The Atlantis
Syndrome P.2
Earlier the
Theosophical, and next the Nazi ideology, horribly romantic, has been the most extreme
and pernicious expression of the myth of the divinely sanctioned elite to date,
and a far cry you might think from ideas of some secret brotherhood of wise old
priests struggling to carry the torch of learning and spirituality down all the
dark ages of prehistory and history. But I do believe that some of the
proponents of modern Atlantology, especially since
the Second World War, might have stopped and thought about the strain of
colonialist and missionary condescension - if nothing worse - implied in their
ideas. They might yet stop to think that, short of extraterrestrial
intervention, every civilization on earth must in any case have been created by
ordinary human beings in natural situations, out of their adaptive cleverness
of mind - Atlantis in any guise is only a postpone the recognition of this
human potential. If you insist on re acknowledge that any known human
civilization created its course of its own experience on earth and likewise
insist that each and every civilization got its impetus from an earlier lost
civilization, then you only put off consideration of how that earlier
civilization came about. Unless you invoke alien invaders or gods like Poseidon
you must still seek to enquire (if you really have an enquiring mind) by what
natural processes of social evolution civilization can ever come about. And if
it can naturally come about once, then like all good things in this world it
can come about again and again and the single founding civilization loses even
the appeal of primacy since primacy has evaporated as a necessity of
explanation. (To say nothing of the fact that not a scrap of reliable evidence
for such a primal civilization exists anywhere on Earth.) If you do invoke
alien invaders or gods like Poseidon, then you really ought to admit to
yourself that you have left the realm of rational enquiry altogether and are
merely conjecturing within the imaginative confines established by popular
entertainment and religion.
Other
psychological forces at work close to the core of the syndrome include anxiety
and the lure of the quick fix. The catastrophist outlook that always goes, to
varying degrees, with Atlantological speculation is
itself of a deeply anxious character. If comets and asteroids can strike out of
the blue, if the earth's crust might suddenly pitch us to the poles at any
moment, if the precessionary cycle can go haywire, if
whole civilizations can disappear without trace, then we are living not just
with the threat of car accidents, air crashes, fatal epidemics, political oppression,
nuclear war, race hatred, famine and common mortality, as we thought we were,
but with something more cosmically unsettling. It may be that those of us with
a developed sensitivity to the uncertainty of things are predisposed to Atlantology or, at least, are vulnerable to its appeal.
Certainly some of the Atlantological authors appear
to think so.
Uncertainty
also contributes to the need for a quick fix, either by way of explanation or
reassurance or both. If you don't know much about archaeology, haven't given it
a lot of thought or ever learned much about it, then a lost ancient
supercivilization may look like a readily plausible explanation for the
pyramids, or Stonehenge, or Cuzco, or the Nazca Lines (the more so since you
are likely to have seen some piece of science fiction that floated the idea or
even a "documentary" programme that
espoused it). As we saw earlier, such an explanation will probably chime in
with unexamined bits of your mental furniture derived from religion and
memories of empire. Not for you the academic papers and excavation reports,
full of dry data about pollen grains and potsherds and probability ranges of
radiocarbon dates, with distribution maps of unexciting finds and hatched
sections through archaeological deposits. You don't need all that - you know
how the past works and it's just like recent history. Superior immigrants sort
the natives out and missionaries let them in on a few of the profundities, in a
simplified form of course. Wouldn't be at all surprising if that was what
happened ten thousand years ago, would it? And since we're about to launch
ourselves into space (or at least it looked like that a while ago), what more
natural than that it was spacemen who brought civilization to Earth? Now
anybody can follow an explanation like that, straight off: common sense,
really. As L. Sprague de Camp put it in his patrician way when discussing the
old diffusionist theories of archaeology to which Atlantology
is closely akin: 'Therefore, say the diffusionists, everything must have come
from somewhere else - it doesn't matter where. Laymen who read a little
anthropology or Atlantism tend to agree with them,
perhaps because, never having made an invention themselves, they find it hard
to imagine anybody else's having done so.
