I recently read 'What Stars Are Made Of', Donovan Moore’s biography of Cecilia Payne, and right from the prologue, I found myself pulled into the quiet intensity of her life. Moore describes Payne working late into the winter nights of 1924 in a cramped office at the Harvard College Observatory. The image is stark: a small desk, a full ashtray, mounting exhaustion, and the creeping anxiety of financial strain. Reading this, I was reminded of a time when I was working in a lab with an uncertain finances, when everyday concerns like rent and groceries lingered in my mind, quietly pulling focus from the work at hand. Someone once told me, almost casually, that "science is the cure for all such issues". I remember how that comment unsettled me. How was I supposed to lose myself in scientific curiosity when practical worries kept pressing in?
Reading about Payne didn’t just stir that anger again, instead it added something else: a deep, conflicted respect. She persevered in conditions that many would find unsustainable, not because suffering is noble, but because she had to. She endured enough to open a door and to leave it open for the next visitor. Endurance of systemic neglect is not something I want to romanticize, but it’s something I feel compelled to write about. With guilt, yes—but also with pride.
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Cecilia Payne with her telescope (top left), Payne's thesis on stellar atmospheres (top right), Payne with other female astronomers at Harvard (bottom left) and with her husband Sergei Gaposchkin (bottom right) courtsey @ IOP publishing, made with Canva |
Cecilia Payne was born in 1900 in Wendover, Buckinghamshire, England, the eldest of three children. Her father, Edward John Payne, was a London barrister with a deep love for music and history, and her mother, Emma Pertz Payne, came from a distinguished Prussian family known for its intellectual legacy. Edward died when Cecilia was just four years old, leaving Emma to raise the children alone. Despite the challenges, Emma nurtured Cecilia’s early interests in literature, music, art, and the natural world.
Cecilia began her formal education relatively late, at the age of 12, when the family moved to London to support her younger brother Humfry’s schooling—a move that reflected the era’s prioritization of boys’ education. For several years, her schooling offered little in the way of science or mathematics. At just 16, she had been asked to leave school when administrators admitted they couldn’t accommodate her interests for science and mathematics. It wasn’t until she was 18 that she entered St. Paul’s Girls’ School, where she finally encountered a more rigorous and modern curriculum.
That same momentum carried her to Newnham College, Cambridge, on an open scholarship, choosing to study botany, physics, and chemistry. At first, she explored botanical research, but a disappointing experience with her supervisor led her to abandon it. However, physical sciences particularly astronomy pulled her back in. One day, she heard Arthur Eddington describe his 1919 expedition to observe a solar eclipse off the coast of Africa—an effort to test Einstein’s general theory of relativity. The lecture electrified her. Though astronomy was treated as a subfield of mathematics at Cambridge, and she wasn’t formally allowed to switch disciplines, Payne began attending astronomy lectures alongside her physics coursework. Something irreversible had been set in motion. She had found her calling, and she could no longer look away.
Her time at Cambridge was marked by academic intensity, but also by social resistance: male students would stomp mockingly as she walked into lecture halls. Despite completing her studies with distinction, she left Cambridge without a degree. Like all women of that era, she was denied one purely because of her gender; Cambridge would not award degrees to women until 1948.
By the time she left Cambridge, Payne knew she was at another crossroads. Despite her deep knowledge and scientific promise, the most realistic path open to her in England was teaching. But once again, chance intervened. A friend invited her to attend a lecture in London by Harlow Shapley, the recently appointed Director of the Harvard College Observatory. Cecilia saw an opening and took it. After the lecture, she approached Shapley and, to her surprise, he responded that he would be delighted to work with her.
At Harvard, she found not only intellectual companionship but also a sense of belonging that had long eluded her. She forged lasting friendships with women like Annie Jump Cannon - an American astronomer whose cataloging work was instrumental in the development of contemporary stellar classification and the curator of the Observatory’s vast collection of astronomical photographs. Although Payne initially expressed interest in variable stars, she made it clear to Shapley that her true passion lay in interpreting stellar spectra—records of starlight passed through a spectrograph and separated into its component wavelengths. These spectra display dark absorption lines, known as spectral lines, which offer critical information about a star’s atmospheric composition, temperature, and density.
It was in this domain that she made her most significant breakthrough, undertaking the monumental task of analyzing the Observatory’s entire spectral archive to identify which wavelengths—and thus which elements—were present or absent in stars. It was a grueling task—an unprecedented 'elemental census' that demanded not just technical precision but the bold application of emerging quantum principles, making it as much an intellectual risk as a scientific one. But Cecilia, with her sharp observational skills, mathematical clarity, and deep grounding in physics, was uniquely equipped to do it. As Donovan Moore writes, "it was an impatience with the ordinary—with sleep, meals, even friendships and family—that had driven her for as long as she could remember".
After nearly two years of painstaking work, she arrived at a result that defied prevailing scientific thought: stars were not chemically similar to Earth, as most believed. Instead, they appeared to be composed overwhelmingly of hydrogen and helium by orders of magnitude. Earth, it turned out, was the exception, not the rule. "There is no joy more intense than that of coming upon a fact that cannot be understood in terms of currently accepted ideas" she said.
