Timaeus
formerly the human mind is liable to be imposed upon by the
illusions of the past, which are ever assuming some new form.
When we have shaken off the rubbish of ages, there remain one or
two questions of which the investigation has a permanent value:—
1. Did Plato derive the legend of Atlantis from an Egyptian
source? It may be replied that there is no such legend in any
writer previous to Plato; neither in Homer, nor in Pindar, nor in
Herodotus is there any mention of an Island of Atlantis, nor any
reference to it in Aristotle, nor any citation of an earlier
writer by a later one in which it is to be found. Nor have any
traces been discovered hitherto in Egyptian monuments of a
connexion between Greece and Egypt older than the eighth or ninth
century B.C. It is true that Proclus, writing in the fifth
century after Christ, tells us of stones and columns in Egypt on
which the history of the Island of Atlantis was engraved. The
statement may be false—there are similar tales about columns set
up ‘by the Canaanites whom Joshua drove out’ (Procop.); but even
if true, it would only show that the legend, 800 years after the
time of Plato, had been transferred to Egypt, and inscribed, not,
like other forgeries, in books, but on stone. Probably in the
Alexandrian age, when Egypt had ceased to have a history and
began to appropriate the legends of other nations, many such
monuments were to be found of events which had become famous in
that or other countries. The oldest witness to the story is said
to be Crantor, a Stoic philosopher who lived a generation later
than Plato, and therefore may have borrowed it from him. The
statement is found in Proclus; but we require better assurance
than Proclus can give us before we accept this or any other
statement which he makes.
Secondly, passing from the external to the internal evidence, we
may remark that the story is far more likely to have been
invented by Plato than to have been brought by Solon from Egypt.
That is another part of his legend which Plato also seeks to
impose upon us. The verisimilitude which he has given to the tale
is a further reason for suspecting it; for he could easily
‘invent Egyptian or any other tales’ (Phaedrus). Are not the
words, ‘The truth of the story is a great advantage,’ if we read
between the lines, an indication of the fiction? It is only a
legend that Solon went to Egypt, and if he did he could not have
conversed with Egyptian priests or have read records in their
temples. The truth is that the introduction is a mosaic work of
small touches which, partly by their minuteness, and also by
their seeming probability, win the confidence of the reader. Who
would desire better evidence than that of Critias, who had heard
the narrative in youth when the memory is strongest at the age of
ten from his grandfather Critias, an old man of ninety, who in
turn had heard it from Solon himself? Is not the famous
expression—‘You Hellenes are ever children and there is no
knowledge among you hoary with age,’ really a compliment to the
Athenians who are described in these words as ‘ever young’? And
is the thought expressed in them to be attributed to the learning
of the Egyptian priest, and not rather to the genius of Plato? Or
when the Egyptian says—‘Hereafter at our leisure we will take up
the written documents and examine in detail the exact truth about
these things’—what is this but a literary trick by which Plato
sets off his narrative? Could any war between Athens and the
Island of Atlantis have really coincided with the struggle
between the Greeks and Persians, as is sufficiently hinted though
not expressly stated in the narrative of Plato? And whence came
the tradition to Egypt? or in what does the story consist except
in the war between the two rival powers and the submersion of
both of them? And how was the tale transferred to the poem of
Solon? ‘It is not improbable,’ says Mr. Grote, ‘that Solon did
leave an unfinished Egyptian poem’ (Plato). But are probabilities
for which there is not a tittle of evidence, and which are
without any parallel, to be deemed worthy of attention by the
critic? How came the poem of Solon to disappear in antiquity? or
why did Plato, if the whole narrative was known to him, break off
almost at the beginning of it?
While therefore admiring the diligence and erudition of M.
Martin, we cannot for a moment suppose that the tale was told to
Solon by an Egyptian priest, nor can we believe that Solon wrote
a poem upon the theme which was thus suggested to him—a poem
which disappeared in antiquity; or that the Island of Atlantis or
the antediluvian Athens ever had any existence except in the
imagination of Plato. Martin is of opinion that Plato would have
been terrified if he could have foreseen the endless fancies to
which his Island of Atlantis has given occasion. Rather he would
have been infinitely amused if he could have known that his gift
of invention would have deceived M. Martin himself into the
belief that the tradition was brought from Egypt by Solon and
made the subject of a poem by him. M. Martin may also be gently
censured for citing without sufficient discrimination ancient
authors having very different degrees of authority and value.
