Drawing of Lots

“We ranged through, no food could we get,
Confined there for a long time, nothing for to eat,
Till we cast lots to see who should die,
Which made our ship’s crew for sorrow to cry.

The lots were drawn, one man was to die,
For his wife and poor children most bitterly did cry,
To kill him says the captain, or take away his breath,
But to starve with hunger is a deplorable death.

Then his messmates they killed him and cut off his head,
And all the ship’s crew from the body did feed,
And at eight different times lots amongst them were drawn,

For to keep them from starving that’s the way they went on.”

The future is uncertain as darkness obscures the path of salvation. A general has blindly marched his army into the killing fields where death is unavoidable. Now the decision of who shall survive if any waits. All the sorrow and regret of leadership will not change the slaughter that is to befall. The destructive economy is finally at the door and even the most promising future will not be spared on the sword of indifference. Almost twenty five years of contributions to society and the environment is now a victim of circumstances. I now must decide how to dismantle the most talented staff of individuals I have ever assembled. Tell me if I should cut off my right or left arm, is an eye more important than a leg. Any action carries the present risk of bleeding to death. How do you choose which of your children should die by the sword? I have shared my life with all of them. I have watched their families grow, I have watched them marry, I have comforted them when they have grieved loss, I have been their teacher and they have been mine. I have asked them to climb mountains and they did. How can I possibly choose? Whatever happens I shall forever be scarred by the senselessness of it all and the guilt that my judgments brought us to this point? Logic has lost reason in the carnage; all I can think of is the drawing of lots.

Since the time of the bible in the book of Proverbs: "The lot causeth contentions to cease, and parteth between the mighty." Drawing of lots is a lottery in which participants blindly choose objects (such as stones, straws, coins, or dice) in order to make a random decision. It is won by luck, akin to tossing a coin. The Hebrew bible makes a number of references to lots. Although the masses were forbidden by Jewish law to cast lots for divination – which was the prerogative of the priests, God's authorities on earth were allowed to use lottery devices to guide judgments. Thus the chief priest carried sacred stones inside his breastplate, through which he sensed divine intentions. The stones gave God's answer, determined when the 'Yes' or the 'No' stone was drawn out. King David consulted this oracular medium before going into battle: when the 'Yes' stone appeared, forecasting his victory over the Philistines, he set off on the warpath.

“Although the early fathers of the Christian church were vigorously opposed to divination by lots, sometimes excommunicating those who practiced it, this did not stop the Church itself using this method for decision-making. Some devout Christians continued to use lottery when faced with some of life's most difficult decisions. Whether or not divine intervention is invoked as the mechanism through which the casting of lots leads to decisions, the method has been recognized for millennia as a way of ensuring fairness in deciding difficult matters. In the past, the results of drawing lots were considered to reflect divine guidance. Today the results are more likely to be regarded as reflecting the play of chance. Lotteries to decide which citizens shall risk their lives in defense of their countries have been accepted as a fair, democratic solution to a problem of difficult choices. Lots for the 1917 military draft in the United States were drawn in public, in the presence of the President and other dignitaries, by a blindfolded Secretary of State.”

In the knowledge that human judgments are fallible, drawing of lots is also used to test the validity of opinions. There remains considerable ambivalence about casting lots as a risk-limiting and democratic device for dealing with uncertainty. Some clues to the reasons for this can be discerned in the condemnation of lottery by religious authorities as 'unlawful,' 'sinister,' 'invoking demons and evil spirits,' 'usurpation of God's prerogative'. In fact, the history of lottery for divination is the history of the surrender of decision-making to the control of authorities.

At this moment is time I can no longer see God’s hand guiding what is right. I can’t find divine intervention coming for salvation. I am left alone and cold with a deep bitterness that my dreams will die with the sword. I am left with only the possibility of drawing lots. I can see no good which will come from this; there is no personal growth to be achieved. There is no justice in rewarding those outside our company that have not made the same personal sacrifices for the good of society. I am watching this new economy consuming the pure of heart, the well intentioned, the idealist, the humanist, only to leave the greedy, the cheap, the heartless, and the cruel to guide our destiny. Because I chose no to comprise our ethics, values, inspirations; to not generate revenue at any cost, to invest freely in the causes that will make this world heal itself, I am left with the blood of the innocent on my hands.

"Yet ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise."

Thomas Gray

"Fate rules the affairs of mankind with no recognizable order."

Seneca (5 BC - 65 AD)

To Slay Boreas

The time is growing short as I prepare for an epic battle with the Devouring One. My mind is stilled as the New Year approaches setting in motion a legendary struggle between mortal man and the god of the cold north wind, Boreas. Providence as has aligned the stars so that I will battle the white abyss as the first sun of the New Year sets over my small hamlet. So it has been written.

For those that do not know, Boreas was the Greek god of the cold north wind and the bringer of winter. His name meant "North Wind" or "Devouring One". Greek legend described Boreas as very strong, with a violent temper to match. He was frequently depicted as a winged old man with shaggy hair and beard, holding a conch shell and wearing a billowing cloak. During my journey I am sure to stare into his cold fierce eyes challenging his rule. Do not underestimate his power and cruelty as he recently stole Christmas from a quarter million travelers in Denver last week alone. He has been conserving his energy for the time when he is the strongest at which time he will seek vengeance and retribution from anyone that stands in his way. The lands on which we will battle are already known and the mild calm is only a retreat from the fury to come.

In a hundred years my travels will never be aligned such as they are for January. Fate has written this clash in the calendar without reprieve or repentance. I shall only be home about six days in January. As if I was attempting to provoke Boreas by spitting in his face, I will visit the cities of Toronto, Minneapolis, Chicago, Rapid City, Cheyenne and Denver to face the brunt of the cold while Philadelphia and Baltimore wait with ice and sleet. The only shelter I will find is three days in San Antonio to recover my strength and will. No one can expect to walk the razor’s edge for so long without bleeding. I’m sure it will provide the next generation hours of entertainment as the tales of courage are told before a warm fireplace.

Most people consider my actions as a road warrior who has gone insane. Why tempt fate and hurl myself into the lair of the winter gods. Everyone knows that I no longer ski or enjoy winter sports. The sad truth is that this fools schedule is another fleeting attempt to gain fame and fortune. However if I should survive, I will be granted my reward in February when I travel to Australia for three weeks during the waning of the summer season. What can I say “Only fools rush in where wise men fear to tread.” I’ll see you on the white side.

In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
Seized from creation by nonentity,
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Archangel Winter, darkness on his back
And trumpet at his lips; nor does he cast
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;
He terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;
He is harsh, dismal, ice—that is, exiled;
The earth beneath his feet, in its dark cape,
Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape
Set on that tomb in the eternal night;
Never does any motion, sound, or light
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
But when, on the timepieces that we call
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
And the worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on—
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.

Archangel Winter
by Victor Hugo