Bergk also can say no more than this:
The questioner received immediately by the mouth of the inspired seeress a sentence in verse which fitted only the case in question and which the prophets subsequently interpreted.… What part was played by real inspiration in these utterances no one can say, but naturally as time went on the advice of the priests together with pre-arranged plan must have loomed larger and larger, and it seems probable that in later times real poets in the service of the sanctuary lent their aid to put the replies into metrical form.2
Erwin Rohde thus describes the Pythoness:
… There (at Delphi) the Pythoness, a virgin priestess, prophesied under the intoxicating excitement of the vapours issuing from a cleft in the rocks above which she sat on a tripod; she was filled with the god himself and his spirit. The god, as was believed, entered into the earthly body, or else the priestess’ soul, “loosed”from her body, apprehended the divine revelations with the spiritual mind. What she then “with frenzied mouth” foretold, was spoken through her by the god. When she said “I” it was Apollo who spoke to whomsoever it concerned. That which lived, thought. and spoke in her so long as she was in frenzy, was the god himself.1
It will immediately be observed, however, that it is straining all these descriptions to construe the “perception”of revelations as signifying acoustic visionary states, wliile the speech in the first person in the name of Apollo indicates possession.
The inadequacy of modern philologists’ descriptions of the Pythoness arises unhappily from the poverty of ancient documentary sources. These nevertheless stretch over a long period of time and continue far into the Christian era, but contain very little definite information. A few examples will demonstrate this. Amongst the most ancient is a remark of Heraclitus (born c. 500 B.C.) found in Plutarch:
Now the Sibyl “from her frenzied mouth,” to use the expression of Heraclitus, lets fall words which are anything but merry, ornate and painted; and yet for a thousand years, thanks to the gods, her voice has resounded through the centuries.2
According to Bergk3 these words indubitably apply to the Pythoness, of whom Plutarch also remarks “that she does not perfume herself with scented oils, nor does she descend into the sanctuary draped in a crimson mantle.”4
Strabo relates:
It is said that the oracle is a spacious grotto in the depths of the earth with a narrow opening. From it arises an inspiring vapour. Over the mouth of the grotto stands a tripod on which the Pythoness mounts, and breathing in the vapour gives forth prophecies either in verse or otherwise; but the latter also are put into measure by poets in the service of the temple.5
But no author is more disappointing than Plutarch (born A.D. 46), in spite of the fact that during the years 95–125 he was one of the priests of the oracle. Three of his writings relate to it: On the Cessation of Oracles, On the Eĩ at Delphi, On the Pythian Responses, why no longer given in Verse. We expect to gather from him a mass of details, but this hope is completely frustrated; he says so little on the subject that it has been possible to argue that he never had access to the sanctuary where the Pythoness gave forth her oracles. However that may be, his three writings on the Delphic oracle are surprisingly empty of positive information.
The early conceptions of the effect of the vapour and the “entry” of Apollo into the seeress were often of a very primitive nature, resembling some of the ideas on demoniacal possession which we have already encountered. They have persisted up to the latest times, and some of them emerge with particular distinctness.
The Christian author Chrysostom (d. 407) writes:
Of this priestess, the Pythoness, it is now said that she sat with parted thighs on the tripod of Apollo and the evil spirit entered her from below passing through her genital organs and plunged her into a state of frenzy, so that she began with loosened hair to foam and rage like one drunken.1
Similarly we read in Origen:
It is said of the Pythian priestess, whose oracle seems to have been the most celebrated, that when she sat down at the mouth of the Castalian cave, the prophetic spirit of Apollo entered her private parts, and when she was filled with it, she gave utterance to responses which are regarded as divine truths.2
Apart from the fact of the spirit of Apollo being alleged to enter the Pythoness’ womb, Origen is particularly shocked at her state of excitement.
