Delphi

by Scott, Michael

  It seems, thus, that the celebrations by people like Clement of Alexandria at the end of the second century AD, that the time of oracles was over, were premature in a number of ways. Not only do we have evidence that the oracle at Delphi continued to give responses right through into the fourth century AD (and even the Christian writer Origen of Alexandria writes about the Pythia in the present tense in the mid-third century AD), but also it seems that the oracular sanctuary at Delphi continued to be respected enough by the Roman state and its citizens to ensure that the Delphians did well enough for themselves to continue embellishing their sanctuary and city during that time.33 At the same time, as we saw in the introduction to this book, it was in the third, or even, fourth century AD that Delphi starred as the setting for Heliodorus’s fictional novel, Aethiopica, which portrayed Delphi not only as the center of (and well connected with) a wide Mediterranean world, but also as a busy and prosperous sanctuary.

  In one aspect of Delphic business, however, there were signs of change, and this was the Pythian games, which had long been a stalwart of Delphic business, and a major reason for the sanctuary’s continuing success. But the sanctuary was to become something of a victim of that success. On the one hand, certain communities, like that of the Hypatians, seem to have been stalwart supporters of the games, and even to have taken the opportunity of the festival to conduct a ritual in honor of Neoptolemus at his small cult area in the Apollo sanctuary from the second century AD onward. But on the other hand, from AD 180 AD through to AD 268, there seems to have been a massive exportation of the Pythian games, at the command of successive emperors, to twenty-seven cities in the Balkans, Asia Minor, and Syria. At first sight, this might seem good news only for Delphi, and without doubt, the spread of the Pythian games must in some part have been inspired by the high regard in which the Delphi Pythian games were held. But in reality these were not carbon copies of the Delphic games. They were loosely based on them, but incorporated a wide range events and practices. Moreover, in no way does the spread of the Pythian games seem to have been officially linked to their original location: not a single epigraphic attestation of this expansion survives at Delphi.34 Instead these new sets of games are known predominantly through the publicity generated in their newfound homes. So, while the “original” Pythian games would with little doubt have continued to hold a particular attraction, these new ones throughout the Roman world must have drawn attention away from Delphi. This was especially the case because these new games seem to have been motivated in the third century AD by a shift in the worship of the emperor away from temple building and sacrifice toward the performance of agonistic festivals and ceremonies in his presence. Given that the way to honor the emperor was increasingly through games, no one city or sanctuary could expect to hold the monopoly on these activities, and indeed we should expect increasing rivalry between the different events, which meant increased competition for the Pythian games at Delphi, especially as new Pythian games were hosted in cities closer and closer to Delphi. A Pythian festival, almost identical to that at Delphi, was founded at Thessalonike under the Emperor Gordian III (AD 238–44). As a result, despite the liveliness of the Pythian games at Delphi depicted in the sources for mid-late second century AD, the inscribed catalogs of victors shows a marked decline in numbers during the first half of the third century AD.35

  One of the reasons the Pythian games, as opposed to the Olympic games, became the model for export was their association with the god Apollo. During the course of the third century AD, Apollo, and particularly Apollo Helios (Apollo “of the Sun”), who was deemed the Greek equivalent of the Roman Sol Invictus (“Invincible Sun”), became a more and more popular patron deity for emperors. Yet the third century AD was also a period of prolonged crisis for the Roman empire: confronted by ongoing invasion from multiple directions; dealing with a continued, bitter, and violent struggle for Imperial control within Roman society; suffering from brief fractures in the empire itself and accompanied by economic difficulties and even plague.36 On the one hand, Delphi did its best to keep up with this continually changing, fractured, and fraught political landscape. Emperor Gordian III (despite his approval for the setting up of identikit Pythian games at Thessalonike) was honored by the Amphictyony and the city of Delphi with a statue in the sanctuary. So, too, the city of Delphi honored Valerian (AD 253–56) and his son Gallienus who was co-ruler with him for a time (AD 253–60), and then sole ruler (AD 260–68). Likewise, the city of Delphi set up a statue of his successor, Claudius Gothicus (AD 268–70), and later for Carus, who ruled for only a year in AD 282–83.37 At the same time, the sanctuary itself was not unattended to or unpopulated. The first phase of the eastern baths, completed on a terrace between that of the stoa of Attalus and the Roman agora, can be dated to the second half of the third century AD (see plate 2). Likewise, dedicators still came to the sanctuary from far afield. Sinope, on the Black Sea, erected a statue to its own athletic superstar in AD 250–75, and, in keeping with the military and political instability of the period, a group of mercenary soldiers erected a statue of their leader in the sanctuary at some point during the third century AD.38

