Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life in the Ancient World [New ed.] 1009100254, 9781009100250

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Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life in the Ancient World

In this book, Arthur Keefer offers a timely assessment of Ecclesiastes and what it has to do with the meaning of life. Drawing on recent psychological research, he argues that this Hebrew Bible text associates the meaning of life with various types of suffering in life. Keefer here situates Ecclesiastes within its ancient intellectual world. Offering an analysis of contemporary texts from Egypt, Mesopotamia, and Greece, he demonstrates that concerns about meaning and suffering were widespread in the greater Mediterranean world. Ecclesiastes, however, handled the matters of suffering and meaning in an unprecedented way and to an unprecedented degree. With its rigorous commitment to precise definitions of life’s meaning, Keefer’s book provides a comprehensive set of definitions for “the meaning of life” as well as a conclusive point of reference for interpreters of Ecclesiastes. It also opens avenues for the interdisciplinary interpretation of texts from the ancient world.    is a schoolmaster and chaplain at Eton College. He has published numerous articles and is the author of Proverbs 1–9 as an Introduction to the Book of Proverbs (LHBOTS, 2020) and The Book of Proverbs and Virtue Ethics: Integrating the Biblical and Philosophical Traditions (Cambridge University Press, 2021). He also co-edited The Cambridge Companion to Biblical Wisdom Literature (Cambridge University Press, 2022).

Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life in the Ancient World

ARTHUR JAN KEEFER Eton College

University Printing House, Cambridge 2 8, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York,  10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne,  3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 103 Penang Road, #05–06/07, Visioncrest Commercial, Singapore 238467 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781009100250 : 10.1017/9781009110082 © Cambridge University Press 2022 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2022 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library.  978-1-009-10025-0 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

For Emem

Contents

Preface

page ix

Abbreviations

xiii

1 2

Introduction Suffering and Meaning in Egyptian Literature

1 26

3

Suffering and Meaning in Mesopotamian Literature

57

4 5

Suffering and Meaning in Greek Literature Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life

78 89

6 7

Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy In Context: Suffering, Meaning and Ecclesiastes in the Ancient World and Old Testament

121 169 217 229 241

Bibliography Index of Sources Index of Authors and Topics

vii

Preface

In Hawarden, Wales, there is a small plot of land with a rather large library that belonged to William Gladstone (1809–1898). As the eldest and one of the longest serving Prime Ministers of the United Kingdom, a Chancellor of the Exchequer, an advocate of equal opportunity known as “The People’s William,” a committed Protestant Christian, a husband of fifty-nine years and father of eight children, I suspect that Gladstone considered his life a meaningful one. His contemporaries, not unaware of the man’s faults, nevertheless admired him and did so as colleagues, as distant observers and even as ideological rivals. What neither they nor he would have said, to my knowledge, though, is that Gladstone lived “a meaningful life,” that he “evaded meaninglessness” or wrestled with “the meaning of it all.” That language is quite contemporary, a feature of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries and now as common as Gladstone was accomplished. Reference to life’s meaning is not only common to modern thought and conversation but also prevalent within interpretations of Ecclesiastes. Qohelet has become a sort of harbinger of modernity, existentialism and whatever else people associate with the exploration of one’s meaningful livelihood. It doesn’t help that he regularly comments on how difficult life has been amidst apparent meaninglessness: “in much toil is much vexation . . . I saw all that I had achieved and hated life. . . . Thus everything is hebel [‘meaningless’ according to the NIV].” The reading of such statements comes naturally: Qohelet has embarked upon the search for meaning and come up empty-handed. But as effortless as such interpretations may be, very little consideration has been given to what we, as interpreters, mean by “meaning” and thus what exactly Qohelet could ix

x

Preface

have said about it. Definitions of life’s meaning are often assumed, or onesided, sometimes supposedly intuitive. By this I mean no indictment against what many hard-working exegetes have written about one of the most abstruse texts of the Bible. Nor is the situation surprising. For psychologists have only recently established categories for the meaning of life, and without such categories, we cannot very well understand the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes or propose that Qohelet had a keen interest in it or that he deemed life meaningful or meaningless after all. In an attempt to clear up these matters, I went to Gladstone’s Library in 2016 for a short period of residential research and began a small article that appeared in a 2019 issue of Harvard Theological Review.1 It attempted to offer systematic definition to a topic so easily associated with Ecclesiastes – the meaning of life – and soon warranted a longer treatment. An exhaustive account of the various forms of life’s meaning within Ecclesiastes was needed, but I also came to realize that meaning for Qohelet has a great deal to do with life’s hardship, none of which could be truly appreciated without a sense for where the book stood within its ancient world. The meaning of life, human suffering and the broad intellectual context in which those themes appear comprise the book before you. Monographs on Ecclesiastes tend to become virtual commentaries on the text, and while this one may be no exception, I have tried to leave detailed philological arguments in the footnotes and keep the wider, clearer concerns in the main body of prose. One question, however, that does not appear in this study is that of how Ecclesiastes informs the meaning of one’s life today. For some readers this may be the most important question and hence their greatest disappointment with what follows, so let me say a word here. How Ecclesiastes addresses the meaning of one’s own life depends on how one views biblical authority in general, and the normativity of Ecclesiastes in particular, not least in how we interpret its epilogue (12:9–14). For the way in which Ecclesiastes informs our own experience of life’s meaning depends upon how authoritative and coherent we consider the book to be. What seems clear, among other things, is that the work aims to provoke thought, and readers with any personal interest in life’s meaning will want to attend to the type of meaning it showcases (namely, coherence), Qohelet’s charge that humans succumb to delusion or a misapprehension of how life operates, and the 1

Arthur Jan Keefer, “The Meaning of Life in the Book of Ecclesiastes: Coherence, Purpose and Significance from a Psychological Perspective,” HTR 112 (2019): 447–466.

Preface

xi

book’s metaphysical and theological presuppositions, on which its views are grounded. As to how authoritative or applicable one wishes to take these points of view, that I leave to the reader, with the hope that it will help those of various interests, whether it be academic, personal, ecclesial or otherwise. A word of thanks goes to the hospitable staff at Gladstone’s Library and the generous Residential Study Scholarship provided by them. I am also greatly appreciative of the man himself, William Gladstone, who, in his older age, made it clear that his library should be made available to the public. His bust is one of twenty-five in a frequented room at Eton College, an institution that demands much from its teachers but supports their professional activities to whatever extent possible. My research is no exception. As mentioned, Harvard Theological Review gave first voice to the ideas presented here and that article, aided greatly by the eye of Dr. Michael Rhodes, forms the backbone of Chapter 5. The Latimer Trust provided a research grant that helped the article become a book, a process finally made possible thanks to the enthusiasm of editor Beatrice Rehl, the exceptional diligence and good humor of copy-editor Beth Morel, and the shrewd comments of the manuscript’s reviewers. I did not write this book because my life lacks meaning; it does not and, in my judgment, never has. But there is one person who has shown me ways of living a meaningful life that were, to me, unfamiliar, and this work is dedicated to her: my wife, Emem Ukor Keefer.

Abbreviations

AAeg ABs AEL

AIL AJSL AnBib ANET

AnSt AOAT AOTC ATD BASOR BBR BBRSup BCOTWP BDB BEATAJ

Analecta Aegyptiaca Anchor Bible Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings. 3 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973–1980. Ancient Israel and Its Literature The American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures Analecta biblica James B. Pritchard, Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1950. Anatolian Studies Alter Orient und Altes Testament Apollos Old Testament Commentary Das Alte Testament Deutsch Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Bulletin for Biblical Research Supplements to the Bulletin for Biblical Research Baker Commentary on the Old Testament Wisdom and Psalms F. Brown, S. R. Driver, and C. Briggs, Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford: Clarendon, 1959. Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des antiken Judentum

xiii

xiv

BETL BHS BibInt BKAT BM BSac BTB BWL BZAW CAD CBQ CBR CC COS CTR DL

EA ESV EvQ FAT GKC

HAR HS HTKAT HTR IBHS ICC JANES JBL JEA

List of Abbreviations Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Biblica Hebraica Stuttgartensia, ed. K. Elliger and W. Rudolph. 5th edition. Stuttgart, 1997. Biblical Interpretation Biblischer Kommentar, Altes Testament British Museum Bibliotheca Sacra Bulletin for Biblical Research W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1996. Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 1956–. Catholic Biblical Quarterly Currents in Biblical Research Continental Commentaries The Context of Scripture. Edited by W. W. Hallo. 3 vols. Leiden, 2003. Criswell Theological Review Diogenes Laërtius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, trans. R. D. Hicks. Loeb Classical Library. 2 vols. Cambridge; London: Harvard University Press, 1931 and 1972. Amarna Letters English Standard Version Evangelical Quarterly Forschung zum Alten Testament Gensenius’ Hebrew Grammar, edited and enlarged by E. Kautzsch, trans. A. E. Cowley. 2nd edition. Oxford: Clarendon, 1910; repr. with corrections, 1966. Hebrew Annual Review Hebrew Studies Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Altes Testament Harvard Theological Review Bruce K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1990 International Critical Commentary Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society Journal of Biblical Literature The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology

List of Abbreviations JM

JNSL JSJ JSJPHRP JSJSup JSOT JSOTSup JSS KJV LÄ LHBOTS LNTS LTP LXX MS(S) MT NASB NEchtB NICOT NIDOTTE

NIV NRSV OB OBO obv OED OLA OT OTE OTL OtSt RelS

xv

Paul Joüon and T. Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew. 2nd edition. Subsidia Biblica 27. Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2011 Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Period Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplements to the Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for Semitic Studies King James Version Lexikon der Ägyptologie, ed. W. Helck, E. Otto and W. Westendorf. Wiesbaden, 1972. The Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies The Library of New Testament Studies Laval théologique et philosophique Greek Septuagint: from Septuaginta, ed. A. Rahlfs. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2006. manuscript(s) Masoretic Text: generally from BHS 1997. New American Standard Bible Neue Echter Bibel The New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis, ed. William A. VanGemeren. 5 vols. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1997. New International Version New Revised Standard Version Old Babylonian Version Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis obverse Oxford English Dictionary Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Old Testament Old Testament Essays Old Testament Library Oudtestamentlische Studiën Religious Studies

xvi

RSR rto SAAB SBJT SBL SBLWAW SDBH SJOT TDOT

ThLZ TLOT

TS TWOT

TynBul V VetE vso VT VTSup WBC ZÄS ZAW ZDPV

List of Abbreviations Recherches de Science Religieuse recto(s) State Archives of Assyria Bulletin Southern Baptist Journal of Theology Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World Semantic Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, ed. G. J. Botterweck et al., trans. D. E. Green et al., 15 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974–2015. Theologische Literaturzeitung Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament , ed. E. Jenni and C. Westermann, trans. M. E. Biddle. 3 vols. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1997. Theological Studies Bruce K. Waltke, R. Laird Harris and Gleason Archer, Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament. Chicago: Moody, 1980. Tyndale Bulletin Vulgate Verbum et Ecclesia verso(s) Vetus Testamentum Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Word Bible Commentary Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins

1 Introduction

Questions about the meaning of life are often and openly vague. While that does not make them bad questions, it does make them difficult to understand. What is the meaning of life? Is life meaningful? And when or why does it become meaningless? Sincere as they may be, and as convoluted an answer as some might wish to give, these questions are imprecise and each of them depends completely upon what is meant by “meaning.” This word, when pressed for precision, is often explained in varied ways. It may refer to life having purpose or some direction and goal; it can mean that life “matters,” being worthwhile or better than death; and for some it stirs an intuitive sense of an all-encompassing quality of life that when put to words is sapped of its significance. This nebulous and at times disparate use of “the meaning of life” also appears in research on the book of Ecclesiastes, where efforts to interpret the book as a work about this topic have become increasingly popular since the beginning of the twentieth century. Starting with explicit references to “meaning” by scholars as early as 1904 and culminating with a decision to translate ‫ הבל‬as “meaningless” in 1984 (NIV), there has been an increasing trend to find concerns about the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes, and it characterizes how many have recently read the book.1 1

As far as I am aware, Arthur Peake (The Problem of Suffering in the Old Testament [London: Epworth, 1904], 126) made the first explicit comment about life’s “meaningfulness” in Ecclesiastes: “Life is meaningless” because human action achieves “no abiding result,” showing life to be “a closed circle from which man cannot get away.” George Barton (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Ecclesiastes, ICC [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1908], 69) later commented on Eccl 1:2–11 that “Life and the processes of nature are an endless and meaningless repetition.” He appealed to Wright,

1

2

Introduction

According to James Crenshaw, Qohelet – the main character and mouthpiece of Ecclesiastes – asks “the question of questions: Does life have any meaning at all?”2 For Craig Bartholomew, “[Qohelet’s] struggle is whether life is meaningful,” and for others his quest is a “search for meaning,” being the man who asks the great “Sinnfrage” and often comes up short of an answer.3 Despite the merits of such proposals, in most cases, the phrase – “the meaning of life,” “life is meaningful,” or Qohelet struggles with life’s “meaning” – is used with imprecision, even if it sometimes mirrors one of the classifications mentioned above, such as purpose or worth, or is gently propped up by its self-explanatory nature, which, it is thought, ought to be subconsciously understood and unbeholden to further definition. It is not my contention that these interpretations are widely off-track, or that they have muddled the meaning of “life’s meaning,” or that some unnatural reading has been imposed, in every case, upon the book of Ecclesiastes. Part of my contention is that the endeavor needs a taxonomy: that the search for life’s meaning in biblical literature requires non-biblical resources – namely, psychological definitions for the meaning of life – and furthermore, that by drawing upon them, Ecclesiastes has much to say about such meaning. For the meaning of life is not self-explanatory, and therefore neither is its presence in Ecclesiastes. But that does not mean that the inquest needs to cease. As a matter of fact, by demanding clarity for the phrase, the inquest can gain ground; and so, in this monograph, I argue several things: that Ecclesiastes addresses the meaning of life from a threefold perspective, that it contains conditions for what makes life meaningful and

2 3

who did refer to such cycles but nowhere comments on their “meaninglessness.” See Charles H. H. Wright, The Book of Koheleth, Commonly Called Ecclesiastes, Considered in Relation to Modern Criticism, and to the Doctrines of Modern Pessimism, with a Critical and Grammatical Commentary and a Revised Translation (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1883), 141–182. For a background of talk about life’s meaning, see philosopher Wendell O’Brien (“The Meaning of Life: Early Continental and Analytic Perspectives,” in The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, www.iep.utm.edu/ mean-ear/), who finds that “it was only early in the nineteenth century that writers began to write directly about ‘the meaning of life,’” particularly when Arthur Schopenhauer articulated “der Sinn des Lebens.” See Schopenhauer’s essay, “On Human Nature: Character” (1851). James Crenshaw, Old Testament Wisdom: An Introduction (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998), 116. Craig Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, BCOTWP (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2009), 113.

Introduction

3

meaningless, and that the exploration of these ideas relates intimately to human suffering, not least Qohelet’s.4 The verdict of those who have found concerns about meaning within Ecclesiastes is epitomized by Crenshaw. As mentioned above, Qohelet asks “the question of questions: Does life have any meaning at all?,” and that question leads Crenshaw to conclude, in the end, that Qohelet finds none.5 Qohelet tests several possibilities for a meaningful life – wealth, reputation, work and pleasure – and yet he deems each of them worthless. For death eradicates advantage so that all potentially meaningful ventures add up to zero. “Ultimately, all these so-called meanings, for which humans strive relentlessly, amount to nothing.”6 But alongside these many overt declarations about Qohelet’s meaningless life are arguments to the contrary. That is, for certain interpreters, an absorption with questions about the meaning of life has nothing to do with Ecclesiastes, leading to a denial that the book deals with issues of life’s ultimate meaning and an affirmation of its alternative concerns: epistemological boundaries and the limits of human control, for instance. While these alternative concerns are no less comprehensive or significant for human life, they are not matters of “meaningfulness” as such. Even the ‫הבל‬ statements, translated by some as “meaningless” and interpreted by others as much the same, carry no connotation of life’s meaning for many scholars. By ‫הבל‬, says Choon-Leong Seow, Qohelet “does not mean that everything is meaningless or insignificant, but that everything is beyond human apprehension and comprehension.”7 Qohelet probes the limitations of human knowledge and control, problems that may implicate all of life but remain distinct from how “meaningful” it could be. The comments of Crenshaw and Seow disclose a debate about if and how the meaning of life vexed Qohelet, much of which entails competing assertions instead of developed arguments about what life’s meaning is or could be. For aside from their particular emphases and nuances, interpreters hold that Ecclesiastes simply does or does not address the meaning of life. It should be said that scholarly interaction with respect to this issue remains minimal, and that the cause for said disconnect seems rooted in the failure to adequately define “meaning,” even if it does, as prefaced

4 5 7

I refer to the literary text as “Ecclesiastes” as distinct from “Qohelet,” whether narrator, persona or implied author. 6 Crenshaw, Old Testament Wisdom, 116. Crenshaw, Old Testament Wisdom, 118. Choon-Leong Seow, Ecclesiastes: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 18C (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 59.

4

Introduction

above, have something to do with worth, in some cases knowledge, and in fewer instances life’s direction.8 Admittedly, not every attempt falters in this regard, and a few interpreters have conscientiously applied definitions of life’s meaning to Ecclesiastes.9 Foremost is Michael V. Fox, who crystalizes a referent for the term: “To say that a person’s life has meaning implies that the sum total of his deeds and experiences achieve or prove something beyond themselves. In other words, they do something.”10 A meaningful life, like language, accomplishes something outside of itself or corresponds to an action by being effectual. It seems akin to “fruitful” or “effective,” and aligns with justice to the extent that certain deeds ought to correspond with their outcomes.11 Other notions of meaningfulness have crept up among European scholars, such as Aarre Lauha, who in Eccl 2:12–26 refers to the “Sinnfrage” (question of meaning) and whether or not life has any “Sinn” (meaning) and “Wert” (worth).12 Both of these attempts, 8

9 10 11

12

For interpreters who locate a concern with the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes, often without defining the concept, see, among others, Norbert Lohfink (Kohelet, NEchtB 1 [Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1980], 21), for example, who writes, “Der Horizont der Frage [Eccl. 1.3] ist die Welt als solche. Diese ist eine durchlichtete Wirklichkeit (‘Sonne’), aber in ihr stellt sich dennoch für den Menschen die Sinnfrage [question of meaning]”; Aarre Lauha, Kohelet, BKAT 19 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1978), 59–60; Tremper Longman III, The Book of Ecclesiastes, NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), passim; Tilmann Zimmer, Zwischen Tod und Lebensglück: Eine Untersuchung zur Anthropologie Kohelets, BZAW 286 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1999), 32, 218; Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Kohelet, HTKAT (Freiburg: Herder, 2004), 154; Graham Ogden, Qoheleth. Readings: A New Biblical Commentary (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2007), 23, 51; Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, passim; Melanie Köhlmoos, Kohelet: Der Prediger Salomo, ATD 16 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015), 56–57. The pattern also appears among systematic theologians: Karl Barth (Church Dogmatics: The Doctrine of Creation [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1956], 1:245) and Stanley Grenz (Theology for the Community of God [Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1994], 749). Aside from such assertions, certain interpreters argue against particular meaning of life interpretations, as Mark Sneed, for example, accuses Fox and Crenshaw of anachronism because they overlap Ecclesiastes and modern existentialism. See Sneed, The Politics of Pessimism in Ecclesiastes: A Social-Science Perspective, AIL 12 (Atlanta: SBL, 2012), 168–170. See below for further examples. See Chapter 5. Michael V. Fox, A Time to Tear Down and a Time to Build Up: A Rereading of Ecclesiastes (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 5. Emphasis in the original. Fox (Time, 53) defines “justice” as synonymous with his conception of meaning. Justice, he says, is “(1) a correlation between behavior and its consequences and (2) a principle that causes and preserves that state.” See also pages 59, 62, 69. Lauha, Kohelet, 59–60. Zimmer (Zwischen, 33–72) titles an entire section “Der Sinn des menschlichen Lebens” (the meaning of human life), in which he argues that Eccl 1:3 refers to a search for the profit (“Nutzen”), gain (“Gewinn”) and yield (“Ertrag”) of human life.

Introduction

5

and those they represent, are plausible and, in their own ways, close to comprehensive, but they have not accounted for the scope of what is meant by “the meaning of life,” which, as will be seen, can refer to deedconsequence correspondence, or to one’s own purpose, or to the intrinsic value of life. This has created, on the one hand, a fuzzy reading of the book, as it simply remains unclear what is meant by the proposal, for instance, that in Qohelet’s experience life has no meaning. On the other hand, it has produced apparent, rather than real, conflicts between interpreters, with some claiming that Ecclesiastes addresses the meaning of life and others asserting that the book has nothing at all to do with such an issue. All the while both parties have come to no agreement on what “the meaning of life” means. Therefore, some of the central aims of the present book have been crafted to respond to that debate: to resolve it, to clarify the notion of life’s meaning, and to make additional advancements in the interpretation of Ecclesiastes in its final form.13 Success at this endeavor requires resources beyond biblical studies and, in my judgment, the best are found in a subfield of psychology. For approximately the last four decades, psychologists have been very occupied with defining the meaning of life and have come to understand the phrase from three perspectives – “coherence,” “purpose” and “significance” – concepts that have been recently collated in the work of Frank Martela and Michael Steger.14 The first refers to both order and sensemaking, as a coherent life contains reliable patterns of act and consequence, and is comprehensible to the human mind. The second, purpose, means that life has a direction, an overarching goal that informs the present and in that way endows it with meaning. Lastly, aside from coherence and purpose, a life can be “significant” and thereby worth 13

14

Although the achievements of my argument may inform diachronic approaches to Ecclesiastes, I treat the book in its final form. Matters of authorship, redaction and editing are treated to some degree in the notes but do not influence the present argument. Frank Martela and Michael Steger, “The Three Meanings of Meaning in Life: Distinguishing Coherence, Purpose, and Significance,” The Journal of Positive Psychology 11 (2016): 531–545. I am using meaning of life to refer to what Martela and Steger call meaning in life, that is, how humans experience meaning, though the distinction is not entirely convincing (532). For similar results, see Login George and Crystal Park, “Meaning in Life as Comprehension, Purpose, and Mattering: Toward Integration and New Research Questions,” Review of General Psychology 20 (2016): 205–220. By recognizing three distinct notions of life’s meaning, I part ways with what psychologists call the “amalgam thesis,” which views the meaning of life as one singular category (see, e.g., R. W. Hepburn, “Questions about the Meaning of Life,” RelS 1 [1966]: 125–140).

6

Introduction

living; it might hold intrinsic value, and would then, in more colloquial terms, “matter.” Coherence, purpose and significance: these categories will not only bring definition to a concept largely assumed and vague in biblical discussion but will also uncover how Qohelet addresses different aspects of life’s meaning and how these aspects enrich our understanding of the book as a whole.15 Scholarship on Ecclesiastes notoriously lacks consensus, and by identifying a problem with it I do not mean to undermine the very cogent work that has been produced, which so often exercises care in thought and language for one of the most abstruse texts in the Bible. Nevertheless, numerous interpreters have casually employed the phrase “meaning of life” to describe Qohelet’s inquest, and they have, in some cases, neglected the possible ways in which the phrase can be understood. That observation is not strictly accusatory, however, given the fact that meaning of life definitions have only somewhat recently come to the fore in psychology, and psychologists themselves have at times casually employed the phrase. But, whatever the case, it is now high time to make clear what we mean about the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes. I have been proffering semantic vagueness as the main snag for interpretations of Ecclesiastes and the meaning of life, and yet perhaps that snag is not as troublesome as I have made it out to be. Is the ambiguity of “life’s meaning” really a problem? And, furthermore, might we actually be missing out on part of the concept’s import by trying to slice the phrase into pieces and segregate them with a rigid taxonomy?16 That objection leaves room for linguistic ambiguity, particularly in the sort of phenomenological language that we often employ with phrases like “the meaning of life.” But, while such ambiguity is prudent in some cases, in this case it does not enrich our reading of Ecclesiastes. It is one thing to sanction ambiguity in biblical language, like the multivalent meanings of the lexeme ‫הבל‬, which can sometimes constitute the very depth of a text’s

15

16

For a concise overview of philosophical approaches to Ecclesiastes, see Jaco Gericke, “A Comprehensive Typology of Philosophical Perspectives on Qohelet,” VetE 36 (2015): 1–7. Interestingly, psychologists themselves have deemed Ecclesiastes as worthy of attention within discussions about the meaning of life, placing the entire book, for instance, in a recent anthology (Exploring the Meaning of Life: An Anthology and Guide, ed. Joshua Seachris [Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013]). A similar issue between what some have called “reductionist” versus more complex approaches to life’s meaning feeds debate among psychologists (see Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 531).

Introduction

7

message.17 However, it is much less advantageous to use vague concepts when approaching a text. The term ‫ הבל‬is one that the text brings to us; “the meaning of life” is a concept that we have brought to the text, and so we ought to be as clear as possible. This is particularly imperative for an ancient text, which can so easily become a victim of anachronistic interpretation or a container for modern-day assumptions. So rather than missing the point of the concept, a taxonomy of the meaning of life will elucidate the many notions of this idea within Ecclesiastes.18 That elucidation, though, does risk the problem of over-definition, whereby the external categories become the only thing that we see within a text and consequently leave us with a distorted version of its message. In other words, with a trustworthy set of psychological tools we could dismantle Ecclesiastes, fit all its parts into three neat piles, and conclude that the meaning of life was Qohelet’s sole concern. Voila. For this reason, meaning of life definitions must be employed as a starting point, not an end point, and space must be given for material in Ecclesiastes that may have nothing to do with psychology and for passages that stretch and perhaps counter the meaning of life definitions. Each of these possibilities will become a reality in what follows, where the clarity of psychological resources will benefit the interpretation of Ecclesiastes without imposing over-definition. More broadly, in a book of the Bible so fraught with textual difficulties and interpretive disagreements, I have tried to tread a path of plausibility, neither simply accepting the “consensus” interpretation of passages to the extent that those exist, which would make the task much easier, nor proposing too many innovative readings or selecting the most contested passages to make my case. My aim, then, is to argue that Ecclesiastes does indeed address the meaning of life, but that it does so in accord with the pre-established, threefold definition of meaningfulness as delineated by psychological research. Using those definitions as a basis for analysis, I propose that

17

18

For ambiguities in Ecclesiastes that incorporate single lexemes and yet extend beyond them, see Thomas Krüger, “Meaningful Ambiguities in the Book of Qoheleth,” in The Language of Qohelet in Its Context: Essays in Honour of Prof. A. Schoors on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. A. Berlejung and P. Van Hecke, OLA 164 (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 63–74. Interpretations of Ecclesiastes that have employed psychological research focus on Qohelet’s inner world rather than on what he observes within the world (e.g., Frank Zimmermann, The Inner World of Qohelet [with Translation and Commentary] [New York: KTAV, 1973]). My interest in life’s meaning remains independent of any concern with Qohelet’s psychological state.

8

Introduction

Ecclesiastes had much to say about the meaning of life and that it addressed this meaning in decisive ways. I would even submit that it is only by using such definitions that can we say much about the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes, or in any other ancient literature for that matter, making this analysis the distinctive feature of my method: using external categories to bring definition and clarity to vague conceptions within biblical interpretation, while giving equal respect to critical modes of biblical study and to the historical and cultural meaning that Ecclesiastes bore for its ancient audience. Despite the necessity of Hebrew lexicography and critical commentary on the Bible, biblical study only gets so far when speaking its own language and drawing on its own resources – primarily, the accepted corpus of academic journals, monographs and commentaries. It is really no surprise, to me, that “the meaning of life” has been treated as it has among interpreters of Ecclesiastes. For to venture beyond convention often results in anachronism, bizarre interpretations or one-sided conclusions that favor some current concern; but it need not. What I am getting at here is a way of reading ancient, even sacred, material that can bear the weight of our present questions while allowing the material to address those questions from its own historical location and in its own voice. In this case, that requires not only modern psychological resources but also traditional, critical methods of exegesis and a robust context for it, in this case a comparative exposition of other ancient texts. Thus I have here conceptual categories, the text of Ecclesiastes, and a wealth of other ancient literature that forms the intellectual contexts of interpretation. That method makes this book not only distinct but, in my judgment, better placed than any other to deal with questions about Ecclesiastes and the meaning of life. As a result, we should be able to say, certainly with more clarity and hopefully with more confidence, just what it means for Qohelet to address “the meaning of life.” The present chapter is a fairly long introduction to a deceptively simple question: What does the meaning of life have to do with Ecclesiastes? Thus far, I have only diagnosed the problem that surrounds the question and asserted a way of answering it that I think is best. However, in order to give an answer that has any chance of being satisfactory, much more is required. First, the notion of life’s meaning as prescribed by psychologists must be laid out. For only by determining what is meant by “the meaning of life” can we determine whether and how it appears in Ecclesiastes. Second, the sibling of life’s meaning in Ecclesiastes must be introduced – namely, suffering – which will form a sort of auxiliary thesis for this study. Third, the presence of these two ideas, meaning and suffering, must

The Meaning of Life

9

be identified within other texts from the ancient world, which will produce a context in which Ecclesiastes might be understood, one that extends over the first several chapters of this book. In the remainder of this chapter, then, I’d like to say just enough about life’s meaning and Ecclesiastes in order to get on with the substance of my argument about Ecclesiastes, suffering, and the meaning of life in the ancient world.

    Researchers of psychology have spent substantial effort to determine what we mean when we talk about the meaning of life. According to them, humans mean one of three things when they raise questions about it. Life makes sense; life has goals that direct it; or life in itself is valuable. These three conceptions of meaning are referred to, respectively, as “coherence,” “purpose” and “significance.”19 Such definitional clarity and the expanded threefold conceptual scheme for understanding the meaning of life have only recently come about within psychological research, making its consultation quite timely,20 and it is these advances that provide biblical scholarship with unmatched resources for deciphering biblical texts relevant to the topic, most notably Ecclesiastes, a book rife with scholarly proposals about the meaningfulness and meaninglessness of life.

19

20

See Martela and Steger above. Although these three categories find wide acceptance among psychologists, additional conceptions of life’s meaning do surface, including possibility (what could have been different about my life?), instrumental value (vs. intrinsic value), causal meaning (vs. referential/semantic meaning), meaning as lesson and supernatural meaning. Martela and Steger (“Three Meanings,” 531), citing works from 2013–2014, note that “the field still suffers from definitional ambiguity and simplified approaches that neglect the complexity and conceptual range of meaning in life as a construct.” Their article, from 2016, is one of two publications attempting to resolve the problem of vagueness. Like psychologists, philosophers too have arrived at no consensus about a singular definition for life’s meaning. Thaddeus Metz, “The Meaning of Life,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. E. N. Zalta, last revised June 3, 2013, http://plato .stanford.edu/entries/life-meaning/. Metz has surveyed the field and determined that by “meaning” many philosophers mean something different from happiness or rightness: “If talk about meaning in life is not by definition talk about happiness or rightness, then what is it about? There is as yet no consensus in the field.” In view of this lack of consensus, Metz proffers possibilities that amount to “a grab-bag of heterogenous ideas.” For a helpful discussion, see Hepburn, “Questions.”

10

Introduction

“Coherence” refers to the human’s cognitive comprehension of life, as life “makes sense” because predictable and recognizable patterns are discernable within it. Martela and Steger put it this way: Beginning at the discrete level of moment-to-moment experiences, coherence centers on the perception that stimuli are predictable and conform to recognizable patterns. From here, it would appear that ever more elaborate models of patterns and predictability can be constructed, eventually building to overarching meaning models that help people make sense of one’s self, the world, and one’s fit within the world.21

When coherent, life holds epistemological integrity, especially with respect to stable patterns of cause and effect. A classical formulation of coherence in OT literature is the doctrine of retribution, whereby disobedience and rebellion against the Lord, along with other forms of wickedness, beget misfortune. Likewise, obedience and faithfulness to God beget righteousness, so that life, when lived righteously, goes well. Furthermore, these predictable patterns correspond to a comprehension of them, as a retribution doctrine enables humans to grasp how the world works and to live life in a way that obtains reliable outcomes, affording one a meaningful life in this sense. The breakdown of such coherence is easy to spot within Ecclesiastes. Take Qohelet’s observation in 8:14, for instance: There is ‫ הבל‬that occurs upon the earth, that there are righteous people to whom it happens according to the deeds of the wicked, and there are wicked people to whom it happens according to the deeds of the righteous.

