The Pythia as the Worldâs First Political
Risk Consultant
In 480 BC, the citizens of Athens found themselves in more trouble than the modern mind can imagine. Xerxes, son of Darius the Great of Persia, King of Kings, King of the World, had some unfinished business left to him by his all-powerful father. A decade earlier, at the Battle of Marathon in August 490 BC, the impossible had happened.1 The little-regarded Athenian army had seen off Darius and his mighty horde, saving the fragile city-state from certain destruction. Now Xerxes had invaded the Greek mainland again, to finish what his father had started.
Judging by his past record, the Athenians knew better than to expect mercy from the great king. Upon ascending the throne, Xerxes had savagely crushed two rebellions by portions of his empire then thought to be infinitely superior to the little city-state that was Athens. In 484 BC, Xerxes had quashed a revolt in Egypt, devastating the Nile delta. Soon after, he decisively put down efforts to throw off his yoke in Babylon, going so far as to pillage the sacred Babylonian temples. Xerxes was a man who saw every form of dissent as sacrilege; the Athenians knew they could expect no quarter from the Persian king should they fail.
Just to make sure that this time Athens did not escape the wrath of the Persian Empire, Xerxes assembled the largest invading force the world had ever seen. While the Greek historian Herodotusâtypically exaggeratingâput the Persian numbers at 5 million, modern-day historians still place them at an overwhelming 360,000, with a gigantic armada of 700 to 800 ships in support of this vast host.
Confronted with almost certain annihilation, what did the Athenian leadership do? What was their response to a problem that in terms of both its size and its likely devastating impact seemed insurmountable?
Simple. They requested the services of the worldâs first political risk consultant.
The Pythia Masters the Persians
By 480 BC, the Pythia of Delphi already amounted to an ancient institution. Commonly known now as the Oracle of Delphi (when in fact the âoraclesâ were the pronouncements the Pythia dispensed), the Pythia were the senior priestesses at the Temple of Apollo, the Greek God of Prophecy.
The temple, sitting precariously (and beautifullyâthe site is still a wonder to behold) on the slope of Mount Parnassus above the Castalian Spring, had long been the center of the Greek world, going back into the mists of time. The site may well have had religious significance as early as 1400 BC, during the forgotten days of the Mycenaeans, with devotions to Apollo being established in the eighth century BC. Delphi remained a center of worship until 390 AD, having been in use for at least 1,100 years.
During this long period, the Pythia was seen as the most authoritative and important soothsayer in Greece. Pilgrims descended from all over the ancient world to visit the temple and have their questions about the future answered. Sitting in a small, enclosed chamber at the base of the edifice, the Pythia delivered her oracles in a frenzied state, most probably imbibing the vapors rising from the clefts of Mount Parnassus.
We know a good deal about how the oracles came to pass. For a time during the period of Roman domination, the Greek historian Plutarch served as high priest at Delphi, assisting the Pythia in her mission. Perched above the major cleft in the rock, the Pythia would be sitting in a perforated cauldron astride a tripod. It was reported by pilgrims that as the Pythia imbibed the vapors rising from the stone her hair would stand on end, her complexion altered, and she would often begin panting, with her voice assuming an otherworldly tone, not quite human.2 In classical days, it was asserted that the Pythia spoke in rhyme, in pentameter or hexameter.
To put it in modern terms, there is little doubt that the Pythia did see visions and underwent a dramatic transformation while in the temple; she was clearly as high as a kite. Plutarch himself believed that her oracular powers were directly associated with the vapors that emanated from the Kerna spring waters that flowed underneath the temple, vapors that may well have been full of hallucinogenic gas.
We now know that two tectonic plates intersect beneath Mount Parnassus; such a fault line creates many crevices in the earth, through which gases can rise. Recent tests have found ethylene in the spring water near the site of the Temple of Apollo. It is the most likely cause of the Delphic prophesies.
Ethylene is characterized by its sweet smell and produces a narcotic effect described as floating or disembodied euphoria. As described in detail by Plutarch, the experiences of the Pythia in action match the effects of ethylene. Under the influence, a personâs tone of voice alters and speech patterns change, yet they retain the ability to answer questions logically. With exposure to higher doses of the drug, the person thrashes about wildly, groaning in strange voices, frequently falling to the ground, all behaviors tracking with eyewitness accounts of the Pythiaâs behavior.
The Greeks believed that Apollo possessed the Pythiaâs spirit when she was delivering her oraclesâa point at which she was intoxicated by the vapors. They saw her prophecies as religious in nature, but letâs look at them afresh. For I think the Temple at Delphi amounts to nothing less than the worldâs first political risk consulting firm.
At least since the days when the Athenians consulted the Pythia during the height of the Persian Wars, political and business leaders have looked to outsiders blessed with seemingly magical knowledge to divine both the present and the future. While the tools of divination have changed through the ages, the pressing need for establishing rules of the road to manage risk in geopolitics have not. The question remains: through superior knowledge (either intellectual or spiritual in nature), can we reliably do this?
During the period of the Pythiaâs ascendance, pilgrims brought animals to Delphi for sacrifice to Apollo, as well as a monetary fee for the privilege of using the Pythiaâs services. Of the petitioners who waited for the one day of the month the Pythia deigned to reply to their questions, those who brought larger donations to the god secured an advanced place in line. Political risk has always been a business that directly links analysis to monetary rewards.
And since the days of the classical Greeks, such special knowledge and policy advice have always been essential for governments and businesses, as well as individuals. At the time of the Battle of Salamis in Greece, no expedition was undertaken, no new colony established, and no major event involving distinguished individuals went by without the Pythia being consulted.
