Original Meaning
Human Experiences As a Tapestry of Times (3:1–8)
THE OPENING VERSES picture human experience as a tapestry woven of “times.” There is indeed a “time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven” (v. 1). The totality of life is captured here, utilizing the literary figure of merismus,1 in a series of opposites. The first pair of opposites is the most all-embracing as far as human life is concerned, and it connects chapter 3 especially with the closing part of chapter 2: There is “a time to be born and a time to die” (3:2). Aside from the placement of this first pair, however, there is no discernible purpose to the overall order in which the opposites are placed; they simply represent various aspects of human life between the two poles of birth and death, although they are often clustered together in groups in suggestive ways.
It is not always clear whether the pairs are to be understood literally or metaphorically. The second part of verse 2 gives us a case in point. The literal meaning of the words is plain enough: There is “a time to plant and a time to uproot.” This is true in agriculture, in that both planting and plowing must be carried out in the appropriate season, and plants like vines eventually come to the end of their useful life (note, e.g., the dependence of the imagery in Isa. 5:1–6 on this reality). Literal planting also connects chapter 3 with chapter 2, in that “Solomon” planted both vineyards and trees (Eccl. 2:4–5). Yet it is also true metaphorically, that in life generally there are times of “planting” and putting down roots and times of “uprooting” and disruption. Jeremiah, one can remember, was called by God to be a prophet involved in such activities in Israel (Jer. 1:10). In a sense birth itself is a “planting” and death an “uprooting.”
Life and death, creating and destroying, are still the themes in verse 3: There is “a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build.” The second pair reminds one again of “Solomon” (2:4), yet also of Jeremiah (Jer. 1:10), underlining the difficulty of knowing whether the primary reference is to literal building or not. There are simply times in life for construction and times for dismantling. The first pair, likewise, speak of the termination and preservation of life in vague terms, not specifying what is in mind. Verse 4 is more straightforward: weeping, laughing (cf. 2:2), mourning, and dancing are all activities that form part of human existence, each in its proper time.
The purpose of scattering and gathering stones (v. 5) is somewhat unclear. It is possible, as some have argued, that the reference is to the ruining of another’s field by scattering stones on it (2 Kings 3:19, 25), and conversely to the clearing of a piece of ground for agricultural use (Isa. 5:2). The emphasis of the line then falls on hostile actions against enemies on the one hand, and concern for one’s own business on the other. Yet the verbs have different connotations in Ecclesiastes. “Scatter” (Heb. šlk) reappears in 3:6 (NIV “throw away”) to describe the action opposite to “keeping,” while “gather” has already occurred in 2:8, 26 of the amassing of wealth. It seems more likely, then, that this line in 3:5 concerns the accumulation and distribution of wealth and that the image of the gathering of stones is used to refer to the practice of accumulation. The Hebrew ʾeben (stone) can indeed be used of precious stones, even without any modifying noun that makes explicit their preciousness (e.g., Ex. 25:7; 35:9, where the NIV translates “gems”). It is interesting, in view of the echoes of Solomon in Ecclesiastes 1:12–2:26, that such precious stones are much in evidence in 1 Kings 10 (vv. 2, 10, 11). If this interpretation is correct, then the second line of Ecclesiastes 3:5 may well allude to the embracing (Heb. ḥbq) of wealth rather than to embrace more generally. We note that ḥbq appears again in 4:5, where the fool embraces (NIV “folds”) his hands rather than his work and the wealth that follows from work.
The searching and giving up (Heb. ʾbd) of 3:6 may also refer specifically to the acquisitive search for wealth and its loss: ʾbd reappears in 5:14 of wealth “lost” in the course of life, and in 7:7, 15; 9:6, 18 of things or people perishing or being destroyed. The material on acquiring and relinquishing possessions is then brought to completion by the second line of verse 6: There is “a time to keep and a time to throw away.”
Verse 7 contains a new thought. There is “a time to tear and a time to mend” or sew. This may well be connected to the following “time to be silent and a time to speak,” on either of two understandings of the whole verse. The “tearing” and “mending” may refer to the breach and restoration of a relationship, which requires discernment in knowing when to speak and when not to speak. Alternatively, the imagery of “tearing” may itself refer to the opening of the mouth and the imagery of sewing to its sealing shut (the “sewing up of the lips”). Judgment in speaking and remaining silent is a frequent theme of the book of Proverbs (cf. especially Prov. 15:23, where a word in its proper “time” brings joy, Heb. śimḥa). Words are naturally integral to relationships (e.g., Prov. 15:1, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger”), so it is unsurprising that comments on words and their lack gives way in verse 8 to comments on love and hate, war and peace.
If there are some difficulties in 3:1–8 in understanding precisely what is being said in the detail, it is important to remember that it is not the individual elements of themselves that are important, but the elements taken together as an overall description of life. It is not even each individual life that is in view—not every person, for example, will find that killing or war feature as part of his or her experience. Still less are any of the aspects of human life that are mentioned here being commended by our speaker. There is no prescriptive aspect to this list of opposites. It is simply a generalized, descriptive account of the kinds of things that make up human existence as it can be observed (and has, indeed, been partially observed in the life of “Solomon,” the representative human being in 1:12–2:26). Human beings in general spend their days in the ways described and in the activities that lie between the poles of activity represented by the opposites.
Bridging Contexts
THAT GOD, NOT mortal beings, controls the “times” is a fundamental biblical conviction. Thus the biblical account of Israel’s past does not focus primarily on the social and political forces that drive history or on the great heroes who are said to shape its direction. It portrays the past, rather, as an entity shaped by God, who acts in grace and judgment, in the midst of all the actions of its human and other participants, to move time along towards his own goal. The narrative of the later monarchy in 1-2 Kings, for example, although it tells us about kings and all their pretensions, policies, and battles—and indeed about more ordinary people and events than these—is a narrative basically about what God was doing in this period of Israel’s history. The prophets of God who announce and interpret God’s actions are in fact much more important figures in the book than the kings, who only think that they control their own and their people’s destiny. God is the decisive Actor.
The same is true in the prophetic books of the Old Testament, where God reveals himself not only as the sovereign Lord who ruled the past but also as the governor of the present and the future. Human beings may scheme and plot as they will, but the plans of God are the ones that will be enacted (e.g. Isa. 10:5–19; cf. also Ps. 2). The book of Daniel, a unique combination of a narrative and a prophetic book, provides perhaps the best example of biblical thinking on this topic. King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon thinks himself a god (Dan. 3) and requires worship. His delusions are shattered, however, by Daniel, who informs him that he has no control over either his kingdom or his person. There is only one sovereign God (Dan. 4). In order to learn that he has no control over the “times,” Nebuchadnezzar is forced to endure seven periods of time (4:32) among the animals. His successor Belshazzar is forced even more abruptly to face reality when his life is taken away on the very night Daniel confronts him (Dan. 5, esp. v. 30). The succeeding chapters, which look to the future and promise the coming of the kingdom of God at the end of all the “times” (e.g., 7:25–27), underline the reality. It is God who is “sovereign over the kingdoms of men and gives them to anyone he wishes” (4:32).
The New Testament picks up the theme. At the appointed time Jesus came among humankind, announcing the kingdom of God and dying for our sins (e.g., Mark 1:15; Rom. 5:6; Gal. 4:4–5). He reminded all his hearers of the succession of times still to come—the appointed times in which the various aspects of God’s plans will be carried through: the death of Jesus (e.g., Matt. 9:15; 26:18; John 13:1), the witness or the apostasy of his disciples (e.g., Matt. 10:19; 24:10, 23–25; John 16:32), the second appearing of the Son of Man (e.g., Matt. 24:30), and divine judgment and salvation (e.g., Matt. 8:29; 13:30). That he possesses knowledge of the times, which marks him out from all his fellow human beings, is unsurprising when it is realized that the triune God is Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last (Rev. 1:8; 21:6; 22:13), and Jesus the very center of human time, as the apostles clearly understood (e.g., Acts 3:21; 1 Cor. 4:5; 2 Tim. 1:9; Titus 1:2).