2. It is an interesting and not unimportant question which is
touched upon by Martin, whether the Atlantis of Plato in any
degree held out a guiding light to the early navigators. He is
inclined to think that there is no real connexion between them.
But surely the discovery of the New World was preceded by a
prophetic anticipation of it, which, like the hope of a Messiah,
was entering into the hearts of men? And this hope was nursed by
ancient tradition, which had found expression from time to time
in the celebrated lines of Seneca and in many other places. This
tradition was sustained by the great authority of Plato, and
therefore the legend of the Island of Atlantis, though not
closely connected with the voyages of the early navigators, may
be truly said to have contributed indirectly to the great
discovery.
The Timaeus of Plato, like the Protagoras and several portions of
the Phaedrus and Republic, was translated by Cicero into Latin.
About a fourth, comprehending with lacunae the first portion of
the dialogue, is preserved in several MSS. These generally agree,
and therefore may be supposed to be derived from a single
original. The version is very faithful, and is a remarkable
monument of Cicero’s skill in managing the difficult and
intractable Greek. In his treatise De Natura Deorum, he also
refers to the Timaeus, which, speaking in the person of Velleius
the Epicurean, he severely criticises.
The commentary of Proclus on the Timaeus is a wonderful monument
of the silliness and prolixity of the Alexandrian Age. It extends
to about thirty pages of the book, and is thirty times the length
of the original. It is surprising that this voluminous work
should have found a translator (Thomas Taylor, a kindred spirit,
who was himself a Neo-Platonist, after the fashion, not of the
fifth or sixteenth, but of the nineteenth century A.D.). The
commentary is of little or no value, either in a philosophical or
philological point of view. The writer is unable to explain
particular passages in any precise manner, and he is equally
incapable of grasping the whole. He does not take words in their
simple meaning or sentences in their natural connexion. He is
thinking, not of the context in Plato, but of the contemporary
Pythagorean philosophers and their wordy strife. He finds nothing
in the text which he does not bring to it. He is full of
Porphyry, Iamblichus and Plotinus, of misapplied logic, of
misunderstood grammar, and of the Orphic theology.
Although such a work can contribute little or nothing to the
understanding of Plato, it throws an interesting light on the
Alexandrian times; it realizes how a philosophy made up of words
only may create a deep and widespread enthusiasm, how the forms
of logic and rhetoric may usurp the place of reason and truth,
how all philosophies grow faded and discoloured, and are patched
and made up again like worn-out garments, and retain only a
second-hand existence. He who would study this degeneracy of
philosophy and of the Greek mind in the original cannot do better
than devote a few of his days and nights to the commentary of
Proclus on the Timaeus.
A very different account must be given of the short work entitled
‘Timaeus Locrus,’ which is a brief but clear analysis of the
Timaeus of Plato, omitting the introduction or dialogue and
making a few small additions. It does not allude to the original
from which it is taken; it is quite free from mysticism and
Neo-Platonism. In length it does not exceed a fifth part of the
Timaeus. It is written in the Doric dialect, and contains several
words which do not occur in classical Greek. No other indication
of its date, except this uncertain one of language, appears in
it. In several places the writer has simplified the language of
Plato, in a few others he has embellished and exaggerated it. He
generally preserves the thought of the original, but does not
copy the words. On the whole this little tract faithfully
reflects the meaning and spirit of the Timaeus.
From the garden of the Timaeus, as from the other dialogues of
Plato, we may still gather a few flowers and present them at
parting to the reader. There is nothing in Plato grander and
simpler than the conversation between Solon and the Egyptian
priest, in which the youthfulness of Hellas is contrasted with
the antiquity of Egypt. Here are to be found the famous words, ‘O
Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are ever young, and there is not an
old man among you’—which may be compared to the lively saying of
Hegel, that ‘Greek history began with the youth Achilles and left
off with the youth Alexander.’ The numerous arts of
verisimilitude by which Plato insinuates into the mind of the
reader the truth of his narrative have been already referred to.
Here occur a sentence or two not wanting in Platonic irony
(Greek—a word to the wise). ‘To know or tell the origin of the
other divinities is beyond us, and we must accept the traditions
of the men of old time who affirm themselves to be the offspring
of the Gods—that is what they say—and they must surely have known
their own ancestors. How can we doubt the word of the children of
the Gods? Although they give no probable or certain proofs,
still, as they declare that they are speaking of what took place
in their own family, we must conform to custom and believe them.’
‘Our creators well knew that women and other animals would some
day be framed out of men, and they further knew that many animals
would require the use of nails for many purposes; wherefore they