At the time, Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin’s conclusion—that hydrogen and helium were by far the most abundant elements in the universe—challenged the prevailing belief that stars shared Earth’s chemical composition. Her findings were largely dismissed, even by prominent astronomer Henry Norris Russell, who advised her to downplay the result in her thesis because it contradicted accepted scientific views. Four years later, Russell arrived at the same conclusion through different methods and publicly confirmed her results. While Russell acknowledged Payne’s discovery in his paper, it was his confirmation that gained wider recognition within the scientific community, even though she had arrived at the result earlier. As writer Feehily observed, she had been up against 'a men’s club' of astronomers unwilling to accept a radical idea from a woman on the margins. Later, however, Otto Struve (a prominent Russian-American astronomer known for his pioneering work in stellar spectroscopy and leadership at major observatories) called her dissertation “undoubtedly the most brilliant Ph.D. thesis ever written in astronomy”.
Cecilia’s professional standing remained constrained by institutional sexism. Though she had been a working astronomer at Harvard since 1927—teaching graduate students and supervising doctoral work—she was denied an academic title. Harlow Shapley, her long-time mentor and the Director of the Observatory, supported her advancement, but Harvard’s President Abbott Lowell flatly refused, vowing she would never become a professor under his leadership. It wasn’t until 1938, under a new president, that Cecilia was formally recognized with the title of Phillips Astronomer. Even then, Harvard required assurance that this title would not make her a member of the faculty.
In 1933, mourning the loss of two close friends, Cecilia embarked on a solo journey through northern Europe, visiting observatories in Finland, the USSR, and Germany. It was during this trip that she met Sergei Gaposchkin, a young Russian émigré facing political danger—barred from returning to the Soviet Union and viewed with suspicion in Nazi Germany. Recognizing his precarious situation and scientific potential, Cecilia took swift action upon returning to the U.S., securing him both a visa and a research position at Harvard. “I had never tried to exert any influence before, but I tried it now,” she wrote.
Cecilia and Sergei became a formidable scientific team. Sergei wrote his thesis on eclipsing variable stars, and together they aimed to bring order to the vast universe of variable stars by studying changes in their brightness. Their professional collaboration soon deepened into something more, and in 1934, they married. The news surprised many at Harvard—some disapproved, noting that she was taller and earned more than he did—but Cecilia was unfazed. True to form, she followed her instincts rather than convention. The couple went on to raise three children while continuing their astronomical work as equals. Years later, their daughter would describe Cecilia as 'a Renaissance woman'—fluent in several languages, widely read, and a lifelong traveler.
Their joint effort culminated in the publication of 'Variable Stars' in 1938. They drew extensively from Harvard Observatory’s photographic plate archive—hundreds of plates per star—systematically organizing and analyzing the data. By 1950, they had recorded nearly two million brightness estimates and by 1975, that number had doubled, fueling numerous publications and reshaping the field.
Her long-overdue academic breakthrough came two decades later. In the late 1950s, she was finally appointed full professor and Chair of the Department of Astronomy—the first woman to hold such a position at Harvard. To mark the occasion, she handwrote invitations to all the female astronomy students, hosting a celebratory gathering in the Observatory Library. Still, despite her pioneering role, Cecilia continued to earn less than her male counterparts—a disparity that remains familiar even today.
Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin never called herself a pioneer or a feminist. She simply followed the stars—because they, at least, were blind to gender. “She did not consider herself a woman astronomer” Moore writes “She was an astronomer”. Yet she pushed herself to the limits—not for recognition, but because it was the only way she could keep doing the work she loved. Her work revolutionized our understanding of the Sun and the cosmos. Still, she couldn’t ignore the barriers placed before her. “I was a rebel against the feminine role,” she once said, “but my real rebellion was against being thought, and treated, as inferior”. Yet she pushed herself to the limits—not for recognition, but because it was the only way she could keep doing the work she loved. The history of science isn’t quiet on women because they lacked talent or curiosity. It is quiet because so few were allowed to speak.
The narrative that curiosity and passion are enough to transcend barriers still lingers. And yes, Payne Gaposchkin is an extraordinary example of how far courage can carry someone. But one can't help but ask: how many others never made it past the gate? How many turned away quietly, not for lack of brilliance, but because they never even got to begin?
Written by Janaky S. and edited by Parvathy Ramachandran @ThinkHer
References:
1. https://www.amnh.org/learn-teach/curriculum-collections/cosmic-horizons-book/cecilia-payne-profile
2. https://www.amphilsoc.org/blog/cecilia-payne-gaposchkin-1900-1979
3. https://www.theguardian.com/science/article/2024/sep/01/female-astronomers-cecilia-payne-gaposchkin-play
4.https://www.sciencefocus.com/space/the-life-changing-and-long-lasting-influence-of-cecilia-payne-gaposchkin
5.https://physicsworld.com/a/cecilia-payne-gaposchkin-the-woman-who-found-hydrogen-in-the-stars/
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