The eventualities that strike the righteous and the wicked do not correspond to their respective characters. In other words, bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad people; the righteous suffer and the wicked prosper, a tragically fine example of the lack of coherence in Qohelet’s world. He makes similar declarations about work, wealth and wisdom, all of which have expected, “coherent” outcomes, but these outcomes fail to materialize, or at least fail to materialize in any consistent way. In other words, the planning and prudence that characterize the wise man do not always produce the advantageous results that he deserves (9:11); for riches and long life may just as well come to the fool. While coherence involves the reliable and predictable patterns that have so easily broken down in Qohelet’s eyes, this category also includes the limits of comprehending such patterns. So when Qohelet questions why he has bothered to become so wise, given the fact that he and the common fool

21

Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 533–534.

The Meaning of Life

11

will both alike die at some unforeseen hour (2:15), and when he seems so uncertain about who will acquire the fruits of his labor – “who knows?” (2:18–19) he keeps saying – he is addressing what psychologists would call “coherence”: reliable patterns in life, especially related to one’s agency and outcomes, and also the knowability of those patterns. The second type of life’s meaning, “purpose,” arises when life has a future, overarching goal. This goal gives direction to life and bears significance for present activities, so that to say “my life has purpose” amounts to saying “my life has meaning.” According to psychologists, “Purpose refers specifically to having direction and future-oriented goals in life. . . . These overarching goals then lend significance to one’s present actions.”22 The OT gives prominence to several life-directing aims, one of which cannot go unnoticed – namely, the goal of entering the promised land and living prosperously therein. And now, O Israel, listen to the statutes and the judgments that I am teaching you to do, in order that you might live and come and possess the land that the Lord, the God of your fathers, is giving to you. (Deut 4:1) They shall dwell in the land that I gave to my servant Jacob, wherein your fathers lived. And they and their children and their children’s children shall dwell in it forever, and David my servant shall be their prince forever. (Ezek 37:25)

Israel’s hopes have been set on life in the land, and this aim directs their life throughout the OT, obviously achieved to some extent after their rescue from Egypt (Joshua, esp. 13:1–7), compromised due to their disloyalty to the Lord’s covenant (Amos; Jer 25:8–14) and reiterated within the exile to grant a view toward a promising future (e.g., Ezekiel 36–37). For Israel, then, life becomes purposeful and purposeless depending on how they respond to the Lord’s design for them. Life’s purpose is perhaps the most difficult of the three categories to discern in Ecclesiastes, but it is certainly there. For purpose associates with no less than a mammoth theme of the book – death – and how one’s knowledge of it influences life in the present. Despite the incoherence mentioned above, Qohelet remains certain that the future of the righteous remains in good standing: For a sinner does evil a hundred times and prolongs himself, but I also know that it will be good for those who fear God, because they fear before him, and that it will not be good for the wicked, and he will not prolong days like a shadow, because he does not fear before God. (8:12–13) 22

Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 534.

12

Introduction

One’s direction gives life purpose, even when heading toward death, and yet it is also bound up with future judgment, as the young man should rejoice and follow his heart, so long as he keeps God’s assessment of his actions in view (11:9). These forward-looking orientations qualify for the meaning of life label of “purpose.” They will expose certain complexities in Qohelet’s thought, but nothing irreconcilable. “Significance,” as the third category, refers to life’s value or worthwhileness, wherein factors past, present or future generate a life that “matters.” This form of meaningfulness crystalizes in view of questions such as, What makes life worth living? Is death preferable to life? If one does not wish to commit suicide, then why? And does life possess any inherent value?23 The psalmist’s desperation to live, humanity’s endowment of “the image of God” and the many Pentateuchal laws intent on protecting life suggest some intrinsic value for life within the OT. That intrinsic value is put to question in Ecclesiastes and, most importantly, qualified. Qohelet repeatedly inquires into what is “good” for human beings and, relatedly, what in life is “better than” the alternative. At several moments, also, he seems intent on evaluating the value of living itself, whether it is better to live or to die or to never be born at all (esp. 6:1–6; 9:4–6). Here arise the most intriguing conditions for what makes one’s life significant and therefore worth living, whether that be wealth, or joy, or even another form of meaningful life, such as coherence. As with each of these categories for meaning, Qohelet links up suffering as a moreor-less integral part of meaningfulness; in the case of significance, it can compromise an otherwise worthwhile life, meaning that if one must undergo a certain form of hardship, life may not be worth living (6:1–6). This is one example of the ways in which Qohelet will target life’s meaning, raising doubts about each type of meaningfulness but also admitting areas where life is meaningful, and even contriving his own ways of making it so. These definitions give one the idea that certain meaning of life concepts might be very similar. It is most notably possible that future goals may make one’s life worth living, that “purpose,” in other words, might endow one’s present life with “significance.” For example, living with the aim of making money could then make one’s life worth living, and for the person adherent to this worldview the inability to make money (i.e. no purpose) may result in an insignificant, worthless life. This relationship 23

In psychological research, significance has been linked to concepts like eudaimonia and one’s reason for living. See Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 535.

The Meaning of Life

13

suggests some overlap between the purpose and significance categories and raises the question of how distinct they really are. Although these two concepts do overlap – since to establish a purpose for life may make that life worth living – they ultimately remain distinct: significance evaluates life as a whole – past, present and future – while purpose fixates on the future alone and serves as a motivation for life. One evaluates the present based on many sources (significance); the other provides momentum for life based on the future (purpose). Coherence stands apart from both categories, as it simply describes rather than evaluates the world as we see it. These conceptual distinctions arise, in part, from the fact that the categories are often conflated, leading Frank Martela and Michael Steger to underscore the need to treat them separately, so that each fashions a distinct way of understanding life as meaningful. Amidst the concern to distinguish concepts, a commonality is also proposed, one found in the function of these categories, as each “reflectively interprets” life: “In order to wrestle with the fundamental questions of meaning in life, one must be capable of looking at life through mental representations that can be created, selected, combined, and interchanged. Instead of merely experiencing the world, meaning requires that we interpret it.”24 With the component of reflection unifying each type of meaning, Qohelet immediately enters this stream of thought, since he not only experiences life but foremost reflects upon it. “I set my heart to seek and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven.25 It is an unhappy business that God has given to the children of humankind to be busy with” (1:13); “Then I considered all the work that my hands had done, and all the toil that I toiled doing it, and behold all was ‫ הבל‬and a striving after wind, and there was no gain under the sun” (2:11).26 The way in which Qohelet

24 25

26

Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 538 (italics original). Without drawing too firm a distinction between ‫ דרׁש‬and ‫תור‬, it should be said that while the latter can mean “look/search for” something (Ezek 20:6; Num 10:33; cf. Eccl 2:3), here it means “explore” (e.g., Num 14:6). To “set one’s heart” (‫ )ונתתי את־לבי‬to something is surely attentive (Prov 23:26) and, but not only, cognitive (cf. 1 Chron 22:19; Dan 10:12), and it is sometimes strongly translated “I devoted myself” (Longman, Ecclesiastes, 77–78) or “Da nahm ich mir vor” (Thomas Krüger, Kohelet (Prediger), BKAT 19 [Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2000], 124). Last, wisdom is not the object but the instrument of study (see Seow, Ecclesiastes, 120), though it is later subjected to Qohelet’s examination (2:12). On my understanding of and refusal to translate ‫הבל‬, see Chapter 5. The syntagm ‫פנה ב‬ otherwise occurs only in Job 6:28, but it seems to have a broad sense of “turning to consider/look at,” like the more common ‫פנה אל‬, which can be used with a variety of

14

Introduction

couches his observations corresponds to the very aspect that binds psychological notions of meaning (i.e. reflection). Beyond this broad connection, Martela and Steger proffer hypothetical relationships between each type of meaning, which I have already alluded to and about which I say more later: coherence may be a necessary condition for significance; purpose could serve as a source of significance or vice versa; and coherence and purpose work together synergistically.27 With this scheme of definitions, it is possible to disclose the ways in which Qohelet does and does not address the meaning of life, that is, in what ways he views life as “meaningful” and “meaningless,” an interpretation so far characterized by vagueness and often unnecessary dispute. By viewing the meaning of life categories as a boon in this way, it will become clear that the field of psychology does more than simply calibrate our definition of meaning. It will expose unforeseen relationships between some of the most prominent concepts of the book and refine our understanding of Qohelet’s metaphysics as well as the role of motivation within it.

 Qohelet’s treatment of the meaning of life is intimately linked to human suffering. The concept is relatively less problematic than life’s meaning and, for biblical interpreters, has been subject not so much to misunderstanding or presupposition as to neglect within the interpretation of Ecclesiastes.28 Qohelet’s problem is frequently framed in terms of

27 28

objects (e.g., geography, prayers, people; see Lev 20:6; 1 Sam 13:17; 1 Kgs 8:28). It may be used locatively here, with Qohelet scanning his accomplishments, as he “stands and walks among them, turning to face each” (Stuart Weeks, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Ecclesiastes: Volume 1, Introduction and Commentary on Ecclesiastes 1.1–5.6, ICC [London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2020], 417; this work is hereafter referred to as Ecclesiastes 1–5), and yet that is most evident not from the syntagm itself (cf. 2:20) but from the fact that ‫ ב‬marks two objects here. Qohelet is looking at what he’s done, drawing a conclusion from it and, in context, then, giving intellectual consideration to his works. Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 538–539. In addition to the literature in Chapters 6 and 7, see Peake, Problem, 125–136; Dominic Rudman, “The Anatomy of the Wise Man: Wisdom, Sorrow and Joy in the Book of Ecclesiastes,” in Qohelet in the Context of Wisdom, ed. A. Schoors, BETL 136 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1998), 465–471; Russell L. Meek, “Truly God Is Good: Suffering in Old Testament Perspective,” Journal of Spiritual Formation & Soul Care 9 (2016): 151–163. Certain interpretations of Ecclesiastes are sensitive to the theme of suffering in the book but not intent to systematically unpack it (e.g., Crenshaw,

Suffering

15

pessimism or skepticism, to suggest that he saw the worst in life, resigned himself to its caprice and perhaps felt miserable in the process. While the accuracy of these concepts for explaining the book’s content has rightly been questioned,29 I would add that they do not adequately account for the human pain expressed therein. Relatedly, attention is given to Qohelet’s contradictions and, in terms of emotion, his commendations of joy. But here too, the matter of how human pain might factor into the book remains undiscussed, which is more surprising given the fact that suffering serves as an intuitive foil to joy.30 Though not voluminous in his comments about pain, Qohelet nevertheless introduces it at critical moments, as in his opening motto-like statements (1:13, 18) or after his inaugural investigation into work and wisdom (2:17, 23) or near the end of his observations on life, when he gives summary instructions for living (11:8–10): “The one who increases knowledge increases sorrow” (1:18b); all a man’s days “are full of sorrow, and his work is a vexation” (2:23); and although the “days of darkness will be many,” one should “remove vexation from [the] heart” (11:8, 10). Suffering plays a decisive role in life’s meaning. For, as we shall see, it arises because lives are meaningless; it may decide whether or not a life is meaningful; and it seems to characterize much of what Qohelet says

29

30

“Qoheleth’s Hatred of Life: A Passing Phase or an Enduring Sentiment?” in Wisdom for Life: Essays Offered to Honor Prof. Maurice Gilbert, SJ on the Occasion of His Eightieth Birthday, ed. Nuria Calduch-Benages [Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2014], 119–131). A recent work has compared suffering in Luke – Acts, Seneca and 4 Maccabees: Brian J. Tabb, Suffering in Ancient Worldview: Luke, Seneca and 4 Maccabees in Dialogue, LNTS 569 (London: T&T Clark, 2017). See Stuart Weeks, Ecclesiastes and Scepticism, LHBOTS 541 (New York: T&T Clark, 2012). Weeks’ focus on human misapprehension in Ecclesiastes, while an incisive observation about what Qohelet deems problematic, may downplay too much the limited knowledge of humans. Epistemological limitations in conjunction with an unskewed perception of the world accurately represent certain parts of the book (cf. 168). See Chapter 5. So Eunny P. Lee, The Vitality of Enjoyment in Qohelet’s Theological Rhetoric, BZAW 353 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2005); Stefan Fischer, Die Aufforderung zur Lebensfreude im Buch Kohelet und seine Rezeption der ägyptischen Harfnerlieder, Wiener Alttestamentliche Studien 2 (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1999). Jan Dietrich’s article is an exception in this regard: “Macht Denken traurig? Eine Auslegung von Kohelet 1,18 und 5,19,” in Ex oriente Lux: Studien zur Theologie des Alten Testaments: Festschrift für Rüdiger Lux zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Angelika Berlejung, Arbeiten zur Bibel und ihrer Geschichte 39 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2012), 307–321. Exhibiting the trend to focus on skepticism, pessimism and enjoyment when comparing Ecclesiastes to ancient Near Eastern literature, see Jimyung Kim, Reanimating Qohelet’s Contradictory Voices: Studies of Open-Ended Discourse on Wisdom in Ecclesiastes, Biblical Interpretation Series 166 (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2018), 84–86.

16

Introduction

about human work and even about his own process of investigation. So in addition to delineating how Qohelet addresses the meaning of life, much of this monograph is spent assessing the role that he gives to suffering. As a result, Qohelet can be seen to suffer the meaning of life, that is, to be grieved by the lack of meaning he witnesses in the world, where justice is unpredictably swapped for injustice, lives of a certain quality may not be worth living and life’s purpose regularly comes under scrutiny. In a line, I expound much of what Qohelet meant by “In much wisdom is much vexation, and the one who increases knowledge increases sorrow” (1:18).

       The exploration of suffering and life’s meaning in Ecclesiastes is not confined to the book alone. I also situate Ecclesiastes within the contexts of the ancient Mediterranean and Hebrew canon, leading with several chapters that determine how meaning and its distress emerge within Egyptian, Mesopotamian and Greek texts. That prepares the background for seeing all the more clearly how these concepts appear within Ecclesiastes and how they inhabit other parts of the OT. The relation of Ecclesiastes to the literatures of Egypt and Mesopotamia has been largely focused on genetic links, the most promising of which is the Epic of Gilgamesh, as it shares with Ecclesiastes certain phraseology: Go, eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a good heart . . . at all times let your garments be white . . . Enjoy life with the wife whom you love. (Eccl 9:7–9) You, Gilgamesh, let your belly be full, keep enjoying yourself, day and night! . . . Let your clothes be clean . . . Let a wife enjoy your repeated embrace! (Gilgamesh OB III.6–13)31 Light is sweet and it is good for the eyes to see the sun. (Eccl 11:7) Let my eyes look on the sun so I am sated with light! (Gilgamesh).32

For some interpreters, the linguistic similarities warrant a relationship of direct literary dependence, whereby Ecclesiastes drew upon a version of

31

32

For translation, see Andrew George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 278–279. See below for a discussion of sources. See George, Gilgamesh, 277.

Meaning and Suffering in the Ancient World

17

Gilgamesh and used the epic for its own ends.33 The biblical author’s acquaintance with Egyptian writings has also been put forward, particularly his use of select harpers’ songs such as Intef, Inherchau and Neferhotep I.34 But these supposed literary connections, however similar in language, have been challenged on numerous occasions by those who see common themes as a stronger point of comparison.35 Attitudes toward joy, for instance, or perspectives on death in Ecclesiastes and other ancient Near Eastern literature have provided the basis for comparison, quite aside from linguistic links. This approach is far more fruitful, and in my judgment stable, for identifying the relationship of Ecclesiastes with other ancient literature. For any lack of certainty about the author’s access to these texts or about Ecclesiastes’ dependence upon them need not hamper an examination of how their themes might facilitate a comparison. In my judgment, many of the Mesopotamian and Egyptian texts summoned in this ongoing debate bear their own views of suffering and the meaning of life, and they thereby help to situate Ecclesiastes within its ancient intellectual world, as best as that can be determined. Only in this way can the finer textures of life’s meaning and Qohelet’s distress be felt.36 The Egyptian material worth consulting includes The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb, Dispute Between a Man and his Ba, Instruction of

33

34 35

36

Nili Samet, “The Gilgamesh Epic and the Book of Qohelet: A New Look,” Biblica 96 (2015): 375–390. Although the evidence for literary dependence is notable, the fact that Ecclesiastes’ Gilgamesh-like passages correspond to no extant version of the epic should moderate those conclusions. Arguing that the author of Ecclesiastes used a “peculiar version of Gilgamesh” (386) that we do not have access to seems dubious and should be held as no more than a tenuous possibility. So Stefan Fischer, “Qohelet and ‘Heretic’ Harpers’ Songs,” JSOT 98 (2002): 105–121. See, among others, Christoph Uehlinger, “Qohelet im Horizont mesopotamischer, levantinischer und ägyptischer Weisheitsliteratur der persischen und hellenistischen Zeit,” in Das Buch Kohelet: Studien zur Struktur, Geschichte, Rezeption und Theologie, ed. Schwienhorst-Schönberger, BZAW 254 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1997), 155–248. The objection that we lack enough evidence to have any confidence about what views were normative or exceptional in the ancient world should not stop us from accounting for the evidence that we do have. I would grant, then, what Weeks (Ecclesiastes and Scepticism, 166) has said about these extant texts: “the works that we do possess have often survived more through chance, or through their connection to later interests, than because they were necessarily typical.” And I would certainly agree that “It is not a simple task, therefore, to assess the extent to which any text was truly radical or different.” However, if these remarks breed the objection that we lack enough evidence to carry out what I am proposing to (which I do not think, for Weeks, they do [see Ecclesiastes 1–5, 105–118]), then it should be said that such an objection can almost always be made in this field and that we must simply carry on responsibly with the evidence at hand.

18

Introduction

Anksheshonq, Papyrus Insinger, Papyrus Lansing, and the harpers’ song of Intef, along with supplemental tomb inscriptions. Texts from Mesopotamia include The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin, Sin of Sargon, Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi, The Babylonian Theodicy, and Counsels of a Pessimist. As will be seen, these contain evidence of human suffering that bears some relation to meaning of life concepts – “coherence,” “purpose” and “significance.” These texts also reflect disparate types of literature. Instruction, reflections on “national distress” and royal autobiography classify one or many of the pieces just mentioned, and it raises the question of how such genres of literature, so different from Ecclesiastes in many respects, can be justified as evidence for comparative study. The selection is warranted for at least two reasons. First, Ecclesiastes itself is hard enough to classify in generic terms, containing arguably “autobiographical” elements (e.g., 1:13–2:11), classic proverbial instruction (e.g., 10:1–4) and a large amount of content that has no analogue in the ancient world as we know it.37 Second, comparison occurs on many levels: it can be done on the grounds of direct literary similarities, it can be done through similarities in genre, holistically conceived, and it can also be governed by themes and topoi alone. The texts selected in this study exhibit human suffering, and they often do so within the context of remarks about life’s meaning. The question of whether the author of Ecclesiastes was familiar with such work or the degree to which such work is linguistically similar bears little relevance for the question of 37

I use “autobiographical” loosely and will generally, and more accurately, refer to Qohelet’s “first-person” perspective and “self-address.” Ecclesiastes is not autobiographical in the strict, modern sense, which requires both a subjectivist manner (i.e. a firstperson orientation) and subjectivist content (i.e. the material is an expression of the self and that self-expression is, perhaps, the focus of concern). Jürgen van Oorschot is right to say that the book does not use autobiography in this sense (“König und Mensch: Biografie und Autobiografie bei Kohelet und in der alttestamentlichen Literaturgeschichte,” in Mensch und König: Studien zur Anthropologie des Alten Testaments: Rüdiger Lux zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. A. Berlejung and R. Heckl, Herders biblische Studien 53 [Freiburg: Herder, 2008], 117–121). For an overview of Ecclesiastes and genre, see Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, 61–82. For an integration of genre and pessimism/skepticism labels, see William H. U. Anderson, “Philosophical Considerations in a Genre Analysis of Qoheleth,” VT 48 (1998): 289–300. Karl Janzen-Winkeln (“Lebenslehre und Biographie,” ZÄS 131 [2004]: 59–72) draws attention to the distinctions in context, purpose, content and language in Egyptian (auto)biographies and instructional teaching. Although he says little about joy or suffering in these texts, their disparate nature foregrounds the holistic differences sometimes attributed to “genre.” Cf. Andrea M. Gnirs, “Die ägyptische Autobiographie,” in Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms, ed. Antonio Loprieno, Probleme der Ägyptologie 10 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 191–241.

Meaning and Suffering in the Ancient World

19

how these texts view matters of meaning and suffering, and how these thematic relations expose the quality of Qohelet’s reflection on such topics.38 For my purposes, suffering is the entry point of this comparison, and the meaning of life is its unifying interest. That said, attention will be given to similarities in form (and to that extent genre), especially to the style of first-person self-address that occurs in Ecclesiastes and other ancient Near Eastern literature, along with the royal element that sometimes couches these occurrences. With this approach, I make every effort to refrain from citing arbitrary parallels, a practice that too easily supports any argument an interpreter might wish to make. However, by taking form and theme as my selection criteria, I nevertheless end up with some works that have long been compared to Ecclesiastes, and it will become clear that some of the most popular examples may not be as compelling as once thought and that certain texts on the fringes of comparison deserve a seat at the table. Lest too many objections come up immediately, it is worth calling Roland Murphy’s words to mind: “It is too easy to dismiss parallels by focusing on the specifics of the pertinent schools of thought.”39 The closer we look at any of these texts, and especially their contexts, the sooner we begin to spot their differences; and the longer we look at difference, the sooner we forget, dismiss or even deny the commonalities that brought us here in the first place. This eventuality always seems to put the burden of proof on the one arguing for similarity and is regularly used to cast doubt upon such efforts, which is one reason I put questions of influence aside and take a thematic point of entry. Hence I keep not precise textual relationships in view but focus instead on precise ideas within several bodies of literature from the ancient world. The same holds for Greek literature. In comparison with the ancient Near Eastern texts, though, this corpus is consulted briefly and will be 38

39

Examining these texts based on themes and topoi is supported by the fact that the most prominent comparison of ancient Near Eastern literature and Ecclesiastes occurs with a text that does not share the biblical book’s genre or form, namely, Gilgamesh. Although the comparison with this text often begins with its literary connections to Ecclesiastes, it soon proceeds to an assessment of how both texts treat issues of kingship, joy, failure and a quest of sorts. See, e.g., Martin A. Shields, “To Seek but Not to Find: Old Meanings for Qoheleth and Gilgameš,” in Gilgameš and the World of Assyria: Proceedings of the Conference Held at Mandelbaum House, The University of Sydney, 21–23 July 2004, ed. J. Azize and N. Weeks (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 129–146; Jean De Savignac, “La sagesse du Qoheleth et l’epopee de Gilgamesh,” VT 28 (1978): 318–323. On the limitations of formal and compositional ties, see Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 87–104. Roland E. Murphy, Ecclesiastes, WBC 23A (Waco, TX: Thomas Nelson, 1992), xliv.

20

Introduction

driven mainly by those texts and schools of thought that have most often been associated with Ecclesiastes. Epicurus and the Stoics, along with Theognis’ Elegies, will be given attention, and although a focus on the suffering and meaning of life categories will further situate Ecclesiastes within its ancient world, in this instance it will also intensify the skepticism that has surrounded the connection of Ecclesiastes and Greek, especially Hellenistic, literature.40 The link still attracts some, in both conceptual and historical respects, and in that regard, I come to the conclusion that Ecclesiastes, along with its ideas of suffering and life’s meaning, fits more comfortably into an ancient Near Eastern world of thought.41 Nonetheless, and even in that context, I will argue that Ecclesiastes is distinct, while acknowledging that, although it occupies a particular place among extant ancient literature, many of the texts discussed here hold their own distinctive places as well.42

40

41

42

Some scholars have outright rebuffed the proposed connections with Greek literature in Ecclesiastes. Based on the manifold arguments for Greek links within Eccl 2:4–11 alone, Jean-Jacques Lavoie (“La folie des grandeurs: Bilan des études comparatives et analyse intertextuelle de Qohélet 2,4-11,” Theoforum 46 [2015]: 324) concludes that “si personne n’a identifié une source grecque pour chacun des huit versets de Qo 2,4-11, pour l’ensemble des auteurs, cet état de la recherche laisse clairement entendre que ces versets ne peuvent se comprendre si l’on fait abstraction des influences grecques dont ils sont censés porter les traces.” Somewhat less critical of Ecclesiastes’ ancient Near Eastern relationships, Lavoie ultimately sees other OT texts as the most plausible option (i.e. 1 Kings 3–11; 2 Chronicles 1–9; Genesis 1–3; see Chapter 7 for further discussion). HansPeter Müller justifies a comparison with early Greek philosophy based on historical and conceptual grounds, and yet he concludes that Ecclesiastes stands apart from that corpus in its self-reflective language, lack of “scientific” thought and in the nature of its “skepticism”: “Theonome Skepsis und Lebensfreude sind an den Gott der ‘Weisheit’ gebunden, der die eine wie die andere ‘gibt.’” (“Kohelet im Lichte der frühgriechischen Philosophie,” in Weisheit in Israel: Beiträge des Symposiums “Das Alte Testament und die Kultur der Moderne” anlässlich des 100. Geburtstags Gerhard Von Rads (1901–1971), Heidelberg, 18.–21. Oktober 2001, ed. D. J. A. Clines, H. Lichtenberger, H.-P. Müller, Altes Testament und Moderne 12 [Münster: Lit, 2003], 67–80, here 80). Jimyung Kim (Reanimating, 86–97), for instance, attends to some Hellenistic connections, particularly Cynicism, Stoicism, Epicureanism and Pyrrhonism, which he establishes on the basis of conceptual similarity rather than identifiable historical influence. See further references in Chapter 4. If a form of comparative analysis needs to be cited, then, I would refer to William Hallo’s “contextual approach,” as summarized in his introduction to COS. He accounts for the intertextual relation of biblical and non-biblical literature, and for the other contexts that inform each individual text, so far as can be determined. In the ways specified above, my study affords Ecclesiastes an analysis on both levels. After a helpful analysis of the issues, Will Kynes (An Obituary for “Wisdom Literature”: The Birth, Death, and Intertextual Reintegration of a Biblical Corpus [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019], 203–208) seems to vote for a similar approach as well.

Excluded Texts and the Date of Ecclesiastes

21

       Given the criteria of suffering and the meaning of life, which will govern my comparison of biblical and non-biblical literature, there are several texts that could be relevant to this study but, when placed under scrutiny, reveal a level of incongruity with Ecclesiastes that makes them peripheral. The Sumerian Man and His God speaks of suffering but explains it as a problem of universal sinfulness rather than one of meaninglessness. After recounting his agony, the man exclaims: “Never has a sinless child been born to its mother . . . a sinless man has never existed from old” (104–105), and proceeds to confess his own sin and have his god assuage his pains.43 Although sin does influence suffering and meaning in the OT, it has little obvious connection to these matters in Ecclesiastes. Sin’s role for Qohelet is, instead, clarified as a consequence of this study, borne out in my final chapter where his concerns are measured against those of Job and the psalmist. In the well-known Akkadian Dialogue Between a Man and his God, human misery arises due to (un)known sin, a cause for suffering and form of misery far more akin to the book of Job than Ecclesiastes. The Instructions of Amenemhet possibly refers to the sorrow of the king (1.6–7) but otherwise does not, and despite similarities to Ecclesiastes, namely, its “pessimistic” attitude toward political systems, the work focuses on the untrustworthiness of a king’s subjects.44 Recounting a series of contradictory statements or changes of mind between a master and slave, the Dialogue of Pessimism may imply human despair but it does not contain enough explicit textual evidence to make it a contender for comparison or to justify Lambert’s theory, that it reflects the author’s abnormal personality as “a genius given to fits of morbid depression.”45 These texts, though insightful, do not treat suffering and life’s meaning in any significant way.

43 44

45

See COS 1.179:573–575. See W. Anderson, “Ecclesiastes in the Intertextual Matrix of Ancient Near Eastern Literature,” in Reading Ecclesiastes Intertextually, ed. Katharine Dell and Will Kynes, LHBOTS 587 (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 163–165. Similarly, see Instruction to Merikare. BWL 141. Stemming from ninth-century Gozan in upper Mesopotamia, line 16 of the Tell Fakhariyah Bilingual Inscription mentions “to remove sickness from himself” (ana nasāh mursi ša zumrišu) among the many blessings for the king of Gozan (for the text, see _ Jonas˘ C. Greenfield and Aaron Shaffer, “Notes on the Akkadian-Aramaic Bilingual Statue from Tell Fekherye,” Iraq 45 [1983]: 109–116; Edward Lipinski, Studies in Aramaic Inscriptions and Onomastics [Leiden: Peeters, 1994], 33; cf. Eccl 11:10).

22

Introduction

Despite my conceptual rather than historical approach to comparison, a word should be said about the date of Ecclesiastes. It is widely held to have been composed within the third century BCE and perhaps as early as the mid-fifth century. That would put the book against a Ptolemaic or Persian background, either of which attest to economic growth, adjustments in political rule and significant periods of peace in Palestine.46 The economic developments throughout these periods suit the book’s content, not least its financial concerns, but I do not think that current evidence permits a date more exact than approximately 450–150 BCE.47 Furthermore, Qohelet’s observations smack of timeless reality, and although they are perhaps not universally observable or culturally omnipresent, they certainly accord with the commonly harsh experiences of life, requiring no historical period of acute turmoil or specific economic events for explanation. The book’s opening poem (1:4–11) sets human experience within the context of an unchanging world;48 Qohelet extends the scope of his investigation to “everything that is done under heaven” (1:13);49 he recognizes that God rules over time, that this God has limited

46

47

48 49

Using a cognate of marāsu, the remark in Tell Fakhariyah probably refers to physical _ despair, which is Qohelet’s primary concern. illness rather than emotional Controversy centers on the book’s linguistic evidence, its comments about social relations, potential Greek influence and the interpretation of 4:13–16, 9:13–16 and 10:16–17 and whether or not these refer to specific, identifiable historical scenarios. See Antoon Schoors, “Qoheleth: A Book in a Changing Society,” OTE 9 (1996): 68–87. Interestingly, after a severely detailed defense of Qohelet observing problems under Ptolemaic rule, Schoors concludes that “it is striking that Qoheleth observes and establishes these abuses but does not really criticise them. In his reflections they are not a problem in their own right but they only illustrate the absurdity of human existence” (84). The discussion of Ecclesiastes’ historical and cultural background seems much more preoccupied, still, with promoting one of the many options for this background rather than capitalizing on one of those options for the interpretation of the book, even if said background has not become the consensus view. For several textual examples that support a Palestinian background for Ecclesiastes, some of which are more convincing than others, see H. W. Hertzberg, “Palästinische Bezüge im Buche Kohelet,” ZDPV 73 (1957): 113–124. This broadly accepted date range is adequate for the aims of my project. Even more difficult than accounting for the book’s background is the demand to account for the author’s or “Qohelet’s” social location (so Sneed, Politics, e.g., 47), which also assumes that we possess enough information to make accurate judgments about it. What can be said is that the author, who acts as narrator, does not identify Qohelet as Solomon (cf. Prov 1:1; 10:1; Song 1) and at most alludes to the king through what may be a fictional character. For further discussion, see Thomas Bolin, Ecclesiastes and the Riddle of Authorship, BibleWorld (New York: Routledge, 2017). See discussion in Chapter 5. There is strong attestation to ‫“( השׁמים‬heaven”) being ‫“( השׁמשׁ‬sun”) in 1:13, but the choice does little to influence the point of the verse. On the phrase “under the sun,” see the discussion in Chapter 6. My general point is made by Müller, “Kohelet,” 70.

