Delphi

Site of Apollo’s chief oracular shrine, largely responsible, in Greece, for prophecy acquiring a predictive meaning.


Delphi was believed to be at the center of the world, then regarded as a disk. A stone, the omphalos, or “navel,” marked the exact spot. The oracle may once have belonged to Themis, a daughter of the Earth Goddess, and legend mentions a huge guardian serpent, but when Apollo arrived in the thirteenth century b.c., he killed the serpent and took possession.
At first, the oracle functioned on only one day of the year, Apollo’s birthday, the seventh day of the month in which it occurred, about May 20. Later, it could be consulted on the seventh day of any month when he was in residence. He was not always in residence. He allegedly spent three months of each year among the Hyperboreans, a mysterious northern people with whom he had ancient ties. It was said that some Hyperboreans had come to Greece long ago and helped to establish him at Delphi. One, named Olen, had prescribed the form in which his pronouncements should be given. In historical times, such appearances were rare, if they happened at all; the Hyperboreans, whoever they were, sent offerings to Delphi but generally kept to themselves in their distant homeland, so that Apollo’s regular visits took him far away. During his absence, another god, Dionysus, was in charge at Delphi but did not speak through the oracle. Apollo returned on his birthday and was welcomed with a festival.
Consulting Apollo, even on one of the approved days, was not a casual procedure. The inquirer had to be free from serious guilt and also had to pay a substantial fee. Gifts to the shrine could improve the atmosphere. Apollo communicated through a priestess, the Pythia. She underwent ritual purification in the Castalian spring nearby, and took further preparatory steps that are not certain. She may have chewed laurel leaves, or she may have burned them, or hemp or bay leaves, and inhaled the fumes. Apollo took control of her, and she became a kind of medium. The inquirer asked a question, and the priestess gave a reply, which probably made no obvious sense: a priest translated it into normal language, often in hexameter verse, and a final written version constituted the god’s answer, which the inquirer could take away.
Delphi, as a kind of religious capital, was the only focus of unity among the small states into which Greece was divided. The temple complex housed an art gallery exhibiting works from all quarters, and supplied

a platform for poets and musicians. It was customary for city governments to consult the oracle on matters of policy, and some of them maintained officials called exegetes who interpreted the god’s messages. The Athenians claimed him as a source for their laws; the Spartans said he had virtually dictated their constitution. When he advised or warned, he was usually temperate and constructive. He gave guidance to Greeks planning settlements overseas, and the colonists built temples for him in their new homes.
Apollo was assumed to have knowledge of the future—a belief reflected in the tragic case of Cassandra—and inquirers asked him about it, wanting to be told what would happen if they did so-and-so. In Greece, this was the main reason for prophecy sometimes having a predictive meaning, though it never became as prominent as it did for Jews and Christians under biblical influence. Apollo’s responses, if not downright evasive, could sometimes be construed in more ways than one, and even when they sounded clear-cut, they might indicate alternatives rather than give a straight answer. Apollo was nicknamed “Loxias,” the Ambiguous, though that did not prevent people from applying to him.
A famous anecdote, set in the year 546 b.c., illustrates the point. Croesus, king of Lydia in western Asia Minor, planned an attack on the adjacent domain of the Persian king Cyrus. He decided to test seven oracles and sent messengers inviting their priests and priestesses to say what he was doing on a certain day. To rule out lucky guesses, he did something totally bizarre, chopping up a dead tortoise and boiling the pieces in a bronze cauldron with portions of lamb. Delphi got this right—if the story is true, one is bound to suspect a leak—so Croesus made gifts to the Delphic shrine and asked

about his intended campaign. The reply was that if he proceeded with it, he would destroy an empire. He took this to mean Cyrus’s empire and did proceed, but Cyrus defeated him and conquered Lydia. The empire that succumbed was his own. When he complained to Delphi, the priestess replied that he should have asked for clarification.
Later, when the Persian army of Xerxes invaded Greece, Delphi told the Spartans that either their city would be captured or one of their kings would die. Three hundred Spartans led by King Leonidas made a celebrated stand at Thermopylae, and all were killed, including Leonidas. The Persians advanced beyond but never took Sparta. It may be that Leonidas knew what the oracle had said and accepted his fate to avert the alternative.
In the Persian crisis, the Athenians also consulted Delphi and were advised, alarmingly, to abandon their city, making no attempt to resist. Unable to accept this, the envoys threatened to camp in the sanctuary until they received a better answer. They were told that the Persian army would overrun their territory but they should trust in “wooden walls,” and the “divine isle” of Salamis would witness many deaths at seed-time or harvest. The Athenians took “wooden walls” to mean their fleet. While Apollo did not specify whether the dead would be Greek or Persian, they judged that to call Salamis “divine” was encouraging. They risked a naval battle nearby and won.
Whatever Apollo’s priestesses really said, the predictions that the priests extracted were seldom straightforward. They might be merely general, they might be hedged, or they might be sheer riddles that would only be understood in retrospect. Delphi taught the Greeks a conception of prophecy that went beyond mere fortune-telling and soothsaying, but the actual recorded predictions hardly suggest paranormal insight or divine illumination.
Delphi petered out during the fourth century a.d. as Christianity prevailed in the Roman Empire. The Emperor Julian, a pagan revivalist, sent emissaries to find whether the oracle was still active. They got a response—apparently, there was someone there to give it—but it was a farewell.

• Tell ye the king: the carven hall is fallen in decay:
  
• Apollo hath no chapel left, no prophesying bay,
  
• No talking spring. The stream is dry that had so much to say.