The Pythia (three of them were âon callâ at any one time) gave advice to shape future actions, practical counsel that was to be implemented by the questioner. This is exactly what political risk analysts still do today, though weâd use modern jargon and call it âpolicyâ in the public sphere and âcorporate strategyâ in the business world. But what the Pythia was doing is recognizably the same thing my political risk firm does today, save for the substance abuse.
Given the pharmacological basis for the Pythiaâs special insights, it is amazing how good a political risk record the priestesses actually had. Between 535 and 615 of the oracles have survived to the present day, and well over half of them are said to be historically correct. I can name a goodly number of modern firms that would kill for that record, high or not.
Crucially, on the biggest political risk question Delphi was ever presented withâthe invasion of Xerxesâthe Pythia came through with flying colors. When the Athenians first asked the Pythia what to do, she gave them the foreboding reply: âDrown your spirits in woe.â In other words, there was nothing to do, as Xerxes was unstoppable.
When persuaded to see them a second time, the Pythia outlined a policy that would provide the Athenians with a way to practically escape from their impending doom. She recounted that when Athenaâthe Greek Goddess of Wisdom and the patron of her namesake cityâimplored her father Zeus, the King of the Gods, to save her city, Zeus replied that he would grant that âa wall of wood shall be uncaptured, a boon to you and your children.â
Back in Athens, Themistocles, the paramount Greek leader in their fractious democracy, successfully argued that a wall of wood specifically referred to the Athenian navy, and he persuaded the cityâs leaders to adopt a maritime-first strategy. This policyâconcocted by the Pythia and put into concrete action by the decision-maker Themistoclesâled directly to the decisive naval Battle of Salamis, the turning of the tide that brought about the end of the Persian risk to Athensâs survival. To put it mildly, the Pythia had proven to be well worth her political risk fee.
The Merits of History
Geopolitical risk analysis is an increasingly sexy topic today, striding like a colossus athwart the arenas of global business, international relations, and the general public, all beguiled by its siren song of making sense of both the present and the future in our uncertain new age.3 But for all the hoopla, there has been precious little written about how practical rules of the game can be applied to managing risk in geopolitics, and even less on the core components, or elements, that comprise this latest attempt at soothsaying.
This book, following in the footsteps of the unimaginably bold prayer that opens it, attempts to do this, using the potent brew of political realism, geopolitics, and historical analysis (particularly relating to lessons learned from history and the relevance of historical analogies), as these analytical tools remain vitally important for understanding our perplexing contemporary world. Such a historical analysis can help lay bare the rules of the road as to how leaders ought to deal with geopolitical risk. For there has not been a good fusion of historical analysis to the study of international relations since Dr. Kissinger was in his heyday.4
Kissinger, particularly in A World Restored and Diplomacy, was a master at developing an operational set of realist-inspired maxims, based on his historical analysis, for decision-makers to use in generally interpreting the geopolitical world around them. However, much of his thinking was unsurprisingly rooted in the bipolar era of the Cold War of his time, and then in the brief unipolar moment following on from the demise of the Soviet Union. With the dawn of our new multipolar ageâfollowing the dual calamities of the Iraq War and the Lehman Brothers Great Recessionânew thinking along these highly productive lines is very necessary. For this creative rules-of-the-road approach, based on rock-solid historical analysis, remains a neglected aspect of contemporary thought about international relations.
Before forging on, here is what I and To Dare More Boldly will not do. This book is not an exploration of realist theory (I have written a book on this topic already), another salvo in the endlessly tired fight between history and political science (despite my strong views on this); neither is it a literature review of what has gone on recently in the field of political science.5
Instead, the undervalued and enduring relevance of history for formulating a successful interpretation of contemporary international politics will be a central theme, both for corporate entities grappling with geopolitical risk and for political actors combating simplistic foreign policies and the decision-makers who all too often now are propagating them. Specifically, this book will put forward a rules-of-the-game approach (based on historical analysis) to mastering geopolitical risk or any other risks that impact the national interest or the politics (domestic and international alike) that impact foreign policy and strategic considerations of policy-making.
This rules-of-the-game historical approach has been a neglected aspect of political risk analysis generally and geopolitical analysis more specifically (of which it is a vital sub-set). The strength of the method lies in avoiding the otherworldly models of political science and instead remaining grounded in the empirical realities of a real world we have already experienced as fact.
While there is much truth in the assertion that there are multiple variables that have gone into every single major historical occurrence and output across time, it is well we should not get bogged down in the infuriating, self-perpetuating nihilism of post-modernism, for lessons can still be truly learned from the world as we have lived it and definitive statements made about them.
Some lessons from history truly are self-evident. Waterloo genuinely was a disaster for Napoleon. The Great Depression did not help European democracies of the 1930s cope with extremism. Franklin Roosevelt was a more successful politician than Jimmy Carter. I have little time and less patience for the cottage industry of post-modernists in the academy who say that nothing true or universal can be learned from history or from intellectual thought in general.
The real-world, commonsense way out of this seeming intellectual thicket is to accept that history does have universal and applicable lessons to teach us, but that any analystâs use of history to assert such maxims for outlining a rules-of-the-game approach to the study of risk in geopolitics should be held to the highest analytical standards. While there may be many other perfectly applicable interpretations of the events that analysts chronicle, their specific interpretation of any event must at a bare minimum be highly plausible.
While there certainly will be other alternate historical anal...