Ecclesiastes Chapter 3

Ecclesiastes Chapter 3

Theme:

Resignation as precursor to contentment and joy.

By “resignation” I mean essentially acceptance that we are in the cycle of life and cannot change it. This isn’t to say that we can’t make choices that affect our lives or that can be defined as good or bad, it simply means that in a general sense, we are bound by the rules of the world of nature in which we live, and these rules are set, not to be broken by us despite our efforts, a reality the Preacher establishes in Chapter 1.

I’m sure I had a reason, though, for choosing “resignation” over “acceptance” in my initial statement. Reading Chapter 3 reminds me of Eugene Peterson’s book, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places. In it, Peterson insists that we are in God’s world, i.e. the initiation of our salvation story is not dependent on us, and the work of salvation is God’s long-term purpose in the world. We cannot determine our own ways of salvation. God is always the subject of the sentence when it comes to this work, the one performing the action. And with this background in my mind, it seems that Ecclesiastes has a tinge of this idea, albeit not explicit. But the resignation the writer demonstrates does essentially acknowledge that he, the man who has tried everything and found all of it vanity, is not the man, not the one who can break the cycle in which life imprisons him.

The King James Version is causing me some real problems in this chapter. The word combinations are simply too unclear for me to perform much analysis without going off on a bunch of irrelevant tangents, I’m afraid. I’m going to have to read this chapter in another translation--and perhaps Peterson’s The Message--before I take a stab at further comment.

Okay, I’ve now read this chapter in two additional formats that use contemporary language, Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase, The Message, and the New Living Translation. The phrasing in these editions is such that each verse is quite straightforward. The Preacher observes that in giving us life, God has essentially granted us a “burden”; we must work in one way or another, and since we cannot see the scope of God’s work and intention--we are mortal and our minds have limits--we might as well enjoy this burden of life and see it as a gift.

I will comment in more depth on just a couple more verses and the closing section of the chapter.

3:14 “I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be forever; nothing can be put to it, nor anything taken from it; and God doeth it, that men should fear before him.”

The Message and the NLT do a good job of making this meaning clear.

“I’ve also concluded that whatever God does, that’s the way it’s going to be, always. No addition, no subtraction. God’s done it and that’s it. That’s so we’ll quit asking questions and simply worship in holy fear.” (The Message)

“And I know that whatever God does is final. Nothing can be added to it or taken from it. God’s purpose is that people should fear him.” (NLT)

For comment, I’ll simply relay a couple ideas from Peterson’s Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places. If I have any readers, forgive the repetition; I’m working through and absorbing these ideas. The first has to do with the initiative of God in salvation work, as mentioned previously. The Bible altogether is a story of salvation, and as such, God periodically breaks through in human history and re-makes things as they haven’t been before. Humans are participants, but humans are always the object of the sentence, the receivers of the action. I think of this because of the reference Ecclesiastes makes to the finality of God’s action. Of course, knowing the Biblical story, we know that God’s individual actions are not final in and of themselves; God adds to his involvement in history with various actions as history plods along, "plods" from a human viewpoint anyway. But God remains always the maker and worker of the large picture.

The second idea I take from Peterson’s book is an insight--and a new one for me--regarding what is meant by “the fear of the Lord.” The NLT translates that “God’s purpose is that people should fear him,” while Peterson’s Message translates, “That’s so we’ll quit asking questions and simply worship in holy fear.”

I don’t think anyone would deny that fear has a negative connotation in the English language.  In a sense, the idea that we fear something suggests that we no longer act of our own freely chosen volition. Rather, fear controls our actions and our emotions and thus places limits on our ability to respond to situations or to enact healthy relationship and communication. This does not seem to be a character trait that would endear us to God or inspire us to intimate relationship. But in Christ Plays, Peterson explains that the “fear of God” refers to a concept quite different from our contemporary understanding of the word “fear.” In Biblical context, it’s common for us to replace the word “fear” with the synonym “awe,” i.e. to have an awe of God, which is a better nuance, a more positive one, but Peterson suggests even this idea lacks the nuance of this common Biblical phrase. He explains that the concept of the “fear of the Lord” refers to an awareness of what God is doing in the world alongside a desire to participate in that work. This interpretation of this phrase is a substantial insight for me, one that gives me a completely new perspective each time I come across a passage that references “the fear of the Lord.” In this spot in Ecclesiastes, to reword the NLT, we see that “God’s purpose is that people should [recognize God’s work and join him in it]” even though we can’t see its ultimate fulfillment.