Christians are to live their lives in consideration of this fact, looking ahead to the end times (1 Tim. 6:13–16; 1 Peter 1:3–5; Rev. 1:3; 22:10) without losing hope; for if God is seemingly inactive, it is to be remembered that “with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8). That God is in control of time is thus a comfort to the faithful while at the same time being a warning to those who ignore reality and continue to try to manipulate the times to their own advantage as if they were gods.
In the rest of the Bible, including Ecclesiastes, whenever mortals think they are gods, suffering for other creatures is bound to follow. The Ten Commandments link love for God with love for neighbor (cf. also Matt. 22:37–40); equally as clearly is idolatry linked with social injustice and oppression (cf. the story of Ahab, king of Israel, esp. in 1 Kings 21:1–26; also the Daniel stories). Human beings get above themselves, and from this lofty position they pour down suffering on others. Qohelet seeks to deconstruct such human pretensions by reminding us of our fate in death, which we share with the animals—just as Nebuchadnezzar, who thought himself a god, had to become like an animal for a while in order to remember what it means to be a human being. For all that human beings like to think of themselves as gods, in control of their own destiny and able to construct their own reality, they are in truth just like the beasts. Implicit in the observation, in the context of Ecclesiastes 3 (esp. v. 22), is the suggestion that we are to live life not in the hope of gaining some advantage over the rest of creation with which we share dust and breath, but simply for its own sake, finding joy in it and receiving that joy as itself the reward that living brings us. We are in that sense, too, to be “like the animals,” who rejoice only in the moment and do not make great plans for their lives.
This reminder about our commonality with the animal world (cf. also Gen. 2:7–20) is important not least because it is not just other human beings who typically are trampled in our rush for “gain,” but also the rest of creation. Yet the human calling is to look after creation as agents of the Creator, not to exploit it for our own ends (Gen. 1:26–30). This, rather than self-worship, is what we are called to as those made in the image of God, who have eternity set in our hearts (Eccl. 3:11). Paradoxically, however, that sense of eternity can also lead us not only to fail to live in the present moment but also to mistreat creation around us, which is not perceived to be as important (or as “spiritual”) as we are. The reminder that all living creatures are dust and die, therefore, is helpful to us in gaining a proper perspective on ourselves and on our calling. Having eternity in our hearts should not mean that we despise the earth and its other life, which indeed comprises just as much a part of God’s redemptive plan as do human beings (e.g., Isa. 65:17–25; Rom. 8:19–22).
Nevertheless, what Qohelet has to say in 3:18–22 also leaves us with a question about his thinking. How does he imagine that God will in due course “bring to judgment both the righteous and the wicked” (3:17) if it is uncertain whether there is life beyond death? It is not a question that he himself answers in the course of his reflections. He is far more concerned to get his hearers thinking and living in a certain way in the present than he is to resolve all their questions about the future.
It is precisely here that there is a danger for the Christian reader of Ecclesiastes. Christians know about the resurrection and look forward to the future with a firmer hope than Qohelet ever gives expression to. It is all too easy to think that because we thus know more than he does, we need not pay much attention to what he has to say from his more limited perspective. Even those who live in hope of the resurrection, however, still need to live a life between birth and death, and to live it in the right spirit and in the right way. Death may not in fact necessarily be the end, as Qohelet allows that it might be, but it is still a significant reality that mocks our pretensions to human control of life.
As sure as we may be of the reality of resurrection beyond death, moreover, we are also clearer about the reality of divine judgment beyond death: “Man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment” (Heb. 9:27). This should focus our attention, one might think, on the present. Yet significant sections of the modern church are far from focused on the present. They are obsessed with the future and seem to imagine that because they have a future, the present is not very important. Qohelet affirms that all will one day be well, apparently without understanding quite how this can happen, while focusing resolutely on what it means in the present to take God seriously. Modern Christians, by contrast, although understanding more about how all things will one day be well, ironically often seem to understand less about what this signifies for faith and life now.
We forget that the Bible has not been given to us primarily to satisfy our curiosity, but to engage our lives. We forget that the resurrection itself does not appear primarily in the New Testament as an idea about the future, but as a ground for present faith and holiness. Yet as George MacDonald puts it so well:
. . . to prove life endless is not a matter of the first importance. . . . The man with life so in himself . . . will not dream of asking whether he shall live forever. It is only in the twilight of a half life that the doubtful anxiety of immortality can arise.5
Contemporary Significance
I’ve heard people talk about immortality, but I ain’t seen it.6
We live in a culture that is uncertain about life after death, although often interested in the concept—particularly if it can be grounded in some kind of “empirical evidence,” such as is allegedly provided by those who have had near-death experiences. The empirical evidence for resurrection provided by the New Testament is for some reason not valued so highly. Presumably ancient testimony about such things is not to be trusted so implicitly as its modern counterpart. For many people in our suspicious, conspiracy-laden society, testimony itself of whatever age or nature is on principle to be doubted. Like Thomas in the Gospel of John, unless they see it for themselves, they will not believe (John 20:24–25).
It is an expression of the self-centeredness and paranoia of the age. The only person one can ultimately trust is oneself. This is not a world that will ever have much place for the immortal, invisible God of whom the Bible speaks or much patience with claims about life after death, unless by way of a completely irrational leap of faith from the scientific mind-set and into the spiritual fog. Weariness with modern life may indeed persuade many to make such a leap—thus the proliferation of “spiritualities” in North America as we enter the new millennium. These are on the whole highly individualized, personally tailored spiritualities, however, in which the untrusting self remains very much at the center of the universe as it pursues self-fulfillment.
Leaps of faith will never lead anywhere unless they are in the direction of the Truth that has already come to meet us, and then they will not be leaps at all. When the delusions and illusions of these spiritualities have been demolished, their possessors will still have to say, with the noble Private Witt: “I’ve heard people talk about immortality, but I ain’t seen it.” For it cannot be seen in the abstract; it can only be believed in, on the basis of what trustworthy persons who know the truth have to tell us, or glimpsed in the lives of people who already possess it—a subject to which we will return shortly.
A popular alternative to leaps of faith when confronted by the uncertainties surrounding life after death has been to seek to live life simply in the light of the reality that can indeed be seen—the reality of death. A well-known slogan associated with this way of looking at the world is carpe diem, a Latin phrase translated as “seize the day.” Although it is an ancient saying, it has been given wider currency than it perhaps would otherwise have had in modern times by the movie Dead Poets Society, in which the comedian and actor Robin Williams plays the role of a new teacher at a traditional private school. In an important scene early in the movie, he gathers his pupils around a cabinet in the school hallway that displays photographs of sporting heroes and trophies from the past, many of them now dead. Inviting his students to imagine what these ancient heroes, whose moment of glory has passed, would have to say to them, he moves among them whispering carpe diem. The scene is thus set for the remainder of the movie, in which the boys set out to squeeze all the life out of their schooldays that they can, with humorous and ultimately tragic consequences.
Qohelet’s philosophy is also to some extent that all mortal beings should “seize the day.” It is indeed the appropriate response to the reality of the “times” that are beyond our control, but lie in the hands of God, that we should cease to worry overly much about how things are going to work out and concentrate on living joyfully in the moment that is currently given to us: “I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God” (3:12–13).
What is noticeable about what Qohelet says, of course, and what marks out his philosophy from modern secular views of the world with which it shares superficial similarity, is that it is centered on God. Qohelet’s carpe diem is an expression of faith, not of self-fulfillment. It is not the greedy consumption of experiences and pleasures before oblivion consumes us. It is, rather, the patient and joyful embrace of daily life as it comes to us as a gift from God. That it involves ethics is also patently clear from 3:12; it is not a life centered on the self, but a life that is turned outward towards the neighbor, asking what is “good.” We are indeed to seize the day, but we are to remember its divinely created nature as we do so. The biblical carpe diem, then, is not a self-centered response to the uncertainties surrounding life after death, but a worshipful response to the God of creation, who is also the God of new creation and resurrection.