The quick fix
can be more than a mere explanation: it can be an emotional support, too. Where
anxiety is running high, then there is a need for reassurance. This can take
the form of something relatively sophisticated like belief in a grand cosmic principle
of collapse and renewal that can be spiritually understood in terms of rebirth
and immortality. It can take the simpler form of belief in "space
brothers" or at least secret brotherhoods of some sort who helped us out
before and might do so again. It may function simply as just some kind of an
account of things at any price, that helps to ward off apprehensions about the
possible meaninglessness of life. For some writers and readers of Atlantological literature, I think the "alternatlve archaeology" idea in general (the
specifics hardly matter) serves as an antidote against what they believe to be
the bleakness of scientific cosmology and Darwinian evolution. Any alternative
scheme of things that went against the tenets of modern science would recommend
itself to these people as a potential way round a view of life that they find
unpalatable. In specific detail, any new ideas about - say - the age of the
Sphinx or the calendrical predictions of Mayan monuments or the real import of
ancient carvings from Egypt or the Far East fall like manna from heaven for
these unhappy folk. If anything about the current world view of the
professional archaeologists could be overthrown, then out could go the whole
approach to the past that troubles the "alternative" enthusiasts so.
Talk of manna
is not inappropriate, for we are once more faced with the essentially religious
pedigree of much Atlantological thought and wish.
This is why the "ancient wisdom" is never far away in the musings of Atlantology - that not so precious heirloom of the
classical world's infatuation with Egypt and Europe's infatuation with Genesis.
And if not a religious impetus as such, then at least a romantic one propels a
deal of inclination towards "alternative archaeology." Some people
find modern science, of which modern archaeology hopes to form a part,
religiously unsatisfying - many more, in all probability, just don't find it
romantic enough, especially in this era of science fiction as popular
entertainment. (In today's science fiction there is a lot more fiction than
science.) If Atlantology were sold as just another
branch of the entertainment industry, we might see little more to cavil at In
it, but it is not and so we have more to say.
A further key
feature of the Atlantis Syndrome is one often seen among enthusiasts for the
unorthodox in all its forms, among sectarians of every sort. It is the sense of
belonging, in defiance of conventional authority, to a select coterie of those
"in the know," to a happy band of brothers with privileged knowledge
of the real truth of things, versus the vested interests of academic orthodoxy
or general public indifference. There can be a whiff of martyrdom, pleasing to
some personality types, attached to all this (and followers who might not care
for martyrdom themselves often like to lend their devoted support to their
martyred gurus). Readership of the works of "alternative archaeology"
and, even more so, participation in the Internet's range of 'alternative
archaeology' sites brings together in spirit a wide body of disparate types in
a shared enthusiasm, without even the need for the most part to meet one
another as real academics might do at conferences or in the pages of peer
reviews of published work. The loner personality, which always figures largely
among the enthusiasts of this sort of thing, finds a natural home at his
keyboard, chasing his interests with a semblance of research (and sometimes
even fancied scholarship), without having to face directly the sort of watchful
criticism that professional academics are used to dishing out and receiving. In
line with this camaraderie of the truly enlightened goes the reliance on
unconventional sources of "evidence" that we have so often
highlighted in the course of our review of the literature. This is a truly
diagnostic feature of the syndrome: all that number-crunching, amateur
philologizing and myth-picking that is supposed to supply, via
"encodings" understood only by the various Atlantological
authors and their eager readers, the "proof" of their theories, along
with a host of stray and anomalous finds without proper context. Myth seems
peculiarly attractive in this respect. It has it seems lost none of its hoary
appeal, which is the appeal of the simple and colourful.
But it is not mythology that has had any success in explaining the world, it is
science. Myth only explains away.