It is not the part of a divine spirit to drive the prophetess into such a state of ecstasy and madness that she loses control of herself.3
The Hellenism of the later period had already found the idea that Apollo introduced herself into the Pythoness’ organism and really spoke by her mouth unacceptable. Many sought to give a materialistic explanation to the whole thing by means of winds and emanations from the earth, as we see from Plutarch.
Others took a middle course, admitting the operation of the vapours on the mind, but seeing the directing hand of the gods in this phenomenon.
Of the above-mentioned conception, already traditional in antiquity, an important feature is to-day disputed: the vapour which is alleged to have emanated from the rocky cleft. Oppé has sought in a searching criticism of these ancient accounts to demonstrate1 that at Delphi there was never any cleft in the earth over which the Pythoness’ tripod was set and from whence arose an intoxicating exhalation. No information concerning it is to be found amongst ancient writers, and Oppé believes it to be a legend of late origin, which, however, was so universally believed that even Plutarch, who as a Delphic priest was fully acquainted with the true facts, said nothing in his writings directly to contradict it, but nevertheless expressed himself in such a fashion as conveyed beyond doubt to the initiated that he knew nothing of the existence of this fissure.
Oppé’s hypothesis is consistent with the fact that the French excavations at Delphi have revealed no trace of the existence of any cleft in the earth in the temple of Apollo, although they have been very thorough and pursued to a great depth. Perdrizet, a collaborator of Homolle, the director of excavations, speaks as follows of the results obtained:
Amongst the monuments of the Pythian enclosure the temple of Apollo had, as may readily be understood, aroused the greatest expectations. How was the Adyton placed? What ought we to think of the prophetic fissure the emanations from which intoxicated the Pythoness? It is established that it never existed except in the imagination of the devout and of poets. No cleft yawned in the rocks beneath the Adyton, no vapour ever arose in that spot from the bowels of the earth, the foundations of the temple hid nothing mysterious; the subterranean chambers upon which it was built were hollowed out at the time of its foundation with the sole object of economizing materials.2
As, however, is so often the case in philological questions, Oppé’s arguments have not proved conclusive. The extremely judicious English scholar Farnell3 judges, and it seems to me with justification, that Plutarch’s data are entirely compatible with the existence of a fissure. In any case he (Plutarch) believed, as emerges clearly from § 5, in the existence of an exhalation which caused the Pythoness to be inspired, even although he does not directly say that it arose from a fissure. Nor can it, moreover, be demonstrated that Plutarch ever gained admittance to the room in which the Pythoness gave forth her oracles. Similar fissures are still to-day found in the neighbourhood of Delphi.
A traveller named Pomtow believes that he has discovered “at certain spots on the new carriage-road, particularly in places where, when it was driven last autumn, changes in the configuration of the ground resulted, ice-cold draughts of air accompanied by vinegary smells arising from rocky fissures or hollows in the ground.” He adds that “the clefts in the limestone mountains which were known in antiquity still exist to-day.” Curtius has also come upon sultry air and rapidly changing warm and cold currents.1
A fresh difficulty is introduced into the whole question by the statement of Dion Cassius (third century)2 that Nero caused several men to be thrown into the cleft, a story which has not yet be
en taken into account in the discussions on the subject and which would have necessitated a relatively wide fissure. Diodorus of Sicily (first century B.C.), moreover, relating the well-known legend of the origin of the fissure according to which a troop of goats having come into the vicinity of this cleft in the earth became so excited that the goatherd ran up and, under the influence of the vapours, fell into a state of enthusiastic excitement—represents it as so great that men might have been engulfed in it. Diodorus states that the tripod was a protecting erection to prevent the Pythoness from falling into the gulf.3
The statements of Dion Cassius and Diodorus evidently complicate the issue still further, and even throw it into confusion. As to the reality of the tripod there appears to be no doubt. According to Zozimus (fifth century) it was carried off from Delphi with other objects in the reign of Constantine and brought to Constantinople where it was to be seen.1 Moreover a tripod is found sculptured on the frieze of the ancient Treasury of Delphi which the French excavators have brought to light. Judging by a plaster reproduction in the Archæological Institute of Tübingen it is very high, but not very wide.
