Hypatia: The Sum of Her Life — Chapter One

Gabrielle Birchak/ August 1, 2023/ Ancient History, Classical Antiquity, Uncategorized

I have good hope that there is some­thing after death. This is a quote by Pla­to that I chose to use for the first chap­ter of my recent­ly pub­lished book, Hypa­tia: The Sum of Her Life. This quote is so pro­found to me because her lega­cy con­tin­ued to live on after Hypa­ti­a’s death. Some were neg­a­tive, some were pro­pa­gan­da, and some were a per­fect and true reflec­tion of this astound­ing woman who was a promi­nent and respect­ed math­e­mati­cian, philoso­pher, pro­fes­sor, and gov­ern­ment advisor.

1

ALEXANDRIA’S DESCENT

415 CE

I have good hope that there is some­thing after death.1 – Pla­to

Hypa­tia stood at the precipice of change. As her father’s lega­cy, she watched the aca­d­e­m­ic insti­tute that her father whole­heart­ed­ly worked for crum­bling and decay­ing at the hands of change. Like her father, Hypa­tia immersed her­self in aca­d­e­mics dur­ing an era that was per­ish­ing. Regard­less, she per­sist­ed in encour­ag­ing self-devel­op­ment and intel­lec­tu­al aptitude.

At the pin­na­cle of her career, in her late for­ties or ear­ly fifties, Hypa­tia was a revered and trea­sured Roman cit­i­zen of Alexan­dria. One spring evening dur­ing Lent in March 415, Hypa­tia stepped out­side to the refresh­ing Alexan­dri­an spring air. Dressed in her philosopher’s white cloak, she left her lec­ture hall, ascend­ed into her char­i­ot, and began her ride home.

That evening, as the indul­gent blan­kets of sun­set soft­ened the col­ors of the build­ings and veiled the mood and tone of Alexan­dria, the scents of the indige­nous lotus bloom per­haps tempt­ed many to come out­side to rel­ish in the spring­time evening. How­ev­er, behind the shad­ows cast by the twi­light, the monks, also known as the para­bal­ani from the Nitri­an hills, began to rise as they pre­pared to do the bid­ding of a force­ful church leader.

At this point in her career, Hypa­tia was ded­i­cat­ed to enlight­en­ing her stu­dents with phi­los­o­phy, sci­ence, astron­o­my, and math­e­mat­ics. The city was social­ly evolv­ing. Her stead­fast dis­ci­ples and stu­dents exist­ed with their hearts in the new Chris­t­ian move­ment and their minds in Alexandria’s old, trust­ed aca­d­e­mics. Far past the bor­ders of Alexan­dria and through­out Rome, many knew Hypa­tia as an excep­tion­al­ly accom­plished pro­fes­sor, revered schol­ar, philoso­pher, and respect­ed polit­i­cal advi­sor. Her stu­dents and dis­ci­ples reflect­ed this as they became cul­ti­vat­ed lead­ers, intel­li­gent rhetori­cians, and insight­ful educators.

Even so, the pro­found­ness of her com­pe­tence also seed­ed jeal­ousy in oth­ers. Cyril, the new Pope of Alexan­dria, was keen­ly aware of who she was and what kind of prag­mat­ic influ­ence she wield­ed. Cyril had motives some con­sid­ered author­i­tar­i­an.2 His ulte­ri­or inten­tions were no secret to his peers and his ene­mies.3 He felt threat­ened by Hypa­tia, and the city knew it. He watched her close­ly with a pierc­ing eye while his malev­o­lence and ven­om fol­lowed her wher­ev­er she wan­dered. Cyril was angry, and so were his con­gre­gants. Accord­ing­ly, dif­fer­ent fac­tions of this once-tol­er­ant city fes­tered with resent­ment and divisions.

Hypa­tia had a leg­endary stand­ing in the com­mu­ni­ty. In Alexan­dria and sur­round­ing cities, many knew her, many knew of her, and many cel­e­brat­ed her. Giv­en the plat­form from which ancient his­to­ri­ans and a for­mer dis­ci­ple wrote about her, it is evi­dent she altru­is­ti­cal­ly shared the depths of her knowl­edge with her eager learn­ers. She had self-respect that was infec­tious and intel­li­gence that inspired. Hypatia’s renowned promi­nence allowed her to advise and influ­ence local and sur­round­ing gov­ern­ment offi­cials, Alexan­dri­an com­mu­ni­ties, and the city’s aca­d­e­mics. Hypa­tia was one of Alexandria’s most valu­able fig­ures, and the town of Alexan­dria loved her.

