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- Like all the men of Babylon, I have been proconsul; like all, I have been a slave. I have known omnipotence,
- ignominy, imprisonment. Look here-- my right hand has no index finger. Look here--through this gash in my cape
- you can see on my stomach a crimson tattoo--it is the second letter, Beth. On nights when the moon is full,
- this symbol gives me power over men with the mark of Gimel, but it subjects me to those with the Aleph, who on
- nights when there is no moon owe obedience to those marked with the Gimel. In the half-light of dawn, in a
- cellar, standing before a black altar, I have slit the throats of sacred bulls. Once, for an entire lunar
- year, I was declared invisible--I would cry out and no one would heed my call, I would steal bread and not be
- beheaded. I have known that thing the Greeks knew not--uncertainty. In a chamber of brass, as I faced the
- strangler's silent scarf, hope did not abandon me; in the river of delights, panic has not failed me.
- Heraclides Ponticus reports, admiringly, that Pythagoras recalled having been Pyrrhus, and before that,
- Euphorbus, and before that, some other mortal; in order to recall similar vicissitudes, I have no need of
- death, nor even of imposture.
- I owe that almost monstrous variety to an institution--the Lottery-- which is unknown in other nations, or at
- work in them imperfectly or secretly. I have not delved into this institution's history. I know that sages
- cannot agree. About its mighty purposes I know as much as a man untutored in astrology might know about the
- moon. Mine is a dizzying country in which the Lottery is a major element of reality; until this day, I have
- thought as little about it as about the conduct of the indecipherable gods or of my heart. Now, far from
- Babylon and its beloved customs, I think with some bewilderment about the Lottery, and about the blasphemous
- conjectures that shrouded men whisper in the half-light of dawn or evening.
- My father would tell how once, long ago--centuries? years?--the lottery in Babylon was a game played by
- commoners. He would tell (though whether this is true or not, I cannot say) how barbers would take a man's
- copper coins and give back rectangles made of bone or parchment and adorned with symbols. Then, in broad
- daylight, a drawing would be held; those smiled upon by fate would, with no further corroboration by chance,
- win coins minted of silver. The procedure, as you can see, was rudimentary.
- Naturally, those so-called "lotteries" were a failure. They had no moral force whatsoever; they appealed not
- to all a man's faculties, but only to his hopefulness. Public indifference soon meant that the merchants who
- had founded these venal lotteries began to lose money. Someone tried something new: including among the list
- of lucky numbers a few unlucky draws. This innovation meant that those who bought those numbered rectangles
- now had a twofold chance: they might win a sum of money or they might be required to pay a fine--sometimes a
- considerable one. As one might expect, that small risk (for every thirty "good" numbers there was one
- ill-omened one) piqued the public's interest. Babylonians flocked to buy tickets. The man who bought none was
- considered a pusillanimous wretch, a man with no spirit of adventure. In time, this justified contempt found a
- second target: not just the man who didn't play, but also the man who lost and paid the fine. The Company (as
- it was now beginning to be known) had to protect the interest of the winners, who could not be paid their
- prizes unless the pot contained almost the entire amount of the fines. A lawsuit was filed against the losers:
- the judge sentenced them to pay the original fine, plus court costs, or spend a number of days in jail. In
- order to thwart the Company, they all chose jail. From that gauntlet thrown down by a few men sprang the
- Company's omnipotence--its ecclesiastical, metaphysical force.
- Some time after this, the announcements of the numbers drawn began to leave out the lists of fines and simply
- print the days of prison assigned to each losing number. That shorthand, as it were, which went virtually
- unnoticed at the time, was of utmost importance: It was the first appearance of nonpecuniary elements in the
- lottery. And it met with great success--indeed, the Company was forced by its players to increase the number
- of unlucky draws.
- As everyone knows, the people of Babylon are great admirers of logic, and even of symmetry. It was
- inconsistent that lucky numbers should pay off in round silver coins while unlucky ones were measured in days
- and nights of jail. Certain moralists argued that the possession of coins did not always bring about
- happiness, and that other forms of happiness were perhaps more direct.
