Since ancient times, human beings have often delegated their most important decisions to chance or to external mechanisms, thus freeing themselves from the direct responsibility of choice. Whether it’s casting a die before battle or spinning a wheel to determine one’s fate, the common thread is the desire to rely on luck or on an external system. This way, the decision appears more impartial—as happens, for example, with a coin toss, perceived as a fair method that no one can manipulate. Over the centuries, the tools and stratagems for “letting fate decide” have evolved dramatically: from the bones used as dice in ancient civilizations, through the medieval wheels of fortune, to the algorithms and artificial intelligence of our own era. In this article we explore, period by period, these devices and mechanisms that have replaced human will in decision‐making, highlighting how technological and cultural evolution has reshaped our relationship with chance.
Antiquity: dice, sacred lots and random oracles
The earliest evidence of tools meant to leave decisions to chance dates back to the fourth millennium BCE. Archaeological digs have uncovered primitive dice made of rough stone or bone, evolving over time into the familiar six‐sided dice we know today. Civilizations such as the Egyptians also used astragali—sheep ankle bones—as natural dice to cast (Group of eight glass astragali (knucklebones) | Greek | Hellenistic | The Metropolitan Museum of Art). These objects served both for play and for more solemn purposes: in many ancient cultures they weren’t used merely for entertainment but also for foretelling the future. For instance, in the Middle East and in the Greco‐Roman world the practice of cleromancy—divination by throwing dice, stones, or other objects—was common. The belief was that an apparently random outcome could, in fact, reveal the will of the gods (Cleromancy – Occult Encyclopedia). Not by chance, the Bible frequently mentions casting lots when making decisions: from the Hebrews who consulted the Urim and Thummim as oracles to the apostles in the New Testament, who drew lots to choose Judas’s successor. Entrusting a choice to chance was seen as handing it over to God or Fate, thereby sparing humans the burden of decision.
A remarkable example of systematic delegation to chance in antiquity comes from democratic Athens. There, a mechanical device called the kleroterion was used to randomly select citizens for public offices or jury duty (Kleroterion – Wikipedia). Essentially a stone slab with rows of slots for name‐tokens, the device used two‐colored dice dropped into a side tube to approve or reject entire rows of candidates according to the color that appeared. This method guaranteed that official appointments were made by lot rather than by human influence, embodying the ideal of an impartial fate.
Classic dice also permeated ancient proverbs and decisions. Consider Julius Caesar’s famous statement “alea iacta est” (“the dice is cast”) in 49 BCE when he crossed the Rubicon: the phrase signifies that a choice, once metaphorically entrusted to the roll of a dice, is irrevocable. Dice (often thrown in pairs or threes) were widespread in gambling, yet the notion of the dice as destiny’s arbiter was ever‐present. Similarly, coins shared this role: in Roman times, the coin toss (with alea meaning both “dice” and “game of chance”) was used to settle disputes impartially (The Statistics of Coin Tosses for Theater Geeks – JSTOR Daily). Legend even has it that Caesar resolved certain legal conflicts by flipping a coin. In short, to the ancients, entrusting crucial decisions to chance was far from unusual—whether in play, in religious observance, or in practical matters—believing that blind fate was often fairer or more revealing of divine will than human volition.
The Middle Ages: the blindfolded Fortune and the wheel of chance
In medieval Europe, the personification of Fortuna (Fortune) and the unpredictability of destiny became dominant cultural themes. The Wheel of Fortune (Rota Fortunae), often depicted as turned by a blindfolded Fortuna, symbolized how individuals could be raised to power or dashed into poverty at fate’s whim (Wheel of Fortune (medieval) – Wikipedia). Introduced in Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy (6th century) and later in countless illuminated manuscripts, this allegory stressed that human affairs were mutable and beyond mortal control. While primarily symbolic rather than practical, it reinforced the idea that no amount of human effort could fully master destiny.
Concretely, dice remained ubiquitous in medieval gambling despite periodic bans; taverns and courts alike saw their use. Dante Alighieri even mentions the game of dice (zara) in the Divine Comedy, attesting to its popularity. The coin toss formula “heads or tails” (in Italy “testa o croce”) became commonplace, derived from coins bearing a cross on one side and the sovereign’s portrait on the other (Heads or Tails: History & Meaning of Coin Toss | U.S. Money Reserve). Two parties in dispute would accept the coin’s verdict as the will of God or fate, making it a simple rite of fairness. In serious contexts—such as inheritance disputes or tournaments—decisions could be made by lot to avoid bias. Even in hagiographic tales, saints like Nicholas of Bari were said to have been elected bishop by drawing lots among candidates, again trusting the outcome to divine providence.
By the late Middle Ages, playing cards appeared in Europe (around the 14th century), initially as mere entertainment but later forming the basis for ritual sortitions. Excluding astrology (non‐random), there were also medieval random‐divination methods like bibliomancy (opening a sacred book at random for guidance) or drawing lots in devotional contexts. In the East, Buddhist devotees still practice Kau Cim, shaking a container of sticks until one falls out, its mark revealing a fortune—pure chance read as a cosmic sign. Thus, the Middle Ages combined the allegory of Fortune with practical “random oracles” for everyday decisions, from the trivial to the sacred.