Outline of Chapters

23

humanity’s vision of it all, and that he has made frustrated toil a characteristic of everyone’s existence; and, according to 12:9–14, there may be little more to say beyond the book’s advice, which has in some sense said it “all.” So, too, Qohelet’s epistemological concerns and his application of them to all humanity, while akin to particular historical manifestations of Greek philosophy, only enhance the book’s universal outlook. For this project, my interests are more conceptual than they are historical, and the possibilities of a particular social situation for Ecclesiastes are far too contested to establish a reliable starting point. I instead interpret the book within the contexts that we have more confidence about, namely, the literary and intellectual evidence of the ancient Mediterranean and OT that has for so long proven fruitful for understanding Ecclesiastes. As a preview of that promise, the remainder of this introduction gives a brief overview of the book’s chapters.

   It will become evident that the two controlling interests of this study – suffering and the meaning of life – have a close connection within the book of Ecclesiastes. And yet to comprehend and appreciate their presence in Ecclesiastes, one needs to view the book within its ancient intellectual context, a context composed of textual material from Egypt, Mesopotamia and Greece. Given the connections so often made between Ecclesiastes and ancient Mediterranean literature it is natural to wonder how the nexus of suffering and life’s meaning might arise in these other texts. Do the “fictional royal autobiographies” of Assyria, the “skeptical” literature of Babylonia, the instructional texts of ancient Egypt, or the Hellenistic schools of philosophy exhibit any interest in human suffering, and does this suffering have anything to do with meaning of life categories? In Chapters 2–4, I will suggest that the many forms of ancient Mediterranean literature do attest to this nexus and offer a compelling context within which to situate Ecclesiastes. I approach the material synchronically, and in Egyptian, Mesopotamian and Greek texts examine the various connections between life’s meaning and human suffering. One chapter explores Egyptian literature (esp. The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb; Dispute Between a Man and his Ba; Instruction of Anksheshonq; Papyrus Insinger and Papyrus Lansing; harpers’ song of Intef) and another considers Mesopotamian literature (The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin; Sin of Sargon; Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi; The Babylonian Theodicy; Counsels of a Pessimist), which also

24

Introduction

contains a final section dedicated to the Epic of Gilgamesh, since it bears the most substantial textual links to Ecclesiastes and situates suffering and the meaning of life categories within an extended literary context that warrants exclusive attention. The fourth chapter accounts for several Greek texts and philosophical traditions, including Epicurus, the Stoics and Theognis, a selection guided more by scholarly debate than comprehensive scope. It is thus brief but essential for viewing Ecclesiastes within its ancient world. This venture into ancient Mediterranean literature is limited on a few accounts: first, unlike my work with Ecclesiastes, it is not a comprehensive examination of meaning of life categories within the literary corpus. Suffering is the starting point, and based on its presence in the most relevant texts I then see if and how such suffering connects to the meaning of life. In the same way that it does not exhaustively examine each meaning of life category, this section does not, second, aim at an indepth presentation of all types of suffering in ancient literature but instead features comments about suffering that relate to life’s meaningfulness and will, therefore, give the clearest sense for where Ecclesiastes sits among them. Finally, as detailed in the present chapter, concerns with genre, while not unrelated to my aims, will not be the main point of contact for Ecclesiastes and ancient literature in this study. Comparison of genres has characterized much of the discussion about Ecclesiastes and its Mediterranean counterparts, and while points of formal similarity inform my interpretation of these texts, such points serve, rather than govern, the conceptual analysis of meaningfulness and suffering that will drive the investigation. Consequently, while I do give priority to those texts most often compared with Ecclesiastes, some of the links that have been made are called into question, while others will be shown as more profitable than once thought. Chapter 5 determines how Qohelet addressed life’s “meaningfulness” by drawing on a threefold scheme of definitions for life’s meaning, including coherence, purpose and significance. As explained, these definitions are derived from psychological research and used to argue that all three conceptions appear within the book of Ecclesiastes. Qohelet was primarily concerned with life’s “coherence,” which depends on predictable and reliable patterns in life that render it sensible, and yet he also addressed life’s “purpose” and “significance.” While primarily determining how these three forms of meaning, along with their attendant ideas, are handled within Ecclesiastes itself, this chapter also demonstrates how resources from psychological research help to resolve apparent debates

Outline of Chapters

25

among biblical interpreters, who agree far more than it at first appears once clearer definitions of “meaning” are employed. In Ecclesiastes, the meaning of life bears an intimate relation to human suffering, and in Chapter 6 the exact nature of this relationship is explored. Understood as a process of undergoing pain, “suffering” as such is rarely mentioned in the OT, and yet there are lexemes pertinent to the notion, particularly ‫ כעס‬and ‫מכאוב‬, which are used by Qohelet to describe his investigation and its results. These lexemes and Qohelet’s other comments about pain disclose the relationship of suffering to the three conceptions of life’s meaning. In short, suffering can relate to meaning in a causal sense and, in some cases, in a derivative sense, so that meaninglessness sometimes causes suffering, and in other cases suffering contributes to life’s meaninglessness. More specifically, there is a consistent connection between suffering and the different types of life’s meaning, such as, on the one hand, when emotional pain compromises life’s significance and, on the other, when incoherence brings Qohelet to despair. This chapter also discusses the conditions of joy and the role of humans and God in the suffering, joy and meaning of life. The assessment of suffering and the meaning of life in the ancient world contributes an interesting and unprecedented set of findings in its own right, but it also enables us to situate Ecclesiastes within its ancient, an admittedly very broad, conceptual context, which will reveal its conventional elements as well as its points of innovation and distinction. That, however, would still leave the context within which Ecclesiastes resides with one major gap, and in the final chapter of this study (Chapter 7), I not only situate Ecclesiastes within a broadly Mediterranean world but also account for suffering and the meaning of life within the Old Testament. The Hebrew canon creates a framework for suffering, particularly its causes and forms, and is used to make several conclusions: that Ecclesiastes retains its distinctive features; that its portrayal of meaninglessness, particularly its assumptions about the phenomenon, are plausibly explained with points of OT theology and anthropology; and that Ecclesiastes illuminates the nature of suffering and wisdom in the books of Proverbs, Job and Psalms. As some of the most accessible and relevant evidence for interpretation, this body of literature collectively forms a context for Ecclesiastes, putting the book in its place and allowing us to make a little more sense of how Qohelet suffers the meaning of life.

2 Suffering and Meaning in Egyptian Literature

In Egyptian literature, suffering was a topic of explicit comment and arose for a variety of reasons. During Egypt’s Middle Kingdom especially, authors attributed lament and grief to “national distress,” as in the Prophecies of Neferti, Admonitions of Ipuwer and The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb, which establish a “Welt der Klagen.”1 Regardless of their historical or fictional backdrop these texts took social disorder as their shared point of departure. According to Miriam Lichtheim, [They] formulated a general social problem and treated it from an entirely loyalist point of view: the king was the guarantor of order and of justice. This point of view was of course inherited from the Old Kingdom. What is new is that it is now formulated through a depiction of chaos, the chaos that overtakes the nation when kingship is weak.2

1

2

Friedrich Junge, “Die Welt der Klagen,” in Fragen an die altägyptische Literatur: Studien zum Gedenken an Eberhard Otto, ed. Jan Assmann et al. (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1977), 275–284. AEL 1:134. See also Elke Blumenthal, “Die literarische Verarbeitung der Übergangszeit zwischen altem und mittlerem Reich,” in Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms, ed. A. Loprieno (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 105–135. Richard B. Parkinson (Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt: A Dark Side to Perfection [London: Continuum, 2002], 193–200) discusses discourses as “dominated by lament formulation” (193). According to him, Neferti, which discusses much chaos, “offers no direct explanation for the cause of the chaos. . . . The discourse as a whole does not need to discuss the origin of chaos, since the lament is countered with the prophecy of the arrival of a king Ameny” (197). Perhaps the contribution of Neferti is its focus on this royal solution rather than the nature of societal disorder. Within Egyptology, issues of lament and worry often appear conceptually in discussions of the here and the here-after (e.g., Jan Assmann, “Diesseits-JenseitsBeziehungen,” LÄ 1.1085–1093). For further discussion of the Middle Kingdom corpus,

26

Suffering and Meaning in Egyptian Literature

27

In addition to this nationwide chaos and pain, particular occupations such as soldiering (Lansing 9.8) can induce suffering for the individual. As the Instruction of Ankhsheshonq says, “Do not fret about your occupation” (6.24). Famine inspires “mourning” on the king’s throne, “grief” in his palace and “affliction” in his heart (The Famine Stela 2), while unjust expulsion (The Letter of Wermai) or being stolen from (Insinger 13.9) might prompt grief.3 The “eloquent peasant” grieves because the magistrate does not act as he ought to, diminishing justice rather than upholding it (254, 280). Along with these baleful sources of sorrow comes a generally positive view toward joy: the high priest of Thoth, Petosiris, claims that his many gifts “gladdened the hearts of the priests and of all those who work in the gold house”; even his own heart “rejoiced in it” so that he hopes for a reward, “Length of lifetime in gladness of heart” (Petosiris 43–45, 88).4 The Famine Stela glamorizes a town called Yebu that contains a temple named “Joy-of-life” (7), giving titular evidence to the generally positive view of joy found in Egyptian literature, the corollary to the negative view these texts take on suffering. The breadth of Egyptian materials that pertain to suffering and the meaning of life strikes one immediately, and even more intriguing is the subtlety that this evidence lends to the location of Ecclesiastes within its ancient Near Eastern context. I have restricted that context to Egyptian “literature,” to the extent that such a description is appropriate, and therefore exclude the abundant evidence of funerary writings, monumental inscriptions and archaeology, drawing on these materials rarely to supplement the literary pieces themselves. Such literature has rightly been the primary point of comparison for Ecclesiastes and Egypt, and the primary point of prudence needed in this is not to allow the details to override the bigger picture or to paint a picture that determines how we interpret the whole. Thus the weight of discrete evidence must be measured up against the broader themes and claims of such texts, without being silenced or determinative. As will become clear in what follows, the assertions about sorrow in Egyptian texts often arise due to concerns that correlate with meaning of life categories, especially coherence and to some

3

4

see Parkinson, Poetry; “Teachings, Discourses and Tales from the Middle Kingdom,” in Middle Kingdom Studies, ed. Stephen Quirke (New Malden: SIA, 1991), 91–122. For the text of The Letter of Wermai see Gerald Moers, “Der Brief des Wermai. Der Moskauer literarische Brief,” in Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments: Mythen und Epen III, ed. Otto Kaiser (Gütersloh: Gütersloher, 1995), 922–929. See The Long Biographical Inscription of Petosiris, Inscr. No. 81, East Wall of Chapel (AEL 3:45–49).

28

Suffering and Meaning in Egyptian Literature

extent purpose and significance. In addition to the basic nexus of sorrow and meaning, we should not ignore those features of ancient Near Eastern literature that resemble Ecclesiastes, particularly the reflective mode of presentation, whether worded in first person or not, a style quite prominent in the first work worth examining, which is also loaded with records of grief and society’s wrongdoing: The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb.

    The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb is thought to stem from Egypt’s Middle Kingdom, composed by a priest of Heliopolis and preserved on a single writing tablet dating from the 18th Dynasty, the only extant copy of the text.5 Although it is unclear whether or not this copy includes the entire original text, it does leave enough evidence of how a certain form of meaninglessness in life contributed to emotional distress and certainly presents a perspective in many ways similar to that of Ecclesiastes.6 The author of Khakheperraseneb introduces the work as a “collection of words” (rto 1), with their source in the priest of Heliopolis, and sums up the mode of exploration as a “quest” performed “with a searching heart”: “The collection of words, The gathering of maxims, The quest of phrases with a searching heart” (rto 1). To these three opening lines, which already remind one of Qohelet’s investigative mode and Ecclesiastes’ record-like nature, the author adds another remark that resembles the reflective and empirical method of Qohelet’s exploration, commenting at recto 6: “I said this in accord with what I have seen.” The remainder of Khakheperraseneb reflects on the troubles of the times and repeatedly notes the author’s desire to speak with his heart about such things. For instance, he begins this “complaining” portion of the work with an exclamation about conversing with his heart: “Would that I knew what others do not know, Things that have never been repeated, Then I would say them and my heart would answer me!” (rto 7). This sort of self-dialogue, which occurs throughout rectos 7–9 and recto 12 – verso 1, 5

6

COS 1.44:104–107; BM no. 5645. The text identifies him as a common w’b-priest, like the priest of Sekhmet (Renseneb 1.1). On the variety of societal positions represented by fictional authors, as well as their possible relation to actual composers, see Parkinson, “Individual and Society in Middle Kingdom Literature,” in Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms, ed. A. Loprieno (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 143–144. For an assessment of how much of the original text we have, see COS 1.44:104.

Coherence in Egypt

29

sounds much like Qohelet conversing with himself – “I said in my heart” and so on (Eccl 2:1; so also 1:16; 2:15; 3:17–18). Both characters of Khakheperraseneb and Ecclesiastes speak to themselves, specifically to their hearts, and yet the parallels in language from the lips of these figures only lay the groundwork for the most significant point of contact between the texts.7 Khakheperraseneb soon includes comments about the wrongdoings that appear in society and it portrays them as the object of personal observation: I meditate on what has happened, The events that have passed throughout the land . . . The plans of the gods are violated, Their ordinances neglected, The land is in turmoil, Mourning is in every place (rto 10–11)

According to Nili Shupak, the use of the first line – “I meditate on what has happened” – and the language of the entire section, which “describe [s] the troubled conditions of the country in a way similar to that of Ipuwer, Neferti and The Eloquent Peasant, at times even using the same words and phrases,” suggest that Khakheperraseneb serves as a representative of many Egyptian texts that reflect upon national distress.8 So perhaps the language of violating the plans of the gods, neglecting their ordinances and finding turmoil in all parts of the land does put Khakheperraseneb in the realm of “national distress,” which is then a potential cause for the author’s suffering. At the least, it prompts the question as to what exactly has gone wrong in the author’s view. Some scholars have argued that, in contrast to the sort of societal incoherence noted by Shupak and evident in Ecclesiastes, the pains voiced in Khakheperraseneb stem from the difficulties of the priest’s self-expression.9 Richard Parkinson contends that the titular names

7

8 9

The role of the heart in Egyptian thought is extensive, and to reduce the comparison of Khakheperraseneb and Ecclesiastes to one of shared language would be careless. On the many conceptions of the heart and a few of its textual manifestations, see Assmann, The Mind of Egypt: History and Meaning in the Time of the Pharaohs, trans. Andrew Jenkins (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2002), 135–137, 229–246, 262–264. COS 1.44:107. Regardless of whether or not it is the cause for depictions of sorrow in Khakheperraseneb, the priest’s struggle with expression recalls Eccl 1:8, so long as ‫ הדברים‬is translated “words” rather than “things” or “matters,” meaning that “all words are weary.” Though possible,

30

Suffering and Meaning in Egyptian Literature

(“Khakheperraseneb” and “Senusret II”) allude to a peaceful time in Egypt (the 12th Dynasty) and that the conflict of the poem is contained within the man himself, having little or nothing to do with external troubles: The positive allusions in the sage’s name imply that he is speaking in a good time. His woe is also initially identified directly with the “utterances” which he must communicate, that is, unburden onto his heart in order to escape from them. The words themselves are suffering and a burden. . . . The motif of the heart is related to a theodic theme, implying that a man’s suffering in an imperfect world may be due to his own heart rather than the “painful situation” in the land imposed by external forces.10

Parkinson rightly notes that the author is vexed by the challenge to express himself, wishing he possessed innovative phrases that could supersede the traditional speech of ages past (e.g., rto 2). But while the priest struggles with self-expression, his need for discourse with his own heart arises out of a burden that he already bears, as he desires to “shift to [his heart] the burden which is on [his] back” and express “the matters that oppress [him]” (rto 8; so rto 13–14). So it is not clear that “the words themselves are suffering and a burden.” What is clear is that except for part of recto 14 – verso 1, the whole of recto 10 – verso 6 is dedicated to reflecting on societal misfortune, which Khakheperraseneb then labels as a reason for his distress. In this section he unrestrainedly vents about the burden that lies upon the land, the confusion it faces, the wrongdoing that its inhabitants have been subjected to and the veil of moral ignorance that covers them. Hence, according to Gerald Kadish, the priest “explains the precise causes of his suffering: change, injustice, and impiety.”11 The author’s dialogue with his heart does not form the groundwork of his suffering but rather constitutes a method of resolution – he requests an explanation from his heart about the wrongdoings in society (rto 14 – vso 1) – so that the heart’s silence becomes a problem additional to societal misconduct.

10

11

it seems that the transition from the cosmic to the human perspective does not occur until the following line, when the ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫ אי‬is explicitly named. So the weariness of “all things,” particularly of the cosmos as a whole, is so great that humans “cannot speak [of it].” The Egyptian text certainly suits that remark, where “one is not able to speak,” presumably about the weariness mentioned in the preceding line. Parkinson, Poetry, 202; see also 200–204. For further discussion of intertextuality in Khakheperraseneb and Neferti, see Gerald Moers, Fingierte Welten in der ägyptischen Literatur des 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr.: Grenzüberschreitung, Reisemotiv und Fiktionalität, Probleme der Ägyptologie 19 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), esp. 145–149, 182–188. Gerald E. Kadish, “British Museum Writing Board 5645: The Complaints of KhaKheper-Re’-Senebu,” JEA 59 (1973): 86.

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A more plausible explanation for the presence of both societal upset and the man’s internal conflict is an interpretation that reconciles these two options. According to Kadish, “Khakheper-Rē’-senebu was distressed by what was going on and used his inability to find peace of mind as a vehicle to display the inadequacy of his verbal skills.”12 Societal strife provoked the man, troubling his mind and thereby providing a means of exploring the complication of verbal expression. Whether or not such provocations arose during these events or due to the events of a previous era, the poem attests to some form of societal disorder and portrays such disorder as a legitimate cause of distress for its speaker, who not only complains about his failed internal dialogue but draws attention to the significance of that dialogue in the fact that society spirals into chaos around him.13 That chaos, I contend, does contribute to the priest’s distress and includes elements of meaning of life coherence gone wrong, what I will refer to as “incoherence.” Quoted above, rectos 10–11 identify the causes of the speaker’s distress with issues of incoherence. Comments like “the plans of the gods are violated” and “their ordinances neglected” imply that the predictable or at least reliable patterns of divine order have been transgressed by the people, who now disrupt what was otherwise a coherent societal structure. Furthermore, the violations of order have caused harm to the populace, as the priest notes thereafter that “mourning [ỉrtyw] is in everyplace” and “everybody alike is subjected to wrongs” (rto 12). Disrupted patterns have led to emotional pain. Although the “wrongdoings” mentioned here are not always specified in the text and may have nothing to do with the disruption of order, thus being a cause for mourning not related to coherence, the explicit notion of violating divine order indicates that some level of incoherence has arisen and contributed to the widespread grief. As Shupak suggests, the text attests to an “inversion of

12

13

Kadish, “British Museum,” 88. See also Junge, “Die Welt,” 279. Boyo G. Ockinga (“The Burden of Kha’kheperre’sonbu,” JEA 69 [1983]: 88–95, esp. 92) reasons that the cause of chaos was the people holding fast to tradition and therefore repeating the mistakes that caused the problems. Kadish (89–90) reconciles the issue of societal peace and comments about social disorder with evidence of climatological disruption during the reign of Amenemhet III. Alan Gardiner (The Admonitions of an Egyptian Sage from a Hieratic Papyrus in Leiden (Pap. Leiden 344 recto) [Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1969], 111) proposed that even if referring to the conditions of the 10th Dynasty, the text may have been composed in the 12th.

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normal social hierarchies,” which when viewed within the rubric of meaning of life categories constitutes a form of incoherence.14 Although the state of imbalance has caused distress among the populace, the priest, having observed this phenomenon, also gives voice to his own troubles: Would that I had (such) a heart that knew how to suffer [whd],15 ˘ Then I would find relief in it, I would load it with my words of grief, I would impose on it my malady [m3ỉr].16 He said to his heart: Come my heart, that I may speak to you – Answer me my maxims, And explain to me what is going on in the land, Why those who were bright have been cast down. (rto 13 – vso 1)

In this passage, the priest engages with his heart, which does not rise to the occasion and “answer” him. It offers no relief for his “words of grief,” suggesting that, in accord with Parkinson’s view, some form of conflict is occurring within the priest himself. For he cannot communicate his emotions to his heart or in some way fails to adequately express them. But Khakheperraseneb’s complaint constitutes more than a problem of internal conversation, leaving us a portrait of widespread incoherence in society that causes emotional distress among its members and for a particular individual who has observed the problem. One final element of Khakheperraseneb matches the epistemological limitation so characteristic of meaning of life incoherence. Referring to the widespread wrongdoings mentioned in verso 2 – greed, silence about wrongs, universal misconduct – the author says, “None is wise (enough) to recognize it, None is angry (enough) to cry out, One awakes to suffer every day” (vso 3–4). Having said that the wrongdoers lie content in their activities and fail to recognize the problem (vso 2–4), Khakheperraseneb publishes their epistemological limitation with regards to how the world (ought) to work. For “none is wise (enough) to recognize it”; no one understands the ethical problems that are plaguing society. We saw too that the author himself feels ignorant of the reasons behind the problems

14 15 16

COS 1.44:104. Gardiner (Admonitions, 105) attributes whd with the sense of “bear/endure suffering,” based on its use in the Berlin med. Pap. ˘ See Kadish, “British Museum,” 82; cf. Gardiner, Admonitions, 105.

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he has witnessed: “Explain to me,” he demands of his heart, “what is going on in the land, Why those who were bright have been cast down” (vso 1; see rto 12 – vso 1). It seems that the populace remains thick as to the evil nature of society’s current state, and the observer himself fails to comprehend why certain injustices are occurring. These epistemological limitations complement the obtrusive disruptions to divine order in Egyptian society, warranting the label of “incoherence” when viewed with the categories of psychological meaning of life. In a reflective mode, Khakheperraseneb records the wrongs done in society and the observer’s process of reflecting upon them. The priest displays suffering and incoherence on a national scale, forwards no solution despite looking for one and in the extant text concludes on a note of despair.17 The phenomenon of incoherence obviously vexes the author of Khakheperraseneb, but it is not entirely clear whether his reflections themselves kindle a form of suffering, that is, whether his process of observation and reflection, in addition to the societal problems themselves, provoked emotional pain. His dogged demand that his heart console him, though, suggests that the activity of reflection itself contributes to his despair. So with persuasive but indecisive evidence from The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb I turn to a second text from Egypt’s Middle Kingdom that addresses this question in a slightly different way. The Dispute between a Man and His Ba The Dispute Between a Man and His Ba contains a series of speeches between a man and his “soul” (ba) of quite varied length and style on the topics of life and death.18 In the same way that the priest of The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb spoke with his heart in search for answers, so the man in the Dispute converses with his ba, saying, in the opening lines of his first speech, “I opened my mouth to my ba that I might answer what it had said” (3–4). This is not to say that the heart and soul were identical entities in Egyptian thought; they were not. The heart was bound to the body, often associated with mental capabilities, while the soul signified a mode of existence that, if absent, left the body 17

18

Blumenthal (“Die literarische Verarbeitung,” 116–120) argues that when compared with other laments Khakheperraseneb expresses the least amount of hope for an ideal world (i.e. “eine Heile Welt”; 120) and responds primarily with “Pessimismus.” Alternative responses to chaos included “Zukunftsangst” (Die Klagen des Bauern), “Lebensverdruss” (Ipuwer) and “Todessehnsucht.” COS 3.146:221–225.

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limp, as if lifeless.19 In Khakheperraseneb the priest conversed with the first, his heart. In the Dispute the man dialogues with the second, his soul, fearing its departure and consequent death, and endeavors the initial and only attempt in Egyptian literature to converse with one’s ba rather than with one’s heart. The Dispute is made up of three speeches, each between the man and his ba, concluding with a brief final speech from the ba and a colophon. Although only fragments remain of the ba’s initial speech, the man’s first speech appeals to his soul regarding his already severe distress. He says, for instance, that “My ba is too ignorant to subdue suffering in life” (18) and that he hopes to eradicate his pain: “Trample on evil, put down my misery!” (22). There is little evidence in the initial speeches that might uncover the background of the man’s suffering, which from the start seems well under way. Instead, reasons for the man’s pain suggest themselves throughout other parts of the work, particularly his third speech. As his longest, the man’s third speech includes four poems, each of which features a refrain: “[1] Behold, my name is detested . . . [2] To whom shall I speak today? . . . [3] Death is before me today . . . [4] Truly, he who is there will . . .” The second (103–130) and third (130–142) of these refrains provide an initial insight into why the man suffers as he does. In the first place, the man undoubtedly suffers due to the many evils that he observes in the world: “To whom shall I speak today? One is contented with evil [bỉn],20 Goodness is cast to the ground everywhere” (108–109). Looking for answers to his distress – “To whom shall I speak today?” – the man includes the comments of lines 108–109 in a series of remarks about the wrongdoings within his purview, including widespread greed and violence, the dissolution of friendship and indifference to evil, in a land where sin roams without end. As for the sort of chaos that aligns with notions of incoherence reflected in other Egyptian literature such as Khakheperraseneb, Odette Renaud asserts that the Dispute does not speak of such cosmic or social chaos and rather focuses exclusively on immorality, especially against one’s neighbor.21 I would contend that the wrongdoings may have included events that warrant the label 19

20 21

James P. Allen, The Debate between a Man and His Soul: A Masterpiece of Ancient Egyptian Literature, Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 44 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 3–7. He refers to the case of Sinuhe, who describes the loss of both his heart and soul. Forms of bỉn (not bỉnt) occur again in lines 103, 110, 117. Odette Renaud, Le Dialogue du Désespéré avec son âme: une interprétation littéraire, Cahiers de la Société d’Egyptologie 1 (Genève: Société d’égyptologie, 1991), 47.

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“incoherence,” such as an inversion of the fortunes of wicked and upright people, but there is something in Renaud’s suggestion, namely, that the evils that this man observes more clearly reflect, in Assmann’s language, “the dissolution of social relationships,” such as a lack of brotherly love, rather than the “inversion of social relations” as such.22 Nevertheless, all such societal wrongs have caused the man to grieve over life and engage his ba.23 “To whom shall I speak today?” This refrain, indicating that the man has no one to speak with about the current evils, also imparts a second cause for his pain: solitude. “In a world where ‘connective justice’ is the cardinal paradigm,” writes Assmann, “solitude is a crisis that plunges the individual into the severest despair.”24 The man laments the societal corruption he sees and then laments the fact that he alone really sees it. These two causes of suffering, societal evil and one’s solitude, are integrated, and the poem itself resists attempts to pit one against the other, so that the most prudent conclusion seems to be that societal evils induce suffering and also contribute to the man’s solitude, which causes him further distress. A third cause for sorrow occurs with the next refrain – “Death is before me today” (130–142) – and appears earlier in the Dispute when the man accuses his ba of “leading me towards death before I come to it” (19), noting that “life is a transitory state” (21).25 The man is clearly wrestling with the issue of death as a possible cure for his emotional ills, and his views toward the event are subject to change throughout the course of the poem.26 He at first resists the idea of death and chastises his ba for “dragging” him toward it, as a favorable escape from his struggles, to 22 23 24

25 26

Assmann, The Mind of Egypt, 177. Similarly, Allen, Debate, 154. Cf. Fischer, Die Aufforderung, 125–128. So Renaud, Le Dialogue, 47. Assmann, The Mind of Egypt, 180. “In einer Welt, deren dominierende Sinnformation die ‘konnektive Gerechtigkeit’ der Gemeinschaft darstellt, bedeutet Einsamkeit eine furchtbare Krise, die den einzelnen in schwerste Verzweiflung stürzt” (German p. 204). Assmann seems to make solitude one of the most significant issues in Egyptian “laments,” even suggesting that the form of speaking to one’s heart reflects the individual’s social isolation (171). Renaud (Le Dialogue, 50) frames the man’s solitude in terms of his deviance from normal society, whether feeling guilty for his thoughts about death or for standing as an outsider amidst such evils. Allen (Debate, 39) translates pẖrt here (“transitory state”) as “cycle.” Cf. Renaud (Le Dialogue, 23) who translates that life is “un passage.” Such a concern with death is unfazed by scholarly disputes about the precise nature of the dialogue between the man and his ba, which center on the question of whose perspective the speeches record and the consequences of this for conceptual consistency. See Shupak in COS 3.146:321 and the literature there.

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which his ba responds in brief: “Are you not a man? Are you not alive?27 What do you gain when you worry about life like a possessor of wealth?” (31–33). The ba later changes its tune and recommends not death but that the man “Follow the happy day [hrw nfr] and forget worry [mhỉ]!” (68), _ joining the initial response above to indicate that the man’s reflections on life, and even death, beget suffering.28 He worries about life and must forget it; for “what do you gain when you worry about life like a possessor of wealth? . . . forget worry.” As the man frets through his reflections, including those about the wrongs done in the world and the event of death, he finds himself in a state of anxiety and grief. While sudden death establishes a cause for distress early in the Dispute, we can also say that the man’s cognitive reflection accentuates his suffering. Confronting the possibility early in the Dispute that his ba advocates death as a viable escape from despair seems only to have contributed to the man’s initial misery. However, later in the poem he acknowledges that “Death is before me today” and likens its proximity to attractive images of the natural world to affirm that death now stands before him as a cure to his suffering. Where death first precipitated his distress, it in the end offers an attractive escape from such pain. This, as will become clear in discussions of purpose, is more complex than a simple fear of death and subsequent calming of nerves. For the very conception of death may have been at stake – whether it signified a continuation of union with the self or a termination of said union – and therefore the broader understanding of death in ancient Egypt must be accounted for, which will show the somewhat anomalous nature of the ba’s point of view.

Summary Khakheperraseneb and the Dispute exhibit the sorrows of two men, and in Khakheperraseneb’s case also the sorrows of a people, as they lament predominantly over the evils they have witnessed in society. For one man, Khakheperraseneb, these evils include the disordered relations that characterize meaning of life incoherence – divine ordinances sit neglected and the shining stars of society have dimmed – while for the other, a man who 27

28

Allen (Debate, 45–46), rightly pointing out the negative thrust of lines 31–32, interprets them as statements: “You are not a man, even though you are alive” (his transcription: nj ntk js z / jw.k tr ‘nh.t). Cf. Renaud’s (Le Dialogue, 24) “Tu es vivant, n’est-ce pas?” ˘ Renaud (Le Dialogue, 25) uses “le souci” for mhỉ, which may be more accurate than _ “worry” (the full phrase is smh mhỉ). ˘ _

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converses with his ba, social evils occur with little clear evidence to call them incoherent, though the possibility is not out of the picture. Other factors also cause these men to suffer, including Khakheperraseneb’s own struggle to find the right words of expression, and in the Dispute the man’s solitude and death, at least for part of the poem. All said, however, a coherence-related nexus of suffering and the meaning of life was at work in ancient Egypt.