It is important to stress the biblical carpe diem, however, in a religious culture in the Western world that has all too often given the impression to others that the point of the Christian faith is to repress life in the here and now in order to gain life in the future. It has given this impression because Christians have themselves often believed this to be the case. As Friedrich Nietzsche—who in many ways is the great prophet and moving spirit of the age in which we live—understood, what makes paganism attractive when set alongside this kind of Christianity is that the former can often seem to be life-affirming while the latter is perceived as centering on a holy God who imposes a life-denying ascetic spirituality on his worshipers. Thus the Christian life is defined for many in North America in terms of a certain number of activities in which we may not engage, rather than by the glorious freedom that is the inheritance of God’s children. Christian communities everywhere are burdened with a legalism that has nothing at all to do with biblical revelation but is presented nonetheless as authentically Christian. This includes, tragically, many Christian colleges and seminaries, whose task is education and formation in the orthodox faith, yet whose students and faculty are often beset by a whole plethora of rules and regulations that they are required to keep even though they are merely cultural impositions and have nothing to do with obedience to God. A repressive, authoritarian spirit lies at the root of much of our religion.
Yet biblical religion is far from repressive and authoritarian. It knows of a God who made the world beautiful and fruitful, to be enjoyed by his creatures in fellowship with him—a God who says, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden” (Gen. 2:16), with a single exception. It is the serpent who portrays God as repressive: “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden?’ ” (Gen. 3:1); and the serpent is a deceiver. Those who believe him and adopt a defensive posture toward God and toward life are not honoring God, as they often claim, but are in fact dishonoring him and obscuring him from others. This is one of the reasons why Jesus often spoke so harshly to the scribes and Pharisees, for their legalistic approach to life missed the entire point and led others astray at the same time (e.g., Matt. 23:13, 15; Luke 11:46, 52). It was also a major issue in the early church, as the first Christians struggled to sort out what was really a gospel matter and what was merely a cultural matter (e.g., 1 Cor. 8:1–10:33).
The Christian faith is not about the repression of life in the here and now in order to gain life in the future. It is not about petty rules concerning the drinking of wine, for example—a particularly astonishing rule when it is found among Christians who hold a high view of Scripture, since Scripture routinely glories in wine as one of the finest of God’s gifts (Deut. 7:13; 11:14; 14:26; 33:28; Ps. 104:14–15; Prov. 3:9–10; also in Eccl. 9:7, where the substance being drunk is explicitly wine). It is, of course, the case that we are called by Jesus to deny ourselves and take up our cross (Matt. 16:24), but that is a call for displacement of the self from the center of the universe, such as we already find in Ecclesiastes. It is not a call for a life-denying approach to existence, as Jesus’ own life demonstrates (e.g., Matt. 9:14–15; Luke 7:33–34).
We may, of course, freely choose to give up certain good things for a shorter or longer time for the sake of the kingdom of God or out of concern for others (e.g., Rom. 14:19–21), and we should never abuse the good things God gives us (e.g., Eph. 5:18; 1 Tim. 3:8). Yet this too is already implied in Ecclesiastes, since the biblical “seizing of the day” is an activity of faith and is bound up with the doing of good. Whatever we do as Christians—even if it involves refraining from things—should be done out of joyful response to the God of extravagant blessing and grace, as we live now the abundant life that is also the life that stretches away into eternity (John 4:14; 5:24; 10:10).
Defensive living premised on a false and suspicious view of God is not something of which God approves (Luke 19:12–27). It makes him angry. It is indeed only as people live in joyful response to God that it is possible for any human being to “see” immortality in any sense. It cannot be seen in the abstract. It can, however, be glimpsed in the concrete, as a resurrection life lived out in the present that makes obvious sense of who we are as God’s creatures, and thus confronts those living in rebellion against God with the irrationality and harmful consequences of their life-orientation. In this sense, “seizing the day” is what Christians are called to do not only in our own interests, but also in the interests of others (Matt. 5:14–16). We are summoned to demonstrate that Qohelet is right when he insists that the only rational response to reality is one of reverence for God, issuing in a life centered on God.
There is an old hymn by the famous hymn-writer Isaac Watts that captures well the essence of what we have been reflecting upon in this section:
Come, we that love the Lord, and let our joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord, and thus surround the throne.
The sorrows of the mind be banished from the place!
Religion never was designed to make our pleasures less.
Let those refuse to sing that never knew our God;
But children of the heavenly king may speak their joys abroad.
The men of grace have found glory begun below;
Celestial fruits on earthly ground from faith and hope may grow.
Then let our songs abound, and every tear be dry;
We’re marching through Emmanuel’s ground to fairer worlds on high.
We cannot truly understand or control “the times,” and so we are cast back on God, who holds our times in his hands and alone knows the span of our individual days. Yet the God on whom we are cast is good, and he is for us (Rom. 8:31). Our response to his grace and blessing should be to seize the time that we have and live it well and joyfully to his glory and praise.
From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. (Acts 17:26–27)
Original Meaning
Life in the Context of the Creator (3:9–15)
HUMAN LIFE AS observed in this way has a shape and a regularity to it that matches the shape and the regularity of creation in general as described in 1:1–11. It is to be expected, then, that Qohelet should now return in 3:9 to the question first asked in slightly different words in 1:3 and already answered negatively in 2:11: “What does the worker [or better, simply ‘the human actor/doer,’ Heb. ʿośeh] gain from his toil?” We have returned to the perspective of the person interested in profit or gain from life, for whom the whole business of life is evil (cf. NIV’s “burden” [ʿinyan] in 3:10 with the same Heb. word in 2:23, 26 and with “heavy burden” [ʿinyan raʿ ] in 1:13). What is “evil” about life from this point of view, of course, is that it cannot be controlled and manipulated so as to render the rewards sought after.
The problem facing the human “actor” is that there is another “Actor” whose actions are decisive ones: “He has made [ʿaśa] everything beautiful . . . they cannot fathom what [lit., the work that, Heb. maʿ aśeh, as in 1:14; 2:4, 11, 17] God has done [ʿaśa]” (v. 11). The verb ʿśh evokes the creation narrative (Gen. 1:7, 16, 25, 26, 31; 2:2–4) and reminds us that there is a Creator whose creatures we are. This Creator has made everything “beautiful” in its time—probably in the sense of “beautifully fitting,” given the emphasis of Ecclesiastes 3:1–8, rather than in the sense of “intrinsically beautiful.” There is an elegance about how life works, as “time” succeeds “time.”
Yet Qohelet’s point is this: Mortal beings “cannot fathom [mṣʾ; lit., find] what God has done from beginning to end.” They cannot discover the key to unlock the mystery—the almanac that enables them to predict and to control the times and thus make the “gains” they so desire. They cannot find this key even though God has set “eternity” (ʿolam) in their hearts (v. 11). He has given them “a sense of time past and future” (NEB).2 Their sense of time past and future is insufficient for the task of truly understanding the times. Only God, who made all things to fit their times, truly understands them; only God controls time and is able to “call the past to account” (v. 15).
The phrase here is literally “he will seek [bqš] what has been chased away” (cf. Isa. 17:13, of water chased before the wind like chaff). The imagery is perhaps drawn from shepherding, God seeking out the “lost” moments of past time in the manner of the human seeking lost animals (cf. bqš in 1 Sam. 9:3; 10:2, 14; Ezek. 34:6, 16). It is not explicit in Ecclesiastes 3:15 itself, but it is certainly implied by 3:1–15 as a whole passage and by what follows in 3:16–22 (see below) that this divine “seeking” is effective and that it is quite unlike the human seeking after time that is referred to in 3:9–11, which results in not “finding” anything (mṣʾ; cf. the play on these same verbs in 7:23–29). Echoing in the background are other cases of bqš / mṣʾ used in combination, particularly those in verses that speak of seeking and not finding (e.g., Isa. 41:12; Hos. 5:6). That God “seeks the past” in order to settle accounts is also clear from what follows in Ecclesiastes 3:16–22, although this too is not explicit in 3:15 of itself.