I have tried
to sketch some of the core features of the Atlantological
predisposition: the literal-mindedness, the reluctance to credit the common
inventiveness of the human race, the underdeveloped capacity to step outside
prejudices of time and place, the longing for a quick fix both as explanation
and reassurance, and the need to belong to just such a "secret
brotherhood" with esoteric insider information as some writers of Atlantology picture operating in the past. All the readers
(the committed ones at least, not just reading for idle entertainment) of the Atlantological genre may be expected to share these traits
and the writers of the material often show most of them. But the writers are,
in the end, more interesting than their readers and our characterization of the
syndrome may be refined by reflecting upon their attitudes in detail. Why,
after all, are they writing these strange books of theirs?
Plato was a
wealthy man. Whatever the vicissitudes and disappointments of his life, he did
not need the money. The worst that any commentator of his own day ever said
about him was that he might have plagiarized other writers in the composition
of his own works. It is not a charge that was made to stick at the time and
there was no suggestion that any plagiarism was, in any case, undertaken for
financial gain, nor even for reasons of vanity. It is clear that Plato wrote to
propagate his ideas, which were driven by an unusual degree of moral fervour. It seems safe to conclude that no subsequent
writer on the Atlantis theme could claim to be so purely motivated by moral
considerations, but to what extent any of them is open to the charge of writing
just for the money can only be a matter of private opinion. Certainly, money
has been made since Donnelly did so well with his books in the late nineteenth
century and a glance at the recent bestseller listings is enough to show that
money continues to be made out of this genre.
As I remarked
earlier, if Atlantology never represented itself as
anything more than a branch of the entertainment industry then there would be
little to complain about in its money-spinning. In the modern world, in any
case, as Dr Johnson observed, no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for
money. But not exclusively for the money, I think, in the field of Atlantology. What convinces me of this, in almost all
cases, is the sheer devotion to tedium evinced by so many of the writers of
this genre. I have had occasion to notice, in reviewing their work, that whole
tracts of the output of the Atlantological writers
are liable to be extremely tedious to get through, invariably with little
reward when at the end the shaky conclusions built up on the feeble foundations
of all this labour turn out to be so thin and
insubstantial. (I believe a large part of the untutored readership of these
volumes can, at best, only mistake such heavy passages for evidence of real
scholarship, without necessarily reading them closely.) But whatever the merits
of all the labour, labour
it is. Many people are well used to working hard at tiresome jobs to make a
living and we cannot entirely discount a purely money-making motivation for
much of the Atlantological literature, but there is
frequently something so dedicated about the pursuit of such dubious material
that I think other purposes have to be considered.
We don't find
many women writing in this field. Rose has written with Rand Flem-Ath and there is always the Blavatsky phenomenon,
though I think we can readily discount her as not really belonging to any of
the subdivisions of the Atlantological persuasion
that we are interested in here. Among the scholars of orthodox archaeology,
there have noticeably always been women - excavating, publishing reports,
teaching, writing papers and books. Some of the most distinguished
archaeologists and prehistorians have been women. But there are next to no
women among the producers of Atlantological material.
It may well be that this situation offers us a clue to one of the essential
differences between real and "alternative" archaeology.
There is in
fact something rather male about the Atlantological
interest in itself, and in the ways its practitioners go about it. With some of
the writers of Atlantological literature, though not
all of them, there is more than a hint of obsession. (On occasion they will
even artlessly admit to it.) It is most obvious in the curious way in which
some of them are so determined to make something, anything, of every scrap of
data (or pseudo-data) that ever comes their way. It seems akin at times to a
collector's mania to possess and show off every beer mat from some brewery or
every piece of porcelain from some workshop; akin, too, to the relentless
pursuit of some hobby or all-consuming interest in something or other, often
with an urge to be seen to command the field. On the whole, men are more prone
to these things than women, for whatever reasons. When a treasured theory lies
at the centre of such an obsessional interest, then
we commonly find that for the proponent of that theory virtually everything is
grist to the mill. Professional scholars (on the whole) are more relaxed about
their business, perhaps because it is more their business than their personal raison
d'etre. But more than that, the disciplines of
scholarship have usually taught them, or their colleagues have brought it home
to them, that no theory explains everything and that some data (or apparent
data) will always fail to conform to any available theory. They are used to
this situation, it goes with the territory. The amateurs, though, rarely have a
feel for this.
