy, Cornell (1897) Thesis: “The Ethical System of Henry More” PhD, Philosophy, Cornell (1899) Dissertation: “The Philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche” Career: Study in Leipzig and Jena (1897–98); Wells College (1900–11); Smith College (1911–15); Community of St. Mary convents, Sewanee, TN and Peekskill, NY (1915–61); APA charter member (1902)

Life and Career Grace Neal Dolson was born in Andover, New York, the oldest of two daughters. Her father, Charles Augustus Dolson, was a lawyer. Little information is available about her mother, Alice, or about her early life and education. Her family was comfortable enough to allow her to travel to Europe on at least two occasions—once as a student in 1897 and again with her mother in 1907. At Cornell, Dolson was active in the Kappa Kappa Gamma fraternity, along with Ellen Bliss Talbot, and her sister, Mignon Talbot.185 After earning a bachelor’s degree at Cornell, she travelled to Europe to study



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in Leipzig and Jena and considered continuing her studies in Zurich. Instead she returned to Cornell, quite likely because she was granted a fellowship. Since she was still travelling, her father responded to the award letter on her behalf: “Grace will be notified at once and I am very sure she will be very much pleased, as the opportunities . . . for certain kinds of re-search . . . in the German University where she now is does not seem to be open to women at this time.”186 Correspondence shows that she was considered for a “dean of women” position at Cornell, but was deemed inappropriate for some reason. According to J. G. Schurman, “Everybody’s impression is the same as mine that, while Miss Dolson is a beautiful character and an extraordinarily able student, there would be serious doubt of her qualifications on the social side. . . . if we laid the emphasis on the forms and practices of polite society.”187 Both J. G. Schurman and James Creighton sought to place her at a women’s school, and she was offered a position at Wells College, where she was generally the only faculty member in philosophy for just over a decade. She then taught for a few years at Smith with Anna Alice Cutler, a Yale doctoral alumna who served as chair. In 1915, Dolson resigned from her faculty position to enter a religious order, the Community of St. Mary in Peekskill, New York, leaving academic life behind. The first Anglican religious community for women in the United States, it was modeled on Benedictine practices and provided a number of social welfare and educational services in the area. In 1919, Dolson was accepted as a full member of the Community and adopted the name Sister Hilary.188 She served as an assistant superior at St. Mary's in Peekskill, New York (1921–26), as Mother Superior at a branch of the Community in Sewanee, Tennessee (1926–29), and as Mother Superior of St. Mary’s Hospital for Children in New York City (1929–52). She also produced an unpublished manuscript about the life and work of the founder of St. Mary’s, Harriet Starr Cannon. Dolson died in Peekskill in 1961 and was buried in an unmarked grave on the grounds of the convent, in accordance with the Community’s custom.189

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Dolson’s Philosophical Work On Henry More The first of Dolson’s two published works, “The Ethical System of Henry More,” was a revision of her master’s thesis at Cornell and appeared in The Philosophical Review in 1897. In this article, she situates Henry More historically, noting that both he and Ralph Cudworth wrote in reaction against the moral skepticism they believed was an outgrowth of Hobbes’s political philosophy. While both were Platonists, Dolson characterizes Cudworth as the intellect and More as the mystic in their circle of thinkers in Cambridge in the middle of the seventeenth century. In a rather wry recognition that More was not the most systematic of thinkers, she warns that he displays the “most reckless disregard for consistency.” Further, Dolson muses “that there should be any logical connection between a and b seems not at all necessary” to More. Yet, if his readers simply keep in mind his overall goal, which is to establish that our aim as human beings must be to “live well and happily,” More’s approach to ethics does indeed become coherent.190 Comparing More to Descartes, Dolson notes that in More’s view, the human mind is not limited to intellect alone. In fact, there are two main aspects of human experience: perceptions and passions. In addition, More embraced the passions, believing they are good in and of themselves. He had no need to flee them, epistemologically or morally. Yet, it is at this point that Dolson’s early observation rings true: More’s “system” fell short of being truly systematic. While it is true that human passions are good and worthwhile, they must be guided by “right reason.” And the source of “right reason,” for More, is God. Dolson’s criticisms are well-founded on this point and others related to it. More invokes the term “boniform faculty,” which helps provide each individual with moral clarity. But as Dolson observes, this boniform faculty is really nothing other than conscience. Questions remain, she says, about how right reason and boniform faculty relate to each other. She charges that



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inconsistencies abound in More’s theory in this regard. At times he appears to assert that right reason and boniform faculty are one and the same entity. At other times he claims that right reason replaces or recaptures boniform faculty when this faculty is lost or misguided. And at still others, More’s right reason can be used to correct or nurture boniform faculty when it is deficient—in essence affirming that virtue can be taught. Given the complexity of his thought and the competing values he was trying to address in his time, a degree of inconsistency in his theory is not surprising. He was, after all, more of a mystic than a philosopher. Even so, More’s free-wheeling approach had lost its charm for Dolson: “That he would explicitly state within twenty pages three different theories of the same thing is too much to suppose, even of More.”191 In her view, “A reconciliation of More’s three [approaches] is difficult, but not impossible” to manage for the patient and dedicated reader.192 The key to fully understanding him is to recognize that, ultimately, he was a subjectivist. The idea of “the good” does not apply in his system, because an action or outcome is always “good for something or somebody.”193 A person “can never get outside [one]self to judge virtue,” yet we each must act in accordance with virtue—as perceived by right reason.194 Again, Dolson recognizes that More’s reasoning becomes circular, but this is because he sees the unity of virtue and happiness as perfection itself. For More, “to separate them is an abstraction.”195 In closing, Dolson makes some well-placed criticisms of More. Throughout his work, “he assumes what he is trying to prove.”196 That is, he seems to accept the notion of an external morality that has an “objective existence of its own in the intelligible world,” but unlike his more disciplined contemporary, Cudworth, he fails to prove it.197 Dolson sees a solution. Given More’s mystical bent, the “love of God” could serve as a unifying force to resolve his inconsistencies. Yet, he will continue to puzzle the modern reader, and questions will persist—“Was he an intuitionist? Did he believe in hedonism? Could he be counted among the utilitarians?” Dolson again sees a solution: remember the “old familiar Biblical maxim, ‘not to put old wine in new bottles’”—that is, accept More’s ideas on their own terms and in his historical context.198

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On Nietzsche In the march of philosophical history, few thinkers seem more distant from each other in focus or approach than Henry More and Friedrich Nietzsche. Yet, Nietzsche is another thinker Dolson discussed in her published work. Her article, “The Influence of Schopenhauer upon Friedrich Nietzsche,” appeared in The Philosophical Review in 1901, and was the fourth of just seven discussions of Nietzsche in US academic journals before 1905; the only one by a woman.199 This article was a version of a chapter in her dissertation, The Philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche, published the same year, which H. L. Mencken called a “pioneer handbook . . . describing the Nietzschean ethics, Nietzschean aesthetics, and superman” for an English reading public.200 Dolson’s work on Nietzsche demonstrates deep familiarity with his life and work, and it helped lay a foundation for Nietzsche studies in the early twentieth century.201 Identifying three phases of Nietzsche’s thought, which she labels the aesthetic, the ethical, and the intellectual periods, she cautions her readers that each period does not neatly relate to the other. It is wise to consider the three phases of Nietzsche’s thought independently, which is indeed how Dolson proceeds. As one of the first Nietzsche analysts in the twentieth century, little about her discussion will appear novel to today’s reader. Therefore, my focus here will be on the surprising intersections of her examinations of Nietzsche and Henry More. In Dolson’s view, there are three central features that Nietzsche shares with More: a resistance to “system,” mystical leanings, and subjectivism. First, she characterizes both thinkers as lacking “system” on two levels—the rhetorical and the metaphysical. Henry More proved to be better suited for poetry than argument. Thus, he fell short of establishing a complete and convincing metaphysical theory. Similarly, Nietzsche chose aphorism to express his ideas—a genre that aligns with early Greek thought and its more expansive understanding of the love of wisdom, rather than with modern systematic philosophy.202 The similarities become more nuanced at this point, however.



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More assumed the existence of a transcendent realm and embraced it. Even so, he was more adept at engaging in spiritual than metaphysical discussions of it. Nietzsche, on the other hand, was hostile to speculative thought. He believed that philosophers should “discard . . . metaphysics as far as possible.” As Dolson phrases it, if outmoded metaphysical discussions “will not step aside of [their] own will, [they] must be pushed out of the way.”203 At the same time, both More and Nietzsche have been described as mystics, and Dolson entertains this aspect of Nietzsche’s thought, much as she did in her discussion of More. Similar to More, Nietzsche placed a high value on feeling, and this is an aspect of his thought that she linked with his mystical leanings. He saw emotion as superior to reason, because it is more central to a person’s understanding of self. Feeling, as he understood it, impels individuals to action, and thus is responsible for “furnish[ing] the motive of the will.”204 In this sense, feeling is central to morality. Making a stronger case for this claim, Dolson asserts that for Nietzsche, “the will affirms everything and gives assurance of permanence,” most notably in art, morality, and religion.205 The centrality of the will in Nietzsche’s thought leads to the final feature that he and More shared in common—subjectivism. In Dolson’s understanding, neither More nor Nietzsche believed that external, objective standards of morality (and truth) exist. In More’s case, this is simply because we each have our own understandings and experiences, which it is impossible for another person to have. Nietzsche holds a similar view, but—again—he takes it a step further, affirming subjectivism, both epistemologically and morally. As Dolson characterizes it, epistemically, “truth is always my truth and your truth . . . it cannot exist apart from us.”206 Much later in the discussion, she notes that this applied for Nietzsche morally as well: “Individualism makes an objective standard an impossibility . . . a [person] should be too proud . . . to accept [a] neighbor’s truth or even to share [their] own with someone else.”207 His moral subjectivism, then, provides a direct path to his egoism, which Dolson both qualifies and defends. The self or Ego in Dolson’s parlance had both psychological status and ethical value for Nietzsche. In focusing

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on the Ego, “what he attempted . . . was not the destruction of all moral standards, but merely of those dominant in modern civilization.” Nietzsche’s Übermensch—“Over-man” as translated by Dolson—was simply his ideal and archetype, which provided “an aim and standard for conduct.”208Dolson cautioned her readers that many points of discussion in Nietzsche’s work are not to be taken too literally, and it appears that the “Over-man” is one of them.209 Even so, she is aware of the dangers of the moral theory designed for this “Over-man”—“a morality that applies only to a favored few.” And ultimately, this flaw makes Nietzsche’s ethics “inadequate, arbitrary, and therefore unconvincing.”210 At one point in her discussion, Dolson provides a quick overview of the thinkers that influenced Nietzsche. She begins with the observation that “a [thinker’s] position often owes as much to whom [s/he] opposes as to those with whom [s/he] agrees.”211 Most notably, Schopenhauer’s view of the relationship between will and idea and his pessimism made a profound impact on Nietzsche; the former’s acceptance of Kant’s distinction between the phenomenal and the noumenal worlds, however, was flatly rejected. He found the move away from speculative thought in philosophy not only refreshing but also imperative. Thus, Neo-Kantians and the materialism they introduced into philosophical discussion was something he welcomed. Dolson notes that, although Kantianism itself and Hegelian thought were repugnant to him, Nietzsche had a tendency to volley opposing ideas throughout his discussions, which may belie a deep-seeded Hegelian influence that he might have been unwilling to admit.212 Finally, she considers Nietzsche’s similarity to literary thinkers in his era—Max Stirner, Charles Baudelaire, Paul Verlaine, Maurice Maeterlinck, and Henrik Ibsen—who “all breathed the same intellectual air” and who “at bottom . . . [were] all of one faith,” despite the fact that they were unlikely to have met in person. She makes this observation, in part to recognize similar comparisons by contemporaries, and in part, to again make it clear that Nietzsche’s ideas were “not peculiar to him, though he gave [them] philosophic form.”213



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A Career Cut Short Vida Frank Moore (1867–1915) BA, Wesleyan (1893) PhD, Philosophy, Cornell (1900) Dissertation: “The Ethical Aspects of Lotze’s Metaphysics” Career: Mount Holyoke College (1893–97); Elmira College (1901–15); APA charter member (1902)

Life and Career Vida Frank Moore was the youngest of seven children, the daughter of Henry D. Moore and his second wife, Susan Elvira Kingsley. She was born and raised in Steuben, Maine, a fishing village roughly twenty-five miles “as the crow flies” from the resort town of Bar Harbor. Her father was a successful sea captain, and the family became prominent over time. Vida’s older brother, Henry, was a medical doctor. The oldest son in the family, their half-brother John G. Moore, was an influential businessman who played a major role in the establishment of Western Union Telegraph, Manhattan Trust Company, and Chase National Bank. After the turn of the twentieth century, the family donated large tracts of their coastal property in Maine to the National Park Service and had a hand in selecting the name of Acadia National Park.214 Vida herself was well-to-do at the end of her life and bequeathed generous gifts to family and to religious and community organizations in the village of Steuben and in the town of Elmira, New York, where she lived and taught after 1900.215 She is among the many career women who were unmarried. Sadly, her life was cut short when she was unable to recover from a bout with pneumonia.216 Moore published only one monograph, her dissertation, The Ethical Aspects of Lotze’s Metaphysics, in 1901. Hermann Lotze (1817–81) was overshadowed

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by the thinkers who came before him, namely Kant and Hegel, but his work was taken seriously at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. He influenced prominent thinkers, like Josiah Royce, Franz Brentano, and Edmund Husserl. The women in this study were certainly exposed to Lotze’s ideas. Several courses at Cornell focused on his contributions to metaphysics, epistemology, and ethics, and Yale’s department chair, George Trumbull Ladd, translated two of his books. Moore herself read several critical discussions of him by Eduard von Hartmann, Otto Pfleiderer, Johann Eduard Erdmann, George Santayana, and another early woman in philosophy, the British thinker, E. E. C. Jones. Lotze’s attempts to reconcile empiricism and idealism make him an interesting thinker to explore—if primarily as a transitional figure in the history of philosophy.

Moore’s Philosophical Work In her discussion of Lotze, Moore provided an overview of his metaphysics, cosmology, and ontology—all with the aim of bringing his ethical theory to light. Making reference to a number of his works—Logic (1841), Metaphysics (1843), Microcosm (in three volumes, 1856–1864), System of Philosophy (1874), Outlines of Metaphysics (posthumously published in English, 1884), Practical Philosophy (posthumously published in English, 1885), and Outlines of a Philosophy of Religion (posthumously published in English, 1892)—she begins with a sketch of Lotze’s view of the Good. Throughout all of reality, there is evidence of feeling, in Lotze’s view—even at the atomic level. The processes of separation, combination, and division are evidence of “feeling,” of pleasure and pain in the form of attraction and repulsion. And feelings (of pleasure and pain) are imbued with value, not simply for humans but for all creatures and entities in the world. She then turns to Lotze’s conception of the World. With early training in the sciences, medicine in particular, Lotze was wellversed in the theories of mechanism and materialism that were current at the time. Moore recognizes that science “seeks to explain, not to interpret . . . [it]



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asks not questions as to the origin of things, it simply accepts them as it finds them . . . [and] seeks only the laws in accordance with which things act.”217As a scientist, Lotze understood this. But as a philosopher, he sought to unify the world of matter and mechanism with the realm of ideas and values. In his understanding, a scientific “view of nature leave[s] room for [a] teleological view, . . . it implies [an] ulterior explanation. Order implies purpose, law implies end.”218 His next move is to posit a theory of reality that is spiritual. In arguments that are initially familiar, Lotze holds that the reality of an object is not in the materials of which it is made nor in the qualities it possesses (or displays). Instead the reality of any entity, material or otherwise, is in its activity. The activity of maintaining its own unity, its identity through change, is central to individuality (beyond the anthropomorphic sense) and is at the very core of being. Lotze then moves from this assertion to affirming that activity in/and unity entails spirituality—a claim of which Moore is critical—and assigns this trait to the Absolute.219 Moore’s criticism on this point is well placed: drawing on Hartmann, she charges, “The step by which he passes from the necessary unity of things to their spirituality is quite unwarrantable. By what right do we make the anthropomorphic assumption, that the reality outside us can exist only in the same form as that which we have learned through inner experience to know as the peculiarity of our own conscious spiritual nature?”220 Lotze’s body of work is significant, and Moore succeeded in distilling it by focusing on his thought in relation to ethics. For our purposes, her discussion of his objections to idealism is of interest. Lotze was troubled by both Kant’s ethics and his epistemology. “The purely formal character of Kantian ethics is revolting” to Lotze. “An unconditioned ought is unthinkable,” in his view. “Only a conditioned ought . . . which attaches advantages and disadvantages” for a given course of action is possible.221 In addition, Kant’s epistemology, his “world of things-in-themselves [is] alien and impenetrable to the perceiving mind.”222According to Moore, Lotze sees this Kantian world as one in which some entities are subjects (active knowers), others are objects (passive and known). Yet Lotze was not satisfied with subjective idealism, which he believed

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made knowledge of reality completely dependent on and limited to the ability of an individual mind to know an object or objects at a given moment in time. His solution was to argue that each entity in existence is a self-conscious, intersubjective, and active unity. It is self-conscious in that it experiences degrees of pleasure and pain, or attraction and aversion, as noted earlier. It is intersubjective in that it is able to perceive or interact with other entities. It is an active unity in that it is able both to experience its own states of being and to maintain those states of being through time.223 Lotze had stronger objections to Hegel’s thought, and it is worth quoting Moore at some length on this point: First, any attempt at an a priori deduction of the world from one supreme principle, he deems futile and certain to lead to false conclusions. The empiricist in him, . . . revolts against . . . ignoring concrete facts. [Lotze’s] second objection is very closely allied to this, namely, that Hegel’s identification of logic with metaphysics, of thought with reality, ignores the concrete content of reality.224 In addition, in Lotze’s view, Hegel was guilty of conceiving of thought as only cognition, though it is far richer than that—involving feeling and will and passion. He also often noted that “experience is richer than thought”— therefore, Hegel’s attempt to maintain a pure idealism was ill-fated from the start. Taken as a pair, Hegel and Fichte also fell short in their attempts to identify the nature of the Absolute. Both avoided a “crude anthropomorphism,” and in Lotze’s view this was a wise move. Fichte’s concept of the Absolute is flawed, however, in that he “sought to dissolve the notion of God in that of a moral World-Order.”225 In doing so Fichte cast God as a being that stands over and above the world, imposing order from without. Lotze would have preferred to see Fichte posit a panentheistic understanding of God—the Absolute as wholly within the world, not separate from it. “Our search is for a Real Being—the ground of all reality—not [merely] a relation.” Similarly, Hegel’s



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Absolute was devoid of personhood, or in Moore’s parlance, “personality,” and here we see an affinity for the Personalist school that would develop more fully in Boston in the early decades of the twentieth century. “To make an Idea supreme seemed to Lotze to deify thought and to ignore value. . . . An Idea ‘is and remains nothing more than the statement of a thought-formula’. . . . That is, it signifies a relation, merely, it does not give us Reality.”226

Conclusion The women discussed in this chapter earned degrees at Cornell during a time of immense growth and change over a course of twenty years, and the wide range of areas of philosophy they covered reflect these realities. From May Preston Slosson as the first woman at any institution to earn a doctorate in philosophy in the United States to Ellen Bliss Talbot who became a significant contributor to philosophy journals until the 1910s, Cornell set the pace for women’s entrance into philosophy as a profession. Slosson, Ethel Muir, and Grace Dolson produced work that is diverse in form, content, and approach. Yet while each spent a good number of years teaching, their career paths strongly suggest that their passions lay elsewhere. Slosson devoted herself to raising a family and contributing to community work, including women’s rights activism. Dolson took vows as a nun and committed herself to charitable concerns. Muir spent every summer volunteering in a fishing village to assist with education and community development. As was common among academics before our current “publish or perish” policies were in place, the only academic writings these women produced were their theses. The same is true of Vida Frank Moore whose life was cut short by illness. Eliza Ritchie and Ellen Bliss Talbot stand out in publication output, and Talbot exceeds each of her peers in the level of professional status she achieved. Both women produced over a dozen publications; Ritchie’s academic work appeared in print before 1905, Talbot’s before 1915. We also

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see some common themes and approaches in their discussions. Both thinkers embraced philosophical idealism, although it would have been nearly impossible not to do so, given the heavy emphasis on German idealism at Cornell and other universities in this era. In addition, each of them engaged in the free will/determinism debate—and were eager to place themselves in the determinist column. There are differences between the two as well, of course. Ritchie had more interests within the philosophy of religion, for instance. After her early exploration of the self within psychology in her thesis, Ritchie basically abandoned that line of inquiry in her published writings. Talbot continued to consider questions related to self and soul until the second of her “Time-Process” articles were published in 1915. As noted at points throughout this volume, Ritchie and Talbot were among the women whose work helped delineate the boundaries of philosophy and psychology. In this sense, their work has value for philosophy, psychology, women’s history, and the history of ideas. After 1900, Cornell continued to provide more opportunity to women in philosophy than any other university in the United States. By 1921, nine more women completed doctorates in philosophy there, some of whom are now getting the recognition and critical readings that their work merits: Georgia Benedict (1904), Grace Andrus deLaguna (1906), Elsie Murray (1907), Katherine Everett Gilbert (1912), Nann Clark Barr (1914), Alma Rose Thorne (1914), Marion D. Crane (1916), Marie Collins Swabey (1919), and Marjorie Silliman Harris (1921). Georgia Benedict (1877–1957) earned a bachelor’s degree at Wells College in 1899 before studying at Cornell. Her only publications were several book reviews and her dissertation, La Nouvelle Monadologie, a discussion of Kant’s epistemology as understood by Charles Renouvier (1815–1903). Like many women in this early stage of professional academic life, Benedict did not secure a faculty position. In 1912 she earned a library science degree and spent her career at the state library in Albany, first in acquisitions, then in special collections, retiring in 1946.227



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Grace Mead (Andrus) deLaguna (1878–1978) was immensely successful as a career academic. After completing a bachelor’s degree at Cornell in 1903, she continued to doctoral study, writing a dissertation entitled, “The Mechanical Theory in Pre-Kantian Rationalism.” She appears to have put her career on hold for a time after her marriage to fellow Cornell student, Theodore deLaguna with whom she had two children. In 1912 she accepted a position at Bryn Mawr, where she taught alongside her husband, then served as chair of the department of philosophy after his death in 1930. She remained at the college until her retirement in 1944. DeLaguna became the second woman to serve as president of the American Philosophical Association (eastern division) in 1941–2—over twenty years after Mary Whiton Calkins had broken that gender barrier. She published numerous articles exploring the philosophy of science, philosophy of mind, personal and social ontology, and philosophy of language. She published three books, the last of which appeared in print nearly twenty years after she had become professor emerita at Bryn Mawr: Dogmatism and Evolution (1910), Speech: Its Function and Evolution (1927), and On Existence and the Human World (1963).228 Elsie Murray (1878–1965) completed undergraduate work at Cornell in 1904 and, like deLaguna, continued with graduate studies there. Her dissertation, “Organic Sensation,” reflects her interest in experimental psychology, and she worked at the intersections of philosophy and psychology throughout her career. Murray held teaching positions at Vassar (1907–9), Wilson (1909–19), Sweet Briar (1919–22), and Wells (1922–3), but left the women’s college network to work as a researcher, first at the University of Illinois (1924–5) then at Cornell (1927–ca. 1950). She is sometimes credited with the work of her mother, Louise Welles Murray (1854–1931), who conducted research on the eighteenth-century French Azilum refugee settlement in Bradford County, Pennsylvania. Elsie Murray edited some of her mother’s work after her death, but her own research focused on psychology and the study of color perception. She collaborated on occasion with E. B. Titchener (1867–1927) and G. Stanley Hall (1846–1924)

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and published articles in the Journal of Applied Psychology and the Journal of Educational Research. A collection of Murray’s letters and papers is housed in the Cornell University archives.229 Katherine Everett Gilbert (1886–1952) studied at Pembroke College, the former women’s division of Brown University, earning a bachelor’s degree in 1908 and a master’s in 1910. After completing the doctorate at Cornell with a dissertation on the history of aesthetics, she became the first woman to serve as assistant editor of The Philosophical Review. Following Mary Whiton Calkins (1918–19) and Grace deLaguna (1941–2) she was the third woman to serve as president of the American Philosophical Association (eastern division) in 1946–7. Gilbert was one of the first women to become fully established outside the women’s college network, holding full-time faculty positions at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill (1922–9), and Duke University (1930–51). At Duke, she attained the rank of full professor and served as the university’s founding chair of the department of art and aesthetics (1940–51). She published a good deal of work, including A History of Esthetics (1900), Studies in Recent Aesthetics (1927), and Aesthetic Studies: Architecture and Poetry (1952).230 Nann Clark Barr (1892–1959) earned her undergraduate degree at Western College for Women (now part of Case Western Reserve University) and studied an additional year at Wellesley before earning graduate degrees at Cornell. Her master’s thesis in 1913 looked at dualism in the philosophy of Bergson, and her dissertation in 1914 examined John Stuart Mill’s political thought. She taught for a short time at Connecticut College (1915–17) before starting a family with Arthur Benton Mavity, who worked for the Holt publishing company. In the 1920s, she began writing editorials and travel articles for the San Francisco Chronicle and the Oakland Tribune. Shortly thereafter, she turned to writing fiction and published nearly a dozen books, primarily mysteries and coming of age stories, under her married name. She produced only a few works related to her philosophical interests over the years: “The Conditions of Tolerance” (1917); “Responsible Citizenship,” coauthored with her husband (1923); and



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“Mill and Comte” in Philosophical Essays in Honor of James Edwin Creighton, edited by George Holland Sabine (1925).231 Alma Rose Thorne (1883–1978) taught high school after completing a bachelor’s degree at Cornell in 1907, returning to the university to earn a doctorate in 1914. She published only two works, her dissertation, “The conception of idée force in the philosophy of Alfred Fouillée,” and a followup discussion, “The intellectualistic voluntarism of Alfred Fouillée” (1925). The latter was a contribution to the same collection edited by Sabine in honor of James Edwin Creighton, to which Nann Clark Barr contributed. Despite low publication output, Thorne was one of the first women to be appointed as an instructor at Cornell, with the title “assistant in education and philosophy.” She taught pedagogy at Smith College (1915–16) the year before she was married to Mark Embury Penney (1880–1937), a fellow philosophy student at Cornell. Her husband held faculty positions at Syracuse, Cornell, and Ohio State before becoming president of Millikin College in Illinois (1924–30); in some cases Alma also taught part-time at these institutions.232 Marion Delia Crane (1885–1959) completed both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree at Bryn Mawr (1911, 1914) and held a position as a “reader” at the college while a graduate student. At Cornell, she was one of the first women to serve as an editorial assistant for The Philosophical Review, in the summer of 1915. The following year, she was a teaching assistant in philosophy and the advisor to women at the university. Her only published work was her dissertation, “The Principles of Absolutism in the Metaphysics of Bernard Bosanquet.” In 1917, Crane married Charles Antonius Carroll, a 1910 graduate of Cornell and an instructor in the English department. Charles published a book on the drama of Swinburne and translated a study of the Bolshevik revolution by Étienne Antonelli. After Charles served in the First World War, the couple was living in Oceanside, Long Island, with their two young sons. Little additional information is available about their lives, personally or professionally.233

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Marie Collins Swabey (1890–1966) graduated from Wellesley in 1913, where she was a student of Mary Whiton Calkins. She completed her master’s degree the following year in her home state at the University of Kansas. Her dissertation at Cornell was entitled “Some Modern Conceptions of Natural Law,” which she completed the same year as her future husband, William Curtis Swabey (1894–1979), whose thesis focused on Malebranche. She spent a year at Wells College but left that institution after her marriage in 1920 to teach alongside her husband at New York University. The couple led an academic life, publishing a considerable amount of independent work and collaborating on a translation of Ernst Cassirer’s, Substance and Function and Einstein’s Theory of Relativity (1953). They both retired from New York University in 1956. Collins Swabey had a range of philosophical interests, publishing her dissertation as well as four books: Logic and Nature (1930), Theory of the Democratic State (1937), The Judgement of History (1954), and Comic Laughter (1961). She also published a number of articles and reviews in the Journal of Philosophy, The Monist, and Ethics.234 Marjorie Silliman Harris (1890–1976) completed her undergraduate studies at Mount Holyoke College in 1913, where she was a student of Ellen Bliss Talbot. She wrote her dissertation on the “Positive Philosophy of August Comte” and continued to discuss his work later in life, while also exploring the work of Henri Bergson and Francisco Romero. She taught one year at the University of Colorado (1921–2) before establishing herself in a career at Randolph-Macon Women’s College (1922–58), where she chaired the department of philosophy. She appears to have been unmarried; the middle name Silliman was her mother’s maiden name. Harris had a passion for the value of philosophy as a guide for life, addressing questions related to beauty, goodness, freedom, and transcendence in her writings. She published three books—The Function of Philosophy (1927), Sub Specie Aeternitatis (1937), and Francisco Romero on Problems of Philosophy (1960)—and a number of articles in professional venues, including the Journal of Philosophy, Philosophical Review, and Philosophy and Phenomenological Research.235



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As of this writing, colleagues in the discipline are engaged in projects to recover and discuss the work of several of the women in this chapter, among them Joel Katzav, Krist Vaesen, Anthony Fisher, Frederique JanssenLauret, Marguerite La Caze, Brigitte Nerlich, Trevor Pearce, and Peter Olen. Assuming we can break the habit of turning first to masculine voices in the tradition as the word of authority, we can look forward to seeing these women in a more inclusive and dynamic philosophical canon in the future.

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3 A Window of Opportunity Women at Michigan

Introduction Three women completed doctoral degrees in philosophy at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor in the 1890s: Marietta Kies, Caroline Miles Hill, and Eliza Sunderland. Kies was the first of the three to complete degree requirements, in 1891, writing a dissertation on altruism as a public, political principle for policy making, rather than as a private, individual moral prerogative. She had a successful academic career, holding full-time positions as a college professor and publishing three books before her life was cut short by illness in 1899. Miles Hill and Sunderland completed their doctorates the following year. Miles Hill’s dissertation, “Kant’s Kingdom of Ends,” is no longer extant, but her master’s thesis on the philosophical foundations of transcendentalism remains intact in online venues. She also published articles and book reviews that point to developments and transitional moments in intellectual life in the United States toward the end of the nineteenth century. Miles Hill followed a career path that was relatively common among early academic women: she held academic positions immediately after earning a doctoral degree, but after marriage made her own career interests secondary to her husband’s. Like Miles Hill, Eliza Sunderland faced career challenges.

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Already married with three children when she began graduate study, she was unable to obtain an academic position once she had earned the degree. By the late 1890s, Sunderland abandoned the academic job search and simply continued the work she had done before earning a doctoral degree: teaching and lecturing, serving in leadership within religious circles, and contributing to the struggle for women’s political rights.

Faculty and Academic Climate When Kies, Miles Hill, and Sunderland began their studies in the late 1880s, Michigan’s philosophy department was headed by George Sylvester Morris (1840–89), an expert in German idealism. His only colleague in the department was John Dewey (1859–1952), an assistant professor who had not yet risen to prominence in academic philosophy. A professor in a related area of study, Henry Carter Adams (1851–1921), one of Kies’s advisors, was a political economist with intellectual and political commitments to socialism. James Hayden Tufts (1862–1942), George Herbert Mead (1863–1931), and Alfred Henry Lloyd (1864–1927) joined the department just as Kies, Miles Hill, and Sunderland were completing their degree work.1 George Sylvester Morris studied at Dartmouth and Union Theological Seminary and spent several years in Germany before launching his academic career in the United States. In the 1870s, he taught modern languages and literature at the University of Michigan while also serving as a guest lecturer at Johns Hopkins University when Dewey was a graduate student there. In 1881, Morris was appointed chair of the department of philosophy at Michigan, but continued to lecture at Johns Hopkins. He published frequently in the Journal of Speculative Philosophy, the first periodical in the English language devoted solely to philosophy. Morris also presented papers at sessions of the Concord Summer School of Philosophy in Massachusetts (1879–88), one of the attendees who helped bring academic prestige to this experimental adult



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education program. In addition, before his early death following a bout with pneumonia in 1889 he produced books, primarily on British and German thought: British Thought and Thinkers (1880), Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason: A critical exposition (1882), Philosophy and Christianity (1883), and Hegel’s Philosophy of the State and of History (1887). John Dewey began his academic career at the University of Michigan in 1884 after earning degrees at the universities of Vermont and Johns Hopkins but was lured away by an offer to head the philosophy department at the University of Minnesota in 1888. After the death of George Sylvester Morris in 1889, he was urged to return to Ann Arbor and accepted the call, serving as chair of the department there. Prior to joining the faculty at Michigan, he had published articles on epistemology and metaphysics in the Journal of Speculative Philosophy. During the time he taught in Ann Arbor, his work included articles entitled, “The New Psychology” (1884), “Psychology as Philosophic Method” (1886), and two books: Psychology (1887) and Outlines of a Critical Theory of Ethics (1891).2 In 1894, Dewey again was lured away from Michigan—this time to become chair of philosophy (and education) at the University of Chicago. The women in this chapter studied with Dewey in the decade before he developed his version of American pragmatism. Interestingly, Kies began using a nascent pragmatist terminology in her dissertation and in the book she published in 1894. Henry Carter Adams studied at Iowa College (now Grinnell), Andover Theological Seminary, and Johns Hopkins University, where he earned a doctorate in 1878. He began his academic career as a lecturer at Johns Hopkins before accepting a position at Cornell University in 1880, during which time he periodically served as a visiting lecturer at the University of Michigan. His publications at this point in his career included Outline of Lectures upon Political Economy (1881), Public Debts: An Essay in the Science of Finance (1887), and Relations of the State to Industrial Action (1887). In 1887, he publicly supported a labor strike in the railroad industry, which resulted in his dismissal from Cornell, despite the university’s claims to the contrary. Adams’s

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vocal support of this radical new movement and Cornell’s reaction to it was so touchy that Michigan’s president, James B. Angell, was fearful of keeping him on the faculty at all, let alone give him a full-time appointment. It was only after Adams wrote a long letter making a plea for academic freedom— along with partially retracting his pro-labor article—that Angell took the chance of keeping him at the university.3 For many years, Adams concurrently taught at Michigan, while also serving as a statistician and economist to the US Interstate Commerce Commission (1887–1911).4 In the late 1890s, Adams hosted a program called the Plymouth Summer School of Ethics in eastern Massachusetts, which Marietta Kies and the pacifist Lucia Ames Mead, discussed in Volume I, attended. Kies, Miles Hill, and Sunderland found themselves in a lively and intellectually stimulating environment in the small department of philosophy in Ann Arbor. Between 1885 and 1900, just seven students earned doctoral degrees in philosophy at Michigan—the three women currently under discussion and four men: Charles Emmet Lowrey (1885), Elmer Manville Taylor (1888), George Rebec (1898), and Lewis Clinton Carson (1899). Among the seven, two of them wrote theses on Kant, one on Kant and Hegel, two on political philosophy, one on philosophy of religion, and one on “philosophic discourse.” Philosophy faculty—which included Alfred Lloyd and George Rebec (at first as a fellow) after 1891—also served on the committees of six doctoral students doing academic work that bordered on philosophy; three women and two men wrote dissertations on philosophy and/in literature, and one man wrote on economics. During this period, philosophy faculty also advised eighteen master’s students: in philosophy (two women, four men); philosophy of literature/rhetoric (six women, one man); literature (four women); and legal theory (one man).5 Morris, Dewey, and Adams were egalitarian-minded advisors, and each was involved in student life, holding classes at their homes and leading various clubs and discussion groups. Morris founded the university’s Philosophical Society, which was open to both male and female students from the moment



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it was established. Dewey lectured often to the Unity Club, which was hosted by Eliza Sunderland and her husband, Jabez, at the Unitarian church, where they were essentially co-ministers. Dewey drew a crowd of 200 or more to Unity Club meetings on some occasions, discussing the newly emerging field of psychology, the philosophical concept of the state, and other topics of interest.6 Henry Carter Adams led a political economy club and was a popular lecturer. As noted, his socialist sympathies were well known, and on at least one occasion he led a discussion of Marx’s thought.7

Philosophy in Public Life Marietta Kies (1853-99) BA, Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley, Massachusetts (1881) PhD, Philosophy, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor (1891) Dissertation: “The Ethical Principle and Its Application in State Relations” Career: Colorado College (1882–5); Mount Holyoke College (1885–91); Mills College (1891–2); study in Zurich and Leipzig (1892–3); Plymouth, MA high school (1893–6); Butler University (1896–9)

Life and Career Marietta Kies was born in Killingly, Connecticut, the second of five daughters raised by William Knight and Miranda (Young) Kies in a small farming community. She was educated in local public schools, intermittently working in nearby textile mills at a young age to help support the family. At the age of fourteen she was deemed old enough to begin teaching in the local schools near her hometown.8 This was fairly common among poor and working-class families. Children began working in factories and farms by the time they were ten years old; it was also not uncommon for young

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teenage girls to begin working as teachers. It also set a pattern in motion for Kies that continues to be familiar for working-class students in the United States today: paid employment alternating with periods of study. She attended Hillsdale College in Michigan for a short time in 1871 or 1872 but had to return home after contracting malaria. Determined to resume her studies, she enrolled in a school closer to home, Mount Holyoke College for women in Hadley, Massachusetts, where she completed a bachelor’s degree in 1881. She published three books—the edited volume, Introduction to the Study of Philosophy (1889), as well as two original works about public altruism, The Ethical Principle (1892) and Institutional Ethics (1894). Like many professional women in her day, Kies was unmarried. After contracting tuberculosis, she died at the age of forty-five at the home of a relative in Pueblo, Colorado. Kies was among the younger members of the early idealist movement in philosophy in the United States, which flourished in St. Louis, Missouri, in the 1860s and 1870s, then spread to other parts of the country when she entered academic life in the 1880s and 1890s. She grew up next to the hometown of the recognized founder of the idealist movement, William Torrey Harris. A generation older than Kies, Harris had younger sisters her age whom she is very likely to have taught alongside in the local public schools. In the 1880s, she studied with Harris at the Concord Summer School of Philosophy and Literature, and he wrote a letter of recommendation for her admission to the University of Michigan. Shortly after graduating from Mount Holyoke, Kies was offered positions at two new institutions: assistant principal at Putnam High School near her hometown and a faculty position at Colorado College. She had accepted the position at the high school before receiving the Colorado College offer, but was able to negotiate her way out of the agreement and accept the offer in Colorado, where she taught until 1884 or 1885.9 Perhaps due to homing instincts, she returned to Mount Holyoke in 1885, teaching ethics and mental and moral philosophy there until 1891.10



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With her recently earned doctoral degree in hand, Kies was offered a position at Mills College, a women’s institution in Oakland, California.11 The college’s president, Susan Tolman Mills, recruited Kies to teach mental and moral philosophy and to eventually succeed Mills as chair of the department. After just one year at the college, however, her relationship with Mills had soured, and she was dismissed “completely without cause.”12 After consulting with an older contemporary, Ednah Dow Cheney, who was well known in intellectual circles in Boston and Concord, Kies wrote to a well-established senior colleague at the University of California in Berkeley, George Holmes Howison (1834–1916), for help in finding a new position. Howison’s response is no longer extant, but as a friend of William Torrey Harris, it appears that he did his best to assist Kies, because she travelled to Leipzig and Zurich to study the following year, as had some of Howison’s most successful male graduate students.13 Other women in this volume studied in Leipzig the same year—Eliza Ritchie, Julia Gulliver, and Emma Rauschenbusch—but no correspondence has surfaced to determine if they crossed paths there or knew each other well. When she returned to the United States, Kies published her dissertation, The Ethical Principle, then served as the principal of a high school in Plymouth, Massachusetts. In 1896, she re-entered the world of higher education, accepting a faculty position at Butler College in Indianapolis where she taught rhetoric until her life was cut short by illness in the summer of 1899.14 Despite the support she received from Howison and Harris, however, Kies was one of the many women who faced gender bias. Records show that she was paid less than men, as was common at the time. In addition, when the department chair’s position opened up at Butler in 1897–8, Kies was not appointed, even though she had served in this capacity during the previous chair’s illness and did so without additional compensation. The position was offered instead to William D. Howe, who had earned a bachelor’s degree just four years earlier and had not yet completed his doctoral degree at Harvard. As noted in previous discussions, this was a cycle that was difficult for women to escape. The combination of limited educational opportunities and sexist

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employment practices left them at a disadvantage when hiring decisions were made.15 As will be evident later in this chapter, Eliza Sunderland had similar experiences after she earned her degree.

Kies’s Philosophical Work Marietta Kies published two original works of political philosophy, The Ethical Principle and Institutional Ethics, in which she contrasts “justice” with “grace,” or altruism, in public/political life. The first book, The Ethical Principle, was submitted for her PhD thesis at the University of Michigan in 1891. The second, published in 1894, was essentially a rewrite of the first, but with some extremely important additions: on the school, the family, the administration of law, and the role of the church in society. In many ways, Kies’s notion of “grace” matches current feminist “ethics of care” or other theories that try to reconcile individualism and communitarianism. This volume provides an alternative to the picture of political life as drawn by the classical liberal tradition: a society of relative equals in which “justice” reigns supreme. Drawing on Hegel (an unlikely candidate from the perspective of many contemporary feminists),16 Kies presents society as an organic whole in which each individual is responsible for the care of others and the state is obligated to ensure equitable use of resources. In doing so, she offers an alternative to the individualist view of society, and thus of social and political progress. She insists that “grace,” in which altruism takes precedence over self-interest, is a valid principle of political action. Better still from a feminist point of view, Kies does not attempt to debunk justice completely, but instead is comfortable asserting two truths simultaneously; justice and grace are not competing but rather are complementary principles in Kies’s understanding. The justice of which Kies speaks is an idea familiar enough within modern political thought. It is the principle via which each individual obtains his or her due and is “the fundamental principle of individuality.”17 It is the responsibility



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of each person to assert rights and render unto others what is rightfully theirs. In the realm of justice, the individual “thinks, feels and acts, and receives the like in kind, nothing better, nothing worse.”18 Society is by and large an aggregate of individuals in the system that holds justice as primary, and social happiness is roughly equal to the sum of the happiness of all individuals within society. This is a mistaken notion in Kies’s understanding, and one that she believes can be repaired by infusing grace into political theory. “Grace” is a term commonly used in theology, but both as a term and as a concept is unfamiliar to the contemporary reader of political philosophy. It may even be that the use of this term in political discourse was unusual to Kies’s readers in her own day, because she outlines what she means by “grace” early in the work. Whereas the process in justice excludes the yielding of one’s own for the sake of another, the process of self-sacrifice, of grace, is in its very nature the yielding of one’s own immediate thoughts for self for those of, and in reference to, another.19 To be clear, Kies was not among the many thinkers in her time who endorsed total and continual self-sacrificial thinking (particularly by women); this is not the case at all. In fact later in the work, Kies carefully distinguishes between the altruism that she espouses and self-sacrifice for self-sacrifice’s sake.20 Attempts at martyrdom are self-centered in Kies’s view, because true altruism takes others as its object; it does not merely seek self-denial as an end in itself, which is the case with purely self-sacrificial thinking. Furthermore, Kies does not even hint toward a gender dichotomy in her analysis of justice and grace. At no point in her discussion does she suggest that altruism is more readily sought, achieved, or understood by women than by men.21 Instead, the grace of which Kies speaks is a principle applicable to men and women alike, and it is not limited to the private sphere, but is to be implemented in the public realm. Yet for Kies both justice and grace have their places in an ethical hierarchy. She even seems to have anticipated twentieth-century theories of moral

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development, listing a number of stages that are passed through on the way to realizing the ethical principle. While Kies provides no citations to indicate the source(s) she draws from in outlining this typology of moral/intellectual development, it certainly runs parallel to descriptions of individual growth, a la Karl Rosenkranz (1805–79), a disciple of Hegel, and thus to ideas also conveyed by her older contemporaries, the neo-Hegelians William Torrey Harris (1835–1909), Susan Blow (1843–1916), and Anna Brackett (1839– 1911).22 First there are passions, such as jealousy, lust, and revenge, that are below even the child-grade of ethical behavior. But despite the fact that these are lowly states of mind, they do have a place on the ethical continuum, “for so long as human beings associate together, there is a phase of the ethical” in all human activity.23 Second is the child-grade of ethical behavior in which an individual relies on external authority for guidance. This is followed by the third level, an individualism that is characterized simply by differentiation of self from other. This can easily develop into the fourth level—that is, pure individualism, otherwise known as egoism. Egoism, of course, is the most selfish sort of individualism, in which one’s needs are singularly pursued and sometimes callously attained. The fifth stage constitutes a more enlightened form of individualism—the quest for individual happiness. This is the ethical ideal sought by utilitarianism and is generally considered quite benign. Harm to others is avoided, of course, but individual fulfillment is supreme within this stage. Sixth, the utilitarian ideal is extended to the society as a whole, and an aggregate of happiness is thought to be the highest good to be achieved. Finally, we come to the highest stage, which for Kies is altruism. Altruistic individuals keep others as the center of interest and seek their own good only in the “reflected good” that arises as a result of their assistance to others. When individuals seek not merely that which will bring them pleasure, but rather are content with the reflected good that their altruistic behavior brings, then the good for all of society is possible. Kies recognizes that the “ethical principle”—that is, altruism—is an ideal which may be unattainable. Yet it is an ideal that one should pursue, because



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although humans are finite creatures, their thoughts and ideals are infinite and therefore of a divine nature. In fact, ultimately Kies will say that the reason altruism is the highest stage in her ethical hierarchy is because it is most closely modeled after the Christian religion and, as such, links the human and the divine. Since human understandings of the ethical and ideals of social good evolve over time, humanity stumbles through the previously listed ethical stages in its quest for perfection, often falling far short of the altruistic ideal. Having made the distinction between justice and grace clear, Kies now traverses terrain that was familiar to her as a Hegelian to outline her understanding of the nature of the state. Since the essence of the individual is freedom, and the foundation of a nation is also freedom, the state’s role is to facilitate individual freedom, but within its organic social structures. Drawing on Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, Kies believes that the state cannot concern itself with abstract duty nor with intention. In the first case, duty apart from a concrete set of circumstances is empty; in the second, an individual’s intentions cannot be read from the outside, nor guessed at by any arm of the state. In the ideal world the act and the intention behind it would correspond, but this is impossible for the state to determine and therefore is beyond its concern. Instead, the state must use justice as its guide and use it to measure the external act performed by the individual in a particular instance. While justice is the fundamental principle of the state, grace too has a role to play in state affairs. Reform movements, for example, have used service and self-sacrifice rather than self-interest as their guide. Reform leaders both within government and outside it have practiced altruism themselves and encouraged it among their followers. Furthermore, by calling for the suffering of some, these reformers helped effect changes that resulted in the betterment of all.24

“True Socialism, or Helpfulness” As a preface to her assertion that it is within the province of the state to enforce altruism as a policy, Kies outlines three “attitudes that society presents

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to the individual” as models for behavior: (1) the principle of individualism, that is, justice; (2) an extreme socialism, in which individual rights “intersect at too many points” and obliterate individuality; and (3) true socialism, or helpfulness, in which individuals recognize that assisting the weak will benefit the whole.25 The last of these is clearly Kies’s preferred social “attitude,” although she notes that ideally this would be a voluntary self-sacrifice by the strong on behalf of the weak. At this point, it is important to recall that Henry C. Adams was one of Kies’s mentors and the uproar over his purported socialism took place in 1886–7, the year just prior to Kies’s first year of attendance at the University of Michigan. It is likely that she was aware of his political views before becoming one of his students. We may safely assume that Kies was at least a progressive and perhaps had socialist leanings herself. She was in fact referred to as a proponent of “Christian Socialism,” the “prevalence [of which] on earth she earnestly looked and ever prayed [for].”26 In any case, the “attitude” she hoped society would encourage individuals to take, along with the following distinction she makes between the two “classes” of laws and their application, both point to Kies’s socialist sympathies—albeit, a qualified socialism. Kies identifies two types of law, calling the first set of laws “protective,” and she recognizes that they guard freedom in the negative sense. That is, protective legislation ensures noninterference by other individuals and/or by the state in the pursuit of individual happiness. But there is also a class of “constructive” laws which are not only protective in the negative sense but “also positively helpful to one or more classes of society.” These laws go beyond preventing one individual or group from harming another, but instead assert state power to promote the goals of members of a particular class, individually or collectively.27 This distinction by itself is neither new, nor particularly significant; the distinction between positive and negative laws was made well before Kies’s time and has continued to be a helpful political philosophical tool since. But since Kies gives these terms a different meaning than the words



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themselves imply, it will be helpful to quote one of her own even more clear definitions of them: Laws that specify punishment for infringement of rights of possession and transfer are protective laws, and illustrate justice only, but laws specifying and regulating the kinds of tenure and the changes therein are constructive and indicate the advance of social unity (i.e., grace).28 The way in which Kies uses this distinction to advance her theory as a whole is our point of interest in this study.

Protective versus Constructive Legislation Kies’s protective legislation parallels Hegel’s “abstract right.”29 Such legislation provides only the thinnest layer of security from outside interference for each individual as an equal among equals. It does nothing to nurture individual human potential nor the growth of an entire class of people. Examples of protective legislation include laws against trespass, theft, and assault as well as those requiring payment of taxes. In the first case, individuals are prohibited from harming each other, thus advancing self-interest in the Hobbesian sense: each individual, in being guarded against the too-aggressive actions of another, is able to pursue his/her own egoistic goals. In the second, each person is required to fulfill his or her obligation to the government; a promotion of self-interest in the utilitarian sense: the sacrifice of a relatively small amount by each results in a wealth of resources for the whole, allowing the whole (the state) to continue to provide a veil of protection for each individual. Protective legislation not only supports but also promotes the pursuit of self-interest, and therefore is based on the principle of justice, in Kies’s view. The second set of protective laws might be thought to be a constructive provision in that by paying taxes each individual is contributing to the betterment of all. These protective laws correspond to Hegel’s “police power,” or more

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accurately, public authority.30 And in some sense, these public provisions for the good of the community might be seen as akin to the constructive laws Kies is advocating. Yet in her system, the level of self-sacrifice that public authorities demand, such as tax contributions and obedience to laws for public order, is not the same as that which is mandated by constructive laws. Constructive laws are more pro-active than this. Examples of such laws are those that establish a progressive income tax and those that prohibit monopolies. In contrast to merely being required to pay taxes, and thus each contributing to the betterment of the whole on a minimal level, a progressive income tax recognizes economic inequities in society and places the burden of contributing to the financial well-being of the state on the wealthy. It actually requires that a certain level of altruism be enforced so that the state can “provide to a reasonable extent for the needs of its poor and unfortunate classes.”31 And Kies’s rationale is prototypically Hegelian: society is an organic unity, and suffering by any of its members harms society as an entity. Similarly, in Kies’s view the existence of monopolies is to be curbed by constructive legislation. Yet, she doesn’t go into the details of how these constructive laws are to be enacted. This may be due to the fact that at the time she was writing, the labor and antitrust movements were beginning to gain force, and she assumed knowledge on the part of her readers. The Baltimore and Ohio railroad strike of 1877 initiated a series of labor strikes, culminating with the Pullman strikes in 1896. Similarly, the outcry against trusts and monopolies had gained strength in this country at this time and was being debated as the Sherman Bill in Congress during the 1889–90 session, the year before Kies wrote her first monograph. Kies’s readers would certainly have been familiar with the social unrest she was referring to, even if they did not agree with her assessment of the situation: “[T]he excessive greed and monopolies in ownership of the present time can be successfully replaced by a system more nearly justice to all only by changing the thought of the nation on this question.”32 Once public opinion had been changed, “just and lasting laws” would follow, and society would have attained “the higher plane of thought” in which the principle of grace will have primacy.33



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Altruism, Civil Society, and State Action For Kies grace functions on two levels. In one sense it is an ideal to be aspired to in private life. We are all better people, in Kies’s view, when we keep the needs of others primary and relinquish our own selfish interests. By putting others first, we receive “reflected good.” Although Kies doesn’t define this term, it seems safe to assume that “reflected good” is a sort of vicarious pleasure, the benefit of seeing our own altruistic act result in someone else’s joy or success. But as is clear from her rather strong statements about the nature of constructive laws, it is equally obvious that for Kies grace is necessary as a public ethic as well. In fact, she cites several examples beyond those given earlier in which government can—even must—enact altruistic policies. In the railroad industry, sanitation policy, education and labor law, and penal reform, government has been called upon to enact not merely protective, but constructive legislation. And state leaders’ willingness to do so indicates that the intimate connection and relation of all members of society is more clearly understood than in preceding centuries; it [also] indicates that the public has an interest in classes in society that are suffering injustice for others, and in those who are weak, poor, and unfortunate.34 As was common for thinkers in her era, it is clear from this statement that Kies believed that societal development is progressive, that her era was more advanced than those previous, and that (hopefully) following eras would advance even further. She also asserts that constructive legislation demonstrates an advancement in society’s “ethical education” and that ultimately coercion will become unnecessary as a means to realizing the principle of grace in the world. Furthermore, Kies quite consciously limits her discussion to the “socalled field of competitive industrial activity,” precisely because it is usually considered the domain of self-interest.35 Regarding the extent to which Kies remains true to Hegel’s thought, this is an especially important point. After all,

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in The Philosophy of Right, Hegel makes it clear that civil society was indeed characterized by individualism and self-interest, recast as a system of needs.36 And in The Phenomenology of Spirit Hegel indicates that a formal and abstract “virtue” that tries to subvert individuality within civil society is bound to fail, even to contradict itself, because it is the very nature of individuality to assert itself in this realm.37 Are we to conclude then that Kies was an undereducated Hegelian, unaware of the more nuanced points of his argument? This is highly unlikely. Kies went to study in Europe the year after publishing this book. During her time there, she studied in Leipzig, which suggests that she was proficient enough in German to have already been able to read Hegel herself by this time. In addition, George S. Morris had published a book that outlines The Philosophy of Right thoroughly. In fact, Morris’s biggest fault in Hegel’s Philosophy of the State and of History is that he was so true to Hegel that he virtually paraphrased him. So Kies was well-acquainted with Hegel’s argument in its entirety, whether she read it herself or read Morris’s faithful account of it. Key concepts in Hegel’s understanding of civil society remained intact in Morris’s rendition of his theory of the state. Morris clearly outlined and explained Hegel’s system of needs and of the estates. He also remained loyal to Hegel’s view of civil society as the realm of individuation generally speaking.38 And as a student of Morris at the University of Michigan, Kies undoubtedly would have been familiar with this book. So whence Kies’s reformulation of the nature of industrial relations, which is a segment of civil society? First of all, Kies is interested in taking seriously Hegel’s idea that society is an organic whole. Second, she takes even more seriously his understanding that the state unifies all members of society, and at all levels, reinforcing the “wholeness” of this organic whole. Third, she introduces altruism as a possible cure for a social ill that was also of great concern to Hegel: the potentially devastating effects that industrialization can have on the poor. Or as one translator from this period rendered it, Hegel was concerned about the “untrammeled activity” of civic society.39



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Hegel recognized that contingent factors are often the cause of poverty, and this condition leaves them “with the needs of civil society . . . [which] at the same time [has] taken from them the natural means of acquisition.”40 Yet Hegel was perplexed about how exactly a “rabble” is to be dealt with, should such a class arise. He noted that private charity alone could not adequately make provisions for the poor, but must be supplemented with a system of public assistance.41 At the same time, however, if a system for public welfare becomes too effective, and the poor were to be sustained at an acceptable standard of living, they “would be ensured [a livelihood] without the mediation of work [which] would be contrary to the principle of civil society and the feeling of self-sufficiency and honour among its individual members.”42 The only ways out of this tangle that Hegel can see are either to “leave the poor to their fate” and force them into public begging, as was the practice in England in Hegel’s day, or to expand the domestic economy by means of foreign trade and colonialism.43 With the first option, begging provides “the most direct means of dealing with poverty, and particularly with the renunciation of shame and honour.” With the second, “the pursuit of gain” motivates individuals to overcome the obstacles presented by traversing both land and sea.44 In considering Kies’s discussion of industry then, it might help to take literally the title of Adams’s book, The Relation of the State to Industrial Action which she cites at points throughout both of her books and look at Kies as one who is assessing the ways in which the state and industry interact—particularly as this affects the working classes. Taking this title literally provides the key, I believe, to Kies’s justice/grace system. She is proposing guidelines for government intervention into civil society—a proposal that Hegel fell short of making. The latter may indeed be the realm of free competition among individuals, but the former is a unity into which all else is subsumed. Therefore, when competition harms one or more of civil society’s members, “the state should provide to a reasonable extent for the needs of its poor and unfortunate classes.”45 According to Kies’s theory of altruism, as the manifestation of reason

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in the ethical world the state must by its nature rectify the situation. For certain spontaneous, competitive forces within civil society to damage and possibly even to destroy the organism as a whole would be irrational, after all. Looked at this way then, Kies is taking Hegel’s acknowledgement of the problem of the welfare of the poor one step further. She is playing out what it means for the state to be rational in regard to the industrial powers that dominated in her day; and this is to enforce altruism. A quote from Kies herself supports my interpretation: The voice of the organic whole, speaking through representatives who see the needs and correct relations of the different individual groups, demands that one class in society who will not voluntarily give up privileges which their position in society enables them to get, must be compelled to act as if they saw the good of others and the true interests of all classes.46 At the same time, Kies recognizes that there are legitimate limits to state action. She declares that “in many relations of society, assistance from the state other than protective laws is unnecessary, [and] when equilibrium can be preserved without it, [state action] only corrupts and destroys the individuality of the assisted class.”47 Based on this statement, then, it is clear that Kies does agree with Hegel’s understanding of civil society operating spontaneously as the realm of individualism. When a corporate body, such as the cotton or woolen industry, amasses so much power as to obliterate the autonomy of those beholden to it— whether for goods, services, or employment—then the state must intervene, check the industry’s power, and provide safeguards against it on behalf of weaker forces. At the same time, the state must not completely orchestrate relations between entities in society. Since “the will of man is essentially freedom,” state power should not infringe upon that freedom. In fact, in Kies’s view when the state take[s] away from any individual or class rights that are inherent in the personality of man, just then the state begins a process of the destruction of its members, and so begins a process of [its own] dissolution and death.48



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Again, the state, as reason made manifest must act in a rational manner. It would be as irrational for the state to overstep its bounds and thereby undermine individual freedom as it would to fail to act and allow individual freedom to be annihilated. It is significant that Kies is committed to altruistic action by the state. Like Margaret Mercer in Volume One, she rejects outright the common conservative suggestion that natural altruistic impulse will become manifest as private charitable organizations and that this can adequately address the ills of society. The problem with “spontaneous private charity,” Kies insists, is that it is not “definite and systematized.”49 Therefore, it will not ensure that the weaker members of society are provided for. Instead altruism is to be promoted through the enactment of rational laws: Since the true aim of a nation is . . . to secure a harmonious development of all its members, any legislation which wilfully violates or ignores the rights of any class or group of producers, or forgets to secure the good of an oppressed class, cannot in the long run prove to be correct legislation.50 “Correct legislation” by a rational state requires exactly the kind of monitoring described earlier. It must ensure that one force does not acquire so much power that it undermines the free development of individuals. In this way the state protects the natural and continuous development of the whole. At the same time, the state mustn’t overreact to what are simply the normal workings of society by restricting freedoms of any one individual (even when that individual is a corporation) or group. The state must pass just, rational laws that will avoid both extremes. But in Kies’s view, time has shown that the “laws that time has proved to be most beneficial to society have place[d] the good of society before private immediate good to the individual.”51 Therefore, in her view it is better to err on the side of grace rather than of justice. In actual practice, however, justice and grace complement each other rather than compete. In fact, there are three ways to approach industrial relations: (1) from the point of view of self-interest (justice); (2) from the point of view of

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altruism (grace); or (3) from the point of view of economy and environment (pragmatism). Kies goes through a number of examples of how a decisionmaker would address real-life problems, depending on the perspective he or she takes. In all cases, the “economic man” would act according to self-interest, the “ethical man” would base his decision on altruism, and the “practical man” would do his best to strike a balance between egoistic/economic interests and altruistic considerations. The commentary Kies laces within this extensive list of examples demonstrates that her own position is more moderate than much of her earlier discussion has suggested. For instance, she points out that, given a chance to purchase a large tract of farmland, the standard altruistic approach might in fact not be the best route to take. Certainly, it isn’t ethical for the “economic man” to buy up all he can in order to exploit them as “bonanza farms.” Yet neither is it as noble as it might seem for the “ethical man” who “realizes that it is necessary . . . that an opportunity be given for [individuals] . . . to exercise [their] own energy upon [their] own material environment”52 to sell the land in small parcels at reasonable prices or to lease it long-term for cooperative farming. More beneficial overall is the “practical man’s” decision to aim for the mean between these two extremes in Kies’s view. He realizes that it would be a waste of capital and of resources to divide the land up among several owners. This is because he understands that a large farm is more efficient and will yield more opportunities for labor for working people. A “concentration of means is necessary” in this case, so the “practical man” would carry on large-scale farming, but would hire workers at reasonable wages and carry on business dealings in an ethical manner.53 This last move is interesting, because although Kies tried to resist endorsing self-interest, she seems to concede that it can be “practical” in certain cases. The similarity to the views of Ethel Muir (Cornell, 1896) on this point is to be noted. Kies uses this dialectic of ethics to firmly establish her point: “the ethical principle”—that is, grace or altruism—is in fact operative, even in business and industry. Furthermore, altruism needn’t have harmful effects, but can support enhanced productivity in many instances. Finally, altruism may even



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come to be relied on more fully in the future. In the closing paragraph of The Ethical Principle, Kies rhetorically asks whether it is not true that the “economic man” of Mill’s conception has become the “practical man” of present writers through the recognition of the fact that men in business relations are moved by motives other than that of self-interest . . . and the “practical man” of future generations will . . . resemble the ethical man of the present.54

From Philosophy to Social Work Caroline Miles Hill (1866–1951) AB, Earlham College, Richmond, Indiana (1887) MA, Philosophy, University of Michigan (1891) Thesis: “New England Transcendentalism as a Philosophy” PhD, Philosophy, University of Michigan (1892) Dissertation: “Kant’s Kingdom of Ends as a Social Philosophy” Career: Bloomingdale Academy (1887–9); Bryn Mawr (1891–2); Mount Holyoke (1892–3); Wellesley (1893–5); Hull House (1897–1900); University of Chicago, research librarian (1900–05); Prairie Weir Farm Summer School (1905–7); Bloomingdale Academy, principal (1910–12); Bethany College (1912–13); Hull House (1913–14)

Life and Career Caroline Miles Hill was born in 1863 near Dayton, Ohio, the oldest child of Israel and Keturah Miles.55 After her father’s death when she was seven years old, the family moved to Indiana, where her paternal aunt, Anna Miles, enrolled her in the preparatory program at Earlham College, an institution founded by

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Quakers. She later completed a bachelor’s degree at Earlham, then went directly into graduate study at the University of Michigan. She is one of the few women in this volume whose graduate work was not delayed by personal circumstances or social barriers. She is also among the minority of women in this volume who were married. Caroline Miles and William Hill, a political economics professor and labor historian at the University of Chicago, married in 1895. She described her husband as “so wonderfully liberal in his ideas of what women should do . . . [with] no double standards about anything, although he has made some rather innocent blunders.”56 Like May Preston Slosson, however, Miles Hill’s career path was shaped by her husband’s professional choices. Miles Hill accepted a research fellowship at Bryn Mawr, beginning her work there in the winter of 1892, before her doctorate was officially conferred at Michigan. She corresponded with Eliza Sunderland during this time, sharing her reflections about how empowering she found it to study at a women’s institution, about the rigorous levels of study there, and about the excellent mentoring she was receiving—mentioning Bryn Mawr economics professor Frank H. Giddings by name.57 Here, she studied alongside other women across academic disciplines, including Lucy Maynard Salmon, a historian; Elizabeth Laird, a physicist; and Agnes M. Wergeland, an artist and modern languages professor.58 She also began exploring both economics and psychology, two newly emerging fields of study at the time. Following the Bryn Mawr fellowship, Miles Hill taught at Mount Holyoke College (1892–3), helping to fill the vacancy left by Marietta Kies the previous year. She then accepted a position at Wellesley College, where she taught from 1893 to 1895, filling the gap left by Mary Whiton Calkins who was studying at Harvard. While there, she was able to conduct research in psychology under the direction of Edmund Sanford, a psychology professor at Clark University 35 miles to the west, and Hugo Münsterberg, who gave her permission to use his psychology laboratory at Harvard just over twelve miles to the northeast.59 She later published articles about her research in the American Journal of Psychology.