If it is true that only God truly understands and controls the times and that the human sense of time is insufficient for the task of truly understanding or controlling them, then it is unsurprising that those who continue in the quest for gain (yitron) from toil will only know frustration—that they will perceive life as a “miserable business.” As in chapter 2, however, there is an alternative course of action open to mortal beings. It is to give up on the quest for profit and to reorientate life toward the Creator.
Ecclesiastes 3:12–13 outlines for us the shape of such a life, in terms similar to those in 2:24–26. It involves the embrace of joy (śmḥ; NIV “be happy”) as it comes to us; it involves eating, drinking, and “seeing the good” (NIV “find satisfaction”) in our toil, rather than looking for the profit that may derive from it. All of this is to be received as a gift from God rather than sought for in our own efforts. The good life also involves being good—to “do good while they live” (v. 12, cf. 2:26). This is the kind of “doing” (Heb. ʿśh) that is consistent with the “doing” of the Creator (see comments above on 3:9–12; cf. the same phrase, ʿaśa ṭob, in 7:20).
This kind of “doing” is indeed the only kind that makes sense in a world where the actions of God are utterly decisive (note the use of ʿśh, NIV “does,” twice more in 3:14–15)—a world where his work is the only work that lasts forever (ʿolam, v. 14), being incapable of alteration by human effort (“nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it,” v. 14; “whatever is has already been, and what will be has been before,” v. 15; cf. 1:9–10). Only when what is done (maʿ aśeh, 1:14, 2:4, 11, 17) under the sun takes account of and responds to what is done (maʿ aśeh, 3:11) by God can it be other than “pointless.” To struggle for anything other than harmony with this reality is to act insanely and with the utmost futility.
Instead, the only rational response to reality is to “revere him [God]” (v. 14), issuing in a life centered on God. This precise advice—to revere or fear God, acknowledging that he is Creator and that we are only creatures (5:2)—will be repeated forcefully in 5:7 and in the conclusion to the whole book in 12:13: “Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.”
Bridging Contexts
THAT GOD, NOT mortal beings, controls the “times” is a fundamental biblical conviction. Thus the biblical account of Israel’s past does not focus primarily on the social and political forces that drive history or on the great heroes who are said to shape its direction. It portrays the past, rather, as an entity shaped by God, who acts in grace and judgment, in the midst of all the actions of its human and other participants, to move time along towards his own goal. The narrative of the later monarchy in 1-2 Kings, for example, although it tells us about kings and all their pretensions, policies, and battles—and indeed about more ordinary people and events than these—is a narrative basically about what God was doing in this period of Israel’s history. The prophets of God who announce and interpret God’s actions are in fact much more important figures in the book than the kings, who only think that they control their own and their people’s destiny. God is the decisive Actor.
The same is true in the prophetic books of the Old Testament, where God reveals himself not only as the sovereign Lord who ruled the past but also as the governor of the present and the future. Human beings may scheme and plot as they will, but the plans of God are the ones that will be enacted (e.g. Isa. 10:5–19; cf. also Ps. 2). The book of Daniel, a unique combination of a narrative and a prophetic book, provides perhaps the best example of biblical thinking on this topic. King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon thinks himself a god (Dan. 3) and requires worship. His delusions are shattered, however, by Daniel, who informs him that he has no control over either his kingdom or his person. There is only one sovereign God (Dan. 4). In order to learn that he has no control over the “times,” Nebuchadnezzar is forced to endure seven periods of time (4:32) among the animals. His successor Belshazzar is forced even more abruptly to face reality when his life is taken away on the very night Daniel confronts him (Dan. 5, esp. v. 30). The succeeding chapters, which look to the future and promise the coming of the kingdom of God at the end of all the “times” (e.g., 7:25–27), underline the reality. It is God who is “sovereign over the kingdoms of men and gives them to anyone he wishes” (4:32).
The New Testament picks up the theme. At the appointed time Jesus came among humankind, announcing the kingdom of God and dying for our sins (e.g., Mark 1:15; Rom. 5:6; Gal. 4:4–5). He reminded all his hearers of the succession of times still to come—the appointed times in which the various aspects of God’s plans will be carried through: the death of Jesus (e.g., Matt. 9:15; 26:18; John 13:1), the witness or the apostasy of his disciples (e.g., Matt. 10:19; 24:10, 23–25; John 16:32), the second appearing of the Son of Man (e.g., Matt. 24:30), and divine judgment and salvation (e.g., Matt. 8:29; 13:30). That he possesses knowledge of the times, which marks him out from all his fellow human beings, is unsurprising when it is realized that the triune God is Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last (Rev. 1:8; 21:6; 22:13), and Jesus the very center of human time, as the apostles clearly understood (e.g., Acts 3:21; 1 Cor. 4:5; 2 Tim. 1:9; Titus 1:2).
Christians are to live their lives in consideration of this fact, looking ahead to the end times (1 Tim. 6:13–16; 1 Peter 1:3–5; Rev. 1:3; 22:10) without losing hope; for if God is seemingly inactive, it is to be remembered that “with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8). That God is in control of time is thus a comfort to the faithful while at the same time being a warning to those who ignore reality and continue to try to manipulate the times to their own advantage as if they were gods.
In the rest of the Bible, including Ecclesiastes, whenever mortals think they are gods, suffering for other creatures is bound to follow. The Ten Commandments link love for God with love for neighbor (cf. also Matt. 22:37–40); equally as clearly is idolatry linked with social injustice and oppression (cf. the story of Ahab, king of Israel, esp. in 1 Kings 21:1–26; also the Daniel stories). Human beings get above themselves, and from this lofty position they pour down suffering on others. Qohelet seeks to deconstruct such human pretensions by reminding us of our fate in death, which we share with the animals—just as Nebuchadnezzar, who thought himself a god, had to become like an animal for a while in order to remember what it means to be a human being. For all that human beings like to think of themselves as gods, in control of their own destiny and able to construct their own reality, they are in truth just like the beasts. Implicit in the observation, in the context of Ecclesiastes 3 (esp. v. 22), is the suggestion that we are to live life not in the hope of gaining some advantage over the rest of creation with which we share dust and breath, but simply for its own sake, finding joy in it and receiving that joy as itself the reward that living brings us. We are in that sense, too, to be “like the animals,” who rejoice only in the moment and do not make great plans for their lives.
This reminder about our commonality with the animal world (cf. also Gen. 2:7–20) is important not least because it is not just other human beings who typically are trampled in our rush for “gain,” but also the rest of creation. Yet the human calling is to look after creation as agents of the Creator, not to exploit it for our own ends (Gen. 1:26–30). This, rather than self-worship, is what we are called to as those made in the image of God, who have eternity set in our hearts (Eccl. 3:11). Paradoxically, however, that sense of eternity can also lead us not only to fail to live in the present moment but also to mistreat creation around us, which is not perceived to be as important (or as “spiritual”) as we are. The reminder that all living creatures are dust and die, therefore, is helpful to us in gaining a proper perspective on ourselves and on our calling. Having eternity in our hearts should not mean that we despise the earth and its other life, which indeed comprises just as much a part of God’s redemptive plan as do human beings (e.g., Isa. 65:17–25; Rom. 8:19–22).
Nevertheless, what Qohelet has to say in 3:18–22 also leaves us with a question about his thinking. How does he imagine that God will in due course “bring to judgment both the righteous and the wicked” (3:17) if it is uncertain whether there is life beyond death? It is not a question that he himself answers in the course of his reflections. He is far more concerned to get his hearers thinking and living in a certain way in the present than he is to resolve all their questions about the future.
It is precisely here that there is a danger for the Christian reader of Ecclesiastes. Christians know about the resurrection and look forward to the future with a firmer hope than Qohelet ever gives expression to. It is all too easy to think that because we thus know more than he does, we need not pay much attention to what he has to say from his more limited perspective. Even those who live in hope of the resurrection, however, still need to live a life between birth and death, and to live it in the right spirit and in the right way. Death may not in fact necessarily be the end, as Qohelet allows that it might be, but it is still a significant reality that mocks our pretensions to human control of life.