How­ev­er, as she trav­eled through the city that evening, the vicious para­bal­ani approached her. Yank­ing her off her char­i­ot, they dragged her to a near­by church called the Cae­sareum. There, at their reli­gious sanc­tu­ary, they mor­bid­ly stripped Hypa­tia of her clothes and dig­ni­ty in a moment of chaos. As she lay on the steps of their church, the monks swarmed over her body like a bar­bar­ic hurricane.

The heart­less mob stomped on her body, smashed her ribs, and shat­tered her limbs. Then, as their demon­ic act height­ened to bru­tal inhu­man­i­ty, the Alexan­dri­an church­go­ers gath­ered shards of ceram­ic tiles and flayed the skin off her body.

Hypatia’s body dripped with blood. Her eyes, which once looked upon her dis­ci­ples with pride, her arms, which car­ried trea­sured books, and her legs, which walked through the city’s respect­ed uni­ver­si­ty, were now man­gled and unrec­og­niz­able. At the insti­ga­tion of one man, the mob suf­fo­cat­ed her mind, mas­sa­cred her soul, and demol­ished the con­structs of all that she gave to Alexan­dria. Cyril’s pack of human mon­sters shat­tered Hypatia’s per­son­al tem­ple and destroyed Alexandria’s trea­sured incan­des­cence. Even after Hypa­tia relin­quished her life, the beasts continued.

As the sun began its final dai­ly descent, Hypa­tia exhaled her last breath. Her pain dis­si­pat­ed as she slipped away from the world. Pos­si­bly, to Hypa­tia, the screams of evil and wrath became muf­fled while she fad­ed into a place of com­fort as the vehe­ment mob ripped off her limbs.

All around, wit­ness­es in Hypatia’s beloved city watched as the throng proud­ly car­ried her appendages through the streets of Alexan­dria to the Cinaron, where they burned her remains.

The act was over.

On that spring day, all that defined Hypa­tia had dis­in­te­grat­ed dur­ing Alexandria’s grue­some and vio­lent com­mo­tion. Her extra­or­di­nary life, respect­ful love for her dis­ci­ples, hard-earned accom­plish­ments, aca­d­e­m­ic pas­sions, high­ly trained intel­lect, and sapi­ent thoughts all burned to ash­es and blew away with the Alexan­dri­an spring breeze.

This mur­der was the end of her life and the apex of time that sig­ni­fied the fast decline of Neo­pla­ton­ic Pagan­ism – that breath­tak­ing evening ush­ered in the birth of oppres­sion, sup­pres­sion, and gov­ern­ment-ordered illiteracy.

Her grue­some demise jux­ta­posed her abun­dant life that includ­ed a lov­ing com­mu­ni­ty of friends, dis­ci­ples, stu­dents, peers, and polit­i­cal lead­ers. Hypa­tia had seized and achieved oppor­tu­ni­ties many would con­sid­er beyond reach for any aca­d­e­m­ic, let alone for a woman. She was the heir of the great math­e­mati­cian Theon and right­ful­ly the head of her own uni­ver­si­ty. She had estab­lished her­self as a promi­nent schol­ar, gov­ern­ment coun­sel, and asset to Alexandria’s com­mu­ni­ty and time-hon­ored academia.

The account of her death is brief; how­ev­er, the sto­ry of her world and her life is not. Thus, through the gift of his­to­ri­ans, scholas­tics, and aca­d­e­mics, we find traces of Hypa­tia. And through these out­lines, we can hon­or her and remem­ber her not for her death but for all she embraced.

  1. Pla­to et al., The Apol­o­gy, Phae­do, and Crito of Pla­to (New York: PF Col­lier & Son, 1909), 51.
  2. Edward J Watts, City and School in Late Antique Athens and Alexan­dria (Berke­ley, CA: Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia Press, 2008), 202.
  3. Socrates, Eccle­si­as­ti­cal His­to­ry, Com­pris­ing a His­to­ry of the Church, in Sev­en Books (Lon­don: Hen­ry G. Bohn, 1853), 349
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