A Coherent World in Egypt: Anksheshonq, Papyrus Insinger and Papyrus Lansing The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb and possibly The Dispute Between a Man and His Ba attest to incoherence in the world that invokes emotional suffering in people, particularly the authors themselves who act as observers of such incoherence. Examining this issue from social and individual standpoints, and in certain ways that will differ from Ecclesiastes, both texts link events lacking in meaning of life coherence with human despair, most clearly in Khakheperraseneb, and indicate that cogitating on this nexus begets additional sorrow. However, the worried testimonials of Khakheperraseneb and the Dispute are not the only materials pertinent to the topic nor are they the only perspectives on the issue. The very lament over “chaos” points to the alternative and probable norm in Egyptian thought: that the world should be in a state of order, and that in such a world people fare well. It is this alternative that I wish to consider now. For three prominent works from the New Kingdom and Late Period portray the world as a coherent space and may suggest that reflecting on life does not necessarily entail emotional distress. This potential counterpoint to what has preceded arises in the Instruction of Anksheshonq, Papyrus Insinger and Papyrus Lansing. Anksheshonq is composed of a lengthy set of maxims, containing 24 sections of approximately 24 lines each, as well as an introductory narrative.29 Although the sentences themselves manifest no systematic arrangement, the material at times groups into sections of discernable themes, most notably united by key words or themes, such as wealth, 29

BM 10508. A partial line within a newly discovered introduction, presented by Kim Ryholt, mentions “woe and misery” (IV.7; “A New Version of the Introduction to the Teachings of ‘Onch-Sheshonqy,” in A Miscellany of Demotic Texts and Studies, ed. P. J. Frandsen and K. Ryholt, CNI Publications 22 [Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanem Press, 2000], 113–140, esp 123).

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character or husbandry.30 Among Anksheshonq’s instructions, three strike at the heart of my preceding argument, occurring in a section loosely cohered by concepts of deception, money and prosperity (21.1–25): There is no wise man who comes to grief.31 (21.7) There is no fool who finds profit. (21.8) There is none who sins yet goes and prospers. (21.12)

Each of these sayings affirms a coherent world where wisdom evades grief, foolishness forfeits wealth and sin brings one no prosperity.32 In other words, negative postures or actions beget negative results, and characteristics favored by society beget good results. Aside from the precise definition of “good,” we might say that good things come to good people, and vice versa, and that the world therefore is coherent. The connection between reflection and sorrow will prove quite important for Ecclesiastes – it is not too much to say that it is a principle premise of the book (1:18) – for reflection is the activity which brings that wise man to the precipice of sorrow. Thus, it is worth asking whether the “wise man” of Anksheshonq 21.7, impervious to grief as he was, would have been considered a man of reflection. In Egypt, “A wise man is one who knows what goes on before him” (19.20) and ought to adhere to the following: “Examine every matter, that you may understand it” (6.7); “Do not do a thing that you have not first examined. Examining makes your good fortune” (8.4–5).33 It seems that the “wise man” of 30 31

32

33

See Hellmut Brunner, Die Weisheitsbücher der Ägypter: Lehren für das Leben (Düsseldorf; Zürich: Artemis & Winkler, 1998), 257–261; AEL 3:159–160. Heinz Josef Thissen (Die Lehre des Anchscheschonqi (P. BM 10508): Einleitung, Übersetzung, Indices, Papyrologische Texte und Abhandlungen 32 [Bonn: Habelt, 1984], 33) translates as “Schaden.” For interpreters, such sayings are often taken to contribute to the law of retribution, as Miriam Lichtheim (Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature in the International Context: A Study of Demotic Instructions, OBO 52 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983], 32, see also 55) highlights with 21.9–11. For a full discussion of the cause-effect relationship in Anksheshonq, see Lichtheim (37–43) and her summary of the text’s holistic view on the issue: “1. Good and bad deeds create commensurate responses in terms of rewards and punishments. 2. When these expectations are disappointed, the failure is accounted for by man’s lack of overall understanding and foreknowledge. 3. The individual natures of beings determine the shape and course of their actions and responses. 4. Wisdom lies in observing the network of interconnections. 5. Human relations are governed by reciprocity; but this does not mean that man should seek retaliation, nor should he seek rewards; for both belong to God” (42–43). See also 12.9; 14.15

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Anksheshonq does reflect on life, using his powers of examination to assess the world and navigate his way through it, and yet according to 21.7 these examinations do not induce despair. For “there is no wise man [that is, the sort of person who has some amount of foresight and obtains knowledge about his situation and action] who comes to grief.” This saying at the least suggests that no wise person should come to grief; for that would be unbecoming of the sage, who strives for conformity to such instructions. At most, and perhaps most naturally, it indicates that wise people are the type of people who do not experience certain types of sorrow. Not only do wisdom and reflection not beget grief in Anksheshonq, they may even shield one from it. Papyrus Insinger constitutes another lengthy set of maxims about life, including two that corroborate the coherently meaningful environment displayed in Anksheshonq: “The impious man leaves his savings at death and another takes them” (4.9); “The god lets one acquire wealth in return for doing good” (16.12).34 Insinger asserts that instead of the wise it is the impious man who must leave his earnings to someone else after death. Insinger 16.12 similarly says that “The god lets one acquire wealth in return for doing good,” meaning that good deeds and wealth have some coherent connection, within which god plays a part. For Insinger, upright activities facilitate the acquisition of wealth and will prolong one’s days. The predictable and wisdom-favoring patterns of Anksheshonq and Insinger are implied by Papyrus Lansing, a text that champions the scribal occupation while demeaning other professional options in ancient Egypt.35 Rather than a collection of instructions, the text includes eleven sections that progressively make the case for becoming a scribe. In §§5–8, the author argues that the scribe exceeds all other professions, including the washer, potter, merchant, carpenter and peasant, primarily by accentuating the physical pain involved with each of these alternatives. Moving on to the profession of soldier in §9, Lansing hints at the emotional distress that might accompany physical hardship: “Come, ⟨ let me tell ⟩ you the woes of the soldier. . . . He toils until the Aten sets in his darkness of night. He is hungry, his belly hurts; he is dead while yet alive” (9.4–5, 8). The reference to “toil” and the soldier being “dead

34

35

The sense of “in return for” is “because of” (François Lexa, Papyrus Insinger; les enseignements moraux d’un scribe egyptien du premier siecle apres J.-C. Texte demotique [2 vols.; Paris: Librairie orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1926], 1:51 n. 261). AEL 2:167–175. See also The Satire of the Trades.

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while yet alive” calls to mind Qohelet’s comments about toil, about death being preferable to life (6:1–6) and travail leading one to “eat in darkness” all his days (5:12–16[13–17]). Seow attributes this notion of “eating in darkness” to people who “though they are alive, go through life as if they were already dead.”36 The apparent overlap between these two texts is remarkable, but the emotional significance of their statements remains less certain. While affective characteristics do not run across the surface of these passages, the texts do align in their conceptions of the hard life, one that for the Egyptian soldier and Qohelet’s man features toil and yet is experienced as “deathly” and plausibly with sorrow. My final question for Lansing is whether the scribal occupation entails intellectual activity. The role has been set in contrast to certain professions, namely, those that are made unattractive by the physical, and possibly emotional, pain that they produce. As for the life of a scribe himself, the text underscores the task of writing and recitation (esp. §§2–3) and describes such activity positively: “[Writing] pleases more than bread and beer, more than clothing and ointment. It is worth more than an inheritance in Egypt, than a tomb in the west” (2.3). In addition to these explicit statements of pleasure, I would suggest that, by browbeating non-scribal professions, Lansing implies that the work of a scribe entails none of the hardship and vexation that those other professions require. How else could the author exhort one to “Set your sight on being a scribe; a fine profession that suits you. You call for one; a thousand answer you. You stride freely on the road. You will not be like a hired ox. You are in front of others” (8.2–3)? There is little question that such remarks are exaggerations, depicting the alternatives to scribal life as nearly unlivable and the scribal life itself as inestimable, which may have served as propaganda for enlisting people into the profession. But we must suspect that such remarks, however exaggerated, were exaggerations of some reality and therefore plausible to those who read or copied the text, even if at an impressionable age or within a doctrinaire context.37 To some degree and with some regularity, scribal life entailed recognition, care and a lack of professional pains. With its positive characterization of scribal work, what becomes most interesting is that Lansing mentions intellectual activity as a part

36 37

Seow, Ecclesiastes, 222. For what has been called a “culture of folk humor” that emerged around the Ramesside Period, see Assmann, The Mind of Egypt, 277–279.

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of the role. Although the aspiring scribe exhibits no particular cognitive gifts, his teacher, likewise a scribe (1.1–2), does possess such acumen. In the text’s final section, the apprentice scribe praises his teacher and uses certain remarks that expose the senior scribe’s intellectual power: You are father of the god in command of the mysteries. (13b.1) You are wise in planning, skilled in speech; farseeing at all times; what you do succeeds. (13b.9) You are one weighty of counsel who weighs his answer. (14.8) You are a man of choice words, who is skilled in saying them; all you say is right, you abhor falsehood. (14.10)

Some of these remarks explicitly attest to the teacher’s wisdom and others refer to skills characteristic of wise people, such as skilled speech and good advice. Having “command of the mysteries,” being farsighted and possessing weighty counsel underscore the intellectual power of a scribe, joining the rest of the evidence to support the notion that the scribal profession in Egypt, at least ideally and as Lansing viewed it, entailed intellectual activity. This activity required the scribe to think about the world, reflecting on its events in order to give good counsel and discern what might happen in the future. The Egyptian scribe, therefore, lived a life that required intellectual reflection on the world and yet lived one that seems void of emotional pain. For him, more wisdom does not bring more suffering but instead seems to bring happiness, which fortifies the viewpoints of Anksheshonq and Insinger wherein a coherent world arises for many people, including the wise person who, it is said, never “comes to grief” (Ank 21.7).

Suffering Incoherence in Papyrus Insinger Anksheshonq, Insinger and Lansing exhibit a world of predictable patterns and reliable outcomes, particularly applicable to those most prone to reflect on life, such as the wise and upright man. The emotional makeup of these characters seems exempt from the grief and sorrow displayed by other Egyptian authors. For their wisdom and uprightness beget positive outcomes, level dispositions and a radiant countenance. However, to find an alternative to this neat, and what I have called “coherent,” world one need look no further than one of these Egyptian texts themselves – Papyrus Insinger – in which we discover incoherence of the sort that will arise in Ecclesiastes, a frustrated world, where supposedly enjoyable work produces despair, the results of hard labor are

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left to a undeserving inheritor and the cloud of ignorance descends on human emotions and patterns of cause and effect.38 Despair arises in Insinger in connection with those who toil for wealth: “Do not be greedy for wealth in a lifetime which you cannot know” (4.8); “[The god] removes the worry about prosperity, without there being a reserve. He gives a lifetime without despair and a [good] burial”39 (35.6–7). These passages presume that working in order to gain wealth will induce despair for the laborer. The first advises against the greed that drives such acquisitional ambitions – “Do not be greedy for wealth” – and places such a command within the limits of how much humans can know about their lifetime, “a lifetime which you cannot know.” The second shows one “worried about prosperity” and hopeful for “a lifetime without despair,” suggesting that hunger for riches and the toil that it requires drive one to worry and instill life with despair.40 According to Insinger, toiling for certain ends contributes to sorrow, and although that is one cause for such affections, the Egyptian text gives evidence of three additional sources of grief. In the first place, the worry associated with toil contributes to despair. That worry-despair relationship was not specified in the second passage above (35.6–7), which only indicates that striving for prosperity can create worry and that one may receive a lifetime without despair but does not necessarily propose that this worry would generate a despondent life. Such a connection is clarified by three sayings from Insinger: Do not let worry [rwš] flourish lest you become distraught. If the heart worries about its owner it creates illness for him. When worry has arisen the heart seeks death itself. (19.6–8)

38

39 40

For general evidence of incoherence in Insinger, particularly the reversal of fortune for the wise and wicked, see 18.5; 19.9; 20.2; 21.2. On the paradox created by views of coherence and incoherence in Insinger, see Matthew J. Goff, “Hellenistic Instruction in Palestine and Egypt: Ben Sira and Papyrus Insinger,” JSJ 36 (2005): 147–172, and the references below. Similar remarks apply to Anksheshonq, as Lichtheim (Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature, 148) comments on Ank 26.7–8 (as a paradox): “With sayings such as these, Ankhsheshonqy effectively refuted the facile interpretation of the deed-and-result conviction – without weakening its validity – by adding the dimension of the unknowable plans of the deity.” Goff (“Hellenistic Instruction,” 164 n. 69) argues that, in view of Ank 11.21–23 and its provenance (a priest who is unjustly imprisoned), “Anksheshonq deals with unwarranted suffering.” Brunner (Weisheitsbücher, 348) translates with quite broad terminology: “Er beseitigt die Sorge um das Heil ohne Rest. Er gibt ein langes Leben ohne Unglück und ein [schönes] Begräbnis.” According to Lichtheim (Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature, 186–187), Insinger, esp. 18.13, 17, expresses the basic thought that “You can’t take it with you.” She mentions Eccl 2:21; 4:8; 5:12–14[13–15].

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These maxims begin a segment of instruction on the theme of “misfortune” (stb; “Unglück,” “la misère”), a key term that, although absent from the first three sayings, appears seven times within the section (19.6–21.6).41 This segment of instruction does not specify the reasons for such hardships, but it does propound tactics for coping with them and reveals the beliefs that underlie at least one view of Egyptian suffering. The concentration of material about worry and its pairing with human distress suggest that the anxiety associated with toil contributes to despair. According to 19.6–8, that worry arises within and constitutes an activity of the heart, possibly flourishing and making its possessor “distraught” and “ill,” even driving some to contemplate death itself.42 In the second place, despair may arise due to the incoherent event of leaving one’s hard-earned wealth to another: “Great is the affliction of those who left the path at leaving their savings to another” (18.17).43 This passage attributes “affliction” to those who have acquired savings only to find that they must leave them to another person, presumably to someone unworthy of inheriting this wealth. It evokes a scenario similar to that of Eccl 2:18–19, though lacking the lucidity of Qohelet’s description. Clearer evidence of this sort of misfortune does appear in ancient Egypt, namely, upon a chapel door during the Late Period displaying an inscription of a priest’s speech. Thothrekh, son of Petosiris, stood as the inheritor of his family’s priestly status and, having died before attaining his office, left a speech behind – the speech of his deceased self – for those alive on earth.44 The priest’s premature death did and, according to him, should inspire lament: Who hears my speech, his heart will grieve for it, For I am a small child snatched by force, Abridged in years as an innocent one, Snatched quickly as a little one, 41

42

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See Insinger 19.9, 11–12, 18; 20.19; 21.2, 5. The Demotic makes use of stb (actually s.t tb), which also occurs in 7.5; 30.12 and 34.13 (for the linguistic background, see A. Volten, Das demotische Weisheitsbuch, AAeg 2 [Copenhagen: Einar Munksgaard, 1941], 100; cf. Lexa, Papyrus Insinger, 2:110). The trio of sayings each uses rwš for “worry,” so Lexa, Papyrus Insinger, 1:60–61 (“le souci”). Rwš also occurs in Insinger 2.10; 9.23; 10.19; 14.6–7; 15.19–20; 19.4; 20.7, 14; 21.4; 24.23; 25.24; 26.10; 32.11; 34.16; 35.6. Also of interest are 24.23, “A small worry breaks the bones,” and 25.24, “Do not fear, do not be lazy, do not worry excessively” (AEL 3:205). Lexa (Papyrus Insinger, 1:59) translates “affliction” as “la misère.” Brunner (Weisheitsbücher, 325) uses “die Trauer.” AEL 3:52–54.

44

Suffering and Meaning in Egyptian Literature Like a man carried off by sleep. (3–4) All the town’s people, men and women, Lamented very greatly . . . All my friends mourned for me. (5–6)

The priest portrays himself as a child taken before his time, and this is the initial reason for his grief, especially among those who hear of such news as reiterated throughout the speech. “Who hears my speech, his heart will grieve for it, For I am a small child snatched by force.” Elsewhere in the inscription, he augments the reason for despair with the facts that he had no share in life and no fault to speak of: “I therefore reached the Lord of Gods, Without having had my share . . . No fault (of mine) was found” (4, 8).45 These statements occur in the context of the grief and lamentation inspired by a priest who died young, indicating that he not only died prior to attaining a proper age but also without having his share and without committing wrong. In short, Thothrekh’s speech attributes emotional suffering to premature death, especially the death of one who never obtained his lot in life and appears blameless in his actions. This, in a sense, reflects a general disorder that is mentioned in Insinger 14.17, “Grief comes to the people through the disorder caused by the fool,” and suggests that various forms of disorder contribute to suffering. “One of the norms of this society,” says Renaud, “is the love of life . . . The Egyptian civilization (at least during the Imperial Period) is the complete opposite of a morbid civilization.”46 If it is appropriate to generalize here, Egyptian civilization was a life-loving civilization, so that even Insinger could say, “Do not prefer death to life in misfortune out of despair (hm ir.t)” (19.18). Hence Thothrekh looks upon death from the ˘ dominant Egyptian viewpoint, which saw death as most appropriate for those aged and prepared, with death’s early arrival as frustrating, especially for those with an upright record.47 This segue into the inscription of 45 46

47

In addition to premature death, the Egyptians would have considered death and burial outside of Egypt a similar cause for sorrow. See e.g., the Story of Sinuhe, esp. 185–204. Renaud, Le Dialogue, 50. “L’une des normes de cette société est l’amour de la vie. . . . La civilisation égyptienne (du moins pendant la période impériale) est tout le contraire d’une civilisation morbide.” Put another way, we could say that due to his premature death Thothrekh feels deprived of a full life. Similar views are expressed in the inscriptions of Isenkhebe and Taimhotep (AEL 3:54, 58–64) and, within a wider biblical perspective, death can or is feared to dispossess the deserving (e.g., Lloyd R. Bailey, Biblical Perspectives on Death, Overtures to Biblical Theology [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979], 48–51). On views of judgment and the idea that a person’s confessional record, especially any lies, was weighed with ramifications for their destiny, see Assmann, The Mind of Egypt, 157–168.

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Thothrekh complements an issue hinted at by Insinger – that great affliction comes to those who leave their savings to another person (18.17) – showing that one who dies innocent, young and without partaking of his share in life does cause despair, even for those who have witnessed such an event. Given the views of Thothrekh, we might conclude that Insinger expounds the problem of human despair by attaching three causes to it: toiling for wealth, the worry that accompanies toil and several scenarios of “disorder,” such as the possibility that an unknown, maybe undeserving, person inherits the fruits of one’s labors or that one dies before achieving what he ought. Each of these invokes despair. The final insight from Insinger into what brings about misfortune is that it might arise for no apparent reason at all. According to 21.1–2, hardship may stem from causes beyond the comprehension of the sufferer: “Hardship when there is no fault is not to be feared.48 A time in misfortune does not make the man of god give up.” These sayings leave no doubt as to the possibilities of incoherence within Insinger, since hardship may arise “when there is no fault” and afflict the “man of god,” which contrasts with the order observed above whereby those guilty and impious personae, not the upright and wise, incur misfortune. The godly, faultless person can encounter trouble in life and these sayings suggest no discernable reason for the pain. So while one might toil for wealth, worry about work and forecast losing their savings to a foolish inheritor, suffering may rear its head for no clear reason, all of which resembles an “incoherent” life as outlined by psychologists. In addition to attributing suffering to matters relating to a breakdown in meaning of life coherence, Insinger adjoins epistemological limitations to human hardship, a set of connections that will presage the testimony of Qohelet.49 The final bit of material from Insinger that pertains to the suffering– meaning of life nexus concerns the solutions to the problem. In Insinger’s section on misfortune (19.6–21.6), the text soon recommends what ought to be done about human despair: “What passes by (or, has passed by) of vexations today, let them be yesterday to you” (20.12);50 and again, “Do 48 49

50

Lexa, Papyrus Insinger, 1:66 n. 338 (“la force sans malfaisance”). Anksheshonq 12.3–5 imposes similar limitations on the human awareness of misfortune. As for Insinger, there may be evidence of how someone ought to relate to hardship (esp. 19.18; 21.1–2; cf. Lexa, Papyrus Insinger, 2:90–91), as it has a bearing on one’s emotions, but the passages are few and any firm conclusions would probably require us to press the language too much. Cf. Brunner (Weisheitsbücher, 328): “Ein Tag ist anders als der nächste für den, der Sorgen hat.”

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not prefer death to life in misfortune out of despair” (19.18). Hope is a reality, or at least encouraged, in Insinger, as vexations should be treated as though gone and death should be refused as a solution to despair. The comment in 20.12 – “let [vexations] be yesterday to you” – sounds a lot like Eccl 11:10, which commends one to “remove vexation from your heart.” Along with removing vexation and, as 19.18 warns, resisting death as a last resort in suffering, Insinger appeals to theology in its attempts to resolve human suffering. As with Ecclesiastes, the Egyptian text regularly points to the ultimate control of god, repeatedly asserting that “Fate and fortune go and come when he (the god) commands them” (19.5) or that “The fate and fortune that come, it is the god who sends them” (21.6).51 The refrains reassure the sufferer that whatever his or her situation, it cannot be divorced from the oversight of divine power. The god commands and sends both fortune and misfortune. Such supervision, though, does not guarantee knowledge or security for the human being, particularly for the sufferer, as the god who controls human fate does not necessarily clarify his ways to humanity; he remains highly providential and highly undisclosed. Surveying the “wisdom books” of ancient Egypt, Hellmut Brunner concludes that “In spite of all the statements about the divinely willed order of the world, life and its leader remain, in the end, unpredictable.”52 Such a conclusion also arises out of Insinger itself, which, as this and the previous section attest, contains evidence of both coherence and incoherence, where the pious prosper and yet such predictable patterns nevertheless break down. This seeming tension of coherence and incoherence, with the added element of indiscernible divine control, serves to elevate the power of the gods and show that their ways lie beyond human knowledge.53

51

52 53

As Goff (“Hellenistic Instruction,” 162 n. 65) observes, the singular “god” (ntr), charac¯ teristic of Egyptian instructional literature, does not refer to an anonymous, single deity. See references there for discussion and gods named in the text itself: Thoth (4.17; 9.6; 18.3; 21.11), Hathor (8.11, 18), Mut (8.18), Hapy (16.21), Pre (20.17), Horus (20.18), Isis (20.19), Sakhmet (34.4), Apis and Mnevis (35.9), and Osiris-Sokar (35.14). Cf. Lexa, Papyrus Insinger, 2:86–89, 104–105. Brunner, Weisheitsbücher, 38; see 33–38. “Trotz aller Aussagen über die gottgewollte Ordnung der Welt bleiben das Leben und sein Lenker letztlich unberechenbar.” So Lichtheim, Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature, 138–150. Attempting to create a paradox of divine control and life’s unpredictability (so Goff, “Hellenistic Instruction,” 164) does not account for the epistemological limitations of humans and the association of the gods with “life” events in Insinger. On the relationship of divine and human wills in ancient Egypt, with a particular focus on the human response, see Assmann, Theologie und Weisheit im alten Ägypten (München: Wilhelm Fink, 2005), 93–125.

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With Papyrus Insinger as a representative and without pressing the evidence too far, we can say with some confidence that ancient Egyptian literature attests to the view that toil produces vexation, often revolving around wealth and its acquisition, and that sorrow may arise from various forms of social disorder, such as an unknown and undeserving inheritor who takes the fruits of someone’s labor. Overall hardship, which likely contributes to emotional distress, and these other named causes also lie under an epistemological veil, with their reasons at times undiscernible. Summary Several texts from ancient Egypt attest to the reality of emotional pain among humans and cast this pain in the context of issues related to psychological “coherence” in life. Stemming from wrongdoing across society, injustice causes sorrow for the populace and individual observers of Khakheperraseneb, and to a limited extent in the Dispute. These texts carry formal similarities with Ecclesiastes, portraying a man speaking with himself or writing in an autobiographical mode and observing his world, aspects of style that Ecclesiastes makes even more pronounced. The issues of incoherence that caused despair for figures like Khakheperraseneb, however, do not define the Egyptian context, and when looking at Anksheshonq, Insinger and Lansing, we discover what may be considered the norm of Egyptian society, where the world operates within predictable and reliable patterns, including patterns of human emotion. The wise and godly prosper and evade despair, and the foolish or impious person loses in life and faces the negative consequences of her actions. This coherent world of cause and effect, emotions included, begins to break down in Insinger itself, where I argued that despair is caused for a number of reasons: toiling for wealth, worrying over work and the possibility that someone undeserving will inherit hardearned wealth.

    As discovered in the previous section, Thothrekh’s premature death invoked suffering due to what seems to be a violation of life’s coherence – he died prematurely and guilt free, having not experienced his share in life – and that is one of many perspectives on the incoherence of life raised in Egyptian literature. Though a widespread and, for certain subjects, devastating contradiction of life’s standard patterns, incoherence is not

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the only type of meaninglessness that provokes despair. Suffering also arises due to premature death as such, aside from any connection that death may have with coherence. In the case of Thothrekh, reliable patterns regarding one’s share in life and one’s piety were frustrated, and yet it is independent of these issues that death causes suffering. For death itself extinguishes one’s purpose in life, compromising that form of life’s meaning that establishes goals to give direction in the present. Interestingly, death, suffering and the purpose of life are not found so readily within Egyptian “literature,” which was most occupied with problems of coherence, as will be the case for Ecclesiastes. That death is somehow a problem, or that one’s purpose in life is thwarted or bound up with forms of human suffering is hard to find within instructional texts and other literary achievements, which rather exhibit a largely positive view of life’s purpose and meaning.54 The Instruction to Merikare, for instance, asserts that life is short, that one ought to strive for a good legacy, and that life is best spent doing right:55 Make your memorial last through love of you (37) Life on earth passes, it is not long, Happy is he who is remembered, A million men do not avail the Lord of the Two Lands (41) Make worthy your house in the west, Make firm your station in the graveyard, By being upright, by doing justice, Upon which men’s hearts rely (127–128)

The effort to discover an exception to this that would account for suffering and purpose leads us away from literary works and into another Egyptian locale, namely, tombs and the writing that covers them.56 Much of the inscriptional material that we have from ancient Egypt appears in and around these spaces, which contain messages that were conceptually 54

55 56

The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor deals with some anxiety about returning to court after a failed mission, but the indications of suffering are too opaque to be of help here. The issue appears to be principally one of the sailor’s fear of those to whom he must answer, most evident from the advice of his companion (111–123; AEL 1:213). AEL 1:99–100, 106. See also Story of Sinuhe 165–173. The Instruction of Hardjedef is thought by some to contradict Merikare, but this depends on a couple of unclear lines (cf. Assmann, Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt, trans. David Lorton [Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005], 373–374; AEL 1:58). Lichtheim’s translation reads “Make good your dwelling in the graveyard / Make worthy your station in the West / Given that death humbles us / Given that life exalts us / The house of death is for life.”

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integrated with their funerary context, including the event of death itself and advice based upon its onset. These reflections on death reveal a controlling belief – the realization that one’s earthly life will end affects how one lives in the present – and the evidence brings us close in form to some of Qohelet’s statements in Ecclesiastes. The Song from the Tomb of King Intef Some of the most well-known materials to address death are the harpers’ songs. Inscribed on Egyptian tomb murals next to the painting of a man playing a harp or lute, these songs initially praised death and the life thereafter and yet they gave way to inscriptions that doubted the reality of this afterlife and left the emphasis on enjoying a good life within the earthly realm. It is these “heretic” harpers’ songs that give the clearest indication of how a definite end to life related to one’s present suffering.57 In The Song from the Tomb of King Intef, one passage refers to the day of burial as “that day of mourning” (vi.11) and, in view of one’s future burial, encourages one to “Let your heart not sink” (vi.10), indicating through explicit and implicit remarks that death brings sorrow for many. But while the text describes the funeral as “the day of mourning” and anticipates sunken hearts, it proscribes such sorrowful reactions to death and instead advocates joy:58 In view of future burial . . . rejoice in your heart! Forgetfulness profits you, Follow your heart as long as you live! Put myrrh on your head, Dress in fine linen, Anoint yourself with oils fit for a god. Heap up your joys, Let your heart not sink! Follow your heart and your happiness, Do your things on earth as your heart commands! (vi.9–10)

57

58

See Fischer, “Qohelet.” For a trio of songs representing various postures toward death and the afterlife, see the tomb of Neferhotep (Theban Tomb 50). As for Mesopotamian and Hittite tomb inscriptions, the buried are wished well, “Doch,” according to Sebastian Fink (“Sardanapal,” 246) “weiter gehen die mesopotamischen Grabinschriften nicht. Keine der überlieferten Grabinschriften fordert den Vorübergehenden auf, sein Leben zu genießen.” These harpers’ songs also demonstrate the futility of funerary preparations (Fox, “A Study of Antef,” Orientalia 46 [1977]: 393–423).

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This author looks directly at a purposeless life, or at least a life that has realized its purpose will end, and recommends that one rejoice in that very encounter. There is, it seems, no room for mourning but only the cold, unwavering attitude of the harper’s song, which near its end reads, “When there comes to you that day of mourning, The Weary-hearted [Osiris] hears not their mourning, Wailing saves no man from the pit!” (vi.11). Such a comment goes beyond the admonition to remove vexation from one’s heart and leaves the impression that encountering death leaves no place for grief, for “wailing saves no man from the pit.” In Michael Fox’s words, “Man’s sole hope lies in diverting his heart from the bitterness of human tragedy.”59 Such a positive interpretation, where joy seems to override life’s sorrow, should not be confused with the ultimately pessimistic tone of the poem. Its final line reads “none who departs comes back again” (vii.3) and leads many interpreters, such as Pierre Gilbert, to conclude that “The pessimistic theme asserts itself fully at the end, with irony and sadness.”60 The pessimistic theme that one cannot know or navigate death is distinct from the emotions that Intef recommends in light of this event; life ends and that is largely outside of our control, but do not feel sad about it.

The Statue Inscription of Nebneteru The Statue Inscription of Nebneteru, etched on a large block of granite containing an autobiographical inscription along with lists of titles and offices, a prayer and other statements or cartouches placed on the statue figure itself, has something in common with Ecclesiastes that Intef does not: the “autobiographical” mode of speech.61 As part of a Theban family, Nebneteru served as a “royal secretary” and associated with those in the priesthood and court, using his statue inscription to exhort and inform such people about his own life. At one point, Nebneteru informs his audience that, 59

60 61

Fox, “Antef,” 416. Mentioning Hapidjefai, Ipuwer, Ptahhotep, and The Loyalist Teaching, Parkinson (“Individual,” 151) argues that their “theodic conflicts are resolved, but within much literature the negative takes precedence over the positive, the doubt over the reaffirmation.” Pierre Gilbert, La poésie égyptienne (Bruxelles: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 1943), 93. “Le thème pessimiste s’affirme pleinement à la fin, avec ironie et tristesse.” See AEL 3:18. Cairo Museum 42225. On royal autobiography as a form of literature, see discussion in Chapter 3.

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I spent my lifetime in heart’s delight, Without worry, without illness. I made my days festive with wine and myrrh, I banished languor from my heart. I knew it is dark in the desert vale, It is not foolish to do the heart’s wish.62

Nebneteru presents his thoughts in the first person, almost boasting of a life lived in merriment and free of despair. “I spent my lifetime in heart’s delight, Without worry, without illness.” His reference to banishing “languor from my heart” uses a term for “lassitude” or “laziness” to mean that Nebneteru did not remove vexation but sloth from his heart, that is, any posture toward a life without work.63 Nebneteru lived a life of both joy and busyness, elevating the recommendation, for those pondering death, from enjoyment to both enjoyment and hard work.64 Nebneteru’s exclamations leave no room for sorrowful experience, as he presents himself persistently joyful, spending “my lifetime in heart’s delight.” The Egyptian instructions, it seems, stop at following the heart and give no consideration to how the gods or any other authority might temper that avenue. “Follow your heart and your happiness, Do your things on earth as your heart commands!” says Intef; “It is not foolish to do the heart’s wish,” says Nebneteru. These statements map how a certain end (i.e. death) gives direction to the present. As Gretel Wirz has observed of Intef, “It is not the thought of the impermanence of life – the hopelessness of the hereafter – that should dim or determine life, but rather the immediate mood of the heart should set the tone for the way of living.”65 According to these inscriptions, it seems that for ancient 62 63 64

65

Left side in thirteen horizontal lines (4–5). For this term (wrd-ỉb) see AEL 3:24 n. 13. The Stela of Taimhotep (BM 147) features the grief and wishes of the deceased lady Taimhotep, who mourns her early death and bids her husband to feast and celebrate, letting no care into his heart (lines 15–16). To her he says: “Turn your face to the northwind at the end of the water, Perhaps my heart will then be cooled of its grief” (line 19; AEL 3:63). According to Lichtheim (AEL 3:59–60), Taimhotep represents “the longest and most explicit of such laments over death found in Egyptian biographical inscriptions.” Gretel Wirz, Tod und Vergänglichkeit: Ein Beitrag zur Geisteshaltung der Ägypter von Ptahhotep bis Antef, Kölner Forschungen zu Kunst und Altertum 1 (Sankt Augustin: Hans Richarz, 1982), 77. See also 73–76. “Nicht der Gedanke der Vergänglichkeit des Lebens, die Hoffnungslosigkeit dem Jenseits gegenüber soll das Leben trüben oder bestimmen, sondern die augenblickliche Stimmung des Herzens soll tonangebend für die Lebensgestaltung sein.”