As sure as we may be of the reality of resurrection beyond death, moreover, we are also clearer about the reality of divine judgment beyond death: “Man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment” (Heb. 9:27). This should focus our attention, one might think, on the present. Yet significant sections of the modern church are far from focused on the present. They are obsessed with the future and seem to imagine that because they have a future, the present is not very important. Qohelet affirms that all will one day be well, apparently without understanding quite how this can happen, while focusing resolutely on what it means in the present to take God seriously. Modern Christians, by contrast, although understanding more about how all things will one day be well, ironically often seem to understand less about what this signifies for faith and life now.
We forget that the Bible has not been given to us primarily to satisfy our curiosity, but to engage our lives. We forget that the resurrection itself does not appear primarily in the New Testament as an idea about the future, but as a ground for present faith and holiness. Yet as George MacDonald puts it so well:
. . . to prove life endless is not a matter of the first importance. . . . The man with life so in himself . . . will not dream of asking whether he shall live forever. It is only in the twilight of a half life that the doubtful anxiety of immortality can arise.5
Contemporary Significance
I’ve heard people talk about immortality, but I ain’t seen it.6
We live in a culture that is uncertain about life after death, although often interested in the concept—particularly if it can be grounded in some kind of “empirical evidence,” such as is allegedly provided by those who have had near-death experiences. The empirical evidence for resurrection provided by the New Testament is for some reason not valued so highly. Presumably ancient testimony about such things is not to be trusted so implicitly as its modern counterpart. For many people in our suspicious, conspiracy-laden society, testimony itself of whatever age or nature is on principle to be doubted. Like Thomas in the Gospel of John, unless they see it for themselves, they will not believe (John 20:24–25).
It is an expression of the self-centeredness and paranoia of the age. The only person one can ultimately trust is oneself. This is not a world that will ever have much place for the immortal, invisible God of whom the Bible speaks or much patience with claims about life after death, unless by way of a completely irrational leap of faith from the scientific mind-set and into the spiritual fog. Weariness with modern life may indeed persuade many to make such a leap—thus the proliferation of “spiritualities” in North America as we enter the new millennium. These are on the whole highly individualized, personally tailored spiritualities, however, in which the untrusting self remains very much at the center of the universe as it pursues self-fulfillment.
Leaps of faith will never lead anywhere unless they are in the direction of the Truth that has already come to meet us, and then they will not be leaps at all. When the delusions and illusions of these spiritualities have been demolished, their possessors will still have to say, with the noble Private Witt: “I’ve heard people talk about immortality, but I ain’t seen it.” For it cannot be seen in the abstract; it can only be believed in, on the basis of what trustworthy persons who know the truth have to tell us, or glimpsed in the lives of people who already possess it—a subject to which we will return shortly.
A popular alternative to leaps of faith when confronted by the uncertainties surrounding life after death has been to seek to live life simply in the light of the reality that can indeed be seen—the reality of death. A well-known slogan associated with this way of looking at the world is carpe diem, a Latin phrase translated as “seize the day.” Although it is an ancient saying, it has been given wider currency than it perhaps would otherwise have had in modern times by the movie Dead Poets Society, in which the comedian and actor Robin Williams plays the role of a new teacher at a traditional private school. In an important scene early in the movie, he gathers his pupils around a cabinet in the school hallway that displays photographs of sporting heroes and trophies from the past, many of them now dead. Inviting his students to imagine what these ancient heroes, whose moment of glory has passed, would have to say to them, he moves among them whispering carpe diem. The scene is thus set for the remainder of the movie, in which the boys set out to squeeze all the life out of their schooldays that they can, with humorous and ultimately tragic consequences.
Qohelet’s philosophy is also to some extent that all mortal beings should “seize the day.” It is indeed the appropriate response to the reality of the “times” that are beyond our control, but lie in the hands of God, that we should cease to worry overly much about how things are going to work out and concentrate on living joyfully in the moment that is currently given to us: “I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God” (3:12–13).
What is noticeable about what Qohelet says, of course, and what marks out his philosophy from modern secular views of the world with which it shares superficial similarity, is that it is centered on God. Qohelet’s carpe diem is an expression of faith, not of self-fulfillment. It is not the greedy consumption of experiences and pleasures before oblivion consumes us. It is, rather, the patient and joyful embrace of daily life as it comes to us as a gift from God. That it involves ethics is also patently clear from 3:12; it is not a life centered on the self, but a life that is turned outward towards the neighbor, asking what is “good.” We are indeed to seize the day, but we are to remember its divinely created nature as we do so. The biblical carpe diem, then, is not a self-centered response to the uncertainties surrounding life after death, but a worshipful response to the God of creation, who is also the God of new creation and resurrection.
It is important to stress the biblical carpe diem, however, in a religious culture in the Western world that has all too often given the impression to others that the point of the Christian faith is to repress life in the here and now in order to gain life in the future. It has given this impression because Christians have themselves often believed this to be the case. As Friedrich Nietzsche—who in many ways is the great prophet and moving spirit of the age in which we live—understood, what makes paganism attractive when set alongside this kind of Christianity is that the former can often seem to be life-affirming while the latter is perceived as centering on a holy God who imposes a life-denying ascetic spirituality on his worshipers. Thus the Christian life is defined for many in North America in terms of a certain number of activities in which we may not engage, rather than by the glorious freedom that is the inheritance of God’s children. Christian communities everywhere are burdened with a legalism that has nothing at all to do with biblical revelation but is presented nonetheless as authentically Christian. This includes, tragically, many Christian colleges and seminaries, whose task is education and formation in the orthodox faith, yet whose students and faculty are often beset by a whole plethora of rules and regulations that they are required to keep even though they are merely cultural impositions and have nothing to do with obedience to God. A repressive, authoritarian spirit lies at the root of much of our religion.
Yet biblical religion is far from repressive and authoritarian. It knows of a God who made the world beautiful and fruitful, to be enjoyed by his creatures in fellowship with him—a God who says, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden” (Gen. 2:16), with a single exception. It is the serpent who portrays God as repressive: “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden?’ ” (Gen. 3:1); and the serpent is a deceiver. Those who believe him and adopt a defensive posture toward God and toward life are not honoring God, as they often claim, but are in fact dishonoring him and obscuring him from others. This is one of the reasons why Jesus often spoke so harshly to the scribes and Pharisees, for their legalistic approach to life missed the entire point and led others astray at the same time (e.g., Matt. 23:13, 15; Luke 11:46, 52). It was also a major issue in the early church, as the first Christians struggled to sort out what was really a gospel matter and what was merely a cultural matter (e.g., 1 Cor. 8:1–10:33).
The Christian faith is not about the repression of life in the here and now in order to gain life in the future. It is not about petty rules concerning the drinking of wine, for example—a particularly astonishing rule when it is found among Christians who hold a high view of Scripture, since Scripture routinely glories in wine as one of the finest of God’s gifts (Deut. 7:13; 11:14; 14:26; 33:28; Ps. 104:14–15; Prov. 3:9–10; also in Eccl. 9:7, where the substance being drunk is explicitly wine). It is, of course, the case that we are called by Jesus to deny ourselves and take up our cross (Matt. 16:24), but that is a call for displacement of the self from the center of the universe, such as we already find in Ecclesiastes. It is not a call for a life-denying approach to existence, as Jesus’ own life demonstrates (e.g., Matt. 9:14–15; Luke 7:33–34).
We may, of course, freely choose to give up certain good things for a shorter or longer time for the sake of the kingdom of God or out of concern for others (e.g., Rom. 14:19–21), and we should never abuse the good things God gives us (e.g., Eph. 5:18; 1 Tim. 3:8). Yet this too is already implied in Ecclesiastes, since the biblical “seizing of the day” is an activity of faith and is bound up with the doing of good. Whatever we do as Christians—even if it involves refraining from things—should be done out of joyful response to the God of extravagant blessing and grace, as we live now the abundant life that is also the life that stretches away into eternity (John 4:14; 5:24; 10:10).