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As noted before, Miles Hill’s career trajectory shifted after her marriage, even though her husband William supported her interest in having an active professional life. She followed her husband to Illinois, where he held a position in political economics at the University of Chicago. About 1910, she accepted his decision to leave academic life and try his hand at farming, first in Indiana, then in West Virginia.60 Neither of these endeavors were successful, and William developed an interest in another woman, which ultimately led to their separation and divorce. Yet throughout this time, Miles Hill made efforts to maintain a public/professional presence, even though she was not able to secure career stability. While her husband was teaching in Chicago, she worked alongside Jane Addams at Hull House, where she helped establish a summer program for urban youth. For a time, she also held a position in the University of Chicago library. During their short stints in Indiana and West Virginia, she taught alongside William at Bloomingdale Academy and Bethany College. When she returned to Chicago after the couple’s divorce, she returned to Hull House and also joined the Chicago Women’s Club, where she worked with other intellectually minded women and periodically gave lectures. The eighth woman to earn a PhD in philosophy in the United States (tied with Eliza Sunderland), Miles Hill’s doctoral thesis is no longer extant. Her master’s thesis remains intact, however, and provides a valuable account of the foundations of pre-academic philosophy in the United States. She published articles and reviews in the American Journal of Psychology and Journal of Political Economy; a number of pieces in two prominent religious periodicals in her day, Unity Magazine and American Friends Magazine; a well-respected edited volume, The World’s Great Religious Poetry (1923); an additional collection of poems, Twentieth Century Love Poetry (1929); and an edited collection of essays on the theory and practice of social work, Mary McDowell and Municipal Housekeeping: A Symposium (1938). She corresponded with her peers from graduate study at Michigan, Marietta Kies and Eliza Jane Sunderland, although only a handful of letters to Sunderland remain. She was also close to a number of public intellectuals and social reformers: Jane Addams

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(1860–1935), who is now also recognized as a philosopher; Cornelia de Bey (1865–1948), Julia Lathrop (1858–1932), and Mary McDowell (1854–1936).

Caroline Miles Hill’s Philosophical Work Caroline Miles Hill entered the academic world at a time of transition in philosophy, and both her career path and her written work reflect this historical reality. Philosophy was moving away from the parlor discussions and public lectures that were common prior to the twentieth century, to formal academic study in the college or university classroom. Miles Hill was well-schooled in philosophy as it was understood in the United States at the time. And she had thoroughly studied two of the nation’s most influential early philosophical movements: New England transcendentalism and St. Louis idealism. In her master’s thesis, she provided a valuable discussion of the origins of the first movement and examined its relation to the second. In this sense, she was able to examine and contextualize the two traditions, without being a devotee of either. Like many women in philosophy at this time, however, she moved into the study of psychology—which among her colleagues in that era included epistemology, philosophy of mind, cognitive development, and moral reasoning. As a postdoctoral fellow and young professor, she administered surveys and evaluated the results, publishing her findings in the American Journal of Psychology. Yet, whether by choice or by necessity, Miles Hill set aside her purely academic ambitions and turned to social welfare theory and practice later in life, as reflected in her last published work, Mary McDowell and Municipal Housekeeping.

On Transcendentalism In 1889, Caroline Miles Hill completed her master’s thesis on New England transcendentalism, as developed by one of its most prominent proponents,



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Ralph Waldo Emerson. He and his circle of progressive thinkers in New England in the middle of the nineteenth century had a significant impact on the generation that followed, particularly the early, pre-academic idealists in the United States. As noted in my previous work, William Torrey Harris, the recognized leader of the idealist movement in St. Louis, Missouri, revered Emerson and the less prolific Amos Bronson Alcott, and had invited both of them to lecture on a number of occasions. Harris saw himself as inheriting the transcendentalist legacy but improving on and surpassing it. Yet a criticism directed at both movements—transcendentalism and St. Louis idealism—was that each suffered from a lack of academic rigor. Although Harris and his followers saw themselves as bringing a systematic approach to the study of philosophy that was missing in the writings of Emerson and company, some contemporaries, like William James and John Dewey, made some of the same criticisms of Harris and his colleagues. Idealism as the St. Louis group had developed it was often too infused with a vague, quasi-spiritual sensibility. In her discussion of transcendentalism, Miles Hill makes it clear how and why this early pre-academic philosophy fell short in this way. In this relatively short but dense document, Miles Hill credits Emerson with helping to establish a school of thought that brought a sense of unity to our understanding of the universe and a sense of optimism about human virtue. Drawing on the ideas of Plato, Plotinus, and Kant, transcendentalism was the first philosophy on “American” soil in Miles Hill’s view, and it laid the foundation for philosophical idealism to emerge a generation later. Emerson’s starting point was “absolute unity in diversity.” He saw “one universal soul” in both nature and any given individual.61 But Miles Hill believes he distinguished his view of universal unity from pantheism by drawing on Kant and thus transitioning from a discussion of metaphysics/cosmology into epistemology.62 For Emerson, Reason is distinct from Understanding in that Reason is the higher faculty and is linked to divinity. “Reason is identical in all [people, therefore], different minds can know the same universals. We partake of Reason, rather than possess it.”63 It will be instructive to note here that, in

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this sense, Emerson agreed with Margaret Mercer, discussed in Volume I, who made the claim that mind or our spiritual nature emerges from God’s nature and thus participates in an aspect of divinity.64 Understanding, by contrast, is a tool of Reason. The Understanding can be developed, according to Emerson, when education is used to “furnish suitable conditions for the exercise of Reason.”65 Miles Hill continues on to explain that for Emerson, Reason is like an “empty tube” through which an individual mind can view the world. We can also use Will to discipline our senses, thus opening the “tube” more fully to the materials that are present before us. But the faculty of Will is otherwise limited.66 Miles Hill attributes Emerson’s ideas about education and the training of the will to the influence of Plato’s theory of the transmigration of souls. Only by accepting this element in Plato’s thought—that each soul exists prior to a given individual’s birth and perhaps also after death—does it make sense for Emerson to claim that there is one universal Mind and that we can use education to train our understanding. She also underscores the fact that, since the universe is a unity in Emerson’s view, he agrees with idealism that the physical and spiritual aspects of the world—Mind and Matter—are one. In her words, he “believes the world is an organic whole, as opposed to an aggregate of unconscious activities.”67 In this sense, the metaphysics of transcendentalism aligns with its ethics, which in Miles Hill’s view yields optimism: [Transcendentalism] grounds its belief upon conscious law, as opposed to blind unconscious will. It believes the curative forces of nature and the instincts of animals are based upon a conscious plan, as opposed to a chance, neither benevolent nor malevolent . . . It believes culture tends to prepare the way for the showing forth of reason in [human beings], as opposed to the theory that culture only gives greater consciousness of misery . . . It believes pleasure is the natural state of [humanity] . . . and pain is only a warning.68 The three sources that Miles Hill identifies as having the greatest influence on Emerson—and thus transcendentalism—are Plato, Plotinus, and Kant.



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But she points out that in many ways, his appropriation of these philosophers was only partial, and therefore his philosophy was incomplete. From Plato, Emerson borrowed an understanding of the world as a unity and, as noted earlier, the idea that the soul can exist apart from the body. He also made good use, in Miles Hill’s view, of Kant’s epistemology. According to her very capable discussion of this aspect of Kant’s thought, he laid the groundwork for a theory of both knowledge and moral freedom that was accepted by transcendentalism, although no one in Emerson’s circle worked out a detailed epistemological theory of their own: “His system is a union of idealism and realism; mind and the object are said to cooperate in knowledge,” she said.”69 Emerson altered a notion derived from Plotinus, however. The ancient thinker spoke of knowledge of the infinite as a kind of ecstasy. But Emerson used the term ecstasy in reference to an emotional response to the divine. Thus, he introduced both affect and a heightened sense of spirituality into his discussions. Miles Hill responds critically to both approaches, saying that ultimately, “both of them, from lack of analysis, have mistaken aesthetic emotion for some mysterious state which it is not. . . . Feeling was not used for its legitimate purpose, but [simply] to imagine more feeling.”70 She adds to this a criticism, one that has been made by many others since: very few of the transcendentalists read the original works of the philosophers who influenced them—Kant and Fichte she mentions by name. Rather, they relied on interpretations by Goethe and Coleridge. Goethe, she says, objected to Kant’s ideas, because he believed they denied the spiritual nature of human beings.71 Coleridge shared this concern. In regard to Kant’s epistemology, Miles Hill charges that Coleridge tried to address “what perhaps was not intentionally put into it. He saw a need to find a proof that an uneducated mind could apprehend spiritual truth.”72 And the transcendentalists “received his theological bias.” Coleridge’s use of the term “intuition” was another shortcoming the transcendentalists inherited. He used the term in the ordinary sense—as an inclination, feeling, or spiritual understanding—rather than accepting Kant’s

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specialized philosophical use. In regard to ethics, then, Coleridge urged readers to “trust your intuitions” in the sense of resisting external systems of thought or social/political authorities. Instead, according to Miles Hill, Coleridge believed we must all “trust in something universal and necessary”— with the strong implication being that he had in mind a timeless principle, or perhaps a transcendent being. Emerson and other transcendentalists followed Coleridge’s lead, placing far more emphasis on both individuality and spirituality.73 As developed by Emerson and his colleagues, however, Coleridge’s mandate to trust your intuitions came to mean simply, “think for yourself.” And, Miles Hill noted, there was “more emphasis . . . on the ‘think’ than upon the ‘yourself.’”74 Emerson was eager for individuals to attend to their ideas and intuitions, examine them, anticipate their implications. Yet he failed to say what, exactly, intuitions are. In sum, Miles Hill notes that “Coleridge had emphasized one side of Kant . . . [and the transcendentalists] emphasized one side of Coleridge—‘Revere your intuitions.’”75 Toward the end of her discussion, Miles Hill asserts that a deep and abiding sense of optimism is one of transcendentalism’s most valuable contributions to philosophy—not in the sense of “simply shutting the eyes to evil or assuming a wise and benevolent mechanical creator, wherefore the whole of creation must be good.” Instead, the positive outlook of Emerson and his circle “surpasses Hegel’s Optimism in that it regards the universe as more than rational, as actually moral.”76 Yet, transcendentalism did not fully become a philosophical school of thought, she says, because its proponents “had only studied previous systems as literature, not as Philosophy.” She continues: “At that time the American mind was not sufficiently accustomed to philosophical thinking to build upon the stronger elements [of transcendentalism], or even to recognize them as such.”77 Although several of the women discussed in Volume I would be likely to disagree, Miles Hill concludes that The Journal of Speculative Philosophy is not a lineal descendant of the Dial, nor the Concord School of Philosophy of the Transcendental



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Club. . . . [Transcendentalism] was “a revival of spirit” in that it searched below the letter of formalism; it was “philosophical dilettantism” because many embraced it [to find] support for [their] own theory and not for love of Philosophy itself. [It lacked] a close and searching analysis, systematization, and unity. . . . As the etymology of the word indicates, it was an attempt to pass beyond, to pass over fixed boundaries into the realm of the ideal.78

Experimental Psychology Her master’s thesis is the most standard philosophical work that Miles Hill produced. Two articles that followed a few years later in the American Journal of Psychology point to a relatively common trend among early academic philosophers at this time—Miles Hill’s shift to research in experimental psychology. These articles are based on two studies: one that focused on women’s emotional and cognitive states under a range of circumstances and one that looked at the factors that influence decision-making for both men and women. Miles Hill’s first round of research at Wellesley, “A Study of Individual Psychology,” was published in 1895.79 It reported on a survey of one hundred women at the college as they performed routine tasks or coped with difficult situations. At the outset, she recognizes the challenges of conducting an effective survey that will yield helpful information. She noted that the prompts themselves must be written so as to be neutral, and terms must be clarified, especially terms related to emotional states. She acknowledges that self-reporting of cognitive and emotional states may not be reliable. Some participants are less introspective than others, for instance, and respondents may not feel free to express themselves fully about strong or negative emotions. Finally, researchers need to keep their own biases from creeping into the process of administering and analyzing results of a survey.

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Having addressed these concerns about methodology, Miles Hill marches her readers through the survey questions and results. Many of the questions were designed to cull information about cognitive abilities and processes: how participants retain information, how well they recall early childhood experiences, or how they develop preferences, such as a favorite color. She also sought to collect information about cognitive development and moral will. Questions appeared on the survey about strategies women used to concentrate on a boring lecture, for instance, or to attend to a task or project they dread. Another question was revived: women Miles Hill surveyed were asked to relate a story that was frightening or creepy—in real life or in a familiar tale or ghost story, and this part of her discussion was included in a recent book on horror.80 Miles Hill shares the results of the Wellesley survey both quantitatively and qualitatively. She reports on the number of women whose responses fall into similar categories, but also reflects on responses to each question. In doing so, she provides a few insights, but she does not deeply analyze the results of her research. This study is perhaps most valuable as an example of psychological research on women by a woman very early in the development of the social sciences. Miles Hill’s second study, “On Choice,” was discussed in an article three years later, also in American Journal of Psychology.81 Here she discloses that her original plan was to explore the role of self-interest when a difficult moral decision must be made. Yet the challenges of conducting a survey to cull useful information, especially considering the many variables in play, would be daunting. So, she turned instead to a brief overview of common moral and philosophical understandings of choice, before turning to a description of the study. In the early pages of this article, she notes that our moral decisions are shaped in part by our individual historical and social situations; that “rationality” can’t always factor in, because outcomes cannot be known in advance; and (citing Dewey) that personal experience will come into play. And in the end, she asserts that temperament will ultimately shape a person’s moral



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decisions. Miles Hill then provides a description of the laboratory study she was able to conduct—a set of simple experiments devised in an attempt to isolate the process of decision-making itself at a clear and definitive moment. Participants were asked to choose between ordinary objects, specific letters, or nonsense words. Initially, they were asked why they made that choice. Later in the study, the variables were controlled, and participants were simply observed as they made their choices. Miles Hill’s findings were not earth-shattering, but she did succeed in distinguishing between choices made based on habit, proximity, aesthetics, and individual/idiosyncratic preferences. For this study, she collaborated with colleagues at Harvard again, but did additional work with Helen Thompson (later Woolley) at the University of Chicago, who would become a pioneer in the study of psychology and gender difference.

Feminist Writings Unlike many women who entered the academic world before the twentieth century, Miles Hill openly expressed feminist views. In 1904, she wrote an essay length review of a book by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, The Home, Its Work and Its Influence.82 More subtle evidence of her feminist leanings appears in her well-received collection, The World’s Great Religious Poetry, published many years later in 1923. In that work nearly 25 percent of the poets included were women—including Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the Brontë sisters, Emily Dickinson, George Eliot, Amy Lowell, Christine Rosetti, and Harriet Beecher Stowe.83 The final expression of Miles Hill’s feminism was an edited volume, Mary McDowell and Municipal Housekeeping, which she produced in 1938, as a tribute to McDowell, a social reformer who was known, along with Jane Addams, Cornelia de Bey, Margaret Haley, and Julia Lathrop, as one of the “Five Maiden Aunts” of Chicago.84 Miles Hill’s review of Gilman’s book appeared in the Journal of Political Economy and in it, she praised her colleague’s social science methodology as well as her feminist approach to ending the gender division of labor

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in the household. But she also takes an opportunity to express many of her own feminist views. She opens the article with an overview of the feminist movement in the nineteenth century, recognizing the impact of the voting rights movement, the education movement, and the women’s club movement on women’s advancement. Observing that the struggle for voting rights has been “the most abstract [but] least successful,” she also recognizes that the backlash against women’s higher education is perhaps the strongest evidence of its success. Men in authority—medical doctors, ministers, educators, and scientists—had tried desperately to convince the public that rigorous higher education would damage women. Yet women’s experience and success had proven otherwise, and young women continued to flock to colleges and universities. Furthermore, despite the insistence of conservative female critics that women did not want equality, women continue to struggle for full access to education, employment, and political participation. In light of the many advancements taking place in her time, Miles Hill maintains that social science makes it clear that gender roles are malleable. And she argues along with Gilman that these roles can and should be changed. Miles Hill praises Gilman’s book for providing “a logical basis for argument.” “We are not now invited to a consideration of brain weights or of intrinsic differences between men and women,” she says, “but to a study of the origin, growth, and present condition of an institution. The discussion [has been moved] from a priori grounds [to] evolutionary grounds.”85 According to her assessment of the book, there are many reasons to praise it. Perhaps most commendable is Gilman’s dismantling of “Domestic Mythology,” which is responsible for creating the “home-bound woman,” whose role—and very existence—has been artificially “narrowed and superficialized.”86 Gilman’s solution is one that resonates with ideas Jane Addams discussed in “A Belated Industry,” published in the American Journal of Sociology in 1896. It is also a solution with which Miles Hill heartily agrees: reconfigure home life so that domestic work is exported as much as possible, as has been the trend over



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time with the majority of men’s traditional work in the homestead. It is no more “natural” for women to devote themselves to doing all the cooking, cleaning, childcare, laundry, and shopping, for instance, than it is for men to dedicate the majority of their time to “building the house, hunting and killing the game, and making the furniture” for their families.87 Furthermore, women’s seclusion in the home limits the scope of their involvement in society. In the most “radical” chapter of the book, Miles Hill reports on Gilman’s claim that the only two virtues exercised in the home are love and self-sacrifice.88 She might have added that one of these virtues—love—comes naturally. Furthermore, one could argue that love does not need a special realm in which to develop. She appears to hint that the other—self-sacrifice— has been notoriously imposed upon and expected of women for centuries, and for the greater social good it needs to be converted into a broader sense of service to others. The written work that Miles Hill produced demonstrates a shift from philosophical inquiry to social science research after 1895. As the twentieth century approached, she came to value the ability of social science research to address social and political problems. Her next step, therefore, was to engage in social reform work herself, alongside women like Jane Addams and Mary McDowell in Chicago. Her collection about the life and work of Mary McDowell was a slight volume, but it spoke to four major themes that appear frequently in the work of contemporaries, like Addams and to some degree Lucia Ames Mead, both of whom are discussed in Volume I: ●●

The modern city in all of its cultural and economic diversity is a microcosm of the world.

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Diversity within urban centers enriches life and should be a central feature of political engagement on the local level.

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Communities, both large and small, are not simply an aggregate of individuals, but have a soul; the job of government officials, educators, and social reformers is to nurture community at every opportunity.

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A top-down leadership model is counter-productive. Effective governance can take place only when all members of society are included.

Like Addams, Miles Hill hoped to see urban centers become increasingly dynamic and interactive as racial and cultural diversity increased. She even went so far as to say that government officials, doctors, and educators (including college professors) should be required to complete an internship at a place like Hull House so they can better understand the needs of the community. It would be easy to dismiss Miles Hill’s briefly sketched vision as a utopian one. Yet her ideas were embraced within her network of intellectuals and activists. They also contributed to putting theory into practice, which is one reason Miles Hill and others like her found the academic world to be lacking—it was too far removed from practical concerns to be personally and professionally fulfilling.

Excluded, but not Dissuaded Eliza Read Sunderland (1839–1910) BA, Mount Holyoke College (1865) BA, University of Michigan (1889) PhD, Philosophy, University of Michigan (1892) Dissertation: “Man’s Relation to the Absolute according to the Philosophy of Kant and of Hegel” Career: Aurora, Illinois, high school principal (1866–71); Chicago, high school teacher (1876–8); Ann Arbor, high school teacher (1878–83); Unitarian Church, Ann Arbor, Michigan, congregational leader and lecturer (1878–98); Women’s Western Unitarian Conference, president (1882–7); National Society for the Advancement of Women, director (1885–95); World Parliaments of Religion, lecturer (1893); India, missions and educational tour (1895–1900); Hartford, Connecticut board of education (1907–10)



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Life and Career Eliza Jane Read Sunderland was born in 1839 in Huntsville, Illinois, to Amasa and Jane (Henderson) Read, who were committed Quakers. Despite the fact that her father died when she was young, she was able to receive a good education for a woman in this period, attending a girls’ school in Abingdon, Illinois, until the age of fifteen. She then taught in local schools until 1863 when she was accepted into Mount Holyoke Seminary, which at the time was the college of choice for women in the United States. Although she was offered a teaching position at Mount Holyoke upon graduating, she was unable to accept it due to family issues that today are unknown. So, in 1865, she returned to Illinois to teach at a high school in Aurora. In two years, she was promoted to principal of the high school, joining Ella Flagg Young, discussed in Chapter 4, and Anna Brackett and Fanny Jackson Coppin, both of whom are discussed in volume one, as the first women in the country known to head a secondary school. The arc of Sunderland’s professional development was unusual in that she was married and had a career as an educator and religious leader before she began doctoral work. She maintained a surprisingly steady career path for a married woman in this era. She and her husband, Jabez T. Sunderland, had three children (Gertrude, 1873; Edson, 1875; Florence, 1877), when he was offered a pastorate on the University of Michigan campus. Eliza essentially served has her husband’s co-pastor, but also resumed teaching at the high school level in Ann Arbor. By the mid-1880s, she began taking classes at the university, earning a second bachelor’s degree in philosophy in 1889. She then went on to earn the doctorate in philosophy at Michigan. Throughout her career, Sunderland was an accomplished public speaker and leader of women’s organizations. She was a founder and president of the Women’s Western Unitarian Conference (1882–7) and vice president of the Association for the Advancement of Women (1886–1991). She was also a member of the Michigan Equal Suffrage Association (1887–92), the Michigan State Federation of Women’s Clubs (1897–1900), and the National Alliance

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of Unitarian and Other Liberal Christian Women. She corresponded with a number of other prominent contemporaries in philosophy, religion, education, and social/political reform movements: Octavia Bates, Anna Brackett, Augusta Chapin, Lillian Freeman Clark, Caroline Dall, Rebecca Hazard, Ellen Mitchell, Lucinda Hinsdale Stone, and her peer at the University of Michigan, Caroline Miles Hill. Sunderland was featured in three different venues at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893: the Congress of Representative Women, the Department of Philosophy and Science, and the World’s Parliament of Religions. She was among a number of women to speak at the women’s “congress” at the World’s Fair, of course, discussing women’s distinctive contributions to society and culture, largely as wives and mothers. She was only one of two women to speak at the sessions on philosophy and science (the other was Julia Ward Howe). She also gave a presentation on “The Importance of the Study of Comparative Religion” at the World’s Parliament of Religions. The philosophy and religion lectures won her a great deal of respect and recognition beyond the women’s circles in which she was already well known. She published just one book, a volume coauthored with her husband, James Martineau and His Greatest Book (1905), a work that focuses on Martineau’s Study of Religion and speaks to the Sunderlands’ commitment to their Unitarian religious beliefs. She produced a considerable number of introductory lectures on philosophy and religion while at the University of Michigan, which were left unpublished. These writings, along with her published lectures and speeches demonstrate that she was well versed in the history of European philosophy, Eastern philosophy and religion, and early discussions of psychology. Sunderland remained active as a public intellectual long after earning her doctoral degree (though, as discussed later in the chapter, this was not by choice). She lectured widely, travelled to India in the late 1890s, lobbied for women’s voting rights after the turn of the century, and served on the local school board in Connecticut just prior to her death in 1910.



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As one of only three women to earn a doctorate in philosophy at the University of Michigan, and the eighth woman in the United States to do so (tied with Caroline Miles Hill), Eliza Jane Read Sunderland was among a select group. Yet achieving this level of academic distinction did not translate into professional advancement in academia. In the 1890s, two campaigns were launched, complete with letters of support and petitions, to urge University of Michigan administrators to appoint Sunderland to vacant philosophy faculty positions. In the first campaign, Lucinda Hinsdale Stone wrote: Dear Sir: Mr. Tufts is going to vacate his place in Michigan University. . . . [in the words of a former student] “I have studied and recited two terms with Mrs. Sunderland in the department in which Mr. Tufts has been a teacher, and I know that Mrs. Sunderland is second only to Dr. Dewey, the head of the department. Why should she not be an instructor in that department? Could anything be brought to bear as to bring this thing about?”89 A second campaign took place three years later to appoint Sunderland to a faculty position John Dewey left vacant at Michigan. Dewey himself recommended her this time, but he did not mention the specific position for which she was qualified—perhaps a signal that he was lukewarm about her candidacy: It is simple justice to Mrs. Sunderland to state that she more than earned her degree. Whether one considers the range of ground covered, the mass of facts acquired, the grasp and assimilation of those facts, the power of stating them in well-arranged and clear terms, the power of bringing out their moral and practical bearing, Mrs. Sunderland’s work appears equally admirable. In case Mrs. Sunderland should care ever to take up the work of instruction in philosophy, I feel sure that she would succeed thoroughly in it. For such work, I can recommend her with the utmost confidence.”90 The university stood by its policy against hiring women in both cases. In 1891, George H. Mead and Albert H. Lloyd were hired, neither of whom held

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the PhD at the time of appointment. In 1894, George Rebec was offered the position—though again he had not yet earned a doctoral degree. Sunderland was passed over both times, forcing her to continue working as a high school educator, activist, and public intellectual.

Sunderland’s Philosophical Work Sunderland produced a doctoral dissertation that demonstrated a real grasp of the two most influential German philosophers in the eighteenth and nineteenth century: “Man’s Relation to the Absolute according to the Philosophy of Kant and of Hegel.” Her dissertation represents a bridge between St. Louis Hegelianism and the broader forms of idealism that developed at Concord in Massachusetts, at Glenmore in upstate New York, and in New York City. In this work, she reviewed the arguments in Kant’s three Critiques, and, consistent with earlier discussions of idealism in the United States—in St. Louis in particular— she criticizes his hyper-individualism. Also consistent with early American idealist thought, Sunderland displayed an emerging personalism when she focused on Hegel’s claim that God is “the absolute Person” and that “personality is universality.” Focusing on God as Person is an inclination also present in the writings of Susan Blow, discussed in volume one, and it grew into a fullblown school of thought in Boston in the early twentieth century.91 A strength of Sunderland’s dissertation, and what makes her stand apart from her St. Louis idealist colleagues, however, is the way in which it simply pointed to the strengths and weaknesses in both Kant and Hegel. She did not take sides, as the St. Louis group had tended to do, championing Hegel over Kant or vice versa. Instead, she maintained that their two systems of thought are complementary: Each thinker bases his theory of things upon the utterance of human reason, each gives to the reason both on its theoretical and practical side a creative power, each looks for the absolute unity in an absolute reason; hence each is



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rationalistic and spiritualistic. And their differences which seem on the face of them so great, prove on closer scrutiny to be only differences of degree.92 After she was passed over for faculty positions at the University of Michigan, Sunderland began offering a series of noncredit introductory philosophy lectures at the Unitarian church for University of Michigan students. She called the series “The Religious Thought of the Great Thinkers and Writers of the Nineteenth Century,” and it featured the canonical figures in philosophy and religion at the time: Kant, Hegel, Schleiermacher, Schopenhauer, Lotze, von Hartmann, Comte, Mill, Spencer, and Martineau. Each of the lectures provided at least a bit of the biography of each thinker, then discussed his work within his philosophical and religious context. As a body of work, this series demonstrates how well-versed Sunderland was in the academic philosophy of her day and time. These lectures were not published in her lifetime, appearing in print for the first time in 2003.93 As noted, Sunderland gave three lectures at the 1893 World’s Fair, a major, months-long event. She lectured at the “Women’s Department,” the Philosophy and Science Department, and the Parliament of World Religions. The last of these two lectures won her a great deal of recognition as a public intellectual, among men as well as women. In “The Importance of the Study of Comparative Religions,” Sunderland focused more on the similarities among religions than on what makes them valuable and distinctive in their own right. Her insights were largely anthropological. Religion in all of its forms is (1) one of the highest expressions of culture, (2) based in morality, (3) grounded in a sense of personal and communal duty, (4) a relation between the human and the divine, and (5) a natural attribute of humanity. Studying other religions is valuable in her view because it helps us to understand and appreciate our own religion more thoroughly. Sunderland tried to avoid placing Christianity at the top of a hierarchy of religions, as was so common in this era. In fact, she questioned why so many people were amused by a Muslim group’s announcement that it planned to evangelize in the Chicago area. Was it because they saw Islam

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as inherently inferior to the Christian religion that dominates in the United States? If so, she asked her audience to consider Christianity’s failure to curb any number of social ills, such as crime, infidelity, and intemperance, and to consider the possibility that Islam would be more successful in combating these vices. Less probing in her long discussion of Judaism, she falls into the common Christian supercessionist assumption—that Christianity made a radical departure from Judaism at the time of Jesus and is now a religion vastly superior to it: “How long the journey from the early tribal sacrificial, magical, unmoral, fetish, holy place, human sacrifice worship of the early Semites, including the Hebrews, to the universal fatherhood and brotherhood religion of the Sermon on the Mount and the golden rule.”94 Though familiar with the anthropological research on Semitic tribes and culture in the ancient world in her discussion of Judaism, Sunderland clearly had not yet encountered early work on the historical Jesus and Jewish theological developments in the era just prior to the advent of Christianity, though a rich body of literature in this area of Christian theology existed in her day. She would have benefited greatly from an understanding of the long-standing balance between law and love, justice and compassion represented in the figures of Moses and Aaron, respectively. Her ability to provide a more fair comparison between Christianity and Judaism also would have been heightened if she had known more about the Pharasaic/rabbinic tradition of which Jesus and his predecessor Hillel the Elder were almost certainly a part.95 Sunderland’s inability to see beyond the typical Christian supercessionist view that was prevalent in this era is predictable, because she was relatively conservative theologically. In a debate over the religious identity of Unitarianism, she and her husband took the traditionalist view. The denomination had been known for its liberalism since its founding in the United States during the American Revolution. By the mid-1880s, it had become so open to theological skepticism and dissent that Sunderland and others began to fear that it was becoming a vacuous belief system. She and her



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husband disagreed strongly with other denominational leaders, like Jenkin Lloyd Jones, who embraced this radical and growing liberalism—so much so that they founded their own periodical, Unitarian Monthly, to combat the influence of Jones’s Unity magazine. Eliza and Jabez Sunderland used the Monthly as a venue to express their view that their liberal denomination needed to return to its Christian and theistic roots. In the end, the Sunderlands lost the debate. In the name of religious freedom, the denomination refused to make the sort of statement of faith that Eliza and her husband favored. The denomination also chose not to embrace the conservative claim that its Christian roots were central to its contemporary belief system.96 A large portion of Sunderland’s written work—about half of it—focused on the history and philosophy of religion. She spent relatively little time writing on women’s role and rights. In fact, just under 10 percent of her writings focused on women at all. Yet her support for the achievement of women is as central to understanding her life and work as it is for understanding Anna Brackett and Grace Bibb, both of whom are discussed in volume one. Sunderland’s social and political work on behalf of women consumed a great deal of her time and energy, and she was a valuable teacher and mentor to scores of women at the University of Michigan during the twenty years she and her husband spent there. Furthermore, she did discuss some of her ideas about women’s role and rights in writing, starting with an early essay on higher education for women (circa 1875) and ending with lengthy testimony on women’s voting rights before the Connecticut state legislature late in life (1909). In contrast to Brackett and Bibb, however, Sunderland leaned toward a maternalistic view of women and their role in society, then used that view to argue for their increased participation in public life. In an undated essay “What Agencies Should Employ Women for the Uplift of Society?” for instance, Sunderland argued that, aside from their vitally important work as wives and mothers, women are especially well suited to work in what are now referred to as the helping professions: as religious reformers, as educators, and as social welfare advocates. In “Vocations and Avocations for Women”

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and “Woman as an Economic Factor in American Life,” she expanded this argument. While never proposing that women should be relegated solely to the home, Sunderland nevertheless insisted that their maternal, caretaking work has inherent value, deserves recognition, and makes real contributions to public and economic life. Sunderland refined her maternalism in 1893 with her lecture at the Chicago World’s Fair, “Higher Education and the Home.” Education does, to some degree make women unfit for domestic life, Sunderland said, but this simply means that some adjustments had to be made to the educational and social structure as it then stood. Since the home is the foundation of society, public schools, colleges, and universities need to begin to play a different role for both males and females. Elementary schools need to provide better moral and physical education, so as to develop good, responsible citizens. Secondary schools and colleges need to reshape their curriculum, so that there is a more direct relationship between courses in the sciences, economics, and psychology and “the practical laboratory of the home and of society.”97 Like Catharine Beecher, Sunderland asserted that the home could and should rise in importance and public esteem. Women’s more efficient housekeeping, as a result of having been well educated, will allow them more time for volunteer work, writing, or pursuit of a profession. Sunderland further projected that men’s relation to the home and to society would also be enhanced by improving the connection between education and domestic and social life. But in this address, she is concerned only with establishing how women’s education will inform their life and work. She offered no concrete examples of how this would take place for men. Sunderland’s final—and lengthy—published discussion of women’s rights comes in the form of her testimony before the Connecticut legislature in 1909, in which she argued for women’s suffrage. First, Sunderland noted, voting is “a right guaranteed to all citizens of a Republic . . . a government ‘of the people, by the people, and for the people.’” Next, women worked alongside men in the nation’s greatest conflicts—the American Revolution and Civil War—thus



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helping to win freedom and unity as a people. In addition, women needed the vote to protect themselves from unjust laws enacted by men for whom women’s needs and interests were not a priority. She gave several examples: the ban on women jurors; unjust laws regarding property, inheritance, and child custody; and sex-based wage laws. Finally, voting rights would heighten women’s moral and intellectual stature, both as individuals and within society. In this essay, Sunderland tempered her maternalistic leanings considerably. She focused not on the good that women can do in the home as wives and mothers, but instead on an enhanced public role for them. Unfortunately, there are no hints from Sunderland’s other writings to shed light on how and why she shifted away from her maternal feminist stance to the more egalitarian/ liberal feminism we see in her Connecticut legislature address. Her work on comparative religions and women’s role in them may have been one factor. The intensified struggle for women’s voting rights at the time she gave this address may well have been another.

Conclusion Marietta Kies, Caroline Miles Hill, and Eliza Sunderland earned doctoral degrees at Michigan in philosophy during a very short window of time. Therefore, we see somewhat more similarity in their work than we do among women at other institutions, although each was certainly an independent thinker. Each produced theses that reflect the influence of the early philosophical idealist movement in the United States. This is not a surprise, given that George Sylvester Morris and John Dewey at Michigan were both associated with this movement and both contributed to its publication, the Journal of Speculative Philosophy in the 1870s and 1880s. Kies drew on neo-Hegelian ideals for her work in political philosophy. Miles Hill explored the transition from pre-academic transcendentalist thought to the idealism she was steeped in at Michigan. Sunderland examined idealist thought and religious thought in

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ways that were more historical and analytical (in the general, not philosophical, sense of the term “analytical”). The three produced few publications, however. Kies’s introductory philosophy text and her two works on political altruism were the only works of philosophy proper to appear in print during their lifetimes. The philosophical work of Miles Hill and Sunderland did not see the light of day until the dawn of the twenty-first century. We see stark contrasts among the three in regard to career advancement. Kies was academically successful, but her peers at Michigan were not as fortunate. Miles Hill followed her husband’s meandering professional path, which presented personal hardships and almost insurmountable career challenges. Sunderland was barred from academic positions, due to biases against women, married women in particular, and quite possibly because she was in her fifties when she completed the doctorate. All three women had ties to nonacademic intellectual networks, which is likely to have helped mitigate the obstacles Miles Hill and Sunderland encountered. Miles Hill worked at Chicago University’s library and volunteered at Jane Addams’s Hull House in Chicago. Sunderland returned to the work she had already been doing in the women’s rights movement and in Unitarianism’s liberal religious circles. Between 1893 and 1920, no women completed doctoral degrees in philosophy at Michigan. Several women did earn degrees in related fields, however. Four women earned doctorates in the classics, Mary G. Williams (1897), Arletta Warren (1898), Elisabeth S. Holderman (1912), and Agnes Vaughan (1917). Williams’s work consisted of a study of the life and influence of the empress and thinker, Julia Domna. It is largely a historical work, but has promise for feminist analysis. Holderman produced a thesis on the function of the priestess in ancient Greece. It catalogs references to priestess figures and is heavy on textual analysis of historical and religious texts. Warren conducted a study of the ethics of Seneca, another work that has promise for future analysis. Vaughan wrote a thesis on madness in Greek thought. Five women completed degrees in rhetoric at Michigan: Gertrude Buck (1898), Esther Shaw (1916), Ada Fonda Snell (1916), Mary Yost (1917), and



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Helen Ogden Mahin (1920). Gertrude Buck’s work on metaphor intersected with psychology as it was understood at her time, and it has been a subject of feminist analysis in recent decades. Shaw wrote a thesis on the influence of “imaginal factors” on verbal expression. Snell examined rhythm in Milton’s blank verse. Yost analyzed the nature of argument in business letters, and Mahin’s thesis focused on the function of the newspaper headline. Two of Michigan’s women received doctorates in literature: Alice D. Snyder in English (1915) and Margaretha Ascher in German (1917). Snyder produced a thesis that looked at Coleridge’s aesthetic and literary theory, and Ascher examined discourse in Lessing’s prose. Language, literature, and the classics had been fairly common fields of study for women in the late nineteenth century. After 1900, rhetoric and philology (now linguistics) were added to that list. A number of women at Michigan took the opportunities offered to them in these fields and succeeded professionally. This was sometimes the case at other institutions as well, as noted elsewhere in this volume.

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4 Beyond Philosophy Women at Chicago

Introduction Although it is the youngest institution under discussion in this study, ten women earned doctorates in philosophy and related disciplines at the University of Chicago by 1910, four of whom are featured in this chapter. Two other women who entered doctoral study in the next decade are also discussed here.1 The hybrid identity of the university’s Department of Philosophy, Psychology, and Education is reflected in their work and careers, of course: Ella Flagg Young (1900, education), Clara Millerd (1901, ancient Greek thought), Anna Louise Strong (1903, philosophy of religion), Matilde Castro (1907, psychology and logic), Rachel Caroline Eaton (1919, Native American history and politics), and Georgiana Simpson (1921, German philology). As was the case at Cornell, some women who studied philosophy at the graduate level in these early years actually established careers in psychology. For instance, Amy Elizabeth Tanner (1896, “association” in psychology), Helen Bradford Thompson (1900, psychological norms), Kate Gordon Moore (1903, psychology and aesthetics), and Elizabeth Kemper Adams (1903, psychology and aesthetics) held fellowships or assistantships in philosophy.2 Yet their dissertations placed them squarely within psychology as it became a new discipline.

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Tanner’s dissertation was entitled, “Imagery, with Special Reference to Association of Ideas.” She published little, but established herself professionally, teaching first at Wilson College (1903–7), then at Clark University (1907–18), a coeducational college where she worked alongside the experimental psychologist, G. S. Hall.3 Thompson (later Woolley) published considerably and taught at Mount Holyoke College, (1902–5), the University of Cincinnati (1910–12), the Merrill-Palmer School (1921–5); and Teachers College at Columbia University (1925–30). Thompson wrote a dissertation on “Psychological Norms in Men and Women.” She worked outside of academia for several years, serving as director of the Bureau for the Investigation of Working Children (1911–21). She is one of the first researchers to study gender differences in psychology and ranks with Margaret Floy Washburn and Eliza Gamble (both of Cornell) in importance in the development of psychology as an emerging independent discipline during this time.4 Kate Gordon Moore’s dissertation looked at “The Psychology of Meaning,” and the majority of her works focused on psychology and education.5 She taught for a short time at Mount Holyoke College and Teachers College at Columbia University, then spent several years at Bryn Mawr (1908–16) and Carnegie Institute of Technology (1916–21) before accepting a position at the University of California (1922–48), where she remained until retirement. Like Tanner and Thompson, she also worked outside the academy, serving at the Children’s Department of the state of California while teaching at the university.6 Since the career paths of all three of these women were dominated by psychology’s themes and methods, I do not discuss them at length in this volume. Elizabeth Kemper Adams poses a bit of a challenge as a boundarycrossing thinker. Her dissertation was entitled “Aesthetic Experience: Its Meaning in Functional Psychology,” and she spent the majority of her career at the intersection of psychology and education. Her writings examined the educational and vocational development of girls and women, and they reflect an orientation toward the social sciences. As a professor at Smith (1905–16)



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she focused on pedagogy and educational history, and she became the chair of the college’s department of education in 1911.7 The women discussed at some length in this chapter have been recognized as philosophical thinkers in recent decades or produced work that provides us with opportunities for philosophical inquiry today. Although she is now regarded as a pragmatist philosopher, Ella Flagg Young’s doctoral degree was in education. She held a position at the University of Chicago for a time, but spent most of her career in public education. Yet on both the practical and theoretical levels, she maintained ties with the University of Chicago throughout her career. She also published a considerable amount of work. Clara Millerd crossed disciplinary boundaries. Millerd was listed in university catalogues as a student of comparative philology and was awarded a doctorate in Greek. Yet, she held fellowships in philosophy and wrote her dissertation on Aristotle. Millerd established herself in an academic career, teaching both the ancient languages and philosophy, although she published little. Matilde Castro earned a degree in philosophy and had a successful interdisciplinary career in academia, primarily at Bryn Mawr, crossing the boundaries between philosophy and education. Like many women in this volume, she did not produce published work after completing her dissertation. Anna Louise Strong wrote her dissertation and a few articles on the psychology of religion. She soon recognized that she did not have a long-term interest in philosophy and chose to become a journalist. Rachel Caroline Eaton and Georgiana Simpson completed their degrees just over a decade after Castro and Strong. Eaton’s degree was in history, and her dissertation examined injustices committed against the Cherokee tribe before and after the “Indian Removals” in the nineteenth century. As is the case for Anna Julia Cooper in Chapter 6, her work has important implications for philosophy. Georgiana Simpson completed her degree in German philology, but in many ways her work resembles similar discussions of German thought within philosophy at this time. She had a successful teaching career, initially at the well-respected Dunbar High School, then at Howard University, both in Washington, DC.

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Faculty and Academic Climate in Chicago The University of Chicago was a young institution at the close of the nineteenth century. It was founded in 1892, and by 1894 administrators had convinced John Dewey to leave Michigan to establish a philosophy department that would set a new standard for academic engagement in a growing urban center. He was immensely successful in doing so, naming this new academic unit the Department of Philosophy, Psychology, and Education, and quickly developing it as a center of research that was responsive to community concerns. In the years leading up to this group’s study at Chicago, Dewey was writing articles on education and aesthetics; he published two books shortly before he left the university, The School and Society (1899) and Studies in Logical Theory (1903).8 The second of these two works influenced Matilde Castro a great deal. Dewey’s approach to philosophy matched well with both academic and social/educational needs in Chicago at the time. Psychology was a new field of study, so it was not yet fully distinct from philosophy. In the department as led by John Dewey, both psychology and education were included as philosophical fields of inquiry. These are fields that can readily be put to use in an applied setting to address community needs, and they greatly appealed to women at the time. The same is true today. As noted, some of Chicago’s early women PhD recipients established themselves solidly within the new field of psychology and were very successful there. In addition, interdisciplinary study was not only encouraged but also enforced at many institutions in this period (and this continues to be the case in some places in Europe today). At both Cornell and Chicago, doctoral students were required to declare a minor area of study in addition to their central discipline. Chicago required students in philosophy to enroll in at least three courses in psychology, and psychology doctoral degree candidates to enroll in at least two courses in philosophy.9 This was the case even after Dewey had left the institution in 1904 and the former multidisciplinary department



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still shared faculty as well as an educational mission. The primary goal of the philosophy department was “to give training in the methods of philosophic inquiry, reflection, and statement, and thus to equip competent teachers and investigators in the various branches.” The new department of psychology had similar goals. Its aims were to allow students “to employ Psychology as a basis for higher work in philosophy, education, and the social sciences [and] to furnish a sound and symmetrical training for teachers, investigators, and specialists in the various branches of psychological science.”10 Therefore, we see some interesting intersections across disciplines among the women who completed advanced degrees during this time. As noted, some women at Chicago held fellowships in philosophy or pedagogy but were listed as having completed their degrees in one of the department’s related fields. Although none of the women in this volume were listed with a degree in psychology, their career paths led some of them into this new field, which is where they remained all their lives. In addition, Chicago was established with a mission to serve the needs of the local community. And with the strong commitments to education and community discourse that members of the department were developing at this time, public education and community engagement were a perfect fit. The philosophy department was deeply involved in pedagogical theory and practice through the university’s Laboratory Schools. It also had ties to Jane Addams’s Hull House, which led to engagement with nonacademics as well as academically credentialed women.11 As noted in Chapter 3, James Hayden Tufts had already joined the Chicago faculty in 1892, and Dewey brought along George Herbert Mead when he arrived in 1894. All three shared a vision for an expansive understanding of philosophy and academic involvement in community life. The department grew to include Addison W. Moore and Edward Scribner Ames in philosophy; Nathaniel Butler and George H. Locke in education; and Willard Clark Gore and James R. Angell in psychology by the time Dewey was lured away by Columbia University in 1904. Faculty who served as advisors to two women featured in this chapter also had ties to the

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department: Paul Shorey, a specialist in ancient Greek thought, and Martin Schütze, a specialist in German romanticism.12 As noted in Chapter 3 when John Dewey was at the University of Michigan female students saw him as someone who respected women and who fostered their intellectual growth. The same was true in Chicago. As documented by a number of today’s philosophers and historians, John Dewey’s years in Chicago were filled with community engagement and collaboration with women—not only in academia but also in public education and in social work. He was a friend and colleague of Jane Addams, Ellen Starr Gates, and Ella Flagg Young, discussed later in the chapter. Both historical accounts and their correspondence indicate that Dewey’s colleagues at the university, James Hayden Tufts and George Herbert Mead in particular, were also gender egalitarians who were progressively minded. Both men were deeply involved in campus and community life. And their interest in the application of ideas to practical concerns was appealing to female students; it also signaled their openness to alternative points of view and a willingness to experiment with ideas. One feature that Chicago shared with Cornell: its open and empowering approach to the education of women. The institution was established with a gender-neutral admissions policy, and several women were on the staff the year the university opened.13 But at Chicago, an additional variable comes into play: Marion Talbot (1858–1948) as a prominent and vocal dean of women who maintained careful records to track women’s progress and career success.14 Talbot had earned degrees from Boston University (AB, 1880, AM, 1882) and Massachusetts Institute of Technology (1888) and began her career at Wellesley College as an instructor of “domestic science” (later called home economics). She was one of the first women hired at the University of Chicago, to teach in the Department of Social Science and Anthropology in 1892 and was promoted to full professor and chair of the new Department of Household Administration in 1902. With a good sense of humor about “wearing many hats” in her work at the university, Talbot was responsible for overseeing



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nearly every aspect of the lives of female undergraduates at Chicago in over 30 years as dean of women. She served as an advisor and mentor to graduate students in some cases as well. For instance, she hired Chicago doctoral recipient, Sophonisba Breckenridge (PhD, political science, 1901; JD, 1904), as her assistant dean of women in 1905. Talbot was a founder and director of the Association of Collegiate Alumnae (now American Association of University Women) and she wrote a number of books on home economics and women’s education. Perhaps Marion Talbot’s central role as an advocate for women at the University of Chicago accounts for the ability of the early doctoral recipients under discussion in this chapter to find rewarding positions and establish careers, even with the slightly alternative approach to academic philosophy that was in place at the institution. After all, the department of philosophy at Chicago, as established by John Dewey, was intentionally engaged in crossdisciplinary discourse at precisely the moment in academic history that philosophy was aiming to more narrowly define itself. Despite this, women who emerged with doctoral degrees from Chicago landed on their feet and established themselves in productive and apparently rewarding careers. When John Dewey accepted an offer at Columbia in 1904, the department at Chicago was restructured. Philosophy and psychology became independent units, chaired by James Hayden Tufts and James R. Angell, respectively. John B. Watson would later join Angell in the new psychology department. The fate of the education program was to be determined. Chicago appears to be one of the first institutions to make sharp distinctions between these three disciplines, although there would be interaction between them at the university for a number of years. George Herbert Mead, Edward Ames, and A. W. Moore remained in philosophy, but Mead would teach courses in comparative psychology and Ames would offer courses in psychology of religion. This chapter looks at women who earned doctorates at the University of Chicago in an era during which philosophy was still considered an expansive area of inquiry, open to academics across disciplines and applicable to public

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life. In a sense their work challenges what we mean by “philosophy” and prompts us to consider why they and thinkers like them have been neglected.

Philosophy in/and Education Ella Flagg Young (1845–1918) BA, Chicago Normal School (1862) PhD, Education, University of Chicago (1900) Dissertation: “Isolation in the School” Career: Chicago Normal School, principal of model school (1865–71); Chicago public schools, principal (1871–7); Chicago public schools, assistant superintendent (1887–99); University of Chicago (1900–5); Chicago Normal School (1905–9); Chicago public schools, superintendent (1909–15); National Education Association, president (1910)

Life and Career Ella Flagg Young was born in Buffalo, New York, the daughter of Theodore and Jane (Reed) Flagg. She had little formal education until she attended the Chicago Normal School, graduating in 1862. She was married for a short time to William Young, who succumbed to illness when Ella was in her late twenties. The couple did not have children, and she did not remarry. Like some other women in this volume—Rachel Caroline Eaton, Georgiana Simpson, and Eliza Sunderland (Michigan)—Young was in her fifties when she completed her doctoral studies. She, Eaton, and Simpson held college-level positions at points in their careers, but all four women taught at the secondary school level for longer periods of time than they were able to spend in academia. With the high value placed on public education in the late nineteenth century, especially among thinkers like John Dewey who was heavily influenced by the



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idealist movement in St. Louis in which pedagogical theory was central, it is no surprise that Ella Flagg Young was welcomed into the University of Chicago to study philosophy. Several years older than the professors she studied under, Flagg was already considered an expert in pedagogy in Chicago. Like Eliza Sunderland, discussed in Chapter 3, Young was one of the first women to serve as principal of a public secondary school—just after Anna Brackett of the St. Louis normal school and Fanny Jackson Coppin, of the Institute for Colored Youth (now Cheyney University) in Philadelphia (both of whom are discussed in volume one). She had also been serving as the assistant superintendent of schools in Chicago for nearly a decade—another “first” for a woman educator— when she began studying informally with Dewey in 1895. As the nineteenth century came to a close, Young formally entered doctoral study, was appointed as a lecturer when she was writing her dissertation in 1899–1900 and was promoted to full professor at Chicago by 1905. Although she seems to have been successful as a professor at the university, it is likely that Dewey’s departure in 1904 and the subsequent restructuring of the former Department of Philosophy, Psychology, and Education was a factor in her decision to return to public school work, despite having been promoted. In 1905, she accepted the offer to become superintendent of the Chicago public school system—the first woman to hold this position in a large city in the United States. No doubt, her absence from philosophy in a college/university setting contributed to the neglect of her as a thinker within (masculine) discourse in the discipline until recently. Today, however, she is recognized as a pragmatist in philosophy circles and has received some muchdeserved attention.

Ella Flagg Young’s Philosophical Work Young published a number of works: Isolation in the School (1900), Ethics in the School (1902), Scientific Method in Education (1902), Some Types of Modern

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Educational Theory (1903), and a six-volume set of school textbooks, edited with William Field, The Young and Field Literary Readers (1914–16). For the purposes of this discussion, her first two works are of interest. Isolation in the School at first appears to be a discussion of educational administration and school management. But it is actually much more than that. In this work, Young questions why education so often relies on a competitive model to encourage student participation and achievement. In doing so, educators create an artificial environment and one that fosters rivalry, jealousy, and petty resentments—among both students and teachers. A school system that operates on this worn-out model demonstrates that “the highest ranking officer is a person in power rather than a person of power.”15 Operating in this way is misguided because there are “possibilities of a solidarity among the members of the corps or faculty, which does not exist in any other calling. Love of knowledge and faith in the future of humanity are in varying degrees peculiar to the minds that elect to teach the young.”16 Her goal in this book is not only to present an alternative to the competitive model in education but also to validate education as a force in society, affirm the ability of education to nurture independent and creative thought, and establish the role of education as a microcosm of society. One of Young’s major concerns is the tendency of both public schools and universities in the United States to retreat from the life of the communities in which they are housed, to focus on their own educational pursuits and the internal life that has developed within them. This is a mistake in that it removes individuals from meaningful engaged dialogue and isolates schools and universities from “the concrete life of the race . . . which would [otherwise] guarantee to all within their walls . . . the inherent right to initiative in thought and action.”17 It is worth quoting her at some length on this point: There appear for the school two aims which are in apparent conflict. Its avowed object is the training of the individuals intrusted to its care and direction. The higher, the more nearly perfect that training, the deeper



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the recognition of the right and the more pronounced the effort to make valid the right of each soul to a development of the inborn power of selfdetermination. On the other hand as an institution of society, it must have for its object the direct contribution of elements of strength to that organization [i.e., the community] of which it is a component part. . . . These two aims are not in opposition; they are the two phases of the same unity. Neither can be seen in its entirety without a recognition of the other parts.18 But the push for educators and the institutions that house them to distinguish themselves drives a parallel push toward specialization—and ultimately toward an emphasis on vocational education in preference to the liberal arts. This, in turn, leads to a view that education is simply a means to an end. Thus both students and teachers treat the majority of their time in school as a form of drudgery, valuable only as a means of getting from point A to point B. Related to this is the question of how best to nurture student learning. In Young’s day, the old method of rote instruction and memorization had long ago passed by the wayside. But teachers too often defaulted to a related model, in which imitation and emulation were central. There seems to be a dichotomy between imitation and originality—in Young’s view a false dichotomy. “There is no antithesis between originality and imitation,” she says because “invention is an outgrowth of imitation. Three elements are involved in the development of the original out of the imitative; the new ways in which one imitates the combinations he hits upon when imitating freely [and] the growth of self through the consciousness of power discovered in varying the copy”19 At this point, Young discusses emerging iterations of the psychology of learning, and even nascent neuropsychology, that were under development at this time.20 Young’s greater concern, however, is the role of education in a democracy. While individual students must certainly be provided with instruction and nurturing so they can achieve their full potential, education does not end there. From “the first year in the kindergarten till the close of . . . student life, if the

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school functions as an intrinsic part of this democracy, the child, the youth, and the teacher will each be an organic factor in an organization where rights and duties will be inseparable.”21 The school, then, is an incubator, providing an environment in which democratic ideals and practices can flourish. In the nation’s public schools, students must be equipped with content knowledge about the formal structures of governance. But they also need to see democratic practices modeled by teachers and administrative leaders22 Given the increase in diversity in the United States at this time, Young was optimistic about the prospects of expanding children’s understanding of democracy and inclusion. Through public education, “in childhood millions of America’s citizens have learned something of the fundamentals in the unity of the human race. The comradeship in experience [which is] developed by the democratic spirit pervading the methods in instruction and discipline is a more positive factor in the sympathetic appreciation existing between members of different religious and social organizations than the association in private or denominational schools can ever be”23 While the intermingling of diverse cultural groups leads naturally (Young believed) to assimilation, she takes pains to distinguish “unification” from “uniformity.” Unification, she believes, provides a sense of common experience and social unity within diversity. Uniformity, on the other hand, undermines difference and negates what is unique about distinct cultural identities. Young places value on unification but dreads the bland compliance implied by educational structures that demand uniformity. Young takes a few pages to criticize a common feature of education in her day: the tendency to emphasize social discord and military conflicts throughout history. In this sense, she adds to the chorus of women intellectuals who condemned nearly all forms of violence and hoped to eradicate organized warfare—among them, Jane Addams, Lucia Ames Mead, and Ida B. WellsBarnett, all of whom were discussed in volume one. Schools should focus, she said, not on “the ethics of war, but the ethics of peace.”24 Young’s central focus in Ethics in the School is in one sense the traditional project of “training the ethical nature” of children and youth. But she adds a



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twist that belies her progressive ideals: “through free expression [which] is understood in diverse ways.”25 She is critical of teaching methods that rely on rivalry and competition to motivate students, saying they are shortsighted and inhibit genuine learning.26 She also warns that education has developed a culture of its own—one that often does not match the expectations we have of each other outside school hallways. In this regard, she cites first-hand accounts: a teacher who recognized her reprimands would not be acceptable outside a classroom, and another instructor who said she would not want to act like a schoolmarm in day-to-day life.27 In the last analysis, she says “the ethical life is the same in the school as it is in all other divisions of society. . . . The ethical life cannot be separated or differentiated from the intellectual life.”28 Built into Young’s claim about the unity of ethical and intellectual life is her understanding that cognition, emotion, and will work in tandem to direct the processes of both learning and moral decision making. Drawing on the early theories of learning psychology of William James and other thinkers, she asserts that the development of the will is the growth of power in the individual to make his acts express more and more truly [his or her] feeling and thinking . . . it aims to keep the child-self a unit in what the psychologist calls his feeling, thinking, and willing.29 Young concludes by saying that the school should be a world in which the children find life. This will not be a world determined by one being; it will be the product of the cooperation of many workers. Activity in such a school-world will develop habits of doing with and for others; will develop conceptions of truth, sincerity, goodness, and loveliness as outgrowths of the daily experience; will develop a will that identifies itself with the longings, the aspirations, the weaknesses, and the strength of the mind which it makes known to its fellow beings.30

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A Focus on the Ancients Clara Millerd (1873–1935) BA, Grinnell College (1893) PhD, Greek Philology, University of Chicago (1901) Dissertation: “Aristotle’s Conception of Pre-Socratic Philosophy” Career: Grinnell College (1893–6; 1901–20); Columbia (1920–2); Skidmore (1923–5); University of Oregon in Eugene (1927–35) Clara Millerd was born in Benton Harbor on Lake Michigan, the youngest of three girls in a family of eight children. Millerd’s father, Norman Alling Millerd, was a lawyer who later became a Congregational minister. Her mother, Clara (Church) Millerd appears to have been a homemaker, as was common at the time. Little information is available about Millerd’s childhood and early education, but she studied at Grinnell College, graduating in 1893, before pursuing doctoral study at the University of Chicago.31 Clara Millerd held graduate fellowships in philosophy at Chicago, but university records list her at one point with a degree in Greek and at another with a degree in comparative philology (“linguistics” in today’s parlance). She wrote a dissertation on Aristotle’s understanding of the pre-Socratics, which is no longer extant. She stands as another example of a woman who was professionally successful but did not publish significantly after producing a doctoral thesis. Her career started at her alma mater, Grinnell College, where she taught Greek and Latin, before and after she earned the doctorate at Chicago. Incidentally, at Grinnell she taught alongside a fellow graduate student, Laetitia Moon Conard (1871–1946), who also earned a doctorate at Chicago, but in religion. Her dissertation was an early anthropological study of Algonquin spiritual beliefs.32 Conard moved to Iowa when her husband, Henry Shoemaker Conard, was offered a position in botany at Grinnell College. She later introduced sociology into the curriculum there.33 Laetitia Conard was a



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political progressive who was devoted to both feminism and peace activism. In the 1910s and 1920s, she was active in the Women’s Peace Union; in the 1930s she ran as a socialist in state and national elections in Iowa.34 Clara Millerd taught for many years at Grinnell before she married Johan Smertenko, a journalism professor there, in 1919. Smertenko was a political progressive who taught courses that focused on “the main theories for social reform . . . socialism, communism, and communistic experiments” or that considered “the newspaper and the magazine as texts in the study of current social problems.”35 An immigrant who had escaped persecution against Jews in Russia, Smertenko later established himself as a journalist and outspoken critic of racial and ethnic bias, and anti-Semitism in particular. His article, “Hitlerism Comes to America” appeared in Harper’s Monthly in 1933.36 Although Millerd is likely to have shared Smertenko’s progressive leanings, the couple separated sometime after 1925. They were both teaching in New York in the early 1920s—Millerd first in the university extension program at Columbia, then at Skidmore; Smertenko at Hunter College. But by 1927, Millerd had taken a position as an associate professor on the other side of the country, at the University of Oregon in Eugene, and Smertenko is not listed in her household in the 1930 census.37 She taught Greek, Latin, and classical literature there until her tragic death while en route to Asia with other Oregon faculty in the summer of 1935.38 Academic journals announced that Millerd’s dissertation, “Aristotle’s Conception of Pre-Socratic Philosophy,” was soon to appear in print, but there is no evidence that it was ever published in full. Yet, she was recognized for her sound scholarship in a study of Empedocles, shortly after its publication in 1908 and as late as 1965. This work was discussed by her former advisor, Paul Shorey, a Greek scholar who maintained ties to the philosophy department at Chicago even after Dewey’s departure in 1904. Millerd’s work was also reviewed by the philosopher, Arthur O. Lovejoy and two international scholars.39 Like many women in this era, Millerd reviewed a number of others’ books but did not publish any more independent work.