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Egyptians, life would end and could thereby leave one without a purpose, also giving some indication that this could tempt one to despair, and yet instead of prompting one to question life’s aim or endorsing some level of sorrow, joy remains the only option. Enjoy life and work hard, for in Egypt “wailing saves no man from the pit!” To make conclusions about death and life’s purpose based on these two inscriptions from ancient Egypt is to encroach upon a massive territory of evidence and to prod a colossal concept. Funerary literature, monumental inscriptions and, above all, the beliefs and rituals surrounding death warrant several studies in and of themselves, even with respect to how they conceive of suffering and life’s meaning, and it may be less rather than more beneficial to mention this material in the first place.66 But, I think, to what has been said already, a set of generalizations can be added that round out the image of death and purpose in ancient Egypt. In his extensive study Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt, Jan Assmann iterates that death gave a great deal of shape to life in the present. While hated by Egyptians, and perhaps because of this, they produced cultural practices in response to the inevitable end of life, as evident in their tombs, cultic rites and the many images they used to depict the topic. With no less than eight images, including death as dismemberment, social isolation, an enemy and a transition, Assmann concludes that these “underlay a number of actions whose purpose was to treat death in the way an illness is treated. The function of such images was to lead to action, opening up a horizon of meaningful possibilities for such action, a horizon in which a person could deal with and overcome the problems of existence.”67 Summative of this action was the tomb and its many affiliates, which the Egyptian constructed with his entire life in view, forming a “mirror” in which “he saw not what he was but what he wished to have been, in a final form that laid normative claims on the conduct of his life.”68 Death normed life in the present and gave it direction, not least in terms of the behavior noted in the inscriptions above, and yet death also meant not the end of life but its continuation. In Egypt, the deceased transitioned to another “realm” where they maintained a connection to “this world,” making not death but the subsequent Judgment of the Dead the most significant aspect for life’s purpose. One was motivated to live in a way

66 67

I have in mind beliefs like the ability of the deceased to cause harm to those in the present life and, relatedly, the pacification of ancestors through certain practices. 68 Assmann, Death, 237. Assmann, Death, 371.

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that would avert the negative verdict of the judges and tip the scale in one’s favor.

      Having assessed the evidence from ancient Egyptian literature that shows some connection between suffering and the meaning of life categories of coherence and purpose, as well as material that might pertain to the established conclusions or might raise objections to seemingly convincing views, I now consider the final meaning of life category: significance. Although Egyptian material that ties suffering to life’s significance is scant compared to the evidence for coherence and purpose, it is not nonexistent. Papyrus Insinger, again, and the Instruction of Amenemope, another collection of advice from the New Kingdom often segmented by theme in a way similar to Insinger, make the most of this topic: “Better is bread with a happy heart than wealth with vexation” (Amen. 9.7–8);69 “Do not prefer death to life in misfortune out of despair” (Insinger 19.18). The first saying, from Amenemope, makes a value judgment that one’s basic needs (i.e. bread) with happiness is better than wealth with vexation. In other words, under certain affective conditions a wealthy life might not be the best life. The surrounding context (9.10–15) suggests that the “vexation” referred to is that vexation that arises from striving to increase wealth, since these nearby passages also warn against increasing wealth by means of deception and lies. While not examining life as such, or the value of living regardless of the circumstances, Amenemope’s “better than” saying does consider the conditions of life that make it worth living. It endows simple yet happy living with more value than a well-funded and vexed existence. The second saying, which comes from Insinger, gets closer to assessing the worthwhileness of life in and of itself: “Do not prefer death to life in misfortune out of despair.” It assumes that life is better than death, even amidst hard times and emotional distress. What might warrant such a claim? I would argue that the author’s view of god emboldens his hopeful assertion, as evident from the two passages that follow 19.18. “The god 69

Andreas Scherer (Das weise Wort und seine Wirkung: eine Untersuchung zur Komposition und Redaktion von Proverbia 10,1-22,16 [Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1999], 174–176) identifies a connection between Prov 15:16–17 and Amenemope 9.5–8 (sic 6?) based on commonalities in theme and sequence, including the emotional register: “In beiden Fällen liegt der Schwerpunkt des zweiten Spruches im emotionalen Bereich” (175).

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returns contentment, the dead do not return. He creates good through the fate at the end of old age” (19.19–20). The Egyptian god seems to ensure an amount of future well-being that provides contentment and good in this life. Therefore, it is no surprise that Insinger prefers life to death even amidst despair, since the god will eventually enable a good existence. Additional evidence for the inherent value of life over death in Egypt appears in other texts explored here, including a parable within the Dispute Between a Man and His Ba (69–80) about a man who discovers the death of his wife and children but weeps only for his unborn children.70 For they have “seen the face of the crocodile,” which killed them, “before they have lived” (79–80). The father presumably refrains from mourning the death of those family members who had been born because they at least experienced some amount of life, in contrast to those killed “before they have lived.” It could also be argued that Intef, in its affirmation of living while one can in the face of that unforgiving moment of death, values life as such, upholding its value regardless of the circumstances.71 Despite the many indications of life’s value in Egypt, one wonders whether the concern with death and funerary preparations overrode the potential of living. It is clear that life was respectively transitory, but perhaps most telling of all was that life lay upon a spectrum of quality.72 One could live in isolation rather than the preferable social integration; lesser professions may have worn a man down; and without a tomb one may not be remembered, and certainly not forever. Given the many contingencies and the well-formed ideas about death and the afterlife, Assmann is right to say that for ancient Egyptians “life and death were quantifiable entities: one could be more or less alive and also more or less dead or subject to death.”73

Summary Papyrus Insinger and the Instruction of Amenemope address human emotions in the context of comments about the value of life. They place 70

71

72

Assmann, The Mind of Egypt, 175. Cf. Parkinson’s remark that the final portion of the Dispute suggests that the man’s “vision of death redeems the earlier views of life [within the text] as an isolated state” (Poetry, 225). Wirz (Tod und Vergänglichkeit, 77) suggests the idea, “dass das Leben um seiner selbst willen zu verwirklichen sei, dass der Sinn des Lebens im Leben selbst zu sehen sei.” See also Ptahhotep 186–196. 73 Assmann, Death, 12. Assmann, Death, 12.

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absolute value on life itself and show that even sorrow due to misfortune should not lead one to prefer death, a judgment that seems supported by the fact that the god will ensure some good for those living. As we will see, Qohelet values life too, all things being equal, but in the event of a despair-ridden existence, one with so much possibility and yet so little realizability, he sees life as not worth living. The problem of such living renders life insignificant, an option that the Egyptian texts do not seem to entertain. In this chapter, the idea of the meaning of life as purpose and the emotional response to it were also examined. It should be recalled that the chronology of these Egyptian texts and certain issues of translation are complex in and of themselves, and that they span an enormous range of time for a culture that cannot be called uniform, meaning it would be imprudent to speak of “an Egyptian view of meaning” and so on. I have tried to draw out the more secure notions about death and its bearing on life’s meaning, and to that extent worked with generalizations, but overall I have dealt with discrete texts that have discrete views on two particular issues (suffering and meaning), which will afford a broad comparison of ideas with Ecclesiastes. Without overgeneralizing, then, we can say that selected Egyptian literature implies that death did invoke sorrow among its population, and yet certain harpers’ songs advocated against this emotional response and prescribed joy as the correct and only alternative. At the outset of this chapter, I explored notions of incoherence and its relation to emotional pain in Egyptian literature, finding poignant cases in The Complaint of Khakheperraseneb and the Dispute Between a Man and His Ba. Disordered social relations, injustice and social evils plagued the landscape of society and caused its observers pain. Khakheperraseneb’s activity of reflection on these events may accentuate his suffering, so too the man in the Dispute, but not with the immediacy that Qohelet will articulate. What is clear in view of the Egyptian evidence as a whole is that suffering, appearing particularly within literary works, arises due to forms of incoherence. That, at least, is the principal pattern, leaving purpose and significance not on the fringes, even though it sometimes seems to be the case, but rather independent of human suffering. This is undoubtedly related to the central place of ma’at in Egyptian thought, conceived as it was to be the force that maintained order in society, inseparable from the Egyptian state, and when lost gave way to

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disorder.74 With such a prevailing mindset, it is no wonder that (in)coherence appears throughout the literature. Egypt, however, is only one context, or set of contexts, within which to place Ecclesiastes, and it is through the texts of Mesopotamia that we can see all the more how Qohelet suffers the meaning of life.

74

On ma’at, see Fox, “World Order and Ma’at: A Crooked Parallel,” JANES 23 (1995): 37–48.

3 Suffering and Meaning in Mesopotamian Literature

Upon entering Mesopotamia we enter another world, one dissimilar to Egypt in its history, geography, theological beliefs, cosmological presuppositions and authoritative texts. While acknowledging the fact that many of these beliefs changed over time, some consistencies can be named, such as the boasting and apparent viciousness of Assyrian kings that were, for example, unmatched by what we know about Egyptian royalty, or the function of personal gods in Mesopotamia and the integrative theological center of ma’at in Egypt, which establish a starting point for the at times stark differences in what these peoples believed about the world. In this chapter, I again wish to draw out conceptions and causes of suffering in ancient literature in order to gain an insight into at least some of the views about suffering and the meaning of life within Mesopotamia. The region’s extant corpus includes fewer instructional texts than Egypt but more pronounced forms of autobiography and speculative literature, not to mention epic poems such as Gilgamesh.1 Like the Egyptian material, the literature of Mesopotamia generally esteems joy and dispraises grief, as the topos of a god granting days of life, years of happiness and good health to certain figures is presented in an attractive light.2 According to the Words of Ahiqar, “there is naught which is 1

2

This is not to say that Egyptian literature contains no form of autobiography (see Longman, Fictional Akkadian Autobiography: A Generic and Comparative Study [Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1991], esp. 123–124, and the discussion of Nebneteru in chapter 2). See, for instance, The Autobiography of Idrimi 98–101; The Adad-Guppi Autobiography; and, for a Phoenician example, Karatepe Inscription. This topos has been thoroughly outlined (e.g., Fischer, Die Aufforderung). Sumerian literature contains “laments,” of a

57

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heavier than grief.” In the Dialogue of Pessimism, “The man who falls in love with a woman forgets depression [kūrum] and melancholy [nissatum]” (48).3 Lexemes within the semantic domain of suffering include lumnum libbi (“grief, sorrow”), ašuštum (“affliction, grief”), šaqummatum (“silence, gloom”), adrum (“gloomy, sad”), marāsum _ (“worry, be sick”), nassum (“wretched, groaning”), qūlum (“despair”) and šapal libbi (“disheartened”). In this chapter we shall see that many of these terms arise in contexts that will inform our understanding of Ecclesiastes, shedding light on the biblical text in a way that the Egyptian evidence did not. For while Mesopotamia presents a similar nexus of suffering and meaning of life concepts, it also places such suffering within literature strikingly similar to Ecclesiastes, not least the royal autobiographical genre, and yet will indicate that suffering can arise for reasons beyond the three meaning of life categories. Hence Mesopotamian literature offers a promising bed of evidence that offers a distinct contribution to our conception of suffering the meaning of life, allowing us to more precisely locate Ecclesiastes within its ancient context. I look first at the “fictional royal autobiographies” of Assyrian kings, particularly The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin and Sin of Sargon, and then consider Babylonian skeptical literature – Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi, The Babylonian Theodicy and Counsels of a Pessimist – wherein suffering surfaces due to incoherence and in relation to life’s purpose.

   The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin I have referred to “(fictional) royal autobiography” at several points as a form of literature that often speaks in the first person, using selfreferential statements to trace the life of a royal figure, often the king

3

sort, that have been compared to members of the Egyptian genre, such as Ipuwer (so Joachim Quack, “Die Klage über die Zerstörung Ägyptens: Versuch einer Neudeutung der ‘Admonitions’ im Vergleich zu den altorientalischen Städteklagen,” in Ana šadî Labnāni lū allik. Beiträge zu altorientalischen und mittelmeerischen Kulturen: Festschrift für Wolfgang Röllig, ed. B. Pongratz-Leisten et al., AOAT 247 [Kavelaer: Butzon und Berker, 1997], 345–354). A Babylonian proverb says, “Prematurely ripe fruit is produce (bringing) grief [nissati]” (BWL 279). In a collection of Sumerian proverbs, the “eternal loser” Nanne estimated his old age highly and yet neglected or failed to complete a series of building projects and consequently “descended to the underworld with a depressed heart” (COS 1.174:564; lines 31–32).

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himself or someone with ties to his court. This form of literature was proffered as a genre in its own right by Tremper Longman, who examined a number of texts that have played a key role for the interpretation of Ecclesiastes since then.4 Two of these texts make notable references to human suffering, particularly the suffering of an Assyrian king, and clarify the reasons for such phenomena. In The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin, the king Naram-Sin finds himself surrounded by an enemy army and consequently consults the gods for guidance who instruct him to remain as he is and not engage. Rejecting this advice, he decides to engage the enemy and dispatches a band of troops for three consecutive years to find that none of them returns.5 Naram-Sin recounts this military defeat (84–87) to admit that “I was disturbed, perplexed, anxious, distressed, (and) dejected” (88), a varied suffering that was clearly prompted by the military defeat.6 Two additional, plausible reasons for his sorrow appear in the text that immediately follows, when the king speaks to himself: Thus I spoke in my heart – these were my words: “What have I left behind as the legacy of my reign? I am a king who has not looked after his land, and a shepherd who has not looked after his people.” (89–92)

4

5 6

Longman (Autobiography) defines “fictional autobiography” and then classifies the genre into several subcategories based upon the texts’ endings, some of which conclude with a didactic tone, others with a prophetic, some with a blessing and/or curse and still others with a record of the king’s cultic donations. Of the texts that have an ending, as opposed to fragmentary material (e.g., Sin of Sargon), those most reminiscent of Ecclesiastes are didactic. Longman distinguishes genre and form, the former classifying the text as a whole and the latter describing a discrete textual unit. On those terms, I am not making a genre comparison here, as if to weigh the message of one entire text against another, but have instead spotted several formal similarities between these texts, as Longman has, that bear an interesting relation to passages concerned with meaning of life categories. Those concepts remain my loci of comparison, to which any similarities in “form” or “genre” add a brush of color that ought not be overlooked. See further discussion in Chapter 1. Longman (Autobiography, 108) notes that the king, in his refusal of divine advice, “breaks the main principle of holy war – that one be led in battle by one’s gods.” The line reads es-se-hu en-ni-šú a-ka-la a-šú-uš uš-ta-ni-ih. The words es-se-hu en-ni-šú reflect ˘ (O. R. Gurney, “The Sultantepe Tablets ˘ ˘ The Cuthaean the N-forms of sehû ešû [Continued] IV. ˘ Legend of Naram-Sin,” AnSt 5 [1955]: 111). For translation, see Benjamin StudeventHickman and Christopher Morgan, “Old Akkadian Period Texts,” in The Ancient Near East: Historical Sources in Translation, ed. Mark W. Chavalas, Blackwell Sourcebooks in Ancient History 1 (Malden, MA; Oxford: Wiley Blackwell, 2006), 32–41.

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With these words, the king suggests that the state of his legacy, which now seems compromised, and his level of care for the people, which appears lax given his military failure, further contribute to his distressed mood. As one who reigns he questions, “What have I left behind?”; as a king and shepherd, he feels that he has “not looked after his land” or “people.” In short, the Assyrian king Naram-Sin suffers for three interrelated reasons: a military defeat, a compromised legacy and the questionable safekeeping of his people. What is interesting, in this case, is that the Assyrian king despairs for reasons unrelated to the meaning of life. Naram-Sin’s hope of a legacy may resemble a purpose for life, but he laments the collapse of his own legacy for very coherent reasons. He primarily feels sorrowful because he has failed at his royal responsibilities, that is, he loses in war and has failed to care for his people. He does not suffer because the world appears incoherent or life void of value. The distinction impresses itself even deeper in view of the fact that Naram-Sin does not suffer due to the action of reflecting. For although he presents his autobiography in a self-reflective mode like Qohelet, he does not connect reflection and suffering in the way that Qohelet will. He records his situation without reservation, feeling powerless over military victory, his own legacy and the protection of his kingdom. The main cause of suffering in The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin, then, is the failure of royal responsibility. Sin of Sargon In Sin of Sargon, another Assyrian king, Sennacherib, explores the life of his father Sargon, particularly his father’s sin and lack of a proper burial. Like Naram-Sin, Sennacherib self-reflects on life and implies feelings of despair, saying to himself, “I spoke with my heart,” to question, “who can comprehend the deeds of the gods?” (obv 3–4).7 The self-reflective mode, akin to Qohelet’s, and the concern for epistemological limitations are immediately evident in this passage, which is followed by the centerpiece of the king’s attention: “Let me examine,” he says “the sin of Sargon, my father” (obv 10). Sennacherib proposes to examine the sins of his father and proceeds to pray about this issue, yet unfortunately much of the prayer is missing. Longman contends that the king reflects on the cause of his father’s misfortune and its connection to divination, 7

For text, translation and commentary, see Hayim Tadmor, Benno Landsberger and Simo Parpola, “The Sin of Sargon and Sennacherib’s Last Will,” SAAB 3 (1989): 3–52.

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making it possible only to speculate about the exact role of divination in this inquiry.8 I would suggest that Sennacherib’s prayer may have included affective language pertaining to his feelings about his father’s sin. Such affective comments, perhaps an admission of sorrow from Sennacherib, are plausible in view of the king’s final remarks, wherein after God accepts his prayer he exclaims, “how radiant was my mood!” (obv 37–38). Thanks to prayer, Sennacherib can express his elevated emotional state, suggesting that the sins of his father Sargon and perhaps his own limited comprehension of the gods induced an amount of sorrow.9 Again, as with Naram-Sin, Sennacherib gives no indication that his self-reflection itself caused sorrow, and one of the possible reasons for suffering – his father’s sin – has a questionable relation to the preestablished notions of life’s meaning. However, the question – “who can comprehend the deeds of the gods?” – if it indeed constitutes a reason for sorrow, reflects the epistemological limitations of incoherence.10

Summary These two Assyrian royal autobiographies – The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin and Sin of Sargon – show generic similarities to Ecclesiastes, in that a royal figure speaks to himself, reflecting on his own story, and they further cohere in that both texts present a king admitting some form of despair, keeping in mind that Sin of Sargon does not explicate this issue. Tangential evidence of meaning of life concepts appear in these texts, such as the purpose-related worry over Naram-Sin’s legacy and the coherence-related question of comprehending the deeds of the gods by Sennacherib, but more prominently we see reasons for suffering in the Mesopotamian literature that differ from the three categories of life’s meaning. Naram-Sin laments over his failure to carry out his royal responsibilities, losing thousands of troops and compromising the safety of his people. Sennacherib feels joy after the god hears his prayers, which were invoked by his father’s sins and plausibly led the king to feel despair.

8 9

10

Longman, Autobiography, 117–118. Landsberger’s (“The Sin of Sargon,” 34) conclusion, that “lines 21–23 of the reverse state explicitly that Sennacherib’s delict was nothing but the fact that he did not build the statue of Marduk,” is not convincing. For another reference to a king’s cognitive activity, yet from Babylonia and without mention of emotions, see Nabopolassar’s Restoration of Imgur-Enlil 1.7–2.5 (COS 2.121:307–308).

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   The frequent connections identified by scholars between Assyrian autobiographies and Ecclesiastes make the lack of a suffering and meaning of life nexus in those Mesopotamian texts surprising. The “skeptical” literature of Mesopotamia, however, proffers a strong link for these concepts, most evident in Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi (“The Pious Sufferer”) and The Babylonian Theodicy, which attest to human suffering and set such affections in the context of meaning of life coherence, exhibiting a suffering and meaning of life nexus that specifies its forms of incoherence much more than Egyptian literature.11 The third text examined in this section, Counsels of a Pessimist, addresses the cessation of life with recommendations to expunge sorrow, a flow of thought suited not to coherence but to meaning of life purpose.

Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi (“The Pious Sufferer”) Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi comprises four tablets, some incomplete, and recounts the words of a man who suffers at the hand of Marduk. The sufferer informs his audience that he has encountered hardship imposed upon him by the deity and that his personal gods have abandoned him, as he then goes on to express his own sorrow (I). He indicates that he has been treated as if impious, observing similar retributive confusion among the populace, and admits his desire to know the ways of the gods (II.1–48). The remainder of the poem details the sufferer’s illnesses and cures (II.49– III.36), concluding with the realization that Marduk has revived him and deserves praise (IV). As a starting point, I return to the sufferer’s prolonged language of lamentation in Tablet I:12 A day sighing, a night lamentation [gerrānu], A month [of] trepidation, despair [idirtum] the year. Like a dove I moaned all my days, [Like] a singer, I moan out my dirge.13 11

12

13

What strikes me in the case of Babylonian literature is that texts so rich in suffering– meaning of life evidence, such as Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and The Babylonian Theodicy, are most often associated with the book of Job, a book that deals with these topics in ways quite distinctive to Ecclesiastes and the Babylonian texts themselves. See Chapter 7. Cf. translations in COS 1.153:488; Takayoshi Oshima, Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers: Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi and the Babylonian Theodicy, Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 14 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 85 (Akkadian p. 84); BWL 36. Lambert translates, “[For a] song I emit groans” (BWL 36), but the addition of ana seems unwarranted and, although Oshima’s “I kept the singers reciting my lamentation loudly”

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My eyes . . . in crying, up to fifty times, my cheeks were burning with tears.14 My face is darkened from the apprehensions of my heart, Terror and panic have jaundiced my face.15 (I.105–112)

The sufferer moans, sighs, laments, cries and exhibits signs of emotional sorrow that will be reminiscent of the Hebraic expressions ‫( מכאוב‬sorrow) and ‫( כעס‬vexation), and their use in Ecclesiastes and the OT.16 In the context of its suffering passages, Ludlul includes three elements that resemble meaning of life coherence concepts, including a lack of knowledge about divine activity, unpredictable changes in society,and the man’s inability to make sense of much of this. While the defining elements of meaning of life incoherence are present in Ludlul, it is not entirely certain that they have contributed to the man’s distress, and in order to determine whether that is so, it is the link between incoherence and suffering that we must assess. Having noted the depths of his own pain in I.105–112, the sufferer first acknowledges the unknowability of the gods’ ways: “Who could learn the reasoning of the gods in heaven? Who could grasp the intentions of the gods of the depths? Where might human beings have learned the way of a god?” (II.36–38).17 The incomprehensibility of divine activity arises in the context of observations about how the sufferer feels that he has acted piously and yet is treated as if impious (II.1–30). He also observes rapid changes in fortune along with people’s response to it (II.39–47), as “Suddenly one is downcast, in a trice full of cheer” (40) and “In a wink, people’s fate changes!” (43).18 These comments reflect a sudden reversal of human affections and inner attitude, points of unpredictability that have rid the world of its coherence. They are, furthermore, extensions of

14 15

16 17

18

is a creative rendering, COS presents the most plausible line: “Like a singer, I moan out my dirge,” which sensibly mirrors the kīma from line 107 onto 108. There are some difficulties with this line, but the general sense is recoverable. See Oshima, Babylonian Poems, 84–85. The poet is saying that he became pale or yellow/green. Arabic takes up the real sense of “jaundice” but that would capture the sense here. The phrase šīrī(UZU.š)-ia does not exactly mean “my face” but is used in conjunction with various lexemes to convey ill health, especially physical. See the discussion in Chapter 6. The translation of COS (1.153:488) is very acceptable. The (personal) gods themselves fail to comprehend the mind of Marduk (I.32). A Babylonian proverb expresses similar ideas: “The will of a god cannot be understood, the way of a god cannot be known. Anything of a god [is difficult] to find out” (see BWL 266 [BM 38486; rev 7–8]). The line woodenly reads “like opening and closing,” which may refer to the eyes (hence “wink”) or, suggests Lambert, legs (BWL 41).

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what the sufferer sees within his own life, wherein he finds no clear correlation between piety and fortune. Not even the diviners can explain his condition (I.52; II.6–8), and ultimately, the man prefaces his confession of ignorance in II.36–38 by saying that he wishes he knew what could please a god (II.33–35). The question remains as to whether or not these incoherent aspects of life contribute to the man’s suffering. The surest cause for pain is Marduk himself, who appears to impose punishment due to the man’s offense, even if the man is ignorant of it,19 and yet this divine imposition is not necessarily exempt from the trappings of incoherence nor does it explain why the man nevertheless admits his ignorance and the unpredictable ways of the world. Hermann Spieckermann has put it well: “In order to ensure the order of life, the Babylonian gods must not be just, but essentially reliable and, through cult and rite, ‘predictable.’”20 The suffer is bemused by the unreliability and unpredictability of his cultic service and its effects on the gods, a puzzle that he also observes in the world around him. I would argue that in addition to causing the sufferer’s bemusement, life’s incoherence also contributes to his emotional distress, the best evidence for which appears in the transition from Tablets I–II. “In daylight good will come upon me; the new moon will appear, the sun will shine!” I made it to the next year;21 the appointed time passed. As I turned around, it was terrible; it was terrible. My ill luck increased, I could not find justice.22 (I.119–II.3)

After a lengthy lament (I.105–117), the sufferer expresses confidence about his future, as the sun shall surely shine upon him, and yet as time

19 20

21

22

Oshima, Babylonian Poems, 32. So BWL 23–24; cf. Daniel Bricker, “Innocent Suffering in Mesopotamia,” TynBul 51 (2000): 204–205. Hermann Spieckermann, “Ludlul bēl nēmeqi und die Frage nach der Gerechtigkeit Gottes,” in Festschrift für Rykle Borger zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 24. Mai 1994, ed. Stefan Maul, Cuneiform Monographs 10 (Groningen: Styx, 1988), 341. “Um die Lebensordnung zu gewährleisten, müssen die Götter Babyloniens nicht gerecht sein, aber im wesentlichen verlässlich und durch Kult und Ritus ‘berechenbar.’” For akšud(-ud)-ma, I follow Lambert (BWL 39), though a bit of license is understandably taken when he renders “I survived.” “Reach” or “arrive” is the verb’s most common sense. “Justice” is išartu, which may be “the right” (BWL 39), perhaps “good fortune” (COS 1.153:488).

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passes he discovers that no such relief comes. Presumably, his suffering continues during this period, trapped within the incoherence of unreliable rites and the mystery of how to please the gods. Therefore, while Marduk stands as the ominous, primary cause of misfortune and consequently human suffering, the man also feels distress in his failure to comprehend the god’s ways and to find a workable solution in divination.23 A third and final element, not necessarily native to meaning of life concepts but significantly similar to Qohelet’s exploration of them, arrives just after the comments about incoherence in Ludlul II.36–47. The sufferer broaches a reflective mood: “I have ponde[red] these things; I have made no sense of them” (II.48).24 Most likely referring to at least the preceding remarks about epistemological limitations and sudden changes in the state of life (II.36–47), the sufferer notes that he in some way perceived these matters, though the text is not entirely clear, to conclude that he “made no sense of them.”25 This line ends the sufferer’s explorations of incoherent elements of life, as he goes on to expound his illness, cures, and divine restoration in the sections that follow, prompting the question of why such relatively brief attention is given to the causes of suffering and the man’s possibly self-reflective response to them. W. G. Lambert has suggested that only a small portion of the poem explores the reasons for suffering and instead deliberately avoids such investigation because of the blasphemous implications, which may account for such a brief remark about unsuccessful cognitive reflection and the sudden change in subject.26 This juxtaposition suggests that the man’s cogitation on incoherence does not itself enhance his suffering; already in a state of despair due to incoherence, he finds no sense in the chaos, perhaps with which to console himself, and yet his reflections themselves do not seem to accentuate his despair and he moves on to other concerns. The exposé of physical pains that follows II.48 (II.49ff.) transitions to the man’s search for a cure wherein he glaringly underscores his restoration by Marduk 23

24

25

26

According to Oshima (Babylonian Poems, 63), the purpose of admissions of incomprehensibility was “to spell out the difference between the divine moral standards and the human ethical rules governing moral behaviour,” so that they “understood human misfortunes to be signs of the gods’ absolute rule over humankind.” The text reads uš-ta-x and its interpretation is inconclusive. I follow COS. Cf. BWL 41 (“appalled”); ANET 597 (“perplexed”); Oshima (Babylonian Poems, 88) adds -ra, which he understands as “instructed” and translates “accustomed.” On the scope of the referent for “these things,” see BWL 22. For “made no sense of them,” the phrase qerebšina la altand[a] is used, more woodenly perhaps, “I did not apprehend their interior.” BWL 27.

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and the absolution of his offenses so that he arrives at the “Gate of Joy,” among others, where he “kissed the foot of Sarpanitum” (IV.90). The advent of joy completes the story of the “pious sufferer” who, I have argued, describes his emotional suffering in the context of its likely causes: epistemological limitations within the realm of theology, along with sudden changes in fortune and the human response to them. A possible remark about “pondering” these things concludes the relevant section and cements the empty hole that is the man’s knowledge: “I have made no sense of them.” The solution to suffering includes joy, seeming to be a consequence of divine restoration, and rounds off a prescription of suffering and meaning of life related to coherence. Another text from Babylonia, though, gives even more detail about how incoherence can problematize life.

The Babylonian Theodicy Causes of suffering in The Babylonian Theodicy relate unquestionably to meaning of life incoherence. The poem includes twenty-seven stanzas, each eleven lines long, that trace a dialogue between a suffering man and his friend. The sufferer admits reasons for his suffering while the friend attempts to explain such events based on what might be called stock Mesopotamian views of theology. In Takayoshi Oshima’s words, “possessions not gained by means of piety are not everlasting . . . godless rogues will be punished for their crimes by both the king and the gods . . . piety will be rewarded with everlasting blessing.”27 The sufferer, whose parents have died young, features his anguish at the beginning and the end of the text (1–11; 287–288), saying things such as “I am finished. Anguish has come upon me” (8) and “behold my grief [nissatu]. Help me; look on my distress [namrāsu]” (287–288).28 Within the poem he details _ various reasons for this sorrow, mentioning the injustices that he observes in society – “A father hauls a boat up a channel, while his first-born sprawls in bed” (245–246, see 243–253) – and, relatedly, the swap of rich 27 28

Oshima, Babylonian Poems, 144. The collocation lumun libbi (line 8) refers to one’s “misery” or “sorrow,” and there are notable phonetic connections in lines 287–288, not least in the two terms for sorrow and provided above. My translation follows Lambert (BWL 71, 89). Overall, the affections and intellects of the characters center on divine justice and reward (265–275), so the Sufferer complains, “I, though humble, wise, and a suppliant, have not seen help and hope for one moment” (rēšu palkû mutninnū anāku / rīsa u tuklātum zamar ul āmur; _ 289–290).