It’s interesting to see this interpretation because it once again draws a contrast between what Ecclesiastes concludes and what our modern day humanists conclude (not that they’re consulting the Bible for their philosophy, though certainly some of them are). Ecclesiastes concludes that we should “be happy in [our] work” and that we should enjoy life before we die. This is certainly a sound bit of wisdom in my opinion, to be applied consistently--even liberally--to our day to day experience, but the humanists seem to have found an angle more consistent with Peterson’s idea of the fear of the Lord, that being to live our lives with the goal and hope of participating in the long-term work of God to bring salvation to humanity, the people God created and loves. It’s tempting to add that we can also participate in God’s work for the salvation process of the earth, it being as equally a part of God’s creation as we are ourselves. And yet, with the stories of how God has broken through and into history in the Exodus and in the person of Jesus fresh in my mind, it does seem that the salvation of humanity is more of a focal point.

3:18-22

[paraphrased] We die just as the animals do. As they go to dust, so do we. We have no proof that there is an afterlife, a heaven, for us. Considering this, we’d better simply enjoy our work and our life because it’s the only one we have.

Speaking of the salvation of the earth and of nature, Ecclesiastes just identified us as no special part of creation; we share the fate of the animals when it comes down to it. And thus perhaps there is an indirect argument here that we should care for animals and nature as one of our own, as siblings so to speak, though I feel as if I’m really stretching things here, but I admit to a pleasure in such stream-of-consciousness thought.

In the closing verse of this chapter (verse 22), the writer proves consistent in his theme, urging us to make the most of this life, and I prove consistent in my interpretation, as I once again think of the general philosophy of secular humanism, the idea that 1) we should assume there’s no afterlife and neither is there a transcendent force or divinity that will swoop down and fix our problems for us, and 2) given the first assumption, we have only the finite span of our life on earth to make the world a better place for those who come after us.

In my decades of thinking about life, which includes various periods of confident faith and severe skepticism, I do find this humanistic approach  . . . something I believe in. It seems to be a solidly grounded ethic, regardless of whether one considers it in terms of participating in God’s salvation work or outside of those parameters. But there is surely a fine difference between enacting this ethic and placing the entirety of my faith in it, for to do so would be to make myself the subject of the sentence: I become the one who alters history. And while I may do good by altering history, I will never be the one to break through and create the possibility of ultimate salvation.

3:16 “And moreover I saw under the sun the place of judgment, that wickedness was there; and the place of righteousness, that iniquity was there.” (KJV)

The NLT offers a more liberally contemporary wording: “I also noticed that under the sun there is evil in the courtroom. Yes, even the courts of law are corrupt!”

Via word-of-mouth, I have heard that the New Living Translation is considered an inferior one, and I assume this means it contains some arguable inaccuracies. However, without its wording here, I don’t know that I would have any comment on this verse. Since it has pointed my attention toward the system of justice in our world, however, I am able to make a strong connection to this reality. Having recently read Bryan Stevenson’s book, Just Mercy, I know from his decades of experience as a lawyer that the court system in the US has serious flaws, and to use the word “flaws” is a dishonestly mild indictment. More fitting are the words “wickedness,” “iniquity,” “evil,” and “corrupt.” Indeed, in the cases Stevenson recounts in his book, the law is often circumvented or ignored for the sake of achieving a conviction, and in his experiences, these convictions most often involve black male defendants, though those in poverty in general are common victims, and the magnitude of sentencings for adolescents challenge the meaning of justice. Essentially, if Ecclesiastes is referring to a system of judgment set up to manage the parameters of acceptable human behavior, he has once again shown that what has been will merely be repeated; those in position to make these judgments will abuse their power; those entrusted to enforce “righteousness” will themselves violate the standard. And it is not difficult to see this reality. One need only apply the more ambiguous phrase “the place of judgment” to recognize ways in which the US and other western powers have applied various cultural and economic ideas to contrasting systems around the world, deeming some systems as “righteous” (i.e. whatever way our way is) and other systems and peoples as lesser-than, in need of reform via economic or cultural “salvation.” The evils that often result are oppression and exploitation.