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On Psychology and Logic Matilde Castro (1879–1958) BA, University of Chicago (1900) PhD, Philosophy (1907) Dissertation: “The Respective Standpoints of Psychology and Logic” Career: Morris High School, teacher (1901–3); Mount Holyoke College (1904–5); Vassar College (1905–10); Rockford College, department chair (1910–12); Bryn Mawr, associate/director of education and the Thorne model school (1913–23)

Life and Career Matilde Castro was born in Chicago, Illinois, the youngest of four children in the family of Daniel and Louisa (Hogan or Kogan) Castro.40 Quite likely the first woman with Latin American heritage to earn a doctoral degree in philosophy in the United States, she was the daughter of immigrants. Both of her parents arrived in the country as young adults in the 1860s—her father came from Colombia, her mother from Austria. Daniel Castro was a cigar manufacturer, as was the oldest son in the family when he reached adulthood. It appears that her mother was a homemaker. As was common in this era, Castro remained single most of her career. She did not marry until she was in her mid-forties. After her marriage, she does not appear to have held another full-time position. Little information is available about Castro’s early life and education, but she began her studies at the University of Chicago in 1896, earning a bachelor’s degree in 1900. While undertaking graduate study at the university, she also taught at a high school, serving for two years as its principal. In 1904–5, she taught at Mount Holyoke College, filling in for Ellen Bliss Talbot who was studying in Germany that year. She then returned to Chicago where she held a



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graduate fellowship in 1905–6. After completing the doctorate in philosophy, she taught at Vassar College for roughly five years, then accepted another short-term position at Rockford College, the alma mater of both Jane Addams and Julia Gulliver. Gulliver was president of Rockford at this time and quite likely hired Castro to fill a gap left by another Chicago alumna in philosophy who ended her studies at the master’s level, Harriet Penfield.41 In 1913, Castro accepted an offer to join fellow Chicago alumna, Kate Gordon, at Bryn Mawr to establish a new graduate school of education. Gordon had been at the college since 1908, and she was to take the lead as director of the new school with Castro serving as associate director. Both women accepted the arrangement, but Gordon soon left for a position at the Carnegie Institute of Technology (now Carnegie Mellon), and Castro was promoted to the director’s position. Castro’s hiring and promotion at Bryn Mawr is significant, given the fact that the college’s president M. Carey Thomas (1857–1935) had been vocal about her racial and ethnic biases in earlier years. For instance, at one point she said that she wanted “a faculty made up, as far as possible, of our good old AngloSaxon stock.”42 In the 1880s and again in the early 1900s, Thomas did her best to keep Jewish and African American women from becoming members of the campus community, whether as faculty or students. Of course, Thomas may have directed her racism toward only a subset of racial/ethnic groups. A EuroLatina like Castro may have been acceptable to Thomas. Correspondence does not indicate that Castro experienced any discrimination or bias at Bryn Mawr. In fact, in a 1913 letter to James Tufts, she makes reference to a lunch meeting with Thomas during which she had “a long and satisfactory interview” for the position at Bryn Mawr.43 In an undated letter, she also referred to the warm welcome Thomas had given her when she arrived on campus. She made occasional quips about her workload at Bryn Mawr after becoming acclimated to the position, but such comments are not uncommon in exchanges between colleagues. In short, it appears that there was no overt conflict or tension related to Castro’s hiring and

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years of teaching at Bryn Mawr. One can always hope that Thomas had grown and changed, setting her biases aside by the time Castro was hired. Castro’s portfolio at Bryn Mawr included overseeing the Phebe Anna Thorne model school, named for one of the college’s benefactors. According to an alumna’s historic account, Castro had a “brilliant” career at the college, providing leadership for both its education program and the model school: “Those who worked with [Castro] have long testified” that she possessed “real genius.”44 In addition, in 1921 she was one of three faculty elected by peers to serve on the committee charged with establishing the Summer School for Working Women in Industry at Bryn Mawr, which was approved by its board of trustees and enthusiastically announced in the alumni magazine.45 Castro remained at Bryn Mawr until 1923 when she married James Tufts who had been widowed three years earlier.46 He had been the chair of Chicago’s philosophy department when Castro was a student, and their correspondence indicates that they had a good rapport. After he retired in 1930, she moved with him to Santa Barbara, California. The couple then relocated north to Berkeley in 1936, where they remained until Tufts’ death in 1942. James Tufts is said to have taught part-time while they were in California. He also served a term as president of the APA’s Pacific division. It is not clear if Castro taught part-time at UCLA or UC Berkeley or at other colleges in proximity to them, but she remained at least somewhat active professionally. She maintained membership in the APA during this time and co-wrote a chapter on ethics with Tufts in an edited volume designed for classroom use, Teaching the Social Studies.47 After his death, Castro returned to Chicago, where she remained until the end of her life in 1958, but there is little information available about her life and work during that time.48

Castro’s Philosophical Work In her dissertation, The Respective Standpoints of Psychology and Logic, Castro examined what she considered to be two competing systems of thought and



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tried to reconcile them. Her main goal is to establish clear boundaries between psychology and logic and in doing so to determine the ways they can inform each other. In the past, knowledge and the mind were seen as generating thought—almost independently of the person doing the thinking. But in Castro’s view, the new science of psychology has made that view outdated. The philosopher’s task is “no longer that of investigating the forms and activities of pure thought, but is the knowledge-of-reality problem.”49 Logic provides a structure and method for investigating both—psychology and the “pure thought” of which Castro speaks. Logic can further be put to good use to close the gap between epistemology and metaphysics. In her view, the two are simply different ways of approaching the same problem—that is, “the nature of reality and the relation of thought to it.”50 Before discussing this work further, however, it will be helpful to clarify that Castro’s use of the terms “psychology” and “logic” do not always correspond to current usage. This is due in large part to the fact that she was engaged in an internal discussion related to then-new trends within each field. In this work, “psychology” often (not always) refers to what now is known as functionalism within that discipline, and “logic” frequently (again, not always) refers to the instrumental logic that was propounded by John Dewey. Functional psychology was a reaction against structuralism, the goal of which was to determine the features or structures of consciousness—drawing on thinkers like Kant, Lotze, and Fichte. Wilhelm Wundt (1832–1920), who influenced several women in this volume, was a proponent of structuralism. At the time Castro was writing, functionalism was a new movement in psychology advocated by William James and, not surprisingly, his colleagues at the University of Chicago. Functionalists had doubts that a “structure” of consciousness was there to be discovered, and aimed instead to examine the purpose or function of consciousness: What purposes does consciousness serve in human growth and development? Functionalism was heavily influenced by Darwinism but was a short-lived movement. Experimental psychology and behaviorism soon took hold and dominated psychology for decades.

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Instrumental logic was also a new movement in Castro’s time, and Dewey was its most vocal proponent. Dewey was influenced by Hegelian thought early in his career, and his view of logic may be the best evidence of this fact. According to instrumental logic, truth is made in and through experience; it was meant to overcome dualisms—subject/object chief among them. There were certainly dissenters at the time, however, as we see in A. K. Rogers, who described instrumentalism this way: “Thinking arises in a given psychological situation, and its relevancy is entirely limited to that situation. Thing and idea are reducible to the phases in this tensional experience which we call thinking . . . and to the situation in which they appear.” He then voices his objections: I can not at all understand how [this] position is to be carried out consistently, without destroying the possibility of thinking altogether. Of course my thought of a past experience is not itself the past experience. But unless I can in my thought really refer to the experience now past, . . . I fail to see how I am to get ahead at all.51 In Castro’s discussion, “psychology” often refers to functionalism, but it can also mean the study of the mind, cognitive processes, consciousness, or subjective experiences. And in her usage, “logic” can refer to Dewey’s instrumental approach, to careful reasoning, or to epistemology. She is not to be faulted for this. The boxes we place thinkers in a century after they lived provide us with neat packages. But they do not always accurately represent how our predecessors saw themselves and experienced their own work. As Castro worked out her ideas, she sometimes shifted from relatively modern uses of both terms to ideas and concepts that are outdated. Castro poses a question early in this text that makes her leanings toward pragmatism clear: Must we always look for absolute Reality beyond experience, or are we able to look at the concrete situation before us and accept it as truth?52 Psychology provided new methods to examine experience and systematic ways to analyze it. Yet it also threatened to encroach upon territory that belong



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to philosophy—namely, epistemology and metaphysics—or even to make philosophy obsolete. In her words: “Psychology, which has endeavored to free itself from metaphysic[s] . . . and . . . grown so remarkably under the nurture of natural science [now wants] the right of dominion, even to the very outposts of metaphysics itself.”53 As her discussion gains momentum, it becomes clear that Castro believes both psychology and logic would be more effective tools, as such, if they were to establish clear boundaries. She expresses a number of concerns about psychology, the majority of which are based on her understanding of it as clinging to remnants of historical understandings of epistemology, most notably, the theories of Locke, Berkeley, Hume, and Kant. In her view, Locke provided “no function for thought to perform, since the only connecting involved is that of the qualities in the object, and these already ‘coexist in nature.’” Berkeley created a system in which “real knowledge occurs only at the moment of perception. . . . There is no genuine connection” between or among his “ideas of sense.”54 From Hume, psychology inherited “a chasm between thought as continuity or narrative by itself, and the world of things.” Kant’s theory “resulted [in] a thorough internalizing of the thought-activity and a consequent externalizing, to the point of complete alienation, of reality.”55 Part of Castro’s solution is to “advance from the characterization of the idea as passive, (1) to the description of it as dynamic, with control over its own sequences, and (2) to the conception of it as a selective, adaptive process, which, no longer shut up to internality, issues in overt activity.”56 These moves, she says, would allow the idea to become “an adequate tool for securing knowledge.”57 Castro goes deeper into the function of an “idea” in psychology in a lengthy discussion of the misuse of this term, as well as the terms “image” and “meaning.” All three terms are poorly defined and inconsistently used, and this hobbles discussions in psychology.58 Ideas end up being characterized as isolated entities that simply seem to appear in a series or that serve as intermediaries between objects and perceptions. They are detached from

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each other, and as a result there is no clear way to establish a relationship between “ideas” and the thoughts they supposedly produce. There are similar problems with images, only in the visual sense, according to Castro. Somehow, both terms are construed as conveying meaning, but it is not clear how this is so. In some sense Castro’s criticisms are directed toward William James, and another proponent of functionalism in psychology, James B. Angell. There is no way to bring unity to concepts that, in a sense, that hover out there in reality waiting to convey knowledge to us in ways that are unclear, unknown, or unknowable. Here we see Castro alternating between complaints about psychology, which was a newly independent discipline, and epistemology, a traditional discourse within philosophy. Yet, within her overall project, her criticisms have merit. Even when contemporaries were able to disentangle psychology from epistemology, it was becoming the analysis of singular, independent events and processes. Psychology was not able to examine the structure of the mind or explore the content of experience. Castro saw promise in Dewey’s instrumental logic to provide methods for this more holistic project. Psychology should be “a thoroughly objective science; there should be no objective-subjective problem.”59 But, of course, there is such a problem in Western thought, and there has been since Descartes (if not earlier). Instrumental logic is the remedy needed, because it “accepts the realism of psychology, which makes the idea a factual existence . . . but it rejects the subjectivism which makes it stand as a representation of an absent reality.”60 When this form of logic traces the path of experience back to its origins—in the supposed dualism of empiricism and psychology (in Castro’s parlance)—it finds that subject and object do not exist as independent entities; they exist as such only in the act of judgment. In her words: “It is . . . the function of the judgement (1) to particularize reality into objectivity, . . . and (2) to overcome that particularity in order to inaugurate a new continuity [of experience].”61



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Here Castro finds a way to come to terms with the errors of psychology. It is concerned, not with external realities, but only with internal experiences. In this sense, psychology does not need to overcome the subject/object divide. Nor does it need to return to earlier epistemological questions or grapple with theories of correspondence. It only needs to understand and describe individual mental states. In this sense, psychology is a descriptive enterprise and, in Castro’s understanding, logic is a normative one. Logic lays out the ground rules for all knowledge; psychology examines particular types of knowledge. As her discussion comes to a close, she provides a brief survey of the thinkers whose views align with hers in various ways, primarily a cast of German and American thinkers who also influenced other women in this study: Theodor Lipps, Hermann Lotze, F. C. Schiller, Mark Baldwin, and John Dewey. Edmund Husserl is a notable exception, a contemporary whose phenomenological methods were only in nascent form in this period. Here we see that, like Ellen Bliss Talbot (Cornell, 1898), Castro was beginning to lean toward phenomenology herself. Yet she is the only woman in this volume who mentioned Husserl by name. Husserl’s understanding of psychology as a descriptive enterprise matched her own: he held that “psychology has to do with the individual, the contingent, the fact existing in time and space. . . . Truth [on the other hand] . . . is not factual; it has no existence in time and space. Facts are contingent, individual existences, which come and go, but truth is eternal and timeless.”62 He also provided a way to address how individual judgment factors in: “Husserl is right in implying that the social nature of the individual cannot . . . extend the validity of his judgment to universality; it can at best give it a little wider generality.”63 Castro’s discussion of Husserl ends there, and unfortunately, she was not to produce additional published work— until she collaborated with Tufts on the previously mentioned the chapter on ethics many years later. This hint toward branching out into new intellectual territory is historically interesting, however, providing us with a window into

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academic life at Chicago as new approaches to philosophy emerged at the dawn of the twentieth century.

A Prelude to Activism Anna Louise Strong (1885–1970) BA, Oberlin College (1905) PhD, Philosophy, Chicago University (1908) Dissertation: “The Social Psychology of Prayer” Career: Seattle School Board (1916); Seattle labor newspaper, The Union Record (1916–19); American Friends Service Committee, Russia correspondent (1921); International News Service and The Nation, Russia correspondent (1922–5); Moscow News, founder, editor, and writer (1930); Atlantic Monthly, The Nation, Harper’s, and Asia magazines (1936–50s)

Life and Career Anna Louise Strong was born in Nebraska, but grew up primarily in Cincinnati, Ohio. Her father, Sydney Dix Strong, was a liberal Congregational minister who embraced religiously based commitments to social justice and to pacifism. Little information is available about Strong’s mother, who died when she was young. Strong studied first at Bryn Mawr but finished a bachelor’s degree at Oberlin (1903). She then completed doctoral work at Chicago, with a degree in philosophy, although she wrote her dissertation on the psychology of prayer. After earning the doctorate in 1908, she went to Seattle to live with her father. Here, she was engaged in local community work and was elected to the school board, the only woman at the time, and in 1916—four years before women were granted full voting rights in the United States. Yet, she expressed strong political opinions about the war in Europe, which enraged local residents; a recall vote was taken and narrowly passed.



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After this, Strong went on a career path in journalism that involved long stays in Russia, then in China, where she lived until the end of her life at the age of eightyfive. Like Matilde Castro, Anna Louise Strong did not marry until she was in her forties—to Joel Shubin, a fellow journalist devoted to socialism. The two wed in 1931 and remained together until his death in 1942. A discussion of Strong’s life and work provides an opportunity to explore what it means to be “a philosopher,” particularly at the dawn of the academic era in the discipline. In her memoir, published when she was fifty years old, she reflected on her reasons for studying philosophy, words that merit quoting her at length: I decided to specialize in philosophy chiefly because I had liked the religious emotions which accompanied that subject in Oberlin, where one got the sense of discovering an infinite world. After the first six months of the dry philosophy of the University of Chicago, with its logic and theory of knowledge, I knew that I hated it. Nevertheless I stuck. . . . A doctorate of philosophy was sure proof of efficiency; nobody could call you shallow after that. So I worked my brain till I could feel it ache, twisting around new problems which seemed to me to have no connection with life.64 I took my degree as a doctor of philosophy. My subject was so interesting that the university revived an unusual tradition and made me “defend my thesis” before the combined philosophical and theological faculties of Chicago University. . . . I worked my brain with great pressure and won my degree magna cum laude, analyzing and proving the derivation of various forms of prayer. . . . I was the youngest student to have taken such a degree from Chicago. Then I left the lecture hall and grabbed my golf cape and rushed to an open square of darkness. . . . I turned and threw a kiss to the stars. “You Loveliness,” I cried. “I’ve been proving the funniest things about you. I hope you enjoyed that nice debate.”65 Given her own recounting of this experience, it is not a surprise that Strong never held an academic position, but instead quickly moved to a career path that seemed more connected to public life: journalism and political activism.

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She published a good number of articles and books, but the majority of her work was social/political commentary meant for the general reading public rather than an academic audience. In a sense, Strong’s professional life more nearly resembles the career trajectories of the women discussed in Volume I— educators and activists like Lucia Ames Mead, Ida B. Wells-Barnett, and Luisa Capetillo—than it does the career path of other women in this volume who were credentialed in philosophy or related fields. Strong’s study of the psychology of religion was just the first step in her personal development. She referred to it as “emotional material [that] attracted me,”66 and saw it as merely a prelude to her life’s work as a devotee of communism. There is evidence of her growing disaffection with social injustice in poetry she published in the Journal of Education shortly after completing her doctoral work. For instance, the poem, “Cheese It, - The Cop,” published in 1910 and reprinted in a number of venues, depicts a scene in which children scatter and hide as a police officer sweeps the neighborhood in search of truant or vagrant youth.67 In this short work she says that city youth are “desperate” and “hunted” in such a setting. She also points to the contradiction that “these are the lessons we teach [our] sons” about law and liberty in the so-called land of the free. Strong also contributed a similar social protest poem, “The Children’s Court,”68 to the Journal of Education in 1911. It laments a social structure in which children are punished, by a “wise judge [who] sits in his stately chair” simply for playing a game of baseball—presumably instead of attending school. After her ouster from the school board in Seattle, Strong grew ever more radical, socially and politically. In the 1920s, she made her first trips to Russia and China and began to channel her energies into journalism and activism. Over the course of her life she published at least twenty books and countless articles expressing her political views—producing far more work than there is room to discuss here. She provided an array of reasons to reject Western capitalism throughout these works. During long stays abroad, she sought an ideal of communal life that she believed would be possible in Russia in the early twentieth century and later in China at mid-century.



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Strong’s Philosophical Work Anna Louise Strong’s academic writings are of interest for our purposes in that they point to yet more boundary crossing among the women discussed in this volume—in this case between philosophy, psychology, and religion. She published three such works: “The Relation of the Subconscious to Prayer” (1907), which addressed questions she would later discuss in her doctoral thesis and was published in the short-lived Journal of Religious Psychology and Education; her dissertation, The Psychology of Prayer (1909); and “Some Religious Aspects of Pragmatism” (1908) which appeared in The American Journal of Theology.

Psychology and Prayer Strong opens her discussion of the psychology of prayer with two assertions that appear elsewhere among women in this study: first, human beings are inherently social; we do not “acquire” sociality, but are born with it.69 We saw Ethel Gordon Muir (Cornell 1896) making the same claim just over ten years prior to the publication of Strong’s dissertation. Second, psychology as an area of inquiry that allows us to examine the “material which consciousness actually presents to view.”70 That is, psychology, for many thinkers in this period was understood as an objective area of study that simply observed phenomena as they appeared before the mind. Strong often makes references to the effect of “temperament,” differing perspectives or points of view on religious experience. In this sense, she is one of the thinkers who had begun to understand the challenges that subjectivity presented in conducting research in psychology. But she also had a great deal of faith in the idea that “consciousness” did indeed “present material” to the mind. In this sense, she, like Ellen Bliss Talbot at Cornell, may have benefited from being better acquainted with phenomenology as it began to gain traction a few years after she had finished doctoral studies.

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It is important to understand another basic assumption Strong makes as she embarks on a study of prayer as a psychological phenomenon: there are two aspects of the self, which are essentially in dialogue when a person is engaged in prayer. There is a “me,” which is the ordinary, limited, experiencing self, and there is an “alter,” which is a subconscious, ideal self. She assumes these two aspects of the self are in dialogue in and through the act of prayer. Ethel Gordon Muir made a similar claim in relation to ethical decision making, strongly leaning toward a moral psychology. In Strong’s view, the interaction of these two aspects of the self involves both imagination and interpretation of experience. In addition, the self emerges from such interactions a new and more complete self. Here we see remnants of early American philosophical idealism and its view that education involves escaping the self to explore other possibilities (through literature, for example) and then returns, a more knowledgeable and transformed version of the self. Susan Blow and Anna Brackett developed this discussion fully in their theories of education, discussed in volume one. Now that Strong’s basic assumptions have been laid out, it is time to discuss her claims, some of which align well with studies in the sociology of religion in this period. In prayer, there is a “constant entering into relation with other selves, out of which . . . there emerges a self which was not there before.”71 There are two major forms of prayer—the aesthetic and the ethical—and both help a person aim toward ethical action (i.e., agency) and establish a “wider” (more enriched) self. Citing a survey in which only 5 percent of respondents, all of whom reported having an active religious life, indicated that they believe prayer yields positive outcomes, Strong asks what exactly is the nature of prayer.72 In her analysis, prayer plays a number of functions, and here she leans toward social psychology of religion. A person who believes in prayer feels more confident, has a more positive outlook on life, and/or a stronger sense of resolve. Their request to perform well on a test, succeed in their job, or to break a bad habit does not actually get “answered,” but their



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conscious statement of their desire and belief in the efficacy of prayer leads them to feel more self-assured or see the glass as “half-full,” as we say, and succeed in their endeavors. Prayer can provide a believer with a sense of community strength and support. Being among others who pray together ensures any given individual that others embrace their views or are joining them in a shared struggle. Prayer can also open a person’s awareness to new possibilities, even in mundane ways. Strong recounts the experience of a friend who had misplaced a notebook and was unable to recall where she had left it for days on end. It was only after she prayed about it that its whereabouts crept back into her memory and she was reunited with the lost object. Believers generally pray for greater awareness in a “big picture” sense, of course, not simply to find a notebook or a parking space (although I personally have witnessed people praying for such). But Strong provides us with this ordinary example for a reason. She takes a realist’s point of view, pointing out that what we now call “selective memory” was in play. Her friend’s memory was triggered by “the relinquishment of the conscious striving [to remember] . . . It is like the remembering of a name by giving up the strenuous effort. . . . These latter achievements are not given a religious sanction, but the psychological process is the same. . . . [There was] a conscious and reflective connecting of the two selves.”73 The last type of prayer on Strong’s list: a connection of the two aspects of the self: the day-to-day self that is “me” and the ideal, higher self that she calls the “alter.”74 Praying in the hope of curing disease is a special category of prayer that Strong takes up, citing the then-new Christian Science tradition and the Emmanuel Movement.75 In her day anecdotal reports of faith healing abounded. Thus she felt compelled to analyze this form of prayer. Reports that prayer has helped cure illness or injuries, she says, are “extremely subjective,” but her overall thesis still holds: prayer instills confidence and a positive outlook in a believer. In addition, prayer may serve as a stimulant to the faithful person, or the power of suggestion may influence an individual’s perception of their own health. She

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concludes that the relation between prayer and health is “as yet incompletely determined,” but adds that “any disease at all affected by nervous conditions [i.e., mental health] comes of course well within the province’ of prayer.”76 In the end, Strong wants not only to describe prayer but also to evaluate the different manifestations of it. Therefore, she concludes this section by saying that for religion to be “ethical,” there must be an “intrinsic connection between the morally ideal self and the ideally powerful self.”77 The final question to consider in Strong’s thesis is the nature of “aesthetic” prayer and “ethical” prayer. In short, aesthetic prayer is contemplative practice in its many forms; ethical prayer is contemplation focused on action. Aesthetic prayer focuses on bringing harmony, order, and appreciation of beauty to a person’s awareness. Forms of prayer that allow a person to be open to such include prayers of peace, prayers of adoration of the divine, prayers for deliverance (from sin or suffering), and prayers of thanksgiving. In such forms of prayer, a person is able to transcend their ordinary selfhood, similar to a mystical trance—even when such prayers take place in a communal setting. When these prayers take place among members of a community, they build a “chain of habit,” “reinforce our strivings,” and/or help each believer resolve to make their behavior conform to their highest ideals.78 Buddhist meditation, Strong tells us, is not only the most advanced form of this type of prayer but also the perfect example of the “complete blotting out of consciousness” through prayer.79 In such a state, a person has “passed beyond the strife of selves . . . the alter completely dominates the consciousness . . . there ceases, for the time being, to be any distinction of objective or subjective.”80 References to Buddhism and other non-Western traditions repeatedly appear in Strong’s discussion. But so too does a term used by Theodor Lipps (1851–1914) when he translated Hume’s Treatise into German: Einfühlung—“feeling into” or empathy. Strong invokes the term a number of times to underscore how deeply religious experience can influence a person’s life. Within her discussion, Einfühlung is “the process of living in a life which you recognize as in a sense



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not our own, but which for the moment at least you live more intensely” than your ordinary life.81 In aesthetic forms of prayer, a believer gives up their individual will and conditions their mind to give itself over to the process of contemplation. Ethical prayer is focused on action and is the “imperative” of “true religion,” in Strong’s view.82 It is also designed to ensure we develop a “wider self,” but a person’s temperament can make them more or less open to such forms of prayer (as is the case with all prayer for Strong).83 Ethical prayer provides believers with a sense of empowerment, with enthusiasm, an ideal, and the strength to attain it. She discusses conversion as a special example of ethical forms of prayer, because it illustrates so effectively how and why prayer can be transformative. Religious conversion is focused on completely overhauling the self to create a wholly new self. In conversion, an individual is faced with a crisis, generally an internal conflict. And they are forced to resolve that conflict on a spiritual level. As Strong observes, sometimes an individual’s crisis appears “ridiculously insignificant” to others, as when a would-be convert refuses to join others at a religious site, and in contrition prays in a mud puddle instead. And, a religious skeptic in so many ways, Strong later adds that such concerns can be a terrible “waste of mental energy.”84 At the same time, ethical forms of prayer, including conversion, prompt us to recognize our self in relation to others, to build capacities for moral action, and to join together with a unified sense of purpose. Ethical forms of prayer help us develop a self that has a “heightened moral tone.” This is essential if prayer is to be meaningful, because the aim of all prayer is to give believers a sense of inner peace and evidence of moral uplift.85

Psychology and Pragmatism Strong was eager to demonstrate the relevance of her study in relation to contemporary developments in philosophy and published “Some Religious

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Aspects of Pragmatism” (1908). In the article, she makes some claims that provide a window into the history of philosophy, psychology, and religion in this period. She begins her discussion by declaring there is a false opposition between religion and pragmatism. Pragmatism has indeed been aligned with science in the intellectual world, but it is mistaken to suggest that religion is always anti-scientific and absolutist in its outlook. Theological traditions have been rationalistic, often clinging to old notions derived from Platonism, so have been preoccupied with “intellectual interrelations of certain concepts.” In this sense, theology is similar to traditional approaches to philosophy, in Strong’s view, which are all too content to let the discipline remain an internal dialogue without relevance to contemporary life. Lived religion, on the other hand (religion “for the popular mind” in Strong’s parlance), has long embraced a trial and error approach, to “verify a hypothesis by acting on it.” In a bit of a jab at her colleagues in philosophy and science, Strong then notes that pragmatism has demonstrated that faith actually underlies reason, that in some sense, “faith in a fact can help create that fact.”86 If theology were more aware of and responsive to discoveries in science, it too could become one of the sciences. Strong’s main aim, however, is to explore some central religious concepts as a pragmatist: God, freedom, and immortality. She begins with the second and third items on that list, because she finds them less challenging to discuss. Freedom is not a concern. As F. C. Schiller (1864–1937) said, we have learned that nature is not indifferent to human action. We can and do make an impact in the world, and there is no need to be concerned that we are engaged in a “weary grinding out of a predetermined course of things.”87 The same is the case with our discussions of immortality. Strong again agrees with Schiller that this matter has been resolved since Kant; the question of immortality relates more to ethical issues than to metaphysical questions that defy our attempts to answer them. God, or the idea of God—this is a matter worth discussing for Strong. The average person in Strong’s time was familiar with the idea that religion



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and religious beliefs have changed through time. Citing discussions of the Jewish and Christian traditions of her day, she claims that most believers would accept the fact that religion emerged from a tribal tradition that transformed into belief in a transcendent God, to faith in a reconciling and redeeming spiritual figure, and to what she described as a democratic understanding of an immanent presence. Everyday believers might balk at the suggestion that God as a being has changed over time. Yet, this is what Strong believes a pragmatist can and must claim. Whether God is seen as encompassing all of reality, as religious absolutists would maintain, or God relates primarily to humans as one segment of the cosmos, pragmatism would embrace a dynamic God, not a static concept called by the same name. Whether to consider God as a form of consciousness, as a function of individual experience, as a broad psychological phenomenon, or a process, an experience—these are vexing questions. Strong’s own view is that it makes sense to call God a consciousness, because this is “the one form of unity, and indeed the one form of experience, that we do know. . . . [A]ll in all, the particular process we know [that is, conscious experience] will be found our best analogy for the total process,”—that is, Reality or God.88 At this point, she light-heartedly recognizes that some readers may identify elements of Josiah Royce (1855–1916) in her discussion. Her answer? “I confess the indebtedness.”89 In fact, she recognizes her reliance not only on Royce but also on Schiller and William James. She fully embraces the somewhat tentative and humble claims made by pragmatists about the nature of God and humans’ relationship to such, James in particular. The pragmatists, she says, do not speculate about God and/or the “existence of a long stretch of empty time in which experience does not yet exist.”90 For pragmatists, it is sufficient to say that God is an experience that is larger than ourselves. God does not need to stand outside time or be the author of it. In addition, some pragmatists may not be inclined toward religion at all. “The category of religious experience may not be vital for [their] use.”91

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Chronicling the Trail of Tears Rachel Caroline Eaton (1869–1938) Cherokee Female Seminary (1887) BS, Drury College (1895) MA, University of Chicago (1911) Thesis: “John Ross” PhD, History, University of Chicago (1919) Dissertation: “John Ross and the Cherokee Indians” Career: Cherokee Female Seminary, Tahlequah, Indian Territory (ca. 1888– 92; 1895–?); principal, Nowata Cherokee Nation public schools (ca. 1900–10); State College for Women, Columbus, Mississippi (1911–12); Lake Erie College (1913–14); dean of women, Trinity College, Texas (1914–18); Oklahoma Defense Council (1917–19); Claremore high school, Oklahoma (1919–20); superintendent of schools, Rogers County, Oklahoma (1920–4)

Life and Career Rachel Caroline Eaton was born in Arkansas, the firstborn child of Nancy Ward (Williams) and George Washington Eaton, in a family of four.92 Her father had European heritage and was a Confederate veteran of the US Civil War. Her mother was a descendant of Nancy Ward, a revered Cherokee leader before the American Revolution known as Ghigau, or “Beloved Woman.” The family moved to Indian Territory in Oklahoma when Eaton was young, and she was raised near a town called Claremore, the site of a legendary battle between the Cherokee and Osage tribes in 1818. She attended public schools there, then enrolled in the Cherokee Female Seminary about 1885. She and her sister, Martha Pauline Eaton, were star students at the school. Biographical accounts are unclear, but it appears that immediately after graduating Eaton



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taught in the local schools near her home in Claremore, Oklahoma, including at the Seminary itself. In the early 1890s, Eaton went 150 miles northeast to study at Drury College in Springfield, Missouri, where she earned a bachelor’s degree. Possibly returning home to teach in local schools for the next few years, in 1901 she married James Alexander Burns, who had been a schoolmate at the boys’ division of the Cherokee Seminary. The two were both professionally successful. Between 1895 and 1900, James was the superintendent of schools in Heber, Arkansas, and held the same position in the Claremore public school system. He helped establish the Indian Territory Teachers Association in 1900, then was enlisted to organize the Nowata Cherokee Nation public school system, about thirty miles north of Claremore. Details are not available about Eaton’s professional activities after her marriage, but in 1905, she and James attended summer sessions together at the University of Chicago. Sometime before 1915, the couple divorced. About 1906 Eaton enrolled in graduate courses at the University of Chicago. She wrote a master’s thesis on the Cherokee leader John Ross in 1911, then reworked and expanded it between 1912 and 1914. The first work was just over fifty pages. The expanded version was 150 pages long, and she submitted it as a doctoral thesis in 1919.93 She is thought to be the first Native American woman to earn a doctorate in the humanities. Eaton’s discussion of John Ross and his role as one of the leaders of the Cherokee Nation is, like Anna Julia Cooper’s thesis on Haiti and the French Revolution, discussed in Chapter 6, primarily a historical study. Yet the two have value for consideration by philosophers today. Like Cooper’s work, Eaton’s analysis comes from the perspective of a woman of color. It is the first analysis of tribal history that de-centers the dominant culture and focuses instead on an indigenous perspective. Eaton herself was a mixed-race woman educated in the Western tradition, and there are many moments in which she belies assimilationist ideals and values. Yet she does her best to provide an informed account of Cherokee traditions and ideals as they developed from

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the decades leading up to the “Indian Removals” in the late 1820s until the period of time just after the US Civil War. Eaton’s work reveals tensions within Cherokee society between a quest for indigenous autonomy, an interest in “modernization,” and a purely assimilationist agenda in the nineteenth century. Eaton is one of ten women in this volume who addressed social and political issues, four of whom were women of color. She does so in three ways: first, she informs her readers of long-held traditions in Cherokee culture, which included shared governance and cooperative management of resources. For instance, she notes that land was held in common until late into the nineteenth century. She also makes reference to “neighborhood communities” and networks of mutual assistance that were in place during times of scarcity. Preemptively countering biased understandings of indigenous history, she quipped, “The proverbial ‘lazy Indian’ was hard to find among the Cherokee people.”94 Paired with many of these observations, however, are assimilation-focused assertions that the Cherokee had long been a “civilized” tribe. They quickly embraced Western forms of government, religion, education, agriculture, and architecture that were “advanced,” for instance, and did not resemble the “wild” tribes to their south and west. She suggests that only the most “conservative” chiefs objected to the modern practices the Cherokee adopted as a result of contact with European settlers, and she repeatedly reports that John Ross and his associates were educated, intelligent, and “refined.”95 Eaton uses an objective tone as she recounts the political events leading up to and following the “Indian Removals,” but ultimately does the muchneeded work of ensuring the Cherokee perspective is heard. She quickly identifies Andrew Jackson as “no friend to the Indian,” but also recognizes that unjust policies toward the indigenous people had begun long before Jackson took office.96 Essentially from the beginning, officials in the United States began taking advantage of language barriers and cultural differences in their interactions with the Cherokee. They drafted treaties that were rife with “Delphic vagueness,”97 in Eaton’s words—complex, difficult to interpret, and frequently annulled without notice or cause. The US officials also used deft



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legal arguments to make claims against the Cherokee or limit their options. For instance, after Cherokee leaders established and ratified a constitution—a sign of “civilization” in their eyes—the state of Georgia charged the tribe had no right to set up an independent government within the state’s jurisdiction or “interfere with the rights of a sovereign state” (i.e., Georgia). The state further claimed that the Cherokee were “tenants at will” who could be ousted at any time and that they must live under Georgia state law rather than assert their autonomy.98 Cherokee leadership turned to legal counsel that made skillful counterarguments on their behalf, saying they were the original inhabitants of the land, so had an inherent and long-lived right to it. Furthermore, as an independent and sovereign nation the tribe had entered into treaties with the US government—and under the Constitution a treaty is the “supreme law of the land.” Therefore, the Cherokee Nation was under no obligation to comply with the demands being made by the state of Georgia. In fact, compliance with that state’s mandates would be a violation of the tribe’s previous agreements with the federal government. The conflict went to the Supreme Court, which ruled against the tribe. The Court declared that the Cherokee Nation was not considered a foreign state under the US Constitution, which meant the state of Georgia did indeed have jurisdiction over tribal lands that lay within its borders. Justices John Marshall and Joseph Story wrote dissenting opinions.99 Eaton demonstrates that the conflict with the state of Georgia was just one of many battles in which crafty political maneuvers ruled the day. But the realities the Cherokee faced as a result were devastating. After the Court ruled against the tribe, vigilantism ran rampant. Families were attacked in their homes or in the fields and their property was ransacked or burned to the ground. Atrocities took place in waves throughout the removals, as one “lawless rabble” or another contributed to what could only be called a “reign of terror.”100 Official actions played a role, too, of course—and in truly terrorizing ways. An old man named Tsali who tried to escape troops when the removals began was captured and shot—by fellow Cherokees who were forced into taking part in the execution.101 White missionaries and teachers who had been

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working alongside members of the tribe and built bonds in the community were convicted under a new law that limited tribal autonomy. They were then marched through the territory in chains, and sentenced to four years of hard labor. The incident went to court and this time the ruling was in the tribe’s favor. Even so, it is clear that tactics like this were used to “impress upon the Indians the hopelessness of their situation.”102 Eaton appears to have faith in the political process on some level, however. She cites moments when there was a public outcry against the injustices the Cherokee were subjected to, saying at one point that the “conscience of the whole country was aroused.”103 She also recognized specific politicians who spoke on behalf of indigenous rights, such as members of Congress, Frelinghuysen of New Jersey, Sprague of Maine, and Webster of Massachusetts. At one point the pressure from opponents was so strong that things became “too uncomfortable” for the president, according to Eaton, and he delayed the initiation of the removals.104 Yet she was a realist at heart and a bit of a cynic. The removals, she said, were “part of the penalty for Indian patriotism. . . . All this at the hands of a government established less than three-quarters of a century before upon the principle of justice and the rights of man. This same government had shot down Cherokees like dogs, quartered them like malefactors and even put a price upon their heads.”105 It is difficult to square Eaton’s condemnation of US government atrocities against the Cherokee with her uncritical acceptance of the tribe’s practice of keeping slaves before the Civil War. Of course, she was the daughter of a man who fought for the Confederacy, so she would have been raised with an emphasis on the slaveholder’s perspective. She also studied documents that provided details about the debate within the tribe about whether to support the Union, the Confederacy, or to stay neutral. Neither the North nor the South had gone out of its way to engage with the tribe in any positive ways since the removals, after all. According to Eaton, John Ross preferred to remain neutral, but as events unfolded that position became untenable. The southern states were right next door, and other tribes began aligning with the



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South. In the end, Eaton reports that Ross and other leaders agreed to support the Confederacy, and she does so with no commentary on the morality of such a stance. One would expect a woman of color writing more than fifty years after the Civil War to have had a more enlightened perspective. Slave ownership is a feature of Cherokee life that she all too often lumps in with other “advanced” social practices that, in her mind, demonstrated how modern and civilized the tribe was. A very puzzling and troubling approach, indeed. Eaton also demonstrated uncritical acceptance of missionary activity on tribal lands, which often took place alongside education and the establishment of schools. Neither is surprising, given her historical and social context. She lived in a place and time in which Christianity was dominant and sacrosanct, and she herself was devoted to the Presbyterian faith she was raised with.106 And as an educator herself, Eaton had an affinity for establishing schools. Her view of education aligns well with the views of some of the women discussed at length in volume one. At different points in the text, she spoke approvingly of both “industrial” education (or vocational training) and a gender-based curriculum: agricultural sciences and the trades for the boys, and domestic education (later “home economics”) for the girls. Yet, her brief discussion of the founding of a high school in 1851 demonstrates that vocational training did not dominate tribal education—and she appears to approve of this as well. “Little attempt at industrial education was made” at the high school “except that each student was assigned by turns to some special duty in . . . housekeeping”107—a model used at both Oberlin and Berea in the early days. Liberal arts education was a central feature at the high school, with a curriculum that included math, the natural sciences, history, Latin, Greek, theology, and philosophy. She notes the philosophy and theology texts by name: Improvement of the Mind, by Isaac Watts and Natural Theology, by William Paley. The first faculty at the school had grown up in Indian Territory, the daughters of two missionaries who were educated at Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts—two superior young women, in Eaton’s estimation: Sarah Worcester and Ellen Whitmire.108 At the

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time, Mount Holyoke was considered a model for women’s education, and a number of prominent members of the tribe sent their daughters there. (Their sons went to Princeton.) After ten years in existence, over sixty young women had graduated from the high school, and many of them became teachers themselves. As a whole, Eaton’s study of John Ross as a Cherokee leader is a historical account with political and moral analysis built in. It is clear that one of her aims was to undermine the popular portrayal of indigenous people as “uncivilized.” Another was to bring to light the political injustices and abuses Cherokees were subjected to—despite American claims of freedom and justice for all. Another of Eaton’s goals may well have been to underscore the resilience of the Cherokee people through it all: Politicians “did not appreciate the character of the [people] with whom they were dealing. A people naturally so tenacious of their right to life and liberty could not . . . yield up their autonomy at the drop of the hat after all the years of struggle to maintain it.”109

Folkways and Philosophy Georgiana Simpson (1866–1944) Certificate, Miner Normal School (1885) BA, University of Chicago (1911) MA, University of Chicago (1920) MA thesis: “The Phonology of Merigarto” PhD, German Philology (1921) Dissertation: “Herder’s conception of ‘das Volk’” Career: Hillsdale School, Washington, DC, teacher (1885–6); M Street School/ Dunbar High School, teacher (1886–1907; 1911–17; 1921–31); study in Europe (1896; 1905; 1912; 1914); Howard University (1931–9)



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Life and Career Georgiana Rose Simpson was born in Washington, DC, the oldest child in a family of six born to David and Catherine Simpson.110 Her parents are thought to have been among the many refugees in the region who were freed from slavery during the US Civil War. Her mother worked as a laundress, and her father was a farmer who also held a position at Washington’s Botanical Gardens; in the 1880s he was listed in the census as a hostler, living on Howard Avenue in Washington. Simpson was educated at Hillsdale School, established by the Freedmen’s Bureau in the Barry Farm section of Washington, DC. Encouraged by Frances Eliza Hall, a white teacher from New York who told Simpson she had “a first-class mind,” she continued her studies at the Miner Normal School, also in Washington. Lucy Moten, a well-known figure in African American education, also recognized Simpson’s talent and urged her to pursue advanced study. After getting a start as a teacher at Hillsdale, she accepted a position at the well-known M Street School (later Dunbar High School) in Washington, DC. She then acted on the advice of Moten, and applied to the University of Chicago, which was known to be a progressive institution. Simpson was successful academically at Chicago, but racist attitudes presented a good deal of difficulty for her there. She first earned a bachelor’s degree at the university in 1911, then returned for graduate study in 1917. Unfortunately, she was subject to racism both times she was in residence at Chicago. Several white southerners objected to her presence in the dormitories while she was studying at the undergraduate level and moved out of campus housing in protest. The dean of women, Marion Talbot, and her assistant dean, Sophonisba Breckinridge, refused to be held hostage to racist demands and readily found other students to take their place in the dorms. When the new president of the university, Harry Pratt Judson, returned from his summer travels, however, he reversed their decision.111 There was an outcry by liberally

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minded members of the campus and local community. As a representative of the Frederick Douglass Center in Chicago, Celia Parker Woolley, a white woman and friend of the African American feminist, Fannie Barrier Williams, wrote to condemn Judson’s decision: “Your action in this matter was based upon the consideration of the feelings of southern students. We respectfully submit that nearly every colored young man and woman seeking the benefits of your institution is a ‘southern’ student, whose rights and feelings deserve equal consideration.”112 She continued to point out that Breckinridge, a white woman from the south, as well as several southern-born white students fully affirmed integration on campus. There was simply no need to reverse the action Talbot and Breckinridge had taken and to thereby displace Simpson. Unfortunately, the university’s president was unyielding, and Simpson was forced to live off-campus. Simpson’s time as a graduate student overlapped with race riots in Chicago in 1919, and some white students used this unrest as a pretext for protesting her presence in the residence halls. Georgiana Simpson again found herself without official support and was unable to continue to reside on campus. It is clear that the racism she was subjected to cast a hue over her experience, because historic accounts indicate that she studied some summers in Chicago to avoid tensions with other students there. Nevertheless, she completed work for both a master’s degree and a doctorate, becoming one of the first three women of color to earn a doctorate in the United States, tied with Eva Dykes, discussed in Chapter 5, and Sadie Mossell Alexander, an economist who earned a degree from the University of Pennsylvania and established herself in a career with the US government. Despite the turmoil Simpson withstood over campus housing, it appears that she received strong mentoring as a graduate student at Chicago. In the published version of her dissertation, she acknowledges each of her advisors, Starr W. Cutting, Martin Schütze, and Francis A. Wood. Schütze was given added recognition, however. Simpson said that she owed “a special debt of gratitude to him, not only for his guidance in this endeavor,



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but for the inspiration and encouragement which has come to me from the very beginning of my work.”113 Schütze, who was on friendly terms with James Hayden Tufts and shared many of his views, including some of his philosophical interests, seems to have thought highly of Simpson’s work. He wrote a review of her book and referred to her work in his own publication on one occasion.114 After earning each of her degrees, Simpson returned to Washington, DC, to teach at Dunbar High School. Several women in this volume found themselves teaching secondary school at some point after completing their doctorates. Marietta Kies, Eliza Sunderland, Ellen Bliss Talbot, Grace Neal Dolson, Eva Dykes, and Anna Julia Cooper all taught at high schools for at least a few years after earning a PhD; Sunderland and Cooper never held official college/ university positions. Simpson was fortunate in that Howard University recognized her achievements and offered her a faculty position—albeit ten years later. She taught at the university from 1931 until she retired in 1939. In Washington, Simpson was part of an active community of African American intellectuals. She, Eva Dykes, discussed in Chapter 5, and Marita Bonner, who earned a bachelor’s degree at Radcliffe, were teachers in the city’s public school system in the 1920s. Simpson and Dykes taught at Dunbar High School, and Bonner taught at the Armstrong school. Simpson and Dykes were offered faculty positions at Howard University in close succession—Dykes in 1929 and Simpson in 1931. Simpson would also have met other prominent African American thinkers at Howard, the philosopher, Alain Locke, and the historian Charles Henry Wesley, if she had not crossed paths with them before that time. Within the larger community, Simpson was close to Helen (Pitts) Douglass, a white woman whose marriage to Frederick Douglass was controversial. Like Ida B. Wells-Barnett, however, Simpson established a friendship with the second Mrs. Douglass, who was roughly a generation older. In fact, she lived in Douglass’s household for a period time at the turn of the twentieth century.115 Like the majority of career women at this time, Simpson never married.

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Simpson was recognized during her lifetime by having her image on the cover of the NAACP periodical, Crisis, just after her doctorate was conferred. More recently, she was memorialized with the installation of a bust in her likeness at the University of Chicago. There is also an organization named in her honor, The Georgiana Simpson Society, which is devoted to the study of Germany and the African diaspora.

Georgiana Simpson’s Philosophical Work As has been the case for a number of women in this volume, Simpson devoted herself to teaching, so did not publish a great deal. The two works that are relevant to our discussion here are first, a slim volume on Toussaint Louverture, which she produced for her classes at Dunbar High School, and secondly, her dissertation, a discussion of the concept of “das Volk” in the works of the German romantic thinker, Johann Gottfried Herder. In 1925, Simpson reissued Toussaint Louverture (Surnommé le Premier des Noirs), a concise biography of the Haitian revolutionary by GragnonLacoste. This edition was in French but included Simpson’s brief introduction and annotations in English. In producing this volume, she had three goals in mind: first, the text was to be used for language instruction. Second, it would introduce students to African-heritage Francophone culture in the Americas. Third, it would acquaint students with a major historical figure of African descent who (she believed) would instill them with pride in their own heritage and culture. She is quite clear about this third point, saying men like Toussaint are “geniuses and heroes” who “tower above ordinary human heights [like] . . . supermen [who] belong to the whole world.”116 In this sense, Simpson’s slim volume joins a body of Harlem Renaissance-era literature that sought to bring African-heritage culture and achievements to light. Her introduction touches on the themes of equality and freedom that were an outgrowth of the American and French revolutionary struggles and which were so central to



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Toussaint’s legacy. These are themes that have been “in the air” in nearly every classroom in the United States since the dawn of public schooling, but were inaccessible to African American and other minority youth for far too long and in far too many ways. In this sense, Simpson sought to expand and extend the reach of traditional American ideals to students of color in her classroom. Simpson’s most substantial work, Herder’s Concept of “das Volk,” was her dissertation, published in 1921. In the decades since she conducted research for the book, interpretations of Herder have varied. Some have identified his ideas as laying a foundation for nationalism, white nationalism in Europe and the United States in particular. Others have seen him as an early anthropologist who attempted to gather empirical data to build a viable theory, rather than offer up “pure theory” as his contemporaries in philosophy had done. As he examined variations in lifeways, traditions, and cultures across Europe, say these Herder analysts, he also tried to explain their value and function within each cultural community. Still others have held Herder responsible for validating not only cultural relativism but moral relativism as well. His observations that social practices vary across different cultural groups, they say, has led to acceptance of those practices, even when they are harmful. In my reading of Simpson, she held the second view of Herder. He was an early anthropologist who was simply trying to understand and elucidate the lifeways of societies that were unfamiliar to him. Her discussion covers material that was relevant to the newly emerging disciplines of linguistics and anthropology, as well as philosophy. She opens with a consideration of the origin of the term “Volk” and variations of it across cultures. She also reflects on concerns that were of interest to Herder: the range of lifeways and social practices within “folk” cultures and what this means about the placement of “Volk” in the hierarchy of civilizations that Herder and a number of thinkers in his day considered valid. A “Volk” for Herder is sometimes a more “primitive” people who have not yet acquired advanced education and cultural refinement. At other times, Herder characterizes “Volk” as the mass of people between the cultural elite and the peasantry in a given society. In most cases,

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“Volk” produce poetry, stories, songs, and other forms of cultural expression that help establish their identity as a people. Interestingly, Simpson simply explains Herder’s hierarchical notions. She does not interrogate them in the same way that contemporaries, like W. E. B. DuBois and Carter Woodson, would do elsewhere as they worked to dismantle elitism and Eurocentricism in American thought. Perhaps this is because she appreciated the nuances of his thought or was able to excuse its more archaic elements. The heart of this work is Simpson’s discussion of Herder regarding individuality, which in turn helps to inform his concept of “Volk.” Each individual possesses stimulus (Reiz) and powers (Kräfte) that provide both an impetus to action and a means of appropriating experiences in a coordination of sense-experience and cognitive processing of that experience. This combination of forces facilitates a process of individual development that makes each person unique. In this section of her discussion, Simpson makes it clear that both she and Herder were well-versed in idealist understandings of epistemology and ontology. Her discussion of the dynamic process of acquiring knowledge and the development of personality that results are similar to those expressed by Susan Blow in Volume I and to some degree with Vida Moore’s discussion of Lotze in Chapter 2. Societies are similar to individuals in this way, for Herder. The natural environment and cultural forces that shape communities and nations combine to create a unique cultural experience that then leads a people to see itself as not just an aggregate, but a cohesive unit— that is, a “Volk.” Simpson does not further explore what the cohesiveness of “Volk” cultures ends up meaning for outsiders, but this later became a source for harsh criticisms of him as validating nationalism. As far as Simpson was concerned, Herder was simply a theorist who used more empirical means than most thinkers in his day to explore linguistic and social structures, and his work deserved consideration on the basis of those inquiries alone. As both a woman who earned a doctorate in the early decades of formal academic credentialing and one of the first three women of color to do so, Simpson holds an important place in academic history. As a thinker whose



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published work crosses disciplinary boundaries, her work is of interest today. Her discussion of the notion of individuality in Herder intersects with discussions we see elsewhere among women in this volume. And her brief discussion of Toussaint aligns her with other thinkers of color in her lifetime who were laying a foundation for critical race theory as it developed throughout the twentieth century.

Conclusion Chicago presents one of the most interesting, yet challenging institutions to study in regard to the development of philosophy in this period. The department was established specifically to ensure that the related disciplines of philosophy, psychology, and education could interact and inform each other. Its faculty and students were deeply engaged in local community life, through both its connection to the public schools and its relationship with Jane Addams and Hull House. My decision to include women whose work was completed outside the department further complicates matters. Even so, the women we have discussed here reflect the intellectual breadth of philosophy Dewey seems to have envisioned when he became the founding chair of the department. They completed their degrees over a span of twenty years and focused on significantly different areas of discourse, but there are some points of intersection among them. Ella Flagg Young remained in education and pedagogy throughout her career. She was professionally successful, becoming the first woman known to become superintendent of a city school district in the United States. Matilde Castro’s career also veered toward pedagogy when she began teaching at Bryn Mawr. Castro and Strong both wrote dissertations that blurred disciplinary distinctions—Castro on the boundaries between psychology and philosophy and Strong on psychology and religion. Castro was academically successful, holding academic positions until the early 1920s, although she produced only

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one publication after writing her thesis. Strong realized during her course of study that academic philosophy was not for her, but she put her sharp mind and moral tenacity to work, achieving success as a journalist and progressive (even radical) political activist. Eaton was also an educator and public school administrator. In the work discussed here, she grappled with cultural conflict and political injustice. She brought to light issues that had been ignored by the dominant culture, thereby challenging our understandings of democracy in the United States. Simpson picked up a thread of discussion that had been central at Cornell and Michigan—the value and significance of German thought—here, in relation to the concept of “Volk” in Herder. She devoted most of her professional life to teaching secondary school but spent the last ten years of her career as a professor at Howard University. Seven additional women completed doctorates in philosophy and related fields at Chicago before 1920: Dagmar “Dagny” Sunne (1908), Ella Harrison Stokes (1909), Julia Jessie Taft (1913), Melicent Waterhouse (1913), Ethel May Kitch (1914), Esther Crane (1916), and Margaret Daniels (1918). Dagmar Sunne (1880-1951) wrote her dissertation on post-Aristotelian philosophy and taught at the Women’s College of Alabama (now Huntingdon College), then Oxford and Western College (now Miami University of Ohio). She moved from philosophy to research in child psychology and social development. She also conducted some studies of the use of language and grammar by children across cultures.117 Ella Stokes (1863-1950) wrote a dissertation on Augustine, Aquinas, and Leibniz. Very little biographical information is available, and it is not clear if Stokes had a successful professional life and remained in philosophy. Jessie Taft (1882-1960) is well-known in philosophical pragmatism. Her dissertation focused on women’s social and political status in the United States, but her career was devoted to social work. She engaged in community development until she was offered a position at the University of Pennsylvania as chair of the new department of social work (1934–50).118 Melicent Waterhouse (1886-1973) wrote her dissertation on universality and necessity, but also moved from philosophy to social work.



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She held a position as a psychologist at the state department of education in Wisconsin before moving to Hawaii with an aunt and teaching at a mission school there.119 Ethel May Kitch (1884-1941) had a career similar to that of several of the more academically successful women featured in this volume. She wrote a dissertation on subjectivity in Hindu thought but did not produce additional publications. She remained in philosophy, however, and taught at Oberlin College throughout her career. In 1923 she married Chester K. Yeaton, a professor of mathematics at Oberlin120 Esther Crane (1892-1984) produced a thesis discussing the role of hypothesis in logic. She does not appear to have produced any additional written work, but had a successful academic career, teaching for short periods of time at Wells College, Lake Erie, Wilson College, and Bryn Mawr, before settling into a position at Goucher College.121 Margaret Daniels (1893-1981) wrote her dissertation on aesthetics and religion. She taught for a time in an adult education program for the International Ladies’ Garment Workers in New York City. It is not clear, however, if she continued on in professional life and remained in philosophy.122 Chicago established itself as an institution that allowed exploration and innovation across disciplines. Half of the women whose career information is briefly sketched out in the foregoing paragraph appear to have had successful academic careers. The others appear to have worked for at least a period of time in social work or related fields. Based on the mission of the department when it was launched under John Dewey’s leadership, this is exactly as it should have been. Success in academia has its merits, but the engaged learning that was encouraged at the university in its early years had a positive impact on individuals, the local community, and (in theory) society at large. This approach to intellectual inquiry appealed to a number of women, and they joined the department to contribute to the effort to unite theory and practice.

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Six women completed doctoral studies in philosophy and related fields at Yale and Harvard/Radcliffe—three at each institution. Ivy League colleges had long focused on not only the intellectual ability of their applicants but also the cultural heritage, economic status—even their faith traditions. Therefore, it is no surprise that they were often closed to women. Yale was an exception to this rule, at least at the graduate level. It began admitting women into graduate study in 1892, and the university has quite deservedly celebrated this aspect of its history.1 Its first female doctoral students in philosophy were Anna Alice Cutler (1896), Blanche Zehring (1897), and Clara Hitchcock (1900). Each of these women readily entered faculty positions after completing their studies and remained in academia until retirement. Interestingly enough, only Cutler, who was listed as a political science graduate, However, only Cutler remained within philosophy throughout her career. Zehring moved into biblical studies, and Hitchcock moved into psychology. Blanche Zehring (1867–1950) wrote a dissertation entitled, “The Dependence of the Concept of Duty on Faith in God,” which is no longer extant. She was born and raised in Miamisburg, Ohio, the daughter of a banker.2 She taught at Wells College most of her career, where Grace Neal Dolson (Cornell, 1899) was also a

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faculty member. She was an early member of the Society for Biblical Literature and one of the first academically trained women to visit archaeological sites in Europe and the Middle East. No other information is available about her life or thought. It appears that all three women who earned doctorates in philosophy at Yale by 1900 settled into the traditional role of teacher/mentor in their professional lives, rather than researcher/scholar. None of them produced publications after completing their dissertations. Harvard did not admit women at any level of study until 1920, when the Graduate School of Education first became coeducational. Before this time, women were granted a degree from Radcliffe—the “annex” established to accommodate women between 1879 and 1882 and incorporated as a college in 1894—despite the fact that they studied with Harvard professors. The women who completed doctoral work at Harvard/Radcliffe under discussion here are Mary Whiton Calkins (1895), Ethel Dench Puffer Howes (1898), and Eva Beatrice Dykes (1921). All three held faculty positions for a decade or more and each published academic work. Calkins gained prominence in both philosophy and psychology and was one of few people to serve as president of both the American Philosophical Association and the American Psychological Association; she was the only woman to preside over both organizations. Howes held two faculty positions for a total of ten years before choosing marriage and family, which had a profound and negative impact on her career aspirations. Dykes was one of the first three women of color to earn a doctoral degree in the United States in any field—in English philology. She established herself as an authority in African American literature and helped lay a foundation for the development of critical race theory, an area of inquiry that crosses disciplinary boundaries.

Faculty and Academic Climate at Each Institution The contrast between Yale and Harvard/Radcliffe regarding the reception of women is rather sharp. The corresponding contrasts between women’s career



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success after completing doctorates at each institution suggest that mentoring, advocacy, and academic politics play a bigger role than we might at first imagine. Women at Yale were formally welcomed, and it appears that faculty in the department of philosophy just before and after 1900 were accommodating. Yet it did not gain a reputation as “the place” for women to study at an advanced level, as was the case at Cornell and Chicago. At Harvard, on the other hand, formal barriers were firmly in place to prevent women from earning degrees at the graduate level. Faculty members at Harvard, most notably, William James, Josiah Royce, Hugo Münsterberg, and George Herbert Palmer, were extremely supportive of women’s achievement and urged the administration to recognize their work by formally allowing them to enroll and earn doctorates. Harvard administrators made it clear that women need not apply and refused to confer their degrees, however. Only after 1902, when Radcliffe was accredited to grant graduate degrees, did women begin to pursue advanced study in significant numbers. Discussions of the history of philosophy at Yale help shed light on how and why the careers of its doctoral recipients took the shape that they did. Many institutions held a traditionalist view of the value of advanced degrees for women: to teach at women’s colleges. This appears to have been the case at Yale. Cutler, Zehring, and Hitchcock met expectations and took positions at women’s colleges, where they remained throughout their careers. Although many men taught at women’s colleges in this era, the assumption that female students were ill-suited for rigorous study along with the heavier teaching load at these institutions made them less prestigious within academic culture. William James lamented Charles Bakewell’s decision to accept a position at Bryn Mawr, for instance: “Palmer tells me that Bakewell is going to Bryn Mawr—why, I can’t imagine, for I should myself hate to be under that petticoat regime.”3 Why would a man want to tarnish his curriculum vitae in such a way? Secondly, the department at Yale was in the middle of a conflict over its future just prior to the turn of the twentieth century.4 Yale had been a traditional institution at which philosophy, religion, and theology were intertwined. Until Arthur

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Twining Hadley (1856–1930) assumed leadership of Yale in 1899–1900, each of its presidents had been ordained ministers. New trends toward empirical research were in the air in this era, however, and the study of psychology began to overtake philosophy’s more traditional approaches to the study of mind and moral development. Yale’s chair of philosophy, George Trumbull Ladd (1842– 1921), was part of the institution’s old legacy. Younger faculty with training in empirical research methods, like Edward Scripture (1864–1945) who joined the department in the mid-1890s, were eager to move in a new direction. The career paths of Yale’s first three women doctorates in philosophy reflect these competing forces in the department. Anna Alice Cutler wrote her dissertation on aesthetics in Kant and taught philosophy throughout her career at Smith College. Blanche Zehring’s dissertation, which is no longer extant, focused on faith and moral duty. She spent most of her career at Wells College where she taught biblical studies. In her dissertation, Clara Hitchcock examined the nature of expectation in both ordinary experience and in learning. She taught a combination of psychology and philosophy in a career at Lake Erie College. Mary Whiton Calkins and Ethel Puffer Howes were refused Harvard degrees, solely because they were women. In 1902, both were offered Radcliffe degrees instead. Howes accepted. Calkins refused, saying she studied with Harvard professors, thus deserved a Harvard degree. Eva Dykes entered Radcliffe after finishing a bachelor’s degree, summa cum laude, from Howard University. Radcliffe questioned the adequacy of a Howard degree and required her to complete a second bachelor’s before entering Radcliffe’s graduate program. Fully succeeding at both the undergraduate and master’s levels at Radcliffe, she then completed a PhD at the institution. After allowing high achievers like Alain Locke, Carter Woodson, and Dykes to study at Harvard/Radcliffe, the institution became slightly more open to people of color.5 Yet, despite these formal barriers, the women who completed doctoral work at Harvard/ Radcliffe attained higher academic success; Calkins did so in ways that more nearly correspond to academic expectations today. She taught at Wellesley for over thirty years, chairing the philosophy department and establishing



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the first laboratory for experimental psychology at a women’s college in the United States. She also published books and a number of articles. Howes held positions at Radcliffe and Wellesley and published a handful of articles. Dykes published two books and taught at Howard University for fifteen years before finishing out her career at Oakwood College, a small religious institution in Alabama.

