Timaeus
their movements into and out of one another. With Heracleitus, he
acknowledges the perpetual flux; like Anaxagoras, he asserts the
predominance of mind, although admitting an element of necessity
which reason is incapable of subduing; like the Pythagoreans he
supposes the mystery of the world to be contained in number.
Many, if not all the elements of the Pre-Socratic philosophy are
included in the Timaeus. It is a composite or eclectic work of
imagination, in which Plato, without naming them, gathers up into
a kind of system the various elements of philosophy which
preceded him.
If we allow for the difference of subject, and for some growth in
Plato’s own mind, the discrepancy between the Timaeus and the
other dialogues will not appear to be great. It is probable that
the relation of the ideas to God or of God to the world was
differently conceived by him at different times of his life. In
all his later dialogues we observe a tendency in him to personify
mind or God, and he therefore naturally inclines to view creation
as the work of design. The creator is like a human artist who
frames in his mind a plan which he executes by the help of his
servants. Thus the language of philosophy which speaks of first
and second causes is crossed by another sort of phraseology: ‘God
made the world because he was good, and the demons ministered to
him.’ The Timaeus is cast in a more theological and less
philosophical mould than the other dialogues, but the same
general spirit is apparent; there is the same dualism or
opposition between the ideal and actual—the soul is prior to the
body, the intelligible and unseen to the visible and corporeal.
There is the same distinction between knowledge and opinion which
occurs in the Theaetetus and Republic, the same enmity to the
poets, the same combination of music and gymnastics. The doctrine
of transmigration is still held by him, as in the Phaedrus and
Republic; and the soul has a view of the heavens in a prior state
of being. The ideas also remain, but they have become types in
nature, forms of men, animals, birds, fishes. And the attribution
of evil to physical causes accords with the doctrine which he
maintains in the Laws respecting the involuntariness of vice.
The style and plan of the Timaeus differ greatly from that of any
other of the Platonic dialogues. The language is weighty, abrupt,
and in some passages sublime. But Plato has not the same mastery
over his instrument which he exhibits in the Phaedrus or
Symposium. Nothing can exceed the beauty or art of the
introduction, in which he is using words after his accustomed
manner. But in the rest of the work the power of language seems
to fail him, and the dramatic form is wholly given up. He could
write in one style, but not in another, and the Greek language
had not as yet been fashioned by any poet or philosopher to
describe physical phenomena. The early physiologists had
generally written in verse; the prose writers, like Democritus
and Anaxagoras, as far as we can judge from their fragments,
never attained to a periodic style. And hence we find the same
sort of clumsiness in the Timaeus of Plato which characterizes
the philosophical poem of Lucretius. There is a want of flow and
often a defect of rhythm; the meaning is sometimes obscure, and
there is a greater use of apposition and more of repetition than
occurs in Plato’s earlier writings. The sentences are less
closely connected and also more involved; the antecedents of
demonstrative and relative pronouns are in some cases remote and
perplexing. The greater frequency of participles and of absolute
constructions gives the effect of heaviness. The descriptive
portion of the Timaeus retains traces of the first Greek prose
composition; for the great master of language was speaking on a
theme with which he was imperfectly acquainted, and had no words
in which to express his meaning. The rugged grandeur of the
opening discourse of Timaeus may be compared with the more
harmonious beauty of a similar passage in the Phaedrus.
To the same cause we may attribute the want of plan. Plato had
not the command of his materials which would have enabled him to
produce a perfect work of art. Hence there are several new
beginnings and resumptions and formal or artificial connections;
we miss the ‘callida junctura’ of the earlier dialogues. His
speculations about the Eternal, his theories of creation, his
mathematical anticipations, are supplemented by desultory remarks
on the one immortal and the two mortal souls of man, on the
functions of the bodily organs in health and disease, on sight,
hearing, smell, taste, and touch. He soars into the heavens, and
then, as if his wings were suddenly clipped, he walks
ungracefully and with difficulty upon the earth. The greatest
things in the world, and the least things in man, are brought
within the compass of a short treatise. But the intermediate
links are missing, and we cannot be surprised that there should
be a want of unity in a work which embraces astronomy, theology,
physiology, and natural philosophy in a few pages.
It is not easy to determine how Plato’s cosmos may be presented
to the reader in a clearer and shorter form; or how we may supply
a thread of connexion to his ideas without giving greater
consistency to them than they possessed in his mind, or adding on
consequences which would never have occurred to him. For he has
glimpses of the truth, but no comprehensive or perfect vision.