Defensive living premised on a false and suspicious view of God is not something of which God approves (Luke 19:12–27). It makes him angry. It is indeed only as people live in joyful response to God that it is possible for any human being to “see” immortality in any sense. It cannot be seen in the abstract. It can, however, be glimpsed in the concrete, as a resurrection life lived out in the present that makes obvious sense of who we are as God’s creatures, and thus confronts those living in rebellion against God with the irrationality and harmful consequences of their life-orientation. In this sense, “seizing the day” is what Christians are called to do not only in our own interests, but also in the interests of others (Matt. 5:14–16). We are summoned to demonstrate that Qohelet is right when he insists that the only rational response to reality is one of reverence for God, issuing in a life centered on God.
There is an old hymn by the famous hymn-writer Isaac Watts that captures well the essence of what we have been reflecting upon in this section:
Come, we that love the Lord, and let our joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord, and thus surround the throne.
The sorrows of the mind be banished from the place!
Religion never was designed to make our pleasures less.
Let those refuse to sing that never knew our God;
But children of the heavenly king may speak their joys abroad.
The men of grace have found glory begun below;
Celestial fruits on earthly ground from faith and hope may grow.
Then let our songs abound, and every tear be dry;
We’re marching through Emmanuel’s ground to fairer worlds on high.
We cannot truly understand or control “the times,” and so we are cast back on God, who holds our times in his hands and alone knows the span of our individual days. Yet the God on whom we are cast is good, and he is for us (Rom. 8:31). Our response to his grace and blessing should be to seize the time that we have and live it well and joyfully to his glory and praise.
From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. (Acts 17:26–27)
Original Meaning
Divine Control and the Reality of Death (3:16–22)
IN THE CLOSING verses of chapter 3 we discover some new lines of thought that are nevertheless clearly related to what has gone before. Verses 16–17 pick up and develop the theme of divine control of “the times,” using it to address the question of injustice in the world; verses 18–22 return to the theme of death as an ultimate reality, which renders the striving life futile, now developing this theme in relation not just to wise and foolish human beings (as in 2:12–26), but to human and animal life.
Verses 16–17 are clearly related to verses 1–15 both thematically and syntactically (“I saw something else,” Heb. ʿod). It is this world that is evoked in Qohelet’s opening words, which pronounce that wickedness reigns where there should be impartial “judgment” and “justice” (or better, “right behavior”; Heb. ṣedeq, drawing attention to the connection with ṣaddiq, “righteous,” in v. 17). Like every aspect of the world that is not in harmony with the reality of God, however, this present reality cannot last. God himself will “bring to judgment [i.e., provide impartial justice for] both the righteous and the wicked [i.e., everyone].”
A well-known prophetic theme is brought to the fore here. It may well be that the wealthy and the powerful often escape human justice, since they often control it; and it may well be that in such circumstances those who have fewer financial means and less power often fail to attain justice from their fellow human beings. Yet God himself is the ultimate guarantor of justice and brings it to everyone in the end (e.g., Isa. 10:1–4; Amos 5:7–13).
The second part of verse 17 is best translated in the present tense rather than in the future (as in NIV): “There is a time for every activity [ʿet lekol-ḥepeṣ, as in 3:1, where the NIV translates ‘there is . . . a season for every activity’], for every deed there.” As God sets the “times” for human existence, so also there are “times” for all of his activities, all of his deeds (maʿ aśeh, as in 3:11, “what God has done”). His deeds are, however, the decisive ones (as in 3:9–15), not those of the wicked. The curious “there” at the end of the verse (untranslated by NIV) is probably intended to underline this: “. . . wickedness was there [šamma] . . . wickedness was there [šamma] . . . God will bring to judgment . . . for there is a time for every activity, a time for every deed there [šam].” It should not be thought that God’s inactivity in respect of wickedness signifies a concession of sovereignty to wickedness over the places in which it is found. In those very places God will, at the right time, bring justice.
Verses 18–22 are also, if more loosely, connected with verses 1–15, in that the “time to die” (v. 2) forms the basis of their reflection, and this reflection arrives at conclusions similar to those in verses 9–15. The verses are even more closely connected with 2:12–26, though with an emphasis on “death, which makes fools of us all.” Here in 3:18–22, however, the emphasis falls on the apparent lack of distinction between humans and animals, rather than between the wise and the foolish, in death. God enables human beings to see that, in respect of their ultimate fate, “they are like the animals” (3:18).
The NIV implies that the means by which this knowledge comes is testing or trial, but this is far from clear in the Hebrew, which seems to be suggesting only that God purifies or cleanses (Heb. brr) human beings to enable them to gain this insight.3 Purification can certainly come through trial, biblically speaking (cf. brr in Dan. 11:35; 12:10), but the two are not necessarily linked in general or specifically in Ecclesiastes 3:18, which may merely mean that God (by means unspecified) leads mortals to purity of heart and clarity of perception, to a place where they are able to see “straight,” without illusions. In this condition they are, perhaps painfully, aware of the truth: For all that they like to think of themselves as gods, human beings are mortal, just like the beasts (cf. Ps. 49:12).
The similarity of human beings to the animals in this crucial respect is underlined in the fivefold use of Heb. kol, “all,” in 3:19–20: “All have the same breath . . . everything is meaningless [better ‘breath’; see comments on 1:1–11]. All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return.” That all sentient life is comprised of the “dust” (ʿapar) of the ground and the “breath” (ruaḥ, often “spirit,” as in the NIV translation of 3:21) of life, placed together by God and destined to be separated at death, is the common view expressed or implied in the Old Testament (e.g., Gen. 2:7, albeit that “breath” here is nešamah; 2:19; 7:15; Ps. 104:29; Eccl. 12:7).
The one “place” to which all the living go is Sheol, the world of the dead (e.g., Job 30:23, “the place appointed for all the living”), translated by NIV simply as “the grave” in Ecclesiastes 9:10. The Old Testament often speaks of death as if it were a final ending to human existence—a place of separation from God (e.g., Ps. 6:5; 88:10–12) that the righteous as well as the wicked will experience as darkness and chaos, and from which even they will not return (e.g., Job 10:20–22). Other texts, however, tell us that the wicked depart to Sheol (e.g., Ps. 9:17; 31:17), implying that the fate of righteous is ultimately (if not immediately) different—a point explicit in Psalm 49:13–15, where the righteous are ransomed from Sheol’s power (cf. also 16:10–11). Proverbs 15:24 tells us that “the path of life leads upward for the wise to keep him from going down to the grave [Sheol]” (cf. 12:28; 14:32); Psalm 139:7–12 claims that God is not, after all, absent from Sheol, but present with the worshiper even in the midst of the darkness; and Job 14:13 pictures Sheol as a place in which God might hide Job until his wrath has passed, the passage envisaging a later time when God will remember him and the dead will be roused out of their sleep (14:12, 14–17; cf. the famous 19:25–26). In passages like Isaiah 26:19 and Daniel 12:2–3, moreover, there are clear references to resurrection from the dead.
Qohelet does not commit himself to any particular view on what happens after death (3:21),4 although he is clearly familiar with the idea that when the human body and “breath”/“spirit” are separated, the spirit does not go “down” with the body into the earth, as in the case of animals, but rather rises “upward” (presumably to God). His stance is agnostic: “Who knows?” He cannot be certain what will happen after death (cf. the same question in 2:19); it is unseen. He rests content with that which, in the grace of God, he has come to see (Heb. rʾh, 3:18), namely, that death renders pointless during life the quest for “gain” or “advantage” (motar, related to the yitron employed in 1:3; 2:11; 3:9) over the rest of creation.
It is in the light of this truth that Qohelet returns once again to the advice already offered in 2:24–26 and 3:12–13. Given the nature of reality, how should people live? What Qohelet sees (rʾh, 3:22) is that “there is nothing better for a man than to enjoy his work”—or better, “to find joy [śmḥ] in what he does” (cf. maʿ aśeh in 1:14; 2:4, 11, 17; 3:11, 17). This itself is his “reward” (NIV “lot,” but see comments on Heb. ḥeleq in 2:10, where NIV translates it “reward”); it is all that he holds as “profit” when all is said and done. We are to live life, not in the hope of gaining some advantage over the rest of creation with which we share dust and breath, but simply for its own sake, finding joy in it and receiving that joy as itself the reward that living brings us. When the dust settles and we arrive, out of breath, at the end of the journey, that will be all that remains (Heb. ytr). This was the insight that “Solomon” first gained in 2:10, even while journeying at that time on a different path.