Women at Yale Campus Administrator and APA Liaison Anna Alice Cutler (1864–1957) BA, Smith College (1885) MA, Smith College (1889) PhD, Philosophy, Yale (1896) Dissertation: “Aesthetical Factors in Kant’s Theory of Knowledge” Career: Teacher, private high schools (1885–92); Rockford College (1892–3); Smith (1893–1930); American Philosophical Association charter member (1902); American Philosophical Association executive committee member (1920–22)

Life and Career Little information is available about the childhood and early education of Anna Alice Cutler. She was born in New Haven, Connecticut, the daughter of Evarts and Ellen Louisa (Knight) Cutler. She attended Smith College where she was in the same class as Mary Whiton Calkins, graduating in 1885. The first of three women to graduate with a PhD from Yale by 1900, she began her career as a college professor before she had completed a doctoral degree.

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She first taught at Rockford College in 1892–93, filling in for Julia Gulliver (Smith PhD, 1888) who was studying in Leipzig that year. Cutler then secured a full-time position at Smith, her alma mater, and she remained there until her retirement in 1930. She did not publish significantly but was professionally engaged in academic life. At Smith, she lived in campus housing as the “Resident Member of Faculty” of Tyler House, a dormitory that continues to exist today and houses roughly sixty students. She also spent countless hours advising students and serving on a number of committees—for curriculum development, admissions, scholarships and fellowships, community education programs, tenure and promotion, graduate education, honorary degrees, and other college business. Such a high level of service inhibited Cutler’s ability to focus on research, of course, and she herself recognized this toward the end of her career: It is entirely proper to ask why in so many years there has been so little evidence of scholarly productivity, and my own disappointment in that regard is deep. The answer is that the demands of the College for general service—administrative and social—have been so heavy as to leave little margin of time or strength.6 One of the administrative roles Cutler fulfilled at Smith was “Representative of the College to Outside Organizations,” and this item on her curriculum vitae provides us with insight into women’s entry into leadership roles in academia in the early decades of the twentieth century. Smith’s president, Henry Norman Gardiner, was by all accounts a friend and advocate to Cutler. He was also a member of a small circle of men who met informally to discuss philosophy in the winter of 1901–2 and decided to form what is now the Eastern Division of the American Philosophical Association. He did a great deal to promote the organization (which William James rejected immediately, incidentally, saying he considered philosophy too much of a solitary enterprise to be done effectively in “a society”).7 And it seems clear that Gardiner’s promotion of the APA included nominating Cutler as a charter member in 1902, under the agreement that her involvement



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would be counted as administrative service to Smith College. The APA is one of three organizations listed on Cutler’s curriculum vitae, along with the Association of University Professors (1922–4) and the Association of University Women, for which she served on three different committees over a twelve-year period (1912– 24). No documents have been located to learn more about Cutler’s role on the executive committee of the APA, but she is one of only two woman known to have served in that capacity before 1925. Cutler appears to have crossed paths with other academic women in this period. Given that she served for a year at Rockford College, filling in for Julia Gulliver who was studying in Europe, it is very likely that she and Gulliver knew each other. She also would have known Grace Neal Dolson (Cornell, 1899), who left her position at Wells College (where she taught alongside Cutler’s fellow Yale alumna Blanche Zehring) to teach at Smith, from 1911 until 1915. Finally, Cutler was close to Mary Whiton Calkins, her classmate as an undergraduate at Smith College, whom she addressed as “Maidy” in correspondence. As an active member of the APA, Cutler would have interacted with any number of male colleagues in philosophy, of course, but H. N. Gardiner is the only one with whom correspondence has been discovered to date. Like the majority of women in this volume, she remained single throughout her life.

Anna Alice Cutler’s Philosophical Work Cutler’s only published work is her thesis, “Aesthetical Factors in Kant’s Theory of Knowledge,” which appeared in print in Kant-Studien in 1896. This essay allows today’s reader to peer back in time to see how one woman managed some of the philosophical controversies that were beginning to bubble up at Yale in the mid-1890s as traditional moralism, philosophical idealism, and new empirical methods of psychology were vying for primacy. She opens the essay by acknowledging the disagreement between “positivists” and idealists: “Those who are of the positivistic opinion that metaphysics offers a field only

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to the quasi-poetic imagination [also think] that Kant as a metaphysician was a dreamer.” Others believe that epistemology is “a branch of philosophical inquiry [that is] free from prejudice of whatever kind and that Kant . . . is the epistemologist par excellence.”8 How, she asks, can we reconcile the two? Cutler’s solution is to see Kant’s intellectual quest as “an expression of artistic as well as of speculative interest and activity.”9 That is, his “intellectualism” and the sense of order it brings to the world is, in a sense, emotionally and aesthetically pleasing to Kant. The sense of harmony and unity in Kant’s understanding of space and time, for instance “suggest that certain aspects of science, mathematics, and metaphysics appealed to him for their beauty as well as for their scientific value.”10 As she continues her discussion, she charges that Kant did not completely succeed in escaping the pitfalls that idealist philosophers are susceptible to—a quasi-mystical view of intuition, for instance, or the “sketchy impressionism” in his account of reason.11 To bolster her argument, Cutler recognizes the ways in which other thinkers enter into this discussion. She reminds readers that Schopenhauer considered the “analytic” to serve “merely as a pendant to the aesthetic.”12 She also draws on Bernard Bosanquet’s commentary at points throughout her analysis as she looks at Kant’s aims in the first and second Critiques. In doing so she examines the rhetorical quality of Kant’s work as much as its philosophical nature. Asserting that Kant’s system as a whole was not only carefully reasoned but also reasoned in such a way as to be aesthetically coherent, she then poses these questions: “Does the fact that so rigorous and self-conscious a thinker as Kant failed to escape aesthetical influence impeach the integrity of epistemology as such, or at least that of the rationalistic school? [Do] the new noetics of science approach more nearly the ideal of the presuppositionless inquiry?” She closes by acknowledging that other philosophers have pointed to the same problem, then rather boldly concludes: It is impossible to tell, and in point of fact it makes little difference whether the ‘conviction of universal significance’ (the rationality of the world



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through and through) . . . is a philosophical motif in aesthetics, or an aesthetical motif in philosophy. . . . The demand for a knowledge free from such elements is a demand for a knowledge lacking in fullness. . . . The new noetics must outgrow asceticism and need not fear to let the whole soul go to meet the whole reality.13

Devoted Professor Clara Maria Hitchcock (1853–1933) AB, Lake Erie Female Seminary (1871) PhB, University of Chicago (1897) PhD, Philosophy, Yale (1900) Dissertation: “The Psychology of Expectation” Career: Michigan Female Seminary, Kalamazoo (1873–75); Study in Berlin (1897); Lake Erie College (1888–92; 1897–1917); American Philosophical Association charter member (1902)

Life and Career Clara Hitchcock was born into a prominent family near Hudson, Ohio.14 Her father, Rev. Henry Lawrence Hitchcock (1813–73), was the president of Western Reserve College (now Case Western Reserve). Her mother was Clarissa M. Ford. Her grandfather, Peter Marshall Hitchcock, was Chief Justice of the Ohio Supreme Court (1819–33). Her uncles, Reuben and Peter Hitchcock, were trustees of Lake Erie Female Seminary (later College), from which she and her sisters graduated. Two of Hitchcock’s siblings named their children after her, and both of these younger women also had intellectual interests, which can lead to confusion. Thus, some disambiguation is needed: Hitchcock’s older brother, Henry

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and his wife Susan Delano, named their daughter Clara Delano Hitchcock (1872–1923). She studied early childhood education at Chicago Kindergarten College and taught in the public schools in Buffalo, New York, and the model school at Teachers College at Columbia University before moving to faculty positions at the state normal school at LaCross, Wisconsin, and finally Kent State. Hitchcock’s sister, Sarah Melissa Hitchcock, married Thomas Day Seymour, a specialist in ancient Greek literature and the descendant of two Yale presidents, who taught first at Western Reserve (1872–80) then at Yale (1880–1930). Their daughter Clara Hitchcock Seymour (1880–1958) married George St. John. She was also intellectually minded, assisting her father in his work and publishing an anthology of Greek literature under her married name, Clara Seymour St. John. Sarah (Hitchcock) and Thomas Day Seymour’s son, Charles, would become the president of Yale in 1937, just a few years after our Clara Hitchcock’s death. When Clara Hitchcock first began teaching at Lake Erie College, she was a professor of mental philosophy, but later in her career the focus of the department moved to philosophy, psychology, and education. This is an interesting shift, given that in the early decades of the twentieth century the trend at elite men’s colleges and large universities was toward specialization and a narrowing of disciplinary focus in philosophy, not its expansion. Although she appears to have been far removed from the academic centers of activity for women philosophers—Wellesley, Mount Holyoke, Smith, in particular— Hitchcock maintained ties with at least one peer from Yale, Anna Alice Cutler, who presented a memorial note at the annual meeting of the American Philosophical Association after Hitchcock’s death in 1933.15 Cutler’s memorial notice indicates that a copy of her statement was given to Hitchcock’s family, but no document of this nature has surfaced in archival searches to date. In her dissertation, The Psychology of Expectation, Hitchcock’s main claim is that expectation is based at least in part on experience and is related to memory and imagination. It allows us to project into the future to anticipate possibilities and potential courses of action. In this sense, expectation is tied to



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self-consciousness and identity; thus it has a role to play in our discussions of both ontology and epistemology. Regarding ontology as related to individuals, Hitchcock asserts that expectation “is more or less active from the beginning to the end of conscious life, manifesting itself in the simplest [experiences] of the child mind and in the most complex forms of mature mental life.”16 In relation to epistemology, she makes an even more daring claim: “Knowledge of the world about us is dependent on expectation. . . . What are the laws of motion, for example, but the expectations of reason concerning the position of bodies in space? We are thus justified, not only in saying that all complete knowledge involves anticipation, but also in affirming that all rational expectation is knowledge.”17 Hitchcock’s discussion of expectation was not published until three years after she had completed the doctorate, and it did not receive a great deal of fanfare when it appeared in print. When it came time to promote it as a book, it appears there were few interested or helpful colleagues who would write a review of the work. Hitchcock herself wrote a synopsis of the work and signed it “The Author.”18 This is especially curious, because Hitchcock’s family had long-held ties to Yale, and, as noted, her sister was married to a well-respected professor in the classics there. A lengthy review in the American Journal of Psychology was quite critical of the work, with a central complaint being that she failed to use experimental methods to inform her discussion.19 It appears that she was caught between old and new methods of exploring psychological phenomenon, a dispute that was being played out at Yale on the cusp of the twentieth century. A proponent of empirical research in psychology, Edward Scripture, was an experimentalist of the most rigorous variety by the standards of the day. He began his career at Clark University, working alongside one of the pioneers in experimental psychology, G. S. Hall (1846–1924), but accepted an offer at Yale in 1892. Throughout the 1890s, he vigorously argued against the traditional philosophical methods of inquiry that were favored by George Trumbull Ladd, Yale’s department chair. Ultimately, administrators at the university found a simple solution: Scripture was ousted in 1903, and Ladd

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was forced into early retirement in 1904.20 But during the dispute, Hitchcock and her fellow graduate students were no doubt caught in the crossfire. While her dissertation focused on expectation as a psychological phenomenon, her exploration of it grew out of a philosophical framework. She examined the experience of expectation in relation to mental processes. But this approach did not mesh with experimentalists’ methods and—well—expectations. In the end, her research was associated with traditional concepts like the “faculties” of the mind in philosophy and with the “old school” faculty at Yale who had embraced such concepts. Interestingly enough, a researcher drew on Hitchcock’s work thirty years after it was published, in a discussion of the phenomenon of surprise as related to expectation. Citing Hitchcock as a thinker who asserted that expectation is a prerequisite for obtaining knowledge, the author moved on to their project of demonstrating that surprise is an outgrowth of expectations not fully met.21

Women at Harvard Philosopher, Psychologist, Powerhouse Mary Whiton Calkins (1863–1930) BA, Smith College (1885) MA, Smith College (1887) PhD, Philosophy (1895; Harvard degree not granted) Dissertation: “Experimental Research on the Association of Ideas” Career: Wellesley (1887–92; 1895–1929); American Philosophical Association charter member (1902); American Psychological Association president (1905); American Philosophical Association executive committee member (1913); American Philosophical Association president (1918)



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Life and Career Mary Whiton Calkins was born in Hartford, Connecticut, in a family of five children. Her father, Wolcott, was a liberal Protestant minister, and her mother, Charlotte (Whiton), was a homemaker with a commitment to social reform work. She was raised in Buffalo, New York, where her father held a pastorate. When she was seventeen, her father took a new position and moved the family to Newton, Massachusetts. After graduating from Smith College in 1885, she spent a year with her family in Europe, then returned to Smith to complete a master’s degree. While at Smith, Calkins is likely to have met Julia Gulliver who earned a bachelor’s degree from Smith in 1879 and a doctorate from the college in 1888. Calkins also established a friendship with fellow Smith alumna, Anna Alice Cutler, and both were teaching philosophy at women’s colleges by the early 1890s. As their careers advanced, the two corresponded about graduate study in philosophy, exchanging information about the faculty, curriculum, and reception of women at Harvard versus Yale.22 Calkins was able to study at Harvard only by requesting permission from its administration. Harvard was an all-male institution at the time, and its “annex,” Radcliffe, did not offer graduate degrees. The male faculty she studied with, William James, Josiah Royce, and Hugo Münsterberg, were all fully supportive of her work. They also appear to have hoped to break through gender barriers and force Harvard to grant a doctoral degree to a woman by default. Calkins completed the required coursework, conducted research in Münsterberg’s laboratory for experimental psychology, and presented her dissertation, “Experimental Research on the Association of Ideas”—a set of achievements that matched or exceeded the work male students undertook for doctoral degrees at Harvard. Each of these well-respected faculty members wrote letters to praise Calkins’s work and to urge administrators to award her a degree. But the institution would have none of it. Her degree was denied and follow-up letters of protest from Royce and James were of no use. Their correspondence at this time expresses their frustration in living with barriers

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to talented students based on gender alone, but they were unable to change Harvard’s policy.23 Therefore, despite being one of the most well-known women philosophers in this era and the first woman president of both of the APAs (Psychological Association president in 1905 and Philosophical Association president in 1918), Mary Whiton Calkins was never officially conferred with a doctoral degree. Harvard has reaffirmed that policy by continuing to deny the degree, even after three major campaigns to recognize her achievement over a century ago.24 As noted, Calkins was offered a Radcliffe degree in 1902, but refused it. She had already been teaching at Wellesley College for women for fifteen years and had no need for an ersatz degree from Radcliffe. She later was granted two honorary doctorates, one in 1909 from Columbia University (where Christine Ladd-Franklin was teaching part-time), another in 1910 from Smith (where Anna Alice Cutler was department chair). Like so many career women in this era, Calkins was unmarried. At Harvard, both Royce and James were supportive and reliable mentors. Both also supported the women’s movement, and Royce in particular put forward ideas that are generally considered “feminine”—focusing as he does on nurturing community. Calkins had a strong sense of her own legacy at Wellesley, one that was fueled and supported by her female colleagues, and thankfully she is one of the few early academic women whose papers were saved and archived. Among her papers is correspondence with Dewey, James, Royce, and, as noted, with Anna Alice Cutler (Yale, 1896) who taught at Smith College and also was a founding member of the APA. The two women clearly knew each other well. Calkins’s letters to James E. Creighton at Cornell University have also been preserved. Calkins also knew Ellen Bliss Talbot (Cornell, 1898), a similarly productive colleague at another women’s institution: Mount Holyoke College. But it is unclear if Calkins and Talbot were friends or simply professional acquaintances. Talbot reviewed two of Calkins’s works in The Philosophical Review, Der DoppelteStandpunkt in der Psychologie and The Persistent Problems of Philosophy. Both reviews were favorable overall, but in the second,



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Talbot charged that Calkins’s discussion of the self should be enhanced by comparing it more carefully with the early modern understanding of the soul. In response, Calkins wrote “Self and Soul” which appeared in a subsequent issue of the Review.25 Calkins published more work in philosophy than any of the women in this volume. She produced six books, primarily for classroom use: An Introduction to Psychology (1900), A First Book in Psychology (1901), Der DoppelteStandpunkt in der Psychologie (1905), an abridged edition of Locke’s Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1905), The Persistent Problems of Philosophy (1907), and The Good Man and the Good (1918). Her introductions to philosophy, ethics, and psychology were widely read and reviewed in professional journals. She also wrote roughly forty articles and twenty or more book reviews. Her writings focus on personal idealism, philosophy of mind, and uncharacteristically for a woman who was so successful in academia, feminism. Given these achievements, Calkins’s relative absence from histories of philosophy and philosophy readers is unwarranted. Thankfully, she has received more attention in recent years, with excellent discussions by Dana Noelle McDonald, Mathew Foust, Erin McKenna and Scott Pratt, Alexandra Schuh, and Kris McDaniel.26 Clearly, a full discussion of her work could fill a volume of its own. For our purposes, it will have to suffice to look at Calkins as perhaps the best example of a woman in early academic life whose work straddled both philosophy and psychology, and to look at the themes she addressed within each discipline.

Mary Whiton Calkins’s Work in Philosophy and Psychology Calkins was an idealist, but in the academic tradition as it developed in the late nineteenth century. Those who preceded her, most notably, Susan Blow, Anna Brackett, and Ellen Mitchell, discussed in Volume I, were members

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of the pre-academic philosophical idealist movement in St. Louis, which attempted to apply philosophy to education and social/political issues. Blow embraced Hegel’s thought to such an extent that it was nearly a doctrine to her. Brackett and Mitchell took a more pragmatic approach, adopting idealism when it was useful, but dismissing certain aspects of it that they considered outdated—such as archaic views of women within the works of Hegel and some of his disciples. Other women in early academic philosophy also embraced idealism or were heavily influenced by it, most notably, Ellen Bliss Talbot and Vida Frank Moore at Cornell, and Marietta Kies, Caroline Miles Hill, and Eliza Sunderland at Michigan. Like Talbot, Calkins succeeded in making the transition from pre-academic philosophy in the nineteenth century to the more modern approach to the discipline that was under development in the early twentieth century. Calkins published her first articles in academic journals in 1892, one discussed the association of ideas in philosophy and another outlined the work in psychology she had begun at Wellesley College. She maintained interests in both disciplines throughout her life and continued to publish in both fields until the late 1920s. The very last article she wrote, “Against Behaviorism,” was published in 1930. Within psychology, most of Calkins’s work focused on cognition, the concept of self, and the nature of psychological research. This last area of inquiry often ventured into a discussion of the boundaries between philosophy and psychology. In this sense, she contributed to a common project along with other women in this volume: Eliza Ritchie in her discussion of personality, Ellen Bliss Talbot on the “conscious elements,” and Matilde Castro in her thesis on psychology and logic. Calkins and her contemporaries—male and female— were part of a larger enterprise—and she was arguably one the most articulate voices within it. There is a great deal of overlap between philosophy and psychology in Calkins’s work. In fact, it can be nearly impossible to determine whether the fifteen (or so) articles in which she discussed self, soul, mind, or essence belong in the “philosophy” or the “psychology” category. My focus on



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this aspect of her work will be on the writings that lie at the intersection of the two disciplines—primarily her discussion of self versus soul. Within philosophy, Calkins wrote four articles about historic figures in the discipline—Kant, Fichte, Hegel, Schopenhauer—and produced an abridged version of Locke’s Treatise for classroom use. She also wrote four articles about the ideas of her contemporaries—Josiah Royce, Henri Bergson, Bertrand Russell, and Edward G. Spaulding. The bulk of her writings, however, appear in academic journals in which she discussed philosophical approaches or schools of thought, including idealism, realism, monism, and personalism. In her philosophical work, Calkins often gravitated toward explorations of metaphysics and ontology, venturing into religion on occasion. She even published one piece on pacifism during the First World War. Given the large body of work she produced within philosophy proper, here we will look primarily at her discussions of ontology and her own description of the personal idealism she embraced. A good place to begin our discussion is with the review of Calkins’s textbook, The Persistent Problems of Philosophy (1908), by Ellen Bliss Talbot in The Philosophical Review.27 Calkins produced this book as a history of philosophy text with a focus on metaphysics, primarily for classroom use. Both thinkers were idealists, so Talbot’s review is sympathetic to her perspective and approach. At the same time, Talbot makes some comments and criticisms that give us a window into philosophy as it was understood in their era, which also provides us with a better understanding of each thinker. Talbot begins her review with a quotation from the opening of Calkins’s book that we can still agree with today: “Philosophy is the attempt to discover by reasoning the utterly irreducible nature of anything; and philosophy, in its most adequate form, seeks the ultimate nature of all-that-there-is.”28 The choices Calkins made about whom to include in the text also make sense from today’s perspective, but for the near-omission of Locke whom she considered too similar to Descartes to merit discussing fully. Yet, even keeping in mind her focus on metaphysics, her categorizations do not align well

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with our discussions of historical figures in philosophy today. Descartes, she characterizes as a “qualitative pluralist.” “Qualitative monists” include Hobbes, Leibniz, Berkeley, and Hume (the last three of these are also labeled idealists). Calkins’s chapter on Hume, Talbot tells us, “gives an interpretation from which many will dissent. . . . When one reads, e.g., that ‘Hume teaches that reality is through and through immaterial,’ and that ‘he believes the universe to consist of a great complex of ever shifting sensations and images,’ one is hardly able to give full assent.”29 Finally, Kant doesn’t “fit into her classification, because his system [is] internally inconsistent [thus fails] to represent any one type of philosophy” . . . Fichte and Schelling are like Kant in that they are also “internally inconsistent,” but they are discussed alongside Spinoza, because all three “advance toward monistic spiritualism.”30 There are a number of such observations in this review, many of which are a bit of a shock to the twenty-first-century philosopher’s system. But for our purposes, Talbot’s comments about how to rightly understand Fichte’s thought are of interest. Talbot was a Fichte scholar, and in her view, Calkins misinterpreted him, in part because she wanted his Absolute to be personal, and in part because she failed to fully understand his metaphysics. Talbot wants to set the record straight, and discusses Fichte at some length; I will reproduce only some short selections here: Regarding the Absolute, Talbot charges that Calkins “underestimates the difficulty of conceiving the nature of an all-embracing consciousness. If the finite spirits are united in the Infinite Spirit in somewhat the sense in which my own separate thoughts are united in my individual consciousness, it is hard to understand why these finite spirits are not aware of their oneness”—and in this sense they are personal.31 Regarding the nature of reality, Talbot maintains that Fichte was “continually teaching that actuality is not unitary, either qualitatively or quantitatively speaking. . . . [W]e may say that reality is not [yet one], but is only becoming, one. In another sense, however, Fichte seems to teach that . . . consciousness is gradually developing toward unity.”32 Even given their disagreements,



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Talbot concludes that “Professor Calkins deserves the thanks of students and teachers of philosophy. . . . [T]he book is fresh and suggestive, clear in statement, vigorous and penetrating in criticism. However much one may dissent from certain of the positions taken, the value of the book as a whole is unquestionable.”33 In her review of Persistent Problems, Talbot briefly noted that she is not clear on Calkins’s “doctrine of the self.” Although no correspondence remains to enlighten us about their personal or professional relationship, it seems no coincidence that Calkins produced a good deal of work discussing her notion of the self just after Talbot’s review appeared in print. In the paragraphs that follow, we will look at this aspect of her thought. Not incidentally, Calkins opens “Self and Soul,” a relatively brief article, by noting that she is comfortable using the terms soul, spirit, mind, and spiritual substance interchangeably. She then proceeds to outline how modern thinkers conceive of the self and to follow it with a sketch of how philosophers conceived of the self or soul in earlier time periods.34 The “self ” in Calkins’s framework has (a) conscious experiences—ideas, mental processes, psychological states, conscious functions, or faculties. (b) persistence through time (c) uniqueness—it is distinct from others (whether other selves or other entities, objects) (d) relation—to other selves or entities that are “other-than-itself ” In earlier philosophical systems, a “soul” had (a) faculties, ideas, operations, or experiences (b) persistence through time (c) uniqueness—again, was distinct from others (whether other selves or other entities, objects)

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In Calkins’s view, earlier conceptions of the self fell short in three ways: they failed to recognize the relational aspect of the self; they treated the soul as if it was “merely a shadowy sort of body,” in a sense subordinating the soul to the body; and they understood the soul as abstract—essentially as empty, in Calkins’s view.35 The modern concept of the self in her time focused instead on what she considered to be the concrete reality of the self. It starts with “the introspective study of the immediately realized self and recognizes in this self all the rich content of actual experience.”36 For Calkins, the concrete experience of the self and its relational nature in her version of idealism is central to its success in a philosophical system, specifically because the world coheres in and through the relations of selves to other selves. If each self were separate and independent, unable to relate to other selves, there would be no activity, no continuity in the world, but instead stasis. For Calkins and other idealists, the world is a dynamic force, not a static entity. Much like thinkers in Process thought who were developing a cosmology alongside Calkins in the early decades of the twentieth century, subjectivity presupposes relationality. This relationality is what also makes it possible for human beings to have an intuition of the divine, of the Absolute Self, as Calkins would put it, which is a dynamic and relational being. Calkins appears to have been working out her understanding of the “self ” for some time, and published an article in three installments, “Psychology as Science of Self ” (1908). In these discussions, she reiterates the central elements of her concept of self, but elaborates on them. Within the history of philosophy these articles are valuable in that they continue to help us examine the ways in which philosophy and psychology overlapped in this period. They also illuminate developments within psychology alone as it became an independent discipline. Calkins opens the first installment of “Psychology as Science of Self ” by distinguishing between two schools of thought that were vying for primacy in psychology at this time: structuralism, the view that the mind or consciousness has a structure and/or contents that can be examined (largely using traditional



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philosophical systems of thought); and functionalism, the view that we can understand consciousness only in and through the role it plays in human life—that is, its function.37 Within these two schools of thought there are distinct ways to conceive of the relationship between mind and body. We can understand the self as mind-in-body or as mind-plus-body. We can see the body, not as part of self, but as closely related to self. Or we can see the mind as a disembodied spirit—although “nobody nowadays champions this doctrine and I should not take time to mention it were it not that Professor Angell attributes it to me.”38 Calkins favors the third view, the mind as distinct from the body, but related to it. In this sense, the self has a body, but does not consist primarily or only of body. She adds that, as psychologists, “we are not concerned with the philosophical problem of the relation of mind and body; we take for granted the existence of the two, and their relation.”39 Calkins is concerned, however, that functional psychology will lean too far in the direction of self-as-body—ultimately turning to a biological account of selfhood. This would be a mistake, however. Biology’s ability to name and describe physical changes in the body is of course valuable, but it is unable to describe or explain consciousness. In the second installment of “Psychology as Science of Self,” Calkins covers some familiar territory, reiterating that her concept of self is not the outdated “soul” of early modern philosophy—not a collection of ideas, mental images, or memories of the epistemologists. Again, the self is persistent and has experiences. But in this discussion Calkins introduces new and significant elements: more discussion of the relational nature of the self and recognition of the immediacy of experience. She underscored the depths of the relational nature of the self in this article. If she tries to “describe or distinguish myself except in terms of my relatedness to other selves: if I drop out of my conception of myself the consciousness of being a child, brother, friend, and citizen, I simply lose myself.”40 Although she did not play out this theme, it is a rather dramatic statement to make. It is not merely to observe relational tendencies in individuals, but to make relationality

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a core component of individuality. A second new move in this installment of her discussion is the recognition that psychology, as she understands it, involves the immediacy of experience—experience that we then reflect on. Yet immediacy and reflection defy being paired up. She makes some keen insights here, gravitating toward phenomenology as she does so in my view: The peculiarity of psychology is precisely this, that it has to do with the concept of immediate experience. That which cannot be immediately experienced is, in other words, no object of psychology. . . . I [must] make this assertion on the basis of my own introspection—for there is no other way of making it—and it is open to others to disavow this experience. . . . [I]t is evident that we must form our concept of consciousness from this, “the only experience immediately accessible to us.” . . . Such consciousness, it must be repeated, lies at a far remove from the reflective self-consciousness of the psychologist.41 The final installment of this article expands on Calkins’s previous discussions. Of interest here are some elaborations on what it means to relate to others. In day-to-day interactions, the self is aware of others, whether other selves or other entities. This is not merely awareness in an abstract and detached sense, but in an interactive sense. The self experiences its relations to others. A self is also able to become altruistic, in Calkins’s parlance, when its awareness of others becomes a focus on the “other-than-self.” She does not play this out as fully as one might wish. In addition, it is important to keep in mind that here she speaks of an existential, not a moral altruism. She later tells us that Only the conception of sharing or sympathizing requires the conception of the other-than-self as personal. . . . In perceiving and in thinking I am conscious (immediately or reflectively) not only of selves who share my experience, but of the impersonal object of our common experience; and both together constitute the total object of my consciousness, that is to say, my environment.42



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Sympathy in this sense is simply a shared experience—or even a shared focus on the same activity or aim. Interestingly enough, Calkins made note of commentary by the psychologist, Margaret Floy Washburn, and credited her with providing a helpful insight on this point: To my mind, Miss Washburn offers . . . an admirable structural analysis of sympathetic joy and a convincing demonstration that such an analysis is inadequate. The elements of consciousness . . . are indeed discoverable, but the enumeration falls far short of describing the emotion. In fact, Miss Washburn seems to me to yield the case for the opposition to selfpsychology, by admitting that a consciousness of the “personality of another” does belong to sympathetic joy.43 For Calkins, inquiries about the nature of the self in psychology were nearly conflated with ontology, and both were only a short step away from metaphysics. She did a good deal of work within these two branches of philosophy, and consistently maintained her own view—that a monistic and personalistic idealism best describes the world we live in. A student of Calkins will see her making a related set of ontological and metaphysical claims throughout her career: first, she held that the distinction between subject and object, knower and known, is false. We can reflect on our encounter with others, whether other selves or objects. In any given moment, however, we simply have the experience of a human self, or consciousness that engages with another entity. We are not minds perceiving and “knowing” another self or object in experience in a detached sense. In her view, “knowledge implies identity of knower and known.”44 Related to this is her view that the mind/body distinction is also a false construct. An individual is not a “mind in a body.” This would be to revert to the Platonic view that a body is the prison of the soul, or to old notions in early modern epistemology and ontology in which mind was described as a collection of ideas or series of impressions and thus as a substance wholly different from body. In her view, each of us is a mind/consciousness

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that experiences or relates to our body. What logically follows from this is Calkins’s claim that a human mind constitutes just one form of consciousness. Consciousness underlies all of reality and in fact pervades it. In line with Talbot’s view as a Fichtean, Calkins theorized that, while there is a plurality of conscious entities within reality, ultimately the world is monistic. “Many selves may turn out to be members of an all-including Absolute Self . . . for even if the many selves are parts of the One Self they will retain both their personality and their relation with each other through the Absolute.”45 In her view, an Absolute consciousness holds the world’s plurality in unity. Calkins objected to the many varieties of philosophy and related disciplines that were mechanistic or metaphysically materialistic. (She takes on not only psychologists but also biologists and physicists at some points in her writings.) She considered herself a vitalist, an approach to ontology and metaphysics that she saw as compatible and even descriptive of the views outlined before. She also considered herself a personal idealist. One of Calkins’s great strengths is her ability to discuss her ideas in relation to other schools of thought. This is especially true in a set of articles she published between 1911 and 1915: “The Idealist to the Realist,” “Unjustified Claims for Neo-Realism,” “Idealist to Realist Once More,” “Mr. Muscio’s Criticism of Miss Calkins’s Reply to the Realist,” and “Bertrand Russell on Neo-Realism.” For our purposes, a somewhat later discussion, “The Personalistic Conception of Nature” (1919), will provide an overview of the distinctions she lays out between mechanism and her own views. In this article, Calkins makes it clear that murky terminology is responsible for many disagreements about the merits of a mechanistic versus a vitalistic approach. She then explains that she, a psychological vitalist, objects to the type of mechanism that reduces human experiences to merely biological or neural events: There exist in addition to whatever elements and unconscious organisms the world may contain, conscious beings who not only secrete and



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digest and react in response to environment but who also perceive and remember, desire and wish, prefer and choose. . . . [W]e know by direct observation what we mean by deliberating and willing, feeling and remembering. . . . That such physico-chemical phenomena may accompany, condition, or even take the place of deliberation, emotion or memory, the psychological vitalist does not deny; he merely insists on the observed fact that consciousness is not identical with the mechanical or the chemical or the electrical phenomena.46 Calkins saw stark differences between her own views as a personal idealist and “ideists” or impersonal idealists. Both personalism and idealism took on different forms over time, and Calkins maintained her commitment to a combined version of the two. Calkins explains her objection to ideism this way: One finds that there are no really independently existing ideas, that an idea, that is, a mental experience, always is part of a self, who has the idea, who experiences. In a word, the selfless or impersonal idea, like the impersonal value, is an abstraction. . . . The world, as mental, inevitably is a world made up not of ideas, or mental processes, but of selves.47 In a sense the “personal” aspect of her idealism is the most interesting aspect of it, primarily because it signals her objection to ideism—that is, a metaphysics, which describes the world as pure Idea. In her view a pure Idea and abstract individual ideas would be disconnected and unable to interact with or relate to each other. In this sense, her use of the term “personal/personalism” could be recast as “relation/relationality.” Another point of interest: her occasional references to the Absolute as a God-figure, as when she makes the claim that there is no distinction between knower and known. In her personalistic framework, knowledge between selves is possible in and through their relation to the Absolute: “I know the Absolute by being identically a part of Him; and that I know other selves in so far as they, like me, are genuinely

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though partially identical with Him.”48 Interestingly enough, for the most part she resists venturing into a religious version of personal idealism. At this point, there is no evidence that she interacted with or aligned herself with theologically minded personalists in Boston, like Borden Parker Bowne. This question is one of many about Calkins and her work that could be explored further, however. As one of the first women to enter academic philosophy, she developed an important strain of idealism in American philosophy—a monistic variety in which a theory of the self emerges that takes into account new developments in psychology, yet remains grounded in philosophical traditions.

An Academic Antinomy Ethel Dench Puffer Howes (1872–1950) BA, Smith (1891) PhD, Philosophy (1898, Harvard degree not granted; 1902, Radcliffe degree) Career: High school teacher, Keene, New Hampshire (1891–2); Smith College (1892–5); study in Freiburg (1895–7); Radcliffe (±1898–1901); Wellesley (1901–8); Smith College, Institute for the Coordination of Women’s Interests (1925)

Life and Career Ethel Dench Puffer Howes was the oldest of four girls born to George and Ella Puffer in Framingham, Massachusetts. Little is known about Howes’s early life and education. After graduating from Smith College, she taught high school for a year, then returned to Smith to teach mathematics. In 1895, she travelled to Germany where she was able to study psychology under Hugo Münsterberg, reportedly as a guest in his home.49 She returned to the United States on a



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fellowship from the Association of Collegiate Alumnae (now American Association of University Women) and, like Mary Whiton Calkins, studied at Harvard University, conducting research for Münsterberg who had accepted an appointment there, and completing all requirements for a doctoral degree in 1898. Unlike Calkins, when Harvard refused to grant her a doctorate, Howes accepted the Radcliffe degree in 1902. Even before receiving a PhD, her career had begun on a productive note, holding positions at Radcliffe (1898–1901) and Wellesley (1901–8). After her marriage, however, she was unable to secure a faculty position. Although she was considered a brilliant researcher, marriage and family could be a death knell for women’s career aspirations in this era. When she applied to teach at Barnard, Howes received a letter from the president of Smith College, L. Clark Seelye, who had written her a recommendation, but said he feared news of her upcoming marriage had hurt her prospects and another candidate had been selected.50 Given the situation, Howes did her best to maintain professional status, publishing a handful of articles that focused on her two primary interests, aesthetics and women’s issues—two in academic journals and the remainder in The Atlantic Monthly.

Ethel Puffer Howes’s Philosophical Work Howes’s article “The Study of Perception and the Architectural Idea,” published in The Philosophical Review in 1910 provides a prime example of a thinker who is straddling two different theoretical frameworks—the “pure philosophy” that was so dominant at the end of the nineteenth century in the United States and the newly emerging empirical methods of the social sciences. Here, she assumes that there can be a standard, unifying theory of beauty within any artistic endeavor, and she starts by contrasting the supposed success in analyzing music and the lack of such success in evaluating architecture. She asserts that recent psychological and physiological research

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has been able to solve problems related to aesthetics in music—why a certain tone is aesthetically pleasing while another is not, for instance. But similar advances have not been made in architecture. Aside from how culture-bound Howes’s discussion is on this point, her claim demonstrates a faith in the then-new developments in science in which researchers conducted surveys, set up laboratory experiments, and/or measured physiological responses to stimuli—like musical tones. The problem in architecture, in Howes’s view, is that there are not yet scientific methods in place to help assess how and why the proportion, scale, and spatial relations of a building can be aesthetically pleasing to its viewers or inhabitants. Citing the aesthetic theories of Theodor Lipps, Howes is clearly aligned with the romantic and idealist schools of thought that were dominant in philosophy in the United States prior to the turn of the twentieth century. Like Lipps, she relied on the concept of Einfühlung (feeling/empathy), a term that was used by Herder, Lotze, Schelling, and others to point to “the unification of the subject and object” in this case as related to aesthetics.51 She fears that without a concept like Einfühlung, we will be without a clear set of standards by which to assess beauty in architecture. Instead, we will be left with “perception as a matter primarily of response and reactions, with room in it for all possible fusions of the most far reaching association.”52 (That is, what nonphilosophers are perfectly comfortable with accepting—that, in large measure, “beauty” is simply a subjective and/or cultural preference.) At the same time, she is optimistic that emerging scientific methods will supplement pure philosophy when needed and thus answer any remaining questions about bodily experience in perceptual space: “How is my perception of objects affected by their bodily presence? How do I perceive different materials, weights, textures, sizes? . . . How am I affected by latent forces? If ‘the arch never sleeps,’ how does the presence of these forces . . . affect my perception of it?”53 As she volleys competing theoretical options back and forth throughout the article, Howes speculates that “the only part of the problem of beauty that is not solved [by] pure philosophy—in brief the only part of the



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problem of beauty which demands to be differentiated as a special field, is the field of the last resort, psychological and physiological analysis.”54 The contrasts between traditional standards of beauty and new modernist notions troubled Howes throughout her career. As early as 1901, she wrote about the value of an appreciative approach to art criticism. Her concern is that such an approach will ignore the formal, “scientific” and/or historical principles that lend beauty to a work. Her main concern here is, again, that subjectivism will creep into discussions of art, and all standards of beauty will fall by the wayside. A related concern is that the line between an emotional response to art—which she believes can and should be examined by science— will be conflated with mere sentimentality. Insisting that objective standards can indeed be established and maintained, she writes: “Aesthetics . . . is the science of beauty . . . a system of laws expressing the relation between the object and aesthetic pleasure in it; or . . . a system of conditions to which the object, in order to be beautiful, must conform.”55 Howes is one of few women in early academic life to express feminist views. And her writings took on a more assertive tone over time, quite likely because her academic career had already been truncated. What did she have to lose? One of her most incisive feminist articles, “Accepting the Universe” (1922), was given a title inspired by Margaret Fuller (1810–50), an ardent feminist who was said to have been lampooned by Thomas Carlyle (1795–1881) for her declaration, “I accept the universe.” In making this statement, Fuller was simply recognizing that in some sense we are all transient and contingent beings. But Carlyle’s response was, “By Gad, she’d better!”56 Howes opens her article by saying “An ‘antinomy,’ O my non-philosophical reader, is a contradiction between conclusions [with] two equally good premises.”57 She goes on to argue against the ways in which women were forced to choose between marriage and a career. In another article published later that year, “Continuity for Women” (December 1922), Howes picks up on this theme, this time with a proposed solution. Here she discusses the conflict women face when they are forced to choose between career or marriage and family. Individual women may desire to marry and raise children,

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but when they do, they are considered unemployable. And in her day, re-entering the workforce was close to impossible once children had grown. The solution, as she saw it, was what we now call flexi-time. Generally speaking, Howes believed women (who were married and had children) were at a competitive disadvantage to men in the workplace, because they could not devote the same number of hours or personal/professional energy to a career. Why not allow women to step off the racetrack, then, and find more flexible and/or short-term professional options? At the time, this may have seemed a naïve suggestion. During feminism’s Second Wave in the 1970s, women like Howes were criticized for making such arguments, because they reinforced gender difference. Today flexi-time is a viable option for women and men—one that is not always easy to find, but an option, nevertheless. In this sense, Howes, like other feminists who proposed flexi-time, job sharing, community housekeeping, and shared meal planning, was ahead of her time. After the early 1930s, however, she did not publish, and there is no record of her holding a professional position later in life. Sadly, her promising career path in the late 1890s became a cautionary tale after she married, which (even more sadly) is one reason her life and work has been better chronicled than the lives of her peers.

Ideas in Literature Eva Beatrice Dykes (1893–1986) BA, Howard University (1914) BA, Radcliffe (1917) MA, Radcliffe (1918) PhD, English Philology (1921; Radcliffe) Dissertation: “Alexander Pope and His Influence in America from 1810 to 1850” Career: Central Tennessee College (1914–15); Dunbar High School, Washington, DC (1920–9); Howard University (1929–44); Oakwood College in Huntsville, AL (1944–73)



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Life and Career Eva Dykes was born in 1893 in Washington, DC, to Martha Ann (Howard) and James Stanley Dykes.58 Her parents separated when she was young, and her uncle, Dr. James Howard, took the family in and encouraged Eva and her sisters in their educational pursuits. He was also able to provide them with financial support. Eva attended Howard University, where her mother, father, uncle, and other family members had also studied. After graduating, she taught for a year at Central Tennessee College,59 then applied to Radcliffe for graduate study. Although Dykes had graduated summa cum laude from Howard, she was required to complete a second bachelor’s degree at Radcliffe before being admitted for graduate study. This may have been fairly common for students from historically black colleges. W. E. B. DuBois (Fisk, 1888) and Carter Woodson (Berea, 1903) completed second bachelor’s degrees at Harvard before moving on to graduate study there. Fully succeeding in her studies—and thus demonstrating the validity of her degree from Howard—Dykes completed Radcliffe’s undergraduate program. Her next step was to enter master’s study, then to fulfill requirements for a doctoral degree with research that culminated in a 644-page dissertation on the thought and influence of Alexander Pope. At both Howard and Harvard/Radcliffe, Dykes was associated with several African American intellectuals who contributed to discussions of race issues and cultural difference in the early decades of the twentieth century. As an undergraduate student, she was close to Geneva Townes and Lorenzo Dow Turner, an academically minded couple who would later marry. The group would have known Alain Locke and Charles H. Wesley, who were professors at Howard while they were students. Dykes would, no doubt, see both Turner and Locke again in Cambridge, Massachusetts, during her graduate studies at Radcliffe. She and Turner began their master’s work at roughly the same time that Locke, a Harvard alumnus, returned to the university to complete a doctorate in philosophy.60At Radcliffe, she also may have met Marita O. Bonner (1898–1971), an undergraduate in English and comparative literature,

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and Caroline Bond Day (1889–1948), also an undergraduate, who would later earn a master’s degree in anthropology at Radcliffe. After earning the doctorate, Dykes was again in close proximity to Lorenzo Dow Turner, Geneva (Townes) Turner, Alain Locke, Charles Wesley, and Marita Bonner—all of whom were educators in Washington, DC. Dykes held a faculty position at Dunbar High School (1920–9) and then Howard (1929– 44). Turner, Locke, and Wesley taught at Howard during that time, while Geneva (Townes) Turner, Marita Bonner, and an additional associate, one of Yale’s early women doctoral recipients, Otelia Cromwell (1874–1972), all held teaching positions in the segregated school system in the nation’s capital. Like Dykes, Chicago doctoral recipient, Georgiana Simpson, also taught at both Dunbar and Howard in the 1920s. Dykes’s dissertation advisor at Harvard/Radcliffe, John Livingston Lowes (1867–1945), was in a sense a teacher/scholar from days gone by who had wide-ranging interests and was fortunate enough to be able to make a career of pursuing them.61 His professional life began as a mathematics instructor at Washington and Jefferson College in Pennsylvania, when a bachelor’s degree was a sufficient credential for college teachers. He then earned a master’s degree and taught ethics at Hanover College in Indiana for roughly a decade. In 1902, he again shifted focus and began graduate studies at Harvard, from which he earned a doctorate in 1905. Teaching first at Swarthmore (1905–9), then at Washington University in St. Louis (1909–18), he returned to Harvard as a faculty member when he was just over fifty years old, remaining there until his retirement in 1939. Given his hybrid intellectual identity, getting a better sense of the influences and ideas at play in Lowes’s work will help put Dykes’s studies at Radcliffe and later publications into context. Lowes’s most significant work, The Road to Xanadu, was a discussion of the work of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772– 1834), who although known today primarily as a poet, was deeply engaged in discussions of philosophy, political theory, and theology.62 Lowes’s earlier work, Convention and Revolt in Poetry, published in 1919 gives us a window



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into his thought at the time Dykes’s doctoral research was underway. In this work, he makes references to William James, with whom Alain Locke had studied. Here on the one hand is what William James once called the “blooming welter”—everything from a sea shell to Chicago, from a restless gossamer to the swing of the planets, from my lady’s eyebrow to the stuff of Lear. And here is the poet who feels it all and strives to catch and fix it—to catch it and fix it in words.63 More importantly, he belies his own leanings toward philosophy, in particular, the idealist thought that had been prevalent in previous decades: The I who see am as manifold as what I see, and what I see takes form and color, proportion and emphasis, from what I feel. It is obviously a problem of two worlds with which we have to deal. . . . Call the two worlds, if you like, the subjective and the objective, the microcosm and the macrocosm—or any tag-words that will ticket them. What I want to make clear is a situation—a protean and multiform ego . . . over against a rich and thronging world of sensible things. . . . [W]hat we are concerned with is the communication of what is seen, felt, heard, tasted, smelled. And once more the medium is speech. But words cannot give the things in themselves.64 Finally, despite his lament that poetry had lost its “virility” in recent years, Lowes demonstrates his familiarity with and respect for work by women: the philosopher and poet, Madame du Scudery; the poets, Dorothy Wordsworth and Amy Lowell; and the Renaissance specialist, Edith Sichel.65 It is apparent that, like other men at Harvard/Radcliffe who offered classes to women and served as advisors to students of color, Lowes was on board with expanding access to the elite institution. Given his intellectual interests, he would have served as a valuable advisor to Eva Dykes as she embarked on her study and prepared to write a dissertation on Alexander Pope as a thinker and influential figure in American intellectual life.

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Dykes’s Philosophical Work On African American Literature Eva Dykes joined efforts with Lorenzo Dow Turner and Otelia Cromwell to edit a comprehensive collection of works by African American thinkers, across a range of literary genres, Readings from Negro Authors for Schools and Colleges, which appeared in print in 1931. One of the first volumes of its kind, the work was met with a number of positive reviews, although detractors certainly voiced their views as well. The volume included writings arranged by genre— poetry, short stories, dramas, essays, and public addresses—and each section was prefaced by a brief introduction. Dykes and her co-editors did not discuss the substance of the works, but simply introduce the genre in question in a traditional and formalistic way. The section on poetry, for instance, outlines the distinctions between narrative, dramatic, and lyrical verse. The contents of the selections are telling, however, as are the study questions that follow. In the sections on essays and speeches in Readings from Negro Authors, we see addresses by leaders in African American history, such as Frederick Douglass, Alexander Crummell, W. E. B. DuBois, Booker T. Washington, and Carter Woodson. Some of these and other pieces applaud historic figures who serve as exemplars across race and culture, such as DuBois’s discussions of Alexander Crummell and Francis of Assisi, Douglass’s tribute to William Lloyd Garrison, and William Pickens’s essay on Alexander Hamilton (in which he asserts the American patriot’s Caribbean heritage strongly suggests he had African roots). Essays about contributions to culture and society by people of African descent are included as well, such as Kelly Miller’s “Negro Patriotism and Devotion,” Alain Locke’s “Our Little Renaissance,” and W. S. Scarborough’s “The Educated Negro and His Mission.” A masculine bias is evident in these sections. Just two out of the eighteen authors in the essays and speeches sections are women, although there would certainly have been a wide array of material to choose from by Maria Stewart (1803–79), Frances Watkins



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Harper (1825–1911), Mary Ann Shadd Cary (1823–93), Fannie Barrier Williams (1855–1944), Ida B. Wells-Barnett (1862–1931), Anna Julia Cooper (1858–1964), or any number of other prominent women in African American history. Just two women were included in this section: journalist Jessie Fauset (1882–1961) discusses the African American artist, Henry Ossawa Tanner (1859–1937), and the educator, Clarissa Scott Delaney (1901–27), reflects on her travels in Germany in the early 1920s. By contrast, roughly one-third of the selections of poetry, short story, and drama in this volume were produced by women authors. Dykes and her colleagues made their editorial choices with a traditional, slightly moralizing, pedagogy in mind. They intended not simply to produce another anthology of African American literature, but instead to encourage students “to read thoughtfully and with appreciation, to form in them a taste for good reading, and to teach them how to find books that are worth while.”66

Race and Romanticism Dykes’s work, The Negro in English Romantic Thought (1942), provides us with a better sense of the breadth and depth of her intellectual abilities. Her stated aim was to examine the attitudes of English writers toward people of African descent prior to the abolition of slavery in the Western world. But two underlying themes are evident: humanistic ideals and faith in interracial cooperation. Dykes’s discussion begins with the recognition of four classic types that appeared in the fiction and poetry of (white) authors who attempted to portray the experiences of people of African heritage in England and the United States: the noble slave, who is often subjected to cruelty but occasionally granted relief; the wounded and heart-broken victim of racial injustice (usually a woman); the cruel master; and the benevolent master. But she does not linger on how these types function in literature. Rather she preferred to examine the “ever increasing humanitarian spirit, which had as its aim the happiness

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of all mankind” that she saw in romanticism, despite the presence of these stereotypes.67 This spirit was characterized by the ideals of innate human goodness, as espoused by thinkers like Joseph Butler (1692–1752) and David Hume (1711–76); compassion, as demonstrated by George Fox (1624–91) and his fellow Quakers; and empathy, as embraced by thinkers like Henry St. John Bolingbroke (1678-1751) and Matthew Tindal (1657-1733).68 Therefore, her discussion focuses on writers who expressed humanitarian concern for people of color, condemned cruelty, rejected religious hypocrisy, and urged for justice. Creative writing was Dykes’s primary interest in this volume. She discusses the ideas of literally dozens of thinkers, and just over half of them were best known for their poetry, fiction, or drama. Yet, she examines other genres as well: essays, speeches, sermons, pamphlets, and correspondence. Roughly a quarter of the writers she discusses were philosophical or religious thinkers, these two fields of thought being far less distinct from each other in the eighteenth and nineteenth century than they are today. Figures who continue to be recognized as important thinkers today appear in this volume: William Paley, Samuel Johnson, David Hume, Adam Smith, Jeremy Bentham, Edmund Burke, John Wesley, William Ellery Channing, Hannah More, Harriet Martineau, and Frances Wright. While the three women listed were referred to at points throughout the book, they are featured more fully in its final chapter, “Some Women Abolitionists.” Here, we see Dykes reviewing discussions of racial justice by prominent intellectuals—whether in public forums or private correspondence. She cites a number of thinkers, chief among them Frances Wright and Harriet Martineau. Wright, who was born and raised in Scotland, voiced her opposition to the “odious traffic” in slaves before she visited the United States in the 1820s.69 At that time, she became familiar with the abolition movement and praised the US Congress for passing a bill to end the slave trade. Ultimately, she settled in America and became an abolitionist and feminist herself. Featured at greater length in Dykes’s discussion is Harriet Martineau, who wrote about the evils of slavery in fiction, essays, and correspondence. Martineau sardonically commented on the medical practice



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of using only black cadavers in dissections, because, as she put it “the whites do not like it, and the coloured people cannot resist.”70 Dykes continues to quote Martineau on this deplorable practice. It was remarkable, she said, that everything about the human body, including “the exquisite nervous system . . . can be nicely investigated, on the ground of its being analogous with that of the whites . . . [but] that [white] men come from such a study with contempt for these brethren in their countenances, hatred in their hearts, and insult on their tongues.”71 In Dykes’s discussion of Martineau as a staunch abolitionist, she notes that she developed intellectual friendships with whites in the United States, among them William Lloyd Garrison, Sarah Grimke, and her sister, Angelina Grimke. Once she had learned about the life of the Haitian revolutionary, Toussaint Louverture, Martineau wrote about him to “aid the anti-slavery cause and to call the attention of the public to [his] ‘intellectual and moral genius.’”72 In closing, Dykes belies her optimism: “The growing consciousness of the inhumanity of slavery which finds its reflection in opposition and indignation” in English romanticism reflects “a sincere desire to keep the torch of liberty burning and pass it on undimmed to those who follow.”73

Conclusion The women who completed degree work at Harvard and Yale at this early point in the development of academic philosophy overcame immense odds to win their opportunities to study there. While Yale provided formal avenues for women to enroll, it appears to have had a faculty that was indifferent about their presence—or perhaps too preoccupied with their own internal battles about the future of the department to focus on mentoring female students. Harvard, on the other hand, maintained official barriers against women, yet its faculty were not merely supportive, but were strong advocates when their degrees were denied before 1900. In both cases, the women under discussion

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in this chapter had to be prepared for the academic rigor they would face at the two most elite universities in the United States. We can see some intersecting interests among different subsets within the group—experimental psychology for Calkins, Howes, and Hitchcock; aesthetics for Cutler and Howes; social equality and the use of rhetoric for Howes and Dykes. At Yale, Cutler and Zehring finished degree work within a year of each other. Hitchcock completed her degree fewer than five years later. The theses of the three covered considerably different terrain—for Cutler, it was Kant on aesthetics, for Zehring, on duty and religious faith, and for Hitchcock, on psychology and expectation. Archival sources are not extant to tell us more about their interactions, but it seems unlikely they studied with the same professors. In addition, after completing the doctorate, their careers took them to rather far-flung locations—Cutler to Smith in western Massachusetts, Zehring to Wells College in upstate New York, and Hitchcock to Lake Erie College in western Pennsylvania. Calkins and Howes were at Harvard/Radcliffe in close succession, studied with the same professors—men who testified to their brilliance—both remained in the Boston area, and would have known each other well. Yet Calkins became something of an intellectual powerhouse, whereas Howes remained a “mere mortal” who published only a handful of articles after her marriage. Their academic experiences were similar, but the outcomes could not have been much different. Dykes arrived on the scene at Radcliffe much later. It is not likely, but possible, that she met Calkins or Howes, given their proximity to Cambridge. Dykes was fortunate enough to have a strong and supportive faculty advisor. She did not appear to encounter overt racism at Radcliffe, although one has to wonder, given the state of race relations in the United States at that time. Yale continued to admit women for graduate study after 1900, but the institution was not flooded with female students pursuing doctorates in philosophy. Just three more women earned doctoral degrees in the discipline at Yale before 1920: Mary K. Benedict (1903), Mary Isabel Park (1904), and Muriel Bacheler (1912).



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Mary Kendrick Benedict (1876-1956) earned a bachelor’s degree at Vassar College in 1897 and a doctorate at Yale in 1903 with a dissertation on the metaphysics of F. H. Bradley. She was the daughter of Anne (Kendrick) and Wayland Richardson Benedict, a professor of philosophy at the University of Cincinnati. Her brother, Stanely Rossiter Benedict (1884–1936), gained renown as a chemist. Little information is available about Mary Benedict’s education and early professional life, and it appears that her dissertation is no longer extant. Yet with the doctorate from Yale in hand, she became the first president of Sweet Briar College for women in Virginia and recruited eight faculty to welcome a class of just over fifty students in the institution’s first year. She remained at Sweet Briar for a decade, resigning to study at Johns Hopkins and establish a career in medicine. After leaving philosophy, she held positions at Bellevue Hospital in New York, Hampton Institute in Virginia, Ring Sanitarium in Massachusetts, and Connecticut College, where she was the college physician. After 1930, it appears that she went into private practice.74 Mary Isabel Park (1868–1966) was born in Monterrey, Mexico to Andrew Park, an American citizen, and Mary Park, an Irish immigrant, in 1868. She earned an undergraduate degree at Mount Holyoke College in 1893, thus is likely to have studied with Marietta Kies and/or Caroline Miles Hill, discussed in Chapter 3. She spent some time studying abroad—at the University of London and University of Perugia in Italy. After earning her bachelor’s degree, she taught at girls’ schools in Massachusetts and New Jersey, then spent five years at the Worthington School in Berlin, Connecticut, before entering Yale to study philosophy at the graduate level. Her dissertation at Yale in 1904 was entitled “A Study of the Philosophical Basis of Leibniz’ Optimism,” the only hard copy of which appears to be in the collection of the Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz Bibliothek in Hanover, Germany. As was common among academics in her era, she did not produce any other philosophical work. The year after completing the doctorate, she was offered a position at Heidelberg University in Ohio, where she remained until her retirement in 1940. At Heidelberg, she

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served as the dean of women (1905–29), as a faculty member in education and philosophy (1929–38); and as acting dean (1938–40).75 Muriel Bacheler (1890–1981) earned a doctorate in philosophy at Yale in 1915. She was raised near Hartford, Connecticut, the daughter of Rebecca (Fuller) and Rev. Francis P. Bacheler. She studied under Mary Whiton Calkins at Wellesley, earning a bachelor’s degree from the college in 1912. She and her brother Theodore (1893–1968) both studied at Yale; Muriel earned the doctorate in philosophy in 1915, and Theodore completed a master of divinity in 1917. In her dissertation, Bacheler examined mysticism as “an epistemological problem,” and this is the only academic work she produced. She married Edgar B. Dawkins immediately after completing her studies at Yale, started a family, and appears to have set professional aspirations aside.76 Radcliffe began conferring doctorates in 1902, but only four students earned a PhD in philosophy there before 1920: Eleanor Rowland, Frances Rousmaniere, Grace Marshall, and Eleanor Patterson (1914). Eleanor Harris Rowland (1882–1944) was born in Lee, Massachusetts, to Elizabeth (Gould) and Rev. Lyman Sibley Rowland. She attended Oberlin College, but completed her studies at Radcliffe College, with a bachelor’s degree in 1903, a master’s in 1904, and a doctorate in 1905. She held faculty positions at Mount Holyoke (1905–12) and Reed College (1912–17), and conducted a good deal of research, primarily about women and psychology, in each position. During the First World War, she began service work with the American Red Cross and continued working in social welfare and psychological services for a number of years. This was due to a combination of natural interests and gender norms. She had married in 1917, to Harry A. Wembridge, and the academic world was less than friendly to women who chose marriage over career at this point in history. Rather than return to academia, she worked at Walter Reed Hospital and the US Surgeon General’s office in Washington, DC. She and her family moved to the Midwest in the mid-1920s, where she served as a psychologist at the Women’s Protective Association and a girls’ advocate at the Cuyohoga County Juvenile Court, both in Cleveland, Ohio. Along with her



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dissertation on aesthetics she produced a number of works on art, psychology, and social development.77 Frances Rousmaniere (1876–1964) was a student of Mary Whiton Calkins at Wellesley, completing a bachelor’s degree at the college in 1900 and a master’s in 1904, and the two maintained a collegial relationship through the years. She earned a doctorate in 1906 with a dissertation on experimental psychology. She produced only a handful of publications immediately after earning her degree, however. Like Eleanor Rowland and Ethel Puffer Howes, Rousmaniere’s career was truncated when she chose to marry. She taught at Mount Holyoke (1906–8) and Smith College (1908–10), but stopped working after her marriage to Arthur Dewing, a Harvard business professor. This was in large part due to her own belief that her responsibilities as a wife, mother, and housekeeping took priority. When asked if she thought women could have both a career and a family, she replied “I have never seen it done.” She would not return to teaching until her children were grown—a mathematics position at Bennington College in Vermont (1943–5). Rousmaniere’s correspondence and unpublished papers are in the archives of the Schlesinger Library at the Radcliffe Institute at Harvard University.78 Grace Eiler Marshall (1877–1967) followed an unusual career path for a woman in her era. After earning a bachelor’s degree at McMaster University in Ontario in 1898, she held a number of “assorted teaching jobs.” In 1906, she married Troward Marshall, a Unitarian minister, and then began graduate studies at Radcliffe. Her dissertation in 1910 examined the ethical theory of Jean-Marie Guyau (1854–88). She would produce only one additional published work, a lecture on religion and secularization. Between 1910 and 1918, Marshall attended to home and family while also serving as a tutor. Shortly before her husband’s early death in 1922, she established the Marshall Tutoring School, which she managed until her retirement in 1936.79 Eleanor Robb Patterson (ca. 1890–1920) did not leave a significant paper trail due to her early death. She earned a bachelor’s degree at Wellesley and went on to complete a master’s (1911) and a doctorate (1914) at Radcliffe. Her

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dissertation was entitled “Romantic Elements in Hegel’s Philosophy,” and she was working on a book about romanticism when her life was cut short by illness in 1920.80 Between 1921 and 1930, nine additional women would earn doctorates in philosophy at Radcliffe, among them Susanne Langer (1926) and Mary Coolidge (1930). But in the early decades of the twentieth century, more women were attracted to other fields, most notably, philology (now linguistics), history and social science, and the natural sciences.81 Women were not admitted to all degree programs at Yale until 1969 and at Harvard until 1977.

