I’ve just returned from a trip to Rome and wanted to share a curious anecdote—one that might prove especially intriguing for those, like me, who have studied and reread Plato’s Timaeus and Critias, the two dialogues in which the story of Atlantis is recounted.
As some of you know, in my book The Atletenu of Avaris, I’ve proposed a historical identification between Atlantis and the ancient city of Avaris, capital of the Hyksos in Egypt. With that background in mind, imagine my surprise and delight as I was strolling through the Vatican Museums and admiring the marble masterpieces of classical sculpture, when I suddenly found myself face to face with a bust of Plato himself. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to take a photo beside him—there was a real sense of satisfaction in the moment!
I took it as a sign of sorts.
Later, as I continued through the galleries, I entered the famous Raphael Rooms, commissioned by Pope Julius II in the early 16th century. There, in the celebrated fresco The School of Athens, I once again encountered Plato—this time at the center of the composition, depicted in conversation with Aristotle. What caught my eye was the book he was holding: it could only be the Timaeus.
Given how much time I’ve spent studying the sections of that dialogue that describe Atlantis, seeing Raphael’s visual tribute to Plato in such a magnificent setting was deeply moving. The Timaeus is not only one of the foundational texts of Western cosmology and philosophy, but also the only surviving source that details the geography and fate of Atlantis. For me, it was as if the fresco was silently reaffirming the importance of that text—and perhaps even of my own research into it.
For anyone who visits the Vatican Museums, I highly recommend pausing in front of The School of Athens. Beyond its aesthetic beauty, it is a profound reflection on knowledge, philosophy, and the dialogue between ideas across time.