There are isolated expressions about the nature of God which have
a wonderful depth and power; but we are not justified in assuming
that these had any greater significance to the mind of Plato than
language of a neutral and impersonal character... With a view to
the illustration of the Timaeus I propose to divide this
Introduction into sections, of which the first will contain an
outline of the dialogue: (2) I shall consider the aspects of
nature which presented themselves to Plato and his age, and the
elements of philosophy which entered into the conception of them:
(3) the theology and physics of the Timaeus, including the soul
of the world, the conception of time and space, and the
composition of the elements: (4) in the fourth section I shall
consider the Platonic astronomy, and the position of the earth.
There will remain, (5) the psychology, (6) the physiology of
Plato, and (7) his analysis of the senses to be briefly commented
upon: (8) lastly, we may examine in what points Plato approaches
or anticipates the discoveries of modern science.
Section 1.
Socrates begins the Timaeus with a summary of the Republic. He
lightly touches upon a few points,—the division of labour and
distribution of the citizens into classes, the double nature and
training of the guardians, the community of property and of women
and children. But he makes no mention of the second education, or
of the government of philosophers.
And now he desires to see the ideal State set in motion; he would
like to know how she behaved in some great struggle. But he is
unable to invent such a narrative himself; and he is afraid that
the poets are equally incapable; for, although he pretends to
have nothing to say against them, he remarks that they are a
tribe of imitators, who can only describe what they have seen.
And he fears that the Sophists, who are plentifully supplied with
graces of speech, in their erratic way of life having never had a
city or house of their own, may through want of experience err in
their conception of philosophers and statesmen. ‘And therefore to
you I turn, Timaeus, citizen of Locris, who are at once a
philosopher and a statesman, and to you, Critias, whom all
Athenians know to be similarly accomplished, and to Hermocrates,
who is also fitted by nature and education to share in our
discourse.’
HERMOCRATES: ‘We will do our best, and have been already
preparing; for on our way home, Critias told us of an ancient
tradition, which I wish, Critias, that you would repeat to
Socrates.’ ‘I will, if Timaeus approves.’ ‘I approve.’ Listen
then, Socrates, to a tale of Solon’s, who, being the friend of
Dropidas my great-grandfather, told it to my grandfather Critias,
and he told me. The narrative related to ancient famous actions
of the Athenian people, and to one especially, which I will
rehearse in honour of you and of the goddess. Critias when he
told this tale of the olden time, was ninety years old, I being
not more than ten. The occasion of the rehearsal was the day of
the Apaturia called the Registration of Youth, at which our
parents gave prizes for recitation. Some poems of Solon were
recited by the boys. They had not at that time gone out of
fashion, and the recital of them led some one to say, perhaps in
compliment to Critias, that Solon was not only the wisest of men
but also the best of poets. The old man brightened up at hearing
this, and said: Had Solon only had the leisure which was required
to complete the famous legend which he brought with him from
Egypt he would have been as distinguished as Homer and Hesiod.
‘And what was the subject of the poem?’ said the person who made
the remark. The subject was a very noble one; he described the
most famous action in which the Athenian people were ever
engaged. But the memory of their exploits has passed away owing
to the lapse of time and the extinction of the actors. ‘Tell us,’
said the other, ‘the whole story, and where Solon heard the
story.’ He replied—There is at the head of the Egyptian Delta,
where the river Nile divides, a city and district called Sais;
the city was the birthplace of King Amasis, and is under the
protection of the goddess Neith or Athene. The citizens have a
friendly feeling towards the Athenians, believing themselves to
be related to them. Hither came Solon, and was received with
honour; and here he first learnt, by conversing with the Egyptian
priests, how ignorant he and his countrymen were of antiquity.
Perceiving this, and with the view of eliciting information from
them, he told them the tales of Phoroneus and Niobe, and also of
Deucalion and Pyrrha, and he endeavoured to count the generations
which had since passed. Thereupon an aged priest said to him: ‘O
Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are ever young, and there is no old
man who is a Hellene.’ ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘In mind,’
replied the priest, ‘I mean to say that you are children; there
is no opinion or tradition of knowledge among you which is white
with age; and I will tell you why. Like the rest of mankind you
have suffered from convulsions of nature, which are chiefly
brought about by the two great agencies of fire and water. The
former is symbolized in the Hellenic tale of young Phaethon who
drove his father’s horses the wrong way, and having burnt up the