6 Overcoming the Odds Women on Their Own at Johns Hopkins, Smith, Bern, and the Sorbonne

Eight doctoral recipients in this volume were the only women at a given institution to complete a doctorate in philosophy or related fields in this early period: Christine Ladd-Franklin (Johns Hopkins, 1882), Julia Gulliver (Smith College, 1888), Florence Watson Blackett (Boston University, 1890), Sarah Maxon Cobb (Syracuse University, 1890), Emma Rauschenbusch (University of Bern, 1894), Eleanor Tibbetts (University of Pennsylvania, 1894), Alma Willis Sydenstricker (Wooster College, 1895), and Anna Julia Cooper (Sorbonne, 1925). Four of these women established themselves professionally and produced enough written material to discuss and assess their contributions to philosophical discourse: Christine Ladd-Franklin, Julia Gulliver, Emma Rauschenbusch, and Anna Julia Cooper. There is a scarcity of information about Blackett, Cobb, Sydenstricker, and Tibbetts. Their theses do not appear to be extant, and they did not produce any published work. Sydenstricker had a successful career as a religion professor at Agnes Scott College (1920–43). But other than accounts by alumni who adored her—in

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part because she was a relative of Pearl S. Buck and stood by the writer through her divorce scandal—there is little in print to tell us about her life and work.1 By all accounts, the academic experiences Ladd-Franklin and Gulliver had as graduate students were relatively positive. Ladd-Franklin ran into administrative barriers at Johns Hopkins, as discussed later in the chapter, but received good mentoring from male professors and succeeded in teaching at coeducational institutions, albeit on a part-time basis. She is one of the most prolific writers in this volume and has deservedly received a fair amount of attention in recent decades. Gulliver returned to Smith College for graduate study after completing a bachelor’s degree there. She also appears to have received good mentoring while at Smith. Like many women in this study, she published only one significant work and a handful of articles. She exercised influence, however, by maintaining a commitment to women’s higher education, teaching and serving as president of Rockford College throughout her career. Emma Rauschenbusch and Anna Julia Cooper faced obstacles to earning their doctoral degrees, though for vastly different reasons. Rauschenbusch was from a relatively influential family, the daughter of a minister and theologian from Germany who became prominent in Rochester, New York. Yet she was unable to complete a graduate program in Berlin and Leipzig. In the end, she conducted most of her work with an egalitarian professor at the University of Leipzig, but institutional barriers prevented her from defending her thesis. Ultimately, she was granted a doctorate at the University of Bern in Switzerland. She taught as a missionary in India for most of her career and published three books: her dissertation on Mary Wollstonecraft and two volumes related to missions. Cooper was born into slavery and became a widow at a young age. She and Mary Church Terrell, discussed in Volume I, were classmates at Oberlin College, completing bachelor’s degrees in 1884. Cooper also earned a master’s degree at the college. Due to her need to be self-supporting, she held positions as a teacher for many years. Her first attempt to earn a doctoral degree around 1910 had to be set aside when she took in five nieces and



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nephews who had recently been orphaned. Vowing to complete her degree at the Sorbonne, even if she had to swim there to get there,2 she became the fourth African American woman to earn a doctorate. She gave many addresses and speeches, was a teacher throughout her career, and published a collection of essays on race, gender, and equality.

Excellence Speaks for Itself Christine Ladd-Franklin (1847–1930) BA, Vassar (1869) PhD, Mathematics and Logic, Johns Hopkins (1882, completed; 1926 granted) Dissertation: “On the Algebra of Logic” Career: High school teacher in New York (1882–91); study in Göttingen/ Berlin (1891–2); Sarah Berliner Women’s Graduate Fellowship, administrator (1901–18); American Philosophical Association charter member (1902); Johns Hopkins University (±1902–9); Columbia University (1910–30)

Life and Career Christine Ladd-Franklin was the first of three children born to Eliphalet and Augusta Ladd in Windsor, Connecticut.3 Her parents were well educated and from fairly influential families. Her father was a businessman whose uncle, William Ladd, established the American Peace Society in 1828. Her mother was the niece of John Milton Niles, a newspaper editor and US PostmasterGeneral in President Martin Van Buren’s administration. Ladd-Franklin was introduced to feminist ideals when she was just five years old and her mother took her to a lecture by the then-prominent writer and feminist, Elizabeth Oakes Smith.4 After her mother’s death in 1860, she moved to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where she lived with her paternal grandmother.

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After completing secondary school, Ladd-Franklin became a member of the second class to enter Vassar College for women—in 1866. Her journal entries show that this was a dream come true for her as an intellectually minded young woman. Like many women in this volume, financial difficulties interrupted her studies, but an aunt provided funds to continue at Vassar the following year. With an interest in the sciences, she studied with the astronomer, Maria Mitchell, who shared and quite likely encouraged Ladd-Franklin’s feminist views. Just over a decade later, Mitchell would be one of the co-founders of the Association of Collegiate Alumnae (now American Association of University Women). Ladd-Franklin graduated from Vassar in 1869 and, also like many women (and some men) in this era, she taught secondary school for several years before pursuing graduate study. Ladd-Franklin had a scientific mind and put it to good use. She began her studies in mathematics, then gravitated toward logic. After a year of study in Germany, first in Gottingen with G. E. Müller (1850–1934), then in Berlin with Hermann von Helmholtz (1821–94), her interest shifted to experimental psychology. Like Mary Whiton Calkins and Ellen Bliss Talbot, Ladd-Franklin published a good deal: a book in psychology on color theory and over forty articles. Unlike the majority of women in this volume, she was married, to Fabian Franklin (1853–1939), a mathematician, with whom she had two children. Just the second woman to complete doctoral study in philosophy in the United States, Ladd-Franklin had applied to Johns Hopkins University, at that time a new institution, using only her first initial and last name. There were objections to admitting her once administrators discovered she was female, but strong support from an egalitarian professor, James Sylvester (1814–97), was enough to win approval, and she began her studies there in 1878.5 When Charles Sanders Peirce (1839–1914) arrived at the university in 1880, he became a valued mentor and significantly influenced Ladd-Franklin’s thought. Later in life, she reflected on her time at the university, referring to the positive energy that infused the classrooms in those early years of the institution’s



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history.6 Certainly it was an exciting time to be there. Josiah Royce (1855–1916) had just finished his doctorate at Johns Hopkins as Ladd-Franklin entered the institution, and it is likely that she crossed paths with the philosophical idealist George Sylvester Morris (1840–89), who was also lecturing at the university at this time. John Dewey (1859–1952) entered the institution as a student in 1884, two years after Ladd-Franklin completed doctoral degree work. Yet, Ladd-Franklin was subject to disadvantages at Johns Hopkins. For instance, although she was granted a fellowship, she was listed as a student in official documents rather than as a fellow, because she was a woman. A more serious offense, however, was the university’s refusal to officially confer her with a doctorate, even though she had completed all degree requirements. The institution feared setting a precedent and thus being forced to open its doors to women. This is a distinction she shares with Mary Whiton Calkins and Ethel Puffer Howes, discussed in Chapter 5, who were denied doctoral degrees by Harvard. To its credit, Johns Hopkins recognized the error after a time and conferred Ladd-Franklin’s degree retroactively in 1926. She was the only woman to earn a doctorate in philosophy at Johns Hopkins until well into the twentieth century. Despite her strong publishing record and abilities as a professor, however, she never held a full-time position at a college or university. Instead she taught as a part-time professor or even volunteered her time at the institutions where her husband held professorships—Johns Hopkins and Columbia University. She experienced other slights and injustices due to the sexist practices and policies in place at the time. For example, Edward Titchener, a colleague at Cornell, attempted to bar women from his Society of Experimentalists, once writing to a male colleague, “I have been pestered . . . by Mrs Ladd-Franklin for not having women at the meetings, and she threatens to make various scenes in person and in print. Possibly, she will [force] us to meet—like rabbits—in some dark place underground.” Ladd-Franklin reprimanded Titchener in response saying that his behavior was “medieval . . . unconscientious . . . immoral [and] worse than that—so unscientific.”7 Yet a historical discussion of Titchener’s

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work and legacy credits him with being a strong supporter of the women who studied with him as graduate students. Perhaps he was comfortable serving as an authority figure, but had difficulty accepting women as peers.8 Along with Ritchie, Calkins and Talbot, Ladd-Franklin was one of the most productive writers among the women discussed in this volume. Roughly half of her writings focus on mathematics and symbolic logic. Another quarter of her work consists of discussions related to psychology and color theory, and the remainder is devoted to epistemology and philosophical reasoning. She published far more work than it is possible to discuss fully in this study. Here I will focus on some key selections that best demonstrate her contributions to the discipline and align well with the concerns and approaches of other women in this volume.

On Logic and Reasoning In her doctoral thesis, “On the Algebra of Logic” (1882), Ladd-Franklin outlined the systems of logic that held currency in her day, recognizing the work of Boole, Jevons, Schroder, McColl, and Peirce. Then she introduced new considerations into logic that would bring clarity to future discussions. Her stated goal in this work was to ensure that a system of logic could better express the ideas we discuss in natural language. The innovation with which she is credited in her thesis is her recognition that logic had been unable to accommodate the ambiguities, negations, and rebuttals that are commonplace in everyday speech. She used a negative copula symbol to represent such and provided formulas and tables to illustrate just how well the introduction of this feature would help to clarify our ideas. Thankfully, she also wrote an article in 1889 that made her system and its merits understandable to nonlogicians, “On some characteristics of symbolic logic,” in the American Journal of Psychology. While crediting Boole with “solving” the problem of logic, in “Some Characteristics,” Ladd-Franklin makes valuable contributions to logic as it



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was then understood. Ordinary logic, she says, cannot adequately address the problem of extricating terms or introducing conjunctions or disjunctions into a proposition. The example she gives is one that is easily understood in natural language: All chemistry students also study either biology or physics, Chemistry students who do not study physics all study biology. The problem Ladd-Franklin aimed to address here is that logic failed to recognize that a subject and predicate “are not necessarily indivisible wholes.” In her system, “they can be broken up and their separate elements shifted at pleasure from one side of the copula to the other.”9 Her use of the copula allows the system to show whether the propositions in question are “universal or particular, positive or negative, symmetrical or non-symmetrical and provide a simple rule to transform a given proposition from one form into any other form.”10 To bolster her claims, she refers readers to the work of John Neville Keynes (1852–1949), who produced a text, Studies and Exercises in Formal Logic, which worked out her system in everyday language. She further clarifies that a system of logic needs to be able to accommodate: (1) expression—the ability to take the “voluminous number of propositions” in everyday language and reduce them to a limited number; (2) combination— rules for uniting or dividing ideas; and (3) elimination—rules for omitting some information (with the implication being that such information is not necessary) while retaining other information.11 A good system of logic, in Ladd-Franklin’s view, will “allow no more variety of expression than absolutely necessary. A single fact, instead of being expressed at pleasure in four different ways, as is done in real life, must be expressed in one way only.”12 Ladd-Franklin spends a good deal of time in this article making a case for a system of notation that will make logic uniform and consistent, simply for the sake of clarity. She recognizes that presenting logic in a somewhat mathematical form, makes it appear to be inaccessible to nonlogicians. This is unfortunate, but incidental in her view. Just as chemistry uses its own set of notations,

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logic must establish its own means of expression as a kind of shorthand for practitioners. At the same time, she comically notes that “a very large amount of very useless discussion might have been saved if non-mathematical signs had been employed for logic from the start.” The usefulness of such symbols is “fully equaled by its deceptiveness” at times.13 Three publications shed light on Ladd-Franklin’s understanding of epistemology and philosophical reasoning: “Epistemology for the Logician,” (1908) and a discussion of “explicit primitives” in two parts, published in the Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods in 1911 and 1912.14 These relatively short articles are contributions to a larger body of work by other women (and men) in this period, the main objective of which was to dismantle forms of discourse and terminology that were considered outdated and lacking in clarity—terms like substance, absolute, and soul. Elements of this problem were being taken up by Calkins when she discussed “self ” and “soul.” It is also present in the work of Eliza Ritchie as she ventures from philosophy of mind into an early understanding of psychology (or more accurately, psychology-as-epistemology). We see Talbot contributing to this effort as well in her “Conscious Elements” article, and we see aspects of it in Matilde Castro’s exploration of the relation between (instrumental) logic and (functional) psychology. In the first installment on “explicit primitives” Ladd-Franklin simply reminds her peers that not all terms can be defined or demonstrated. There are limits to any “science” or area of study. Therefore, it is important to recognize what we can truly assert: terms (or concepts) and propositions (or statements). We must then be ready for them to be rigorously inspected and open to all. Again making use of her orientation in logic, she notes that we can observe only particulars. When we attempt to discuss or make rules about universals, we are in the realm of hypotheticals. It is especially important to recognize the boundaries of discourse (and here Ladd-Franklin also implies the boundaries of knowledge), particularly in the mismatch in understandings she saw between idealists and realists in her day. This article was written specifically



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in anticipation of the upcoming meeting of the American Philosophical Association, in which these two competing philosophical movements would debate the merits of their respective points of view. The same year, Mary Whiton Calkins would publish her own work discussing the merits of idealism versus realism.15 The second installment of Ladd-Franklin’s “explicit primitives” discussion was a response to Warner Fite (1867–1955), who strongly objected to the claims she made in the first article. It is clear that Fite misunderstood Ladd-Franklin’s intent, but her response further clarifies her views. The term itself—“explicit primitives”—was used not to suggest that primitive or foundational ideas somehow get at the “essences” of the stuff of the world. Nor did she use this term to signal that foundational ideas are automatically apparent or explicit. The term refers to what is basic or foundational in our concepts. Ladd-Franklin was simply urging philosophers to do what they are best-known for doing: first, define terms, then discuss how they apply or are instructive in a given situation. “Epistemology for the Logician” begins by acknowledging philosophy’s reputation for clinging to time-worn theories without demonstrating their accuracy or value. In the sciences, outdated hypotheses and theories are rigorously vetted and weeded out when they fail to be useful. Yet philosophy has generally taken an approach that says “once a system, then always a system, no matter how feeble a doctrine may be.”16 To be meaningful or useful, however, an academic discipline must produce knowledge, not empty theories—unless philosophy is meant to be “like the so-called philosophy of Nietzsche, merely a department of literature or art.”17 To remedy this problem, Ladd-Franklin proposes a new approach to philosophy to ensure adequate rigor and a commitment to truth. This approach would establish18 a) A theory of reality that focuses on immediate experience, rather than a hypothetical world beyond experience; b) A reformed psychology that recognizes there are elements/ constituents [of experience] that cannot be further examined;

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c) A theory of judgment that distinguishes between a concept as “a onetime-one-place relation” and a judgment, which is a relation between two or more concepts; d) The truth of propositions, again, making a distinction—in this case between particulars, which are based in immediate experience (in space and time) and universals, which arise out of observations of events and patterns over time and, like Peirce’s “probable induction” allow us to make predictions and attain genuine knowledge. In closing this paper, which was delivered at the International Congress for Philosophy in Heidelberg, Ladd-Franklin’s motivations become clear. Her aim is to hold her contemporaries in philosophy accountable for failing to meet the standards she has outlined—pragmatists in particular. This is interesting, given the fact that Charles Sanders Peirce was an early influence and that in recent years she has been identified as a pragmatist.19 Yet in her view the pragmatist’s theory of truth applies to only a small subset of truth. When we make a statement about the world—that water flows downhill, for instance—we know it is true, not because of its consequences, but because of “immediate and innumerable instances” of its occurrence.20 Pragmatism’s truths are actually hypotheses that become theories, which we then might determine over time to be true. But as construed in her day, Ladd-Franklin charged that pragmatism’s “truth” is “not only immoral, but also untrue.” Instead, truth is like a network. Truths “hang together” and are confirmed by “cross-connections,” similar to the root system of a tree that gives it stability and strength. Making use of a feminine metaphor, she concludes by saying that truth is like “a work of weaving—a woven tissue.”21 In “Intuition and Reason” (1893) Ladd-Franklin addressed epistemology and gender in ways that are surprisingly modern. If only the genealogy of women’s thought had been more accessible in the academic world, her work could have informed the “women’s ways of knowing” trends that were so prevalent nearly a century later, in the late 1980s. In this article, Ladd-Franklin identifies the claim



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that men and women have different kinds of minds as a myth, pure and simple. Reason in her view is the process of making use of theories and principles in a practical setting. “Intuition, in the sense in which it is used when discussing male and female minds” has a number of meanings, it can cover instinct, experience, automatic impulses, or habitual behaviors.22 Ladd-Franklin is insistent that there is no difference between the male and female mind, however. Instead, there are simply different kinds of knowledge that people acquire based on their social circumstances: “Women’s interests have been so exclusively social that they have developed a sense for the physical expression of emotion which makes society for them a matter of complicated relations, of delicate susceptibility to play of feeling. . . . But there are men who are quite the equals of women in this respect.”23 She provides a number of examples and insights into the varying types of knowledge individuals can acquire—mathematics, music, homemaking, and politics. She then declares that All is, at bottom, reason; in one case it is conscious [i.e., rational]; in another it is unconscious [i.e., intuitive], but can be forced into consciousness. . . . Because a woman’s interests lie more than a man’s in regions in which thought is instinctive and automatic, it does not follow that she has developed any peculiar powers of intuition.24 Ladd-Franklin cites Wundt, whose students conducted an experiment designed to determine whether conscious/rational or unconscious/intuitive decision making was in play in a set of specific scenarios. Not surprisingly, his findings showed that the more “reasoned” an action is, the less automatic/ intuitive it is. Ladd-Franklin refers to this experiment to bolster her claim, not only that reason and intuition are present in both men and women (as in Wundt’s subjects, presumably), but also that intuition is in a sense a higher form of reason. She closes with this clearly feminist statement: So long as a woman’s highest duty was to please her lord and master, her task was simple, but women are now awake to a sense of wider responsibilities.

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They are now aware that it is their highest duty to be the best possible kind of a human being, and to do whatever lies within their strength toward making the world the best possible kind of a world to live in.25

Social/Political Discourse Julia Gulliver (1856–1940) BA, Smith College (1879) PhD, Philosophy, Smith College (1888) Career: Rockford College (1890–1902); study in Leipzig (1892–3); Rockford College, president (1902–19)

Life and Career Julia Gulliver was the daughter of John P. and Frances (Curtis) Gulliver and was born in Norwich, Connecticut. Her father was an ordained minister, seminary professor, and a college president. Before Gulliver was in her teens, the family had moved from Norwich to Chicago and then to Galesburg, Illinois, where John Gulliver was president of Knox College. After moving again to Binghamton, New York, Julia Gulliver entered the first class of Smith College, graduating in 1879. She studied philosophy and religion with her father, who by that time had become a professor at Andover Theological Seminary, before deciding to pursue graduate work in philosophy. Gulliver was the third woman in the United States to earn a doctorate in philosophy—at Smith College in 1888. As an undergraduate at Smith, Gulliver paved the way for future doctoral degree earners, Mary Whiton Calkins and Anna Alice Cutler. While these Smith alumnae would go on to graduate work at Harvard and Yale, respectively, she decided to return for a doctorate at Smith, where she would study under George Webber, a lecturer in ethics



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(1884–91) and Henry Norman Gardiner (Smith faculty, 1884–1924). Gardiner in particular was a strong supporter of women in philosophy who would later help establish the American Philosophical Association and welcome female colleagues as members. Gulliver spent her academic career at Rockford Female Seminary (later College) near Chicago. She was among the many women in this volume who travelled to Germany to study, which at the time was considered the ideal location for graduate work in philosophy. While in Leipzig, Gulliver studied under Wilhelm Wundt, a leading ethicist and experimental psychologist. When she returned, she taught philosophy and biblical literature at Rockford (1890–1902) then became its president (1902–19). Gulliver’s works include translations of Wilhelm Wundt’s Ethics (1887) and The Facts of Moral Life (1901); a collection of her own essays and speeches, Studies in Democracy (1917); and a handful of articles in philosophy journals. Like so many career women in this era, she was unmarried. Through her work at Rockford Seminary, Gulliver became acquainted with Jane Addams, and the two women were relatively close through the years. She admired and promoted Addams’s work in social welfare. In addition, she was acquainted and/or corresponded with a number of figures discussed in this study. She exchanged letters with James Hayden Tufts at the University of Chicago, about hiring women from the graduate program in philosophy, psychology, and education there and giving him feedback on their performance. She also corresponded with James Creighton of Cornell when he was editor of The Philosophical Review. As a student at Smith, she is likely to have known others featured in this volume who graduated from the college in the 1880s, Mary Whiton Calkins and Anna Alice Cutler. She may have met or perhaps even travelled with Eliza Ritchie and Marietta Kies, both of whom studied in Leipzig at least part of the year Gulliver spent there, 1892–3. Emma Rauschenbusch may have been among the peers she met there as well. Gulliver’s written work addresses intellectual questions that were in play in her era: psychology and theories of mind, the free will/determinism debate,

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and social/political concerns. She held relatively progressive religious views, leaned toward liberal political philosophy, and embraced feminist thought.

Julia Gulliver’s Philosophical Work Gulliver’s first publication in a philosophy venue was an early discussion of dreams as a psychological phenomenon. “The Psychology of Dreams” appeared in print in 1888, in the Journal of Speculative Philosophy, edited by William Torrey Harris (1835–1909).26 As discussed in Volume I, Harris was a central figure in the early idealist movement in philosophy, who established himself as an educationally minded thinker in St. Louis, Missouri in the 1860s. He was a strong supporter of women’s rights, and he provided careerboosting opportunities for (white) women in K-12 education, publishing, and academia throughout his lifetime. Gulliver’s article on dreams is the only piece in Harris’s journal to be produced by an early woman doctoral recipient. Each of the other women who published in JSP were public school educators or independent scholars. In “The Psychology of Dreams,” Gulliver explores the interplay of mind and body during sleep. Her overarching question is whether the activity of the mind during sleep is a form of conscious activity, and as an extension of this question, whether the selfhood we experience in our dreams is the same entity as the self that we experience during our waking hours. In the course of her discussion, Gulliver sketches the main questions that dominated the exploration of dreams at the time: What “mental faculties” were active during dreams? What initiates our dreams—physical or mental stimuli? What is the role of memory and imagination when a person is in a dream state? What is the distinction between conscious versus subconscious mental activity? Early on in this article, Gulliver asserts that “in sleep, the soul never remits its activity.” Our thoughts while in a dream state may not be fully “lucid,” yet it is clear that in dreams we can have “a certain idea, however confused, of what



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we think and act and suffer.”27 In her view, this demonstrates that “the acts of the soul are always conscious acts. The fact that we retain knowledge of our personal identity through sleep is a sufficient proof of this.”28 Citing Descartes as well as other thinkers whose ideas were well respected in her day—Dugald Stewart (1753–1828), William Hammond (1828–1900), and Samuel Clarke (1675–1729)—she makes two claims related to personal identity. The first is the following: even in the midst of the most unusual dream, the dreamer has the experience of being the main character in the scene before them. They retain a sense of their own selfhood. The dream is their own dream—not the dream of another. The second claim she makes is this: even though we may not be able to actively exercise our will to achieve a specific outcome while in a dream state, individuals still maintain a sense of having needs, interests, or desires that then play themselves out in dreams. We may not be actively employing our will, but we are conscious of having our moral aims met or frustrated while in a dream. At this point, she introduces the role of distinct mental faculties into her discussion. While memory and imagination seem to play dominant roles when we dream, other faculties, like imitation, judgment, or reason, can enter into our dream states. The latter faculties can edit or alter our dreams to make them less overwhelming, confusing, or frightening, she says. The problem is not with the nature of our mental capacities themselves, but that we have less command over them in the midst of a dream. In the end, Gulliver concludes that when the mind is at rest in sleep, its activity is the same in kind, but less forceful in degree than during waking hours.29

Free Will versus Determinism Another significant contribution to philosophy as it emerged as an academic profession is Gulliver’s response to an article by Eliza Ritchie on free will in The Philosophical Review. This exchange appears to be the first public debate between two academic women philosophers in the United States. Although

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both were influenced by early American idealism, Gulliver and Ritchie nevertheless disagreed strongly about the nature of human will and the question of whether we are able to make truly free choices within a world that is at least partly fixed and determined. Drawing on Spinoza, the thinker she most admired, Ritchie held that libertarian free will is a fantasy. In her view, human capacities are fixed by the laws of nature, therefore we are bound by those very laws of nature. Gulliver not only disagrees but also charges Ritchie with committing a logical fallacy. The notion of “cause” upon which Ritchie’s arguments rely is used in a number of different ways. The sense of cause that Ritchie really has in mind, in Gulliver’s view, is the scholastic notion of logical causation. Gulliver’s counter claim is worth quoting at length: It is possible for a man to be a libertarian and hold that volitions are subject to the law of causation in two senses: (i) that they are caused by motives as being their essential conditions . . . (2) that volitions are caused by the conscious, choosing ego as being their efficient cause. When such a libertarian doctrine is practically held and defended, though with great variety of treatment, by such writers as Wundt, Paulsen, Lotze, Janet, Martineau, Green, James, and Baldwin, I submit that it is an anachronism to go back to the scholastic figment of the liberty of indifference, to find a form of libertarianism that can be successfully coped with by the clever determinism of to-day.30 In a subsequent article by John Dewey, “The Ego as Cause,”31 that also addressed the free will/determinism debate, Gulliver sought to make a similar objection. Writing to James Creighton, editor of The Philosophical Review, she first half-joked that “the stones will cry out” if she failed to respond to Dewey.32 She wanted to make the case for her view of free will and causation in her own words, for fear of being misrepresented and further misunderstood. Creighton’s reply does not appear to have been preserved, but a few weeks later Gulliver again sought an opportunity to respond: “If nothing appears from me in answer to Prof. Dewey’s article, it will inevitably seem to be because I have



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nothing to say, and I should be sorry for that, inasmuch as he refers to my paper directly as his point of attack.”33 The article she proposed to write was set aside, however, in favor of an article by James H. Hyslop (1854–1920) whose views were similar to her own.

On Democracy In her most significant work, Studies in Democracy, Gulliver addresses her concerns in three chapters: “The Essence of Democracy,” “In Search of the Holy Grail” (regarding women’s advancement), and “Efficiency in Democracy.” The ideas that Gulliver discusses in the opening chapter of this work are wide-ranging. While she draws some parallels between the outbreak of war in Europe and America’s struggle to maintain national unity through the Civil War era, her main focus here is on democracy as an ideal to be embraced on both an individual and a national level. Democracy, she says, is “an attitude of heart, mind, and soul.”34 It cannot be “a dead abstraction, but . . . [must be] a living organism known as the American people.”35 She adds to this a claim that she expands on later in the work. The equality that has traditionally been embraced in the United States is not a collectivism or a bland uniformity, but instead is the ability of each person to express their individuality—to be part of the whole, yet to stand apart.36 In this chapter, Gulliver puts forth the classic conservative view that a democracy cannot guarantee equality of results, but only equality of opportunity. Lamentably, she accepts many of the tired old claims about race that simply served to perpetuate racism in the United States. While asserting that all people deserve the freedom to achieve, for instance, she simultaneously claimed that some cultural groups were naturally inferior. She held more modern views about women, however. Gulliver rejected the claim that men are the initiators and creators in society and women the preservers and nurturers.37 Both men and women must be attuned to concerns related, not

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only to home and family but also to the sanctity of life itself. “Men and women are alike summoned”—in her view, by God—to ask: “What will make peace not only possible, but honorable and permanent? What can make the human personality more sacrosanct in all its relations”—in the family as well as in public/political life?38 In regard to gender, then, Gulliver stands apart from many of the women discussed in this study, Volume I in particular, who fully embraced gender complementarity. In an era in which the peace movement, the temperance movement, and any number of other reform movements were established by women and fueled by ideals of maternal feminism, Gulliver insists that men should share the burden of care and concern for their families, their communities, and perhaps even the nation and the globe as well. Gulliver was a woman of her time, of course. She also devoted her life to promoting women’s higher education. Therefore, she certainly paid close attention to the achievements of women and applauded them. The second chapter of Studies in Democracy was devoted to just such achievements and is an especially optimistic discussion. The paragraphs of this chapter make it clear that, like Emma Rauschenbusch in this chapter and Marietta Kies, discussed in Chapter 3, Gulliver was familiar with Christian socialism or the “social gospel” tradition. She refers to the “God-intoxicated souls” who know that God is present in the world today. This is a Hegelian God, in Gulliver’s view, by which she means a God who is made manifest through the stages of evolution, presumably to make the world a better, more equitable place. Using feminine imagery, she describes this God as one who “groaneth in travail” while awaiting the redemption of the world.39 In today’s more secular age, such faith-based terminology seems misplaced in a discussion of political philosophy. But her goal was to inspire her readers and urge them to see what would otherwise be mundane political concerns as matters that are infused with meaning—even purpose in the ultimate sense of the word. To strengthen her claims about women and their influence, Gulliver discusses a number of examples of international cooperation that—she believes—point to a future of cross-cultural harmony. The Panama Canal



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serves as a bridge between East and West, for instance. The San Francisco World’s fair brought all nations together to celebrate achievements in science and the arts. Artistic creations in and of themselves have celebrated not only unity but also the influence of women and/as mothers throughout the world. She celebrates the contributions to science and the social good by Marie Curie (1867–1934), Bertha von Sutter (1843–1914), and Selma Lagerlof (1858–1940) internationally and by Jane Addams (1860–1935), Lillian Wald (1867–1940), Vida Scudder (1861–1954), and Katherine Bement Davis (1860–1935) in the United States40 These women demonstrate that women can accomplish great things because they have contributed to the “evolution of social consciousness.”41 Their work helps the nation to realize “the democratic ideal [which] is not the product of a single mind. It is the result of common experience and the common thinking of many generations.”42 In her view, women like Addams, with whom she appears to have been fairly close, were helping to lead us away from egoistic ideals that make individuals unsympathetic to the needs of others. Again, using religiously infused language, Gulliver asserts that Addams and other colleagues were helping her contemporaries see that “no soul can be saved without the common salvation of all.”43 Women were taking the lead in bringing both sympathy and unity into their work in public life, she said, and in that sense were the most creative force in American society in her day. Gulliver’s final chapter in Studies in Democracy tackled the problem of how to balance economic/industrial efficiency with moral/political liberty. She draws contrasts between the United States and Germany to illustrate the points she makes in this chapter, which gives us a window into the mind of a thinker who was heavily influenced by German idealism, but grappling with political realities that were yet to be put into context. Gulliver’s main claims about German governance at that time were that (1) it placed an emphasis on efficiency; (2) it was still influenced by feudalism; and (3) it let state interests take priority over individual interests. Throughout this discussion, Gulliver recognizes the strengths of Germany’s economic and political system. The country provided its citizens with excellent education, employment

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opportunities, and social welfare benefits.44 Yet, its emphasis on efficiency, often at the expense of individual autonomy, in combination with its feudal institutions and power brokers led to a situation in which personal and political freedom could all too easily be erased. “No nation has so completely subordinated the individual to the state,” according to Gulliver.45 From here, she argues that part of the problem with an over-emphasis on efficiency in political life is that it fails to recognize that a nation is a “spiritual organism.”46 Ideally, a society will find a way to unite efficiency and freedom, social welfare and individual initiative, so that in “living, breathing, throbbing common life [a nation can] find self-expression in every part, as each part finds self-expression in the life of the whole.”47 This, Gulliver says, is the essence of democracy.

Feminism, Philosophy, and Religion Emma Rauschenbusch (1856–1940) Rochester Female Seminary (ca. 1876) Wellesley College (1887–9) PhD, Philosophy, University of Bern (1894) Dissertation: “A Study of Mary Wollstonecraft and the Rights of Woman” Career: Chicago public schools (ca. 1876–7); Ongole, India, Women’s Baptist Mission Society, missionary, educator (1882–8); study in Berlin, Leipzig, and Bern, Switzerland (1891–4); Ongole Mission, educator and ethnologist (1894–1910)

Life and Career Emma Rauschenbusch was born in Rochester, New York, the second of three children born to Augustus and Caroline (Rump) Rauschenbusch. Both of her



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parents were German born, and her father was a well-respected minister and theological thinker in the evangelical Baptist tradition. She was relatively welleducated for a woman in this era, attending Rochester Female Seminary48 and later Wellesley College before studying in Europe. Her dissertation at Bern examined the life and ideas of Mary Wollstonecraft (1759–97), the English thinker who is most often identified as the first modern feminist, although Mary Astell (1666–1731) is sometimes credited with laying the foundations of Western feminism. Emma Rauschenbusch is one of just two women featured in this volume whose parents were immigrants. The other is Matilde Castro (Chicago, 1907). The Rauschenbusch family was fairly well-to-do, so she was able to visit her parents’ home country periodically. As the daughter of a Baptist minister and theologian, she worked as a missionary in India for several years before returning to the United States to study at Wellesley in the late 1880s. It is not clear if she earned a degree from the girls seminary in Rochester or from Wellesley. But she was able to undertake graduate study in Europe, as did her brother, Walter Rauschenbusch (1861–1918). Her German roots benefited her very little at European universities, however. She first sought to study in Berlin, then at the University of Leipzig where a professor who supported women’s higher education, Maximilian Heinze (1835–1909), served as a mentor, guiding her to write a dissertation on the life and thought of Mary Wollstonecraft. Like other universities in this era, Leipzig refused to fully accept her work, however, so Rauschenbusch had to transfer to Bern in Switzerland where her dissertation was vetted by Ludwig Stein (1859–1930). Emma Rauschenbusch has not received as much attention as her younger brother, Walter, who became a minister like their father. As was the case in many families during their lifetime, Walter received more educational advantages than Emma and their older sister Frida. He also earned a degree of fame as a theologian, public speaker, and social activist. The writings of

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both siblings show that they later departed from the orthodox faith they were raised with. Walter became a leading member of the Christian Socialist movement—the same movement Marietta Kies, discussed in Chapter 3, identified with in the 1890s. He later recast his views as the “social gospel”—a rejection of religious moralism, piety, and abstract Christian doctrines in favor of a conviction that religion should address real-world concerns, like hunger, poverty, and inequality. Emma served as a missionary to India both before and after earning her doctorate at Bern. Over a total of twenty years, she established a normal school for women and taught high school in Ongole, near India’s eastern coastline, roughly 625 miles/1000 km north of Kanyakumari, a city at the country’s southern tip. It appears that she developed an even more liberal understanding of religion than her brother. By the time she returned to the United States permanently in 1910, she was attracted to Theosophy and believed in reincarnation. She was single until her late thirties, when she married Rev. John Clough, the Baptist minister who founded the mission in Ongole. He had been widowed the previous year when his wife, Harriet (Sunderland) Clough, succumbed to illness. (Incidentally, Harriet was a sister-in-law of Eliza Sunderland, discussed in Chapter 3.) Clough was close to twenty-five years older than Rauschenbusch; she may have studied alongside his daughters, Nellora and Ongola, who also attended Wellesley College.

Emma Rauschenbusch’s Philosophical Work Rauschenbusch published three books: A Study of Mary Wollstonecraft and the Rights of Woman (1898), While Sewing Sandals: or, Tales of a Telugu Pariah Tribe (1899), and Social Christianity in the Orient: The Story of a Man, a Mission, and a Movement (1914). The last of these is an account of her husband’s life and missionary activities in Ongole. Her study of the Telugu tribe and the



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book about her husband (a collaborative effort that she published after his death) are both interesting for historical reasons. Sewing Sandals also has value as an early example of an ethnographic study of an Eastern cultural group by a Western colonialist—one who clearly pursued her task with a number of preconceived notions in mind. Each of these works may be of interest to students of anthropology, Christian theology, or missions. The work that is of interest for our purposes is Rauschenbusch’s study of Mary Wollstonecraft (1759–97), quite likely the first examination of a woman philosopher by a woman who formally studied philosophy at the graduate level. Rauschenbusch provides a thorough study of Wollstonecraft’s ideas, her views of women’s role and rights in particular. She also pays attention to Wollstonecraft’s political views generally speaking and—not surprising coming from a missionary—her religious views. Finally, she looks at Wollstonecraft’s reception in Germany, including the thinkers she may have influenced. Rauschenbusch accurately characterizes Wollstonecraft as a revolutionary thinker who was part of a circle that included English liberals, like Richard Price (1723–91), Thomas Paine (1737–1809), and Wollstonecraft’s future husband, William Godwin (1756–1836). One of the most vexing questions Wollstonecraft addressed at the time was how her older contemporary, Edmund Burke (1729–97), could oppose the prospect of a revolution in France. In fact, she produced her first extensive political work, A Vindication of the Rights of Man (1790) as a series, largely in response to Burke. His resistance to an abstract concept of political rights was misplaced in Wollstonecraft’s view. Burke believed political changes must take place gradually and that it is best to allow long-held traditions to evolve over time. Wollstonecraft considered this approach to be inadequate, because injustices that have accrued over time are simply compounded when we rely on time bound traditions to change. In her view an abstract assertion of rights helps establish a new set of ideals that will challenge and transform the concrete conditions we face. Rauschenbusch observes, however, that

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If Burke was one-sided in banishing the speculative element from politics, [Wollstonecraft] was equally one-sided in ignoring the significance of historical growth. The very demands for the Rights of Man . . . had their roots in the centuries that had passed. Mary Wollstonecraft . . . overlooks the intricate windings of these roots and rootlets. She sees [instead only] gross prejudice and immortal superstition.49 Rauschenbusch also notes that Burke was responsible for supporting many liberalizing movements during his long and rather distinguished political career. While she is sympathetic to some of Wollstonecraft’s criticisms of him, she had little tolerance for Wollstonecraft’s scorching rhetoric. She could and should have understood Burke better and should have had the ability to recognize the value of his ideas in context. Rauschenbusch could accept the passion with which she wrote, but could not quite excuse the lack of courtesy toward Burke.50 Wollstonecraft’s treatment of Rousseau was far more generous on most levels. She shared his political ideals of individuality and liberty, and she appreciated his view that social/political structures are a manifestation of a social compact. As a feminist herself, however, Rauschenbusch readily highlighted Wollstonecraft’s major objection to Rousseau: “They are diametrically opposed to each other [regarding] the nature and position of woman. . . . [At the time] Rousseau expressed the opinion of the civilized world, concerning the nature of woman. To disprove Rousseau, therefore, went far toward refuting the whole false system of woman’s education and position.”51 One of the Wollstonecraft’s main criticisms of Rousseau was his claim that women should be educated primarily to please men: She rightly asks, why a girl should be educated for her husband with the same care as for [a] harem. . . . [Wollstonecraft’s] rationalism was intensely antagonistic to a system that magnified the physical aspects of human life, and hopelessly cramped the faculty of reason in one-half of the human race. She considered the unfolding of reason the chief end in life; and believed



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that it is the right of [all people] to seek to attain this end. Rousseau denied this right to woman. [Therefore] his system . . . called forth her fierce opposition.52 Interestingly, Rauschenbusch notes that similar criticisms could have been launched against Wollstonecraft’s somewhat older contemporaries on occasion, Richard Price, James Fordyce, and John Gregory. Each of these men had writings that indicated women’s education should mold them into the kind of creatures that will be pleasing to men.53 She likens Wollstonecraft to a thinker whom Rauschenbusch appears to have agreed with: August Bebel (1840–1913) a prominent German socialist who denounced the notion that women should be subject to men’s domination and control.54 Rauschenbusch recognizes other women intellectuals with whom Wollstonecraft agreed on this and other issues related to women’s role and rights, namely Hester Chapone (1727–1801) and Catherine Macaulay (1731–91); the latter of the two has been given attention as a philosopher in recent decades.55 By contrast, Wollstonecraft disagreed with other female contemporaries, most notably Madame de Stael, whose essay written in tribute to Rousseau glossed over his treatment of women. Hester Lynch Piozzi (1741–1821) and Caroline Stéphanie Félicité (1746–1830) were other women with whom Wollstonecraft disagreed on women’s issues. The fact that “other women should thus unite with men in adopting sentiments, that had the direct tendency of degrading them, calls for Mary Wollstonecraft’s scorn.”56 Yet Rauschenbusch cites a letter that Wollstonecraft wrote to her daughter as she was struggling to lay a foundation for women’s freedom in the future, commenting, “There is a note of sad resignation [in it] . . . a tacit admission that existing conditions are more powerful than the individual who wages war against them.”57 Rauschenbusch makes it clear that Wollstonecraft’s primary goal was to demonstrate that women’s “inferiority” was due to education and social circumstances, not natural shortcomings. She incorporates new social scientific analysis into this part of her discussion. Research in anthropology and archaeology by Johann Jakob Bachofen (1815–87), Lewis Henry Morgan

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(1818–81), and Julius Lippert (1839–1909), she says, had demonstrated that in previous historical eras, matriarchal social structures and forms of governance were in place. In her view, this means feminine norms and values in the past had been undermined over time. This is a theory that gained currency in the last decades of the nineteenth century. It also saw a strong resurgence nearly a century later in the 1980s and 1990s as new work in feminist theory took hold in theology and religion. Although such theories have been largely debunked since then, they provided an impetus for rethinking patriarchal traditions that for centuries had been considered sacrosanct.58 Wollstonecraft did not have access to the theories of Bachofen et al., of course. But Rauschenbusch asserted that she did have philosophy to guide her reasoning and argumentation. Wollstonecraft used philosophical theories to good effect and anticipated the arguments that would later be made by feminists in Rauschenbusch’s time. She made especially good use of Descartes regarding the nature of human reason. If human beings are made in the image of God and thus are given the same capacities, regardless of gender, Wollstonecraft insisted that human “knowledge and virtue must be of the same nature in all.”59 At the same time, Rauschenbusch seems to have agreed with Wollstonecraft that women’s social role contributed to making them more attuned to emotion, to focus on feeling, rather than reason. In Rauschenbusch’s view, there is no reason this should be the case. Emotion or “sensibility” has its place, but should not be over-emphasized, as it seems to have been for women through the centuries.60 Interestingly enough, however, Rauschenbusch cites similarities between the thought of Wollstonecraft and Mary Shelley, Wollstonecraft’s daughter by William Godwin, who discussed the nature of emotion and also contemplated whether “souls” have a sex or gender.61 Rauschenbusch inserts her own view at this point, however. Given the fact that science assures us women and men have the same intellectual capacities, the task in her own era was to provide an environment in which women could develop over time: women’s “gentleness, [Wollstonecraft] says, loses its



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godlike character, when it becomes the submissive demeanor of dependence, the support of weakness that loves, [only] because it wants protection. . . . Not even the negative virtues [like forbearance] could flourish beneath the scepter of authority.”62 The task of feminism on the cusp of the twentieth century, then, was to finally release women from attempting to meet these repressive gender expectations. In concluding her discussion of this aspect of Wollstonecraft’s thought, Rauschenbusch notes that “It is difficult, in our day, to appreciate fully the serious drawbacks, experienced by the women, in certain classes of society, a century ago, who had been educated according to the approved standard of female excellence of the day.”63 This led to the question whether women, as they had been educated in Wollstonecraft’s time, could contribute fully to society. Wollstonecraft’s answer was that they could not: “Reason is absolutely necessary to aid in the performance of any duty, and again she repeats that sensibility is not reason.”64 Rauschenbusch defends what appears to be a harsh (if not contradictory) judgment by saying that it was Wollstonecraft’s reform-mindedness that led her to perhaps exaggerate the challenges women faced. Rauschenbusch also holds Wollstonecraft accountable, however: A subtle error runs through her argument, which has its root in . . . excessive rationalism. [Wollstonecraft] makes the mistake of applying to the moral nature of women a formula of rationalism and according to this, demonstrates their inferiority. To argue, that reason and virtue stand to each other in close relation, that women have not learned to use their reason, and that therefore they have no virtue . . . leads to a false conclusion. Mary Wollstonecraft could not arrive at a correct estimate of the moral status of women, by exalting reason.65 Nor did Wollstonecraft do women justice by ignoring how women’s psychological development and social placement have shaped their selfidentities and character traits, in Rauschenbusch’s understanding.

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As noted earlier, Rauschenbusch took time to discuss Wollstonecraft’s religious views as well. In this part of her discussion, it is clear that Rauschenbusch was well versed in theology and held relatively progressive views, despite her conservative religious upbringing. Wollstonecraft’s lover, William Godwin was proudly atheistic. Therefore, his “statements about his wife’s religious views are very meagre and must be accepted with some degree of hesitation; for here, as elsewhere . . . he seems inclined to substitute his own philosophical views for the actual facts of the case.”66 Wollstonecraft herself, however, was religiously observant and spiritually minded, especially early in life. She also had an intellectual understanding of the interplay between faith, reason, and morality, according to Rauschenbusch. Like John Locke (1632– 1704), she believed that human reason could perceive the attributes of God and that an understanding of the divine in turn guides moral development. Agreeing with her contemporary, Richard Price, on the question of morality, Wollstonecraft believed that moral truth is “perceived by an act of intelligence and not by the exercise of a special moral faculty.”67 In this sense, Rauschenbusch identifies her as a Deist. Wollstonecraft’s belief in the inherent goodness of humanity (and by implication of the created order, in Rauschenbusch’s view) wavered when she was in Paris during the French Revolution. But even during that time, she did not consider herself an atheist. Despite Godwin’s boast that even when his wife was on her deathbed, “not one word of a religious cast fell from her lips,”68 Rauschenbusch charges that the depths of Wollstonecraft’s religious belief “eluded both his logic and his psychological insight.”69 Her own conclusion is that Wollstonecraft rejected orthodox Christian beliefs about sin, eternal damnation, and biblical infallibility. She also despised hypocrisy of any sort, and her resistance to such was at the root of her many condemnations of church doctrines and policies. This in turn led her to question clerical authority. Yet, Rauschenbusch maintains that Wollstonecraft was a believer at heart and that she was characterized as an agnostic or atheist after her death simply because of her association with Godwin. However,



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Rauschenbusch claims that Wollstonecraft went through two distinct religious phases: “a period of religious thought that was evangelical, a worship of the heart; and another that was rationalistic, an eager seeking for truth as acceptable to reason.”70 Rauschenbusch closes her study of Wollstonecraft with a discussion of the German reception of her work after her early death in 1797. In both England and France, revolutionary ideas had become pervasive enough to have made Wollstonecraft’s views familiar, if not fully palatable. In Germany, this was not necessarily the case. There was little recognition of women’s rights in German territories just before and after 1800. So Wollstonecraft’s work seemed merely outlandish to the majority of influential thinkers there, not a realistic threat to the social order as it was characterized by conservatives in England. There were a few exceptions, however. One of the first German thinkers to translate Wollstonecraft’s work was Christian Gotthilf Salzmann (1744–1811), though he diluted some of the more progressive aspects of her ideas.71 Decades later, the historian Gustav Klemm (1802–67) applauded primarily her writings on pedagogy.72 The philosopher, Franz von Baader (1765–1841), was enthusiastic about Wollstonecraft’s bold claims. In fact, as a result of reading her work, Baader was convinced that “all misuse of power, all usurpation must absolutely vanish from society if virtue is to . . . remain in it.”73 Rauschenbusch also argues that Wollstonecraft may have made an impact on the essayist Theodor Gottlieb von Hippel (1741–96). Updated editions of his well-known book on marriage, Über die Ehe in 1792 and 1793, mark significant changes to his thought in regard to men, women, and gender roles, which suggest Wollstonecraft’s influence. Even more telling, an edition of von Hippel’s long essay “Über die bürgerliche Verbesserung der Weiber” (On the Civil Emancipation of Women) published in 1794, made a strong case for women’s right to education and employment—views that also seem to have been drawn from Wollstonecraft, the only thinker known to have affirmed women’s rights in this period.74

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Women, Race, and Culture Anna Julia Cooper (1858–1964) BA, Oberlin College (1884) MA, Oberlin College (1887) PhD, History, Sorbonne (1925) Dissertation: “L’attitude de la France a l’egard de l’esclavage pendant la revolution” [“The Attitude of France to Slavery during the Revolution”] Career: St. Augustine’s Normal School (1879–81; 1885–7); Wilberforce University (1884–5); M Street/Dunbar High School, Washington, DC (1887– 1906; 1910–30); Lincoln Institute, St. Louis, MO (1906–10); supervisor, Colored Social Settlement, Washington, DC (1911–15); Frelinghuysen University, president (1930–43)

Life and Career Anna Julia Cooper was born into slavery in Raleigh, North Carolina, the daughter of Hannah Stanley and quite likely her master, George Washington Haywood. Despite laws against education for enslaved people, she was provided with a rudimentary education at the home of Charles Busbee, a neighbor to whom her mother was “hired out” as a nursemaid. After the US Civil War, Cooper studied at St. Augustine’s Normal School (later College) in Raleigh, graduating in 1877. She taught for a short time at St. Augustine’s before going to Oberlin, where she was among a number of women of African descent to earn a degree in this era. After completing her studies at Oberlin, Cooper taught at a number of institutions, spending the majority of her career at the M Street/ Dunbar High School in Washington, DC, and capping it off as an educator by establishing Frelinghuysen University, an innovative adult education college



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named for the donor who generously funded it. Like Ella Flagg Young, Cooper married, but was widowed at a young age when her husband died in 1879. The couple did not have children and she did not remarry, but she adopted five nieces and nephews when she was in her early fifties.75 Cooper was one of many educators and public intellectuals at the turn of the twentieth century who analyzed the issues that impacted African American communities. Living in Washington, DC, most of her life, Cooper interacted or corresponded with a number of these individuals, including Alexander Crummell, Fanny Jackson Coppin, Frederick Douglass, W. E. B. DuBois, Georgiana Simpson (discussed in Chapter 4) and Eva Dykes (discussed in Chapter 5). Well before pursuing a doctorate, Cooper published A Voice from the South (1892), a book that has been recognized in recent decades as a valuable contribution to feminist/womanist theory as well as critical race theory. She also produced dozens of essays and speeches, some of which were published in venues like DuBois’s journal, The Crisis. Cooper first began doctoral work at Columbia University in 1910, but there was a tragic death in the family and their needs came first. As noted, she stepped in to care for five young nieces and nephews and was not able to pursue graduate work again until the early 1920s. She was able to complete her studies at the Sorbonne in 1925, becoming the fourth African American woman to earn a doctoral degree in any field. Her dissertation on Haiti and the French Revolution provides a great deal of insight into the failures of liberal political theory to adequately address issues related to colonialism and slavery, although it was not translated into English until 2006. Both books are discussed here with a focus on Cooper’s contributions to the analysis of race, culture, and gender in social/political life.

On Women, Feminism, and Racism In recent decades, Cooper has been given more attention as a philosophical thinker.76 In A Voice from the South, she embraces many traditional views of

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women. Yet, like so many nineteenth-century thinkers, she does so at least in part for the sake of transforming them. She also introduces a nascent critical race theory into her discussion, noting the ways in which women of color bring insights to social/political critique and social/cultural developments that were too often ignored by both white women and men of color. In this way, she aligns with Maria Stewart, Ida B. Wells-Barnett, and Pauline Johnson in Volume I. Finally, like Susan Blow in Volume I, Cooper devoted time to a discussion of metaphysics, which she believes must underlie any practical work related to education or racial justice. Also like Blow, she placed this part of her discussion at the end of a book on issues that were not attended to by (male) leaders in the dominant culture—thus this aspect of her thought was not brought into academic discussions until recently. On first glance, Cooper’s voice was one of many in a chorus of women who made claims that women have a special, nurturing role to play in society as mothers, teachers, and caretakers, primarily in the home. The foundation of civilization, she said, is based on the moral standards established in homelife, which in turn is based on the “influence of good women.”77 In making this claim, Cooper does not want to suggest that women have an innate goodness that is absent in men. Instead, she asserts that, due to the fact that they are most often responsible for the care of young children, women are the first to direct “the earliest impulses of [human] character, and in this sense, women’s influence is as strong as the light and heat of the sun within a family’s home.”78 And, as was so common among women of color in this era, Cooper saw a direct connection between women’s work as mothers and “the vital agency of womanhood in the regeneration and progress of a race.”79 Also like a number of women in the nineteenth century, Cooper moved from making claims about women’s central role in family life to making a case for the education of women and girls. She recognized that this idea was considered outrageous, even explosive, in the early and mid-nineteenth century, but it is one that in Cooper’s day was proving to be beneficial. When women’s colleges were established and institutions like Oberlin began to open their doors to women



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in the 1830s, “there was no upheaval” in society. Women conducted their studies “modestly and intelligently.” Even when they chose to study the liberal arts, often called “the gentlemen’s course,” there was “no collapse.”80 Men in leadership often expressed concern that education would “unsex women, destroying the lisping, clinging, tenderly helpless and beautifully dependent creatures” they had become by being systematically excluded from public life for so long.81 In this sense, the challenge ahead was for both women and men to adjust to the new educational and social context they were living in. The question is not now with the woman, “How shall I so cramp, stunt, simplify, and nullify myself as to make me eligible to the honor of being swallowed up into some little man?” but the problem, . . . now rests with the man as to how he can so develop his God-given powers as to reach the ideal of a generation of women who demand the noblest, grandest, and best achievements of which he is capable; and this surely is the only fair and natural adjustment.82 Cooper makes these comments largely in reference to “the chances” educated women will have to be married and have a family—something that she believes is a matter that will work itself out over time, as both men and women adjust their expectations. The important thing about women’s higher education in her view is that it allows them to contribute to public life, a realm of society that has been dominated by masculine virtues and values. Public life needs a “great mother heart to teach it to [have pity], to love mercy, to succor the weak and care for the lowly.”83 And women are well-suited for this task, because of the role they have played in society. In Cooper’s view, this is true across race, culture, and socioeconomic class. She is directing her words primarily toward an audience of color, but she considers the feminine virtues under discussion to be universal—applicable to all women. And according to her assessment of the situation, women were already exerting influence in (Protestant) churches, social clubs, cultural organizations, and charitable organizations. “From the President in the White House to the stone-splitter of the ditches,” Cooper

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claims that women’s “mandates are obeyed,” even after her “lightest whisper.” Giving a number of high-profile examples, like the Board of Lady Managers at the 1893 World’s Fair, and the moral force of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, she asserts that women are involved and influential in society at all levels. In her view they are renovating society, purifying politics, and reforming a number of moral, social, and economic ills.84 In short, in both public, practical matters, and in questions of moral reasoning, there is a feminine and a masculine side to truth, and the two complement each other. In her time, women’s virtues and values were finally making an impact, but the idea is to balance masculine and feminine ideals to provide symmetry—both in individuals and in society as a whole.85 Cooper wants to ensure that her theories of womanhood are applicable across race and culture, but in order to do so, she needed to draw attention to specific forms of discrimination against women of color. Early on in A Voice from the South, she cites Alexander Crummell, a well-known Episcopal priest, rhetorically requesting his permission to make a plea for the education of young women of color, who are “so full of promise and possibilities, yet so sure of destruction . . . without a father to protect them . . . [and] waylaid by the lower classes of white men.”86 As biographers have noted, Cooper drew on her own experiences when she urged for women’s education. She had to struggle, largely on her own, to earn an education and saw male peers given opportunities and benefits that were unavailable to her as a woman. She also drew from experience when she referred to the humiliations and injustices women of color were subjected to. Both she and Ida B. Wells had been victims of racist policies that allowed each of them to be forcibly removed from railroad cars in the 1880s and 1890s, for instance. “Bullies are always cowards at heart,” she says, but if there are no penalties for their abusive or violent behavior, they will continue to quickly identify and victimize people of color.87 While expressing appreciation for notable women of the past—Sappho, Aspasia, Olympia Falvia Morata, Queen Isabella, Mary Lyon, Dorothea Dix, Helen Hunt Jackson, and Lucretia Mott—Cooper charges that all too often,



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women’s aspirations are “chilled and snubbed in embryo.”88 This is especially true for women of color. Yet, she also recognizes the achievements of several contemporaries: Frances Watkins Harper, Sojourner Truth, Amanda Smith, Sarah Early, Martha Briggs, Charlotte Forten Grimke, Hallie Quinn Brown, and Fanny Jackson Coppin. These women, she says, “represent all shades of belief,” but also share “sympathy with the oppressed race.”89 Despite the fact that many of these women overcame the odds and were able to achieve without the benefit of higher education, Cooper repeatedly stresses that women of color “must be loosed from [their] bands and set to work . . . every attempt to elevate the Negro cannot but prove abortive unless so directed as to utilize the indispensable agency of an elevated and trained womanhood.”90 A full examination of Cooper’s discussion of race and racism could fill a volume. Here, the focus will be on Cooper’s treatment of what we now call intersectionality, on relations between men and women of color, and on crosscultural unity. At the outset, Cooper is intent on addressing racism within white feminist circles. Citing two incidents, Cooper calls white women to account for their actions and makes a strong plea for cross-cultural understanding and cooperation. Racial discrimination within the group, Wimodausis—so named as an abbreviation of “wives, mothers, daughters, and sisters”—provided the impetus for Cooper’s discussion. A southern white woman within the group refused to allow a woman of color to participate in its programs. Cooper praised its president, Anna Howard Shaw (1847–1919), for denouncing such a racist act and calling for her southern colleague’s resignation. At the same time, Cooper noted that the event was “just a ripple” that went largely unnoticed. Shaw was a well-known orator and friend of Susan B. Anthony, and while she took action, her response did not adequately denounce racism or contribute to more widespread and lasting change. Cooper has little patience with continuing to tolerate the attitudes of southern women in her day whose explanation for their racism had been “well you see, they were once our slaves.” This “explanation” and the claim that “social equality” would compromise southern values is all a ruse in Cooper’s view to retain and reinforce racism.

