Not until June 15, 1873, did a digger’s spade knock against a copper vessel, one filled with golden and silver objects. Schliemann let his workers take an unaccustomed break, and hid the gold treasure in his wife’s headscarf. Inside the block-hut he arranged the find, placed a golden diadem on his wife’s head, and telegraphed the whole world to say he had found the “treasure of Priam.” Naturally some people got annoyed; the Ottoman government accused him of having stolen articles of value from Turkish soil, and envious opponents claimed that he had buried the gold there himself.
Schliemann surmounted every obstacle with his financial power and powers of persuasion. He dug down through layer after layer, and the question was soon not whether he had found Troy but which Troy he had found. Was it Homer’s Troy?
He smuggled the supposed “treasure of Priam” out of the country and donated it to the museum of “pre- and early history” in Berlin. The Russians took it from there to the USSR in 1945 as war booty, and claimed to know nothing about it for decades. Since 1993, the Russians and Germans have been in discussion about the treasure, as has the Turkish government, which would like to open a museum containing the finds at the present tourist site of Troy.
Did Schliemann really find the mythical site of Troy, that city which Homer spoke of in the Iliad and the Odyssey? No one is quite sure. Homer’s Troy must have been a mighty city, a place full of educated people, where people knew how to read and write, and where there were temples to the different gods.
Archaeologists have dug their way through 48 layers and found nine different “Troys”—but nowhere did they come across even the smallest tablet bearing the city’s name. The only text that was discovered there is engraved with a few Hittite hieroglyphs. It is therefore assumed that Troy was not an “early Greek city, but belonged to a different cultural milieu”6that is a Hittite one. This would also explain why Troy was not part of the geometric network of the Greek gods.
Schliemann, however, found nothing but confirmation of his belief. As a gateway was freed from the rubble, he immediately said this was the gateway mentioned by Homer, when he describes how Achilles (of the famous “heel”) chases his opponent Hector three times round the city walls. The foundations of a larger building were for Schliemann the “palace of Priam.” And in 1872, he thought he had discovered the “high tower” which Homer briefly mentions in the fourth canto of the Iliad. Later it turned out that this “tower” was nothing more than two insignificant parallel walls, and that his “palace of Priam” was no larger than a pig-sty. (According to Homer, this palace had 50 bedrooms, halls, and courtyards.) Nor, apparently, could the gateway have been the one mentioned by Homer. In other words, on cooler reflection, Homer’s text could not be made to correspond with the interpretation which Schliemann had imposed on many of his finds.
Shortly before he died, Schliemann himself came to doubt whether he had really discovered Homer’s Troy. We are still not absolutely certain to this day. His friend and successor in the excavations, the outstanding archaeologist Wilhelm Dorpfeld, pointed out various discrepancies to him. In regard to Mycenae, where Schliemann later dug, he is said to have taken his mistakes with good grace: “What?” he called out once, “isn’t this Agamemnon’s corpse and treasure after all? Good! Let’s call him the mayor instead!”7
Since 1988, an international team led by the Tubingen Professor Manfred Korfmann has been responsible for the excavations at Troy. No summer passes without some new sensation. The 90 experts or so from different faculties and countries soon ascertained that the hill of Hissarlik was inhabited without a break from the beginning of the 3rd millennium BC up to Roman times. Even the lowest layer of all, called Troy I, had an 8-foot (2.5m) thick defensive wall with three gateways. The next layers—Troy II and III—contained the remains of living quarters and terraces, as well as bronze and gold artifacts. In layers IV and V, dated 2100 to 1800 BC, the Trojans don’t seem to have had a very rosy time—at least if the remains of their meals are anything to go by. There were also signs of several fires.
Troy VI was the biggest, and its date of 1800 to 1250 BC ought to make it the Troy of which Homer wrote. The excavators believe, however, that the city was destroyed by an earthquake. On the other hand, Troy VI did have several palaces, and a defensive wall that was longer and thicker than that of its precursors. But there were no signs of a fierce war such as Homer describes. There ought to be any amount of arrow and spear heads in Troy IV if this is where the famous war took place. One would also have expected to find engraved tablets, for by then writing was established.
Not until we reach Troy VII, dated at between 1200 and 1000 BC, do we find an insignificant little bronze tablet, 1 inch (2.5cm) long, engraved with some hardly decipherable “Luvic” hieroglyphs—a language related to Hittite. It seems to have been the seal of some trader. This makes it more and more likely that “Troy was in fact the same as Vilusa,”8 as Birgit Brandau writes in her excellent book on the current state of excavations.