Often working
alone, without the benefit of a professional context in which their efforts
will be judged (sometimes quite harshly), the amateurs are all too liable to
surrender to the urge to dominate their material with an absolute obsession.
Everything must be seen to fit their theory, to play its part in the proof - as
they see it - of the correctness of their view. Anything they find in the old
literature, anything they stumble across from new research sources, anything
they see in the papers or on television, anything anyone tells them: it's all
sucked in and more or less hammered into their scheme of things, which must be
seen to explain everything, even if it is always the same old sample of
everything. In this way it comes about that they often make so much of stray,
anomalous, doubtful material that a professional would be content to leave
aside as unprofitable without further developments. We have even seen that, on
occasions, the Atlantologists may incorporate
material that they themselves will have to repudiate within a few pages or less
as useless even for their purposes. (And we have also noticed how their
enthusiasms are apt to come and go between books.) Everything it seems must be
somehow, if only temporarily, bent to their will. (As must, I fear, the
judgement of their followers - this is a great field for would-be gurus.) It
does look rather obsessive and I think this may explain that capacity of theirs
to endure the profitless tedium of some of their material. (Of course, we must
be careful not to put it all down to obsession - when the material is as thin
and incoherent as the Atlantologists' often is, then
you might as well bring in everything you have to hand.) I don't wish to
suggest that there have never been any obsessives among the professional
scholars of archaeology, but I do hazard that there are more of them among the
amateurs of the "alternative" brand.
To go with the
obsessiveness, there is the touchiness. It may be mild and good-natured when
someone close to straight archaeology embarks on an unorthodox proposal, or -
more usually - it may be virulent like le Plongeon's,
a sample of whose invective (against the university teachers of American
archaeology of his time) well conveys the flavour of
so much Atlantological reaction to real scholarship.
"Not only do they know nothing of ancient American civilization, but
judging from letters in my possession, the majority of them refuse to learn
anything concerning it . . . The so-called learned men of our own days are the
first to oppose new ideas and the bearers of these. This opposition will
continue to exist until the arrogance and self-conceit of supposed learning
that still hovers within the walls of colleges and universities have completely
vanished." It was the college and university types who laid the basis of
our knowledge of American prehistory: le Plongeon was
a crackpot so zany that even Atlantologists scarcely
lean on him anymore. But they do go on railing at the university teachers in
just the same old way. Of course, in many ways this may be natural enough as
I've said before, even prudent. If I advance a novel theory, at variance with
the ideas of the professionals in a given field like archaeology, and they
reject my theory or worse still ignore it, then I am likely to feel touchy
about the situation. Perhaps deep down I even wonder whether I may in fact be
completely wrong, hopelessly unequipped by my lack of anything but
self-education in the field. I feel insecure: and there are so many stratagems
available to human beings to compensate for insecurity.
Meanwhile, if
I am in the business of selling books about my theory, I may well feel it to be
only good business to reassure my readers with a show of pained but plucky
defiance against the authorities who deny me. Out of the mix of personal and
practical insecurities comes the characteristic range of attitudes to the
professionals that so many of the amateurs display. (Incidentally, it is an
interesting fact that the only other field in which amateurs show such a driven
defiance of the professionals appears to be medicine.
On the whole,
people leave say physics and structural engineering to their professional
practitioners, but large numbers seem to doubt the entire system of orthodox
medicine and chase after a whole host of "alternative" therapies,
many of them of a highly dubious nature to say the least. Our health and our
past are, it seems clear, our most personal concerns as human beings.
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