Emmy Noether; More than a "Superscientist"

The first semester during my undergraduate years, there was a  “History of Physics” course. The syllabus was basically a list of scientists stretched from Aristotle to Einstein, a sweeping arc of minds that had shaped the discipline. The biographies we read were neatly arranged on a timeline of progress, their personal lives mostly stripped of social context. It was a history of achievements, not of people.

These were tales of individual brilliance, where obstacles existed mainly to be overcome. And in this, I first recognized the pattern of what scholars now call the “superscientist” narrative: an individual—usually male—who triumphs over adversity to push the boundaries of knowledge. When women did appear, their stories followed the same arc but with a twist. Their struggle wasn’t against poverty or bad luck, but against patriarchy itself. Think of how we tell the stories of Marie Curie, Janaki Ammal, or Rosalind Franklin—as models of resilience, who not only conducted pathbreaking research but did so while enduring exclusion, under-recognition, or outright hostility.

These stories are not untrue—but they are incomplete. But it often flattens the complexity of their lives and the systems they navigated. As historian Margaret Rossiter and others have pointed out, the emphasis on isolated success stories risks upholding the very meritocratic myth that excluded most women from science in the first place. In this version of history, inclusion means highlighting a few exceptional women without questioning the masculine-coded institutions of science itself. 

Emmy noether, Photo Illustration: Kate LaVoie/Photos: Alamy

Though regularly cited as one of the most brilliant mathematicians of the 20th century—praised even by Einstein—Emmy Noether’s legacy has been shaped not only by her work, but by the gendered ways in which she has been remembered. She is often cast as a nurturing mentor, a solitary genius, or a woman who quietly fought against institutional exclusion. While these portrayals seek to celebrate her, they also risk reducing her life to a moral tale of perseverance. What do we miss when Noether is remembered only as someone who triumphed despite gender? As two women beginning to write about figures like Noether, we find ourselves returning to this question often. With each new story we explore, we are learning to look beyond the surface of triumph, and toward the deeper structures that shape memory, history, and science itself.

Born on March 23, 1882, in Erlangen, Germany, Amalie “Emmy” Noether grew up in an upper-middle-class Jewish family. Her father, Max Noether, was a respected mathematician. Emmy’s early education was conventional for a girl of her class—language, music, domestic skills—but she pivoted to mathematics by auditing lectures at the University of Erlangen. At the time, women weren’t permitted to officially enroll. Her persistence led to formal admission as a doctoral student, and in 1907, she earned her PhD with a dissertation on invariants of algebraic forms.

Her work got noticed, and in 1915, the renowned mathematician David Hilbert lobbied for the University of Göttingen to hire her. But other male faculty members blocked the move, with one arguing: “What will our soldiers think when they return to the university and find that they are required to learn at the feet of a woman?” In response, Hilbert famously quipped: “After all, the senate is not a bathing establishment.” Yet even with such support, Noether had to lecture under Hilbert’s name as a guest lecturer until 1919. She wasn’t officially paid for years.

Despite being denied official positions and recognition for much of her life, Noether fundamentally reshaped both abstract algebra and theoretical physics. Her 1918 paper—now known as Noether’s Theorem—established a deep and elegant connection between symmetries in physical systems and conservation laws, forming a cornerstone of modern physics. In essence, Noether proved that every continuous symmetry of a physical system corresponds to a conserved quantity. For instance, if the laws of physics remain the same over time—a property known as time symmetry—then energy within that system must be conserved. This insight underpins the law of conservation of energy. Her contributions did not merely address existing problems; they transformed the very framework through which mathematical and physical systems are understood.

The impact of Noether’s work has only deepened with time. In 1954, physicists Chen Ning Yang and Robert Mills extended the idea of symmetry to describe the behavior of fundamental forces and particles, laying the groundwork for what would become the Standard Model of particle physics. Even Peter Higgs and others relied on similar principles to propose the Higgs boson, a particle finally discovered in 2012 by the Large Hadron Collider. The fact that abstract mathematical symmetries—once considered purely theoretical—could guide scientists toward real, measurable discoveries speaks to the lasting power of Noether’s insight. Her 1915 theorem continues to shape how we understand the universe, reminding us that the boundaries between mathematics and physical reality are often far more porous than they seem.

And yet, much of her public memory is shaped not only by her intellect but by gender-coded language. Her early biographies often described as selfless, modest, maternal—particularly toward her students, who came to be known as “the Noether Boys.” This framing positions her as a kind of intellectual mother figure, replacing biological motherhood with academic mentorship. While she undoubtedly fostered a deep sense of community, such characterizations also feed into a commemorative script that distinguishes female brilliance by its supposed humility and emotional generosity.

When the Nazi regime enacted laws barring Jews from academic positions, Noether was dismissed from Göttingen. She emigrated to the United States in 1933 and joined Bryn Mawr College. There, she again formed close relationships with students and briefly taught at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton—where, again, she lacked a formal position. Just two years later, she died suddenly from complications after surgery.

Noether’s posthumous fame has only grown. But even as people praise her brilliance, the way her story is told often reflects gendered ideas. Simply adding women like Noether to the list of scientific greats is not enough. True change requires questioning the very stories we tell: not just who we include, but how we include them. 

By continuing to frame science as a heroic pursuit, we also narrow the idea of who can be seen as heroic—and therefore, who is allowed to belong in science at all. A more inclusive view of science and mathematics means moving beyond celebration toward deeper reflection—about gender, about power, and about the structures that have long shaped who gets remembered, and how.

Written by Janaky S. and edited by Parvathy Ramachandran

References:

1. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Emmy-Noether

2. https://www.vox.com/2015/3/23/8274777/emmy-noether

3. Rak, G. (2021). Remembering “Der Noether”: The Gendered Image and                Memory of Women in Mathematics.

4.  https://profoundphysics.com/noethers-theorem-a-complete-guide/