Today in Alexandria, the weather is cold and gloomy, and gray clouds cover the sky. People pass by and look at each other. One of them shows sympathy while the other spits, and some of my students cry as they walk on their way.
I wiped my eyes from some blood after my head was hit, and the blood was flowing, piercing my forehead with wounds. Who can convince them that Hypatia is not a prophet or a messenger, but only a philosopher?
I spent my whole life seeking to understand the secrets of the universe and searching for knowledge, and here I am today, my hands tied, lying near one of the great marble columns of Alexandria.
Many children passed by me, throwing stones and cursing me. I know they do not realize what they are doing, and I know that time will make them good people.
Every stone that hits me echoes in my heart the tragedy of betrayal. I worked to serve them and always tried to find solutions to their problems, and today they are stoning me and breaking my bones.
That child looked at me and mocked me, playing the game of throwing stones with his friends, trying to hit me. Only one child looked at me and his eyes teared up. He looked at the sky, then the ground, and then he looked at me for a while. He did not curse me, nor did he hold a stone.
And when his friends exhausted themselves, he approached me, afraid. He reached out to me, touched my forehead, and reached into his pocket. I thought he would take out a stone or a knife, but he took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from my forehead.
He said to me: "Do not be sad, Hypatia, knowledge will surely flourish." He reached out his hand again, took out some wet food, and fed me with his hand.
I asked him, "Why did you do that? Don't you know that I am Hypatia?"
He replied, "Yes, that's why I did it, because you are Hypatia."
"What do you know about Hypatia?" I asked.
"She is the daughter of knowledge," he said.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I am the son of life, Hypatia, advise me."
"Okay," I said. "Listen, my son, and remember that the idea is the salvation, and the mind is the tool of thought, and sight is our means of insight. Those who see insight, and those who sleep their minds, their thoughts dry up. So, focus your mind and seek guidance from your soul when the matter is great. The soul is deeper and more capable when it soars in the space of the universe.
But be careful, my son, because to know more means to doubt more, and to doubt more means to have more courage. And to have more courage means to face more danger. So, be careful." I said
Hypatia, how do I become a philosopher? he asked.
Search for truth. I said
Where can I find the truth, Hypatia? he asked
The truth is within you, search within yourself. I said
They will kill you, Hypatia. How can I find you to learn more? He asked
Read to learn and I will see you someday or when there is no more time. I said
Where does a person go after death? He asked
We cannot comprehend where death will take us, but it is surely a place of more certainty than life. I said
May God protect you, our teacher.
What is your name, boy?
I am your student who comes from an era where knowledge was lost and information appeared.
An era where people search for money, blood, and desire while abandoning thought and philosophy.
It is when a person fills their heart with pride that they err.
How will they kill you, our teacher?
It does not matter how they will do it, for death is death no matter the reasons or methods.
How can I save you from them, my lady?
You will not save my body, save my soul with knowledge.
Can I offer you anything?
Yes, come closer my son. You are five years old today. When you grow up, tell the children of your era that knowledge is self-knowledge. Whoever does not know themselves knows nothing.
Thank you, my teacher.
Go quickly, my son, before they come and harm you.
The child ran towards the land that awaited certainty, where certainty and the words of thought would be resolved.
Farewell, daughter of knowledge.
Goodbye, son of life and war.
The boy left, and I sat and remembered his words when he spoke of the era of information where knowledge was lost amidst the harshness of information.
I waited for death to come at the hands of men whom I pitied, for they did not know who they killed or how they killed.
And I dozed off to sleep, a form of death.
Written by: Maher Daaboul
Note: The story mimics the story of the philosopher Hypatia.
Post a Comment