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and poor (181–187).29 According to Daniel Bricker, the prosperity of the wicked “seems to be one of the most irritating issues to the sufferer in this poem.”30 For instead of a coherently structured social world, “He who made do with vegetables [sates himself] at a princely banquet, while the son of the eminent and wealthy [has only] carob” (185–186).31 These concerns all reflect a reversal of social roles or divine justice, in other words, incoherence. A second issue related to meaning of life coherence also appears in the poem: the unknowability of the gods’ ways, as described in lines 82–83: “Like the center of the heavens, the plan of the god is [distant]; the command of a goddess is not [heard]” (82–83, see 78–88).32 However, this judgment, occurring twice in the poem (82–83; 256–264), rises not on the lips of the sufferer but upon the lips of his friend. They are, as Oshima describes, “set forth as replies to the sufferer’s doubts about divine and social justice.”33 The sufferer himself does not broadcast the epistemological limitations of his theological knowledge but rather wrestles with what he claims to know about the gods, which is the very knowledge that leads him to emotional despair. From the perspective of his friend’s words, the man likely suffers in part due to his limited knowledge of the gods’ ways, even though he himself gives no admission of that limitation. Perhaps, then, the man’s lack of knowledge about the gods, an epistemological limitation then explained by his friend and of which the man is not self-aware, contributes to his suffering. He thinks he understands the ways of the gods but indeed does not, even though he does not realize it. Aside from the inferential status of this cause, it seems clear that the suffer does not mention epistemological limits as a reason for his suffering. In addition to the forms of injustice noted above, the Theodicy’s overall storyline shows that the sufferer despairs because he expects his own actions to have produced a certain but unrealized outcome.

29 30 31

32

33

See COS 1.154:493–494. Bricker, “Innocent Suffering,” 207. See also Spieckermann, “Ludlul,” 339–340. See COS 1.154:494. It is possible, based on section II (lines 12–22), that the friend explains hardship, with no necessary inclusion of a despairing affect, as a share of being human (BWL 64). Oshima’s (Babylonian Poems, 154) completion of the broken word in line 83 is plausible: iš-š[e-em-me] (i.e. šemû). See also lines 256–257: “The divine mind, like the center of the heavens, is remote. Mastery of it is difficult; the masses are not learned” ([libbi ili kīma qirib šamê nesi-ma / le’ā’ussu šupšuqat-ma nīšī lā lamda). Oshima, Babylonian Poems, 130.

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The poem’s debate centers on this very issue, and the observed injustice in the world simply overflows from the man’s despondent and seemingly unjust starting point. These elements create a nexus of suffering and life’s meaning that features the incoherence of life, with its up-turned notions of order and justice, and a possible but implicit causal link of epistemological limitations when trying to understand the gods. The Babylonian Theodicy stands apart in its lack of explicit comments about reflection, unlike the Mesopotamian literature discussed so far which refers, if not draws attention, to the act of reflecting on their despair-inducing events. It is only the friend of the sufferer who tries to convey notions of limitation in human knowledge. Counsels of a Pessimist The penultimate text from Babylonia worth examining due to its comments about suffering is Counsels of a Pessimist, a short text of thirty-one lines that cogitates on the problem of life ending.34 The poet does no express his own suffering in the way that the figures have done so far, but he does advise his audience about their own pains, setting such remarks in a context that suggests a clear correlation between a lack of purpose and a wealth of misery. The pessimist first mentions the problem at hand: “[Whatever] men build does not last forever; mankind and the work they may build alike come to an end” (9–10).35 Life and its achievements eventually end, a truth of transitoriness that the poet explains in terms of the cessation of both human beings and their accomplishments. Now made aware of life’s temporality, the audience receives advice about what such a phenomenon requires from their affections: “Do [not] let evil sleep assail your heart; remove misery [qūlum] and suffering [kūrum] from your side” (17–18).36 After noting the temporality of existence – the cessation of purpose in 34 35

36

BWL 107–109. The verb banû is used in both lines, first in the preterite and second in the durative. These aspects may indicate that works in the past have not lasted (“whatever men have built . . .”) and thus whatever mankind “will build” comes to an end. But given the proverbial tone of these lines, the preterite most likely signals a general observation followed by the durative that covers all present and future possibilities. The phrase šipir ibannû (“achievements,” BWL 109) does not appear to be common or to carry a particular connotation, and a relative pronoun ša is not necessary to convey “the work [that] they build” (see CAD 17.3:78–80; cf. šipru + epēšu). The Ballad of Early Rulers issues similar thoughts about life, death and sorrow, though its articulation of human suffering is not remarkable. For the text, see Yoram Cohen,

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human life and work – the text consequently recommends that people eliminate the suffering within them, introducing a causal connection whereby a lack of purpose in life may lead one to despair. At the least, the author recommends the removal of sorrow based on the fact that he himself has encountered the cessation of purpose. No purpose; no joy. Counsels of a Pessimist offers evidence of meaning of life purpose and its connection to human suffering, but like The Babylonian Theodicy makes no mention of the pain of reflecting on life’s lack of meaning. On this intellectual matter it remains silent, instead displaying a nexus of suffering and observed purposelessness, and advising its audience based upon it. Summary Counsels of a Pessimist rounds off our look into the wider Babylonian corpus for evidence of suffering and its causes. Probing life’s purpose, Counsels observes that humans and their achievements come to an end, and advises that one remove emotional despair, all of which implies that the cessation of purpose causes sorrow. Two other texts of Babylonian skeptical literature establish a connection between suffering and issues of life’s coherence. In Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi, suffering is described amidst comments about limited knowledge of divine activity, as well as observations of social disorder and injustice, while similar issues vexed the sufferer in The Babylonian Theodicy, including his own unmet expectations as to the effects of his action in the world. Incoherence and purposelessness contributed to suffering in Mesopotamia without question, and yet, while much of this literature, including the Assyrian royal autobiographies, involves a sufferer reflecting on his world, no indication is made that this activity precipitates despair.

    The final text to be considered from Mesopotamia is the Epic of Gilgamesh. The story involves Gilgamesh, the king of Uruk, and Enkidu, a man raised in the wild and made “civilized” through a sexual encounter. The two characters, at first, fight each other but then become close friends, embarking on a mission to slay their monstrous enemy “Les neiges d’antan: ‘Early Rulers’ and the Vanity Theme in Mesopotamian Wisdom Literature and Beyond,” Antiguo Oriente 15 (2017): 34–37.

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Humbaba. The killing of Humbaba, and later Gugalanna (the Bull of Heaven), is successful, and for that reason the gods sentence Enkidu to death, which sends Gilgamesh into deep despair and causes him to take a journey throughout the land in order to discover eternal life, that hope of immortality which he comes to realize is impossible. Even within this brief summary, instances of suffering and potential conceptions of the meaning of life are discernable, and in this section these two elements are brought to the fore. The Epic contains evidence that links a character’s suffering with meaning of life coherence and purpose, perhaps also touching on points of significance. Although the Mesopotamian text has attracted ample attention from interpreters of Ecclesiastes due to the parallels between the works, the suffering that comprises a significant part of the emotional landscape for their main figures remains unnoticed, forming no substantial point of comparison in scholarship on Ecclesiastes and Gilgamesh.37 Like many of the texts that we have been exploring, Gilgamesh refers to a variety of emotions, such as joy and general forms of pain. After receiving instruction to do so, for instance, Enkidu eats and drinks and his heart becomes merry (OB II.94–105). Later, the narrator describes Gilgamesh as young and borne along by emotion (II.289–290), while his mother asks, “Why did you assign (and) inflict a restless spirit on [my] son Gilgameš?” (III.46).38 Elsewhere, Enkidu curses a harlot by wishing that she would have no house to delight in and says, in condemnation, “May [the bed you] delight in be a bench” (VII.106, 115). And when he himself overhears Gilgamesh’s mother describe him as wild and without kin, Enkidu says, “my heart was made to ache” (II.174–191, esp. 189). Each of these references implies what we have seen elsewhere in the ancient Near East: that joy is a preferred emotion. I have cited no

37

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See, e.g., Matthew J. Suriano, “Kingship and Carpe Diem, between Gilgamesh and Qoheleth,” VT 67 (2017): 285–306. The closest references among commentators are those made to Gilgamesh’s “troubles” and his confrontation with the ephemerality of life and deeds (e.g., Seow, Ecclesiastes, 64–65; cf. 369), his “pessimistische Auffasung” and the thought that “In der Unwiderruflichkeit des Todes klingt oft bei Kohelet ein tragischer Hintergrundton durch. Derselbe Gedanke ist schon im Gilgameschepos ein schwerwiegender Topos” (Lauha, Kohelet, 13, 49; cf. 54; similarly Oswald Loretz, Qohelet und der Alte Orient: Untersuchungen zu Stil und theologischer Thematik des Buches Qohelet [Wien: Herder, 1964], 132–134). Otherwise, it is the “sens pathétique de la condition humaine” or “d’une resignation, le bonheur vrai et total demeurant inaccessible en raison de la mort” (De Savignac, “La sagesse,” 320–321). Unless otherwise noted, I follow the translation of Gilgamesh from the estimable work of George, Gilgamesh.

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references of emotional pain here, since it is those remarks that constitute the subject of what follows. Gilgamesh’s despair over his toilsome journey prompts questions about his life’s coherence, and the purpose of his life is put to question in the many valleys of sorrow that shape his heart when encountering death and attempting to obtain the plant of life. Gilgamesh’s quest to discover the secret of living forever sends him on a hunt for Utanapishti, a man who obtained immortality after obeying the gods in the run-up to them sending a flood upon the earth. Gilgamesh has not yet discovered that immortality is unavailable to him and so, having made some conclusions regarding his journey thus far, expresses his emotional state to Utanapishti. In short, says Gilgamesh, “I kept filling my sinews with pain; what have I achieved by my toil?” (X.256–257). Despite finding Utanapishti, Gilgamesh feels that he has achieved little, perhaps nothing, through his journey and consequently despairs. Continuing this theme, Utanapishti responds by saying that the gods took Enkidu “to his destiny” but as for Gilgamesh, “you kept toiling sleepless (and) what did you get? You are exhausting [yourself with] ceaseless toil, you are filling your sinews with pain, bringing nearer the end of your life” (X.296–300). Utanapishti goes on to explain that such toil hastens death, which will come suddenly and unpredictably anyway (X.301–322), to suggest that the termination of life, as such a prominent concern, may have something to do with Gilgamesh’s sorrow. Perhaps, in his arduous journey to Utanapishti and amidst a conversation about life’s inevitable end, the promise of death contributes to Gilgamesh’s sorrow. But in this scene, death does not prompt despair. For Gilgamesh enters the conversation already in distress and derives his emotion from another source, namely, his toil. After agonizing that he has been “filling [his] sinews with pain,” Gilgamesh asks, “what have I achieved by my toil?” Perhaps Gilgamesh truly wants to know what he has achieved, given that he has now reached the man he set off to find, and yet perhaps he is implying that he has achieved nothing or has only produced a body-full of sorrow. Whether his question about achievement reflects a curiosity with what Utanapishti has to offer or a hopelessness in his sense of accomplishment, Gilgamesh receives a response from Utanapishti that reiterates the issue of toil and despair and offers one perspective on their relationship. As mentioned above, Utanapishti asks Gilgamesh what he achieved and suggests that his toil has only produced sorrow and subtracted years from his life: “You are exhausting [yourself with] ceaseless toil, you are filling your sinews with pain, bringing nearer the end of your life.” Utanapishti’s comments

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indicate that Gilgamesh has toiled to the point of exhaustion and attained only sorrow and an advance on death. It is Gilgamesh’s toil, therefore, that has caused him sorrow. The reason that Gilgamesh’s toil produces sorrow seems to be that he has not achieved what he expected through his journey. Already in grief over Enkidu’s death, Gilgamesh set off to find Utanapishti and found himself wandering the earth, rushing in hopes of securing eternal life (IX.1–X.204), and yet he seems only to compound his grief by not achieving what he hopes. It will be seen that when he ultimately fails to obtain the plant of youth, which would have aided his combat against death, he also spirals into despair. But at the moment, while meeting with Utanapishti, Gilgamesh retains the possibility that he will discover the secret of immortality. His toil itself has somehow brought him to further despair, and Utanapishti seems only surer of this as he précises the inevitability of death, with its swift and unknown arrival.39 My reading of this brief encounter between Gilgamesh and Utanapishti brings a number of elements to the surface that relate to suffering and the meaning of life. First, Gilgamesh feels sorrowful. Second, the reason for Gilgamesh’s sorrow, as evident at this point in the epic, is not Enkidu’s death or the discovery that immortality remains impossible; rather, it somehow relates to Gilgamesh’s toilsome journey as such. It seems that he expects alternative results, maybe an alternative process, and with expectations unfulfilled he consequently fills himself with sorrow. In other words, unmet expectations, arising from predictable patterns that do not occur reliably, characterize an “incoherent” world for Gilgamesh, which seems to prompt his despair in this case. Third, epistemological limitations come on the scene at the end of Tablet X, when Utanapishti informs Gilgamesh that only the gods know the hour of death (X.319–322). While Gilgamesh’s journey may be clouded with unknowns – Will he find Utanapishti? What is the source of immortality? – these unknowns do not seem to encroach on his emotional state at this point. Gilgamesh’s question about what he has achieved by his toil voices not so much ignorance as it does the desperation of a man wearied by life’s unpredictability. Upon meeting Utanapishti, all he has to show for his journey is sorrow.

39

Utanapishti’s comments may sit within the larger story as a sort of rebuke to Gilgamesh, whom he sees as attempting to escape his destiny as king and skive the duties that it requires (see George, Gilgamesh, 505–506).

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The scene that concludes Tablet X of the Epic of Gilgamesh reveals the king in despair because of his toil, which seems endless and not as he expected. While the breakdown in cause and effect in this case may characterize the reason for Gilgamesh’s sorrow, little more can be said except that epistemological limitations as such do not seem to contribute to his distress. For Gilgamesh does not relate to his readers, nor does Utanapishti, the mechanics of incoherent toil or how it causes despair. Utanapishti’s perspective, which views Gilgamesh’s pursuit of immortality as shirking his royal responsibilities, may answer this question implicitly, suggesting a link between Gilgamesh’s avoidance of his destiny and the futility of his toil.40 But that connection remains at best implicit, and for such clearly drawn lines we must look elsewhere in the Epic to examine the event that confronts Gilgamesh and vexes his soul most. The heaviest cause of Gilgamesh’s sorrow is death, the hammer that strikes his dear friend Enkidu and that hangs at a threatening height over the head of Gilgamesh himself. Four passages convey the despair that Gilgamesh feels when he encounters this reality, including the death of Enkidu, over which Enkidu himself (VII) and Gilgamesh lament (VIII.1–45, esp. 41–45), and the fear that Gilgamesh possesses over his down death (IX.1–4; X.7–8, 35–45, 61–71). These emotional nadirs relate to the meaning of life category of purpose, since the aim of mortal life, conceived of in its broadest, is jeopardized. The initial news of Enkidu’s death comes to Enkidu himself, when he has a dream in which the gods decree that he will die. The news brings Enkidu to tears, compounded by the fact that, once dead, he will no longer see his friend Gilgamesh. Enkidu lay down (ill) before Gilgamesh. And his tears were streaming down, (he said): “O my brother, my dear brother! Me they would clear at the expense of my brother!” Furthermore: “Must I by the spirit (of the dead) sit down, at the spirit’s door, never again [to behold] my dear brother with (mine) eyes?”41

Death and the consequent separation from a friend cause Enkidu to despair. While more precise reasons for this grief are unclear, his sorrow does not seem to stem from a disjunction in cause and effect, as if Enkidu ought to escape death and yet falls prey to it. Rather, he has arrived at the end of life, a 40

41

At X.266–275, Utanapishti reprimands Gilgamesh for having a noble birth and yet squandering his life in misery, saying that he now resembles a fool rather than a king. “By wandering the world in futility,” says George (Gilgamesh, 505), “Gilgameš is not fulfilling his royal duties.” For this translation of VII.17–23 and its sources, see ANET 86.

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not unjust or strictly unexpected sentence in this context but nevertheless an unfortunate one. In addition to Enkidu’s purpose ending we also see one of his relationships threatened, a relationship that presumably gives his life significance. Gilgamesh’s confrontation with this same event elsewhere in the Epic, that is, his own realization that life will end, suggests that his direction in life is compromised and thereby invokes sorrow. In Tablet X, before Gilgamesh meets Utanapishti, he comes across a tavern-keeper, who describes him as sorrowful and visibly downtrodden: He had the flesh of the gods in [his body,] but there was sorrow in [his heart] . . . [why are your] cheeks [hollow,] your face sunken, [your mood wretched,] your features wasted? [(Why) is there sorrow] in your heart, your face like one [who has travelled a distant road?]42

Having had his depressive appearance described, Gilgamesh explains his state of being by admitting that he is grieving Enkidu’s death and now fears that his own will strike: [Then I was afraid . . .] [I grew fearful of death and so roam the wild.] The case of my friend was too [much] for me to bear, [so on a distant road I roam the] wild. The case of [my friend] Enkidu [was too much for] me to bear, [so on a distant road I roam the] wild. (For) I, [how could I say silent?] How could I stay quiet? [My friend, whom I love, has turned] to clay, my friend Enkidu, whom I love, has [turned to] clay. [Shall not I be like] him and also lie down, [never to rise] again, through all eternity? (X.61–71)

In this passage, Gilgamesh not only fears death but fears the unavailability of eternal life, that he is “[never to rise] again, through all eternity,” forwarding a corollary to the event of death – namely, the loss of immortality – as a cause for his suffering. He despairs because he dreads his own death and the inability to live forever. From this point on, two versions of the Epic tell different stories. In the Standard Version, Gilgamesh goes on to request directions that will lead him to Utanapishti, and in the Old Babylonian Version we get additional information about his emotions. The tavern-keeper tells Gilgamesh that life remains in the hands of the gods and that he should feast and rejoice: 42

X.7–8, 40–43; see all of 35–45.

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O Gilgameš, where are you wandering? You cannot find the life that you seek: when the gods created mankind, for mankind they established death, life they kept for themselves. You, Gilgameš, let your belly be full, keep enjoying yourself, day and night! Every day make merry, dance and play day and night!43

Because his friend has died, he himself will die, and immortality seems out of reach, and it is for these reasons that Gilgamesh despairs. While this much is clear, how does the meaning of life fit into the picture, if it indeed does? In the first place, despair over death as such pertains to the purpose of life, since the cessation of living deletes the aim or aims of one’s existence in an ultimate sense, which is felt by both Enkidu and Gilgamesh. In the second place, these fears over death relate to life’s significance. For the distress that arises stems not only from one’s death as such but also from the strain it places on life’s significance. Enkidu especially bemoans the fact that when dead he will no longer experience his friendship with Gilgamesh. In other words, death comprises a relationship that seems to make life worth living. Perhaps the dread of death itself, especially the death of Gilgamesh who has no friend to lose, shows that life possessed some value in and of itself for these men. Similarly, when Enkidu laments with tears to Shamash that people die before their time, he appeals to his belief that his life is “so precious” (VII.88–95; here 93), which sounds as if life has some inherent value in his eyes. At the least, Gilgamesh establishes a clear correlation between death, the purposelessness of life, and despair, and a more tentative indication that death threatens the significance of life, which is acquired through friendship, and thereby also causes sorrow. This assessment aligns with the remaining two comments about Gilgamesh’s sorrow over death, as he laments Enkidu’s death, in this case bidding others to join in his grief (VIII.1–45, esp. 41–45), and then fears his own death in the wild, again comparing his situation to that of Enkidu’s (IX.1–4).44 The final occurrence of suffering in the Epic of Gilgamesh arises at the end of the story, again related to death and here 43 44

OB III.1–9 (see George, Gilgamesh, 279). In a dream that occurs just after his mindful horror of death, Gilgamesh grows glad of life under the moon and kills beasts (see IX.14–18).

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in its most decisive form. Although death seems inevitable throughout the epic – as Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh fears his own death, and Utanapishti exclaims that death will strike swiftly and unannounced – it is not until the final scenes that Gilgamesh realizes that immortality lies beyond his reach. As a departing gesture, Utanapishti tells Gilgamesh that at the bottom of the sea grows a plant that will rejuvenate him to youthfulness. So Gilgamesh journeys to the water’s depths and retrieves the plant. But when he leaves for Uruk, with the plant in tow, and stops to bathe, he loses the source of life to a serpent. Having realized that the snake took his plant of youth, Gilgamesh weeps. “[A]s [the serpent] turned away it sloughed a skin. Then Gilgameš sat down weeping, the tears streaming down the side of his face” (XI.307–309). All at once, Gilgamesh’s purpose is foiled and the possibility of defeating death is dashed.45 His goal is destroyed and so he himself suffers, weeping as an unquestionable sign of his inner grief. The failure to obtain life, to keep the plant in hopes of attaining youth, represents a loss of purpose for Gilgamesh. For the hope of immortality drove him onward for much of the Epic, flattened his soul with toil and wandering, gave him energy as he traveled home with the plant tucked away at his side, and yet his goal is destroyed. The aim that directed his life, at least for a time, no longer lies ahead of him and so he enters despair. That, I contend, reflects a man losing his purpose in life and consequently feeling sorrowful, establishing a connection between one type of life’s meaning and emotional distress. Having lost his chance of life, though, Gilgamesh indicates that another has gained it. The “Lion of the Earth,” that is, the serpent who escaped with the plant of youth, sheds his skin as a sign of obtaining youthfulness.46 As Gilgamesh says, “Not for myself did I establish a bounty, [for] the ‘Lion of the Earth’ I have done a favour” (XI.313–314). This aspect of the situation reflects an incoherence. For Gilgamesh should and certainly expects to retain the plant, but another, undeserving being acquires it. The exchange recalls Qohelet’s complaint that a wise man who toiled for wealth may very well leave it to another person, one unknown and in the worst case a fool. Gilgamesh experiences such a disjunction, and he too grieves.

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The snake shedding its skin represents the serpent’s rejuvenated youth and confirms to Gilgamesh the efficacy of the plant (George, Gilgamesh, 525). Further registering what could have been only pulls his loss to further depths. George, Gilgamesh, 896–897.

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The concluding sequence in the Epic of Gilgamesh shows Gilgamesh failing to attain his long-worked-for goal: immortality. The failure corresponds to a loss of purpose in life that causes Gilgamesh to feel sorrow, and at the same time it occurs in a context of incoherence, as the outcome of one’s man’s work goes to the benefit of another. While I will explore the significance of Gilgamesh and Qohelet as kings in Chapter 7, it can here be concluded that Gilgamesh feels sorrowful due to incoherence that he experiences in life, particularly, it seems, due to the fact that his toil does not accomplish what he expects. The most pronounced cause of emotional pain in the Epic is death, which generates distress for Gilgamesh when his friend Enkidu dies, and when he discovers that he himself will die and never attain immortality. The end of life rattles the sense of purpose held by these men and also implicates a source of significance, namely, their friendship.

4 Suffering and Meaning in Greek Literature

The longest-running and, perhaps, most common comparison made with Ecclesiastes is that of Greek literature. For the very reason of its antiquity and prevalence, this connection may also be the most rebutted.1 There have been several studies dedicated to the relationship, and in the introductions to most commentaries on Ecclesiastes some aspect of the comparison is sussed out. A near consensus is held, by those receptive to the idea, that Qohelet reflects no singular school of Greek thought, but that Greek philosophy nevertheless had a great influence upon him or is a great help for assessing his ideas.2 As explained in the introduction, I hold a general skepticism about Qohelet and his “Hellenistic” parallels. For it is all too easy to silo one familiar element from these Greek texts in order to find an affinity with Ecclesiastes, even if certain cases of overlap appear remarkable. Qohelet’s interrogation of what is “good” for humans, though, puts him closest to the Greeks, and, if that were my concern here, it would be the basis of comparison.3 But that is not my concern, and we

1

2

3

See the earlier works of G. Zirkel, Untersuchungen über den Prediger: nebst kritischen und philologischen Bemerkungen [Würzburg: Stahel, 1792]) and H. Ranston (“Ecclesiastes and Theognis,” AJSL 34 [1918]: 99–122), for instance, which were critiqued by C. C. Forman (“The Pessimism of Ecclesiastes,” JSS 3 [1958]: 336–343). More recently, see Bolin, Ecclesiastes, 107–112. The literature is well-covered elsewhere. See, e.g., Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Kohelet, 105–107. For those attentive to the theme of suffering in Greek philosophy and Ecclesiastes, see Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, 55–59, 380; Krüger, Kohelet, 150–152; Müller, “Kohelet.” Schwienhorst-Schönberger (Kohelet, 108–109) correctly observes that the question of “the good,” as opposed to simply stemming from a comparison with Greek literature, arises

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must rather fish around for evidence of suffering and categories of life’s meaning to see if anything substantial can be caught, and if that catch looks anything like what we have seen so far. Greek literature poses problems and advantages that the Egyptian and Mesopotamian corpuses do not. Its strengths are many: abundance, clearer delineations made between schools of thought, and identifiable relationships of influence between those schools. Such influence is seen among other ancient Near Eastern corpuses but neither to the extent nor in the commentary style that occurs within the Greek world.4 In Egypt and Mesopotamia, we are dealing with largely discrete texts, often having little idea of what people of the time thought about them, which is a boon in its own right but quite different from the Greek situation. The latter had authoritative traditions in Homer, Plato and Aristotle, among others, along with self-aware schools of thought, which developed by succession and were later exposited. Despite its advantages, though, the latter is not without its problems. For very few compositions by many significant Greek thinkers have survived. Much of what the Epicureans and Stoics believed, for instance, comes from Diogenes Laërtius and his Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, and if his bibliographies reflect any sort of reality, then we are missing out on a great many original compositions.5 Also, with so much commentary, secondary attestation and fine distinctions drawn between different schools of thought, an extended and organic comparison with biblical literature becomes harder to sustain. The Greeks almost hoodwink us into using propositions as opposed to pieces of literature as our point of reference. So the question for Ecclesiastes becomes not, how does king Qohelet compare to the image of king Gilgamesh as developed across the course of the Epic, but what would Qohelet make of Epicurus’ assertion that “the end of all our actions is to be free from pain and fear” (DL 10.128)? Comparison becomes more abstract, less organic and more forensic, which is not a problem in and of itself but can lure us toward artificial comparison and a

4 5

from the text of Ecclesiastes itself, which he then gives priority when comparing Hellenistic philosophy on the basis of shared ideas. See, e.g., Selena Wisnom, Weapons of Words: Intertextual Competition in Babylonian Poetry: A Study of Anzû, Enuma Eliš, and Erra and Išum (Leiden: Brill, 2019). See the lists, for example, at DL 7.4 and 10.27–28, where he catalogues twenty works by Zeno and forty-one (which is not exhaustive) by Epicurus. Cicero also provides a wealth of knowledge about these schools, though perhaps with more bias than Diogenes.

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simple catalogue of rival statements about similar topics, not to mention a fixation on linguistic similarities.6 To an extent, I take the bait, but for this reason and for those set out in the introduction, I only give brief attention to ancient Greek literature, with a focus on the figures classically compared to Qohelet and a few less popular but suggestive pieces of evidence. I mainly consider Epicurus, the early Stoics and Theognis, with a concentration, of course, on the suffering and meaning that has driven this study so far. First, in overview, there is no question that toil, suffering and the relation of these to wise or renowned figures interested the Greeks. Attested by an assortment of witnesses, examples come from a variety of texts and time periods. Homer’s Odysseus is akin to Gilgamesh as he journeys, undergoes hardship and receives divine tutelage, only to return to his city with renewed wisdom.7 In Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannos, the chorus declares that the king’s knowledge of his bad deeds is a source of sorrow.8 According to Hesiod, “For now, truly, there is a race of iron, and men never put an end to toil [κάματος] or woe [ὀιζύς] by day, nor to ruin by night” (Works and Days, 176–178). The Cyrenaics, a school just predating the Hellenistic period, formed by Aristippus, and about which I will say more later, is described as follows: “They do not accept that every wise man lives pleasantly and every fool lives painfully, but regard this as true most of the time” (DL 2.91). This school was later led by Theodorus, who “considered joy and grief [λύπη] to be the chief end, one brought about by prudence and the other by folly” (DL 2.98). According to Crates of Thebes, a Cynic, “wealth amassed is prey to vanity [τῦφος]” (6.86). Herodotus too takes up several anecdotes about toil and pain and, sometimes, as felt by royal figures.9 These become most evident in a 6

7 8 9

The less observed but, at times, palpable uptake of ancient Near Eastern topoi among later Greek authors is also worth noting. Diodorus (II 23.1–2), for instance, portrays “Sardanapal,” one of the later kings of Assyria (probably Ashurbanipal), as a hedonist with particularly lascivious tendencies. See Sebastian Fink, “Sardanapal – Ein Hedonist aus Mesopotamien?” in From Source to History: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Worlds and Beyond, ed. Salvatore Gaspa et al., AOAT 412 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2014), 239–250, and works by Giovanni B. Lanfranchi noted therein. Michael C. Legaspi, Wisdom in Classical and Biblical Tradition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 33–41. Bolin, Ecclesiastes, 113–114. Unlike Oedipus, however, Qohelet’s sorrow-inducing knowledge is not, evidently, a knowledge of his own moral wrongdoing. In a few other scenes, characters deal with relevant topics too. Croesus and Solon (Hist. 1.30–32) undermine the connection of wealth and blessing (see Bolin, Ecclesiastes, 49–50). Rhampsinitus is a king wealthier than all his successors and declares a certain thief the most intelligent man in the world (2.121). Last, Mycerinus, a god-fearing man, is

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discussion between Xerxes and Artabanus (Hist. 7.46–47), as the Persian king is said to be admiring his military, when his happiness suddenly turns to weeping (7.45). Artabanus notices the king’s change of mood, and Xerxes responds (7.46):10 “Yea, for after I had reckoned up, it came into my mind to feel pity at the thought how brief was the whole life of man, seeing that of these multitudes not one will be alive when a hundred years have gone by.” [Artabanus] then made answer and said: “To another evil more pitiful than this we are made subject in the course of our life; for in the period of life, short as it is, no man, either of these here or of others, is made by nature so happy, that there will not come to him many times, and not once only, the desire to be dead rather than to live; for misfortunes falling upon us and diseases disturbing our happiness make the time of life, though short indeed, seem long: thus, since life is full of trouble, death has become the most acceptable refuge for man; and God, having given him to taste of the sweetness of life, is discovered in this matter to be full of jealousy.”

The Persian king and his uncle discuss the brevity of life and sorrow, broaching themes and theses not foreign to Ecclesiastes and in a markedly concentrated manner. I would not make too much of the lexical similarities, but a few terms make an impression that is hard to ignore: death as an escape from the “troubles” [μόχθος] of life (the standard lexeme for ‫עמל‬ in the LXX); we get just a taste of how “sweet” [γλυκύς] life may be (so Eccl 5:12; 11:7); and as Xerxes promptly changes subject, he says “do not remember evils [κακῶν] when we have good in hand.” Without pressing the terms too much or making more out of what is a very brief discussion between a king and his uncle, there is nevertheless a position taken by Artabanus, deemed accurate by Xerxes (7.47), that affirms many of Qohelet’s topoi. This example, and Herodotus’ Histories in general, is not often used in the interpretation of Ecclesiastes. What is first notable about the texts that are used is the absence of any royal context. The heroic or kingly elements found in Herodotus, yet missing from the ethics of most Hellenistic philosophers, do appear in the Greek tragedians, namely, Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides. Many of the most attractive connections to Ecclesiastes from these plays – thematic and linguistic – have been nicely set out by John Jarick, and of these, many resemble those from Theognis, and Xerxes and

10

sentenced to an early death (by the oracle), and so he lives in pleasure by night to double his length of days (2.133). I use G. C. Macaulay’s (The History of Herodotus [London: Macmillan and Co., 1890], 2:149) translation here.

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Artabanus.11 These and fuller comparisons must wait until Chapter 7, where a fuller understanding of Ecclesiastes and ancient Greece can be brought together. For now, though, the Greek world has much to say about meaning and suffering.

