In antiquity there were sacred orders of humans who had the awe-full, wonderful, terrifying privilege of keeping the cosmos in order. To think that there were people who knew, absolutely and finally in their very hearts, that their ceremonies kept the sun rising each morning. How differently might we feel about our own lives if we held such a tremendous responsibility? But no more. No one now believes such things, save lunatics. I once read about a man who spent two years motionless in bed in a psychiatric ward. After two “catatonic” years he suddenly rose, walked over to the table where the staff were eating their customary lunch, and began a casual conversation while he helped himself to some food – all in a manner as if nothing had happened. Astonished, one of the therapists asked him what brought on the sudden recovery. The man answered that he had been attempting to count to a million – the salvation of the world depended on this – but had been interrupted in the early days of his stay at the hospital by the staff’s initially forceful interventions. He would then lose his count and have to start over.