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Social interaction among individuals both within and across races and classes is wholly elective, she said. There is no reason to fear that “social equality” would be imposed on unwilling southerners. She also reminds her readers that “forced association” between white and black people was imposed on people of color in the past, most especially on “the silent and suffering black woman.”91 Rather than simply neutralizing individual instances of racism and quietly moving on, white women like Anna Howard Shaw would do better to call for a broader sense of care and concern, not only for African American women but for all women. Cooper notes that a new society for the prevention of cruelty to animals had been established; why not establish a similar organization to prevent cruelty to human beings?92 Cooper also takes on the matter of intersectionality, in particular the problem of sexism within the African American community. Women of color are “confronted by both a woman question and a race problem.”93 White women have been able to draw on support by a significant number of white men. By contrast, “our men seem thoroughly abreast of the times on almost every other subject, [but] when they strike on the woman question, they drop back into sixteenth century logic.”94 Therefore, women of color often find themselves “hampered and shamed by a less liberal sentiment and a more conservative attitude” among men of color.95 This is “not universally true,” of course. There are “intensely conservative white men and exceedingly liberal colored men.”96 But in her view, women of color could use more support from men of color for social/political rights. Again citing Shaw, Cooper charges that she contributed to tensions between women across race/culture when she gave an address entitled, “Women versus Indians.”97 In this speech, Shaw tried to make a case for women’s voting rights by urging against voting rights for Native American males. Cooper rightly charged that her disparaging comments about Native American culture and lifeways were racist and destructive. She used this incident as an opportunity to bring white feminists’ attention to racism within their own ranks. “All mists [i.e., racism and bias] must be cleared from the eyes of woman if she is to be a



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teacher of morals and manners,”98 she said. Furthermore, she urged women to work together across lines of class and culture: “It is not the intelligent woman vs. the ignorant woman; nor the white woman vs. the black, the brown, and the red.”99 Ultimately, Cooper asserted that woman’s cause [is] broader, and deeper, and grander, than a blue stocking debate or an aristocratic pink tea. . . . Why should woman become plaintiff in a suit versus the Indian, or the Negro, or any other race or class who have been crushed under the iron heel of Anglo-Saxon power and selfishness? . . . If woman’s own happiness has been ignored or misunderstood . . . let her rest her plea, not on Indian inferiority, nor on Negro depravity, but on the obligation of legislators to do for her as they would have others do for them were relations reversed.100 The truly philosophical mind, Cooper tells her readers, “sees that its own ‘rights’ are the rights of humanity.”101 Cooper touches on the related themes of innate human rights and crosscultural unity at different points throughout A Voice from the South. And while she was among one of the first thinkers to reject pseudo-scientific theories of racial difference, she also accepted some of the theories about race and identity that were prevalent in her day.102 She affirmed the view that dominant white culture was able to subdue both Chinese immigrants and Africans held in slavery, for instance, because both were weak and docile “races.”103 Yet, she also recognized atrocities in other parts of the world—quite likely with the hope that doing so would prompt awareness or awaken consciences. She decried Russian pogroms against the Jewish people in Eastern Europe, while at the same time noting that Americans would flock to lectures to learn about these atrocities, seemingly unconcerned or unaware that similar horrors were taking place against African Americans on our own soil. Cooper was among the women in this two-volume study who analyzed literature by white authors that attempted to portray the lives and experiences of people of color. Pauline Johnson, discussed in Volume I, looked at depictions

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of “the Indian girl” in popular literature that were little more than caricatures. Cooper and Eva B. Dykes, discussed in Chapter 5, looked at American and English literature respectively, to examine the ideas related to race that were conveyed there. She begins her discussion by making a distinction between authors who write for aesthetic purposes or the desire for self-expression versus authors who wish to convey ideas or “doctrines” in Cooper’s parlance. The former are more creative forms of literature in her view—the works of Shakespeare, Eliot, Longfellow, or Poe, for instance. But more writings that discuss race are in the latter category—the work of Milton, Carlyle, Whittier, or Lowell. Praising Harriett Beecher Stowe’s work, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, as great literature that is “indigenous to American soil,”104 Cooper notes that it is didactic yet provides a fair representation of African American life. Few white authors have succeeded in similar achievements because “not many have studied [their experiences] with Mrs. Stowe’s humility and love.”105 Instead they forgot the humanity of their subjects and relied on readily formulated theories and preconceptions. She discusses the work of a selection of European-heritage writers at some length, all of them male: Albion W. Tourgée, George Washington Cable, Ignatius Donnelly, William Dean Howells, and Maurice Thompson. Albion Tourgée (1838–1905) was a civil rights lawyer and author of twentyfive books, the majority of them fiction. His novel, Pactolus Prime (1890), condemned racism through its main character, a light-skinned African American who at different points in his life passed as white. Cooper admires this novel as an “impassioned denunciation of the heartless and godless spirit of caste founded on color.”106 She expressed appreciation for Tourgée’s commitment to racial justice, including reparations for formerly enslaved people. “His caustic wit, his sledge hammer logic, his incisive criticism, his righteous indignation, all reflect the irresistible arguments of the great pleader for the Negro.”107 An aspect of his work that she found especially valuable was his criticism of a white Christian morality that allowed believers to embrace religious ideals abstractly, while failing to put those ideals into action in regard to racial equality. As Cooper put it, Tourgée



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held up the glass of the real Christianity before these believers in a white Christ and these preachers of the gospel. . . . We all see the glaring inconsistency and . . . the indignity of having to stand forever hat in hand as beggars, or be shoved aside as intruders in a country whose resources have been opened up by the unrequited toil of our forefathers.108 Few other writers were able to present “truth from the colored American’s standpoint [and] Mr. Tourgée excels . . . in fervency and frequency of . . . any living writer, white or colored.” Cooper has some criticism to offer as well, however, largely about his literary style. In her view his characters do not come to life. Instead, they are all “little Tourgées—they preach his sermons and pray his prayers.” Despite her appreciation for his work, Cooper sees Tourgée as “mainly a contributor to the polemic literature in favor of the colored man,” not a great novelist, as such.109 Cooper also praises George Washington Cable (1844–1925), another white author who wrote over twenty novels. Unlike Tourgée, Cable was a southerner. He was born in New Orleans but chose to move to Massachusetts in the mid1880s as a result of the criticism he received from fellow white southerners. Cable, Cooper says, “does not forget . . . that he is a white man” who served in the Confederate army during the Civil War. While he was another advocate of racial justice, he wrote as a Southern apologist. Even so, in her view, Cable wrote with “the impartiality of the judge who condemns his own son or cuts off his own arm. His attitude is judicial, convincing, irreproachable throughout.”110 But unlike Tourgée who did not fear polemics, Cable tried to appeal to the Christian conscience of Southerners, to coax them into seeing that racial justice was in the enlightened self-interest of the South. Yet another European-heritage writer making a case for racial justice was Ignatius Donnelly (1831–1901), who was best known for utopian fiction and his controversial theories about the authorship of Shakespeare’s works. In her discussion, Cooper refers to Donnelly’s work, Doctor Huguet (1891) a placeswitching novel about a well-to-do white Southerner who is jailed for stealing

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his own hat after being transformed into a working poor African American man. In a key scene within the book, the main character tries to convince the judge that he is in fact a well-educated white man in a black body. Yet after a speech in which he refers to great works of art and literature in order to demonstrate his knowledge and by implication his whiteness, the judge and other officials simply conclude he is not only guilty of theft but also insane. Cooper appreciates Donnelly’s impulse to recognize the ways in which a person’s social placement can pre-determine their fate. Yet, she voices concerns raised by other critics of African descent in her era who lamented Donnelly’s decision to rely on an African American stereotype—a chicken thief—rather than create a character who would be held in greater esteem by readers. A more relatable character would underscore the degree to which race alone shapes human experience and reinforces oppression. Like other white authors, however, Donnelly too often resorted to caricature. His African American characters lacked complexity and depth. William Dean Howells (1837–1920), whose legacy as a writer has made him a somewhat more recognized name in American literary history, was also guilty of this error. In fact, Cooper sees little value in the few attempts he made to speak to the African American experience. “I think the unanimous verdict . . . is that . . . Mr. Howells does not know what he is talking about.”111 This was especially apparent when he attempted to write in dialect, a common tool in literature at the time, or to portray African American religious experience. Cooper tells her readers that this is understandable, because Howells had seen African American lives only as an outsider looking in. Like many white writers, he was not the kind of person who could “think himself imaginatively into the colored man’s place.”112 At the same time, Cooper does not want to excuse Howells completely. It is “an insult to humanity and a sin against God to publish any such sweeping generalizations of a race on [the] meager and superficial information” available to him.113 Interestingly enough, Cooper did not mention the author who is now one of the best-known nineteenth-century storytellers, Mark Twain (1835–1910)—a



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good friend of both Howells and Cable. This may be because her primary interest here is to discuss work that had recently been published, and Twain’s most famous novels, Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, were written over a decade earlier. It may also be that Cooper and her audience were not interested in Twain’s work. Many critics, then as well as now, have seen his satirical approach to race issues as ineffective. Either his approach was too subtle and therefore any social/political commentary was lost on the run-ofthe-mill reader, or his story lines and literary techniques simply endorsed and reinforced racism. Whatever her view of Twain, Cooper declined to discuss his work. Cooper did discuss a work that she saw as blatantly racist, however: “Voodoo Prophecy” (1892), by Maurice Thompson, a former Confederate who accepted emancipation as inevitable, but maintained racist views. Thompson wrote other poems, including “To the South,” which Cable included in his essay, “The Freedmen’s Case in Equity” (1885). Yet, “Voodoo Prophecy,” while purporting to celebrate black freedom and creativity, was filled with all the negative stereotypes of African Americans that were current at the time. Especially troubling—to Cooper as well as her peers in African American intellectual life—was the poem’s violent imagery and its portrayal of males in particular as dangerous and vengeful. This was a damaging characterization that Cooper’s contemporary, Ida B. Wells-Barnett (discussed in Volume I) condemned. Given Cooper’s silence on the work of Twain and other white writers at this time, it is surprising that she would give this racist text space on the page. Clearly, she considered it dangerous enough to address directly—and to condemn herself. Also interesting is the fact that Cooper comments only very briefly on the work of several African American writers: the lecturers and essayists, Frederick Douglass (1818–95), Rev. Alexander Crummell (1819–98), Rev. Benjamin W. Arnett (1838–1906), Edward Wilmot Blyden (1832–1912), William Sanders Scarborough (1852–1926), and Joseph Charles Price (1854–93); the journalist, Thomas Fortune (1856–1928); and the novelists and poets, Frances Watkins

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Harper (1825–1911) and Albery Allson Whitman (1851–1901).114 Yet she urges African Americans to write in order to more fully represent themselves—as individuals and as a people. Cooper next looks at racism and African American responses to it. As one of many thinkers of color in this era who embraced some of the norms and values of European-heritage culture, she accepted the assimilationist view that African Americans are in some sense responsible for proving themselves, for meeting expectations of the dominant culture. She makes her own interests and standards apparent up front by focusing, not on sentimental ideals, but on the “cold hard facts” in a “purely mathematical” sense: What do African Americans as a cultural group produce that is of value to the larger society? And how might they contribute more in the future?115 Although Cooper aims to be objective in her analysis, she folds several myths about African American life and culture into her discussion. Most notably, she embraces the notion that African Americans are less domineering “as a race,” that in fact they are naturally compliant, honest, chaste. As evidence she refers to the reliability of enslaved African Americans prior to the Civil War, noting that if they had been mean-spirited, opportunistic, or licentious, they would have been unmanageable under the slave system.116 Second, like many thinkers whose ideas were influenced by pseudo-scientific theories of racial types and/or cultural pedigree, Cooper claims that African Americans were made of hardy “material” and were filled with an energy and creativity that had yet to be tapped and put to good use. Providing a wide range of educational options for people of color would allow them to enter the trades and professions and thus to advance economically and culturally.117 These aspects of Cooper’s thought have not been highlighted in recent sources that discuss her life and contributions to African American intellectual history. And by today’s standards, they are certainly not her best moments. Yet it seems valuable to recognize the degree to which even relatively progressiveminded intellectuals like Cooper were influenced by the ideals and cultural trends that dominated in her day. As discussed in Volume I, many women



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rejected the “vocation vs. culture” debate within discussions of education at this time—most notably between Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. DuBois. In her own education and pedagogy Cooper leaned toward “culture” like DuBois—that is, liberal arts education that would prepare individuals to enter the professional class. Yet, she did not want to err too far in this direction. She criticized the “foolhardy educators” who over-emphasized liberal arts education within the African American community. Forcing the majority of youth to study ancient history and literature, for instance, would be like putting a “classical crack” into pottery to make it appear to be a precious artifact, when in fact it is “everyday stone [or] iron ware” that would be better suited for household use.118 She clarifies that she is not attacking classical education or culture. She simply believes that youth who are inclined to work as laborers or artisans should be nurtured in that direction, not forced to study the liberal arts. To further clarify: “One mind in a family or in a town may show a penchant for art, for literature, for the learned professions, or more bookish lore. You will know it when it is there. No need to probe for it.”119 Woven into Cooper’s discussion is a recognition of the damaging role racism plays in regard to educational and career options, however. She denounces tenant farming for the exploitation it most certainly was at the time. She condemned the racist behavior of working-class whites in the North, noting wryly, “If the Northern laboring man has not become a tyrant, I would like to know what tyranny is.”120 Similarly, she observes that attention to the plight of female mill workers throughout the nation—“our working girls,” as they were called at the time—focused on European-heritage women, not “the pinched and downtrodden colored woman.”121 She also recognizes cultural clashes within the working classes, citing an unnamed African American mechanic who was driven out of business after being threatened by an immigrant community. One way to address these problems, Cooper said, was to build stronger networks of support among African Americans. Another is to demonstrate what African American labor “is worth” by collecting more data about successes throughout the community. She builds an additional critique

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of race-biased policies and practices into this last point: It is easier, she said, to find information about struggles within the African American community— poverty, educational attainment, or crime—than about their achievements— inventions, land ownership, or advancement in the trades and professions.122 As a reminder to her readers, she cites several accomplished people of color throughout history, including poet, Phillis Wheatley (1753–84); sculptor, Edmonia Lewis (1844–1907); and the 54th regiment in the Civil War, the first black regiment in the United States.123 Early in A Voice from the South, Cooper makes a claim that is familiar in today’s discussions of diversity: cultural differences lead to dynamism and growth. Conversely, she says, a society that is dominated by one group or set of values leads to similarity, a lack of innovation, and ultimately to stagnation. Keeping these claims in mind is instructive as we consider her judgments against both the African American community and the European-dominant culture that refused to give people of color full access to the social/political goods that were supposedly assured in a democratic republic. “Resolve to keep out [minorities and] foreigners, and you keep out progress.”124 In her view, healthy tension between competing cultural groups can be a positive force. For this reason, she is not advocating full assimilation by African Americans (or other cultural groups). People of color can and should retain their own cultural and identity. Yet, domination and suppression will harm both minority populations and members of the dominant culture. Only by allowing for full participation by all cultural groups will American society survive and thrive, in her view.125 Cooper closes this work with a brief overview of her philosophy of religion, and in this chapter, she also demonstrates familiarity with a number of philosophical thinkers: David Hume (1711–76), Voltaire (1694–1778), Auguste Comte (1798–1857), John Stuart Mill (1806–73), along with the historian, Thomas Babbington Macaulay (1800–59), and one of the first avowed atheists in the United States, Robert Ingersoll (1833–99). Her aim in this discussion is to debunk religious skepticism as a valid metaphysical,



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epistemological, and moral stance. She charges that skepticism is blind to value and purpose in human experience, for the skeptic there is nothing but “darkness and eternal silence.”126 Similar to Susan Blow in Volume I, Cooper rejects such a view—and for a number of reasons. In her view, a skepticism that runs this deep renders the universe an “automaton” which may function mechanically but is void of volition or supernatural forces. This in turn would mean the universe has no inherent worth or meaning. Such a view—which she identifies as aligned with the skepticism of Hume, Comte, and Voltaire— leads to an epistemological problem. In such a world, “the essential nature of phenomena . . . their ultimate causes are unknown and inscrutable to us.”127 How then would skepticism allow us to know the nature of the cosmos and speak meaningfully about it? Cooper rejects Ingersoll’s statement that we must be honest with ourselves and “admit the limitations of our minds and have the courage and candor to say we do not know” the nature of the universe.128 In Ingersoll’s view, the reasonable person must squarely face facts in this way, although the rank and file in society tends to rely on feelings to make sense of the world. Cooper, however, reminds her readers that feelings can be a very good thing. Our impulse to rescue a person in danger or help a person in need, for instance, is based on a sense of concern, on feeling—not on reason. While Ingersoll’s intellectualized skepticism may be captivating and thus catch “the fancy and charm the imagination,” Cooper notes that “no heroism, devotion, or sacrifice” will grow out of it. Only religion is able to spark an interest in “higher growth” among people of faith.129 As this chapter comes to a close, Cooper holds that life is more than philosophical speculation and religion is more than a mere ancient need to worship. Truth in the biggest sense of the word—which for Cooper is metaphysical, epistemological, and moral—“must be infinite.”130 At this point, she aims to bring religion into conversation with lived experience and in so doing, she underscores the moral import of faith. She cites social reform movements as evidence of the impact of religion. She points to the ways in

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which faith empowers those without social/political influence. And she speaks of the ideal of universal unity among people. In the end, she underscores the power of faith in great religious leaders, like Ignatius of Loyola, the Apostle Paul, and the Prophet Muhammed. Their examples “must be our strength,” she tells readers, “if our lives are to be worth the living. . . . Without them, I have no inspiration to better myself, no inclination to help another.”131 Furthermore, it was this same faith that helped “the slave brother” endure and escape oppression in years past. She closes by saying “Yes, I believe there is existence beyond our present experience; that that existence is conscious . . . and that there is a noble work here and now in helping [people] live into it.”132

On Revolution and Racism Cooper’s dissertation, “L’attitude de la France a l’egard de l’esclavage pendant la revolution,” is available in English translation as Slavery and the French and Haitian Revolutionists. This was the first work to focus exclusively on the connections between revolutionary ideals in France and slavery in Haiti at the end of the eighteenth century. Like Rachel Caroline Eaton’s work on John Ross and the Cherokee people, discussed in Chapter 4, it is a historical study, but it includes analysis of political themes. Both studies come from the perspective of a woman of color and have value for analysis by philosophers today. Cooper’s thesis is also part of a larger body of work by thinkers of color who drew on the Haitian revolution as a triumph of freedom or held up Haiti’s Toussaint Louverture as a model political figure.133 In the 1830s, David Walker and Maria Stewart made references to Haiti’s revolution; so did W. E. B. DuBois and Frederick Douglass just before and after the turn of the century.134 DuBois and Cooper developed their ideas within an academic context. DuBois examined the impact of political events in Haiti on political reasoning and legal justifications of slavery in the United States. As discussed in Chapter 4,



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the same year that Cooper produced her dissertation, another early doctoral recipient, Georgiana Simpson, republished a biography of Toussaint with a brief introduction that cast him in heroic terms. Cooper examined Haiti’s political and economic conditions before, during, and after the French Revolution. She also analyzed French revolutionary thought in relation to Haiti as a colonized territory. Her work opens with a condemnation of slavery as “an institution founded solely on the abuse of power [that was] created by a barbarous and shortsighted politics, and maintained by violence. . . . [It was] incomparably more cruel than that which was rampant in antiquity.”135 In her discussion, she examines the competing interests of five sectors of Haitian society as revolutionary ideals took hold in France: white colonizers and property owners, many of whom were extremely wealthy and lived in France; mulattoes, many of whom owned slaves and often identified with the colonial ruling class; white workers who had little economic or social power; free blacks, who also lacked economic and social power; and enslaved Haitians. As revolutionary thought intensified in France, white colonialists, many of whom assumed they would be beneficiaries of a liberation movement were eager to join the cause. But they soon discovered that the ideals of liberty and equality would undermine their power if it extended to the colonies. Soon a discourse similar to one that developed in the southern United States gained currency: Haiti had distinct needs and interests, according to the colonists. The National Assembly in France declared that “it had never intended to include [Haiti and its people] in the constitution decreed for the realm, or subject them to any laws which might be incompatible with their local needs and customs.”136 Haiti was a territory of the motherland, not part of France’s political fabric, and its inhabitants were not capable of self rule. Throughout this period, a group calling itself Friends of the Blacks agitated for the abolition of slavery in Haiti and for full racial equality. The organization had members in both Haiti and France, including both whites and free blacks. Friends of the Blacks embraced humanistic ideals and was unyielding in its call for immediate

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emancipation. As Cooper puts it, they ignited a “dangerous compassion” in both Haiti and France.137 Intolerance for slavery and oppression in the colony (and all French territories) arose. The situation posed a threat for mulattoes, who had invested a great deal in holding themselves above both free blacks and slaves on the island; they nearly always took the side of white colonists in the debates that ensued. At one point travel bans were put in place for people of African descent in France. Rights were so limited for people of color in Haiti, it appears a travel ban from the island to Europe was not needed. White colonists continually sought to gain power, so they could resist or reverse decrees that would have secured freedoms in the colony.138 While the Friends of the Blacks made a strong case for putting French revolutionary principles into effect for all members of Haitian society, they were unable to win any political ground. The parties involved were at an impasse and the island was on the brink of civil war. As a result, when Louis XIV was deposed and France no longer had a king, Cooper notes that the colony also lacked a king. A contest for power in the island ensued between England and Spain, and “All the correspondences of the time are heartbreaking. . . . All describe what they saw of the insurrections [in Haiti] in terms which leave no possible doubt of the horror.”139 By 1796, Toussaint had allied with the Spanish and was appointed lieutenant governor of the island, and the era of the Haitian revolution was ushered in. Cooper carefully analyzes Toussaint as a military and political figure and in doing so, she steers clear of idolizing him. In fact, a significant theme in this work is her lament that revolutionary thought in France did not advance more steadily and extend to Haiti, and thus make a violent revolt unnecessary. Had French-born political thinkers been more forward-thinking, they would have seen that a revolution that did not include all French subjects was doomed to fail. Even so, Cooper asserts that the ideals that were born in the French Revolution “are immortal principles [that left] an indestructible legacy and they remain benefactors of the African peoples whom they awakened to the knowledge of their individuality and their right to liberty.”140



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Conclusion The year after Anna Julia Cooper completed her degree at the Sorbonne in 1925, Christine Ladd Franklin was formally awarded the degree she had earned almost fifty years earlier at Johns Hopkins. Cooper was nearly seventy years old, and Ladd-Franklin was close to eighty when each was finally able to call herself a doctor of philosophy. By this time, Julia Gulliver had retired from the presidency at Rockford College, and Emma Rauschenbusch was struggling to adjust to life in the United States after decades as a missionary and educator in India. Clearly their life experiences varied immensely. At first glance, common themes do not appear in their academic work. But let’s take a closer look. With a specialty in logic, Ladd-Franklin produced some of the most abstract texts in philosophy and won accolades (though not professional status) for doing so. Yet she was also a vocal women’s rights advocate—on both the theoretical and practical levels. She published an academic article on women and reason. She also helped establish funding programs for women’s higher education. Gulliver’s academic work focused on theories of democracy, but she too was a strong proponent of women’s rights and did a good deal of work behind the scenes in academia to advance them professionally. Rauschenbusch devoted her dissertation to an analysis of Mary Wollstonecraft, long considered the mother of modern feminist theory. She also worked to advance women’s rights on a practical level by helping to establish a women’s and girls’ school at her husband’s mission in India (though missionary efforts are criticized today as a form of colonialism). In her most well-known work, A Voice from the South, published over thirty years before she was able to complete a doctorate, Cooper not only advocated for women’s rights but also pointed to racism within white feminist circles and sexism within the African American community. So then, one common theme among these women is a passion for women’s education and equality. Another commonality is their persistence and “grit.” Christine Ladd-Franklin had to get special permission to remain at Johns Hopkins after being declined when administrators discovered that “C. Ladd”

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was a woman. She also endured years of discrimination within academic circles, as noted in the previous discussion of her life and work. Gulliver remained in the women’s college network throughout her career, so was sheltered to a degree. But like so many women in this era, she had to cope with the bias against women’s colleges in masculine academic circles. No doubt she also witnessed the capriciousness of academic hierarchies in Europe during her year of studying abroad. Rauschenbusch lived in the shadow of her younger brother Walter, not only as a child but also in her professional life. In addition, while studying in Europe, she had to go to three different universities before one would accept her credentials and grant her a doctoral degree. Of course, the struggles of these women pale in comparison to Cooper’s experience of being born into slavery, widowed at a young age, and faced with racism day in, day out in American society throughout her life. The fact that she continued to pursue an advanced degree after her first truncated attempt in the 1910s, all while raising orphaned relatives and managing her own career, is nothing short of remarkable. It was relatively common for women who had the means to take the path chosen by Rauschenbusch and Cooper and explore educational opportunities in Europe. In fact, there were a number of academic “firsts” among women in Europe in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries who helped pave the way for others. Martha Carey Thomas (Zurich, 1882) was the first US-born woman on record to earn a doctorate in Europe, and Janet Donalda McFee (Leipzig/Zurich, 1895) was the first Canadian woman to do so. The women who followed were the first to study and/or earn doctoral degrees in philosophy and related fields at their respective institutions; in chronological order: Margaret Keiver Smith (Gottingen/Zurich, 1899), Lucinda Pearl Boggs (Jena/Halle, 1901), Florence M. Fitch (Berlin, 1903), Henrietta “Ettie” Stettheimer (Freiburg, 1903), and Rowena Morse Mann (Jena, 1904). At the University of Zurich, M. Carey Thomas (1857–1935) wrote a dissertation on a text in old English literature, “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” but she did not publish academic work after that time.141 Instead, she



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became well known as the president of Bryn Mawr College and a champion of education, but only for white women who were Christian. Recent attention to Thomas’s racism has severely tarnished her legacy. She made no secret of the fact that she wanted to hire only women of European heritage at the college.142 In 1886, she attempted to block the admission of Sadie Szold (1868–95), the younger sister of Henrietta Szold, the founder of Hadassah, a Jewish women’s organization. She insisted that she would “on no account take them, and I register my strongest protest!”143 When her efforts failed, she instituted a quota that was to be strictly adhered to. In 1901, she reversed the decision to admit Jessie Redmon Fauset (1882–1961), who would later become a central literary figure in the Harlem Renaissance. After Fauset had been on the Bryn Mawr campus for close to a month, Thomas arranged for her to be admitted to Cornell instead, contributing her own money and raising funds for a scholarship there to help seal the deal.144 Thomas’s racist ideals and practices cannot be explained away as biases that were common in her day. Her colleagues, Julia Rogers (1854–1944) and Mary Garrett (1854–1915), opposed her treatment of minorities. In fact, it was Garrett who admitted Szold and refused to yield when Thomas wrote, belying the depths of her racism: “Cannot your action be withdrawn? . . . I wish us to escape them at all hazards. It is so important.”145 The women had been lifelong friends, but this conflict led to friction between them for years. In the end, Julia Rogers left Bryn Mawr and went to Goucher College in Baltimore, where she left a large bequest and several buildings are now named for her.146 Other women with degrees from Zurich also became academically successful. Janet McFee (1863–1957) was born near Montreal, completed an undergraduate degree at McGill (1888), and began graduate work at Cornell in 1888–9 before going to Leipzig to study with Wundt. It appears that, like Rauschenbusch, McFee found Leipzig unwilling to confer her degree, so she completed her work in Zurich where she wrote a thesis on the thought of George Berkeley. She did not produce additional academic work after this point, and taught at a girls school with her sister in New York City for

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a number of years.147 Margaret Keiver Smith (1856–1934), also a Canadian, had begun graduate work at Cornell a few years before McFee, in 1883–5, after completing undergraduate studies at Oswego Normal School in New York (1880–3). She went to Zurich in the summer of 1898 where she studied philosophy and literature and wrote a dissertation entitled “Rhythmus und Arbeit.” After 1900, she held a position as a professor of psychology and geography at what was then a normal school in New Paltz, New York (now a state university). She translated some of Johann Herbart’s work and published articles on psychology and education.148 Both Lucinda Pearl Boggs (1873–1931) and Rowena Morse Mann (1870– 1958) began doctoral work at the University of Jena, but Boggs transferred to Halle in 1900 after Jena balked at granting her degree. Her original thesis was to cover the question of “interest” in pedagogy, but she was urged to focus instead on the work of John Dewey, who had become prominent in philosophy by this time. Her dissertation was entitled “John Dewey’s Theory of Interest and its Application in Pedagogy.” She published an additional work on “interest,” this time as related to emotion. She also published several articles on education and psychology and a book on Chinese womanhood. Boggs held positions at a normal school in Ellensburg, Washington and at Western and Oxford colleges (now Miami University of Ohio).149 Rowena Morse Mann was the first woman to earn a doctoral degree at Jena, writing a dissertation on Locke’s theory of truth. She does not appear to have published additional work after completing graduate study, but held a position in the philosophy department at the University of Chicago in 1904. She became ordained as a Unitarian minister two years later and led a church on Chicago’s West Side, continuing in that position as a volunteer after her marriage to Newton Mann in 1912.150 Florence Fitch (1875–1959) studied with Carl Stumpf (1848–1936), Max Dessoir (1867–1947), and Friedrich Paulsen (1846–1908) at the University of Berlin, writing a dissertation on hedonism in Hermann Lotze (1817–81) and Gustav Theodor Fechner (1801–87). After completing her studies, she



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held a position at Oberlin where she taught philosophy and biblical literature. Her publications include two articles on education and a number of books on religion for children and youth, primarily on world religious traditions and histories.151 Henrietta “Ettie” Stettheimer (1875–1955) was born in Rochester, New York. Her father was a well-known rabbi who worked across faith traditions, so was acquainted with Emma Rauschenbusch’s father and brother, both of whom were ordained Protestant ministers. Stettheimer earned degrees at Barnard (BA, 1896 and MA, 1898), one of the first women’s institutions to admit Jewish students, before she undertook doctoral work at Freiberg. She wrote her dissertation on judgment and religious belief in the work of William James. There is little information available about Stettheimer’s life and career, but she published two novels under the pseudonym Henri Waste, one of which is of interest from a historical perspective: Philosophy (1917), a fictionalized account of her experiences as a student in Germany. Her sister Florine (1871– 1944) was a well-regarded artist who painted portraits of Henrietta and other family members.152 After the early 1900s, universities in the United States and Canada became more accessible to women, and a number of philosophy departments in North America grew in prestige. So women no longer had the need to study abroad to gain credentials in philosophy. As with each of the chapters in this volume, we will conclude with these early “firsts” and for the time being set aside questions about women in academic life further into the twentieth century.

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7 Conclusion

The women featured in this volume produced a wide range of written work over a span of nearly fifty years, from formal logic to literary analysis informed by a nascent critical race theory. Yet themes and patterns appear in the academic work of this early generation of philosophical thinkers. Ten of them did work in the history of philosophy, primarily in the modern period, and more than half of these focused on thinkers or themes related to philosophical idealism. Women from Cornell and Michigan produced the most historical discussions in this volume. An equal number of women did work related to social and political theory, and, nearly half of these focused on race/culture or gender. Work of this nature is scattered across the institutions discussed here. A subset of women engaged in discussion of new developments in philosophy and related fields, specifically, pragmatism, logic, and psychology. Explorations of psychology were also common across the institutions represented in this study. With some overlap with the historically minded group, ten women did their work in psychology. Some of them performed the difficult task of delineating the boundaries between philosophy and psychology; others resisted making a distinction but rather sought to recast psychology as a type of epistemology. Religion was a fairly common area of interest. Again, with some overlap six women engaged in discussions in this area of inquiry.

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Work on Historical Figures Some women were among the first to discuss historical figures, thus contributing to their recognition and/or future scholarship. Eliza Ritchie contributed some of the first articles on Spinoza to philosophy journals in the United States. Similarly, Grace Dolson was an early contributor to analyses of Nietzsche and appears to have helped establish a framework for understanding his work that remains in place today. Ethel Muir produced an early discussion of Adam Smith’s moral theory. Emma Rauschenbusch conducted the first known analysis of Mary Wollstonecraft as a philosopher, rather than as an educator or feminist. As noted in the previous chapters, idealism was a dominant school of philosophy at this time, and a number of women engaged in discussions of the idealist movement or thinkers within it. Ellen Bliss Talbot was a central figure in Fichte studies. Caroline Miles Hill, Eliza Sunderland, and Anna Alice Cutler produced work on aspects of Kant’s thought. While there has been no shortage of work about Kant—then or now—these women discussed his ideas at a time when he was still seen as one in a group of idealists, competing with Fichte, Lotze, and Hegel for a place in the philosophical canon. Eliza Sunderland produced a comparative discussion of Kant and Hegel, and Marietta Kies drew on Hegel’s thought in her theory of altruism. Vida Frank Moore analyzed Lotze’s system of thought. Georgiana Simpson discussed Herder’s studies on the boundaries of philosophy, anthropology, and linguistics.

Social/Political Philosophy As noted previously, a number of women explored social/political issues. A philosophical purist might tell us that only three of the women in this volume actually “count” as social/political philosophers, because only their writings are theoretical. The reason so many women are in this category within my schema,

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critics would say, is because I have “cheated” by including women whose work grew out of practical concerns or is delivered as history or narrative. My response? Exactly. In Volume I, I made a case for expanding our definition of “philosophy” to include embodied and/or contextual discussions, in part to ensure we include more feminine and minority voices. The thinkers in this volume reflect the commitments to inclusion that I expressed in Volume I. It seems to me to be an important move. Perhaps these and other women will be judged duly philosophical over time and will enrich our discussions, perhaps not. For now, I have decided to cast a wider net and let time and further discussion make the determination about whether these women are philosophers, philosophical thinkers, social critics, or should be placed in some other category in our intellectual world.

Political—in Theory The thinkers whose work most nearly matches our usual standards for political philosophy are Julia Gulliver, Marietta Kies, and Ethel Muir. Some will object that Muir did her work in moral theory, not social/political philosophy, but at this point I will discuss her alongside the other two. Gulliver’s theory of democracy grows out of an interesting mix of the conservative and progressive strains of thought that were current in her day. There are aspects of it that are similar to the work of Susan Blow (primarily in correspondence) and her colleague William Torrey Harris—a sense of maintaining social order. But similarities between Gulliver and Jane Addams emerge in a reading of her work as well. Overall, Gulliver comes across as very much a “nineteenth-century thinker,” however. Unlike some other women in this volume, in my view she did not appear to be ready to enter twentieth-century discourse. Marietta Kies and Ethel Muir produced discussions of altruism and the moral good. And while these have been concerns within philosophy since Socrates and Diotima walked the earth, they were part of a larger trend at the

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time. Like Gulliver, Marietta Kies was a bit too wedded to nineteenth-century thinking. Her theory of altruism was innovative in that it discussed otherregarding behavior as a public/political ethic, not simply a private moral prerogative. In addition, she was part of a trend in political thought that was new at the time: “Christian socialism,” sometimes identified as the “social gospel” tradition. Her work also aligns well with the late twentieth-century “ethic of care,” especially as articulated by Virginia Held. But Kies appeared not quite ready to fully embrace political progressivism and the intellectual movements it was paired with, movements that broke free of nineteenthcentury forms of argument and traditions (most notably religion). One can only wonder if Kies would have ventured into new territory in the twentieth century if her life had not been cut short by illness. Ethel Muir stands as the best example of political theory (if purists will allow me to include her under that umbrella for the time being). She examined Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments by comparing him to his contemporaries, analyzing his use of terms and concepts, and arguing for the superiority of his thought over thinkers in the Moral Sense school. She does not develop any of her own theories in this lone piece of academic writing—and in this regard, Gulliver and Kies surpass her. But she wins points as a textbook example of “good scholarship.”

Justice in Context Eva Dykes, Anna Julia Cooper, and Rachel Caroline Eaton were part of a larger movement that pressed for recognition of minority concerns. Dykes and Cooper conducted analyses of literature that sought to address racial issues. In their discussions, Dykes chose to examine forms of expository writing, while Cooper looked primarily at fiction. Interestingly, each woman’s in-depth analyses focused on white writers. Although there was an ample body of literature by African American authors that they could have chosen from, the two opted instead to examine works by figures in the dominant

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culture, no doubt to demonstrate how it shaped societal perceptions. Dykes did additional work that featured African American authors, but her reflection on that work is minimal. Georgiana Simpson did the same when she republished a biography of Toussaint Louverture. The simple act of sharing literature by or about important figures in African American history was itself a statement; both Dykes and Simpson assumed the works would speak for themselves. Eaton was the first indigenous woman to examine a period of American history from the tribal perspective. She saw her own work as a historical study, but there are certainly moral/political observations and insights within it. Cooper produced a similar historical study of Haiti during the French Revolution. She lays out the parties and policies that shaped discourse about Haiti as a colonized and enslaved territory, but it is clear that the issues of justice and equality underlying the debates were central in her own mind.

Feminism, in Theory and Practice Anna Julia Cooper also contributed to nineteenth-century feminist discussions, calling white women to account for racist ideals and practices within the feminist movement and denouncing sexism within the African American community. Her early work has received a good deal of attention in recent years, as well it should. Sadly, in their feminist writings, both Eliza Sunderland and Emma Rauschenbusch were blind to issues of race/culture. Sunderland embraced a version of liberal feminism that leaned slightly in the direction of conservatism, although the comments she made about marriage and children might have been more of a political ploy to win approval than due to deeply held convictions about women’s maternal role. Rauschenbusch ventured into new territory within feminist history. Many women had read and commented on Mary Wollstonecraft’s feminist theory by the late nineteenth century, but no women produced a full study of her life and thought before Rauschenbusch’s thesis appeared in print. In addition, she de-centered the

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narrative of Wollstonecraft’s lover and first biographer, William Godwin, to reveal what Rauschenbusch thought was a more authentic picture of her. She was in some ways a more religious thinker than Godwin had indicated, and she was more comfortable with emotive interpretations of experience than he was. In nearly every sense, Wollstonecraft was less interested in following Godwin’s lead than in developing ideas on her own. Again, one can only wish that Rauschenbusch had produced more work on Wollstonecraft or feminism.

New Developments, circa 1900 Pragmatism As a central feature of their work, or alongside it, a number of women contributed to developments in philosophy that were current in their day, in some cases charting new territory. Ella Flagg Young was deeply involved in the pragmatist movement on both the theoretical and practical levels. Caroline Miles Hill was also linked to this movement, working at Hull House with Jane Addams and producing a brief sketch of pragmatist principles toward the end of her career. Both Christine Ladd-Franklin and Ellen Bliss Talbot addressed theoretical concerns related to pragmatism, each of them from a critical perspective. Talbot drew on Fichte to offer ways to improve pragmatism. Ladd-Franklin urged for a more robust pragmatist theory of truth. Christine Ladd-Franklin’s main focus within philosophy was logic, and in this branch of the discipline she was not only central but also innovative and contributed to further advancements in the field.

Psychology The study of psychology was flourishing at the time this group of women launched their careers, and ten of them produced work related to this newly emerging discipline. Calkins, Miles Hill, Howes, and Ladd-Franklin were the most involved

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in early developments in experimental psychology, although other women, like Talbot, dabbled in that subfield while graduate students. Among these five, Calkins and Ladd-Franklin made the biggest imprints. Ladd-Franklin took her studies fully into the realm of science, with an examination of vision and the perception of color that I did not discuss here, because it goes beyond the bounds of philosophy in my view. Calkins, however, explored psychology as a new version of epistemology and ontology. Her work was innovative and challenges the bounds of philosophy while still (in my view) managing to maintain a distinction between the two disciplines. If we were able to go back in time and ask Calkins to share her thoughts on the matter, she may disagree. There is an aspect to her approach that suggests she would prefer to blur the boundaries, to let philosophy flow from the theoretical to the empirical and thus to retain psychology as a branch of philosophy. Although she did not venture into experimental psychology to the degree that Calkins did, I see Talbot’s work as being in much the same vein, but perhaps slightly more interested in philosophical gatekeeping. In her “Conscious Elements” article, she provided helpful distinctions between philosophical and psychological methods of inquiry. But in the majority of her essays she seemed content with blurring a number of distinctions that are now in place. In their dissertations both Eliza Ritchie and Matilde Castro explored the boundaries of philosophy and psychology, but in ways that in my view signal an inability to see the big picture. Of course, Ritchie was formulating her ideas very early in the philosophy/psychology discussion at the tail of the 1880s. So she did not have the benefit of seeing experimental psychology develop its theories and methods, which could have provided her with a bit more clarity. But many of the questions she explored would remain unanswered until modern neuroscience emerged decades into the twentieth century. In this sense, she anticipated concerns that would continue to plague her contemporaries and those who would follow. Castro presents another case. Her discussion of psychology and logic is full of helpful insights and sharp critiques. Yet, she was too immersed in discussions taking place among pragmatists in philosophy and functionalists in psychology to speak to colleagues outside these subfields. One could only wish she had taken

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a step or two back to put her own views into perspective and thus ensure her work had more longevity—or that she had simply found time to produce more written work. Clearly, she had a brilliant mind and could have contributed a great deal to philosophy. Hitchcock and Strong each engaged in manageable and interesting discussions of psychology that seem to me to be valuable. If Clara Hitchcock’s insights into the influence of expectation on experience and learning had received more attention at the time, it could have informed both epistemology and pedagogical theory. It seems to have been overshadowed by other developments in experimental psychology, however. Interestingly enough, it was picked up by a researcher exploring the element of surprise decades later. Anna Alice Cutler provides an interesting case. In a sense her study of Kant in relation to aesthetics provides some insights, but she makes a move that essentially attempts to peer into the psychology of Kant himself. As someone trained in philosophy as an “objective” area of inquiry, my first impulse is to reject this highly subjective reading of Kant. At the same time, it is a provocative claim. We will have to leave it for aestheticians to make a judgment about this work. Anna Strong produced some valuable analyses of psychology and religion, bringing elements of the sociology of religion into the mix as she did so. In this sense she is another one of our disciplinary boundary crossers. But she abandoned her academic explorations as soon as she was able to do so, in my view depriving philosophy and religion of a very incisive thinker. Again, each of these women leave us wishing they had done more research in their areas of interest so we could have come to know them and their work better—and so they could have enriched philosophy.

Institutions and Their Impact The quality, style, and tone vary in the work these women produced. The very first doctoral degree earner, May Preston Slosson, wrote a thesis of barely 5,000 words in 1880. Yet she reported being assigned a more demanding course of study in her graduate work than her male counterparts, presumably to ensure

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there was no question about her academic abilities. One of the last women doctorates discussed here, Eva Dykes, wrote a dissertation of well over 100,000 words in 1921. This was after being required to earn a second bachelor’s degree, presumably because Radcliffe College questioned whether a degree from a historically black institution was valid. As noted earlier, several women’s writing is laden with nineteenth-century assumptions, as well as its forms of expression (and verbosity). But we can set aside these concerns in most instances, because they were women of their time; thus, they wrote using the conventions of the day. Some were certainly able to rise to the occasion and generate the type of discourse and produce the volume of work that became more common in the twentieth century. Ladd-Franklin, Ritchie, Calkins, Talbot, Young, Eaton, and Cooper stand out in this regard. Among these women, only Calkins and Talbot had full-fledged academic careers based on today’s standards, chairing philosophy departments at Wellesley and Mount Holyoke, respectively. Ladd-Franklin was professionally active and well-respected as a scholar, but due to gender biases, she never held a full-time position. Ritchie abandoned academia after 1900 for reasons unknown. Young, Eaton, and Cooper spent the majority of their careers in K-12 education. The matter of women’s career success at this early point in the development of academia as a professional enterprise is interesting. As noted previously, the majority of the women in this volume held full-time appointments at colleges or universities for a period of ten years or more: all six women from Cornell— Slosson, Ritchie, Muir, Talbot, Dolson, and Moore; only one from Michigan— Kies; four from Chicago—Millerd, Castro, Eaton, and Simpson; all three from Harvard/Radcliffe—Calkins, Howes, and Dykes; all three women from Yale—Cutler, Zehring, and Hitchcock; and two of our independent achievers, Gulliver (Smith) and Cooper (Sorbonne). Career success, particularly in this era, called for not only individual talent and the drive to succeed but also institutional support and professional mentoring. Cornell graduates had both formal and informal structures in place to help launch academic careers—for men as well as women. The

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institution was immensely fortunate to have funding from a generous donor to establish the Sage School of Philosophy, which included fellowships that were available to women. By all accounts the majority of faculty at Cornell supported women’s career development, even if the social biases of the day meant men were promoted from within, while women were placed in women’s colleges. The department set the standard for academic achievement in the discipline with a rigorous curriculum and courses taught by professionally engaged faculty. It managed the interdisciplinary aspects of its curriculum by allowing both faculty and students to identify their niche and grow within it. Its launch of The Philosophical Review in 1892, one of the first and best academic philosophy journals in the English language at the time, was an additional strength, making affiliation with the department even more prestigious. The University of Chicago had many of the same strengths, sans generous departmental funding. As the youngest department featured in this study, Chicago was a new and dynamic place for women. The curriculum was innovative and interdisciplinary; faculty worked across departments in their research, and students were encouraged to do the same. High levels of community engagement in the city by faculty and students were a unique feature of Chicago’s program. And, based on the evidence available to us, it appears to have been the institution that was the most welcoming to women of color. Georgiana Simpson has received recognition at the university in recent years. Let’s hope that will be the case for Castro and Eaton in the future as well. Michigan and Yale share a set of significantly different characteristics. In the early 1890s, Michigan might have provided just as much promise as Cornell and Chicago did when the first women graduate students joined their departments. It had faculty who were well-regarded both as public intellectuals and as serious academics. Its curriculum was perhaps a bit heavier on Hegel than at Cornell and Chicago, but it was also an older institution, and changes rarely take place overnight. No doubt, the death of George Sylvester Morris, the departure of John Dewey, and the university’s failure to retain George Herbert Mead and James Hayden Tufts were a series of blows that were hard

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for the institution to overcome. This, combined with funding and university management issues, burdened the department, which did not confer any doctorates in philosophy to a woman—and only a few to men—in the decades after our group completed graduate studies there. With similar results, but for different reasons, Yale also seems to have had a bit of an identity crisis at this time. As discussed in Chapter 5, the philosophy department was caught in a contest between old ways of doing philosophy— as the study of metaphysics, epistemology, and morality/religion—and new developments in the discipline, most notably in experimental psychology and emerging discussions in analytical philosophy. The institution also seems to have held to the notion that women were meant to teach exclusively at women’s colleges, which is where the students featured in this volume, Anna Cutler, Blanche Zehring, and Clara Hitchcock, remained throughout their careers. Harvard/Radcliffe provides us with a set of exceptionally interesting cases. It placed barriers in the path of our group of women at almost every turn. Calkins and Howes were denied their degrees, and Eva Dykes was required to earn a second bachelor’s degree before she could be admitted. Yet Calkins and Dykes had incredibly successful careers. Howes’s professional advancement was truncated almost solely because she chose marriage over career. Among women who were “solo acts,” the only institution we can safely say provided adequate support was Smith, where Julia Gulliver completed her degree. As a single-sex institution, it was a haven for women, so was a natural fit for a woman like Gulliver who then assumed leadership at a women’s college in the Midwest. Anna Julia Cooper seems to have had a smooth enough experience at the Sorbonne, but only after a false start at Columbia, due largely to family responsibilities. At the other universities—Johns Hopkins and Bern—women were completely dependent on the good will of the faculty they studied under. If there was an egalitarian man they could study with, they had passed the first barrier. Then there was the question of getting approval from the department and/or the university administrators to enroll or audit courses. In short, they were subject to the whims of a very capricious system.

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Concluding Thoughts As I conducted research on this group of women, I found it reassuring to see that they covered such a wide range of intellectual territory and that the majority of them had successful academic careers. This suggests that they had good advising, mentoring, and the freedom to explore their own interests. It is unfortunate that such a high number of women failed to produce more written work after the dissertation. Yet academic life was of a different nature at that time, with a greater emphasis on campus life, particularly at single-sex institutions: larger teaching loads, more advising responsibilities, and higher demands for service on committees. This resulted in lower research productivity. This, in turn, is an issue related to gender hierarchies in academia at the time. Clearly it had a big impact on women’s status in the profession—and no doubt on their professional self-esteem. At the same time, the women’s college system created a ready-made network that many women thrived in—both personally and professionally. And some women, like Mary Whiton Calkins and Ellen Bliss Talbot, were essentially unstoppable. They were determined to succeed and did so, even within the confines of the women’s college network. Yet, the women who published less than they did also deserve attention, because they too contributed to the development of philosophical thought in this period. As a whole all the women in this volume provide us with a valuable chance to look into the past to see how philosophy was understood by the first women to enter academia and make the path that much smoother for the women who would follow.

NOTES

Chapter 1 1 See also Walter Crosby Eells, “Earned Doctorates for Women in the Nineteenth Century,” American Association of University Professors Bulletin, vol. 42 (1956), pp. 645–51. 2 See Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association (May 1902), pp. 283–5. See also Eells, “Earned Doctorates for Women in the Nineteenth Century,” pp. 645–51. 3 See John H. McClendon III and Stephen C. Ferguson II, African American Philosophers and Philosophy (Bloomsbury, 2019), pp. 45–7; 106–7. 4 See Bruce Kuklick, “Philosophy at Yale in the Century after Darwin,” History of Philosophy Quarterly, vol. 21, no. 3 (July 2004), pp. 313–36.

Chapter 2 1 See “150 Ways to Say Cornell”: https​:/​/rm​​c​.lib​​rary.​​corne​​ll​.ed​​u​/cor​​nell1​​50​/ex​​hibit​​ion​ /s​​excol​​​or​/in​​dex​.h​​tml. 2 See “Early Black Women at Cornell,” compiled by P. Jackson, in Cornell University archives: https​:/​/rm​​c​.lib​​rary.​​corne​​ll​.ed​​u​/ear​​lybla​​ckwom​​en​/EB​​W​_Re​s​​ource​​s​.pdf​. 3 May Preston Slosson alumni file, #2516, Box 2, Fld 14; Cornell University archives. 4 Source for Schurman’s role as an instructor: Cornell University catalogs, 1891–1900, available online. 5 Sources for Schurman’s biographical information: Cornell University, Legacy of Leadership: Cornell’s Presidents: https​:/​/rm​​c​.lib​​rary.​​corne​​ll​.ed​​u​/pre​​siden​​ts​/ex​​hibit​​ ion​-s​​​ec​=3.​​php​.h​​tml; Encyclopedia Britannica (1911) online at: https​:/​/th​​eodor​​a​.com​​ /ency​​clope​​dia​/s​​/jaco​​b​_gou​​ld​_sc​​​hurma​​n​.htm​l 6 Sources for Creighton’s biographical information: Cornell Alumni News, vol. XXVII, no. 4 (October 16, 1924), p. 46 and Katherine Gilbert, “James E. Creighton as Writer and Editor,” memorial address given at the annual meeting of the APA, December 1924; in Journal of Philosophy, vol. 22, no. 10 (May 7, 1925), pp. 256–64.

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7 Creighton team-taught a course with Albee in 1893–94 and Schurman in 1895–96. Source for Creighton’s role as an instructor: Cornell University catalogs, 1891–1900, available online. 8 Gilbert, “James E. Creighton as Writer and Editor,” p. 261. 9 Ibid., p. 260. 10 For Hammond’s, review of Mitchell’s Study of Greek Philosophy, see Philosophical Review, vol. 1 (1892), pp. 211–13. For my discussion of Mitchell’s work and his criticism, see Rogers, America’s First Women Philosophers: Transplanting Hegel (London: Continuum, 2005), pp. 114–15. 11 As noted in the companion volume to this book, while the terms “rationalism” and “empiricism” had certainly been in use for some time, they were not well-established to signal distinct schools of thought within epistemology until academic philosophy was emerging at the cusp of the twentieth century. See Rogers, Women Philosophers: Education and Activism in the Nineteenth Century (Bloomsbury, 2020), pp. 38–9 and 197, note 40. 12 David Irons’s appointment at Bryn Mawr, to replace Charles Bakewell, who had accepted a position at the University of California, was announced in academic venues, including Science (New Series), vol. 11, no. 277, p. 640. Information about his other academic roles is from Bryn Mawr College catalogs from this era. 13 As noted in Chapter 6, Titchener had an especially contentious relationship with Christine Ladd-Franklin, the accomplished logician, mathematician, and early experimental psychologist. 14 Katherine Everett Gilbert, “James E. Creighton as Writer and Editor,” p. 264. 15 Biographical information for May Preston Slosson comes from her obituary: Ann Arbor News, November 26, 1943; available online: https​:/​/aa​​dl​.or​​g​/aa_​​news_​​19431​​ 126​_p​​3​-mrs​​_may_​​prest​​on​_sl​​osson​​_dies​​_afte​​​r​_hea​​rt​_at​​tack. 16 Information about Preston Slosson’s husband and her early career is from the undated notes she provided to Cornell University about her education and career in May Preston Slosson alumni file, #2516, Box 2, Fld 14; Cornell University archives. 17 Information about Preston Slosson’s work at Hastings and at the Wyoming penitentiary is from the undated notes she provided to Cornell University, in May Preston Slosson alumni file, #2516, Box 2, Fld 14; Cornell University archives. 18 See Jessica Dawson, “Wyoming in Poetry: May Preston Slosson,” https​:/​/li​​brary​​.wyo.​​ gov​/w​​yomin​​g​-in-​​poetr​​y​-may​​-pres​​to​n​-s​​losso​​n/. 19 See May Preston Slosson, undated notes she provided to Cornell University, in May Preston Slosson alumni file, #2516, Box 2, Fld 14; Cornell University archives. 20 See May Preston Slosson’s obituary Ann Arbor News. For information about Dunbar Community Center, see Carol Gibson and Lola M. Jones, Another Ann Arbor (Charleston: Arcadia Publishing, 2006), pp. 40–42.

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21 Information about Preston Slosson’s experience as a graduate student at Cornell is from the undated notes she provided to Cornell University about her education and career in May Preston Slosson alumni file, #2516, Box 2, Fld 14; Cornell University archives. 22 May Preston Slosson, undated notes provided to Cornell University, in May Preston Slosson alumni file, #2516, Box 2, Fld 14; Cornell University archives. 23 May Preston Slosson, “Different Theories of Beauty,” doctoral thesis, Cornell University, 1880, p. 4. 24 Slosson, “Different Theories of Beauty,” pp. 5, 11. 25 Ibid., p. 11. 26 Ibid., pp. 6–7. 27 Ibid., pp. 8, 10–11. 28 Ibid., p. 9. 29 Ibid., pp. 10–11. 30 Ibid., pp. 6–7. 31 Ibid., p. 8. 32 Ibid., p. 14. 33 Ibid., pp. 13–15. 34 Ibid., pp. 11–12. 35 Ibid., p. 4. 36 Biographical information for Eliza Ritchie comes from: Judith Fingard, “Eliza Ritchie,” in Dictionary of Canadian Biography, vol. 16. http:​/​/www​​.biog​​raphi​​.ca​/e​​ n​/bio​​/ritc​​hie​_e​​liza​_​​16E​.h​​tml; and Ernest Forbes, “Eliza Ritchie,” in The Canadian Encyclopedia,https​:/​/ww​​w​.the​​canad​​ianen​​cyclo​​pedia​​.ca​/e​​n​/art​​icle/​​e​liza​​-ritc​​hie 37 A basic genealogy search shows no obvious links between Eliza Ritchie and her contemporary, the Scottish philosopher David G. Ritchie, although it is possible that they have common ancestry before 1750. Neil J. MacKinnon, “John William Ritchie,” in Dictionary of Canadian Biography, vol. 11. As MacKinnon notes, Ritchie is not to be confused with his brother, Sir William Johnston Ritchie, who became chief justice of Canada in 1879. http:​/​/www​​.biog​​raphi​​.ca​/e​​n​/bio​​/ritc​​hie​_j​​ohn​_w​​ill​ia​​ m​_11E​​.html​ 38 For an informative discussion of Ritchie and her sisters in social reform work in Halifax, see Judith Fingard, “The Ritchie Sisters and Social Improvement in Early 20th Century Halifax,” Journal of the Royal Nova Scotia Historical Society, vol. 13 (2010), pp. 1–22. The distinction between the personalities of the three sisters appears on page 8. 39 Lives of Dalhousie, p. 134.

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40 Ibid. 41 Three women fulfilled requirements for a doctorate in philosophy before Ritchie finished at Cornell: May Preston Slosson (Cornell, 1880), Christine Ladd-Franklin (Johns Hopkins, 1882), and Julia Gulliver (Smith, 1888). Due to sexist policies at Johns Hopkins at the time, however, Ladd-Franklin was not awarded the degree until decades later. I still include her as the third woman to earn a PhD, however, as do most historical discussions of women in the history of philosophy. In email exchanges, Rodney Parker shared information with me about the second Canadian woman to earn a PhD in philosophy: Janet Donalda McFee (1863–1957), who completed doctoral work at the University of Zurich in 1895. 42 Information about Ritchie’s role at Dalhousie in the 1910s and 1920s is from the website of Dalhousie University, doctoral entrance scholarship page: https​:/​/ww​​w​ .dal​​.ca​/f​​acult​​y​/gra​​dstud​​ies​/f​​undin​​g​/app​​procr​​es​/sc​​holar​​ship​r​​efs​/e​​liza.​​html. 43 Eliza Ritchie, letter to J. G. Schurman, n.d.; a note indicates his reply date was March 11, 1892. 44 See Patricia Ann Palmieri, In Adamless Eden: The Community of Women Faculty at Wellesley (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), pp. 46, 51, 187, and 287 at fn#8. 45 Mary Whiton Calkins to James E. Creighton, January 4, 1900, in Cornell University archives. 46 Eliza Ritchie, letter to James E. Creighton, June 17, 1901, in Cornell University archives. 47 For Ritchie’s attitude toward Wellesley, see Fingard, “Eliza Ritchie.” 48 See Dalhousie University Calendars for each academic year in question. Note that the 1901-02 volume provides a historical overview of faculty appointments across departments and programs: https​:/​/da​​lspac​​e​.lib​​rary.​​dal​.c​​a​/han​​dle​/1​​0​222/​​11500​. 49 See Fingard, “The Ritchie Sisters and Social Improvement in Early 20th Century Halifax,” pp. 2–3. 50 Eliza Ritchie letter to John Daniel Logan, September 19, 1912, in John Daniel Logan fonds (MS-5-1, Box 3, Folder 46), Dalhousie University archives. This letter was discovered by Dalhousie librarians, Creighton Barrett and Geoffrey Brown, after several email exchanges with them about Ritchie and her legacy at the university. They sent it just a few days before I was due to deliver my manuscript to the publisher, for which I am ever so grateful. 51 See Fingard, “The Ritchie Sisters and Social Improvement in Early 20th Century Halifax,”– regarding Ritchie’s community engagement in Halifax, see pp. 6–7, 9, 11–12, 14–15. On pages 6 and 7, Fingard warns that Eliza Ritchie and her sisters were often confused with each other, even in obituaries, thus mistaken attributions have been perpetuated by historians. 52 Eliza Ritchie, The Problem of Personality (Ithaca: Andrus & Church, 1889), p. 4.

NOTES  307

53 Ritchie, The Problem of Personality, pp. 7–8. 54 Ibid., p. 7. 55 Ibid. 56 Ibid., pp. 18–21. 57 Ibid., pp. 19–20. 58 Ibid., p. 22. 59 Ibid., p. 25. 60 Ibid., p. 26. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid., p. 29. 63 Ibid., pp. 32–3. 64 Eliza Ritchie, “The Ethical Implications of Determinism,” Philosophical Review, vol. 2, no. 5 (1893), p. 531. 65 Ritchie, “The Ethical Implications of Determinism,” p. 532. 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid., pp. 533–4. 68 Ibid., p. 533. 69 Eliza Ritchie, letter to James E. Creighton, October 18, 1894, in Cornell University archives. 70 Ritchie, “The Ethical Implications of Determinism,” p. 541. 71 Ibid., p. 540. 72 In 1882, John Dewey published an article on “The Pantheism of Spinoza.” Journal of Speculative Philosophy 16, pp. 249–57. But the majority of the earliest articles about Spinoza were published in Mind, by Pollock (1878), Sorley (1880), Pearson (1883), Taylor (1896) and Latta (1899) and in The Philosophical Review by Miller (1895), Murray (1896), and Ritchie (1902 and 1904). A two-part article about Spinoza appeared in the religious journal, Biblical World, by Pick (1893). Amy Tanner’s article is the last Spinoza discussion to appear in this early period, in the Journal of American Psychology in 1907. The next round of articles to examine Spinoza appeared between 1915 and 1925, beginning with one article in the Proceedings of the Aristotelean Society and another in the Journal of Philosophy, Psychology, and Scientific Methods; the others were distributed fairly evenly between Mind, Monist, and Philosophical Review. 73 Eliza Ritchie, “Notes on Spinoza’s Conception of God,” in Philosophical Review, vol 11, no. 1 (1902), pp. 3, 4, and 11.

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74 Ritchie, “Notes on Spinoza’s Conception of God,” p. 4. 75 Ibid., p. 5. 76 Ibid., pp. 8–9. 77 Ibid. 78 Eliza Ritchie, letter to James E. Creighton, June 17, 1901, in Cornell University archives. 79 Ritchie, “Notes on Spinoza’s Conception of God,” p. 9. 80 Ibid., pp. 9–10. 81 Ibid., p. 10. I have added emphasis to help convey Ritchie’s meaning here. 82 Ritchie, “Notes on Spinoza’s Conception of God,” p. 13. 83 Ibid., pp. 13–14. 84 Eliza Ritchie, “The Reality of the Finite in Spinoza’s System,” in Philosophical Review, vol. 13, no. 1 (1904), p. 16. 85 See Charles Ritchie, An Appetite for Life: The Education of a Young Diarist, 1924– 1927 (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1977), p. 24. 86 Eliza Ritchie, “The Essential in Religion,” Philosophical Review, vol. 10, no. 1 (January 1901), pp. 4–5. 87 All quotes in this paragraph are from Ritchie, “The Essential in Religion,” pp. 8–9. 88 Ritchie, “The Essential in Religion,” p. 11. 89 Eliza Ritchie, “Truth-Seeking in Matters of Religion,” International Journal of Ethics, vol. 11, no. 1 (October 1900), pp. 76–77. 90 Ritchie, “Truth-Seeking in Matters of Religion, p. 78. 91 Ibid., p. 79. 92 Eliza Ritchie, “The Relation of Morality to Belief,” in International Journal of Ethics, vol. 7 (1897), p. 181. 93 Ritchie, “The Relation of Morality to Belief,” p. 185. 94 Ibid., p. 184. 95 Ibid., p. 189. 96 Ibid., p. 190. 97 Biographical information for Ethel Gordon Muir is from an obituary notice in Cornell Alumni News, vol. 43, no. 32 (June 12, 1941), p. 451 and the genealogy site maintained by Douglas Graham, “A Family Reunion: The Muir Family of Kirkcudbrightshire and Nova Scotia,” http://douglasjgraham​.net​/Muir​.html. Sources vary about the year of Muir’s birth. Family historians place her birth at 1856 or ’57,

NOTES  309

but census records and travel documents suggest she was born 10-12 years later, as late as 1869 in some cases. Family lore wins the day: I was able to locate her death certificate using links provided in Nova Scotia’s Provincial Archives, which shows that Muir was born in November 1857 and died at the age of 83 on November 17, 1940: https://www​.novascotiagenealogy​.com. 98 Ethel and her sister Mary, who was sometimes known as May or Mae, were both included on a list of students who attended Nova Scotia Provincial Normal School before 1885. For Ethel, a “C” appears to indicate the type of teaching certificate she earned. This column was left blank for Mae, who was roughly ten years younger than Ethel and may not have completed her studies before she married. See Annual Report of the Normal and Model Schools of Nova Scotia, 1886 (Halifax: Commissioner of Public Works and Mines, Queen’s Printer, 1886), Ethel Muir is listed in Appendix A, page 9; Mae is listed in the same section on page 6. Ethel’s letter to family about teaching at Cambridge House was cited in Graham, “A Family Reunion.” 99 See Cornell University Registers, 1893–94, p. 191; 1894–95, p. 200; and 1895–96, p. 204. 100 Walter Crosby Eells, “Earned Doctorates for Women in the Nineteenth Century,” American Association of University Professors, Bulletin, vol. 42 (1956), p. 650. 101 Information about faculty positions at Mount Holyoke is from faculty listings and course descriptions in its college catalogs in this era. A notice that Muir was leaving the college and Talbot would fill the position was published in The Philosophical Review, vol. ix, no. 5 (September 1900), p. 571. 102 Briarcliff was established as an elite secondary school for girls in 1903, began adding two-year advanced degree options in 1923, and officially became a twoyear women’s college in 1933. By 1957, it remained a women’s college, but began offering bachelor’s degrees. By the 1970s same-sex colleges had become less popular, and in 1977 Briarcliff became part of Pace University. The university sold the former Briarcliff campus in 2017. See A Handbook of American Private Schools, vol. 8 (Boston: Porter Sargent, 1923), p. 176. See also Briarcliff Historical Society Chronology: http:​/​/bri​​arcli​​ffhis​​tory.​​org​/b​​riarc​​liff-​​chron​​ol​ogy​​.html​; and Zak Failla, “Pace Sells Briarcliff Campus,” The Daily Voice online (February 23, 2017): https​:/​/ da​​ilyvo​​ice​.c​​om​/ne​​w​-yor​​k​/bri​​arcli​​ff​/sc​​hools​​/pace​​-sell​​s​-bri​​arcli​​ff​-ca​​mp​us-​​for​-1​​74m​/7​​ 00989​/ 103 Ethel Muir, letter to James Creighton, March 16, 1905, in Cornell University archives. 104 Muir’s contributions at Grenfell Mission were recognized in Among the Deep Sea Fishers, vol. 30–31 (Grenfell Association Publication Office, 1932), p. 64. A number of contemporary works have discussed Muir’s work at Grenfell Mission. See: Jennifer J. Connor and Katherine Side, The Grenfell Medical Mission and American Support in Newfoundland and Labrador, 1890s-1940s (Montreal: McGill University Press, 2019), pp. 150–54. Gail Lush, “Nutrition, Health Education, and Dietary Reform: Gendering the ‘New Science’ in Northern Newfoundland and Labrador, 1893-1928”

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(MA thesis, Department of History, Memorial University of Newfoundland, May 2008), pp. 70, 133, 154. Finding Grenfell: Tracing the Grenfell Mission in Southern Labrador: https​:/​/ww​​w​.fin​​dingg​​renfe​​ll​.ca​​/home​​/summ​​er​-sc​​​hools​​.htm. 105 Several additional discussions of Adam Smith’s life, heritage, and intellectual interests were published at this time. Reviews of three of them appeared in academic journals: R. B. Haldane’s Life of Adam Smith, John Rae’s Life of Adam Smith, and James Bonar’s Catalogue of the Library of Adam Smith. In addition, Mary T. A. Bannerman published an article about the “Parentage of Adam Smith,” The Scottish Antiquary, or, Northern Notes and Queries, vol. 9, no. 36 (1895), pp. 157–58; and Edwin Canaan published a short piece, “Two Letters of Adam Smith’s,” The Economic Journal, vol. 8, no. 31 (September 1898), pp. 402–04. 106 For discussions of Adam Smith’s economic theory, see F. W. Newman, “On the Progress of Political Economy from the Time of Adam Smith,” International Journal of Ethics, vol. 1, no. 4 (July 1891), pp. 475–83; L. L. Price, “Adam Smith and His Relation to Recent Economics,” The Economic Journal, vol. 3, no. 10 (June 1893), pp. 239–54; Edward Bourne, “Alexander Hamilton and Adam Smith,” The Quarterly Journal of Economics, vol. 8, no. 3 (April 1894), pp. 328–44; J. H. Hollander, “Adam Smith and James Anderson,” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, vol. 7 (May 1896), pp. 85–88; and Hannah Robie Sewall, “The Theory of Value Before Adam Smith,” Publications of the American Economic Association, 3rd Series, vol. 2, no. 3 (August 1901), pp. 1–128. Sewall’s lengthy article (quite likely her dissertation) was reviewed by A. C. Pigou in The Economic Journal, vol. 12, no. 47 (September 1902), pp. 374–5 and Wesley C. Mitchell in Journal of Political Economy, vol. 11, no. 1 (December 1902), pp. 144–5. Selections from Smith’s Wealth of Nations appeared during this period as well, in the Journal of Education, vol. 41, no. 9 (1017) (February 28, 1895), p. 146. 107 Ethel Gordon Muir, “The Ethical System of Adam Smith” (Cornell University doctoral dissertation, 1896), Preface (no page number provided). 108 Muir, “The Ethical System of Adam Smith,” p. 15. 109 Ibid., pp. 15–16, 21–2. 110 Ibid., pp. 15–16, 23. 111 Ibid. 112 Ibid., p. 23. 113 Ibid., pp. 29–30. 114 Ibid., p. 35. 115 Ibid., p. 36. 116 Ibid., pp. 51–52. 117 Ibid., p. 60.

