
240 GREEK CITIES
mysterious forces of the earth. And here, amidst these sacred objects and associations, the Pythia
sat on a tripod, Apollo’s sacred seat, in order to receive the divine inspiration. Today little is left to
see, this major center of paganism having been thoroughly destroyed by Christians.
In the early years of the sanctuary, the oracle took place only once per year, on Apollo’s
birthday in late February. Eventually, formal consultations were granted once each month, for
the nine months of Apollo’s residence at Delphi. On other days during these nine months,
quick answers could be obtained through the drawing of black or white beans, meaning “yes” or
“no,” or beans with answers written on them. Such consultations were cheaper as well as being
simpler.
The nine grand sessions were invested with great ceremony. The Pythia, and there might be
two or three of them, working in shifts to handle all the inquiries, would purify herself with water
at the Castalian Spring and with the smoke of laurel leaves and barley meal. Then a goat had to
be sacrificed, to make sure the day was auspicious. The goat had to shiver, with the help of the
sprinkling of cold water if need be, since the Pythia shivered when she uttered Apollo’s proph-
esies. If this was successful, the Pythia went into the temple, drank special water, chewed laurel
leaves, and took her seat on the tripod. In addition to the suggestive power of the situation, it
may well be that gases rising from the cleft in the rock beneath the adyton put the Pythia into a
trance. She was now ready for the god to inhabit her body and answer questions.
The inquirers purified themselves with holy water and drew lots to determine their places in
line. Some, including those consulting on behalf of certain city-states, had the privilege of jump-
ing to the head of the line. All had to purchase and offer on the altar an expensive sacred cake,
with states paying much higher prices than did individuals. The sacrifice of a sheep or goat was
then expected, with much of the meat going to the local townspeople. What happened next has
been the subject of controversy. According to the traditional view, the inquirer put his question
to a priest, who relayed it to the Pythia. She gave her answer, crying or shouting, with the priest
rendering the utterance into poetic meter intelligible for the inquirer. The reality probably was
much less romantic: the Pythia answered the inquirer directly, delivering her divinely inspired
message in simple-to-understand prose.
The Pythia answered specific questions; she did not predict the future in general. Some of
her answers were recorded by ancient authors, but we have to be careful, for not all are trust-
worthy: answers for the early years especially, ca. 750–450 BC, seem to have been inventions
after the fact, predictions that suited the reputation created by the Greeks themselves about
the oracle. Because governments were among the inquirers, the famous early responses, even if
legendary, have much to say about the political role of the oracle. Her answers reveal that she
stayed politically alert, avoiding controversy. Advice and blessings, for example, were routinely
bestowed upon groups of early colonists before they set off, thereby ensuring her key role in the
founding of new cities. Her most famously clever response, reported by Herodotus, was given
to the Lydian king Croesus, one of Delphi’s most generous benefactors. When threatened by
the advancing Persians under Cyrus the Great, he inquired whether he should attack. If he did,
the oracle replied, he would destroy a mighty empire. Not seeing the ambiguity in the advice,
Croesus confidently marched forward, only to discover that the mighty empire to be destroyed
was his own.
The final utterance (perhaps apocryphal) attributed to the oracle is a sad one, recounting its
demise in a message delivered to the fourth-century AD Roman emperor Julian the Apostate,
who attempted in vain to revive pagan cults in a world turning to Christianity: “Tell the king, the
fairwrought hall has fallen to the ground. No longer has Phoebus [Apollo] a hut, nor a prophetic
laurel, nor a spring that speaks. The water of speech even is quenched” (Fontenrose 1978: 353).