Image 36: This wooden Trojan Horse was made for tourists.
Image 37: The alleged site of ancient Troy. However, this was built on a very small scale; what is lacking is monumental, massive construction.
Image 38: The alleged site of ancient Troy.
Image 39: This theater, too, which dates back to the 4th century BC, is not much more than a village stage.
Image 40: In comparison with Troy’s walls, here is part of the Cyclops Wall at Delos.
But what is Vilusa? It was a place in the Hittite kingdom also mentioned in Hittite traditions. So not Troy then? Or was Vilusa the Hittite name for Troy?
The layer of Troy VIII contained only insignificant remains from Greek times (roughly 950–85 BC), although this was the period in which the rest of Greece—the Acropolis, Delphi, and so on—flowered most extensively. Then finally there was Troy IX, which arose about AD 500. This place turned out to be the same as the Roman sacred place of Ilium.
Did Homer exaggerate shamelessly, or is Schliemann’s Troy not the same as that of the poet? But there was more than just the Hissarlik hill to be considered: there was also the region surrounding it. Eberhard Zangger is a geo-archaeologist—someone, therefore, who pursues archaeology from a geologist’s perspective. He turned his attention from the Hissarlik hill to the landscape along the coast, and started thinking. Then he read Plato’s story of Atlantis several times. Finally Zangger began counting, comparing, and bringing things together in his mind. The result was a book to which countless experts have responded with astonishing interest.9 Eberhard aims to prove in it that Troy was really Atlantis. A bit rich, one would have thought, to assume he had solved the riddle of Atlantis. If Troy and Atlantis were the same place, why does Homer always write about Troy and the Trojan War, never once using the word Atlantis? The American archaeologist Curtiss Runnels said of Zangger’s book that “it will have the same effect on the academic world as Schliemann’s discoveries 100 years ago.”10 And the British archaeologist Professor Anthony Snodgrass is convinced that Zangger’s comparison of Atlantis and Troy is sufficiently well founded to deserve the attention of many different specialist fields.
If Zangger is right, Atlantis-cum-Troy would not have been destroyed 9,000 years before Plato, but only about 1184 BC. Atlantis would also not have gone under in a single cataclysmic night, but would have been destroyed by the Trojan War. This is contrary to the evidence of Troy VI and Troy VII, which were not finished off by war or flooding but by an earthquake. Also Troy is on the hill of Hissarlik, and could not therefore have been submerged. So how can Eberhard Zangger equate Plato’s Atlantis with Homer’s Troy?
Zangger has his reasons. Whether they are really convincing is open to question.
The name “Atlantis” is well known, and for some represents a fascination, a dream, a paradise that never existed. Atlantis is like the miraculous world of childhood, a magic island of peace, a fairy-tale of a time when the world was happy and full of carefree people.
Is
there more to it than just longing? Were Atlantis and Troy, as Zangger tries to demonstrate, really one and the same? What supports his ideas, what undermines them? If Zangger is wrong, does this mean that Atlantis is finally dead and buried? People have been theorizing for centuries about where it might be—and always in vain. Who started this Atlantis myth in the first place? What form did it take? Where does the original story come from?
Chapter 5
Atlantis: The Millennia-Old Whodunnit
Some people speak from experience, others speak not from experience.
—Christopher Morley, 1890–1957
It may have been in 401 BC. Athens was celebrating a festival in honor of its patron goddess. Jugglers and dancers whirled through the streets, and at the foot of the Acropolis, young actors entertained the crowds with a play. Above, in the temple of Athene, the holy flame burned. The air was heavy with incense, and fattened sacrificial beasts thronged the narrow streets. At the northern edge of the city, where the small shrine of the local hero Academos stood, five men met together in the cool inner courtyard of a spacious stone house. They knew each other well, and had already spent many nights in philosophical debate. The host, probably Plato himself, invited the guests to sit down on soft cushions. Youths served cool drinks.