  Yet, there were also signs that the institutions running Delphi were beginning to struggle in a number of ways. The statue set up to Gordian III is the last known statue in Delphi’s history set up by the dual authority of the Amphictyony and the city of Delphi. While the city would continue to set up statues of later emperors, the Amphictyonic record is much more hazy. Its final known dedication in the sanctuary is that of a statue of Philiscus, a governor of the Roman province of Thessaly (created by Emperor Diocletian at the turn of the third–fourth centuries AD). But that came 150 years after the last surviving record of an Amphictyonic meeting—a time about which we know little. The Amphictyony itself seems to have continued, but, though scholars debate the degree to which it maintained itself as a functioning force at Delphi and in the wider Greek world, there is general agreement that it had passed its prime.39

  At the same time, those statues that were erected by the city of Delphi during the third century show signs of increasing thrift. The statue of Claudius Gothicus was erected (and inscribed) on a base that had been originally placed in the sanctuary in the fifth century BC, when it had carried a statue of a horse, which had been dedicated (and inscribed) by the Pharsalians of Thessaly for one of their own military victories. This process of reuse is by no means uncommon in the ancient world (and indeed at Delphi), and it would become more prevalent in the sanctuary over the course of the century. Carus’s statue base, for example, was reused for another emperor almost immediately. But its reuse now—even for statues of, and honoring, the emperor—is a very real testament to the uncertain political landscape. Claudius’s reign was only three years long and came almost immediately after the Delphians had set up statues to two recent predecessors, and Carus’s reign was only one year. Given such short periods of rule an investment in an entirely new stone might have been deemed unnecessary and not worthwhile, especially in view of the generally worsening condition of Delphic finances. Nor is reuse of the statue base the only change in attitudes toward the monuments of the Apollo sanctuary at this time. It is during the third century AD that we first see hints that the treasury of the Athenians—for centuries one of the most prestigious structures at Delphi—was being used as a home to pawnbrokers, a practice that continued well into the fourth century AD (see plate 2, fig. 5.4).40

  Given this picture, and that the following century saw the emergence of Christianity as the Imperial religion of choice, and eventually the official religion of the Roman world, it is logical that Delphi continued its slow slide into decline from this point on. But, if anything, the opposite seems true. Delphi’s governing class—the damiourgoi created under Hadrian—was still exerting a good deal of influence (if not more than ever) at Delphi in the fourth century AD, even though its meetings were now held in Hypata. Statues of philosophers dedicated during the first half of the fourth
century AD have been discovered in the sanctuary.41 Carus’s statue base was reused as the base for a statue of Constantius Chlorus (the father of Constantine the Great) at the turn of the century. All of this, in fact, seems to have been part of a wider reenergizing of the sanctuary—at the very moment in which the fate and direction of the wider Roman world was turning toward Christianity on the battlefield of Milvian Bridge near Rome.42 As Constantine the Great swept through the Roman Empire, defeating his co-emperors and reuniting the territory under his command (and under his Christian standard), at Delphi, the city and sanctuary seem to have been playing host to almost the last major building project we know about in the site’s pagan history. A surviving inscription from AD 319 attests to the generosity of L. Gellius Menogenes, president for life of the college of the damiourgoi (and also a man with important roles in the religious life of the city of Athens), who handed over 500,000 coins (of an unknown denomination) for the cleaning of the Delphic baths, a donation matched by a woman: Aurelia Julia Sotia. This money seems to, at least in part, have gone to not only cleaning the baths, but also to renovating them substantially, including an upgrade of the heating system (see plate 2).43