The question arises as to whether more precise information on the size of the tripod can be gathered from literary or archaeological sources. If Diodorus’ statements are accurate it must have been of considerable size and strongly built. Fr. Lübker’s Reallexikon des Klassischen Altertums2 states without any indication of source: “Over the cleft (in the ground) stood a colossal wooden tripod cased in gold, on which rested a fitting designated or , Latin cortina. It was a perforated platform, horizontal or slightly hollowed, on which the prophesying priestess seated herself in a sort of armchair.” Thus the Pythoness would have sat not immediately but indirectly on the tripod. The artist who sculptured the frieze mentioned above can hardly have had such a conception, as the tripod he depicts is not large enough.
Having regard to the geological conditions of the country where earthquakes have not infrequently occurred, it is conceivable that a once-existent fissure should have closed up again with the lapse of time, so that from the geological point of view the question is undecided. We should, however, ask ourselves whether the late occlusion of a crevasse could not be detected from its effects on the building; this should have been the case with a cleft of any size—at least, in so far as the occlusion extended to the surface of the earth. Homolle, the director of the French excavations at Delphi, speaks expressly in a memoir of dislocations suffered by the foundations of the temple and which indicate a very violent earthquake.3
The enigma becomes complete with Ponten’s declaration in 1914, affirming the existence of a fissure. He writes of the temple of Apollo:
Only the foundation-walls subsist, and in the midst yawns a dark crevasse over which sat the Pythoness when she gave forth the oracles.1
Has a fissure once more opened on the spot? Unfortunately the official French excavations at Delphi are not yet complete. The geological aspect of the problem should also most certainly be followed up; Philippson’s opinion given from this standpoint is completely negative,2 but it would be of the first importance to subject the question of the true nature of earth-vapours causing psychic excitement to a thorough and final investigation. Do gases of this nature really exist and might they emanate at Delphi?
Of the effect produced by the mastication of laurel-leaves there is nothing circumstantial to be said. It was a customary practice on the part of all seers.3 The water of the Delphic springs also possesses—to-day, at least—no intoxicating properties. Goettling writes:
I have tasted the five poetic springs of Greece: the charming fountain of Pirene at Acrocorinth where according to the legend Pegasus was caught, the two springs sacred to the Muses of Helicon, Hippocrene and Aganippe, the spring Kassotis and the Castalian spring at Delphi. Each time I hoped, having drunk of so poetic a stream, to have fair dreams at least by night. But not at all; I always slept merely the sleep of the just. I cannot bring myself to think that the “Nordic curse”as Schiller called it in an excess of poetic superstition, can have paralyzed the operation of these springs on the constitution of a barbarian whereas on the Greeks it was quite otherwise. But all these poetic mountain springs of Greece are really nothing more than the purest, most limpid and virgin water of the Nymphs.1
Let us now consider the nature of the psychic state of the priestess during inspiration. Is such inspiration founded on fact or not? While it would be difficult to demonstrate in particular cases, it seems indubitable that inspired states did exist in a general way, as without them the important historical rôle played by Delphi would be quite inexplicable.
The reality of a state of possession in the priestess is principally indicated by the fact that the word “I”in her utterances always designated Apollo.
The Pythoness speaks in the name of the god himself, this is why she greets Lycurgus with the words . In the same way we read in an oracle in Pausanius, ii, 26, 7, considered, however, to be spurious: 2 In the oracle dating from the time of the first holy war in Pausanius, x, 37, 6, we read: 3 and in Æschines’ Ctesiphon 4 Æschines is thinking, moreover, of a quite different oracle, which is why this sentence which later scholiasts have inserted in that place may well be genuine.5
Also in the reply given to Crœsus we read:
See, I count the sand, I know the distances of the sea,
I hear even the dumb and understand those who are silent.6
Similarly in the late Greek novel Æthiopica the author Heliodorus (third century) makes Apollo speak through the mouth of the priestess in the first person of “my temple” ().7
This first person supposes that the Pythoness was, at least originally, in a state of inspiration, later traditional abuse of this form of speech by the priests being only comprehensible as a secondary occurrence. Naturally it is false to say with Bergk that the Pythoness when uttering the oracle spoke in the name of the god; it was rather the god himself who spoke through her.