Did his generation take Plato seriously? Or was he regarded as an outsider? Who were the guests? Important and honorable men, whose word counted for something, or just loud-mouths? Here is a quick guide to the participants:
• Plato: Son of Ariston, from a well-to-do Athenian family. In his younger years he wrote tragedies, until he found his way to philosophy through Socrates. For eight whole years, he attended Socrates’ talks. After the latter’s death, Plato visited Euclid in Megara, and studied geometry and mathematics with him. After a short residence in his home town of Athens, he traveled to Crete, Egypt, and Sicily, and was introduced at the court of Dyonysius of Syracuse. Dyonysius, a tyrant, probably didn’t have much time for philosophy, for he had Plato arrested after some disagreement, and handed him over to the Spartan ambassador, who sold him as a slave. After various adventures, someone bought Plato his freedom, and he returned to Athens, the town of his birth, where he founded the Academy. Plato spent the last years of his life in high academic circles, and some of his pupils became famous. He is said to have died during a marriage feast.
• Socrates: Son of the sculptor Sophroniscos from Athens. He is regarded as the founder of Greek philosophy. His pupils came from the noblest Athenian circles. He was condemned to die by drinking a “poisoned chalice,” because of supposed god-lessness. He would have been able to flee, but refused to do so, because he believed the decision of the state must overrule that of the individual.
• Timaeus: Astronomer and researcher into natural phenomena from Locroi in southern Italy. According to Socrates he “showed his worth in the highest office and positions of honor in the city.” Timaeus advocated the teachings and mathematics of Pythagoras.
• Critias: An older man, a highly respected politician in Athens, and one of Athens’ “30 heads.” Critias claims several times to have heard the Atlantis story from his grandfather—also called Critias—and to have in his possession written documents about it. Critias is related to Plato on his mother’s side.
• Hermocrates: A well-known commander from Syracuse. In the Peloponnesian War, he fought on the side of Sparta. Later he was banished. (Plato experts are not in agreement about whether he is this Hermocrates or another one.)
So the drinks have been served, the participants and probably a few listeners have taken their places. Socrates opens the discussion in jovial vein:
Socrates: One, two, three—but the fourth, my dear Timaeus, of those who were yesterday the guests and today are the hosts, where has he got to?
Timaeus: He is unwell, Socrates, for if it were up to him he would never have stayed away from our gathering.
Socrates: Then it is no doubt up to you and your friends to fill his place?
Timaeus: Certainly. We others will do all we can; for it would indeed be a poor showing if we didn’t gladly return your hospitality of yesterday in a fitting and worthy manner.
Socrates: So do you still remember all that I suggested you should speak about?
Timaeus: We remember a good deal of it, and if we do not, you are anyway here to remind us. The best thing, though, if you do not mind too much, would be for you to give us a short overview once more, so that we take it in properly.1
Then the men chat about rules which ought to be adhered to in a country. Hermocrates recalls that only the day before, Critias had told of a legend, but Socrates had no longer been present. He asks Critias to repeat it, so that they can examine it more closely. Critias then begins a long monologue, the introduction to the story of Atlantis. It is important to follow this rather long-winded account, for it reveals some of the background to the origin of the Atlantis legend. I shall use a translation by Professor Otto Apelt from the year 1922.
Critias: Socrates, this is a very strange tale you will hear, which lays claim to complete truth. Solon, the greatest of the seven wise men, assured us of this in his own day. He was actually related to my great-grandfather Dropides, and a very good friend of his, as he testifies at many places in his poems. He once told my grandfather Critias—who, when very old, passed it on to me—that there were many great and wondrous achievements of our Athenian state in past ages which the passage of time and the passing of generations had allowed to be forgotten. But the greatest of all these is one which it may now be the right moment for us to tell you, not only as thanks, but also at the same time to honor the goddess on this, her feast-day, in worthy and honest manner, as though in the form of a song of praise.
Socrates: Well spoken. But what sort of achievement was this, which Critias heard from Solon as one actually performed by our Athenian state, for it is not mentioned elsewhere in history?
