In Hebrew, this book is called Qohelet (or Kohelet), which is the pseudonym of its protagonist, and possibly its author. Sometimes believed to be Solomon, because the author refers to himself as the son of David, that has always been questionable. Many think of it more as an allegory for all descendants of David, i.e., the Jewish people. Now, where does “Ecclesiastes”, which is what in modern times we call it, come from? Qohelet is an odd Hebrew word that doesn’t have an exact translation into either English, modernly, or even in the original translation to ancient Greek, which was used to create the 1611 King James Version bible for Christians. It means, vaguely, “to assemble”, “to form a collective”, something of that sort, and ecclesiastes, I gather, means, “assembly”. It’s not a direct translation, but at least in the ballpark. The book is organized similar to Proverbs, with a series of thoughts and prescriptions for life, but instead of being positive, it is mostly negative – positing, at its core, that God has basically given humankind a bunch of busywork in the form of rituals, practices, and prayers, to keep their minds off of the big picture of what God is really up to.
- The book opens with a line that is famous, particularly in Christianity, “Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” That’s a beyond loose interpretation of the Hebrew, probably to make a Christian morality point, the word hevel, which refers more to something fleeting, ephemeral, untouchable…. futile. Biblical scholars relate it to the vapor that appears in the air on a cold morning as you breathe out, dissipating into the world. And this sets up the premise of the book, if you read it as written: “Utter futility! – said Koheleth – Utter futility! All is futile!”
- The author launches into a litany of all the ways he indulged in his early life – partying, sex, drinking, gaining wealth, buying things. And then at some point he realized it was all a waste of time, he’d still end up the same as anyone who didn’t do those things. So he spent years loathing that lifestyle, until at some point, he realized that, too, was a waste of time, as he’d still, one day, arrive at the same end as anyone else.
- A long, flowery passage, which has been, more or less, turned into a couple of songs – Turn, Turn, Turn, from The Byrds is literally based on it; and then there’s Corner of the Sky, from Pippin, which is a peppy showtune take on the subject. I could even make a case for Andy Williams’ A Time For Us. Everything has its season, everything has its time, and it’s all planned out by God, and isn’t for us to know in advance.
- The speaker starts down a path lamenting the current miseries and offering up that those who died before and those who will come later never have to face the current situation, to their benefit. But he then turns to what he perceives as the way out of the despair, misery, and exile – teamwork. If people come together they are stronger, they can comfort each other, protect each other, and uplift each other. And further, they will be even stronger, and create an unbeatable team, if they then return to their partnership with God.
- The prose turns towards advice, starting from the admonishment that those who spend their lives seeking more wealth, more property, more things, will never be happy with what they have, will never sleep the sleep of the just. And then he advises people to celebrate what they have, and share that celebration with others.
- The speaker looks at the futility of success. A person may have a big family, many children, lots of friends. He may be successful in business, well-off, and respected. And still, he may well never be truly happy, and, in the end, he will end up just as dead as someone who had none of that. The speaker stops just short of “Why bother?” In other parts of the Talmud I’d have said this is a setup for answering that, but my understanding of Qohelet is that it will just continue to spiral down the drain. We shall see.
- Qohelet discusses the various things he’s learned in life. Much seems to boil down to “don’t try too hard, it’s not worth the effort” and “as long as you don’t go too far off the center, things will likely be okay”. He keeps harping on that no matter what, we’re all going to end up dead. But his takeaway seems to be “so don’t bother go out and have a good time” rather than “if we’re all going to end up dead, we may as well have a good time getting there”. Oh, and women are honey traps. All of them. I’m beginning to think this was written post-break-up by a broken-hearted, love besotted drunken author.
- Our author wonders aloud why it is that evil men, who, according to the Torah, will be swiftly punished by God, often continue to be evil for years, decades, their entire life. Why are the able to commit evil deeds hundreds of times before death, and a presumed afterlife punishment? And why do the good die young, to coin a phrase? It seems, he muses, that the whole threat of punishment for evil and reward for good, may be a sham. And so, he chooses to go have a good lunch and enjoy his time and not worry about it.
- Once you’re dead, you’re dead, Qohelet muses. You won’t have any cares, worries, joys, wins, losses… nothing. So while you’re alive, you may as well live a good life, find someone to be happy with, live life to its fullest, and celebrate simply being alive. Because the other path may have wealth and power, but it has no joy, and you’ll end up just as dead. This feels like the birth of the sorts of adages like “money doesn’t buy happiness”.
- Qohelet believes in a hierarchical society. And he believes that the right hierarchy is the wise and rich at the top and the foolish and poor at the bottom. I wonder what he’d make of the situation that more and more of today’s world finds itself in, with the foolish at both top and bottom, regardless of wealth, and the wise stuck somewhere in the middle. Hmmm, that assumes that there’s anyone wise left around. Might have to rethink this.
- I can’t decide if this guy is positive or negative in his fatalism. He waxes poetic about the future being darkness and nothingness after death, but uses that as his reason for living a life of joy and pleasure. The ends justify the means?
- The tractate ends up with a summation of the previous eleven chapters – enjoy life while you can, enjoy what you have, because sooner or later, God’s gonna get ya, and whether you enjoyed your time on earth or not, you’re going to be dead. Anything else is just wishful thinking and futile.