Timaeus
straits which are by you called the Pillars of Heracles; the
island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the
way to other islands, and from these you might pass to the whole
of the opposite continent which surrounded the true ocean; for
this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a
harbour, having a narrow entrance, but that other is a real sea,
and the surrounding land may be most truly called a boundless
continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there was a great and
wonderful empire which had rule over the whole island and several
others, and over parts of the continent, and, furthermore, the
men of Atlantis had subjected the parts of Libya within the
columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as
Tyrrhenia. This vast power, gathered into one, endeavoured to
subdue at a blow our country and yours and the whole of the
region within the straits; and then, Solon, your country shone
forth, in the excellence of her virtue and strength, among all
mankind. She was pre-eminent in courage and military skill, and
was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from
her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the
very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the
invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet
subjugated, and generously liberated all the rest of us who dwell
within the pillars. But afterwards there occurred violent
earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of
misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth,
and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the
depths of the sea. For which reason the sea in those parts is
impassable and impenetrable, because there is a shoal of mud in
the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island.
I have told you briefly, Socrates, what the aged Critias heard
from Solon and related to us. And when you were speaking
yesterday about your city and citizens, the tale which I have
just been repeating to you came into my mind, and I remarked with
astonishment how, by some mysterious coincidence, you agreed in
almost every particular with the narrative of Solon; but I did
not like to speak at the moment. For a long time had elapsed, and
I had forgotten too much; I thought that I must first of all run
over the narrative in my own mind, and then I would speak. And so
I readily assented to your request yesterday, considering that in
all such cases the chief difficulty is to find a tale suitable to
our purpose, and that with such a tale we should be fairly well
provided.
And therefore, as Hermocrates has told you, on my way home
yesterday I at once communicated the tale to my companions as I
remembered it; and after I left them, during the night by
thinking I recovered nearly the whole of it. Truly, as is often
said, the lessons of our childhood make a wonderful impression on
our memories; for I am not sure that I could remember all the
discourse of yesterday, but I should be much surprised if I
forgot any of these things which I have heard very long ago. I
listened at the time with childlike interest to the old man’s
narrative; he was very ready to teach me, and I asked him again
and again to repeat his words, so that like an indelible picture
they were branded into my mind. As soon as the day broke, I
rehearsed them as he spoke them to my companions, that they, as
well as myself, might have something to say. And now, Socrates,
to make an end of my preface, I am ready to tell you the whole
tale. I will give you not only the general heads, but the
particulars, as they were told to me. The city and citizens,
which you yesterday described to us in fiction, we will now
transfer to the world of reality. It shall be the ancient city of
Athens, and we will suppose that the citizens whom you imagined,
were our veritable ancestors, of whom the priest spoke; they will
perfectly harmonize, and there will be no inconsistency in saying
that the citizens of your republic are these ancient Athenians.
Let us divide the subject among us, and all endeavour according
to our ability gracefully to execute the task which you have
imposed upon us. Consider then, Socrates, if this narrative is
suited to the purpose, or whether we should seek for some other
instead.
SOCRATES: And what other, Critias, can we find that will be
better than this, which is natural and suitable to the festival
of the goddess, and has the very great advantage of being a fact
and not a fiction? How or where shall we find another if we
abandon this? We cannot, and therefore you must tell the tale,
and good luck to you; and I in return for my yesterday’s
discourse will now rest and be a listener.
CRITIAS: Let me proceed to explain to you, Socrates, the order in
which we have arranged our entertainment. Our intention is, that
Timaeus, who is the most of an astronomer amongst us, and has
made the nature of the universe his special study, should speak
first, beginning with the generation of the world and going down
to the creation of man; next, I am to receive the men whom he has
created, and of whom some will have profited by the excellent
education which you have given them; and then, in accordance with
the tale of Solon, and equally with his law, we will bring them
into court and make them citizens, as if they were those very
Athenians whom the sacred Egyptian record has recovered from
oblivion, and thenceforward we will speak of them as Athenians
and fellow-citizens.