Critias: I will tell you this old story, then, which I heard from a very ancient man. This was [my grandfather] Critias, who was already nearly 90, while I was at the most ten years old. He told it to me on the “Day of Youths,” the Apaturien festival. For the youths, this festival took the same course as always. The Fathers assigned prizes for the reciting of poetry. A wealth of poems were recited, by all sorts of different poets. Solon’s poems were new at that time, which is why many of us boys chose his songs to sing. Now one of the elders expressed the opinion to Critias—I’m not sure whether he really meant it, or if he was simply paying him a compliment—that Solon was not only the wisest, but also the most refined of all the poets. The old man—and I remember this as if it was yesterday—was very pleased indeed to hear this, and smiling replied: “Yes, Amynandros, and if he had not just pursued poetry simply in odd moments, but had applied effort and seriousness to it like all other poets, and if he had been able to complete what he brought with him from Egypt, instead of being forced to give it up because of all the turmoil and disarray he found here on his return, I believe that he would have surpassed Hesiod, Homer, and any other poet you care to mention.” “But what kind of story was this which he brought back?” asked the other. “A description,” replied my grandfather, “of a mighty achievement, which deserves to outstrip the fame of everything else—one which Athens performed, but which has been forgotten through the passage of time and the downfall of those who achieved it, whose descendants did not survive to our own day.” “Tell from the beginning,” the other replied, “what Solon told you, and how and from whom he heard it as a true story.”2
~~~
“In Egypt,” began Critias, “in the delta at whose end the Nile River divides, there is a region called the Saitic, whose largest city is Sais, the birth city of King Amasis. The founder of the city is said by the inhabitants to have been a god, whose Egyptian name is Neith, but which they say is Athene in Greek. They claim that they are very well disposed to Athenians, and even to some extent related to them. This is where Solon journeyed, as he told me, a
nd was received with all honor. When he inquired of the most knowledgeable of the priests about the origin and history of the land, it was fairly apparent that, like other Hellenes, he knew next to nothing about these things. In order to encourage them to impart information about the ancient days, he began to speak about the oldest times of Greece, the stories of Phoroneus, supposedly the most ancient man, and Niobe, and how after the Great Flood Deucalion and Pyrrha remained; then he listed their descendants and tried to give a most precise account of the number of years, relating this to the history he spoke of. Then one of the priests, a very old man, exclaimed: ‘O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are still children, and there is no such thing as an ancient Greek!’ When Solon heard this, he asked, ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘As far as your souls are concerned, you are all young; for you do not bear with you any primeval thoughts based upon teachings which awaken reverence, nor any knowledge whose hair is grey with age. The reason for this is the following. Numerous and of many kinds are the destructions and catastrophes which have broken over the race of men, and which are still to come: the most violent through fire and water, and other lesser catastrophes through a thousand other causes. For what is told in your land, namely that Phaethon, the son of Helios, took the reins of his father’s team, but was unable to follow his father’s course, thus ravaging broad stretches of land with fire, and himself dying by a bolt of lightning, sounds like a folk tale, but is in fact to do with a deviation from its accustomed course of the heavenly body which encircles the earth, and with devastation of the face of the earth over long periods through massive fires. The consequence of this is that all inhabitants of mountains and high places, and all inhabitants of dry regions will be more affected by this annihilation than those who dwell beside rivers and seas. But for us the Nile, which is our savior in every way, once more protects us from such a fate, fending it off from us. When, on the other hand, the gods flood the earth with water so as to cleanse it, the inhabitants of mountainous places, the shepherds and cowherds, are spared, while the city dwellers in your lands are swept into the sea by torrents. In our country, in contrast, neither in this case nor in other ways does any water pour down from the heavens on to the fields, but everything rises up naturally from below. Therefore, and for these reasons, everything remains as it was, and so we retain memory of the most ancient days. In truth though, things are thus: in all regions where extreme cold or heat does not make it impossible, there is always a population of people, sometimes larger, sometimes smaller. Wherever it is then—whether in your country or here, or elsewhere—wherever anything magnificent or great or anything of particular interest of any kind has happened, it is recorded here in the temples in written documents, preserved against destruction from time immemorial. It is different for you and other peoples. Hardly have you developed writing and all else that civilization requires, than the heavens open their gates over you once more and pour down in torrents like a malady, only letting those escape with their lives who understand nothing of writing and have no culture or education. This is why you always become, as it were, young again, without any knowledge of what took place in ancient times, whether in your lands or ours. The course of the generations, for example as it appears in your description, Solon, is hardly different from a child’s tale. For firstly you remember only a single flooding of the earth, although there have been so many before that; secondly you do not know that the best and noblest race of men dwelt in your own land. From a small vestige of this race you yourself descend, and your whole country descends. But you are unaware of this because the survivors and their descendants passed through many generations without recording anything in writing. For there were times, my Solon, before the greatest, most destructive flood, when the community now known as Athens was the best and most splendid of all, not only in regard to warfare, but also to the way it was regulated by laws, which was unsurpassed in the world. To this state of yours was ascribed the greatest deeds and best political statutes which we have ever heard of.’
Odyssey of the Gods Page 13