Renaissance and the Modern Era: from lotteries to cartomancy
During the Renaissance and early modern period (15th–18th centuries), the use of chance as arbiter expanded both institutionally and recreationally. Italian city‐states often used sortition to assign public offices and curb corruption: in Venice the Doge was elected through a hybrid system of voting and multiple rounds of lot drawing; in Florence magistrates were chosen by drawing names from sacks. The principle was that chance, far from arbitrary, ensured democratic balance by breaking the grip of powerful factions.
Concurrently, the first modern lottery was born in Italy—often dated to Florence in 1530 (though some sources cite Milan in 1449)—as a means to raise public funds by selling tickets whose winners were drawn by lot. Lotteries swiftly spread across Europe as tools for financing public works or state coffers, entrusting the distribution of wealth at large to pure luck.
In the realm of divination, the Renaissance saw the rise of cartomancy. The tarot deck—originating in 15th‑century northern Italy as a courtly game called Trionfi—was reimagined by Antoine Court de Gébelin in 1781 as an esoteric oracle, its random card draws read by practitioners for insights into destiny. Other Renaissance systems like geomancy generated random marks in sand or patterns of thrown beans, interpreted by experts. Meanwhile, gambling evolved: Pascal and Fermat formalized probability theory in the 17th century by studying dice and card games. Yet fascination with mechanical chance only grew, culminating in the invention of the roulette—often attributed to Blaise Pascal’s 17th‑century experiments—which became the emblematic casino wheel in the 18th and 19th centuries (The History and Evolution of Spinning Wheels in Games). Similar drums and wheels were also used to draw state lottery numbers and to select conscripts for military service. Everyday dilemmas—“who draws the short straw”—found solutions in ancient and modern variants of a seemingly fair random draw.
19th to 20th Centuries: mechanical devices and pocket oracles
The Industrial Revolution and modern era saw an ever‑richer toolkit of mechanical chance devices. The classic rotating drum for lottery draws ensured impartial mixing of tickets. Carnival and circus attractions featured the fortune wheel where spectators bet on sectors to win prizes—a forerunner of TV game‑show spinners. Parlor games included spinning tops or pointers on boards to assign penalties or rewards, precursors to “truth or dare.” Even loaded dice with hidden weights and dice‐tumbling towers emerged—players sought “honest randomness” guaranteed by mechanical rattle rather than human tampering.
In the 20th century, electricity and plastic made tiny pocket oracles ubiquitous. The iconic Magic 8 Ball, marketed from 1950, houses a 20‑sided die inside a dark liquid: one asks a question, shakes, and a small window reveals answers like “Yes,” “No,” or “Ask again later” (Magic 8 ball – Wikipedia). Desk trinkets such as magnetic pendulum decision‑makers, spinner dials, and themed yes/no dice made chance a playful escape from decision‑making responsibility. Coins and dice also gained novelty variants—“Yes/No/Maybe” dice or bifacial coins inscribed “Pizza/Pasta” for trivial daily choices.
Serious fields retained random selection when needed: in sports, the coin toss decides kick‑offs or field ends; in rare political ties, a coin flip may determine electoral winners (The Statistics of Coin Tosses for Theater Geeks – JSTOR Daily). The principle remains that chance is neutral, accepted by all parties, and morally exonerates both sides from hard responsibility. Popular culture celebrates this: iconic film scenes (e.g., The Dark Knight, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington) hinge on a coin toss as a literal and symbolic judge.
Meanwhile, computers introduced electronic randomness. From the 1940s–’50s, mainframes generated pseudo‑random tables (A Million Random Digits, 1955) for scientific use. Home computers and gaming consoles then embedded random number generators in software—virtual dice, loot probabilities, and more. Online services like random.org now offer true atmospheric‑noise randomness for fair draws in contests, lotteries, and cryptography.
The Digital and AI Era: decision algorithms and Luck 2.0
Today, in the digital age, we rely on chance and algorithms more than ever, often without noticing. Once we might have drawn a name from a hat; now countless apps and websites do it for us: virtual coin flips, dice rollers, animated “wheel spinners,” password generators, and randomized music playlists. Every smartphone has a voice assistant ready to “flip a coin” or “give me a random number between 1 and 10,” delivering an instant, unpredictable result. In daily life, computational randomness—even if pseudo‑random—is trusted as genuinely fair. Apps guide indecisive users to tonight’s restaurant or outfit choice at the tap of a button, lifting the burden of everyday decision‑making.
Perhaps most transformative is artificial intelligence itself. Though not random in the strict sense, AI systems are often treated as black boxes whose outputs we trust for complex choices. Machine‑learning algorithms today decide which news articles appear in our feeds, which routes our GPS suggests, or even which résumés merit a job interview—situations where an external, automated process guides or makes the choice instead of a human. We often accept these outcomes as more objective or efficient: “With clear parameters and simple rules, algorithms help us optimize time and solve complex problems”. Recommendation engines suggest movies or books based on our tastes mixed with randomness; apps like Randonautica generate random GPS coordinates to spur unexpected real‐world exploration, creating adventures steered by quantum chance.
In this way, we have come full circle: from the prehistoric human casting astragali to divine will, to the modern person asking Alexa for a virtual coin flip, the urge to outsource difficult decisions remains unchanged. We entrust small and large choices alike to chance or to external “agents”—now rendered in lines of code—because we still seek an outcome that feels impartial, fatalistic, or at least liberating. Whether through a bone, a stone wheel, or a silicon chip, the motivation is the same: to shed the weight of decision and embrace the unpredictability inherent in life.