 The Epicureans and the Stoics have been among the favorites of comparison for Ecclesiastes. Both are forms of Hellenistic philosophy, a broad category of Greek thought that occurred from 323 to 31 BCE, that is, from the death of Alexander the Great to the Battle of Actium, when Octavian defeated Antony and Cleopatra. Epicureanism and Stoicism emerged as two new schools of thought, each having several successive heads and maturing alongside various “skeptical” schools stemming from Plato’s Academy. The dates, of course, immediately raise questions about the availability of these ideas for the author of Ecclesiastes, but what remains clear nonetheless is that the Epicureans and the Stoics virtually defined themselves based upon views of pain and pleasure, the role of these in the life of the philosopher and the relation of them to eudaimonia, all of which was up for debate (e.g., DL 2.86–92). In short, “Ethics deals with things to be sought and avoided, and with human life and the chief end” (DL 10.30), pleasure and pain being of foremost significance here.12 For Epicurus (341–270 BCE), pleasure is the first good. “For the end of all our actions is to be free from pain and fear” (10.128), and that pleasure is not all and every kind, such as prodigal or sensual indulgence (so 10.142), but specifically “the absence of pain in the body and of trouble in the soul” (10.131; also 10.139). One must be free of pain, especially psychological trouble, and live a life of “tranquility.” As with any ethic, the Epicurean view of pleasure and pain is closely tied to a certain metaphysic. The dynamic force of nature was called “fate” or “chance” [τύχη], and should not be considered a god or be thought to issue good and evil; rather, humans act freely and thus in good or evil 11

12

See John Jarick, “Ecclesiastes among the Tragedians,” in Goochem in Mokum, Wisdom in Amsterdam: Papers on Biblical and Related Wisdom Read at the Fifteenth Joint Meeting of the Society of Old Testament Study and the Oudtestamentisch Werkgezelschap, Amsterdam, July 2012, ed. George J. Brooke and Pierre Van Hecke, OtSt 68 (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 95–107. The primary summary of Epicurus’ ethical thought is his Letter to Menoeceus as transmitted by Diogenes (DL 10.122–135), who adds several insights and forty summative “maxims” (10.136–154).

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83

ways, to which chance only supplies the starting point. Epicurus seems more influenced by the fact that good acts are good in and of themselves and that this ought to guide one’s action, so long as it is defined as the absence of pain. Hence “the misfortune of the wise is better than the prosperity of the fool” (10.134). The “prosperity” of the fool should not draw praise, nor really be considered fortunate, since well-judged action owes nothing to the help of chance, making misfortune, whilst being wise, better than the alternative. If Epicurus is understood to be prizing “tranquility” as an absence of psychological pain, then he acquires that understanding, in part, from a notion of “nature.” He declares that an accurate understanding of natural causes is integral to happiness (10.78), accepts the desires of infants as normative (10.137), distinguishes between natural, unnatural and necessary desires in order to advocate those that are “natural and necessary” (10.127–131), and in these ways makes “coherence” integral to a life eudaimonia.13 Epicurus is concerned to show that pain primarily arises not from nature or incoherence but from unnatural human fears. He consequently creates a correlation between study-knowledge-happiness over and against ignorance-fear-pain (e.g., 10.143) and will thus say that “There is no pleasant life without being [a life] of prudence and nobility and justice [Οὐκ ἔστιν ἡδέως ζῆν ἄνευ τοῦ φρονίμως καὶ καλῶς καὶ δικαίως]” (10.140). As John Sellars argues, “the study of Nature will enable people to live happier lives.”14 The Epicurean metaphysical ethic seems to draw a neat connection between the coherence of nature, one’s study of it and a life lived free of pain. The great fear that Epicurus wishes to dethrone is the fear of death. “Death is nothing” to him, because good and evil require sentience and death means that we have none. He also clarifies that knowledge of death adds nothing to life, except that it rids us of a longing for immortality (DL 10.124), for the wise man does not regard the cessation of life an evil (10.126). He criticizes those who advise “the young to live well and the old to make a good end” and, much more, the one who says it is good to not be born (i.e. Theognis). “For if he truly believes this, why does he not 13

14

Although Epicurus’ ethics of pleasure might begin from a “common sense” experience, it moves far from it, including his notion of what is natural. For explanation and the possibility of circularity in his understanding of human nature and human happiness, see Julia Annas, The Morality of Happiness (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 188–200. John Sellars, Hellenistic Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 75. He takes the later claims of Lucretius as a faithful account of Epicureanism.

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depart from life?” (10.126–127). Epicurus’ critique of Theognis seems to understand the claim – that it is best not to be born – as unqualified, as if, always and in every circumstance, not living is better than living. Theognis does err toward generalization when discussing death, but he also gives room for qualification, as will be evident below. In response, Epicurus seems to advise an indifference about death, to remain unmoved and unflustered by it. We shall see that a stark divide lies between Epicurus and Ecclesiastes. For the former’s principal connections between knowledge, the natural world and human pleasure/pain make any significant insight into life’s meaning, in the way discussed so far, difficult. The coherence of the world (if we can call it that) and its role for ethics, along with the controlling function of one’s telos, are his main contributions, suggesting that a meaningless life is due not so much to these features but to one’s own psychological and emotional state.

 Like Epicurus and his followers, the Stoic school had a line of succession, with the first three heads being, consecutively, Zeno of Citium (335–263 BCE), Cleanthes of Assos and Chrysippus of Soli. Each believed that we act in accord with “nature” and that people naturally pursue whatever it is that they deem good. But several ideas were up for debate, including what conception of “nature” our lives ought to accord with (i.e. the nature of the universe, the nature of humans, or both; DL 7.89), and there were several contested propositions about the virtues, such as whether or not we can lose them (7.92, 127). A few of these distinctions will be important here, and yet the common difference between the Epicurean and Stoic schools has been captured well by Sellars: “While the Epicureans were most concerned about fear of things such as the gods and death, the Stoics were primarily concerned about the disruptive impact of emotions or passions (pathé) on the individual’s ability to live well.”15 Given Epicurus’ worry about various forms of desire, we cannot say he was disinterested in the motions, and yet, given the priorities of each school, it is reasonable to see why the Epicureans aimed to eliminate psychological terror, while the Stoics focused on making the right rational

15

Sellars, Hellenistic Philosophy, 188.

Stoicism

85

judgments about what would beget health. According to Zeno, when one acts with virtue, he acts in harmony with the “right reason” that “pervades all things” (7.88), living in accord with reason and against the perverting influences of “external pursuits” and one’s affiliates. Zeno, says Diogenes, discussed good and evil at length, parsing several species of each, including those of an emotional sort. Pain appears central among them (e.g., 7.95–96, 111) and has no place in the life of the wise man. “The wise man will never be distressed [λυπηθήσεσθαι], since distress is but an irrational contraction of the soul” (7.118). This “distress” [λύπη] encompasses all sorts of pain, including “pity, envy, jealousy, rivalry, heaviness, annoyance, grief, anguish, distraction” (7.111), none of which seems rightly associated with the wise.16 The second point of consideration is determinism, which was taken up especially by Cleanthes (c. 331–232 BCE). He essentially regarded nature as a pneuma-pervaded cosmos of physical cause and effects, all of which linked up into a chain that the Stoics called “fate.”17 In this way, external stimuli remain determined and outside of human control; how we respond to them, however, is determined by our character. It should be said that such issues were contested in the Hellenistic world, and Cleanthes seems committed to getting a word in. In Chapter 7, I introduce one final philosopher from the Hellenistic period – Hegasias of Cyrene – who parts ways with the Epicureans and Stoics and, in some respects, draws near to Ecclesiastes. What remains most important for the Greek world of thought is the concern with wisdom, life’s goods and human ends, and how these might be defined in comparison to an ancient Israelite world. Moving back further into Greek antiquity, however, does take us to one poet concerned with the meaning of life, particularly its breakdown.

16

17

In his treatment of the wise and foolish persons, Zeno sounds much like Proverbs. A. A. Long and D. N. Sedley (The Hellenistic Philosophers: Volume 1 [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987], 366): “The ‘rightness’ of a wise man’s actions or the ‘perfection’ of his ‘proper functions’ is specifically indicated not by what he does but by the virtuous disposition which his action exhibits.” On the point of wisdom and suffering, though, some sources suggest that the Stoics “acknowledged that even a wise man is so constituted that he may be involuntarily subject to weeping, sexual arousal, shock at sudden noises etc. . . . Such responses to circumstances will only be signs of passions if they belong to someone who has misjudged his situation, and thereby given himself an excessive impulse manifested in appetite, fear etc” (421). Emphasis in the original. See Sellars, Hellenistic Philosophy, 132.

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Suffering and Meaning in Greek Literature

 Writing during the sixth century BCE, Theognis is often thought to be a part of the Greek aristocracy, making, perhaps disgruntled, observations about the reversal of social structures in Greek society.18 It may be that the kakoi – those of a lower social order – have taken charge of the legal system and consequently thwarted justice, which Theognis bemoans and wishes to remedy. In his Elegies, Theognis addresses a friend named Kurnos and, at times, Zeus himself, through a series of poems, which may have been collected and have a clear set of themes: pleasure, work, injustice, friendship, youth and the evaluation of social classes. It is here, I will argue, that we find the closest contact to Qohelet. The most prevalent meaning of life category in Theognis is incoherence, including remarks about the limitations of human knowledge and the power of the gods. No one, Kurnos, is himself responsible for loss and gain; rather the Gods are the givers of them both. Nor does any man who labors know in his heart whether he moves to an end that is good or bad. For often, expecting to make bad he makes good, and expecting to make good he makes bad. No man gets all he wants: for he holds the terrible ends of impotence.19 Men practice vanities [μάταια], knowing nothing, while the gods accomplish all according to their own mind. (133–142) Many have vile wits and good fortune, and to them what seems evil becomes good. There are some who toil [μοχθίζουσι], willing the good and having a bad fortune, and the end does not accord with the work. (161–164)

The deserved fortunes of the good and the bad have been swapped; humans remain largely ignorant of what their work will accomplish, particularly with respect to its quality; there is a strong note of divine 18 19

For discussion and an overview of the literature, see Zinon Papakonstantinou, “Justice and the ‘Kakoi’: Law and Social Crisis in Theognis,” Dike 7 (2004): 5–17. This line is obscure but is best understood in connection to the line that precedes it, meaning that in their own desires, humans possess the frustrating limit of what is possible.

Theognis

87

control over these events, and a use of Qohelet’s distinctive vocabulary (“vanities” and “toil”). Without collapsing the theological frameworks of Ecclesiastes and Theognis into each other, the latter keeps a theological posture that recalls the former. Theognis says to pray to the gods, that the gods have power and that without them neither good nor evil comes to men (171–172). Humans fail to see what the gods will bring about (1075–1078), while the gods oversee life and can swap the good, rich or wise with their opposites (659–666). Hence one should be patient in misfortune [κακός] and not vexed too much by things (1029–1036). The volume and character of comments about coherence – from an anthropological and theological perspective – may be otherwise unattested within the Greek world.20 The commercial aspect of the book also stands out. For money is closely tied to a lack of satisfaction (227–232; 1157–1160), and general exertion with a lack of finitude (949–954), so that a measure of moderation is esteemed (903–930). Worse than death or any disease is a father who has toiled hard for his children only to have them hate him (271–278), an example that calls to mind questions about life’s significance and the conditions that make it so. Likewise, there is an overriding concern with death, which is preferable in many instances, if not in general. Hence, while Theognis wishes good rather than ill from Zeus, he requests that he die if his pains do not cease: “Kill me if I find no cessation of evil cares” (341–344), especially those of avenging injustice. The grim tone tolls later in the poem, with language markedly similar to Ecclesiastes: “Of all things, the best is that one is never born, to never see the rays of the burning sun” (425–426), and failing that, to go to Hades as soon as possible (427–428). These lines were the very source of accusation from Epicurus, as noted above, and yet other evidence in the Elegies adds some qualification. Theognis admits that “I play, rejoicing in youth,” since he shall lie underground for ages and see nothing more (567–570). He especially advocates that one enjoy his own possessions while young (1007–1012),

20

I would disagree with Ranston’s (“Ecclesiastes,” 104–105) theological interpretation here, that Qohelet, finding the world incoherent, views God’s government as “arbitrary” and “unrighteous.” The passages on which he bases this – mainly 2:26 and 5:1[2] – can only leave enough evidence for “a tacit charge of injustice against God.” God, indeed, works behind the scenes in ways indiscernible to humans, perhaps even governing what they see as injustices, but, again, if Qohelet employs God’s governance as a problem, then he does as a remedy just as much.

88

Suffering and Meaning in Greek Literature

and not without wine: “Drink when others drink; when feeling vexed, drink, so that no one knows of your weariness [βαρυνόμενον]” (989–990). Also, “There is nothing more pleasant, Kurnos, than a good wife” (1225). Ultimately, Theognis seems to want an end to pain, a return to merriment and a sober fulfillment of life’s work. O Cyprus-born, end my distress [πονέω], scatter the consuming cares, turn me again to merriment [εὐφρόσυνος], make cease [my] evil troubles, and grant that I might accomplish the works of discretion when I have, in merriment, fulfilled the measure of youth. (1323–1326)

In a sense, these quotations stand for themselves and will draw out a few final aspects when comparing Theognis’ thought to Qohelet’s. At this point, a final, general tendency emerges, whereby the Hellenistic schools seem concerned more with issues of purpose and significance than with matters of incoherence, perhaps due to their decided metaphysical views. All the while, Theognis propounds the topic of (in)coherence with a breadth almost unmatched.

5 Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life

It will already be clear to many that the foregoing literature from ancient Egypt, Mesopotamia and Greece all have something about them that reminds one of Ecclesiastes, be it the first-person form of address, the reflections on work and pain, the observations of life’s reliability and lack thereof, or the various ways in which the end of life as we know it informs the present. Rather than identifying each and every such connection in the previous chapters, I have chosen to let them stand as analyses in their own right – they should offer studies of their respective materials that, to some extent, stand alone – and only after examining Ecclesiastes will I put all the pieces together. Thus, this chapter interprets the book of Ecclesiastes with psychology’s threefold conceptual scheme of life’s meaning to achieve several aims. It clarifies in what ways Qohelet is and is not interested in the topic and in the process resolves a debate in Ecclesiastes scholarship, one due largely to conceptual imprecision. I will argue that all three conceptions of meaning – coherence, purpose and significance – receive attention in Ecclesiastes, and that “coherence” remains the book’s unquestionable focus, since Qohelet concentrates most on the (un)reliability and (in)comprehensibility of patterns in life. To each category, Qohelet contributes his own insight, such as experiences or questions, which shows that rather than fitting the exact mold of a psychological theory, Ecclesiastes sets this theory within its own contextual concerns. The conclusions from this chapter and the foregoing can then be synthesized into a contextualized comparison that will boost one’s vantage on Ecclesiastes most of all.

89

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Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life

 In view of the first conception of meaning – coherence – Qohelet investigates the meaning of life by delving into correlations that appear in the world, how predictable and recognizable patterns arise within it and how these patterns consequently “make sense” of life.1 Ecclesiastes 8:14, for instance, says that “There is ‫ הבל‬that occurs on the earth,2 that there are righteous people to whom it happens according to the deeds of the wicked, and there are wicked people to whom it happens according to the deeds of the righteous. I said that this is also ‫הבל‬.”3 According to 1 2

3

Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 533. The lexeme ‫ ֶהֶבל‬refers concretely to “breath” (Isa 57:13; Prov 21:6). It often translates as “idols” (Deut 32:21), those that are false and not truly God (Deut 32:16–18; Jer 10:8) or those of no profit (Jer 2:5, 8; 16:9). It describes the help of foreign nations as worthless and unreliable (Isa 30:7; Zech 10:2). With humans, it qualifies their lives as short and transitory (Ps 39:6[5]; cf. Prov 21:6), their thoughts or words as insubstantial (Ps 94:11; Job 35:16), and work as vain or having no result (Isa 49:4; cf. Ps 36:7[6]; Lam 4:17). Thus the lexeme includes senses of breath and brevity, and something of no consequence, substance or worth. In Ecclesiastes, it occurs in the context of what is temporal (3:19), tragic (4:4, 8), vain or of no gain (2:11), incomprehensible or senseless (1:14–15; 7:13; 8:14) and cyclical (12:7–8). No single connotation needs to apply in each circumstance, and demanding a meaning more than “breath” or “vapor” has caused interpreters unnecessary trouble. The lexeme, though functioning metaphorically, is drained of its significance when pressured in this way, so I leave it untranslated, allowing the metaphor to function as I think it was intended. For a first-rate, chronological catalogue of interpretations, see Russell L. Meek, “Twentieth- and Twenty-First-Century Readings of Hebel (‫ )ֶהֶבל‬in Ecclesiastes,” CBR 14 (2016): 279–297. The observation of incoherence in 8:14 comes just after an assertion of coherence in 8:12b–13, where Qohelet says that, although the wicked may prolong their lives through bad deeds and receive the treatment that the righteous deserve (vv. 10–12a), both the wicked and righteous will, in the end, receive their just deserts from God. This sense of the passage holds despite the textual difficulties, and the larger interpretive question regards how these two views (coherence and incoherence) are reconciled. According to Murphy (Ecclesiastes, 87), Qohelet deliberately disagrees with vv. 12b–13. But rather than disagreeing with the claim of God’s treatment of people here, it seems that Qohelet rather denies the comprehension of divine actions such as those in 8:12b–13 (so 8:17). In 8:10–14, Qohelet holds to God’s ultimate retribution despite inequalities, and yet, as 8:14 attests, he must still reckon with reality. That makes further sense if ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫ י‬marks an exception or paradox to what is normal. So instead of 8:14 being “another example” of “no one getting what they deserve” (Longman, Ecclesiastes, 220), it is most likely stating, “But, there are, still, situations like this . . .” If ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫ י‬marks a hypothetical situation (i.e. “There may be . . .”), which seems to suit some occurrences in Ecclesiastes (so Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 458; cf. 450), then in this context the situation is marked as hypothetical because it will not stand as a generalization. This is the only instance, though, to be paired with ‫ הבל‬and to repeat the particle so many times (see most similarly 7:15); hence, our understanding of ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫ י‬here probably depends most on how we interpret the passage, even the book, as a whole. For a similar use, where the norm and exception are clear, see 2:21; 6:1;

Coherence

91

Qohelet, behavior and recompense do not properly align, as the wicked receive the outcome that befits the righteous, and the righteous receive what befits the wicked. This, says Qohelet, constitutes ‫הבל‬, a lack of correspondence in the world that he elsewhere observes with respect to wealth, work, stature, wisdom and ability (5:9[10], 14[15]; 9:11), all of which fail to render stable “patterns and predictability.”4 Given the context of 8:14, where the wicked and righteous receive undeservedly long and short lengths of life, respectively (8:10–13; so 7:15), it is that fate which 8:14 probably has in view.5 Wicked people prolong their lives through evil deeds and the righteous live shortened lives through good deeds, and that is ‫הבל‬. In this sense, therefore, ‫ הבל‬at times means “meaningless,” so that from the perspective of coherence Qohelet labels life as such. Michael V. Fox has proposed a similar interpretation of Ecclesiastes that centers on life’s meaning: “The book of Qohelet is about meaning. What unites all of Qohelet’s complaints is the collapse of meaning. What unites all of his counsels and affirmations is the attempt to reconstruct meanings.”6 Fox, who provides one of the most precise notion of life’s meaning when interpreting Ecclesiastes, derives his definition from the linguistic concept of meaning, which leads him to understand meaninglessness based principally upon causal order.7 He clarifies that “Qohelet’s central premise is that meaningfulness requires that an action or quality X produce the appropriate consequence X0 , and that not-X not produce it.”8 Life is meaningless because actions fail to correspond with their

4

5 7

8

7:15; where the “norm” is less clear, but the particle plausibly marks an exception to what would or should be, see 4:8; 10:5. Lichtheim (Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature, 139) argues for a similar use of wn p3 nty in Papyrus Insinger. In Akkadian, bašû is the standard verb for “exist/be” and, hence, “there is/are” but, interestingly, išû, which predominantly means “have” or “owe,” functions as a copulative (“there is/was”) and only in the Amarna Letters (it occurs once in a conditional statement that is evident from the standard use of šumma not išû itself [EA 77:9]; see CAD 7.292–293; cf. EA 35:38). For ‫שר מגיע אלהם‬ ׁ ‫“( א‬to whom it happens”), see Esth 9:26. Martela and Steger, “three meanings,” 534. Though not always exclusive of other types of meaning of life, incoherence appears in Eccl 2:9–23; 3:9–11, 16–22; 4:15–16; 5:12–16 [13–17]; 6:7–8; 7:14–15; 8:7–8, 14, 16–17; 9:1–3, 11–12; 10:5–6; 11:1–6. Those cases that show only its epistemological aspect include 7:14–15; 8:7–8, 16–17; 11:1–6. 6 So Fox, Time, 287; Ogden, Qoheleth, 150. Fox, Time, 133. Fox, Time, 5. He does attach Albert Camus’ notion of absurdity to this concept. So Benjamin Lyle Berger, “Qohelet and the Exigencies of the Absurd,” BibInt 9 (2001): 141–179, esp. 164, 172–173. Fox, Time, 138–139. As for the grounds of this causation, I think Fox is right to say that “The foundation of this entire concept of meaningfulness is Qohelet’s belief in a deity who, in principle, guarantees the working of right causation” (139). Ecclesiastes 3:11, I would

92

Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life

consequences, and in my judgment that is the principal way in which Qohelet comes to grips with life’s meaning. To the example noted above, I would add several instances of incoherence in Ecclesiastes: that one’s hard- and cleverly earned labor might be left to a fool (2:18–21), that riches are lost in life or cannot be taken in death (5:12–16[13–17]), that death levels all, without distinction (9:1–3), that most successes are vulnerable to chance (9:11–12), that fools are found where the rich should be and kings happen to be swapped with slaves (10:5–6), and that one cannot know much about the times (3:11), the future (7:14) or the ways of God (8:17).9 It seems, then, that meaning of life in the sense of coherence occupied Qohelet. However, in name, the “meaning of life” interpretation has been rejected by scholars such as C.-L. Seow, who proposes an interpretation that seems to directly counter Qohelet’s concern with life’s meaning. In Qohelet’s view, humanity is set in a world over which mortals have no control. It is a world that is full of inconveniences, inconsistencies, and contradictions. Nothing that human beings do or have is ultimately reliable: not wealth, not pleasure, not wisdom, not toil, not life itself. There are no fail-safe rules, no formulas that guarantee success. Justice may not be found where one might expect it. People may not get what they deserve. There is no telling who will have a good life and who will not. And even if one has a good life one moment, it may be gone the next. It is an arbitrary world in which human beings live, one that is full of risks but no guarantees. . . . [Qohelet] concludes at every turn that mortals are not in control of the things that happen in the world. They are not in control of their destiny. This is why Qohelet says that everything is hebel. He does not mean that everything is meaningless or insignificant, but that everything is beyond human apprehension and comprehension.10

Comments like these, which seem to contradict those mentioned above, create far less conflict when read through the psychological categories of meaning of life. Although Seow resists notions of life’s meaning verbatim, notice what he does argue for – that Qohelet spots the inconsistencies and contradictions of life. Such remarks about life’s inconsistencies, says Seow, entail life’s failure to make sense and amount to what I have been calling life’s lack of “coherence.” Fox characterizes Ecclesiastes in a very similar way, and yet he frames it in terms of life’s “meaning.” Therefore both interpreters define Qohelet’s central concern in terms reminiscent of

9

add, provides the most likely explanation for how the causation established by God becomes an expectation for humans, so that Qohelet can identify moments that defy this consequential order. 10 See note above. Seow, Ecclesiastes, 55, 59.

Coherence

93

what psychologists connote by “coherence.” Life fails to operate according to reliable and predictable patterns, rendering the world senseless to human beings and in this way meaningless. On this definition, Fox and Seow do not, as it first appears, contradict each other but instead largely agree in their principal interpretations of the book. They may dispute certain details, but the apparent clash between these two about the “meaning of life” in Ecclesiastes has only the semblance of conflict. Said conception of life’s meaning does indeed appear in Ecclesiastes, and by using psychological resources to get below the surface of what interpreters could mean by “meaning,” we can resolve certain disputes about Qohelet’s epistemological priorities. However, coherence represents only one aspect of Qohelet’s view on life. While Fox shows that the meaning of life as coherence accounts for the predominant proportion of Ecclesiastes, he too-comprehensively applies this idea to the whole book and to all occurrences of ‫הבל‬. For in certain passages, ‫ הבל‬has little to do with coherence.11 In Eccl 4:4, for instance, toil arises from the envy of one’s neighbor: “I saw all the toil and all the success of work,12 that this is a man’s envy of his neighbor.13 This also is ‫ הבל‬and a chasing after wind.” Craig Bartholomew views 4:4–6 – that 11

12

13

Fox, Time, 49, 139. Fox derives five qualities of the acts-consequence connection from Ecclesiastes and proffers them as criteria for meaning. If an action lacks an immediate, individual, recognizable, consistent or final consequence, then Qohelet labels it “meaningless” (i.e. ‫)הבל‬. These criteria do account for certain statements in Ecclesiastes (e.g., 5:9 [10], 14[15]; 8:14; 9:11) and illuminate part of Qohelet’s dilemma but, as I show in Chapter 5, they do not account for all of the material, leaving significant exceptions for how meaning of life is understood in Ecclesiastes (cf. also the commendation to fear God and resist sin [5:5–6(6–7); 8:12]). For additional critique, see Weeks, Ecclesiastes and Scepticism, 110–120; cf. Mark Sneed, “‫ הבל‬as ‘Worthless’ in Qoheleth: A Critique of Michael Fox’s ‘Absurd’ Thesis,” JBL 136 (2017): 879–894. There is disagreement over whether ‫שרון‬ ׁ ‫ כ‬means “skill” or “success” here. Occurring only in Ecclesiastes (2:21; 4:4; 5:10[11]), it adjoins “wisdom” and “knowledge” as, possibly, “skill” (2:21), and yet the evidence of cognates is divided, Akkadian kušīru being “success” and the Ugaritic divine name ktr probably being “skillful one.” Given the ¯ solution in 4:6 and the relentless striving in 4:8, that envy brings about or couples with “skill” in 4:4 seems odd, especially if Qohelet is averse to the scenario (see below). The Targum reads “righteousness” (‫ )ובצידקו‬and LXX “manliness/courage” (ἀνδρείᾳ), with other versions suggesting a sense of vigor (see Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 459). Ecclesiastes 4:4 uses ‫“( קנאה‬jealousy”; so Prov 14:30) while Exod 20:17 uses ‫חמד‬ (“covet”). Although ‫ קנאה‬carries a sense of “zeal” (LXX ζῆλος) and ‫ חמד‬a more general sense of “desire,” both convey an eagerness for something, often of an inordinate degree or within a negative context (see BDB 7068, 2530). In the context of Eccl 4:4 and with the versatile preposition ‫מן‬, which may mean “(away) from” one’s neighbor or “because of,” the clause may connote rivalry with or even a separation from, “a passion which separates one person from another” (Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 583). Thus, although

94

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labor stems from jealousy – as “enigmatic,” which would support a concern for coherence in this passage.14 But the verses that follow 4:4 concern laziness (4:5) and overambition (4:6), which are concepts most likely familiar to Qohelet and his readers. For both topics correlate with passages from Proverbs about laziness and envy/rivalry that suggest popular rather than puzzling phenomena. “A little sleep, a little slumber, a little holding hands to lie down, and your poverty will come like a robber, and need like an armed man” (6:10–11). “A calm heart is life to the flesh, but envy is rottenness to the bones” (14:30). Similarly, Exod 20:17 prohibits one from “coveting your neighbor’s house,” his wife, animals “or anything that belongs to [him].” Would an envious motivation really strike Qohelet as odd, as something bewildering and in need of explanation? Even if we take the construction to mean that the worker’s zeal separates him from his fellows, a theme Qohelet will take up in 4:7–12, we would still be hard-pressed to see toil giving Qohelet epistemic trouble here, as if he fails to comprehend such a connection or suggests that one would disrupt predictable and reliable patterns in the world. Qohelet most likely labels the issue in 4:4 as wrong and unfortunate, even despairs over it, as his “hebel” declaration indicates not an enigma but more so a tragic feeling, supported by the following reference to the fool who “eats his own flesh” (4:5), an evil and sad occurrence.15 It is not odd but unfortunate that toil and success relate to a neighborly zeal in such a way.16

14 15

16

Köhlmoos (Kohelet, 133–134) says that envy motivates work, the text most likely remains a predication, defining all work as ‫ קנאה‬or as inseparable from it: ‫( וראיתי אני את־כל־עמל ואת כל־כשׁרון המעשׂה כי היא קנאת־אישׁ מרעהו‬so SchwienhorstSchönberger, Kohelet, 294; R. N. Whybray, Ecclesiastes, NCB [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989], 83). Otherwise unclear, the verse links up toil, inordinate zeal, and one’s fellows. Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, 187–188. On this phrase, see Ps 27:2; Isa 49:26; Mic 3:1–4 and Seow, Ecclesiastes, 179. “Qohelet is using the grotesque imagery of self-cannibalism to speak of self-destruction. Fools who are so lazy will end up devouring themselves” (Seow). Similarly to Bartholomew, Ogden (Qoheleth, 72) contends that in 4:4 and its context, “There is nothing . . . to suggest that the challenge to excel is unhealthy, though that is always a possibility. However, Qoheleth does allow that it is a mysterious inexplicable drive, an enigma (hebel), which knows no bounds.” But Qohelet’s disapproval of 4:4 seems plausible, if not necessary, based on 4:6, which uses a “better-than” saying to set ambition within its boundaries. The OT reserves positive connotations of jealousy for the divine-human relationship and marriages (Longman, Ecclesiastes, 137). For the same reasons, I would disagree with Seow’s (Ecclesiastes, 187) interpretation of the situation as “ephemeral and unreliable.”

Coherence

95

Ecclesiastes 4:7–8 employs more direct language in this mode: Again, I, I saw ‫ הבל‬under the sun: There is one who has no other, neither a son nor brother even. But there is no end to all his toil. Even his eyes are not satisfied with riches.17 “For whom am I toiling and depriving myself of goodness?”18 This also is ‫ הבל‬and an evil business.

Here, ‫ הבל‬pairs with “an unhappy/evil business” (‫ )ענין רע‬to describe the person who lacks an inheritor and works endlessly for riches that do not satisfy. Elsewhere, the one whose “business” (‫ )ענין‬is a “vexation” (‫)כעס‬ lives “all of his days” in “sorrows” (‫ ;מכאבים‬2:23), making the situation in Eccl 4:7–8 most naturally sad and foolish rather than enigmatic. This is all to say that ‫ הבל‬and “chasing after wind” often connote but do not uniformly mean “enigmatic” (cf. 2:19; 7:6; 11:10), indicating that the “sense-making” characterization of coherence does not accurately represent the entirety of Qohelet’s investigation. Albeit located in contexts associated with “coherence,” certain passages indicate that Qohelet is concerned not only with the epistemic challenges of certain correlations in life but also with the tragic feeling that these experiences induce. His reflections on life’s coherence are more nuanced than cognitive dissonance, encompassing an affective response to the discord that he sees between cause and effect.19 Having mentioned several interpretations of the knowledge problem within Ecclesiastes, I have been referring to epistemic “limitations” without further description. If Qohelet is so constrained by a lack of knowledge, then surely we can expect more to be said about it. The objects of which humans have limited knowledge include God’s activities (3:11; 7:14; 8:17; 11:5; cf. 9:1) and the future, about which little is known in general (10:14) and in particular, whether the character of a future

17

18 19

On the grammar of the opening clause of 4:8, see Seow, Ecclesiastes, 180. The following occurrences of ‫ גם‬are both emphatic. The first is self-evident, and although the second could be “his toil is endless, yet his eyes . . .” it seems to reiterate the endlessness of the man’s toil, so that “his toil is endless, and even he is not satisfied,” with these clauses (C, D) relating like the verse’s first two (A, B). Perhaps, in the context of this man’s isolation, ‫ גם־עיניו לא־תשׂבע עשׁר‬underscores that, aside from his lack of inheritors, even he was not satisfied with his riches. See further discussion in Chapter 6. As taken by most translations, the first-person declaration is best attributed to the man himself rather than Qohelet (cf. Fox, Time, 222). For a full treatment of affective language in Ecclesiastes, see Chapter 6.