- The lower-caste neighborhoods of the city voiced a different complaint. The members of the priestly class
- gambled heavily, and so enjoyed all the vicissitudes of terror and hope; the poor (with understandable, or
- inevitable, envy) saw themselves denied access to that famously delightful, even sensual, wheel. The fair and
- reasonable desire that all men and women, rich and poor, be able to take part equally in the Lottery inspired
- indignant demonstrations--the memory of which, time has failed to dim. Some stubborn souls could not (or
- pretended they could not) understand that this was a novus ordo seclorum, a necessary stage of history.... A
- slave stole a crimson ticket; the drawing determined that that ticket entitled the bearer to have his tongue
- burned out. The code of law provided the same sentence for stealing a lottery ticket. Some Babylonians argued
- that the slave deserved the burning iron for being a thief, others, more magnanimous, that the executioner
- should employ the iron because thus fate had decreed. There were disturbances, there were regrettable
- instances of bloodshed, but the masses of Babylon at last, over the opposition of the well-to-do, imposed
- their will; they saw their generous objectives fully achieved. First, the Company was forced to assume all
- public power. (The unification was necessary because of the vastness and complexity of the new operations.)
- Second, the Lottery was made secret, free of charge, and open to all. The mercenary sale of lots was
- abolished; once initiated into the mysteries of Baal, every free man automatically took part in the sacred
- drawings, which were held in the labyrinths of the god every sixty nights and determined each man's destiny
- until the next drawing. The consequences were incalculable. A lucky draw might bring about a man's elevation
- to the council of the magi or the imprisonment of his enemy (secret, or known by all to be so), or might allow
- him to find, in the peaceful dimness of his room, the woman who would begin to disturb him, or whom he had
- never hoped to see again; an unlucky draw: mutilation, dishonor of many kinds, death itself. Sometimes a
- single event--the murder of C in a tavern, B's mysterious apotheosis--would be the inspired outcome of thirty
- or forty drawings. Combining bets was difficult, but we must recall that the individuals of the Company were
- (and still are) all--powerful, and clever. In many cases, the knowledge that certain happy turns were the
- simple result of chance would have lessened the force of those outcomes; to forestall that problem, agents of
- the Company employed suggestion, or even magic. The paths they followed, the intrigues they wove, were
- invariably secret. To penetrate the innermost hopes and innermost fears of every man, they called upon
- astrologers and spies. There were certain stone lions, a sacred latrine called Qaphqa, some cracks in a dusty
- aqueduct--these places, it was generally believed, gave access to the Company, and well- or ill-wishing
- persons would deposit confidential reports in them. An alphabetical file held those dossiers of varying
- veracity.
- Incredibly, there was talk of favoritism, of corruption. With its customary discretion, the Company did not
- reply directly; instead, it scrawled its brief argument in the rubble of a mask factory. This apologia is now
- numbered among the sacred Scriptures. It pointed out, doctrinally, that the Lottery is an interpolation of
- chance into the order of the universe, and observed that to accept errors is to strengthen chance, not
- contravene it. It also noted that those lions, that sacred squatting-place, though not disavowed by the
- Company (which reserved the right to consult them), functioned with no official guarantee.
- This statement quieted the public's concerns. But it also produced other effects perhaps unforeseen by its
- author. It profoundly altered both the spirit and the operations of the Company. I have but little time
- remaining; we are told that the ship is about to sail--but I will try to explain.
- However unlikely it may seem, no one, until that time, had attempted to produce a general theory of gaming.
- Babylonians are not a speculative people; they obey the dictates of chance, surrender their lives, their
- hopes, their nameless terror to it, but it never occurs to them to delve into its labyrinthine laws or the
- revolving spheres that manifest its workings. Nonetheless, the semiofficial statement that I mentioned
- inspired numerous debates of a legal and mathematical nature. From one of them, there emerged the following
- conjecture: If the Lottery is an intensification of chance, a periodic infusion of chaos into the cosmos, then
- is it not appropriate that chance intervene in every aspect of the drawing, not just one? Is it not ludicrous
- that chance should dictate a person's death while the circumstances of that death--whether private or public,
- whether drawn out for an hour or a century--should not be subject to chance? Those perfectly reasonable
- objections finally prompted sweeping reform; the complexities of the new system (complicated further by its
- having been in practice for centuries) are understood by only a handful of specialists, though I will attempt
- to summarize them, even if only symbolically.