  It is instructive that Constantine the Great, the emperor—who conquered under the Christian standard, reunited the Roman Empire; set about establishing a new capital for the empire at Constantinople (Istanbul); and in the process removed some of the greatest works of art from across the Mediterranean to grace his new capital, including the Plataean serpent column that had stood at Delphi since the fifth century BC—received no statue at Delphi from the city of Delphi during his lifetime.44 In contrast to the statues erected for emperors who survived only a year (like Carus), this lethargic behavior toward Constantine, who ruled for much longer, might indicate the uncertainty of the times—Delphi felt it politically inappropriate to honor an emperor who was making war on his co-rulers. Or indeed it might suggest the sadness they felt at Constantine’s removal of their most famous dedication to his capital at Constantinople (fig. 11.4). In the aftermath of Constantine’s death, however, in AD 337, and as a result of the more settled (if new) Roman order, the city of Delphi erected not one but two statues to Constantine.45 It was at this time as well that the Roman agora, which, since the time of Hadrian had been through several renovations, was rebuilt again in its grandest form, using material taken from various parts of the Delphic complex (including the marble columns that, during Hadrian’s reign, had been installed in the covered running track of the gymnasium). Stoas on three sides of the agora square were constructed, with the agora’s axis corresponding to the entryway into the Apollo sanctuary, and with its own vestibule entrance to the east (see plate 2). More importantly, this new space was, it seems, identified as the choice location for Imperial statues (which had until this time been placed mostly on the level of the temple terrace). After AD 330, all Imperial statues were likely placed in the Roman agora.46

  Figure 11.4. The Serpent column dedicated in 479 BC at Delphi following the battle of Plataea, now in the hippodrome built by Constantine in Constantinople (© Michael Scott)

  The steady flow of Imperial statues also resumed in this period of religious flux. Dalmatius, junior emperor from AD 335 to 337 with control of—among other provinces—Achaea, received a statue from the city of Delphi, employing a base that had previously been used for one of the statues of the Emperor Hadrian.47 Flavius Constantius, son of Constantine the Great, was honored with a statue by the city of Delphi in period AD 337–40, possibly since, though he co-ruled in his early reign with his brothers, his sphere of influence included Illyricum (nowadays part of the Balkans) and was thus more important for Delphi to impress. But this statue, too, employed a reused base, one that had originally been set and inscribed as the base for the statue of Polydeucion, the disciple of Herodes Atticus in the second century AD.48

  Delphi was caught in the same catch-22 as all the pagan sanctuaries in this period. They were erecting statues to honor Christian emperors in pagan sanctuaries, as both people and emperors negotiated the difficult task of being Christian in a still overwhelmingly pagan world; some estimates put Christian numbers at perhaps 10 percent of the population in the 320s AD.49 And though these emperors were diplomatic enough to allow pagan worship to continue (Delphi received in AD 342–44 an Imperial reply assuring the continuing liberty of its cult), the increasingly loud voices of Christian writers also focused in on the practices of these sanctuaries as evidence not only for their decline, but also, curiously, for historical support for the inevitability of Christian victory.50 The Christian historian Eusebius, for example, records that in his time only the oracles of Apollo at Delphi, Clarus, and Didyma were still working, and when someone asked why this was so, the explanation offered had to do with earthquakes and the natural passing of time.51 At the same time, Eusebius reports a consultation by the Nicaeans, who asked Apollo whether, in view of the lapsed oracle, they still needed to honor Pythian Apollo with the traditional sacrifices. According to Eusebius, the oracle said it was now impossible to renew the spoken oracle at Delphi since “it has put on itself the keys of prophetic silence,” but that it was still important to continue the offerings.52 Other writers portrayed the oracle’s silence as a direct consequence of the coming of Christ, and, in this period, the story circulated that when, at the time of Jesus’s birth, the Emperor Augustus himself had consulted about his successor, the oracle remained dumb and, when asked why, replied, “a Hebrew boy bids that I leave this house and go to Hades. Depart therefore from our halls and tell it not in the future.”53