Perhaps the above-mentioned quotation from Origen, according to which the Pythoness when giving the oracle was in a state where she was no longer mistress of herself: , may be regarded as evidence for the existence of somnambulistic possession.
As proof that the priestesses underwent states of the most acute excitement we may adduce Plutarch’s statement that these affected them so greatly that they died young. We have already found the same allegations concerning inspired persons among the Bataks.
From all that has hitherto been said we are driven to conclude that the states under discussion are autosuggestive. It is regrettable that we do not know more of the manner in which a new Pythoness was chosen by the priests from the environs of Delphi. It was apparently by no means the first comer who was chosen. Always supposing, therefore, that the Pythoness did not play a merely fictitious part, should we not suppose that persons with psychic gifts were passed in review? It must have been the same as amongst primitive peoples where not everyone can become a shaman and where Mariner’s data clearly demonstrate the existence of states of possession purely autosuggestive in character. To all appearances drinking at the Castalian spring, chewing laurel-leaves, sitting upon the tripod, and finally being exposed to the hypothetical current of air, are compatible with such interpretation along the lines of suggestion.
An event of which Plutarch had personal experience, or at least authentic information, confirms the extreme auto-suggestibility of the Pythoness. He relates that a Pythoness who had sinned against the law of chastity and who in spite of certain unfavourable preliminary omens insisted on officiating as seeress, fell into a state of abnormal excitement and died after a few days.
She went down into the Hole against Her will, but at the first Words which she uttered she plainly shewed by the Hoarseness of her Voice that she was not able to bear up against so strong an Inspiration (like a Ship under Sail, opprest with too much Wind) but was possesst with a dumb and evil Spirit; and finally, being horribly disordered, and running with dreadful screeches toward
s the Door to get out, she threw herself violently on the Ground, so that not only the Pilgrims fled for fear but also the High Priest Nicander, and the other Priests and Religious which were there present; who entering within a while, took her up, being out of her Senses; and indeed she lived but few days after. For these Reasons it is, that Pythia is obliged to keep her body pure and clean from the Company of Men, there being no Stranger permitted to converse with her.1
This story recalls that of Ananias and Sapphira in the Acts of the Apostles.
Such a death by autosuggestion cannot be regarded as impossible; there are in existence, as already mentioned, several similar narratives.2
The most serious difficulties arise from what is known of collaboration by the priests in the giving of oracles. They received the pilgrim’s request and officially formulated the oracle in its final shape, serving also as intermediaries between the consultants and the Pythoness. It must often have happened that the latter’s words were difficult to understand or even incomprehensible, so that the priests had first to elucidate them. To what extent they had any personal share in the utterance of the oracles we shall never know, however much we would give to do so.
It should be emphasized that the idea of the Pythoness speaking incomprehensible words is not general, at least in later times. In the above-quoted Æthiopica of Heliodorus we read:
As we were by the altars and the young man was beginning the sacrifice while the priest read prayers, the Pythoness uttered the following words from the interior of the sanctuary … (whereupon follow six perfectly intelligible verses).3
A close perusal of the texts will not reveal much more than this. The result is unsatisfactory enough in all conscience, for to put it plainly we are confronted, if the priests did not really intervene, with a woman in an acute state of excitement yet simultaneously filled with intuition of the highest order, to whom the whole of Greece lent ear. In the other event we should have to posit a college of priests possessed of very profound insight into the political and cultural relations of Greece, but which had for centuries practised what was in essence the fraud of inspiration. If the oracles were founded on no inspired utterances of the Pythoness, this deception of the whole of Greece must be regarded as a feat of supreme cunning.
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