- Let us imagine a first drawing, which condemns a man to death. In pursuance of that decree, another drawing is
- held; out of that second drawing come, say, nine possible executors. Of those nine, four might initiate a
- third drawing to determine the name of the executioner, two might replace the unlucky draw with a lucky one
- (the discovery of a treasure, say), another might decide that the death should be exacerbated (death with
- dishonor, that is, or with the refinement of torture), others might simply refuse to carry out the
- sentenceÖ. That is the scheme of the Lottery, put symbolically. In reality, the number of drawings is
- infinite. No decision is final; all branch into others. The ignorant assume that infinite drawings require
- infinite time; actually, all that is required is that time be infinitely subdivisible, as in the famous
- parable of the Race with the Tortoise. That infinitude coincides remarkably well with the sinuous numbers of
- Chance and with the Heavenly Archetype of the Lottery beloved of Platonists. Some distorted echo of our custom
- seems to have reached the Tiber: In his Life of Antoninus Heliogabalus, Aelius Lampridius tells us that the
- emperor wrote out on seashells the fate that he intended for his guests at dinner--some would receive ten
- pounds of gold; others, ten houseflies, ten dormice, ten bears. It is fair to recall that Heliogabalus was
- raised in Asia Minor, among the priests of his eponymous god.
- There are also impersonal drawings, whose purpose is unclear. One drawing decrees that a sapphire from
- Taprobana be thrown into the waters of the Euphrates; another, that a bird be released from the top of a
- certain tower; another, that every hundred years a grain of sand be added to (or taken from) the countless
- grains of sand on a certain beach. Sometimes, the consequences are terrible.
- Under the Company's beneficent influence, our customs are now steeped in chance. The purchaser of a dozen
- amphorae of Damascene wine will not be surprised if one contains a talisman, or a viper; the scribe who writes
- out a contract never fails to include some error; I myself, in this hurried statement, have misrepresented
- some splendor, some atrocity perhaps, too, some mysterious monotony.... Our historians, the most perspicacious
- on the planet, have invented a method for correcting chance; it is well known that the outcomes of this method
- are (in general) trust-worthy--although, of course, they are never divulged without a measure of deception.
- Besides, there is nothing so tainted with fiction as the history of the Company.... A paleographic document,
- unearthed at a certain temple, may come from yesterday's drawing or from a drawing that took place centuries
- ago. No book is published without some discrepancy between each of the edition's copies. Scribes take a secret
- oath to omit, interpolate, alter. Indirect falsehood is also practiced.
- The Company, with godlike modesty, shuns all publicity. Its agents, of course, are secret; the orders it
- constantly (perhaps continually) imparts are no different from those spread wholesale by impostors.
- Besides--who will boast of being a mere impostor? The drunken man who blurts out an absurd command, the
- sleeping man who suddenly awakes and turns and chokes to death the woman sleeping at his side--are they not,
- perhaps, implementing one of the Company's secret decisions? That silent functioning, like God's, inspires all
- manner of conjectures. One scurrilously suggests that the Company ceased to exist hundreds of years ago, and
- that the sacred disorder of our lives is purely hereditary, traditional; another believes that the Company is
- eternal, and teaches that it shall endure until the last night, when the last god shall annihilate the earth.
- Yet another declares that the Company is omnipotent, but affects only small things: the cry of a bird, the
- shades of rust and dust, the half dreams that come at dawn. Another, whispered by masked heresiarchs, says
- that the Company has never existed, and never will. Another, no less despicable, argues that it makes no
- difference whether one affirms or denies the reality of the shadowy corporation, because Babylon is nothing
- but an infinite game of chance
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