The Demise of the Procurator Fiscal: Navigating the Compromise Between Fate and Free Will

Paparazzi from the 1960 film La Dolce Vita

There was a TV news item when I was a teenager. I only half remember the details. Nonetheless I can’t forget it.

A crowd of journalists were badgering a senior Scottish legal officer who had recently resigned. There had been a scandal of some kind. The Procurator Fiscal seemed stiff, awkward, uncomfortable in the spotlight. He ignored their questions and made his way to a car. They persisted, jostling him and thrusting microphones in his face.

At length someone asked:

‘Did you jump or were you pushed?’

The lawyer paused for a moment and looked up:

‘I fell.’

And that was it. He retreated into his car and was gone.

Although I didn’t properly understand the context, I imagined there was a complex personal tragedy behind these words. And I had some sympathy for the outgoing Procurator Fiscal.

'Life calls the tune, we dance.'
John Galsworthy

Whenever something goes wrong in life, we all like to apportion blame; to allocate responsibility. Heads must roll. The guilty must be punished.

But often fortune has played a part in determining outcomes. We can be victims of circumstance; of bad luck, or a simple twist of fate.

'Life is a compromise between fate and free will.'
Elbert Hubbard

I encountered the same instinct to rush to judgement in the world of work.

When things went awry, management could be quick to compose a narrative about how we slipped and why we lost; to assign causes; to nominate scapegoats.

Of course, we should hold people accountable and we must learn from our mistakes.

But I confess I was never comfortable with inquests and investigations. I didn’t see the benefit in raking over the ashes, dwelling over disappointment.

'It's no good crying over spilt milk, because all the forces of the universe were bent on spilling it.'
Somerset Maugham

For the most part I preferred to move on, acknowledging the simple truth: we fell.

'They sat together in the park.
As the evening sky grew dark,
She looked at him and he felt a spark tingle to his bones.
’Twas then he felt alone and wished that he’d gone straight
And watched out for a simple twist of fate.’

Bob Dylan, ‘Simple Twist of Fate

No. 456