Bridging Contexts
THAT GOD, NOT mortal beings, controls the “times” is a fundamental biblical conviction. Thus the biblical account of Israel’s past does not focus primarily on the social and political forces that drive history or on the great heroes who are said to shape its direction. It portrays the past, rather, as an entity shaped by God, who acts in grace and judgment, in the midst of all the actions of its human and other participants, to move time along towards his own goal. The narrative of the later monarchy in 1-2 Kings, for example, although it tells us about kings and all their pretensions, policies, and battles—and indeed about more ordinary people and events than these—is a narrative basically about what God was doing in this period of Israel’s history. The prophets of God who announce and interpret God’s actions are in fact much more important figures in the book than the kings, who only think that they control their own and their people’s destiny. God is the decisive Actor.
The same is true in the prophetic books of the Old Testament, where God reveals himself not only as the sovereign Lord who ruled the past but also as the governor of the present and the future. Human beings may scheme and plot as they will, but the plans of God are the ones that will be enacted (e.g. Isa. 10:5–19; cf. also Ps. 2). The book of Daniel, a unique combination of a narrative and a prophetic book, provides perhaps the best example of biblical thinking on this topic. King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon thinks himself a god (Dan. 3) and requires worship. His delusions are shattered, however, by Daniel, who informs him that he has no control over either his kingdom or his person. There is only one sovereign God (Dan. 4). In order to learn that he has no control over the “times,” Nebuchadnezzar is forced to endure seven periods of time (4:32) among the animals. His successor Belshazzar is forced even more abruptly to face reality when his life is taken away on the very night Daniel confronts him (Dan. 5, esp. v. 30). The succeeding chapters, which look to the future and promise the coming of the kingdom of God at the end of all the “times” (e.g., 7:25–27), underline the reality. It is God who is “sovereign over the kingdoms of men and gives them to anyone he wishes” (4:32).
The New Testament picks up the theme. At the appointed time Jesus came among humankind, announcing the kingdom of God and dying for our sins (e.g., Mark 1:15; Rom. 5:6; Gal. 4:4–5). He reminded all his hearers of the succession of times still to come—the appointed times in which the various aspects of God’s plans will be carried through: the death of Jesus (e.g., Matt. 9:15; 26:18; John 13:1), the witness or the apostasy of his disciples (e.g., Matt. 10:19; 24:10, 23–25; John 16:32), the second appearing of the Son of Man (e.g., Matt. 24:30), and divine judgment and salvation (e.g., Matt. 8:29; 13:30). That he possesses knowledge of the times, which marks him out from all his fellow human beings, is unsurprising when it is realized that the triune God is Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last (Rev. 1:8; 21:6; 22:13), and Jesus the very center of human time, as the apostles clearly understood (e.g., Acts 3:21; 1 Cor. 4:5; 2 Tim. 1:9; Titus 1:2).
Christians are to live their lives in consideration of this fact, looking ahead to the end times (1 Tim. 6:13–16; 1 Peter 1:3–5; Rev. 1:3; 22:10) without losing hope; for if God is seemingly inactive, it is to be remembered that “with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8). That God is in control of time is thus a comfort to the faithful while at the same time being a warning to those who ignore reality and continue to try to manipulate the times to their own advantage as if they were gods.
In the rest of the Bible, including Ecclesiastes, whenever mortals think they are gods, suffering for other creatures is bound to follow. The Ten Commandments link love for God with love for neighbor (cf. also Matt. 22:37–40); equally as clearly is idolatry linked with social injustice and oppression (cf. the story of Ahab, king of Israel, esp. in 1 Kings 21:1–26; also the Daniel stories). Human beings get above themselves, and from this lofty position they pour down suffering on others. Qohelet seeks to deconstruct such human pretensions by reminding us of our fate in death, which we share with the animals—just as Nebuchadnezzar, who thought himself a god, had to become like an animal for a while in order to remember what it means to be a human being. For all that human beings like to think of themselves as gods, in control of their own destiny and able to construct their own reality, they are in truth just like the beasts. Implicit in the observation, in the context of Ecclesiastes 3 (esp. v. 22), is the suggestion that we are to live life not in the hope of gaining some advantage over the rest of creation with which we share dust and breath, but simply for its own sake, finding joy in it and receiving that joy as itself the reward that living brings us. We are in that sense, too, to be “like the animals,” who rejoice only in the moment and do not make great plans for their lives.
This reminder about our commonality with the animal world (cf. also Gen. 2:7–20) is important not least because it is not just other human beings who typically are trampled in our rush for “gain,” but also the rest of creation. Yet the human calling is to look after creation as agents of the Creator, not to exploit it for our own ends (Gen. 1:26–30). This, rather than self-worship, is what we are called to as those made in the image of God, who have eternity set in our hearts (Eccl. 3:11). Paradoxically, however, that sense of eternity can also lead us not only to fail to live in the present moment but also to mistreat creation around us, which is not perceived to be as important (or as “spiritual”) as we are. The reminder that all living creatures are dust and die, therefore, is helpful to us in gaining a proper perspective on ourselves and on our calling. Having eternity in our hearts should not mean that we despise the earth and its other life, which indeed comprises just as much a part of God’s redemptive plan as do human beings (e.g., Isa. 65:17–25; Rom. 8:19–22).
Nevertheless, what Qohelet has to say in 3:18–22 also leaves us with a question about his thinking. How does he imagine that God will in due course “bring to judgment both the righteous and the wicked” (3:17) if it is uncertain whether there is life beyond death? It is not a question that he himself answers in the course of his reflections. He is far more concerned to get his hearers thinking and living in a certain way in the present than he is to resolve all their questions about the future.
It is precisely here that there is a danger for the Christian reader of Ecclesiastes. Christians know about the resurrection and look forward to the future with a firmer hope than Qohelet ever gives expression to. It is all too easy to think that because we thus know more than he does, we need not pay much attention to what he has to say from his more limited perspective. Even those who live in hope of the resurrection, however, still need to live a life between birth and death, and to live it in the right spirit and in the right way. Death may not in fact necessarily be the end, as Qohelet allows that it might be, but it is still a significant reality that mocks our pretensions to human control of life.
As sure as we may be of the reality of resurrection beyond death, moreover, we are also clearer about the reality of divine judgment beyond death: “Man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment” (Heb. 9:27). This should focus our attention, one might think, on the present. Yet significant sections of the modern church are far from focused on the present. They are obsessed with the future and seem to imagine that because they have a future, the present is not very important. Qohelet affirms that all will one day be well, apparently without understanding quite how this can happen, while focusing resolutely on what it means in the present to take God seriously. Modern Christians, by contrast, although understanding more about how all things will one day be well, ironically often seem to understand less about what this signifies for faith and life now.
We forget that the Bible has not been given to us primarily to satisfy our curiosity, but to engage our lives. We forget that the resurrection itself does not appear primarily in the New Testament as an idea about the future, but as a ground for present faith and holiness. Yet as George MacDonald puts it so well:
. . . to prove life endless is not a matter of the first importance. . . . The man with life so in himself . . . will not dream of asking whether he shall live forever. It is only in the twilight of a half life that the doubtful anxiety of immortality can arise.5
Contemporary Significance
I’ve heard people talk about immortality, but I ain’t seen it.6
We live in a culture that is uncertain about life after death, although often interested in the concept—particularly if it can be grounded in some kind of “empirical evidence,” such as is allegedly provided by those who have had near-death experiences. The empirical evidence for resurrection provided by the New Testament is for some reason not valued so highly. Presumably ancient testimony about such things is not to be trusted so implicitly as its modern counterpart. For many people in our suspicious, conspiracy-laden society, testimony itself of whatever age or nature is on principle to be doubted. Like Thomas in the Gospel of John, unless they see it for themselves, they will not believe (John 20:24–25).