  Yet even in this climate, Delphi had its supporters, and none of them was bigger than the man who attempted to turn the Christianization of the Roman world on its head: Julian the Apostate, the last pagan emperor. Ruling from just AD 361–63, Julian was a committed pagan whose attempts not only to deny Christianity but to sideline it within the Roman system may well have had a great deal of success if his reign had not been cut short by his death on the battlefield. As it was, this was paganism’s last hurrah, and Delphi had a famous role to play. Julian not only wrote extensively against Christians, defending how it was the oracles had gone silent, but also paid significant tributes particularly to Delphi, and commented on its athletic events. But even more famously, he sent a doctor, Oribasius, from Constantinople to act as Imperial quaestor in Achaea and to consult the Pythian priestess at Delphi. The response (if indeed the sources have not been confused and Julian actually consulted the oracle at Daphne rather than Delphi) is the last recorded oracular response from Delphi and is (as one might expect) dramatically (and perhaps too suitably) final: “Tell the king the fair wrought hall is fallen to the ground. No longer has Phoebus a hut, nor a prophetic laurel, nor a spring that speaks. The water of speech even is quenched.”54

  In AD 365, just two years after Julian’s death, Greece was rocked by a devastating earthquake. In the latest scholarly publication by French archaeologists concerning the temple of Apollo, it is argued that the damage done by this earthquake might have been similar to that of the 373 BC earthquake, and that it was certainly enough to distort the east-west axis of the foundations of the temple (a distortion still visible today—see fig. 7.2).55 We don’t know how much damage was done to other parts of the Delphic complex, but it’s likely there were some who believed it was a sign that Delphi’s end was finally approaching. It was, however, not to be, at least not quite yet. The Christian emperors, Valens and Valentinian (AD 364–75), were honored at Delphi with an imposing (and new rather than reused) base topped with statues in the Roman agora in the early 370s AD, which thanked them for their benefaction to the city.56 Perhaps that benefaction came in the form of repairing any damage from the AD 365 earthquake. If so, it was an important example of the kind of religious peace Valens and Valentinian sought to create between paganism and Christianity during their rule: Christian emperors giving help to a famous pagan shrine and being honored in return, in a far more generous way than Delphi had hon
ored Constantine and his family successors.57 But, at the same time, the inscription relating to the honoring of these emperors also reveals a crucial public change in Delphic status. For centuries Delphi had described itself in its official inscriptions as “hiera,” a “sacred place.” Even in honoring the Constantinian emperors, Delphi had proudly continued to claim its (pagan) holy title.58 But in the inscription honoring Valens and Valentinian, Delphi drops it. It is only a city, it claims, perhaps because, despite the era of religious peace (and indeed because of it), it is no longer advisable to draw attention to one’s pagan credentials. The monument to Valens and Valentinian is the last known pagan monument at Delphi.59 In the last thirty years of the fourth century AD, the Roman world witnessed increasingly damaging attacks by Christians on pagan shrines; the official outlawing of paganism by the Roman Emperor Theodosius in the early 390s; and, as a result, the official end to the pagan sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi.

  What I found stranger still was that the most famous place in

  the world should have suffered such a reversal of fortune that

  d we were obliged to look for Delphi in Delphi and enquire

  about the whereabouts of Apollo’s temple as we stood on its