by Danielle A. Layne

This is not a post on Hypatia wherein I rehearse what most of us already know about the Neoplatonic philosopher and mathematician of Alexandria, though reference will be made to her stunning accomplishments in a male-dominated society and her horrific death at the hands of an angry mob. Noting that Hypatia is an important figure in our intellectual tradition who deserves not merely a place of pride in our classrooms but serious scholarly attention, I hope in the following to unpack a worry I have about how Hypatia’s legacy is treated in contemporary scholarship. In short, the reception of Hypatia may reveal how philosophers tend to erase what is coded as feminine in our discussions about women in philosophy, thereby reifying a picture of the history of philosophy and philosophizing that perpetuates the standards set by men, even when we treat a female philosopher.

To understand this erasure, we must first subvert the idea that Neoplatonism was a monolithic school of thought, whose greatest representative was Plotinus. Contrary to this simplistic picture, Neoplatonic philosophers were diverse and extremely divided on a variety of metaphysical concerns, the most notable being the difference between the contemplative Plotinian/Porphyrian Platonism in contrast to the theurgic/ritualized and overtly pagan Platonism of Iamblichus and Proclus. While the former pair were thought to advocate the priority of rational and philosophical activities as securing ascent to the One, the latter coupling, the Iamblichean school, emphasized the value of the hieratic arts or, as the etymology of theurgy indicates, god-work/action which included ritual and initiation into mysteries as requisite of communion with the divine. Overall, philosophers like Iamblichus and Proclus believed in the necessity of ritual activities which brings us beyond the intellect, as the Good is not an intellectual object but that which is beyond being.

So, to which form of Platonism did Hypatia ascribe? Evidence regarding this issue is scant, so scholars typically appeal to Socrates Scholasticus’ comments that Hypatia was “heir to the Platonic interpretative tradition handed down from Plotinus,” which seems to insinuate that she identified with the more contemplative variety of Platonism. Consequently, many scholars, despite definitive and unambiguous evidence to the contrary, feel compelled to emphasize (perhaps erroneously) that Hypatia rejected the value of theurgy and was therein a more “acceptable” type of philosopher for the politically wrought Alexandrian community. Overall, her more “rational” form of practicing philosophy lent itself to Christian and pagan alike insofar as she provided instruction in philosophy without vocational commitment.

Keep in mind that Neoplatonism is often dismissed by historians of philosophy as too “mystical,” arguably a gendered term insofar as an entire tradition of philosophical thought is thus effeminized as not really rational. Those who employ the locution loosely base this charge on the Neoplatonic telos, union with the divine, but offer very little by way of a concrete definition of “mysticism” or what constitutes Neoplatonism as distinct from Plato so as to set the former apart as “mystical” while the latter is “rational” and thus readily accepted as good philosophy. Overall, the suggestion is that “mystical” Neoplatonism is not real philosophy, but somehow foreign or outside the tradition. It is, like the feminine, philosophy’s “other.” Further, that which is deemed “mystical” has implications for other marginalized groups in the Western tradition as the pejorative term is often applied to the so-called “foreign” in which entire races and cultures are effeminized and reduced to naivety, reduced to being the privation of “real” “rational” philosophy.

The stain of “mysticism” (and all the gendered/racial derogatory connotations of this term) haunts not merely the reception of the Neoplatonic tradition in general, but its erasure further contributes to the neglect of Hypatia’s philosophical sisters. These are Hypatia’s near contemporaries in philosophy who are often framed as “theurgists,” “mystics,” “hysterics,” and “theosophists” — not rationalists, not dialecticians, not logicians, not system-builders: not philosophers. Yet, when we look at those women who are often viewed as theurgists rather than “real” philosophers, we see a different picture of their influence. Consider Sosipatra, whom Eunapius in Lives of the Philosophers deemed a revered philosopher and prophetess, one educated and initiated into the Chaldean mysteries while also being an astute Platonic exegete. Aware of the uniqueness of a female philosopher, Eunapius stunningly compares her teaching to another male philosopher:

After the passing of Eustathius, Sosispatra returned to her own estate, and dwelt in Asia in the ancient city of Pergamom, and the famous Aedesius loved and cared for her and educated her sons. In her own home, Sosipatra held a chair of philosophy that rivaled his, and after attending the lectures of Aedesius, the students would go to hear hers; and though there was none that did not greatly appreciate and admire the accurate learning of Aedesius, they positively adored and revered the woman’s inspired teaching.

In this beautiful and mythical account of the life of this remarkable philosopher, we see that Sosipatra was revered as a divine-like figure, oracular and inspirational in her lectures, drawing students out of the classroom and into her home, reflecting in many ways Diotima’s image, challenging young men to receive a wisdom counter to the one they expected. Consider too another stunning figure, Asclepigenia, daughter of Plutarch and professor to the future head of the Athenian Academy, Proclus. In his Life of Proclus, Marinus explicitly emphasizes that Proclus learned “the higher and more perfect theurgical virtues” from Asclepigenia and as such “no longer remained on the level of the merely intellectual virtues.” In this we see a female philosopher who was known to transmit a kind of divine wisdom that was necessary not merely for understanding Platonism (therein constituting someone like Proclus as fit to teach/head the Academy) but for living the good life. It should come as no surprise then that scholars like C. Addey have argued that she is explicitly and purposefully depicted by Proclus’ biographer as one of the links in the “golden chain” of succession from within the Platonic school of Athens.