It is an expression of the self-centeredness and paranoia of the age. The only person one can ultimately trust is oneself. This is not a world that will ever have much place for the immortal, invisible God of whom the Bible speaks or much patience with claims about life after death, unless by way of a completely irrational leap of faith from the scientific mind-set and into the spiritual fog. Weariness with modern life may indeed persuade many to make such a leap—thus the proliferation of “spiritualities” in North America as we enter the new millennium. These are on the whole highly individualized, personally tailored spiritualities, however, in which the untrusting self remains very much at the center of the universe as it pursues self-fulfillment.
Leaps of faith will never lead anywhere unless they are in the direction of the Truth that has already come to meet us, and then they will not be leaps at all. When the delusions and illusions of these spiritualities have been demolished, their possessors will still have to say, with the noble Private Witt: “I’ve heard people talk about immortality, but I ain’t seen it.” For it cannot be seen in the abstract; it can only be believed in, on the basis of what trustworthy persons who know the truth have to tell us, or glimpsed in the lives of people who already possess it—a subject to which we will return shortly.
A popular alternative to leaps of faith when confronted by the uncertainties surrounding life after death has been to seek to live life simply in the light of the reality that can indeed be seen—the reality of death. A well-known slogan associated with this way of looking at the world is carpe diem, a Latin phrase translated as “seize the day.” Although it is an ancient saying, it has been given wider currency than it perhaps would otherwise have had in modern times by the movie Dead Poets Society, in which the comedian and actor Robin Williams plays the role of a new teacher at a traditional private school. In an important scene early in the movie, he gathers his pupils around a cabinet in the school hallway that displays photographs of sporting heroes and trophies from the past, many of them now dead. Inviting his students to imagine what these ancient heroes, whose moment of glory has passed, would have to say to them, he moves among them whispering carpe diem. The scene is thus set for the remainder of the movie, in which the boys set out to squeeze all the life out of their schooldays that they can, with humorous and ultimately tragic consequences.
Qohelet’s philosophy is also to some extent that all mortal beings should “seize the day.” It is indeed the appropriate response to the reality of the “times” that are beyond our control, but lie in the hands of God, that we should cease to worry overly much about how things are going to work out and concentrate on living joyfully in the moment that is currently given to us: “I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God” (3:12–13).
What is noticeable about what Qohelet says, of course, and what marks out his philosophy from modern secular views of the world with which it shares superficial similarity, is that it is centered on God. Qohelet’s carpe diem is an expression of faith, not of self-fulfillment. It is not the greedy consumption of experiences and pleasures before oblivion consumes us. It is, rather, the patient and joyful embrace of daily life as it comes to us as a gift from God. That it involves ethics is also patently clear from 3:12; it is not a life centered on the self, but a life that is turned outward towards the neighbor, asking what is “good.” We are indeed to seize the day, but we are to remember its divinely created nature as we do so. The biblical carpe diem, then, is not a self-centered response to the uncertainties surrounding life after death, but a worshipful response to the God of creation, who is also the God of new creation and resurrection.
It is important to stress the biblical carpe diem, however, in a religious culture in the Western world that has all too often given the impression to others that the point of the Christian faith is to repress life in the here and now in order to gain life in the future. It has given this impression because Christians have themselves often believed this to be the case. As Friedrich Nietzsche—who in many ways is the great prophet and moving spirit of the age in which we live—understood, what makes paganism attractive when set alongside this kind of Christianity is that the former can often seem to be life-affirming while the latter is perceived as centering on a holy God who imposes a life-denying ascetic spirituality on his worshipers. Thus the Christian life is defined for many in North America in terms of a certain number of activities in which we may not engage, rather than by the glorious freedom that is the inheritance of God’s children. Christian communities everywhere are burdened with a legalism that has nothing at all to do with biblical revelation but is presented nonetheless as authentically Christian. This includes, tragically, many Christian colleges and seminaries, whose task is education and formation in the orthodox faith, yet whose students and faculty are often beset by a whole plethora of rules and regulations that they are required to keep even though they are merely cultural impositions and have nothing to do with obedience to God. A repressive, authoritarian spirit lies at the root of much of our religion.
Yet biblical religion is far from repressive and authoritarian. It knows of a God who made the world beautiful and fruitful, to be enjoyed by his creatures in fellowship with him—a God who says, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden” (Gen. 2:16), with a single exception. It is the serpent who portrays God as repressive: “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden?’ ” (Gen. 3:1); and the serpent is a deceiver. Those who believe him and adopt a defensive posture toward God and toward life are not honoring God, as they often claim, but are in fact dishonoring him and obscuring him from others. This is one of the reasons why Jesus often spoke so harshly to the scribes and Pharisees, for their legalistic approach to life missed the entire point and led others astray at the same time (e.g., Matt. 23:13, 15; Luke 11:46, 52). It was also a major issue in the early church, as the first Christians struggled to sort out what was really a gospel matter and what was merely a cultural matter (e.g., 1 Cor. 8:1–10:33).
The Christian faith is not about the repression of life in the here and now in order to gain life in the future. It is not about petty rules concerning the drinking of wine, for example—a particularly astonishing rule when it is found among Christians who hold a high view of Scripture, since Scripture routinely glories in wine as one of the finest of God’s gifts (Deut. 7:13; 11:14; 14:26; 33:28; Ps. 104:14–15; Prov. 3:9–10; also in Eccl. 9:7, where the substance being drunk is explicitly wine). It is, of course, the case that we are called by Jesus to deny ourselves and take up our cross (Matt. 16:24), but that is a call for displacement of the self from the center of the universe, such as we already find in Ecclesiastes. It is not a call for a life-denying approach to existence, as Jesus’ own life demonstrates (e.g., Matt. 9:14–15; Luke 7:33–34).
We may, of course, freely choose to give up certain good things for a shorter or longer time for the sake of the kingdom of God or out of concern for others (e.g., Rom. 14:19–21), and we should never abuse the good things God gives us (e.g., Eph. 5:18; 1 Tim. 3:8). Yet this too is already implied in Ecclesiastes, since the biblical “seizing of the day” is an activity of faith and is bound up with the doing of good. Whatever we do as Christians—even if it involves refraining from things—should be done out of joyful response to the God of extravagant blessing and grace, as we live now the abundant life that is also the life that stretches away into eternity (John 4:14; 5:24; 10:10).
Defensive living premised on a false and suspicious view of God is not something of which God approves (Luke 19:12–27). It makes him angry. It is indeed only as people live in joyful response to God that it is possible for any human being to “see” immortality in any sense. It cannot be seen in the abstract. It can, however, be glimpsed in the concrete, as a resurrection life lived out in the present that makes obvious sense of who we are as God’s creatures, and thus confronts those living in rebellion against God with the irrationality and harmful consequences of their life-orientation. In this sense, “seizing the day” is what Christians are called to do not only in our own interests, but also in the interests of others (Matt. 5:14–16). We are summoned to demonstrate that Qohelet is right when he insists that the only rational response to reality is one of reverence for God, issuing in a life centered on God.
There is an old hymn by the famous hymn-writer Isaac Watts that captures well the essence of what we have been reflecting upon in this section:
Come, we that love the Lord, and let our joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord, and thus surround the throne.
The sorrows of the mind be banished from the place!
Religion never was designed to make our pleasures less.
Let those refuse to sing that never knew our God;
But children of the heavenly king may speak their joys abroad.
The men of grace have found glory begun below;
Celestial fruits on earthly ground from faith and hope may grow.
Then let our songs abound, and every tear be dry;
We’re marching through Emmanuel’s ground to fairer worlds on high.
We cannot truly understand or control “the times,” and so we are cast back on God, who holds our times in his hands and alone knows the span of our individual days. Yet the God on whom we are cast is good, and he is for us (Rom. 8:31). Our response to his grace and blessing should be to seize the time that we have and live it well and joyfully to his glory and praise.
From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. (Acts 17:26–27)