Visiting Delphi
In the small museum in Delphi, there are two masks, one allegedly of Apollo and the other of his sister Artemis. I am transfixed by them every time I visit this museum. Around the world there are places that have witnessed ancient to modern forms of worship or simply exude an air of sacredness. One name for these special locations is “thin places,” — where the divide between the physical and spiritual world wavers and allows humans to get a brief glimpse of or sense of meaning beyond what they see and feel. They are spiritual places that often transcend a particular religious tradition. These places can be found in Ireland, in the Americas, Asia, and Ayers Rock in the Australian outback, to name just a few. Delphi is one of those destinations, inviting seekers of wisdom, meaning, mercy to come and make their requests.
For centuries, travelers made their way to Delphi to ask the oracle of the god Apollo to answer their pressing questions. Should they enter into battle? What did the future hold for them? Who among humans is truly wise? The Oracle priestess would respond in trance-like speaking of tongues. “Luckily” the priests were there to interpret. You could only ask during certain times of the year so there were not many chances to get responses to those burning questions. And often the answers were riddles themselves, although legend has it that they always turned out to be true. When asked by Croesus if he should attack his enemy, the response was that if he entered into war, a great empire would fall. He enthusiastically accepted the endorsement but only later came to realize the empire that fell was his own. Oedipus traveled there to find out his future and in horror left his home to avoid the dreadful prophecy — only to end up fulfilling it, as I am sure the reader knows. And a friend of Socrates traveled there in hopes of discovering where wisdom lay and was told that Socrates was indeed the wisest man. At his trial, Socrates claimed to doubt the oracle and sought to refute that claim, only to discover that he was the wisest person but only because he could admit his own ignorance. — A classic example of Socratic irony.
It was surprisingly several hundred years after the advent of Christianity that the shrine to Apollo was closed. Early Christians tended to be really judgmental about those who disagreed with them, curiously unlike their inspiration, Jesus. Or is that still all too true today as well?
But while Delphi is a major tourist destination today and World Heritage site, you can still hear the echoes of pilgrims from past millennium if you stop and listen closely. You will need to find a quiet spot, away from chattering visitors, children marching along behind their teachers, and guides explaining the buildings and activities that went on here. But you can do it. Find a corner where only stones and wildflowers whisper with the wind. Concentrate and for a moment step outside of time. And in that quiet moment, you might encounter Apollo. But I warn you it is a petrifying experience. Gods are terrifying beings and our wish to tame them and make them our friends will fail when face to face with divinity. Moses knew that. And so did the ancient Greeks.
The masks in the museum stand as subtle but stark warnings. Apollo gazes out at the viewer, stern and unforgiving. His slight smile holds no warmth as his eyes glow with a stern awareness of his god state and the viewer’s humanity. His sister Artemis has an expression that can only be described as hauntingly cruel. The Greek gods never really trusted humans and neither did their worshippers see them as caring, loving, reaching out in kindness. These gods were stern demanding lords who co-inhabited Greece with humans and demanded their fealty. For the Greeks, the gods were powerful (to a degree) but oddly sources of hope as well. You could pray to Artemis to save you if you were a young woman being attacked by a rapacious man. She might turn you into a tree to escape him. Then again, if that “man” was Zeus, no one would help you. Apollo was the only Greek god whose name transferred into the Roman pantheon. He was associated with the sun, reason, light, and was emblematic of the Greek desire to know.
Remember his face when you are on that mountainous holy site as he warns you against hubris, the common sin of us humans. We fail to notice the teeming world around us, full of living beings who have witnessed god in all forms and continue to move through their allotted time, simply being themselves. The sun, clouds, breeze, and silence chide you for daring to presume — to presume that we ourselves are gods and all knowing. Blind with our own ignorance we take selfies and miss the hidden truth surrounding us. Apollo simply smiles, knowing that the humans are tragically doomed to a death that always surprises them.
Artemis, Apollo’s sister, is the goddess of wild things and her mask captures that look of a wolf examining its prey — that would be you. To gaze upon Artemis never ended well for the pathetic human being. Her smile is cruel, distant, and like that of her brother, never reaches her eyes. She is present on that hillside as well, but in the eyes of creatures who watch you pass by, not seeing them as they burrow into the earth or soar into the burning sky. She watches how you treat the world around you, especially the wild things that we think we can tame. Her smile acknowledges the futility of the human desire to control the natural world for our own ends. It is hers.
A visit to Delphi is a visit to a sacred place and we would do well to follow the steps of Socrates, admitting our own ignorance of the very world we inhabit. And we should follow the advice carved at the entrance to the temple for Apollo: Γνῶθι σαυτόν
Know Thyself