Interestingly, these two impressive figures are almost altogether forgotten, rarely mentioned as exemplars in the history of philosophy. Why is this? Is it simply because of the scant evidence or is there something else at play? Is it a coincidence that the women who are erased are clearly “mystical” philosophers? In fact, when we compare the reception of Hypatia with her sisters we find that Hypatia comes across as the kind of woman whose success, measured in terms of respectability within a patriarchal system, came at the expense of what has historically been relegated to the domain of the “feminine”—the mystical, the irrational, the foreign, the domestic and the oracular—all that “proper” (read: white masculine) philosophy wishes to excise from itself. This juxtaposition between Hypatia, the political/contemplative philosopher, and Asclepigenia and Sosipatra causes me to wonder if the only reason why we, the inheritors of a patriarchal history and culture, concern ourselves with glorifying the life of Hypatia over other female philosophers is because she is the kind of woman patriarchy values… or so Hypatia has been characterized. She did philosophy “right,” committing herself to objective reason and denying the value or influence of the body via her commitment to remaining a virgin.

The view that Hypatia denies the body and therein appropriates the “wisdom” of masculine reason is further promoted in the valorization of the infamous anecdote reported by a philosopher of the next generation, Damascius, and preserved in the Suda. In this story, Hypatia rebuffs a student who has developed amorous affections for her by initially directing him toward musical pursuits and then in response to the young man’s continued persistence, flings her bloody menstrual rags at him, reportedly chastising him for loving the unclean body over transcendent beauty. Damascius records her as saying “Oh young one, you desire this in which there is nothing beautiful!” Here, we see how Hypatia is positioned as one who disdains her own body but, more explicitly, her feminine body. Is this not an anecdote that plays into patriarchal desire, satisfying its need to turn women against their embodiment? This seemingly liberating story whereby we see a fierce Hypatia is an anecdote that both applauds Hypatia for denouncing her characteristically feminine condition but also reifies, for posterity, women’s inability to transcend the body. Hypatia, despite her philosophical ascent, despite her learnedness and reverence as a philosopher within the city, is still reduced to and pursued as a sexual object, who is still subject to menstruation, a feminine condition she will never escape. Even more valuable for patriarchy is Hypatia’s assassination, in which she is flayed by an angry Christian mob, obsessed with the possibility that her influence over public figures was due to “witchcraft.” Indeed this story has lead many authors to identify Hypatia with a martyr for philosophy and “reason” within civic life, a victim of dogmatism and the horrors that can ensue from religious fanaticism. She seems then to satisfy patriarchy’s insatiable desire for feminine sacrifice and death.

Keep in mind that I am not arguing that the historical figure Hypatia appropriated masculine ideals to be accepted. Rather, male philosophers and historians have constructed a story about her as the beautiful icon of what they deem as worthy of honor, of what they believe earns a woman a place in the canon. This line of questioning should give us pause about why we remember Hypatia and not other women philosophers of antiquity, exposing the criterion of masculinist discourses that frame Hypatia as the “notable” woman, the paradigm of philosophical prowess and heroism. She is the token that reminds women that it is possible to be great, to be revered within this patriarchal economy if you only resemble a particular brand of philosopher: the rational, calculative, self-controlled intellectual devoid of bias and unconcerned with the desire of the body. Some of us in philosophy know this token woman all too well and recognize the constraints of what paradigms from within masculinist/Indo-European discourses do: stifle difference and change as well as prohibit the honest transgression of marginalization and erasure. One tactic to this end may consist in offering us an image of what the “good” woman (or by extension the “good” other/foreigner) looks like, telling us to be like her rather than those “other” women.

Furthermore, insofar as the evidence for or against her relationship to theurgy is ambiguous, we should thus ask what is at stake in maintaining the narrative that Hypatia is clearly a contemplative/rational philosopher who certainly rejected the theurgic/mystical aspects of Platonism? Why do we cling to this characterization when we know from the existing evidence that she too was characterized as a divine person by her students, inspiring disciples like Synesius not merely to live the theoretical/political life but to see philosophy as a vocation? Should it not be recalled that Synesius, a devoted disciple of Hypatia, much like the theurgically inclined Proclus, wrote hymns and even a manuscript on dream interpretation? Even more remarkably, it has been suggested by some new scholars on Hypatia (D. Markus) that the infamous menstrual rag anecdote may even be an instance of theurgy whereby the practitioner uses profane objects to reorient the sick (in this case lovesick) to the divine? Was she not thought a witch by the Christians of Alexandria, a common misreading of theurgy and pagan ritual practices? All this and yet few problematize the identification of Hypatia with being merely a contemplative philosopher committed to rational objective knowledge of metaphysics and mathematics. Indeed, would it not be the prerogative of masculinist discourses to excise this possibility, this depiction of a philosophy as otherwise than the objective, rational, self-controlled (wo)man? Rather, could it be that the women of late antiquity, like Sosipatra and even possibly Hypatia herself, subvert this phallic standard, demanding that philosophy be otherwise? Oracular, divinatory, enthusiastic and, as Diotima demanded, erotically charged so as to authentically touch souls and transform lives. With these possibilities, I smile and remind myself that we do not have to swallow the image of Hypatia that patriarchy has given us. She can be seen otherwise, as an icon that does not erase other women in philosophy but highlights them, permitting their differences and strangeness, reminding us that there is not simply one paradigm for the “good” woman in philosophy, but many, each with their own diverse methods and goals but revered and loved in their time. Let Hypatia challenge students to see that as a paradigm for women in philosophy she does not have to stand alone as a singular token.