SOCRATES: I see that I shall receive in my turn a perfect and
splendid feast of reason. And now, Timaeus, you, I suppose,
should speak next, after duly calling upon the Gods.
TIMAEUS: All men, Socrates, who have any degree of right feeling,
at the beginning of every enterprise, whether small or great,
always call upon God. And we, too, who are going to discourse of
the nature of the universe, how created or how existing without
creation, if we be not altogether out of our wits, must invoke
the aid of Gods and Goddesses and pray that our words may be
acceptable to them and consistent with themselves. Let this,
then, be our invocation of the Gods, to which I add an
exhortation of myself to speak in such manner as will be most
intelligible to you, and will most accord with my own intent.
First then, in my judgment, we must make a distinction and ask,
What is that which always is and has no becoming; and what is
that which is always becoming and never is? That which is
apprehended by intelligence and reason is always in the same
state; but that which is conceived by opinion with the help of
sensation and without reason, is always in a process of becoming
and perishing and never really is. Now everything that becomes or
is created must of necessity be created by some cause, for
without a cause nothing can be created. The work of the creator,
whenever he looks to the unchangeable and fashions the form and
nature of his work after an unchangeable pattern, must
necessarily be made fair and perfect; but when he looks to the
created only, and uses a created pattern, it is not fair or
perfect. Was the heaven then or the world, whether called by this
or by any other more appropriate name—assuming the name, I am
asking a question which has to be asked at the beginning of an
enquiry about anything—was the world, I say, always in existence
and without beginning? or created, and had it a beginning?
Created, I reply, being visible and tangible and having a body,
and therefore sensible; and all sensible things are apprehended
by opinion and sense and are in a process of creation and
created. Now that which is created must, as we affirm, of
necessity be created by a cause. But the father and maker of all
this universe is past finding out; and even if we found him, to
tell of him to all men would be impossible. And there is still a
question to be asked about him: Which of the patterns had the
artificer in view when he made the world—the pattern of the
unchangeable, or of that which is created? If the world be indeed
fair and the artificer good, it is manifest that he must have
looked to that which is eternal; but if what cannot be said
without blasphemy is true, then to the created pattern. Every one
will see that he must have looked to the eternal; for the world
is the fairest of creations and he is the best of causes. And
having been created in this way, the world has been framed in the
likeness of that which is apprehended by reason and mind and is
unchangeable, and must therefore of necessity, if this is
admitted, be a copy of something. Now it is all-important that
the beginning of everything should be according to nature. And in
speaking of the copy and the original we may assume that words
are akin to the matter which they describe; when they relate to
the lasting and permanent and intelligible, they ought to be
lasting and unalterable, and, as far as their nature allows,
irrefutable and immovable—nothing less. But when they express
only the copy or likeness and not the eternal things themselves,
they need only be likely and analogous to the real words. As
being is to becoming, so is truth to belief. If then, Socrates,
amid the many opinions about the gods and the generation of the
universe, we are not able to give notions which are altogether
and in every respect exact and consistent with one another, do
not be surprised. Enough, if we adduce probabilities as likely as
any others; for we must remember that I who am the speaker, and
you who are the judges, are only mortal men, and we ought to
accept the tale which is probable and enquire no further.
SOCRATES: Excellent, Timaeus; and we will do precisely as you bid
us. The prelude is charming, and is already accepted by us—may we
beg of you to proceed to the strain?
TIMAEUS: Let me tell you then why the creator made this world of
generation. He was good, and the good can never have any jealousy
of anything. And being free from jealousy, he desired that all
things should be as like himself as they could be. This is in the
truest sense the origin of creation and of the world, as we shall
do well in believing on the testimony of wise men: God desired
that all things should be good and nothing bad, so far as this
was attainable. Wherefore also finding the whole visible sphere
not at rest, but moving in an irregular and disorderly fashion,
out of disorder he brought order, considering that this was in
every way better than the other. Now the deeds of the best could
never be or have been other than the fairest; and the creator,
reflecting on the things which are by nature visible, found that
no unintelligent creature taken as a whole was fairer than the
intelligent taken as a whole; and that intelligence could not be