NOTES  311

118 Ibid., p. 63. 119 Ibid., p. 65. 120 Ibid., p. 66. 121 Ibid., pp. 52–53, 54. 122 Ibid., p. 46. 123 Ibid., p. 46. 124 Biographical information for Ellen Bliss Talbot is from the Dictionary of Modern American Philosophers, John Schook, ed., and Who’s Who in New England, second edition, Albert Nelson Marquis, ed. (1916). 125 A note about Ellen Talbot’s name change was made in Ohio State’s alumni magazine: “Miss Nellie Talbot, ’86-89, is connected with Mount Holyoke College in South Hadley, Mass. After graduation she changed her name to Ellen Bliss Talbot, which accounts for the confusion.” Ohio State University Monthly, vol. 4, no. 5 (January 1913), p. 36. Benjamin, Jr. is the only one of the Talbot children who does not appear to have attended Ohio State. This may have been the reason historical accounts of Ellen Bliss Talbot (which I had relied on myself in the past) indicate that she was from a family of only three children. I have not been able to determine if Benjamin Talbot, Jr. earned a bachelor’s degree elsewhere. In the 1890s, he appears in Columbus, Ohio city directories and was working for the City Buggy Company; he was also was the contact person for the Theosophical Society. Later census records show that he was an accountant at a mental institution. 126 Source: US Census records for 1910 and 1920 on Ancestry​.co​m. The quip about Herbert’s venture into poultry farming appeared in Ohio State’s alumni magazine, Ohio State University Monthly, vol. 4, no. 5 (January 1913), p. 41. 127 Source: US Census records for 1870 and 1880 on Ancestry​.co​m. Note: Deaf is in upper case, in recognition of Deaf language and culture and out of respect for the preferences of members of the Deaf community I am acquainted with. 128 See Benjamin Talbot, “Report of the Principal,” Legislative Documents Submitted to the Twelfth General Assembly of the State of Iowa, vol. 2 (December 1867; published January 1868), p. 15. Dewitt Tonsley and Conrad Zorbaugh were among several teachers in both Ohio and Iowa who were Deaf. Lou J. Hawkins and Ellen J. Israel were identified as hearing teachers who were familiar with “signs,” but it is not clear if they were fully fluent in Sign Language. See Talbot, “Report of the Principal,” pp. 16–17. The teachers’ dates of hire in Iowa are provided in Benjamin Talbot, “Iowa Institution for the Deaf,” Annals of Iowa, vol. 1867, no. 4 (1867), p. 958. 129 See Talbot, “Report of the Principal,” pp. 16–17. 130 Ibid., p. 16. 131 Ellen Bliss Talbot, letter to James E. Creighton, Sept 2, 1904, in Cornell University archives.

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132 Louise Hannum, letter to James E. Creighton, November 16, 1905, in Cornell University archives. 133 For information about Simmel, see David Frisby, “Preface,” in Georg Simmel (New York: Routledge/Taylor & Francis, 2002), pp. xiv–xix. 134 For information about Dessoir, see Stuart Brown, Diane Collinson, and Robert Wilkinson, “Max Dessoir,” Biographical Dictionary of Twentieth Century Philosophers (New York: Routledge, 1996), p. 184. 135 For information about Paulsen, see Frank Thilly, “Friedrich Paulsen,” The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 5, no. 19 (September 10, 1908), pp. 505–08. 136 Ellen Bliss Talbot, letter to James E. Creighton, January 6, 1905, in Cornell University archives. 137 For information about Menzer, a student of Wilhelm Dilthey, see Thomas Soren Hoffman, “Paul Menzer,” in German Biography online (1994): www​.d​​eutsc​​he​-bi​​ ograp​​hie​.d​​e​/gnd​​11688​​6439.​​html&​​usg​=A​​LkJrh​​iACRL​​Z1​-6I​​1FMTc​​L6WdQ​​_a​_3k​​_rQ​ #n​​dbcon​​tent. 138 Ellen Bliss Talbot, letter to James E. Creighton, January 6, 1905, in Cornell University archives. 139 Talbot’s review of The Persistent Problems of Philosophy was favorable overall, although she charged that Calkins’s discussion of the self should be enhanced by comparing it more carefully with the early modern understanding of the soul. In response, Calkins wrote “Self and Soul” which appeared in a subsequent issue of the Review. See Talbot’s review in Philosophical Review, vol. 17, no. 1 (January 1908), pp. 75–84 and Calkins’ response in Philosophical Review, vol. 17, no. 3 (May 1908), pp. 272–80. 140 Conversation with the late Richard Robin, summer 1999. Robin’s tenure at Mount Holyoke began after Talbot’s retirement, but he was aware of her legacy at the college and in the community. Even so, the information he shared with me provides a sense of Talbot as a person—a rarity indeed for researchers who are reaching 100 and more years into the past. 141 Talbot’s 1906 book was not widely reviewed, but did receive a commendation from W. H. Sheldon of Princeton: “Under the category of Fichtestudien, the book deserves the highest praise, not only for careful scholarship, but also for clearness and articulation of argumentation.” Philosophical Review, vol. 4, no. 17 (August 1907), pp. 471–3. 142 See A. E. Kroeger, “The Difference between the Dialectical Method of Hegel and the Synthetic Method of Kant and Fichte,” Journal of Speculative Philosophy, vol. 6, no. 2 (April, 1872), pp. 184–7. Kroeger is recognized as a member of the St. Louis movement in my first study of women in philosophy: Rogers, “‘Making Hegel Talk English’—America’s First Women Idealists,” (Boston University doctoral dissertation, 1998), pp. 37–8, 49–50, 282; available online: https​:/​/di​​gital​​commo​​

NOTES  313

ns​.mo​​ntcla​​ir​.ed​​u​/rel​​igion​​-f​acp​​ubs​/5​/. In that work I mistakenly identified him as Alfred Kroeger, but his name was in fact Adolph Ernst Kroeger. He was also mentioned at points throughout Kurt Leidecker’s biography of William Torrey Harris, Yankee Teacher (New York: Philosophical Library, 1946), see pp. 324–5, which unfortunately does not provide an index entry for Kroeger (or any of the women of the St. Louis movement, interestingly enough). See also R. C. Ware, “The Historical and Logical Relations between Fichte and Kant,” Journal of Speculative Philosophy, vol. 11, no. 2 (1877), pp. 145–151. Mention of Ware as a student at Massachusetts Institute of Technology appears in George Howison’s report to the president in MIT’s President’s Report, for the Year Ending 1876 (Boston: A. A. Kingman Press, 1877), pp. 48–49. 143 Mary Whiton Calkins’s life and work is discussed in Chapter 5. For her review of Fichte’s work, see Mary Whiton Calkins, “Notes on Fichte’s ‘Grundlage der Wissenschaftslehre,’” Philosophical Review, vol. 3, no. 4 (July 1894), pp. 459–62. 144 For Leighton’s biographical information, see Albert R. Chandler, “Remembrance of Joseph Alexander Leighton,” Proceedings and Addresses of the American Philosophical Association, vol. 28 (1954–55), pp. 63–64. The seminary at which he studied near Harvard became known as Episcopal Divinity School. In 2016, it relocated to New York City and was renamed Episcopal Divinity School at Union Theological Seminary; though Union is an independent institution, it has long been affiliated with Columbia University. For his article, see J. A. Leighton, “Fichte’s Conception of God,” Philosophical Review, vol. 4, no. 2 (March 1895), pp. 143–53. 145 For Thompson’s biographical information, see “Papers of Anna Boynton Thompson,” description of archival materials held at Radcliffe’s Schlesinger Library; “Additional Description,” section: https​:/​/ho​​llisa​​rchiv​​es​.li​​b​.har​​vard.​​edu​/r​​eposi​​torie​​s​/8​/r​​​esour​​ ces​/5​​004. For a review of her book, see: J. F. Brown, review of Anna Boynton Thompson, The Unity of Fichte’s Doctrine of Knowledge (MA thesis, Radcliffe College), in Philosophical Review, vol. 5, no. 4 (July 1896), pp. 438–39. 146 Edward L. Schaub also published discussions of Fichte in this period, and Talbot published a response at one point. See Schaub, “Hegel’s Criticisms of Fichte’s Subjectivism. I,” Philosophical Review, vol. 21, no. 5 (September 1912), pp. 566–84 and “Hegel’s Criticisms of Fichte’s Subjectivism. II,” Philosophical Review, vol. 22, no. 1 (January 1913), pp. 17–37. See also Talbot, “Hegel’s Criticisms of Fichte’s Subjectivism: In Reply to Dr. Schaub,” Philosophical Review, vol. 22, no. 3 (May 1913), pp. 306–07. 147 Ellen Bliss Talbot, “The Relation of the Two Periods of Fichte’s Philosophy,” Mind, vol. 10, no. 39 (1901), pp. 336–37. 148 Regarding Fichte as an early phenomenologist, see Violetta L. Waibel, J. Daniel Breazeale and Tom Rockmore, eds., Fichte and the Phenomenological Tradition (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010). See also Frédéric Seyler, “Fichte in 1804: A Radical Phenomenology of Life? On a Possible Comparison Between the 1804 Wissenschaftslehre and Michel Henry’s Phenomenology,” The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, vol. 28, no. 3, special issue with the society for phenomenology and existential philosophy (2014), pp. 295–304.

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149 Ellen Bliss Talbot, “The Philosophy of Fichte in its Relation to Pragmatism,” Philosophical Review, vol.16, no. 5 (September 1907), p. 488. 150 Ellen Bliss Talbot, “Fichte’s Conception of God,” The Monist, vol. 23, no. 21 (1913), p. 47. 151 Talbot, “Fichte’s Conception of God,” pp. 48–49. 152 “The Relation of the Two Periods of Fichte’s Philosophy,” p. 346. 153 Talbot, “The Philosophy of Fichte in its Relation to Pragmatism,” pp. 489–90. 154 Ellen Bliss Talbot, “An Attempt to Train the Visual Memory,” American Journal of Psychology, vol. 8, no. 3 (April 1897), pp. 414–17. 155 Ellen Bliss Talbot, “The Doctrine of Conscious Elements,” Philosophical Review, vol. 4, no. 2 (March 1895), pp. 155–56. 156 Talbot, “The Doctrine of Conscious Elements,” p. 157, fn1, citing George Trumbull Ladd in Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, preface, p. ix. 157 Talbot, “The Doctrine of Conscious Elements,” pp. 164–65. 158 Ibid., p. 165. 159 Ellen Bliss Talbot, “Individuality and Freedom,” Philosophical Review, vol. 18, no. 6 (November 1909), p. 602. 160 Talbot, “Individuality and Freedom,” p. 604. 161 Ibid., p. 605. 162 Ellen Bliss Talbot, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life. I,” Philosophical Review, vol. 23, no. 6 (November 1914), p. 639. She recognizes here that we make allowances for reduced capacities or debility when a person’s achievements wane at the end of life, pp. 640–41. In the part II of this article, Talbot notes that belief in immortality may influence common views of the self at the culmination of their life. This question is beyond the scope of her discussion, however, and it would also make the considerations under discussion become irrelevant, because then the significance of our earthly lives were be shifted or perhaps lack meaning. See Talbot, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life. II” Philosophical Review, vol. 24, no. 1 (January 1915), p. 27. 163 Talbot, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life. I,” p. 641. 164 Ibid. 165 Talbot, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life. II,” pp. 28–29. 166 Ibid., p. 21. 167 Ibid., p. 22. 168 Ibid., p. 23. 169 All quotes in this paragraph are from Talbot, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life. II,” p. 25.

NOTES  315

170 Talbot, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life. II,” p. 25. 171 Ibid., p. 26. 172 Ibid., p. 32. 173 Talbot cites John McTaggart as making similar moves in his theory of individual identity and development. See Talbot, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life. II,” pp. 33 and 34. 174 Talbot, “The Time-Process and the Value of Human Life. II,” p. 35. 175 Ibid., p. 36. 176 For academic and biographical information about Husserl, see Christian Beyer’s entry in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy online: https​:/​/pl​​ato​.s​​tanfo​​rd​.ed​​ u​/ent​​ries/​​​husse​​rl. For a well-informed and fascinating discussion of the influence of Dilthey on Husserl and vice versa, see: Bob Sandmeyer, Husserl’s Constitutive Phenomenology: Its Problem and Promise (New York: Routledge, 2009), pp. 55–65. 177 Talbot, “The Philosophy of Fichte in its Relation to Pragmatism,” p. 491. 178 Both this statement and the previous quotation are from: Talbot, “The Philosophy of Fichte in its Relation to Pragmatism,” p. 492. 179 Talbot, “The Philosophy of Fichte in its Relation to Pragmatism,” p. 496. 180 Ibid. 181 Ibid., p. 497. 182 Ibid., p. 498. 183 Ibid., pp. 500–01. 184 Ibid., p. 504. 185 See The Key, newsletter of Kappa Kappa Gamma fraternity, vol. 13, no. 3, pp. 154, 155. 186 C. A. Dolson letter to James Creighton, June 8, 1898, in Cornell University archives. Sandra Singer cites Dolson as an example of a woman who found opportunities for advanced study more limited than expected. Singer’s work brought my attention to Dolson’s study in Germany, and I was pleased to see the letter from her father in Cornell’s collection to provide further evidence. See Singer, Adventures Abroad: North American Women at German-Speaking Universities, 1868-1915 (Westport: Praeger, 2003). p. 146. 187 J. G. Schurman to Ruth Putnam, May 2, 1905, in Schurman Papers, Cornell University archives; Box 41, Reel 15, pp. 247–48. I thank Patrick Connelly, formerly of Emory University, who was writing his dissertation on Nietzsche when he shared this correspondence with me years ago. 188 See The Living Church newsletter, vol. 60 (February 22, 1919), p. 564 (available online in Google Books) “On January 27 [1919] Sister Hilary, Miss Grace Neal Dolson, PhD, Professor Philosophy at Wells College Aurora, took her final vows as

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a member of the Order of St. Mary at their convent at Peekskill, NY where she has been since 1916.” 189 Information about Dolson’s life as Sister Hilary in the Community of St. Mary is from the genealogical records of the convent, provided by Mother Miriam, Mother Superior at the convent, now located in Greenwich, New York. 190 Dolson, “The Ethical System of Henry More.” 191 Ibid., pp. 599–601; quote at 601. 192 Dolson, “The Ethical System of Henry More,” p. 601. 193 Ibid., p. 602; emphasis mine. 194 Dolson, “The Ethical System of Henry More,” pp. 602–03. 195 Ibid., p. 603. 196 Ibid., p. 604. 197 Ibid. 198 Ibid., p. 607. 199 Other early articles on Nietzsche in US-based academic journals were published in Monist (Goebel and Antrim, 1899), International Journal of Ethics (Bakewell, 1899; M. Adams, 1900; Fouillee, 1902), Mind (Goldstein, 1902), and North American Review (Lee, 1904). Nietzsche’s mental health was a point of discussion even at this early stage, with a brief note on this topic appearing in The British Medical Journal (Ireland, 1901). 200 William H. Nolte, ed., H.L. Mencken’s Smart Set Criticism (Washington, DC: Regnery Publishing, 1987), p. 191. 201 Dolson cited contemporaries who recognized Nietzsche as a thinker and/or discussed his work: Alois Riehl, Henri Lichtenberger, Ritschl, von Meysenburg, and Ola Hanson—making several references to Hanson’s book, Friedrich Nietzsche, seine Personlichkeit und sein Systems. See Grace Neal Dolson, The Philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche (New York: Macmillan, 1901), pp. iii, 2, 5, 9. 202 Dolson, The Philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche, p. 12. 203 Ibid., pp. 85, 94. 204 Ibid., pp. 88–9. 205 Ibid., pp. 23–4. 206 Ibid., p. 14. 207 Ibid., p. 64. 208 Ibid., p. 63. 209 Ibid., p. 15.

NOTES  317

210 Ibid., p. 102. 211 Ibid., p. 85. 212 Ibid., pp. 92–4. 213 Ibid., pp. 94–6. Here she cites a work by Robert Schellwein, Max Stirner und Friedrich Nietzsche. 214 Sources: Census records and family probate documents for John G. Moore and Vida Frank Moore in Ancestry​.co​m; article in the New York Tribune, June 29, 1899, p. 3; available online: https​:/​/ch​​ronic​​linga​​meric​​a​.loc​​.gov/​​lccn/​​sn830​​30214​​ /1899​​-06​-2​​9​​/ed-​​1​/seq​​-3/. John G. Moore’s widow, Louise Leeds along with Vida Moore’s nieces, Faith and Ruth Moore, donated family property to the park service in the early 1920s. See Catherine Schmitt, See Historic Acadia National Park: The Stories Behind One of America’s Great Treasures (Rowman & Littlefield, 2016), pp. 184–6. Note: Although Schmitt describes the naming of Acadia National Park as an innocuous moment in the process of negotiating a land transaction, as a Maine native, I can add that there may have been some anti-French sentiment behind their request to change its name from Lafayette Park to “something less French and more broad and relevant.” At least within working-class Anglo-heritage communities in Maine, segregation of and discrimination against French Canadians was common well into the late twentieth century. A community on “French Island”—near a similarly segregated community on “Indian Island”—was relatively isolated for decades, intermarriage with the local older Anglo and Irish immigrant populations was discouraged, and even school teachers felt free to make “French jokes” in their classrooms. This is not to suggest that Schmitt was aiming to mask or deny any cultural frictions; she may simply have been unaware of this phenomenon because she was not exposed to these harsher realities in the state, which have only dissipated in recent decades. 215 At the time of her death, Vida Moore was able to leave funds behind to provide for her elderly mother, to leave thousands of dollars to several family members (in some cases, as much as $4,000—the equivalent of $100,000 today) and to allow funds from the sale of her house to be used to support women’s and/or religious organizations. She also left funds to support the Steuben Parish House, which now houses the town’s library and is named after her father. She had benefited from the wealth of her oldest brother, John G. Moore, no doubt, who died nearly twenty years earlier. He willed $10,000 to each his three surviving siblings, the equivalent of roughly a quarter of a million dollars each in today’s currency, and provided generous gifts to other relatives as well as to several of his employees. 216 A notice of Vida Moore’s death in June 1915 was posted in Cornell Alumni News, vol. 17, p. 493. 217 Lotze, as cited by Vida Moore in Ethical Aspects of Lotze’s Metaphysics (Scholar Select reprint; originally published in 1901), p. 43. 218 Moore, Ethical Aspects of Lotze’s Metaphysics, p. 44. 219 Ibid., pp. 48–9.

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220 Ibid., p. 51. 221 Ibid., citing Lotze at points, p. 29. 222 Moore, Ethical Aspects of Lotze’s Metaphysics, p. 53. 223 Ibid., pp. 52–3. 224 Ibid., p. 35. 225 Ibid., p. 67. 226 Ibid., in part citing Lotze, pp. 67–8. 227 For Benedict’s biographical information: obituary of her mother, Adelia (Teller) Benedict, in Kingston Daily Freeman, December 2, 1916, p. 9; Benedict’s listing as the archivist of the Hermanus Bleecker Papers at the State Library of New York, Albany in 1928; notices in Library School Bulletin of the State Library of New York, 1912–30; necrology entry in Library Journal, vol. 83 (1958), p. 163. For publications: WorldCat Identities. 228 For deLaguna’s biographical information: Isabel Stearns, Memorial Notice: “Grace Andrus de Laguna,” Proceedings and Addresses of the American Philosophical Association, vol. 51 (1978), pp. 577–8; Cornell college catalogues. For publications: WorldCat Identities and JSTOR listings. 229 For Murray’s biographical information: Murray’s obituary, in The Evening Times, Sayre, Pennsylvania, October 1, 1965, p. 1; Elsie Murray Papers, Cornell University archives; Tioga Point Historical Museum (regarding mother’s historical work), https://www​.tiogapointmuseum​.org​/about. For publications: WorldCat Identities and JSTOR listings. 230 For Gilbert’s biographical information: C. Sylvester Green, “Katherine Everett Gilbert,” in NCPedia: https​:/​/ww​​w​.ncp​​edia.​​org​/b​​iogra​​phy​/g​​ilber​​t​​-kat​​herin​e (1986). For publications: WorldCat Identities and JSTOR listings. 231 For Barr’s biographical information: Connecticut College Alumni News, vol. 3, no. 4 (1926), p. 15, accessible online at: https​:/​/di​​gital​​commo​​ns​.co​​nncol​​l​.edu​​/cgi/​​ viewc​​onten​​t​.cgi​​?arti​​cle​=1​​003​&c​​​ontex​​t​=alu​​mnews​. For publications: WorldCat Identities. 232 For Thorne’s biographical information: Cornell college catalogues; Cornell Alumni News, vol. 18 (1916), p. 459. For publications: WorldCat Identities. 233 For Crane’s biographical information: Cornell college catalogues; Bryn Mawr alumni newsletters, 1919–22; R. David Arkush and Leo O. Lee, eds., Land Without Ghosts: Chinese Impressions of America from the Mid-Nineteenth Century to the Present (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), pp. 113 and 116; and Maria Forte, “Bertrand Russell’s Letters to Helen Thomas Flexner and Lucy Martin Donnelly,” doctoral thesis, McMaster University, 1988, p. 334. For publications: WorldCat Identities.

NOTES  319

234 For Swabey’s biographical information: Louise Antz, Memorial Notice: “Marie Collins Swabey,” Proceedings and Addresses of the American Philosophical Association, vol. 40 (1966–7), p. 127. For publications: WorldCat Identities and JSTOR listings. 235 Source for Harris’s biographical information: Catherine Hundleby, “Marjorie Silliman Harris,” Encyclopedia​.co​m: https​:/​/ww​​w​.enc​​yclop​​edia.​​com​/w​​omen/​​encyc​​ loped​​ias​-a​​lmana​​cs​-tr​​anscr​​ipts-​​and​-m​​aps​/h​​arris​​-marj​​orie​-​​silli​​man​-1​​890​-1​​976. For publications: WorldCat Identities and JSTOR listings.

Chapter 3 1 Source: Michigan’s Philosophy Department webpage. Oddly, George Sylvester Morris did not appear on the page when I viewed it in Spring 2020. Neither did James Tufts, who joined the department for a short time before joining John Dewey at the University of Chicago. 2 Citations for Dewey’s articles: “The New Psychology,” Andover Review, vol. 2 (September 1884), pp. 278–89; “Psychology as Philosophic Method,” Mind, old series, vol. 11 (1886), pp. 153–73. 3 See “Introductory Essay,” in James Dorfman, ed., Relation of the State to Industrial Action and Economics and Jurisprudence: Two Essays by Henry Carter Adams (New York: Columbia University Press, 1954), pp. 37–42, citing a March 15, 1887 letter from Adams to Angell. 4 Information about Henry Carter Adams’ education and career comes from the University of Michigan’s “Faculty History Project,” https​:/​/ww​​w​.lib​​.umic​​h​.edu​​/facu​​lty​ -h​​istor​​y​/fac​​ulty/​​henry​​-cart​​er​-a​d​​ams​/m​​emori​​al. 5 Information about graduate degrees earned in philosophy and related fields before 1900 comes from “Order of Examinations for Higher Degrees, Horace H. Rackham School of Graduate Studies,” published by the University of Michigan in 1923 and now available as a print-on-demand volume from ULAN Press. Doctoral degree recipients in philosophy: Charles Emmet Lowrey (1885, Ralph Cudworth’s response to atheism), Elmer Manville Taylor (1888, ethical basis of the state), Marietta Kies (1891, altruism in political life), Caroline Miles (1892, Kant’s ethics), Eliza Sunderland (1892, Kant and Hegel on the absolute), George Rebec (1898, philosophy of discourse), and Lewis Clinton Carson (1899, Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason). Doctoral degree recipients in related fields before 1900: J. Rose Colby (1887, ethics/ English drama), Max Winkler (1892, ideas/German drama), Toyogiro Kotegawa (1893, economics of Japan), Mary Gilmore Williams (1897, Latin/Julia Domna), Gertrude Buck (1898, metaphor), Samuel Allen Jeffers (1900, Latin/Lucretius). Master’s degree recipients: Lucy C. McGee (1890, Plato’s influence on Edmund Spencer), Arlisle Margaret Young (1890, Rousseau’s influence on Wordsworth),

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James Rowland Angell (1891, image-making and Mind), James Rood Robertson (1891, Boethius’ influence on Chaucer), Frederic Augustus Henry (1891, freedom in Kant and Hume), Mary Clark Bancker (1892, ethics in Greek myth), James Melville (1892, development of law), Charles Ambrose Bowen (1893, philosophy—topic not provided), Augusta Lee Giddings (1893, French literature), Ellen Garrigues (1893, English literature), Helen Louise Halch (1893, philosophy—topic not provided), Marilla Caroline Wooster (1893, English literature), Lawrence Thomas Cole (1896, ancient Christian philosophy), Georgiana Cleis Blunt (1897, American literature), Annie Louis Barcorn (1898, rhetoric), Kathryne Griffin (1898, rhetoric), Sophie Chantal Hart (1898, rhetoric), Grace Lord Lamb (1898, history of philosophy). 6 Michigan Argonaut, 5:134 (February 1887). 7 See Michigan Argonaut, 3:18 (February 1885) and 5:101, 110 (February 1887). 8 Sherbern S. Mathews, In Memoriam: Marietta Kies (Boston, 1900), pp.16–18. At this time, Kies taught in the towns of Putnam and Brooklyn, Connecticut, as well as the borough of Danielson; a district within the town of Killingly, CT. 9 Available records from Colorado College are unclear about Kies’s status and years of service there. Memorialists claimed she was an instructor in Latin and mathematics from 1883 to 1885. Colorado College archives list Kies as the supervisor of a girls’ dormitory one year and as an instructor in the “Preparatory” department in another. In addition, the College shows her tenure there as lasting from 1882–4. These discrepancies needn’t concern us too much. It is conceivable that Kies taught Latin and math, but at the preparatory rather than advanced level. She may also have been assigned to serve as house mother of a girls’ dormitory, which was common at the time for women in academic life. 10 See Mount Holyoke Archives, college catalogs for 1885–6, p. 5 and 1890–1, pp. 6, 29. 11 Mathews, In Memoriam, 19. 12 See Ethel Coldwell, letter to “Mr. James,” January 3, 1944, Mills College archives. 13 See Mathews, In Memoriam, pp. 19, 70. See also Marietta Kies, letter to George Holmes Howison, June 15, 1892, in George Holmes Howison Papers, Bancroft Library special collections, University of California, Berkeley. 14 Gertrude Pradel, “Dr. Marietta Kies: The Strenuous Life,” in Helen M. Sheldrick, ed., Pioneer Teachers of Connecticut (Winsted: Dowd Printing Company, 1971), p. 51. 15 Butler College, Minutes of the Board of Directors, July 14, 1897, p. 316. 16 See especially Patricia Jagentowicz Mills, ed., Feminist Interpretations of G. W. F. Hegel (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996). 17 Marietta Kies, The Ethical Principle (Ann Arbor: Inland Press, 1892), p. 1. 18 Kies, The Ethical Principle, pp. 1–2. 19 Ibid., p. 2.

NOTES  321

20 Ibid., p. 12. 21 This stands in contrast to contemporary feminists whose theories have asserted that gender difference is at the root of moral or ethical decision-making. It is ironic that, without so much as hinting at gender difference, Kies has spontaneously arrived at the type of moral theory Carol Gilligan suggested might evolve if different (i.e., women’s) voices were allowed into the moral/political dialogue. 22 See especially Marietta Kies, Institutional Ethics (Boston: Allyn & Bacon, 1894), pp. 12–13, in which she calls up ideas of organic unity, self-consciousness and distinctions between Western and Oriental thought, derived from both the Phenomenology of Spirit and Philosophy of Right. 23 Kies, The Ethical Principle, pp. 9–10. 24 Kies gives the examples of women’s higher education and slavery here. See Kies, The Ethical Principle, p. 17. 25 Kies, The Ethical Principle, pp. 40–2. 26 Mathews, In Memoriam, 25. 27 Kies, The Ethical Principle, pp. 45–6. 28 Ibid., p. 52. 29 See G.W.F. Hegel, Philosophy of Right, H.B. Nisbet translation, Allen W. Wood, editor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), §§34–40. 30 See Philosophy of Right, §§235–7. 31 Kies, The Ethical Principle, p. 65. 32 Ibid., p. 52. 33 Ibid. 34 Ibid., p. 73. 35 Ibid., p. 97. 36 See especially Philosophy of Right, §187–8, and §184, Addition. 37 See G. W. F. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, rev. edn; A. V. Miller translation (Oxford University Press, 1977) §389 and §392. 38 See Philosophy of Right, §§189–208 regarding the system of needs and role of the estates, and §§182–187 regarding civil society as the realm in which a person becomes individuated. 39 See S. W. Dyde’s translation of The Philosophy of Right §243 (London: George Bell and Sons, 1896), p. 231. 40 Philosophy of Right, §241. 41 Ibid., §242, including Note.

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42 Philosophy of Right, §245. 43 Ibid., §246–8. 44 Ibid., §245 regarding coerced public begging; §247 regarding foreign trade. 45 Kies, The Ethical Principle, p. 65. 46 Ibid., p. 79. 47 Ibid., pp. 95–6. 48 Ibid., p. 91. 49 Ibid., pp. 65–6. 50 Ibid., p. 86. 51 Ibid., p. 91. 52 Ibid., pp. 110–13. 53 Ibid. 54 Ibid., p. 131. Mill was not a central figure in Kies’s theory. Other than this reference, Mill is not mentioned. 55 Biographical information for Caroline Miles Hill comes from her alumni file at the University of Michigan, in the archives at Bentley Library; from Wilfred Scott Downs, ed., Encyclopedia of American Biography, New Series, vol. 9 (New York: American Historical Society, 1938), pp. 302–3; and from her letter to Jane Addams in July 30, 1913, in the Jane Addams Papers, Swarthmore College Peace Collection. 56 See Caroline Miles Hill’s letter to Jane Addams, July 30, 1913 in the Jane Addams Papers, Swarthmore College Peace Collection. Sadly, in this letter Caroline was reflecting on her early attraction to her husband en route to disclosing that he had recently told her he had grown tired of their shared interests in academic work and social reform and asked for a divorce. She was so devastated that her marriage had failed that she confessed she was on the verge of suicide. She cautiously asked Addams about the possibility of returning to the work she’d done at Hull House several years before. Addams welcomed her return, of course, and Miles Hill spent the next year there. 57 See Caroline Miles Hill, letter to Eliza Sunderland, February 13, 1892, in the Eliza Read Sunderland Papers at Bentley Library, University of Michigan. 58 Lucy Salmon earned a master’s degree at Michigan before teaching at Vassar College. Source: Biographical sketch in Lucy Maynard Salmon Papers, Vassar College Archives. Elizabeth Laird, born in Canada, studied at the University of Toronto before teaching at Smith, Mt. Holyoke, and the University of Western Ontario. Source: Henry Duckworth, One Version of the Facts: My Life in the Ivory Tower (University of Manitoba Press, 2000), p. 103. Agnes M. Wergeland, born in Norway, attended the University of Stockholm and was the first woman to earn a doctorate at the University of Zurich. After teaching at Bryn Mawr, she held positions at the University of

NOTES  323

Chicago, the University of Illinois, and the University of Wyoming in Laramie. She was a descendant of Henrik Wergeland, known as the George Washington of Norway. Her father’s cousin, also named Henrik, gained renown as a poet, and Agnes’s second cousin (the younger Henrik’s daughter), Camilla Collett, was a prominent feminist. Her brother, Oscar, became a well-known artist. Sources: Rock Springs Rocket newspaper, no. 17, March 13, 1914, citing the Cheyenne Tribune and Larry Emil Scott, “The Poetry of Agnes Mathilde Wergeland,”in the Norwegian-American Historical Association Journal, vol. 30, p. 273; available online: https​:/​/ww​​w​.nah​​a​.sto​​laf​.e​​du​/pu​​bs​ /na​​s​/vol​​ume30​​/​vol3​​0​_09.​​htm. 59 Miles Hill cited Sanford’s support of her work at the opening of her article about the first psychological study, “A Study of Individual Psychology,” American Journal of Psychology, vol. 6, no. 4 (January1895), p. 534. She notes in her second article that she was able to do work at Harvard, and her work with Münsterberg is cited in her biographical sketch: Downs, ed., Encyclopedia of American Biography, pp. 302–3. 60 William Hill appears to have struggled with mental health issues, which may have contributed to his sudden departure from a successful academic career. The year before he and Caroline married, he was on a leave of absence from the University of Chicago, reportedly after having had a psychological breakdown. See: “Prof. Hill of the University of Chicago Given a Vacation,” Chicago Daily Tribune, December 15, 1894, p.1: “Prof. William Hill of the University of Chicago has been granted vacation under peculiar and sad circumstances. . . . [He] began his lecture, but before going far the rambling manner of his talk so alarmed his listeners that a physician was summoned, who forbade him to finish. . . . [A student] was awakened before daylight Tuesday by hearing the professor talking in a loud and disconnected way. He was laboring under the delusion, apparently, that the faculty did not properly understand his case. ‘The facts must be laid before the members in a proper way,’ said Prof. Hill, ‘so that they will know all about it. I know I am ill. Of course I am ill, but if the thing is not done right who is to know it?’ . . . ‘What the professor was saying,’ said the one who overheard him last night, ‘and his manner of saying it was like that of a man in a delirium. He has been overworked and overexcited over something. . .’ (William Hill graduated from the University of Kansas in 1891 and spent the next year at Harvard where he took his masters degree under Dr. Taussig. At Harvard he also won the Lee Memorial Fellowship. . . . He came to Chicago University in October 1892 and has since then become popular with both students and faculty. He is Acting President of the Political Economy club of the University and is known as a bicycle rider and tennis expert.)” 61 Caroline Miles Hill, “Transcendentalism in New England,” unpublished master’s thesis at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor 1890, p. 2. Available online at Hathi Trust: https​:/​/ba​​bel​.h​​athit​​rust.​​org​/c​​gi​/pt​​?id​=m​​dp​.39​​01509​​36166​​32​&v​i​​ew​=1u​​p​&seq​​=1. 62 Note: Miles Hill used an older set of terms in this essay, referring to “physics” when today we would say “metaphysics,” “cosmology,” or in some cases “ontology.” As was common in this era, she uses the term “psychology” to refer to almost anything related to mind, knowledge acquisition, or cognitive processes. 63 Hill, “Transcendentalism in New England,” p. 3.

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64 See Dorothy Rogers, Women Philosophers: Education and Activism in NineteenthCentury America (Bloomsbury, 2020), pp. 120–2 for a discussion of Margaret Mercer who expresses similar views in her book, Popular Lectures on Ethics, or Moral Obligation for the Use of Schools (Petersburg: Edmund & Julian C. Ruffin, 1841). 65 Hill, “Transcendentalism in New England,” p. 3. 66 Ibid., p. 4. 67 Ibid., p. 14. 68 Ibid. 69 Ibid., p. 18. 70 Ibid., p. 17. 71 Ibid., p. 20. 72 Ibid., p. 21. 73 At one point, Miles Hill makes a favorable comparison between the subjectivism of Emerson and Berkeley, interestingly enough. The way in which this part of her discussion is sandwiched in, however, leads me to believe that she may have been urged to include it to appease a professor who wanted to be sure she “covered the territory.” See Hill, “Transcendentalism in New England,” pp. 31–2. 74 Hill, “Transcendentalism in New England,” p. 26. 75 Ibid., pp. 21, 26–7. 76 Ibid., pp. 30–1. 77 Ibid., p. 35. 78 Ibid., p. 37. 79 Hill, “A Study of Individual Psychology,” pp. 534–58. 80 See Jason Colavito, ed., “Ghosts and Kindred Horrors,” in A Hideous Bit of Morbidity: An Anthology of Horror Criticism from the Enlightenment to World War II (Jefferson: McFarland and Company, 2008), pp. 265–7. 81 Caroline Miles Hill, “On Choice,” American Journal of Psychology, vol. 9, no. 4 (July 1898), pp. 587–98. 82 Caroline Miles Hill, “Economic Value of the Home,” a book review essay discussing Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Home: Its Work and Its Influence (New York: MacClure & Philipps, 1903), in the Journal of Political Economy, vol. 12, no. 3 (June 1904), pp. 408–19. 83 Miles Hill’s collection of religious poetry went through fourteen printings and even later editions were favorably reviewed. See reviews by W. E. Garrison in the Journal of Religion, vol. 19, no. 4 (October 1939), p. 408 and Carl E. Purinton, in the Journal of the Bible and Religion, vol. 8, no. 2 (May 1940), p. 121. 84 See Caroline Miles Hill, ed., Mary McDowell and Municipal Housekeeping; a Symposium (Chicago: Millar Publishing), 1938. Digitized by the University of Illinois at

NOTES  325

Champaign-Urbana. Miles Hill’s contributions to this volume include the Preface as well as a final chapter, “What ‘the Angel of the Stockyards’ Meant to the City,” pp. 126–32. 85 Caroline Miles Hill, “Economic Value of the Home,” Journal of Political Economy, vol. 12, no. 3 (June 1904), pp. 408–9. She mentions three anti-feminists by name in this essay: Laura Marholm, Studies in the Psychology of Woman; Helen Watterson Moody, The Unquiet Sex; and Helen Kendrick Johnson, Woman and the Republic. 86 Hill, “Economic Value of the Home,” pp. 414, 417. 87 Ibid., p. 414. 88 Ibid., p. 416. 89 Lucinda Hinsdale Stone wrote a multipage letter to James Angell, president of the university, on October 19, 1891, to make a case for Sunderland’s appointment to a faculty position. The quote from an unnamed female student at the University of Michigan comes toward the end of the letter. In James B. Angell Papers, Bentley Historic Library Archives. 90 John Dewey to James Angell, June 23, 1894, in James Angell Papers, Bentley Historical Library archives. 91 The two most prominent Boston Personalists were Borden Parker Bowne (1847– 1910) and Edgar Sheffield Brightman (1884–1953), both of whom taught at Boston University in the early twentieth century. The movement was active into the 1950s and 1960s, with Walter Muelder, dean of the university’s school of theology until 1972, espousing this school of thought as well. 92 This quotation is from the last page of Sunderland’s handwritten unpublished manuscript, “Man’s Relation to the Absolute according to the philosophy of Kant and of Hegel,” doctoral dissertation, University of Michigan, 1892 in Eliza Jane Read Sunderland Papers, Bentley Library, University of Michigan. 93 Sunderland’s work appears in Thoemmes Press’s “History of American Thought” series, in a four-volume set. See Dorothy Rogers, ed., The Women of the St. Louis Idealist Movement 1860-1925, volume four (2003). 94 Sunderland, “The Importance of the Study of Comparative Religions,” in The World’s Congress of Religions: The Addresses and Papers Delivered before the Parliament, August 25-October 15, 1893 (Chicago: Monarch Book Company, 1894), p. 301. 95 As early as 1835, David Friedrich Strauss’s Das Leben Jesu (The Life of Jesus) recognized the mytho-poetic character of New Testament literature and pointed to parallels to and transpositions of the prophetic writings of the Hebrew Scriptures with the gospel texts. By the middle of the century, this discussion had expanded and become even more sophisticated. See Karl Heinrich Weizsacker, Untersuchungen die evangelische Geschichte, ihre Quellen und den Gang ihrer Entwicklung (Studies in the Gospel History, Its Sources and the Progress of Its Development) (Gotha, 1864); and Strauss, Der Christus des Glaubens and der Jesus der Geschichte (The Christ of Faith and the Jesus of History) (Berlin, 1865). 96 See A Stream of Light: A Short History of American Unitarianism, by Conrad Wright (Boston: Skinner House Books, 1989), pp. 84–92.

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97 Sunderland, “Higher Education and the Home,” address presented at the Women’s Congress, World’s Columbian Exposition, 1893, and published in The World’s Congress of Representative Women, Chicago, 1893, May Wright Sewall, ed.

Chapter 4 1 Several male students completed doctoral degrees in Chicago’s philosophy department across a wide range of inquiry in this early period as well. In chronological order: Edward Scribner Ames (1895, agnosticism), Simon Fraser McLennan (1896, theory of impersonal judgment), William Isaac Thomas (1896, sex differences), Addison Webster Moore (1898, theology and Locke’s Essay), Ernest Carroll Moore (1898, education and philosophy in the ancient world), Arthur Kenyon Rogers (1898, metaphysics and psychophysical parallelism), Daniel Peter McMillan (1899, negative judgment), Henry Heath Bawden (1900, theory of criterion), William Franklin Moncreiff (1900, John Stuart Mill), Henry Walgrave Stuart (1900, the process of valuation). 2 Amy Tanner held an assistantship in philosophy (1899–1900) and then was promoted to an “associateship” (1900–1). Helen Bradford Thompson also held a graduate fellowship in philosophy (1899–1900), alongside Harriet Penfield, who opted to end her studies at the master’s level and later became a librarian. As is the case today, “fellowships” were held during a degree candidate’s course of study. “Assistantships” and “associateships” appear to have been similar to today’s postdoctoral fellowship, and could be directed toward either research or teaching. Ella Flagg Young held an “associate professorial lectureship” and was promoted to an “associate professorship”—all in philosophy—during the same window of time. See the summary of women’s achievements, written by the university’s Dean of Women, Marion Talbot, in the University of Chicago’s “President’s Report,” vol. 1, pp. 122–7, in its Decennial Series, published in 1903; available in Google Books. 3 Career and publication information for Amy Elizabeth Tanner is from my initial research on early women doctorates. See Therese Boos Dykeman and Dorothy Rogers, eds., Women in the American Philosophical Tradition, 1800-1930. Special issue of Hypatia: A Journal of Feminist Philosophy, vol. 19, no. 2 (Spring 2004), pp. xxvii–xxxiv. 4 Biographical information for Helen Bradford Thompson is from her profile in Feminist Voices, by Elissa Rodkey (2010): http:​/​/www​​.femi​​nistv​​oices​​.com/​​helen​​ -thom​​pson-​​​wooll​​ey/ 5 For all dissertations at the University of Chicago in its early years, see: “Bulletin of Information: Register of Doctors of Philosophy at the University of Chicago, June 1893 – December 1921,” vol. XXII (May 1922). 6 Biographical information about Kate Gordon Moore is from her profile in Feminist Voices, by Jacy L. Young (2010): http:​/​/www​​.femi​​nistv​​oices​​.com/​​kate-​​gordo​​​n​-moo​​re/

NOTES  327

7 Biographical information about Elizabeth Kemper Adams is from the finding aid from her collection of papers in the Smith College archives: https​:/​/fi​​nding​​aids.​​ smith​​.edu/​​repos​​itori​​es​/4/​​resou​​​rces/​​302. Publication information is from WorldCat Identities. 8 A sample of Dewey’s articles at this time: “My Pedagogic Creed,” School Journal, vol. 54 (January 1897), pp. 77–80; “The Aesthetic Element in Education,” Addresses and Proceedings of the National Educational Association (1897), pp. 329–30; “Democracy in Education,” Elementary School Teacher, vol. 4 (1903), pp. 193–204. 9 University of Chicago Register, 1904–5, p. 173. 10 Ibid., p. 180. 11 For instance, Michigan doctoral alumna discussed in Chapter 3, Caroline Miles Hill and her husband William Hill, helped establish a summer school for lowincome youth that was linked to both Hull House and the university. Miles Hill later worked at Hull House for an extended period after her divorce. See the discussion of Caroline Miles Hill in this volume. 12 Paul Shorey was chair of the department of Greek Language and Literature and formally identified in the Chicago course catalog as teaching philosophy-related courses. Martin Schütze was a member of the Department of General Literature along with Shorey and James Hayden Tufts, whose contribution to the department was a course in aesthetics. Tufts was the only non-languages/literature faculty member in this multidisciplinary department. 13 Some sources report that the University of Chicago opened with nine women among the faculty. I found ten female faculty and academic staff listed in the 1892 catalog: Julia Bulkley, associate professor in pedagogy and dean of women’s colleges; Elizabeth Cooley, tutor in Latin and history; Martha Foote Crowe, assistant professor, in English; Zella Allen Dixon, assistant librarian; Alice Bertha Foster, MD, tutor in physical culture; Alice Freeman Palmer, professor in history; S. Frances Pellett, AM, reader in Latin; Myra Reynolds, AM, fellow in English; Luanna Robertson, PhD, tutor in German; Marion Talbot, assistant professor, in sanitary science. 14 Career information about Marion Talbot is from the University of Chicago Library’s “On Equal Terms” project: https​:/​/ww​​w​.lib​​.uchi​​cago.​​edu​/c​​ollex​​/exhi​​bits/​​exoet​​/mari​​​ on​-ta​​lbot/​. 15 Ella Flagg Young, Isolation in the School (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1900), p. 15. 16 Young, Isolation in the School, p. 15. 17 Ibid., p. 18. 18 Ibid., p. 19. 19 Ibid., p. 25. 20 Ibid., pp. 26–33. 21 Ibid., p. 57.

328 NOTES

22 Ibid., pp. 48, 55–6. 23 Ibid., p. 47. 24 Ibid., pp. 50–2. 25 Ella Flagg Young, Ethics in the School, vol. 6 in the “Contributions to Education” series (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1902), p. 36. 26 Young, Ethics in the School, pp. 12–14. 27 Ibid., pp. 17–19; 21–2. 28 Ibid., p. 35. 29 Ibid., p. 43. 30 Ibid., pp. 43–4. 31 Biographical information for Clara Millerd is from Who’s Who among North American Authors, vol. 1 (Los Angeles: Golden Syndicate Publishing, 1921), p. 193, and from Ancestry​.co​m. Information about Millerd’s father is from the General Biographical Catalogue of Auburn Theological Seminary, 1818–1918, p. 140, and from his death notice in The Congregationalist newspaper, vol. 1 (June 5, 1922), p. 29. 32 The title of her dissertation is “Ideas of Future Life among the Algonquins” (1900). Note that the spelling of Laetitia Moon Conard’s name varies in historical sources. I have used the spelling of her first name that was used in University of Chicago documents. Her last name is often rendered “Conrad,” which can present obstacles to historical research. 33 See Marianne A. Ferber and Jane W. Loeb, Academic Couples: Problems and Promises (Chicago: University of Illinois, 1997), p. 67. 34 See Harriet Hyman Alonso, The Women’s Peace Union and the Outlawry of War, 1921-1942 (Syracuse, 1997), p. 63. See also Grinnell Stories, March 8, 2017: http:​/​/gri​​ nnell​​stori​​es​.bl​​ogspo​​t​.com​​/2017​​/03​/t​​railb​​​lazer​​.html​. 35 Grinnell College Bulletin 1918, p. 118. 36 See Johan Smertenko, “Hitlerism Comes to America,” Harper’s Monthly Magazine (November 1933), pp. 660–70. Smertenko wrote a number of articles for Harper’s as well as for The Jewish Daily Bulletin and other publications. 37 Millerd’s career information is from University of Oregon college catalogues. Uncertain that women would be enlisted to teach at Columbia—an all-male institution until 1982—I verified that she did indeed teach in the elite university’s extension program; see the Columbia College catalog for 1920–1, p. 154. 38 News of Millerd’s death was reported in The Grinnell Herald, but there was no mention of her husband or other family in the notice: “Clara Millerd Smertenko, Grinnell College graduate and a former member of the college faculty, has been reported missing from the Japanese liner Taiyo Maru in the Yellow sea, according to word received the first of the week by . . . Mrs. G.P. Wyckoff, librarian of the

NOTES  329

University of Oregon in Eugene, where Mrs. Smertenko has been professor of Greek and Latin for a number of years. The message announcing her disappearance . . . dated July 22, stated that she had been lost overboard. There were no details of the tragedy.” 39 In chronological order, see references to Millerd or reviews of her book: Arthur O. Lovejoy, review of Millerd’s On the Interpretation of Empedocles, in Classical Philology, vol. 4, no. 3 (July 1909), pp. 332–4. Albert Rivaud’s review of Millerd’s On the Interpretation of Empedocles, in Revue des Études Grecques, vol. 22, no. 98/99 (1909), pp. 353–4. Paul Shorey, review of Paul Hinnenberg’s Die Kultur der Gegenwart, in Classical Philology, vol. 6, no. 1 (January 1911), pp. 106–8. Paul Shorey, review of Roy Kenneth Hack’s God in Greek Philosophy to the Time of Socrates, in International Journal of Ethics, vol. 42, no. 4 (July 1932), pp. 464–5. Uvo Hoelscher, “Weltzeiten und Lebensyklus: Eine Nachprufung der EmpedoklesDoxographi,” Hermes, vol. 93. Bd., H. 1 (1965), pp. 7–33; Millerd is cited in note #2. 40 Biographical information for Matilde Castro is from U.S. census records and travel documents available on Ancestry​.c​om as well as college and university catalogues available in Google Books. Detailed information about the academic positions she held is from American Educational Review, vol. 34, no 8 (May 1913), p. 410. The date of her father’s death is estimated, based on information she provided on her passport application in the 1920s. Castro’s first name was variously spelled Mathilde, Matilde, or Matilda. I have used the spelling she chose when publishing her dissertation: Matilde. 41 Harriet Eva/Evelyn Penfield is listed with a master’s degree while serving at Rockford. She returned to the University of Chicago and held a graduate fellowship there in 1910–11, but had shifted to the sciences at this time. She appears to have settled into a career as a librarian at Chicago. 42 To their credit, Thomas’s colleagues, Mary Garrett and Julia Rogers, voiced strong disapproval of Thomas’s racism. For accounts of these incidents, see: Lynn Peril, College Girls: Bluestockings, Sex Kittens, and Co-eds, Then and Now (W.W. Norton & Company, 2006), pp. 69–70; Andrea Hamilton, A Vision for Girls: Gender, Education, and the Bryn Mawr School (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), pp. 40–1; Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz, The Power and Passion of M. Carey Thomas (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1994), pp. 342–3; Antero Pietila, Ghosts of Johns Hopkins: The Life and Legacy that Shaped an American City (New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2018), pp. 69–70. 43 Matilde Castro, letter to James Tufts, February 15, 1913, in James Hayden Tufts papers, University of Chicago special collections. 44 Cornelia Meigs praises Bryn Mawr’s president, M. Carey Thomas, for selecting Castro to lead the department of education and the Phebe Anna Thorne model school. She also indicates Castro retired when she married. Finally she says Castro’s “career was cut short by early death.” However, Castro lived until 1958. If her birthyear is correct, she would have been in her late seventies when she died. See Cornelia Meigs, What Makes A College? A History of Bryn Mawr (New York: Macmillan Company, 1956), pp. 86, 153.

330 NOTES

45 See Bryn Mawr’s “Alumni Outlook,” 1921, pp. 7–8, 24. 46 Information about the death of Tufts’s first wife, Cynthia Whitaker, and the years Matilde Castro spent with Tufts is from James Campbell, Selected Writings of James Hayden Tufts (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1992), pp. xvi–xvii, 412. 47 See Edgar Dawson, ed., Teaching the Social Studies (New York: Macmillan, 1927), pp. 186–209. 48 James Campbell reports that James Hayden Tufts was interested in his family history; see Selected Writings, p. xvii. This fun fact about Tufts helped me discover Matilde Castro’s death date in a family genealogy: August 22, 1958, in Evanston, Illinois. See Jay Franklin Tufts, Tufts Family History; A True Account and History of Our Tufts Families, From and Before 1638-1963 (Cleveland Heights: Allen County Public Library Genealogy Center, 1963), p. 101A. 49 Matilde Castro, The Respective Standpoints of Psychology and Logic (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1913), p. 10. 50 Castro, The Respective Standpoints of Psychology and Logic, p. 10. 51 A. K. Rogers, “The Standpoint of Instrumental Logic,” Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 1, no. 8 (April 14, 1904), pp. 207, 211. 52 Castro, The Respective Standpoints of Psychology and Logic, p. 9. 53 Ibid., p. 10. 54 Both quotes are in Castro, The Respective Standpoints of Psychology and Logic, p. 17. 55 Ibid., p. 19. 56 Castro, The Respective Standpoints of Psychology and Logic, Ibid., p. 21. 57 Ibid., p. 22. 58 Ibid., pp. 28–40. 59 Ibid., p. 42. 60 Ibid., p. 43. 61 Ibid., p. 44. 62 Ibid., pp. 74–5. 63 Ibid., p. 76. 64 Anna Louise Strong, I Change Worlds (Seattle: Seal Press, 1979), pp. 29–30. 65 Strong, I Change Worlds, pp. 32–3. 66 Ibid., p. 32. 67 Anna Louise Strong, “Cheese It,—The Cop,” Journal of Education, vol. 71, no. 24 (June 16, 1910), p. 694.

NOTES  331

68 Anna Louise Strong, “The Children’s Court,” Journal of Education, vol. 73, no. 23 (June 8, 1911), p. 631. 69 Anna Louise Strong, The Psychology of Prayer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1909), p. 17. 70 Strong, The Psychology of Prayer, p. 18. 71 Ibid., p. 21. 72 Strong devotes a chapter to a discussion of “primitive” and “childlike” practices, but the ground she covers here is so predictably filled with assumptions of western cultural superiority, I have not discussed them here. See Strong, The Psychology of Prayer, pp. 30–48. 73 Strong, The Psychology of Prayer, p. 56. 74 Ibid., pp. 56–7. 75 Ibid., p. 60. 76 Ibid., p. 63. 77 Ibid., p. 64. 78 Ibid., pp. 87–8. 79 Ibid., pp. 27, 82; 95. 80 Ibid., pp. 82–3. 81 Ibid., p. 85. For a sketch of Theodor Lipps on Einfühlung, see: Christine Montage, Jürgen Gallant, and Andreas Heinz, “Theodor Lipps and the Concept of Empathy,” American Journal of Psychiatry, vol. 165, no. 10 (October 2008), p. 1261; available online: https​:/​/aj​​p​.psy​​chiat​​ryonl​​ine​.o​​rg​/do​​i​/pdf​​plus/​​10​.11​​76​/ap​​pi​.aj​​​p​.200​​8​.070​​81283. 82 Strong, The Psychology of Prayer, p. 97. 83 Ibid., p. 101. 84 Ibid., pp. 105–7. 85 Ibid., p. 95. 86 All quotations in this paragraph appear in Anna Louise Strong, “Some Religious Aspects of Pragmatism,” American Journal of Theology, vol. 12, no. 2 (April 1908), p. 232. 87 Strong, “Some Religious Aspects of Pragmatism,” p. 235. 88 Ibid., p. 239. 89 Ibid. 90 Ibid. 91 Ibid., p. 240.

332 NOTES

92 Biographical information for Rachel Caroline Eaton is from: Muriel H. Wright, “Rachel Caroline Eaton,” Chronicles of Oklahoma, vol. xvii, no. 1, section 2 (March 1939), pp. 508–10 and John Rhea, A Field of Their Own: Women and American Indian History (Norman: Oklahoma University Press, 2016), pp. 150–6. 93 John Rhea provides a detailed account of the revisions and expansion of Eaton’s theses and published versions of her work on John Ross and the Cherokees. See A Field of Their Own, pp. 153–62. 94 Rachel Caroline Eaton, John Ross and the Cherokee Indians (Muskogee: Star Printery, 1921), regarding property in common, pp. 28, 113; “neighborhood communities,” p. 114; no “lazy Indian,” 112. 95 Eaton, John Ross and the Cherokee Indians, on distinguishing Cherokee from “wild” tribes, pp. 16, 21, 24, 42, 45–6, 120, 144; regarding conservative chiefs, pp. 7, 17; regarding John Ross, pp. 23, 38, 45, 114–15. 96 Eaton, John Ross and the Cherokee Indians, pp. 9–11, 23. 97 Ibid., p. 104. 98 Ibid., pp. 39–40, 45. 99 Ibid., pp. 54–5. 100 Ibid., pp. 53, 82. 101 Ibid., pp. 83–5. 102 Ibid., pp. 54–6, 85. 103 Ibid., p. 53. 104 Ibid., pp. 50, 54, 81. 105 Ibid., p. 88. 106 Entry on Rachel Caroline Eaton, in Who Is Who in Oklahoma, edited by Lyle H. Boren and Dale Boren (Guthrie: Co-operative Publishing Company, 1935), p. 145. 107 Eaton, John Ross and the Cherokee Indians, pp. 118–19. 108 See Eaton, John Ross and the Cherokee Indians, p. 118; see also, Mount Holyoke Historical Atlas: https​:/​/ww​​w​.mth​​olyok​​e​.edu​​/cour​​ses​/r​​schwa​​rt​/ha​​tlas/​​mhc​_w​​iderw​​ orld/​​che​ro​​kee​/c​​fs​.ht​​ml. 109 Eaton, John Ross and the Cherokee Indians, p. 146. 110 Biographical information for Georgiana Simpson is from Alcione M. Amos and Patricia Brown Savage, “Frances Eliza Hall: Postbellum Teacher in Washington, DC,” Washington History (Spring 2017), p. 49, made available online by the Smithsonian Institute: https://repository​.si​.ed and from The Black Past, entry by Sarah Bartlett: https​:/​/ww​​w​.bla​​ckpas​​t​.org​​/afri​​can​-a​​meric​​an​-hi​​story​​/simp​​son​-g​​eorg​i​​ ana​-1​​866​-1​​944/ . . .

NOTES  333

111 It is not surprising that Harry Pratt Judson did not make efforts to affirm Simpson’s right to remain in campus housing. He favored single-sex education, in part so boys could have more “manly” and “virile” influences in their lives. See Chicago Alumni Magazine, vol. 1 (1908), p. 55. It seems that he embraced racial segregation as well. 112 Celia Parker Woolley to Harry Pratt Judson, August 16, 1907, in University of Chicago special collections. 113 Georgiana Rose Simpson, Herder’s Conception of “Das Volk” (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1921), p. v. 114 See Martin Schütze, “The Fundamental Ideas in Herder’s Thought,” Modern Philology, vol. 19, no. 2 (November 1921), p. 117. 115 Historical sources do not say how long Simpson stayed with Helen (Pitts) Douglass, but she is indeed listed in the household in the 1900 census. 116 Georgiana Rose Simpson, Introduction to Toussaint Louverture, by GragnonLacoste (Washington, DC: Associated Publishers, 1925), p. vii. 117 Dagmar Sunne’s biographical information is from Marilyn Ogilvie, Joy Harvey, and Margaret Rossiter, eds., The Biographical Dictionary of Women in Science (New York: Routledge, 2014), p. 1252, and documents in Ancestry​.co​m. 118 Taft’s biographical information is from John E. Hansan, Social Welfare History Project, Virginia Commonwealth University: https​:/​/so​​cialw​​elfar​​e​.lib​​rary.​​vcu​.e​​du​/pe​​ ople/​​t​aft-​​jessi​​e/ 119 Waterhouse’s biographical information is from Pacific Coast Journal of Nursing, vol. 17 (January 1927), p. 29. See also Mid-Pacific Magazine, references to Waterhouse in vol. 36, no. 1 (July 1928), p. 1 and vol. 36, no. 4 (October 1928) pp. 3, 4, 6, 10. 120 Kitch’s biographical information is from the Ethel Kitch Yeaton collection at Southern Illinois University Special Collections Research Center. 121 Esther Crane’s biographical information is from the Bulletin of the American Association of University Professors (1915-1955), vol. 31, no. 3 (Autumn, 1945), pp. 509–514. 122 Margaret Daniels’s biographical information is from census records and travel documents in Ancestry​.co​m. She was married twice, first to Solon DeLeon (1920s) and then to Frank Safford (1930s), and sometimes appears in census and travel documents under her married names.

Chapter 5 1 See Women at Yale, timeline and history project: https​:/​/ce​​lebra​​tewom​​en​.ya​​le​.ed​​u​/his​​ tory/​​timel​​ine​-​w​​omen-​​yale.

334 NOTES

2 Biographical information for Zehring is from her obituary: Miamisburg News, August 17, 1950, p. 10. 3 William James, letter to George Holmes Howison, May 18, 1898, in Frederick J. Down Scott, ed., William James: Selected Unpublished Correspondence, 1885–1910 (Columbus: Ohio University Press, 1986), p. 171. 4 See Bruce Kuklick, “Philosophy at Yale in the Century after Darwin,” History of Philosophy Quarterly, vol. 21, no. 3 (July 2004), pp. 313–36. See also Julie Reuben, The Making of a Modern University (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), pp. 93–4; 173–4. 5 Other students of color admitted to Radcliffe and Harvard in the 1920s include Marita Bonner (BA, English 1921), Charles H. Wesley (PhD, history, 1925), and Caroline Bond Day (MA, anthropology, 1929). 6 Anna Alice Cutler, letter to Henry Norman Gardiner, March 7, 1924, in Anna Alice Cutler Papers, Smith College archives. 7 William James, letter to H. N. Gardiner [no date], in Henry Norman Gardiner Papers, Smith College archives. 8 Anna Alice Cutler, “Aesthetical Factors in Kant’s Theory of Knowledge,” Kant-Studien, vol. 2, no. 1 (January 1899), pp. 419–39. 9 Cutler, “Aesthetical Factors in Kant’s Theory of Knowledge,” p. 420. 10 Ibid., p. 422. 11 Ibid., pp. 424, 426. 12 Ibid., p. 426. 13 Ibid., p. 439. 14 Biographical information for Clara Hitchcock is from the alumni and faculty information files in the special collections of Lake Erie College. Information about her family members is from biographical sketches in the Thomas Day Seymour Papers, Beinecke Library, Yale University. 15 See “Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association 1933,” Philosophical Review, vol. 43, no. 2 (March 1934), p. 188. 16 Clara M. Hitchcock, The Psychology of Expectation (New York: Macmillan, 1903), p. 76. 17 Hitchcock, The Psychology of Expectation, pp. 77–8. 18 See review of The Psychology of Expectation, in Psychological Review, vol. 10, no. 6 (November 1903), pp. 671–3. 19 William Henry Pyle (1875-1956), “Experimental Study of Expectations,” American Journal of Psychology, vol. 20, no. 4 (October 1909), pp. 530–69; see especially pp. 531–4 and 565–8.

NOTES  335

20 See Kuklick, “Philosophy at Yale, p. 317. 21 See, “Surprise and Expectation,” British Journal of Psychology: Monograph supplement, vol. 7 (1935), pp. 78–9, 80. This work is out of print and the author not identified. 22 Anna Alice Cutler, letter to Mary Whiton Calkins, May 18 or 28, 1890, addressed “Dear Maidie,” sharing information given to her by George Trumball Ladd about graduate study at Yale, in Mary Whiton Calkins Papers, Wellesley College archives. 23 See Hugo Münsterberg, letter to “the President and Fellows of the College,” in October 23, 1894, urging them to allow Calkins to be granted a degree, in Harvard University Archives; Josiah Royce, letter to Mary Whiton Calkins, April 11, 1895, providing information about her upcoming doctoral defense, in Mary Whiton Calkins Papers, Wellesley College archives; William James, letter addressed “Dear Madam,” June 29, 1895, expressing frustration that Harvard would not grant Calkins a doctorate, in Henry Norman Gardiner Papers, Smith College archives; and letter signed by Münsterberg, Royce, James, G. H. Palmer, George Santayana, and Paul Hanus, urging Harvard’s president and trustees to reconsider their decision, May 29, 1895, in Harvard University Archives. 24 Karen Boatwright chronicles campaigns to award Calkins a degree in the twentieth century: “Mary Whiton Calkins: The Quest Continues,” for a joint session of the Committee on the Status of Women and the Society for the Study of Women Philosophers, of the American Philosophical Association, December 2013. 25 Mary Whiton Calkins, “Self and Soul,” Philosophical Review, vol. 17, no. 3 (May, 1908), pp. 272–80. 26 See Dana Noelle McDonald, “Differing Conceptions of Personhood within the Psychology and Philosophy of Mary Whiton Calkins,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society, vol. 43, no. 4 (Fall 2007), pp. 753–68 and McDonald, “Achieving Unity through Uniqueness: Mary Whiton Calkins’s Proof of Immortality,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society, vol. 39, no. 1 (Winter 2003), pp. 113–25. See Mathew A. Foust, “The Feminist Pacifism of William James and Mary Whiton Calkins,” Hypatia, vol. 29, no. 4 (September 2014), pp. 889–905. See also Erin McKenna and Scott L. Pratt, “Naturalism and Idealism, Fear and Conventionality: Mary Whiton Calkins and Elsie Clews Parsons,” in American Philosophy: From Wounded Knee to the Present (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), pp. 101–10. Alexandra Schuh, “Maidie: The Life and Work of Mary Whiton Calkins,” Confluence: The Journal of Graduate Liberal Studies, vol. 25, issue 2 (Fall 2019), pp. 111–22. See also Kris McDaniel, “Freedom and Idealism in Mary Whiton Calkins,” British Journal for the History of Philosophy, vol. 27, issue 3 (May 2019), pp. 573–92. 27 Ellen Bliss Talbot, review of The Persistent Problems of Philosophy: An Introduction to Metaphysics through the Study of Modern Systems by Mary Whiton Calkins, in The Philosophical Review, vol. 17, no. 1 (January 1908), pp. 75–84. 28 Talbot, review of The Persistent Problems of Philosophy, p. 75.

336 NOTES

29 Talbot, citing Calkins, p. 149, in review of The Persistent Problems of Philosophy, p. 78. 30 Talbot, in review of The Persistent Problems of Philosophy, p. 76. 31 Ibid., p. 82. 32 Ibid., p. 83. 33 Ibid., p. 84. 34 Calkins, “Self and Soul,” pp. 272–4. 35 Ibid., pp. 276–7. 36 Ibid., p. 280. 37 Mary Whiton Calkins, “Psychology as Science of Self: I. Is the Self Body or Has it Body?” The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 5, no. 1 (January 2, 1908), pp. 12–13. 38 Calkins, “Psychology as Science of Self: I. Is the Self Body or Has it Body?” p. 14. 39 Ibid., p. 15. 40 Mary Whiton Calkins, “Psychology as Science of Self: II. The Nature of the Self,” The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 5, no. 3 (January 30, 1908), p. 67. 41 Calkins, “Psychology as Science of Self: II. The Nature of the Self,” p. 68. 42 Mary Whiton Calkins, “Psychology as Science of Self: III. The Description of Consciousness,” The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 5, no. 5 (February 27, 1908), p. 118. 43 Calkins, “Psychology as Science of Self: III. The Description of Consciousness,” pp. 121. 44 Mary Whiton Calkins, “The Personalistic Conception of Nature,” Philosophical Review, vol. 28, no. 2 (March 1919), p. 127. 45 Calkins, “The Personalistic Conception of Nature,” p. 128. 46 Ibid., p. 118. 47 Ibid., p. 125. 48 Ibid., p. 127. 49 Elizabeth Scarbourough and Laurel Furumoto, Untold Lives: The First Generation of American Women Psychologists (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987), pp. 79–81. 50 Seelye to Ethel Puffer Howes, April 29, 1908, Morgan-Howes papers, Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe archives. 51 See Magdalena Nowak, “The Complicated History of Einfühlung,” in ARGUMENT (Pedagogical University of Cracow), vol. 1, no. 2 (2011), p. 303. www​.argument​ -journal​.eu.

NOTES  337

52 Ethel Dench Puffer Howes, “The Study of Perception and the Architectural Idea,” The Philosophical Review, vol. 19, no. 5 (September 1910), p. 509. 53 Ibid., p. 511. 54 Ibid., p. 508. 55 Ethel Puffer Howes, “Criticism and Aesthetics,” The Atlantic, June 1901, pp. 87, 845. 56 Perry Miller, “I Find No Intellect Comparable To My Own,” American Heritage, vol. 8, no. 2 (February 1957); available online: https​:/​/ww​​w​.ame​​rican​​herit​​age​.c​​om​/i-​​find-​​no​ -in​​telle​​ct​-co​​mpa​ra​​ble​-m​​y​-own​. 57 Ethel Puffer Howes, “Accepting the Universe,” The Atlantic, April 1922, p. 444. 58 Biographical information for Eva Dykes is from Marina Bacher, Pioneer African American Educators in Washington, D.C. (Münster: LIT Verlag, 2018), pp. 193–242; and Eva Dykes file at Digital Howard: https://dh​.howard​.edu. 59 The name of Central Tennessee College had been changed to Walden University when Dykes taught there. It was struggling financially at the time and closed in 1925. I use the original name of the institution to avoid confusion with today’s Walden University, which was founded in 1970 and is located in Minnesota. 60 Alain Locke was one of the first African American males to earn a PhD in philosophy at Harvard, in 1918. He was preceded by W. E. B. DuBois (history, 1895) and Carter G. Woodson (history, 1912). Charles H. Wesley may have been the fourth male to have earned this distinction at Harvard (history, 1925). 61 Biographical information for John Livingston Lowes is from Encyclopedia Britannica: https​:/​/ww​​w​.bri​​tanni​​ca​.co​​m​/bio​​graph​​y​/Joh​​n​-Liv​​in​gst​​on​-Lo​​wes. 62 Coleridge authored a number of works in these areas of inquiry—philosophy, political theory, and theology. In a letter to John Thelwall in 1796 he declared his love for metaphysics, facts of mind, and philosophy, calling them his “darling studies.” See, Lowes, Road to Xanadu (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), pp. 210–11. 63 John Livingston Lowes, Convention and Revolt in Poetry (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1919), p. 4. Clearly valuing breadth of thought and doing his best to establish how widely he had read, Lowes makes a good number of allusions and establishes his familiarity with thinkers like the transcendentalist, Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–82), p. 42; the expert in Sanskrit and Indian thought, Edward Byles Cowell (1826–1903), p. 89; the philosophe and friend of Diderot, Joseph Joubert (1754–1824), pp. 182–3; the philosopher and literary critic, George Henry Lewes (1817–78), pp. 335, 336; and the philosopher, Michel de Montaigne (1533–92), p. 337. 64 Lowes, Convention and Revolt in Poetry, pp. 6–7. Toward the end of the work, Lowes quotes Keats, saying, “I hope I am a little more of a Philosopher than I was consequently a little less of a versifying Pet-lamb,” p. 319. 65 Lowes, Convention and Revolt in Poetry—regarding poetry’s “virility,” see pp 312–13. For references to women writers: Dorothy Wordsworth (pp. 9, 10, 325); Madame du Scudery (pp. 78, 306); Amy Lowell (pp. 128, 256, 278, 284–6); and Edith Sichel

338 NOTES

(pp. 332–3). Let me note that Lowes disagreed with Lowell’s understanding of free verse, but he discusses her views with respect. He approves of and echoes Sichel’s criticism of sentimentality in literature, but in doing so, reiterates extremely derogatory comments about attempts to express the emotions of people outside the dominant culture: attempts to express “the emotions of colored races on large natural phenomena [involves] any amount of woolly thoughts, facile emotions, and false possibilities.” If such attempts “were confined to musings on the emotional reactions of the untutored but sensitive savage, it would not be so bad.” While Lowes was attempting here to express his distaste for overly sentimental writing and reliance on cultural stereotypes, it is difficult to ignore his sense of white superiority in this passage. 66 Otelia Cromwell, Eva Dykes, and Lorenzo Dow Turner, “Preface,” in Readings from Negro Authors for Schools and Colleges (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1931), citing a statement by the National Joint Committee on English, p. iii. 67 Eva B. Dykes, The Negro in English Romantic Thought (Washington, DC: Associated Publishers, 1942), p. 1. 68 Dykes, The Negro in English Romantic Thought, p. 2. 69 Ibid., p. 142. 70 Ibid., pp. 144–5. 71 Ibid., p. 145. 72 Ibid., p. 146. 73 Ibid., p. 155. 74 Biographical information for Benedict is from “Five Fierce Women Leaders at Sweet Briar College History,” Sweet Briar College website; Connecticut College News, vol. 9, no. 23 (May 16, 1924), p. 1; and Connecticut College Alumnae News, vol. 24, no. 2 (March 1956), p. 13. 75 Biographical information for Park is from: Ruth Neely, ed., Women of Ohio; A Record of their Achievements in the History of the State, vol. I (Springfield. Clarke Publishing, 1937), p. 253; One Hundred Year Biographical Directory of Mount Holyoke College 1837–1937, Bulletin Series 30, no. 5, available online: https​:/​/ww​​w​.mth​​olyok​​e​ .edu​/​~dal​​bino/​​photo​​s​/wom​​en4​​/m​​park.​​html;​ Janice Joyce Gerda, “History of the Conferences of Deans of Women, 1903-1922,” doctoral thesis, Bowling Green State University (December 2004), p. 297; Ancestry​.c​om document searches, including census records and a passport application in 1914. 76 Biographical information for Bacheler is from her profile in Alumnæ, Graduate school, Yale University, 1894-1920, p. 51; and her brother’s obituary, “Rev. Theodore Bacheler Dies in Vermont at 74,” Manchester Evening Herald, Manchester, Connecticut, June 26, 1968, p. 20. 77 Biographical information for Rowland is from: Radcliffe College, “Women Who Received the Ph.D. from 1899 to 1939,” in Schlesinger Library archives; Encyclopedia

NOTES  339

of Cleveland History online: https​:/​/ca​​se​.ed​​u​/ech​​/arti​​cles/​​w​/wem​​bridg​​e​-ele​​anor-​​h​ arri​​s​-row​​land See also Bruce Kuklick, The Rise of American Philosophy, Cambridge, Massachusetts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), p. 592. 78 Biographical information for Rousmaniere is from: Radcliffe College, “Women Who Received the Ph.D. from 1899 to 1939”; Elissa Rodkey, “Frances Rousmaniere,” Psychology’s Feminist Voices, 2010: http:​/​/www​​.femi​​nistv​​oices​​.com/​​franc​​es​-ro​​u​sman​​ iere/​and Kuklick, The Rise of American Philosophy, p. 592. 79 Biographical information for Marshall is from: Radcliffe College, “Women Who Received the Ph.D. from 1899 to 1939”; Harvard/Radcliffe catalogues during her years of attendance and Kuklick, The Rise of American Philosophy, p. 592. 80 Biographical information for Patterson is from: Radcliffe College, “Women who received the Ph.D. from 1899 to 1939”; Wellesley Alumnae Quarterly, vol. 5, no. 1 (October 1920), p. 49. 81 Source: list of doctoral degree recipients, Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe Institute at Harvard University. Between 1900 and 1930, forty-four women earned PhDs in philology, thirty in history and social sciences, twenty-five in the natural sciences, and twelve in philosophy.

Chapter 6 1 Agnes Scott College alumni magazine, Fall 2006, p. 3; available online: https​:/​/ar​​ chive​​.org/​​detai​​ls​/ag​​nessc​​ottal​​umna8​​283ag​​ne​/pa​​ge​/2/​​mode/​​2up​?q​​​=syde​​nstri​​cker. 2 Frances Richardson Keller, “The Perspective of a Black American on Slavery and the French Revolution: Anna Julia Cooper,” introduction to Cooper’s Slavery and the French and Haitian Revolutionists, translated and edited by Keller (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2006), p. 20. 3 Biographical information about Christine Ladd-Franklin is from Kelli Vaughn, “Psychology’s Feminist Voices,” online: http:​/​/www​​.femi​​nistv​​oices​​.com/​​chris​​tine-​​ ladd-​​f​rank​​lin. 4 Lauren Furumoto, “Joining Separate Spheres: Christine Ladd-Franklin, WomanScientist (1847–1930),” American Psychologist, vol. 47, no. 2 (1992), pp. 175–82. 5 See Vaughn, “Psychology’s Feminist Voices.” 6 Christine Ladd-Franklin, “Charles S. Peirce at the Johns Hopkins,” Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 13, no. 26 (December 21, 1916), pp. 715–22. 7 On Titchener’s strangely juvenile hostility toward Ladd-Franklin as well as her response, see Scarborough and Furumoto, Untold Lives: The First Generation of

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American Women Psychologists (New York: Columbia University Press, 1987), p. 126. 8 On Titchener as a mentor to female students, see Robert Proctor and Rand Evans, “E. B. Titchener, Women Psychologists, and the Experimentalists,” American Journal of Psychology, vol. 127, no. 4 (Winter 2014), pp. 501–26. 9 Christine Ladd-Franklin, “On Some Characteristics of Symbolic Logic,” American Journal of Psychology, vol. 2 (1889), p. 545. 10 Ladd-Franklin, “On Some Characteristics,” p. 553. 11 Ibid., p. 549. 12 Ibid., p. 554. 13 Ibid., p. 550. 14 See Christine Ladd-Franklin, “The Foundations of Philosophy: Explicit Primitives,” Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 8, no. 26 (December 21, 1911), pp. 708–13; and “Explicit Primitives Again: A Reply to Professor Fite,” Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 9, no. 21 (October 10, 1912), pp. 580–5. 15 Mary Whiton Calkins, “The Idealist to the Realist,” The Journal of Philosophy, Psychology and Scientific Methods, vol. 8, no. 17 (1911), pp. 449–58. 16 Christine Ladd-Franklin, “Epistemology for the Logician,” delivered at III Kongress fur Philosophie, Heidelberg (1908), p. 665. Available via Hathi Trust. 17 Ladd-Franklin, “Epistemology for the Logician,” p. 666. 18 Ibid., pp. 667–8. 19 David W. Agler and Deniz Durmuş, “Christine Ladd-Franklin: Pragmatist Feminist,” Transactions of the Charles S. Peirce Society, vol. 49, no. 3 (Summer 2013), pp. 299–321. 20 Ladd-Franklin, “Epistemology for the Logician,” p. 670. 21 Ibid. 22 Christine Ladd-Franklin, “Intuition and Reason,” Monist, vol. 3, no. 2 (January 1893), pp. 214. 23 Ladd-Franklin, “Intuition and Reason,” pp. 214. 24 Ibid., pp. 215. 25 Ibid., pp. 219. 26 Julia Gulliver, “The Psychology of Dreams,” The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, vol. 14, no. 2 (April 1880), pp. 204–18. 27 Quotes in this paragraph are from Gulliver, “Psychology of Dreams,” p. 210. 28 Gulliver, “Psychology of Dreams,” p. 209.

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29 Ibid., p. 218. 30 Julia Gulliver, “The Ethical Implications of Determinism,” Philosophical Review, vol. 3, no. 1 (January 1894), p. 64. 31 John Dewey, “The Ego as Cause,” Philosophical Review, vol. 3, no. 3 (May 1894), pp. 337–41. 32 Julia Gulliver, letter to James Creighton, June 2, 1894, in Department of Philosophy collection, Cornell University archives. 33 Julia Gulliver, letter to James Creighton, June 27, 1894, in Department of Philosophy collection, Cornell University archives. 34 Julia Gulliver, Studies in Democracy (New York: Putnam, 1917), p. 9. 35 Gulliver, Studies in Democracy, p. 18. 36 Ibid., pp. 21–2. 37 Ibid., pp. 7, 48. 38 Ibid., p. 8. 39 Ibid., p. 36–7. 40 Ibid., pp. 49, 55. 41 Ibid., p. 51. 42 Ibid. 43 Ibid., p. 52. 44 Ibid., pp. 65–8. 45 Ibid., p. 71. 46 Ibid., p. 78. 47 Ibid. 48 Rochester Female Academy, later Seminary, operated until 1903 under various names, such as Miss Doolittle’s School and Mrs. Nichols’ School. See Michael Leavy, Rochester’s Corn Hill: The Historic Third Ward (Arcadia Publishing, 2003), p. 17. and yearbooks online: https​:/​/ww​​w​.lib​​raryw​​eb​.or​​g​/roc​​himag​​/year​​books​​/ac​ad​​emies​​.htm 49 Emma Rauschenbusch, A Study of Mary Wollstonecraft and the Rights of Woman (New Delhi: Facsimile Publishers, 2019; originally published in 1898), p. 75. 50 Rauschenbusch, Study of Mary Wollstonecraft, pp. 73–4. 51 Ibid., pp. 88–9. 52 Ibid., p. 94. 53 Ibid., pp. 98–9; 102–3. 54 Ibid., pp. 116–17.

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55 Martha Bolton, Wendy Gunther-Canada, Sarah Hutton, and Catherine Gardner were among the Gardner published academic articles about Mcaulay as a philosopher just before and after the year 2000. Since then, roughly two dozen articles about her life and thought have appeared in print. Books about Mcaulay have also been published in the past two decades: Karen Green, Catharine Macaulay’s Republican Enlightenment (New York: Routledge, 2020); Kate Davies, Catharine Macaulay and Mercy Otis Warren (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005); Connie Titone, Gender Equality in the Philosophy of Education: Catherine Macaulay’s Forgotten Contribution (New York: Peter Lang, 2004). 56 Ibid., p. 95. 57 Ibid., p. 104. 58 Ibid., p. 110. For research that has essentially debunked matriarchies as a myth, See Cynthia Eller, The Myth of Matriarchal Prehistory (Boston: Beacon Press, 2001). 59 Rauschenbusch, Study of Mary Wollstonecraft, p. 111. 60 Ibid., pp. 116–17. 61 Ibid., p. 120. 62 Ibid., p. 128. 63 Ibid., p. 134. 64 Ibid., pp. 135, 136. 65 Ibid., p. 139. 66 Ibid., p. 48. 67 Ibid., pp. 52–3. 68 Ibid., citing Godwin, p. 61. 69 Rauschenbusch, Study of Mary Wollstonecraft, Ibid., p. 63. 70 Ibid., pp. 57, 58. 71 Ibid., p. 195. 72 Ibid., p. 199. 73 Ibid., pp. 198–9. 74 Ibid., pp. 206–7. Rauschenbusch recognizes that a claim of this sort is controversial. To support her hypothesis, she discusses von Hippel at some length in this chapter, pp. 206–17. He was an author whose writings were published anonymously, and he may also have borrowed from Kant and Rousseau—perhaps unconsciously. 75 Biographical information for Cooper is from Vivian May, Anna Julia Cooper, Visionary Black Feminist: A Critical Introduction (New York: Routledge, 2012), pp. 1–12, and from alumni reports in Oberlin College archives.

NOTES  343

76 See Vivian M. May, “Thinking from the Margins, Acting at the Intersections: Anna Julia Cooper’s ‘A Voice from the South,’” in Women in the American Philosophical Tradition, 1800-1930, a special issue of Hypatia: A Journal of Feminist Philosophy, eds., Therese Boos Dykeman and Dorothy Rogers, vol. 19, no. 2 (Spring 2004), pp. 74–91; Keller, “The Perspective of a Black American on Slavery and the French Revolution,” pp. 11–26; May, Anna Julia Cooper, Visionary Black Feminist. 77 Anna Julia Cooper, A Voice from the South (New York: Routledge, 2012), pp. 2–3. 78 Cooper, Voice, pp. 7, 8. 79 Ibid., p. 8. 80 Ibid., pp. 20–1. 81 Ibid., pp. 28–9. 82 Ibid., p. 31. 83 Ibid., p. 21. 84 Ibid., pp. 61–2; 66–7. 85 Ibid., p. 26. 86 Ibid., p. 9. 87 Ibid., pp. 41–2. 88 Ibid., pp. 27–8; 40–1. 89 Ibid., pp. 65–6. 90 Ibid., pp. 10–11. 91 Ibid., pp. 50–1; emphasis in original. 92 Cooper, Voice, p. 43. 93 Ibid., p. 62. 94 Ibid., p. 33. 95 Ibid., p. 63. 96 Ibid. 97 This speech and Cooper’s response are discussed at length by Teresa Zackodnik, “Reaching Toward a Red-Black Coalitional Feminism: Anna Julia Cooper’s ‘Woman versus the Indian,’” in Cheryl Suzack, et al, eds., Indigenous Women and Feminism: Politics, Activism, Culture (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2010), pp. 109–25. 98 Cooper, Voice, p. 56. 99 Ibid.

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100 Ibid., p. 57. 101 Ibid., p. 54. 102 Ibid., pp. 9–10. 103 Ibid., pp. 22–3. 104 Ibid., pp. 86–7. 105 Ibid., pp. 89–90. 106 Ibid., p. 96. For a contemporary discussion of Tourgée and his work, see Carolyn L. Karcher, “Imagining Reparations for African American Slavery: Albion W. Tourgée’s Pactolus Prime,” presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Studies Association, Baltimore, MD (November 2014); available online at: http:​/​/cit​​ation​​ .alla​​cadem​​ic​.co​​m​/met​​a​/p50​​8567_​​i​ndex​​.html​. Also see Karcher, “Passing for Black in Pactolus Prime,” in her book length study: A Refugee from His Race: Albion W. Tourgée and His Fight against White Supremacy (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2016), pp. 54–90. 107 Cooper, Voice, p. 91. 108 Ibid., p. 93. 109 The quotes in this paragraph are from the same page: Cooper, Voice, p. 91. 110 Ibid., p. 92. 111 Ibid., p. 97. 112 Ibid., pp. 102–3. 113 Ibid., p. 98. 114 Ibid., pp. 96–7 for mention of Douglass, Crummell, Arnett, Blyden, Scarborough, Price, and Fortune; p. 109 for mention of Harper and Whitman. 115 Cooper, Voice, p. 111. 116 Ibid., pp. 113–15. 117 Ibid., pp. 117, 119, 121–3. 118 Ibid., pp. 125–6. 119 Ibid., p. 127. 120 Ibid., p. 122. 121 Ibid., p. 123. 122 Ibid., pp. 122–5; 130–1. 123 Ibid., pp. 133–6. 124 Ibid., p. 76.

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125 Ibid., pp. 72–3; 77. 126 Ibid., p. 141. 127 Ibid., p. 142. 128 Ibid., pp. 142–3. 129 Ibid., p. 144. 130 Ibid. 131 Ibid., p. 147. 132 Ibid. 133 Toussaint’s full name was François-Dominique Toussaint Louverture. Cooper makes a point of saying that Toussaint himself spelled his surname “Louverture,” not the common form “L’Ouverture.” 134 See David Walker’s “Appeal,” p. 2; available online: http:​/​/nat​​ional​​human​​ities​​cente​​ r​.org​​/pds/​​trium​​phnat​​ional​​ism​/c​​man​/t​​ex​t5/​​walke​​r​.pdf​; Maria Stewart, “Religion and the Pure Principles of Morality,” in Marilyn Richardson, ed., Maria Stewart: America’s First Black Political Writer (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987), p. 39; Frederick Douglass, speech published by Theodore Stanton, “Frederick Douglass on Toussaint L’Ouverture and Victor Schoelcher,” The Open Court, vol. 1903, Issue 12, Article 7; available online: https​:/​/op​​ensiu​​c​.lib​​.siu.​​edu​/c​​gi​/vi​​ewcon​​ tent.​​cgi​?a​​rticl​​e​=170​​​0​&con​​text=​​ocj; and W. E. B. DuBois, The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States of America, 1638–1870 (1896; reissued: Mineola: Dover Press, 1970), pp. 70–93. 135 Anna Julia Cooper, Slavery and the French and Haitian Revolutionists, edited and translated by Frances Richardson Keller (Rowman & Littlefield, 2006), p. 31. 136 Cooper, Slavery and the French and Haitian Revolutionists, p. 77. 137 Ibid., p. 57. 138 Ibid., pp. 48, 70, 73–4, 76. 139 Ibid., p. 97. 140 Ibid., p. 114. 141 See Sandra Singer, Adventures Abroad: North-American Woman at German-Speaking Universities, 1868-1915 (London: Praeger, 2003), pp. 56–60. Publication information is from WorldCat Identities. 142 See Lynn Peril, College Girls: Bluestockings, Sex Kittens, and Co-eds, Then and Now (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2006), pp. 69–70. 143 See Andrea Hamilton, A Vision for Girls: Gender, Education, and the Bryn Mawr School (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), pp. 40–1.

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144 See Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz, The Power and Passion of M. Carey Thomas (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1994), pp. 342–3. Jessie Fauset wrote a novel, There Is Confusion (1924), which is generally considered to be a metaphorical portrayal of her experience at Bryn Mawr. 145 See Antero Pietila, Ghosts of Johns Hopkins: The Life and Legacy that Shaped an American City (New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2018), pp. 69–70. 146 See Hamilton, A Vision for Girls, p. 37. 147 See Singer, Adventures Abroad, p. 144. 148 Ibid., pp. 145–6. 149 Ibid., p. 147. 150 Ibid., pp. 147–8. 151 Ibid., pp. 148–9. 152 Ibid., p. 149.

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INDEX

abolition, abolitionists  230, 231 absolute  26, 33, 43, 64–6, 89–91, 132, 136, 212, 214, 218, 219 Adams, Elizabeth Kemper  145, 146 Adams, Henry Carter  100–3, 115 Addams, Jane  121, 129–32, 142, 149, 150, 156, 161, 191, 249, 255, 293, 296 aesthetic(s)  19, 60, 71–3, 84, 94, 143, 145, 148, 172–4, 222, 223, 264, 273 in Cutler  198, 199, 201–3, 232, 298 in Howes  8, 221–3 in Miles Hill  125, 129 in Ritchie  46, 47 in Slosson  12, 23–5 African American issues and culture  196, 228, 229, 239, 253, 267, 268, 270–80, 283, 285, 286 Agnes Scott College  237 Albee, Ernest  18 Alcott, Amos Bronson  123 Alexander, Sadie Mossell  5, 186 Alison, Archibald  24 Altruism  48, 99, 106–9, 113–18, 142, 292, 293 American Association of University Women (Association of Collegiate Alumnae)  22, 151, 201, 221, 240 American idealism, see St. Louis idealism American Philosophical Association  2, 12, 13, 17, 57, 61, 80, 93, 94, 162, 196, 199–201, 203, 204, 206, 208, 239, 245, 249 American Psychological Association  12, 196, 206, 208 Ames, Edward Scribner  149, 151 Andover Theological Seminary  101, 248 Angell, James B.  ix, 102, 149, 151, 166 Anthony, Susan B.  271

anthropology  47, 150, 189, 226, 258, 261, 292 Antonelli, Etienne  95 Aquinas, Thomas  192 archaeology  196, 261 Archibald, Edith  32 Aristotle, Aristotelianism  18, 24, 147, 158, 192 Armstrong School  187 Arnett, Rev. Benjamin W.  277 Ascher, Margaretha  143 Astell, Mary  257 atheism, atheists  37, 44 Augustine  192 Bacheler, Muriel  232, 234 Bachofen, Johann Jakob  261 Bakewell, Charles  197 Baldwin, Mark  167 Barnard College  289 Barr, Nann Clark  92, 94, 95 Bastable, Charles F.  24, 52 Baudelaire, Charles  86 beauty 23–5, 72, 96, 174, 202, 222, 223, see also aesthetics Bebel, August  261 Beecher, Catharine  140 Behaviorism  163 Benedict, Georgia  92 Benedict, Mary K.  233 Bennington College  235 Bentham, Jeremy  230 Berea College  183 Bergson, Henri  96, 211 Berkeley, George  24, 165, 212, 287 Bethany College  119, 121 Bibb, Grace  139 biblical studies  198, 249, 289 Blackett, Florence Watson  237

356 Index

Bloomingdale Academy  119, 121 Blow, Susan  108, 136, 172, 210, 268, 281, 293 Blydon, Edward Wilmot  277 Boggs, Grace Lee  4 Boggs, Lucinda Pearl  286, 288 boniform faculty  82, 83 Bonner, Marita O.  187, 225, 226 Borden, Sir Robert  32 Boston University  150, 237 Bowne, Borden Parker  220 Brackett, Anna  108, 133, 139, 153, 156, 172, 209, 210 Bradley, F. H.  233 Breckinridge, Sophonisba  ix, 151, 185–6 Brentano, Franz  88 Briarcliff School  12, 50, 51 Briggs, Martha  271 Brontë Sisters  129 Brown, Hallie Quinn  271 Brown University  94 Bryn Mawr College  x, 4, 7, 93, 95, 119, 120, 146, 147, 160–2, 168, 191, 197, 287 Buck, Gertrude  142, 143 Buck, Pearl S.  238 Burke, Edmund  24, 25, 230, 259 Burns, James Alexander  179 Busbee, Charles  266 Butler, Joseph  230 Butler, Nathaniel  149 Butler University  2, 103, 105 Cable, George Washington  274–7 Calkins, Mary Whiton  ix, 2, 8, 20, 29, 32, 61–3, 93, 94, 96, 120, 196, 198, 199, 206–21, 234, 235, 240–2, 245, 248, 249, 296, 297, 299, 302 Cannon, Harriet Starr  81 Capetillo, Luisa  170 Carlyle, Thomas  223, 274 Carnegie Mellon (Carnegie Institute of Technology)  146, 161 Carson, Lewis Clinton  102 Cary, Mary Ann Shadd  229

Case Western Reserve (Western Reserve College)  203, 204 Cassirer, Ernst  96 Castro, Matilde  4, 5, 7, 145, 147, 148, 160–8, 191, 210, 244, 257,  297, 299, 300 Catt, Carrie Chapman  22 Central Tennessee College  224 Channing, William Ellery  230 Chapone, Hester  261 Cheney, Ednah Dow  x, 105 Cherokee Female Seminary  7, 178 Chicago Kindergarten College  204 Chicago Normal School  152 Chicago race riots  186 Chicago World’s Fair  134, 137, 140 Christianity  109, 137, 138, 177, 183, 258, 275 Christian Science  173 Christian Socialist movement  110, 254, 258, 294, see also Social Gospel Civil War (US)  180, 182, 185, 266, 275, 278, 280 Clarke, Samuel  251 Clark University  120, 146, 205 Clough, Harriet (Sunderland)  258 Clough, Rev. John  258 Cobb, Sarah Maxon  237 coeducation  2, 9, 27, 146 cognition  34, 90 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor  125, 126, 226 Colorado College  103, 104 Colored Social Settlement (Washington, DC)  266 Columbia University  3, 146, 149, 151, 159, 208, 239, 241, 267, 301 communism  159, 170 Community of St. Mary convents  80, 81 Comte, Auguste  137, 280, 281 Conard, Laetitia Moon  158 Concord Summer School of Philosophy  100, 104, 105, 126, 136 Connecticut College  94, 233 conscience  54, 82, 182, 273, 275

Index

consciousness  33–5, 39, 65, 171, 177, 205, 214, 218 Cook, Joyce Mitchell  4 Coolidge, Mary  236 Cooper, Anna Julia  2, 3, 5, 8, 61, 147, 179, 187, 229, 237, 238, 266–84, 286, 294, 299, 301 Coppin, Fanny Jackson  133, 153, 267, 271 Cornell University  6, 11–97, 101, 102, 118, 145–7, 150, 167, 171, 192, 195, 197, 201, 208, 210, 241, 249, 287, 288, 299, 300 Corson, Hiram  14,  15 Crane, Esther  192 Crane, Marion D.  92, 95 Creighton, James E.  ix, 2, 15, 16, 18–20, 29, 30, 39, 42, 49, 50, 60, 61, 77, 81, 95, 208, 249, 252 Cromwell, Otelia  5, 226, 228 Crummell, Alexander  228, 267, 270, 277 Cudworth, Ralph  82, 83 Cutler, Anna Alice  2, 8, 81, 195, 197–204, 208, 232, 248, 249, 292, 298, 299 Cutting, Starr W.  186 Dalhousie University  12, 15, 16, 26–31, 49 Daniels, Margaret  192 Davidson, Thomas  2 Davis, Katherine Bement  255 Dawkins, Edgar B.  234 Day, Caroline Bond  226 Deaf education  58–9 de Bey, Cornelia  122, 129 deLaguna, Grace Andrus  92–4 deLaguna, Theodore  93 Delaney, Clarissa Scott  229 democracy  155, 156, 192, 253–6, 285, 293 Dennis, Agnes  32 Descartes, Rene  34, 82, 166, 211, 212, 251, 262 Dessior, Max  60, 288

357

determinism  36–8, 69, 70, 251–3, see also free will/determinism Dewey, John  ix, 2, 60, 78, 100–3, 123, 128, 141, 148–53, 159, 163, 164, 166, 167, 191, 193, 208, 241, 252, 288, 301 Dewing, Arthur  235 Diderot, Denis  24 Dilthey, Wilhelm  77 Diotima  293 diversity  4, 5, 14, 44, 123, 131, 132, 156, 234, 280 Dix, Dorothea  270 Dolson, Grace Neal  ix, 2, 6, 12, 13, 17, 80–6, 91, 187, 195, 201, 292, 299 domestic, domesticity  130, 150 Domna, Julia  142 Donnelly, Ignatius  275, 276 Douglass, Frederick  186, 187, 228, 266, 277, 282 Douglass, Helen (Pitts)  187 Dow, Mary Elizabeth  50–1 Drury College  178, 179 DuBois, W. E. B.  190, 225, 228, 266, 279, 282 Duke University  94 Dunbar High School  7, 147, 184–7, 224, 226, 266 Dykes, Eva Beatrice  2, 5, 8, 59, 186, 187, 196, 198, 224–31, 266, 274, 294, 295, 299 Earlham College  119, 120 Early, Sarah  271 Eaton, Rachel Caroline  5, 7, 145, 147, 152, 178–84, 192, 282, 294, 299 economics (study of)  1, 52, 56, 102, 120 education, educational theory  6, 130, 134, 145–9, 153, 172, 191, 204, 249, 278, 288, see also pedagogy Eells, Walter Crosby  50 Egalitarianism  102, 140, 150 ego, egoism  34, 54, 64, 79, 85, 86, 108, 111 Eliot, George  129, 274 Elmira College  13 Emerson, Ralph Waldo  24, 25, 123–6

358 Index

Emma Willard’s School  57, 59 Emmanuel Movement  173 Empedocles  159 English (area of study)  11, 14, 100, 224, 225 Episcopal Theological Seminary  63 epistemology  18, 35, 39, 63, 89, 123, 163, 164–6, 190, 202, 205, 215, 217, 244, 246, 291, 297, 301 equality  239, 285, 295 Erasmus  32 Erdmann, Johann Eduard  41, 88 ethics  8, 16, 18, 39, 49, 50, 60, 61, 82, 84, 86, 88, 89, 104, 106, 108, 109, 113, 118, 125, 157, 172–4, 176, 209, 248, 249 experimental psychology, see psychology, experimental  8, 19, 60, 93, 127, 146, 163, 199, 205, 207, 232, 297, 301 faith  198, 264, 281 Falconer, James William  32 Fauset, Jessie Redmon  229, 287 Fechner, Gustav  288 Felicite, Caroline Stephanie  261 feminism, feminists  33, 106, 129, 130, 141–3, 159, 209, 223, 224, 230, 239, 240, 247, 250, 256, 257, 260, 262, 266, 285, 295 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb  6, 12, 41, 62–6, 77–80, 90, 125, 163, 211, 212, 292, 296 Field, William  154 Fisher, Anthony  97 Fisk University  225 Fitch, Florence C.  286, 288 Fite, Warner  245 Fordyce, James  261 Fortune, Thomas  277 Fouillee, Alfred  95 Foust, Mathew  209 Fox, George  230 Francis of Assisi  228 Franklin, Christine Ladd, see Ladd-Franklin

Franklin, Fabian  240 freedom  96, 110, 176, 256 free will/ determinism debate  33, 36, 38, 44, 68–70, 92, 249–53 Freiberg, see University of Freiberg Frelinghuysen University  2, 266 French Revolution,  see Haiti, Haitian revolution Fuller, Margaret  223 functionalism, see psychology, functional  163, 214 Gamble, Eleanor Acheson McCulloch  11, 12, 29, 146 Gardiner, Henry Norman  ix, 2, 200, 201, 249 Garrison, William Lloyd  228, 231 Gates, Ellen Starr  150 gender issues  30, 31, 105, 107, 130, 183, 239, 246, 254, 262, 263, 265, 299 German philosophy and thought  18, 23, 26, 100, 145, 147, 150, 184, 255 Giddings, Frank H.  120 Gilbert, Katherine Everett  17, 20, 92, 94 Gilman, Charlotte Perkins, feminist views of  129–31 God  43, 54, 63, 65, 66, 82, 90, 136, 176, 177, 219, 253, 254, 262, 263 Godwin, William  259, 262, 296 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von  125 good, goodness  88, 96, 113 Gordon, Kate, see Moore, Kate Gordon Gore, Willard Clark  149 Gottingen, see University of Gottingen Goucher College  287 grace  106, 107, 109, 113, 115, 117, 118 Gragnon-Lacoste, Thomas P.  188 Greek philosophy and thought  13, 18, 21, 142, 145, 146, 150, 158, 159, 183, 204 Gregory, John  261 Grenfell Mission  51 Grimke, Angelina  231 Grimke, Charlotte Forten  271 Grimke, Sarah  231 Grinnell (Iowa College)  7, 101, 158

Index

Grove, Frederick Philip  32 Gulliver, Julia  8, 20, 32, 39, 105, 161, 200, 201, 207, 237, 238, 248–56, 285, 286, 293, 299 Guyau, Jean-Marie  235 Hadley, Arthur Twining  198 Haiti, Haitian revolution  179, 188, 261, 267, 282–4, 295 Haldane, Richard B.  55 Haley, Margaret  129 Hall, Frances Eliza  185 Hall, Granville Stanley  94, 146, 205 Hammond, William (1862-1938)  18 Hammond, William (1828-1900)  251 Hampton Institute  233 Hannum, Louise  11, 60 Hanover College  226 Harlem Renaissance  188, 287 Harper, Frances Watkins  x, 228, 229, 271, 277–8 Harris, Marjorie Silliman  92, 96 Harris, William Torrey  2, 63, 104, 105, 108, 123, 250 Hartman, Edith Cooper  50–1 Hartmann, Eduard von  88, 137 Harvard University  7, 63, 105, 120, 129, 195–236, 241 Hasbach, Wilhelm  52 Hastings College  12, 21 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich  62, 102, 136, 137, 164, 210, 211, 292 in Dolson  86 in Kies  106, 108, 109, 111–16 in Miles Hill  126 in Ritchie  33, 39, 41, 44 in Slosson  23, 26   in V. Moore  87, 90–1 Heidelberg, see University of Heidelberg Heinze, Maximilian  257 Held, Virginia  294 Helmholtz, Hermann von  240 Herder, Johann Gottfried  58, 189, 190, 222, 288, 292 Hill, William  120, 121 Hillsdale College (Michigan)  20, 104

359

Hillsdale School (Washington, DC)  184, 185 Hindu thought  193 Hinman, Alice (Hamlin)  11, 12, 50 Hippel, Theodore Gottlieb von  265 history (study of)  4, 14, 15, 64, 147, 183, 236 Hitchcock, Clara  2, 8, 195, 197, 198, 203–6, 232, 298, 299 Hitchcock, Clara Delano  204 Hitchcock, Henry  203, 204 Hitchcock, Peter Marshall  203 Hitchcock, Rev. Henry Lawrence  203 Hobart College  63 Hobbes, Thomas  52, 83, 212 Holderman, Elisabeth  142 Howard University  2, 14, 147, 184, 187, 192, 198, 199, 224–6 Howells, William Dean  105, 276, 277 Howes, Ethel Dench Puffer  3, 8, 196, 198, 220–4, 232, 235, 296, 301 Howison, George Holmes  x, 2, 63, 105 Hull House  3, 119, 121, 132, 142, 149, 191, 296 Hume, David  24, 52–4, 165, 174, 212, 230, 280, 281 Hunter College  159 Husserl, Edmund  77, 88, 167 Hutcheson, Francis  24, 52–3 Hyslop, James H.  253 Ibsen, Henrik  86 idealism, idealists (see also St. Louis idealist movement)  6, 7, 41, 71, 73, 77, 78, 89–92, 104, 122, 123, 125, 136, 141, 153, 172, 201, 209, 210, 219, 220, 222, 226, 244, 292 identity  33, 69, 205, 251, 273 imagination  204, 250, 251, 281 individualism  106, 108, 110, 114 individuality  33, 70, 74, 76, 89, 215, 253, 259 Ingersoll, Robert  280 Institute for Colored Youth  153 intuition  125–6, 202, 214, 246–7 Iowa Institution for the Deaf  57, 58

360 Index

Irons, David  18 Irvine, Julia  28 Islam  137, 138 Jackson, Andrew  180 Jackson, Helen Hunt  270 James, William  2, 61, 63, 78, 123, 157, 163, 166, 177, 197, 200, 207, 208, 226, 289 Janssen-Lauret, Frederique  97 Jefferson College  226 Jeffery, Francis  24 Jewish issues and culture  138, 159, 161, 177, 273, 287, 289, 328 n.36 Johns Hopkins University  3, 8, 100, 101, 233, 237, 238, 240, 241, 285, 301 Johnson, Pauline  268, 273 Johnson, Samuel  230 Jones, E. E. C.  61, 88 Jones, Jenkin Lloyd  139 Journal of Speculative Philosophy  62, 63, 100, 126, 141, 250 Journalism  159, 169–70, 192 judgment  251, 289 Judson, Harry Pratt  ix, x, 185 justice  106, 107, 109, 110, 115, 117, 295 Kant, Immanuel (Kantianism)  60, 61, 92, 93, 102, 163, 176, 292 in Calkins  211, 212  in Castro  165  in Creighton  16–17  in Cutler  198, 201–3, 298 in Dolson  86 in Miles Hill  99, 123–6 in Muir  55–6  in Ritchie  34–5, 42 in Slosson  24  in Sunderland  136–7  in Talbot  62–5 in V. Moore  87–9 Katzav, Joel  97 Kendrick, Anne  233 Kent State University  204 Keyes, John Neville  243

Kies, Marietta  x, 2, 6, 7, 21, 32, 50, 56, 59, 63, 99–102, 103–19, 120–1, 141, 142, 187, 210, 233, 249, 254, 258, 292–4 Kitch, Ethel May  192 Klemm, Gustav  265 knowledge  163, 245, 247, 262 Knox, Mary Alice  50 Knox College  248 Kroeger, A. E.  62 La Caze, Marguerite  97 laboratory Schools (Chicago)  149 Ladd, George Trumbull  8, 67, 88, 205 Ladd-Franklin, Christine  3, 8, 62, 208, 237–48, 285, 296, 297, 299 Lagerlof, Selma  255 Laird, Elizabeth  120 Laird, John  29 Lake Erie College  8, 12, 51, 198, 203, 204 Langer, Susanne  236 Lathrop, Julia  122, 129 Latin  158, 159, 183 law, legal theory  1, 102, 106, 110, 111, 138, 141 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm  36, 37, 39, 192, 212, 233 Leighton, James A.  63 Leveque, Jean Charles  25 Lewis, Edmonia  280 Lincoln Institute  266 linguistics,  59, 292 Lippert, Julius  262 Lipps, Theodor  167, 174, 222 literature, literary theory  8, 27, 61, 102, 143, 279, 288, see also philology Lloyd, Alfred Henry  100, 102, 135 Locke, Alain  187, 198, 225–8 Locke, George H.  149 Locke, John  165, 211, 264, 288 Logan, John Daniel  30 logic  15, 17, 19, 145, 163–6, 210, 240, 242–4, 285, 296, 297 Lotze, Hermann  6, 13, 18, 87–91, 137, 163, 167, 222, 288 Louverture, Toussaint  188, 191, 231, 282–4, 295

Index

love  131, 138 Lovejoy, Arthur  159 Lowell, Amy  129, 227 Lowes, John Livingston  226 Lowrey, Charles Emmet  102 Lyall, William  27, 49 Lyon, Mary  270 Macaulay, Catherine  261 Macaulay, Thomas Babbington  280 McDaniel, Kris  209 McDonald, Dana Noelle  209 McDowell, Mary  122, 129, 131 McFee, Janet Donalda  286–8, McGill University  287 McKenna, Erin  209 McMaster University  235 MacMechan, Archibald  32 Maeterlinck, Maurice  86 Magill, Helen  13 Magill, Robert  29 Mahin, Helen Ogden  143 Malebranche, Nicolas  13, 96 Mann, Rowena Morse  286, 288 Marshall, Grace Eiler  234, 235 Martineau, Harriet  16, 137, 230, 231 Massachusetts Institute of Technology  63, 150 Mavity, Arthur Benton  94 Mead, George Herbert  2, 100, 135, 149–51, 300 Mead, Lucia Ames  102, 131, 170 memory  35, 74, 173, 204, 251 Mencken, H. L.  84 Menzer, Paul  61 Mercer, Margaret  117, 124 metaphysics  12, 18, 19, 32, 34, 41, 49, 64–7, 88, 123, 124, 163, 176, 201, 202, 211, 212, 217–19, 233, 301 Miami University of Ohio (Western College)  94, 192, 288 Michigan Female Seminary  203 Miles Hill, Caroline  x, 3, 6, 7, 21, 32, 33, 50, 59, 99, 100, 102, 119–32, 135, 141, 142, 210, 233, 292, 296

361

Mill, John Stuart  94, 280, 326 n.1 Miller, Kelly  228 Millerd, Clara  7, 145, 147, 158–9, 299 Millerd, Norman Alling  158 Millikin College  95 Mills College  103, 105 mind  33, 124, 125, 163, 198 Miner Normal School  184 Mitchell, Ellen  18, 209, 210 Mitchell, Maria  240 Montesquieu, Baron de  24 Moore, Addison W.  149, 151 Moore, John G.  87 Moore, Kate Gordon  145, 146, 161 Moore, Vida Frank  2, 6, 11–13, 17, 50, 87–91, 210, 292, 299 moral development  71, 198 moral philosophy, moral theory  15, 38, 55, 71, 76, 104, 105, 172, 198 morality  44, 47, 83, 128, 137, 189, 201 Morata, Olympia Falvia  270 More, Hannah  230 More, Henry  6, 13, 82–5 Morgan, Lewis Henry  261 Morris, George Sylvester  2, 100–2, 114, 141, 241, 300 Mossell (see Alexander, Sadie Mossell)  5 Moten, Lucy  185 Mott, Lucretia  270 Mount Holyoke College  12, 13, 50, 57, 59–61, 96, 103, 104, 119, 120, 132, 133, 146, 160, 183–4, 204, 208, 233–5, 299 Muir, Ethel Gordon  6, 11, 48–56, 60, 91, 118, 171–2, 292–4, 299 Muller, G. E.  240 Munro, Barbara  27 Münsterberg, Hugo  120, 197, 207, 220, 221 Murray, Elsie  92–4 Murray, Walter C.  29, 49 nationalism  189, 190 Native American issues and culture  145, 147, 158, 179–84, 272–4

362 Index

Nerlich, Brigitte  97 neuropsychology  34, 155 New York University  96 Nietzsche, Friedrich  6, 13, 84–6, 245, 292 Niles, John Milton  239 Nowata Cherokee Nation public schools  7, 178, 179 Oakwood College  199, 224 Oberlin College  168–9, 183, 192, 234, 238, 266, 268, 289 Ohio Institution for the Deaf  57 Ohio State University  57, 63, 95 Olen, Peter  97 Oncken, August  52, 55 ontology  12, 35, 65, 88, 190, 205, 211, 217, 297 Oswego Normal School  288 Oxford University  18, 29, 192 pacifism, peace  159, 168, 211, 254 Paine, Thomas  259 Paley, William  183, 230 Palmeiri, Patricia  28 Palmer, George Herbert  197, 335 n.23 Park, Andrew  233 Park, Mary Isabel  232, 233 Pascal, Blaise  46 Patterson, Eleanor  234, 235 Paulsen, Friedrich  60, 288 Pearce, Trevor  97 pedagogy, pedagogical theory  6, 7, 19, 59, 61, 146, 149, 153, 191, 229, 265, 278, 288 Peirce, Charles Sanders  240, 242, 246 Pembroke College  94 Penfield, Harriet  161 Penney, Mark Embury  95 Pennsylvania College for Women  12, 50 Perry, Ralph Barton  61 personalism, personalists  91, 136, 211, 220 personhood, personality  12, 33–6, 70, 210, 218, 253, 254 Pfleiderer, Otto  88 phenomenology  65, 73, 77, 167, 171, 216

philology  5, 143, 158, 236 Philosophical Review  14–15, 17, 20, 32, 38, 40, 42–4, 63, 82, 84, 94, 95, 208, 209, 221, 249, 251, 252, 300 philosophy of religion  12, 16, 19, 32, 44, 45, 92, 102, 145, 147, 280 Pickens, William  228 Piozzi, Hester Lynch  261 Plato, Platonism  18, 24, 54, 82, 123–5, 176 Plotinus  123, 124 Plymouth Summer School of Ethics  102 Poe, Edgar Allen  24, 274 political economy  15, 50, 100 political philosophy, theory  15, 50, 102, 106, 107, 110, 226, 254, 267, 291, 293, 294 political science  1, 151, 195, 199 Pope, Alexander  225, 227 pragmatism, pragmatists  7, 77–80, 101, 118, 146, 164, 175–7, 192, 246, 291, 296 Prairie Weir Farm Summer School  119 Pratt, E.J.  32 Pratt, Scott  209 Price, Joseph Charles  277 Price, Langford L.  52 Price, Richard  259, 261, 263 Princeton University  19 psychology as a new discipline  1, 50, 120, 129, 130, 134, 140, 151, 153, 155, 157, 166, 196 and disciplinary boundaries  5–6, 7, 8, 11, 15, 18, 19, 34, 61, 64, 67–68, 77, 92–93, 101, 122, 143, 145–9, 190–1, 195, 198, 201, 204, 232, 234–5, 244–5, 249, 288, 291, 297 in Calkins  209–20 in Castro  162–7 in Hitchcock  205–6 in Ritchie  34–5 in Talbot  67–8 psychology, experimental  8, 19, 29, 60, 93, 127, 146, 163, 199, 205–7, 232, 240, 297, 301

Index

psychology, functional  162–6, 214 psychology of religion  168–75 Puffer, Ethel Dench, see Howes, Ethel Dench Puffer Putnam High School  104 Radcliffe College  5, 7, 14, 63, 187, 196–9, 206, 208, 220, 221, 224–6, 232, 234, 235, 299, 301 Randolph-Macon Women’s College  96 Rauschenbusch, Emma  3, 8, 32, 105, 237, 238, 249, 254, 256–65, 285–7, 289, 292, 295 Rauschenbusch, Walter  257, 258, 286 realism, realists  125, 173, 182, 211, 244 reality  88, 89, 164, 177, 245 reason  85, 123, 124, 251, 262, 263, 285 Rebec, George  102, 103, 135 Reed College  234 religion (study of)  1, 4, 46–8, 84, 134, 158, 171, 176, 191, 193, 197, 237, 248, 256, 262, 281, 289, 291 Renouvier, Charles  92 rhetoric  14, 102, 105, 142, 143 Ritchie, Eliza  6, 11–13, 16, 20–2, 26–49, 62, 68, 91, 92, 105, 210, 244, 249, 251, 292, 297, 299 Roberts, Charles G. D.  32 Robin, Richard  61 Rochester Female Seminary  256, 257 Rockford College  20, 160, 161, 199–201, 238, 248, 249, 285 Rogers, Arthur K.  61, 79 Rogers, Julia  287 Romanticism  222, 230, 231 Romero, Francisco  96 Rosenkranz, Karl  108 Rosetti, Christina  129 Ross, James  49 Ross, John  179, 180, 182, 183, 282 Rousmaniere, Frances  234, 235 Rousseau, Jean Jacques  260, 261 Rowland, Eleanor  234, 235 Royce, Josiah  2, 63, 88, 177, 197, 207, 208, 211, 241 Russell, Bertrand  211

363

Russell, Channing  14 Sabine, George Holland  95 Sage, Henry and Susan  13, 18 St. Augustine’s Normal School  266 St. John, Clara Hitchcock Seymour  204 St. Louis Idealist movement  41, 63, 104, 122, 123, 136, 152–3, 210 Salmon, Lucy Maynard  120 Salzmann, Christian Gotthilf  265 Sanford, Edmund  120 Santayana, George  88 Scarborough, William Sanders  228, 277 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von  212, 222 Schiller, Ferdinand Canning Scott  18, 78, 79, 167, 176, 177 Schiller, Friedrich  24, 25 Schopenhauer, Arthur  18, 137, 202, 211 Schubert, Johannes  55 Schuh, Alexandra  209 Schurman, Jacob Gould  2, 15, 16, 18–20, 27, 28, 49, 81 Schutze, Martin  150, 186–7 science  134, 183, 202, 223, 240, 244, 297 Scripture, Edward  198, 205 Scudder, Vida  255 Scudery, Madame du  227 Seelye, Clark  221 self, selfhood  69, 70, 72, 74, 77, 85, 92, 108, 172, 174, 211, 213–18, 220, 244, 251 self-sacrifice  109, 112, 131 Seneca  142 Seth, Andrew  18–19, 61 Seth, James  18–19, 27, 49 Sewall, Hannah Robie  52 Seymour, Charles  204 Seymour, Thomas Day  204 Shackford, Charles Chauncy  14, 15 Shaftsbury, Earl of  52 Shannon, M. Josephine  32 Sharp, Stella Emily  11, 12 Shaw, Anna Howard  271–2 Shelley, Mary  262 Shorey, Paul  149, 150, 159

364 Index

Shubin, Joel  169 Sichel, Edith  227 Sidgwick, Henry  16, 55 Simmel, Georg  60, 61 Simpson, Georgiana  ix, 2, 5, 7, 59, 147, 152, 184–90, 266, 283, 292, 295, 300 Skidmore College  159 Slosson, Edwin Emery  21, 22 Slosson, May Preston  3, 4, 6, 11–15, 20–6, 31, 33, 40, 67, 91, 120, 298, 299 Smertenko, Johan  159 Smith College  8, 12, 80, 81, 95, 146, 198–201, 204, 206–8, 220, 221, 235, 237, 238, 248, 249 Smith, Adam  12, 50, 52–6, 230, 292 Smith, Amanda  271 Smith, Elizabeth Oakes  239 Smith, Margaret Keiver  286, 288 Snell, Ada F.  142 Snyder, Alice D.  143 socialism  100, 109, 110, 159, 169, 254 social science  5, 11, 40, 49, 129–31, 149, 150, 221, 236 sociology  1, 4, 158, 172, 298 Socrates  24, 293 Sorbonne  5, 8, 237, 239, 266, 285, 301 soul  34, 123, 131, 209–11, 213–15, 217, 244, 251, 255 Soule, Anna  50 Spencer, Herbert  16, 25, 137 Spinoza  6, 12, 18, 28, 32, 33, 36, 37, 39–44, 61, 212, 252, 292 spirit, spirituality  33, 35–7, 125–7, 212 Stael, Madame de  261 State College for Women (Mississippi)  178 Stein, Ludwig  257 Stettheimer, Henrietta  286, 289 Stewart, Dugald  251 Stewart, Herbet Leslie  29, 31 Stewart, Maria  228, 268, 282 Stirner, Max  86 Stokes, Ella Harrison  192 Stone, Lucinda Hinsdale  ix, 135 Story, Joseph  181 Stowe, Harriett Beecher  129, 274

Strong, Anna Louise  3, 7, 145, 147, 168–77, 191–2, 298 structuralism (in psychology)  163, 214 Stumpf, Carl  288 subjectivism, subjectivists  83, 166, 223 substance  41, 43, 68, 244 Sunderland, Eliza  ix, x, 3, 6, 7, 59, 99–103, 106, 120, 121, 132–42, 152, 153, 187, 210, 258, 292, 295 Sunderland, Jabez  103, 133, 139 Sunne, Dagmar  192 Sutter, Bertha von  255 Swabey, Marie Collins  92, 96 Swarthmore College  226 Sweet Briar College  93, 233 Sydenstricker, Alma Willis  237 Sylvester, James  240 sympathy  53, 54, 56, 217 Syracuse University  95, 237 Szold, Henrietta  287 Szold, Sadie  287 Taft, Julia Jessie  192 Talbot, Benjamin  57–9 Talbot, Ellen Bliss  2, 6, 11–13, 17, 20, 32, 50, 57–80, 91, 92, 96, 160, 167, 187, 208–13, 240, 242, 244, 292, 296, 299, 302 Talbot, Marion  ix, 150, 151, 185–6 Talbot, Mignon  57, 58, 80 Tanner, Amy Elizabeth  145, 146 Tanner, Henry Ossawa  229 Taylor, Elmer Manville  102 Teachers College, Columbia University  204 Terrell, Mary Church  238 Thayer Academy  63 theology  183, 197, 226, 262, 263 Theosophy  258 Thilly, Frank  19 Thomas, Martha Carey  161, 286 Thompson, Anna Boynton  63 Thompson, Helen Bradford  145 Thompson, Maurice  277 Thorne, Alma Rose  92, 95 Thorne, Phebe Anna  162

Index

Titchener, Edward  17, 19, 93, 241 Tourgee, Albion W.  274, 275 transcendentalism, transcendentalists  7, 41, 45, 64, 85, 96, 99, 122–7, 141 Trendelenburg, Friedrich  41 truth  45, 46, 72, 79, 164, 245, 246, 253, 270, 281, 288 Truth, Sojourner  271 Tufts, James Hayden  2, 64, 100, 135, 149–51, 161, 162, 249, 300 Turner, Geneva (Townes)  225, 226 Turner, Lorenzo Dow  225, 226, 228 Twain, Mark  276, 277 Union Theological Seminary  100 universe  36, 66, 78, 126 University of Berlin  288 University of Bern  237, 238, 256, 301 University of California  x, 105, 146, 162 University of Chicago  ix, x, 2–7, 14, 57, 101, 119, 121, 129, 145–93, 197, 203, 249, 257, 288, 300 University of Colorado  96 University of Edinburgh  18 University of Freiberg  77, 289 University of Gottingen  77, 239, 240, 286 University of Halle  61 University of Heidelberg  233 University of Illinois  93 University of Jena  8, 288 University of Kansas  96 University of Leipzig  8, 238 University of London  16, 233 University of Michigan  3, 22, 32, 99–143, 148, 150, 210, 291, 300 University of Minnesota  101 University of Missouri  19 University of North Carolina  94 University of Oregon  7, 159 University of Pennsylvania  186, 237 University of Perugia  233 University of Saskatchewan  49 University of Vermont  18 University of Wyoming  21 University of Zurich  286

365

utilitarian, utilitarianism  18, 108, 111 Vaesen, Krist  97 Van Buren, Martin  239 Vassar College  7, 26, 28, 93, 160, 161, 233, 239, 240 Vaughan, Agnes  142 Verlaine, Paul  86 Voltaire  280, 281 von Baader, Franz  265 Wald, Lillian  255 Walker, David  282 Ward, Nancy (Williams)  178 Ware, Robert C.  63 Warren, Arletta  142  Washburn, Margaret Floy  ix, 11, 12, 19, 146, 217 Washington College  226 Washington, Booker T.  228, 279 Waste, Henry, see Henrietta Stettheimer Waterhouse, Melicent  192 Webber, George  248 Wellesley College  2, 12, 20, 26, 28, 29, 32, 94, 119, 120, 127, 128, 150, 198, 199, 204, 206, 208, 210, 220, 221, 234, 235, 256–8, 299 Wells-Barnett, Ida B.  156, 170, 187, 229, 268, 270, 277 Wells College  8, 12, 80, 81, 92, 96, 198, 201, 232 Wembridge, Henry A.  234 Wergeland, Agnes M.  120 Wesley, Charles Henry  187, 225, 226 Wesley, John  230 Western College for Women, see Miami University Wheatley, Phillis  280 White, Andrew  13 White, Horatio Stevens  15 Whitman, Albery Allson  278 Whitmire, Ellen  183 Wilberforce University  2, 266 will  67, 71, 86, see also free will/ determinism Williams, Fannie Barrier  186, 229

366 Index

Williams, Mary G.  142 Wilson College  12, 51, 93, 146, 193 Wilson, William Dexter  14, 15 Wollstonecraft, Mary  238, 257–65, 285, 292, 295 Women’s College of Alabama  192 women’s political rights  22, 100, 130, 134, 139, 140 Wood, Francis A.  186 Woodson, Carter  190, 198, 225, 228 Woolley, Celia Parker  ix, 186 Wooster College  237 Worcester, Sarah  183

Wordsworth, Dorothy  227 Worthington School  233 Wright, Frances  230 Wundt, Wilhelm  16, 163, 247, 249, 287 Yale  4–6, 8, 57, 67, 195–236, 248, 300, 301 Yost, Mary  142 Young, Ella Flagg  2, 7, 133, 145, 147, 150, 152–9, 191, 267, 296, 299 Zehring, Blanche  8, 195, 197, 198, 201, 232, 299