96

Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life

inheritor (2:19), future state of humans (3:21–22; 8:7), the timing of death (9:12), or the occurrence of misfortune (11:2). The past too (1:11), and perhaps one’s ability to learn from it or to remember its good things (9:13–16), remains out of cognitive reach.20 In the present life, humans struggle to know what is good for them to do (6:12), how to be exceedingly wise (7:24) and the bigger picture behind their immediate striving (4:7–8). These features of divine work, the future, the past, good, wisdom and the “bigger picture” seem to represent fixed frontiers of human knowledge, beyond which no one can venture. So, although prominent, it is not only the failure of events to meet certain outcomes that puzzles Qohelet, and even in the cases where these disjunctions do bother him the epistemological problem can be explained in various ways. For rather than being one of limitations, the knowledge conundrum may signify a problem of apprehension. Stuart Weeks has done most in favor of this view, arguing that the world’s phenomena confront humans as illusory, and humans perceive wrongly because they are deluded, making the problem less one of strict epistemological boundaries or of the failure of the world to meet human expectations and more of a problem of misapprehension.21 There is also no suggestion in any of this that the world is unreal: indeed, its reality is beyond question, but it is also, to a great extent, beyond our grasp. The situation of humans leads them to experience and to understand so little of what is happening that they are liable to misapprehend what they do see, and when they act in accordance with that misapprehension, thinking that they are working on their own behalf, and blind to both the future and the past, they may face significant disappointments.22

20

21 22

Ecclesiastes 1:4–11 places humanity in its cosmic context to make the point that all things are unchanging. The natural world repeats itself on a circuitous loop (1:4–7) and in the same way humans accomplish nothing new under the sun (1:8–11). Whether or not 1:7a refers to the circuitous program of rivers or to their inability to fill the sea, 1:8 clearly depicts a lack of satisfaction in human experience, followed by the unvarying state of human action (1:9) and the lack of memory about it, both past and future (1:10–11). Perhaps the passage places these expectations of dissatisfaction and the non-novel quality of human accomplishment within a context of that continuous and yet unchanging totality of the cosmos, of which humanity forms a part. Although no evidence of life’s meaning as such appears in 1:4–11, the passage’s ideas recur in the book as components of meaninglessness. Dissatisfaction implicates life’s significance, and the lack of lasting remembrance puts life’s purpose into question. Ultimately, though, Qohelet may be saying here that what he sees in life is the way life will be, at least for the time being. See Weeks, Ecclesiastes and Scepticism, esp. 104–131. See also Berger, “Qohelet.” Weeks, Ecclesiastes and Scepticism, 76.

Coherence

97

Qohelet does, at times, point to humans failing to perceive their world correctly. The person laboring, for instance, who has no son or brother and yet works tirelessly and without satisfaction, lacking the wherewithal to ask, “For whom am I toiling and depriving myself of pleasure?” (4:8), this person fails to see, perhaps fails to look for, the larger context of his efforts. He misapprehends his situation as one where tireless work constitutes the best mode of life, failing to stop and take account of where all his toil will lead.23 As mentioned above, Qohelet views the man as a tragic case rather than an enigma, but we can also say that the man himself is deluded. Other limits to knowledge, though, give no hint of misperception or delusion but rather strike Qohelet as unsurpassable boundaries. Knowledge of the future is clouded, so too of the past, while God’s ways simply lie beyond one’s ken, and certain reaches of wisdom remain “remote” and “utterly deep” (7:24). Nevertheless, some knowledge about these things is possible and at times without the cloud of delusion. Oppression (4:1–3; 5:7[8]), injustice (8:14) and the possibility and control over some amount of pleasure lie within the grasp of humans (2:1–10) and do not always, or in all ways, succumb to illusion. The possibility of knowing itself distinguishes the living from the dead (9:5).24 Therefore Qohelet’s problem reduces neither to limits in human knowledge nor to a misapprehension of the world. The case for misapprehension, especially when taken as the primary way of interpreting the material, depends on how far Qohelet identifies or presupposes world operations as “normal.” If the world is portrayed as working rightly or if it is all a part of God’s plan, then Weeks can correctly say that “The essence of Qohelet’s message . . . is not that the world is working wrongly, but that humans cannot see it properly.”25 This depends a great deal on how we understand the place of divine governance in the book, as well as statements about things being “crooked” (1:15) or “bad/evil,” and whether or not Qohelet’s juxtaposition of tropes, like righteousness begetting long life, with inconsistencies, like their life being cut short, have any rhetorical weight per se or if they 23

24

25

Weeks (Ecclesiastes 1–5, 591) understands the verse slightly differently than I do but finds its point to be similar: “whatever motivated him to spend his life this way involved a false or thoughtless expectation.” Annette Schellenberg, Erkenntnis als Problem: Qohelet und die alttestamentliche Diskussion um das menschliche Erkennen, OBO 188 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 88–93. Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 26; see 24–28.

98

Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life

solely contribute to the problem of human misperception.26 I am inclined to think that Qohelet does justice to both and that to lose sight of either is to lose sight of his message. To put it another way: Ecclesiastes’ view on knowledge contains a descriptive element that shows knowledge to be accurate and possible but demarcated, and yet it also contains a prescriptive element, where we get the sense that people do fail to comprehend things, living under an illusion about what is or will happen.27 The extent and relationship of these depend to some degree on inference. For Qohelet appears quite perceptive of his world, ably identifying those who misperceive it, but his observations may themselves imply that his audience fails to correctly apprehend the world in the way that he does, that they suffer from misapprehension.28 A similar case applies to one’s lot, which instead of knowledge features human control, although these capabilities are of course interdependent. Life’s possibilities have been hemmed in based on each individual’s “portion” (5:12–19[13–20]; 7:13–14) and so everyone ought to live within the realm of his or her allotment, that is, what belongs to each person as “one’s own” (e.g., 9:7–10). Another way to put this is that God has placed limits on human knowledge, and control, some of which we are aware of and some of which we are not. What we do in response to those limits, though, is our responsibility and perhaps Qohelet’s prescriptive concern. I have been trying to explain the precise nature of “the meaning of life” in Ecclesiastes, lest the phrase, as derived from psychological literature, be oversimplified or too hastily applied to the interpretation of the book. Meaning of life coherence provides a starting point for explaining how Qohelet envisions one form of meaninglessness. “Life is coherent when one is able to discern understandable patterns in it to make the wholeness comprehensible. In other words, meaning as coherence is seen to be about ‘the feeling that one’s experiences or life itself makes sense.’”29 A lack of reliable patterns does indeed bother Qohelet. For a bulk of evidence in Ecclesiastes discloses that issues of correspondence vex him, as he 26 27 28

29

Serious study of these areas seems to be lacking, not least a proper “Theology of Ecclesiastes” that may clear up the difficulties or present the most plausible options. Prescriptively, Qohelet also wants his audience to live befittingly within the knowledge boundaries that he describes. It is curious that we are told so much about what Qohelet “sees” and yet so little, explicitly, about what potentially deluded characters “see” or misperceive or find “good in their own eyes,” hence the subtlety of the misapprehension thesis. Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 533.

Significance

99

observes that life contains unreliable and unpredictable patterns that he labels ‫ הבל‬and in this sense “meaningless.” Interestingly, these instances are often related to human expectation and misperception, which captures the nuance of the psychological category. Such a problem matches what Martela and Steger call “coherence,” one of three types of “meaning” in life according to psychological research. Qohelet underscores the epistemic nature of this problem, as life fails to make sense due to the lack of correspondence in action-and-consequence or due to the inability of humans to apprehend the bigger picture, which permits the conclusion that Ecclesiastes addresses the meaning of life in this sense and furthermore resolves an apparent disagreement among interpreters. Coherence, though, does not account for every passage in Ecclesiastes, with 4:4 and 4:8 as notable exceptions, and even these exceptions do not represent all evidence relevant to the other meaning of life categories. Two remain, and the claims of Qohelet must be considered also in light of these.

 The notion of significance in life, according to Martela and Steger, refers to its worth or value, answering the question, “Is life worth living?” As a matter of axiology, the concept aligns with Qohelet’s inquiry about the good, which for him is no small concern. Ecclesiastes includes forms of ‫טוב‬ forty-one times, a term nearly synonymous with “pleasure/joy” (2:3, 24; 3:12; 4:8; 5:17[18]; 6:6; 9:7; 11:7; cf. 6:3) and one that also carries the sense of “better than” to convey the best option (4:6; 7:1; 9:4; possibly with a moral nuance in 4:12; 5:4[5]), “fortunate/well” (8:13, 15; 11:6) and moral “good” (7:20; 9:2, 18; 12:14; cf. 7:18, 26). As something worthwhile or valuable, semantic “good” suggests an overlap with meaning of life significance, for “good” refers to valuable things (6:3) and comparative values (4:6, 9; 9:4): “If a man fathers a hundred [children] and lives many years and the days of his years are many, but his soul is not satisfied with good things [‫]טובה‬, and he also has no burial site, I say that a stillborn child is better than he” (6:3).30 In addition to labeling

30

Seow (Ecclesiastes, 211) emends 6:3 to say that a man complains about the fact that his years will end and that he lacks a secure burial place, making this anecdote that of a fool. While textually possible, the emendations are unnecessary (see, e.g., Fox, Time, 242), and ultimately both readings see the man as unsatisfied despite his abundance. If he were a fool as such, though, that may detract from Qohelet’s point about God being the one who authorizes enjoyment and instead attribute such authority to the human being.

100

Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life

things as good, Qohelet also determines value by making comparative value statements: “Better [‫ ]טוב‬is a hand full with quietness than two hands full with toil and striving after wind” (4:6);31 “Two are better than one, because they have a good wage for their toil” (4:9); “For whoever is joined to all the living, he has certitude; for a living dog is better than a dead lion” (9:4; so 6:3 cited previously).32 Qohelet is clearly concerned with value, worth and therefore significance in certain aspects of life. However, whether the remarks just mentioned establish the perspective necessary for “significance” as a type of life’s meaning remains obscure. The evidence so far mentions the value of certain objects or activities (e.g., quietness), not the value of life itself, which is the real locus of the “significance” category. However, the omission is not wholesale. For two passages do reflect a concern for the value of life as such: Eccl 9:4–6 and 11:7–8. In 9:3, Qohelet laments the fact that all people alike will die, calling this “evil” (‫)רע‬, and goes on to suggest that universal death does not negate the value of living, while one can. 31

32

With many commentators, I interpret the verse with adverbial accusatives (i.e. “with quietness . . . with toil”). It presumably refers to a hand full of anything (that is valuable). Cf. Krüger, Kohelet, 165, 168. The meaning of ‫ רעות רוח‬is unclear. ‫ רעות‬may stem from ‫רעו‬ (“will/desire,” Ezra 5:17; 7:18; Dan 2:30; 7:28 Aramaic), so “longing or striving for wind” or “thoughts of wind/windy thoughts.” The latter mirrors “windy words/knowledge” (Job 15:2; 16:3) and the ‫ הבל‬nature of the image of wind in the Bible (Isa 41:29; Prov 11:29; cf. “striving of heart,” Eccl 2:22). The clearer ‫“( ֹרֶעה‬shepherd,” 12:11) suggests the root ‫“( רעה‬feed/graze” or “shepherd,” meanings that can occur in the same verse [Mic 7:14]). In Hosea 12:2[1], ‫ רוח רעה‬parallels “pursuing [‫ ]רדף‬the east wind all day” and describes the idolatrous practices of Israel (11:2, 7; 12:8[7]), referring to the foolishness, undependability and pointlessness of covenanting with anything other than God (see Sir 34:1–2 for the fool who “grasps shadows or pursues wind”). The quarrelsome wife is like trying to “hide wind” or grasp oil (Prov 27:16). Although these occurrences support the “shepherding” sense, “feed” also reflects the ‫ הבל‬parallel in Ecclesiastes, as “windy thoughts” suits the theme that the world is incomprehensible (so Fox, Time, 48; his argument does account for textual options but presses the analogical relationships too far [see 45–47]). Yet “striving after wind” also fits with incomprehensibility – you cannot grasp the key of life from life itself or “find out” all of God’s ways – while the book’s focus on work, effort and control favors the sense “shepherding [of] the wind.” I see no reason to deny multiple, perhaps multiplex, meanings (cf. Seow, Ecclesiastes, 121–122), and like ‫ הבל‬the phrase is best treated as a metaphor, which, whether thoughts, herding or striving, refers to something internally and externally senseless and futile. “Joined” reflects the Qere (‫ )חבר‬as opposed to the Ketiv (‫)בחר‬. Cf. Seow, Ecclesiastes, 300. The function of the ‫ ל‬on “dog” is difficult, with options being emphatic, casus pendens, or simple preposition (“for”), none of which muddles the thrust of the text. I find casus pendens the most natural reading (see GKC §143d; JM §125k; Job 5:2). For further discussion of this verse, see below.

Significance

101

For whoever is joined to all the living, he has certitude;33 for a living dog is better than a dead lion. For the living know that they will die, but the dead, not them, they know nothing, and they have no more reward, for the memory of them is forgotten. Also their love, their hate, their envy have already perished, and they do not have a portion, forever, in all that is done under the sun. (9:4–6)

The value placed on life in this passage is bolstered by its contrast with death: a living dog is better than a dead lion; the living foresee death but the dead know nothing; and so on. Therefore, it seems that life’s value here would constitute a comparative value, consequently failing to meet the criteria for psychological notions of meaning of life, since the concept of significance applies to life’s inherent, not comparative, value. According to Martela and Steger, “This sense of having a life worth living is understood to be an independent notion of value not reducible to mere happiness or other similar experiences,” but is rather described by some as “life’s inherent value.”34 For psychologists, it is life, not some other object or a comparative value, that has significance and thereby meaning, and it is this object of life as such that Qohelet seems to omit when making statements of value, especially in his use of ‫טוב‬. However, in 9:4–6, despite his comparative comments, Qohelet gets as close as he will to recognizing the inherent value of life. Ecclesiastes 9:4 says, “whoever is joined to all the living, he has certitude; for a living dog is better than a dead lion.” Craig Bartholomew rightly observes the irony in preferring a living dog to a dead lion, as they represented, respectively, two of the most despised and admired animals in the ancient Near East.35 According to Waltke, “To treat someone like a dog was to treat them as worthless.”36 The lion, though, supplied a metaphor worthy of God himself (Isa 38:18) and was

33

34 36

For ‫שר‬ ׁ ‫ מי א‬as “whoever,” see Exod 32:33; 2 Sam 20:11; cf. Judg 21:5 (interrogative). Aside from 9:4, ‫ כי מי‬always begins a question in Ecclesiastes (“for who . . . ?”; 2:25; 3:22; 6:12; 7:13), but it should be noted that 9:4 is the only construction with ‫שר‬ ׁ ‫א‬, and ‫ כי מי‬can place emphasis on an indicative statement (Zech 4:10), hence my translation, “For whoever.” ‫ בטחון‬refers to “certitude” (2 Kgs 18:19; Isa 36:4; V renders the terms as fiducia), in this case about death, though grounds for distinguishing this from “hope” are not as strong as several commentators think (LXX has ἐλπίς; cf. πεποίθησις in 2 Kgs 18:19). 35 Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 535. Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, 302. TWOT 981a. See 1 Sam 17:43; 24:14; 2 Sam 3:8; 2 Kgs 8:13; Job 30:1; Matt 7:6; Rev 22:15. In some cases, though, dogs were considered fierce and powerful, and even likened to lions (Psalm 22; Phil 3:2; CAD 11.2:196).

102

Ecclesiastes and the Meaning of Life

known as “the mightiest among beasts” (Prov 30:30).37 According to Bartholomew, the ironic pairing of living-dog and dead-lion leads to the view that “Life may be thought to have some advantages over death, but that is like thinking that it is better to be a living dog than a dead lion.”38 Bartholomew interprets the saying as an ironic statement, as if Qohelet is asserting the advantage of life over death in order to make a joke on any who might believe this, and he draws on two well-known zoological associations to do so. As a result, death “completely overshadows any value to life.”39 However, 9:4–6 more plausibly warrants the conclusion that life is valuable in spite of death, even if by a dog-like margin.40 For in 9:5–6, Qohelet offers reasons for his axiological claim – including the certitude (of death, at least; v. 4), knowledge (v. 5) and share in life’s activities (v. 6) that the living possess – and, with each of these, affirms the value of life as such. Perhaps it is better to be a lowly regarded animal and live than to be an esteemed beast but dead; for at least life affords one certain possibilities.41 Qohelet sees merit in living and therefore addresses, albeit briefly, the perspective on life’s meaning known as “significance,” implying that life is meaningful in this regard. The value for life exhibited in 9:4–6 is qualified by 6:1–6.42 In this passage, Qohelet reflects on the person who possesses all that he desires but lacks the ability to enjoy it. God has given the man all he wants – possessions, wealth, honor – and yet he has not granted the man the ability to enjoy these things, an enjoyment that is instead relished by “a stranger.” Consequently, “If a man fathers a hundred [children] and lives many years and the days of his years are many, but his soul is not satisfied with good things, and he also has no burial site, I say that a stillborn child 37

38 39

40 41

42

Proverbs 30:30 uses the rare lexeme ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫לי‬. On lions, see Brent Strawn, What Is Stronger than a Lion? Leonine Image and Metaphor in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East, OBO 212 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005). Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, 302–303. Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, 302–303. So Lauha, Kohelet, 167–168. A softer version of this interpretation is offered by Ogden (Qoheleth, 161–162): “Qoheleth is not an obscurantist, claiming that life outweighs death; rather, he devises a clever saying which enshrines the painful tension between life and death. . . . What is ironic is the tension between life as both ‘good’ and ‘contemptible’ (= the dog), and death as ‘royal’ and an awful fate (= the lion).” Fox, Time, 292. The lack of relevance in the comparative aspect of 9:4–6 is further supported by the fact that being alive and dead are the only options that one has. It is not a matter of living with one thing and without the other and pitting a comparison between the two; it is rather a juxtaposition of two exclusive options. For additional qualifications, see the discussion of Eccl 4:1–3 in Chapter 6.

Significance

103

is better than he” (6:3).43 Qohelet prefers the stillborn child to a man who lives without enjoying his possessions because the child avoids a tarnished reputation (v. 4), knows nothing and finds rest (v. 5).44 In this instance, Qohelet implies that death is better than life and thereby that death carries more value.45 But death’s value in this passage is qualified, as it is preferred not to life as such but to a life lived without enjoying good things. Ecclesiastes 9:4–6 suggests that life as such carries marginal value over death; 6:1–6 indicates that if life includes an abundance of unenjoyed possessions, then death is better.46 A second contribution to the view that life as such carries worth arises in Eccl 11:7, where Qohelet asserts that “Light is sweet, and it is good for the eyes to see the sun.” He follows on with an admonition to rejoice during one’s life, knowing that if these years are many then dark days also will accompany them (v. 8). The phrase “seeing the sun” refers to living in 6:5 and also carries this connotation in The Dispute between a Man and his Ba (59–60) when the ba threatens, “You will never go out to see the sun!”47 By this he means that the man will die, sharing the state of one who has been buried, or perhaps that the man will feel dead, as one who attends a burial (see 55–68). According to Qohelet, “it is good for eyes to 43 44

45

46

47

See discussion of this verse above and of 6:1–6 in Chapter 6. The final clause of 6:4 reads, “and in darkness its name will be covered,” meaning “The memory of the stillborn child will be buried with it” (Seow, Ecclesiastes, 212). The intransitive ‫ לא ידע‬of 6:5 can mean “not aware” (so Isa 44:9, 18; 45:20). Perhaps it is more precise to say that, for Qohelet, never being born is better than life. But that would make much the same point, and elsewhere the stillborn serves as a parallel, cursed fate with things extinguished (Psalm 58), and in Eccl 6:6b death is kept in view (“do not all go to one place?”). If it connotes death, then ‫“( נחת‬rest/quiet”) supports the point, but it seems to refer simply to “quiet” (so Eccl 9:17; Prov 29:9; Isa 30:15; cf. Eccl 4:6). For a cogent argument of 6:1–6 as an exception to the norm, see Jesse M. Peterson, “Is Coming into Existence Always a Harm? Qoheleth in Dialogue with David Benatar,” HTR 112 (2019): 33–52. A focus on temporal concepts alone – in this case, death – might prevent one from seeing the sort of distinctions made here. For example, Mette Bundvad (Time in the Book of Ecclesiastes, Oxford Theology and Religion Monographs [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015], 130–131) contends that in 6:4–6 “the onslaught of oblivion hits us so hard even in the present that the most extravagant benefits offered within this life may not be worthwhile” and that in 9:4, “Once darkness has closed over us, all distinctions vanish and all differences are negated: a life of privilege and joy does not differ from a miscarriage, and a lion is no more than a dog.” AEL 1:165. Arguing that the idiom means “to be alive,” Seow (Ecclesiastes, 347–348) mentions Pss 49:20[19]; 58:9[8]; Job 3:16 and Gilgamesh. See also Eccl 7:11. The mention of “eyes” seeing the sun in 11:7 nicely sets up the reference to the days of darkness that one will, by implication, see throughout life (11:8). Gilgamesh puts the phrase this way.

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see the sun,” that is, it is good to live, a bald statement about the value of life that seems undoubtedly positive about life’s worth.48 Even if it lasts for years and comes with dark days, life has significance. Interpreters have picked up on Qohelet’s axiological concerns and, as was the case with coherence, exhibit apparent disagreement. Jaco Gericke, for example, argues that Qohelet’s use of economic metaphors, like “profit,” wages and labor, corroborate his axiological focus.49 Yet Gericke endorses no connection between these statements of worth and the notion of life’s meaning. Perhaps Qohelet was in fact making a claim about the value of things, as opposed to denying their meaning or comprehensibility. From this perspective, it is possible that the metaphor of vapour connoted “worthlessness.” . . . In the end it is possible that the main idea of the book is therefore not life’s meaninglessness or incomprehensibility but its ultimate worthlessness.50

By affirming a focus on value in Ecclesiastes, Gericke denies the likelihood that Qohelet is investigating the meaning of life and therefore seems to conceive of these two interpretations as incompatible. Compare Tremper Longman, who rightly argues that ‫ הבל‬can denote “useless” or “worthless” speech (Jer. 16:19; Zech. 10:2) and in this sense, I would suggest, meaningless (so Isa. 30:7; Prov. 31:30; Job 21:34).51 The term grounds Longman’s argument that Qohelet addresses the meaning of life, as he attributes to Qohelet “the search for ultimate meaning in life” and titles Eccl 1:13–2:26, “Solomon’s Quest for the Meaning of Life.”52 For 48

49

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According to Krüger (Kohelet, 345), “Im Kontext von 11,1 – 12,7 macht 11,7 deutlich, dass das Leben unabhängig vom Erfolg menschlicher Arbeit (11,6) und von den Möglichkeiten und Grenzen verschiedener Lebensphasen (11,8ff ) wertvoll ist.” The statements of 11:7–8 in a sense stand on their own, but Krüger is right to observe the place they have within the book’s final chapters, which, I would suggest, inform the inherent value of life from various angles. Jaco Gericke, “Axiological Assumptions in Qohelet: A Historical-Philosophical Clarification,” VetE 33 (2012): 1–6. See also Fox, Time, 140–144; Scott C. Jones, “The Values and Limits of Qohelet’s Sub-Celestial Economy,” VT 64 (2014): 21–33; Daniel Lys, L’Ecclésiaste: ou, Que vaut la vie? (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1977), 73. In 1885 E. H. Plumptre (Ecclesiastes; Or, the Preacher, with Notes and Introduction, Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1885], 104) wrote, “The question [Eccl. 1.3] is in substance, almost in form, identical with that of our times ‘Is life worth living?’,” while in Austria, near the same time, G. W. Bickell (Der Prediger [Ecclesiastes] über den Wert des Daseins [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1884], 1–54, esp. 29, 57) articulated a similar interpretation in terms of “den Wert des Daseins” and concentrated on absolute and relative goods in the book. 51 Gericke, “Axiological Assumptions,” 6. Longman, Ecclesiastes, 62–64. Longman, Ecclesiastes, 77, 121.

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Longman, it seems that worthlessness and meaninglessness are not only compatible but that they are identical. Although these facets do not characterize the entirety of Gericke’s or Longman’s interpretation, they do demonstrate that both regard value as central to Ecclesiastes, which in the case of Gericke grounds a denial of concern for life’s meaning and in the case of Longman justifies the centrality of this very concept. Both interpretations fall within the scope of axiology and, when assessed with the psychological categories of the meaning of life, align with the category of “significance”: does life, or anything at all, matter? Again, with the help of psychological definitions, I would argue that interpreters agree at a point that at first seems irreconcilable. Two points remain for this discussion on “significance” as the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes. First, when exploring the value of things, Qohelet gives most attention to knowing the good rather than to determining life’s value.53 With 6:12, he inaugurates a passage key to his axiology, asking “who knows what is good for man in the few days of his ‫ הבל‬life?”54 Ecclesiastes 7:1–14 then includes 25 percent of the book’s references to ‫טוב‬, containing a collection of proverbs and a concluding declaration of ignorance (7:14). At stake is not the value of life; for Qohelet comments on the value of reputation (v. 1), emotions (v. 3) and patience (v. 8). At stake, rather, is the scope and reliability of knowledge. According to Fox, Qohelet “(basically but not invariably) values life . . . [and] is demonstrating by his own example a more fundamental truth: man (even the wisest) is hopelessly ignorant, and even when he can discover some truths (such as those expounded in the present unit), their validity is shaky and they clash with other things he knows.”55 Qohelet already values life and, even though his references to the good pertain implicitly to questions about

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A concentration on Qohelet’s search for happiness and the greatest good (summum bonum) characterizes interpretations of Ecclesiastes throughout the first two millennia of the Common Era. See Christian Ginsburg, Cohelet, Commonly Called the Book of Ecclesiastes (London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1861), 27–98, cf. 68; see also Ruth N. Sandberg, Rabbinic Views of Qohelet, Biblical Studies 57 (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 1999); Eric S. Christianson, Ecclesiastes through the Centuries, Blackwell Bible Commentaries (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2007), 98–141. The Mesopotamian Dialogue of Pessimism concludes with the question, “What then is good?” Fox, Time, 250–251. Whybray (Ecclesiastes, 109–110, 112) doubts the connection of 6:12 with its surrounding material, but it contains several linguistic and conceptual ties to 6:10–11 and 7:1–14, of which it forms an integral part (see Seow, Ecclesiastes, 241–244), and it may just require that we be comfortable with the idea that 7:1–14 responds to 6:12 in a “very roundabout way” (Whybray, 112).

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what makes life worth living, he principally intends to show the limitations of human knowledge.56 Although Qohelet recognizes the “significance” of life in 9:4–6 and 11:7–8, it is the problem of knowing rather than life’s meaning as such that primarily vexes him. The second point to note is the contribution of Ecclesiastes to this axiological category of meaning. Despite his search for what is “good” and his secondary remarks about the value of life, Qohelet remains most occupied with the question of ‫“( יתרון‬gain”; ESV; NRSV). ‫ יתרון‬refers to a profit, gain or surplus (1:3; 3:9; 5:15[16]), and if Qohelet is looking for any one thing, it is this.57 After his declaration at the outset of the book that “all is ‫( ”הבל‬1:2), he asks the question, “What is the ‫ יתרון‬for a man in all his toil, at which he toils under the sun?” If the question in 1:3 is rhetorical and implies the answer “none” (i.e. no gain), which is not selfevident, then that does not prevent Qohelet from demonstrating his attempt to answer the question and arriving at firm conclusions based upon it. First, human toil does produce something, for the pursuit of pleasure in Eccl 2:1–10 renders enjoyment, as after his construction project and acquisition of all sorts of precious possessions Qohelet concludes that “my heart rejoiced in all my toil” (2:10).58 But the fruit of his 56

57

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The additional introductory passage (1:12–18) confirms the epistemological flavor, as do terms that relate to investigating and knowing throughout the book (see, e.g., ‫ ראה‬in 1:14; 2:3, 12; 3:16; 5:17[18]; 8:9; 9:11; ‫ ידע‬in 1:17; 2:14; 3:12, 14; 7:25; 8:16; 12:9). So too the language of ‫ מצא‬and ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫ ;בק‬see Luca Mazzinghi, “The Verbs ‫‘ מצא‬to find’ and ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫‘ בק‬to search’ in the Language of Qohelet: An Exegetical Study,” in The Language of Qohelet in Its Context: Essays in Honour of Prof. A. Schoors on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, Orientalia Lovaniensia analecta (Leuven: Peeters, 2007), 91–120. Cf. 7:12 and 10:11, as well as other lexemes derived from the root ‫יתר‬, referring to a comparative advantage (a sense of “better for”; 2:13; 5:8[9]; 6:8; 7:11–12; 10:10–11; cf. 6:11) or something in excess (2:15; 7:16; 12:12). The OT also attests to a sense of “remainder” from a negative perspective, what William H. U. Anderson (“A Note on ‫יתר‬ for Qoheleth,” JNSL 26 [2000]: 135) calls a “poor remainder” and submits that “it is very likely that the author used the term ‫ יתר‬in the negative sense of ‘little value’ or ‘poor quality.’” Although that “negative sense” might resemble the tone of the book, much of its gloomy perspective is generated by the claim that Qohelet can find no ‫יתר‬, and the term’s positive sense makes the most suitable contrast with his negative observations. Qohelet views “toil” (‫ )עמל‬as efforts to produce in life, or the productions themselves, which are subject to frustration (2:18, 22–23; 10:15). Yet toil is given by God (5:18[19]; 8:15) and can be done with wisdom and pleasure (2:21; 5:17[18]), even producing a good wage (4:9). These conflicting results puzzle Qohelet, and his audience, throughout the book (e.g., cf. 2:17 and 9:4–6; 2:13 and 2:15–16). However, the fruitfulness of some toil and, in all cases, its relative productivity indicate that futility or unprofitability in life does not characterize the entire human endeavor. Humans can and do achieve something of value through work, suggesting that an absence of significance is not Qohelet’s main problem.

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toil does not extend beyond this enjoyment, for immediately thereafter, he says, “Then I considered all the work that my hands had done, and all the toil that I toiled doing it, and behold all was ‫ הבל‬and a striving after wind, and there was no ‫ יתרון‬under the sun” (2:11). The ‫ יתרון‬that Qohelet seeks is not just any payoff from his efforts – for the enjoyment of toil would have sufficed – it is, rather, a surplus, a profit, an extra “edge” gained from his activity.59 Before death, for instance, wisdom carries a ‫ יתרון‬over folly: “And I saw that there is more ‫ יתרון‬in wisdom than in folly, as there is more ‫ יתרון‬in light than in darkness” (2:13).60 But toil itself, while productive and valuable, and to a degree intelligible, does not furnish the ‫ יתרון‬that Qohelet seeks. He works to glean some reward and yet fails to acquire any more than that, perhaps a lasting or more intense pleasure from his efforts. The ‫יתרון‬, therefore, would constitute not “meaning” in and of itself but something in addition to a meaningfully significant or coherent life, a surplus to a life that is presumably already meaningful.61 In the end, Qohelet does not clarify the surplus. What he does find is that toil, within the confines of human existence, does not produce it. The meaning of life as “significance” does not inhabit the book of Ecclesiastes in the way that “coherence” does, though it is addressed and primarily so within 9:4–6 and 11:7–8, to this extent being incorporated into the book. That life holds inherent value seems to be the baseline of Ecclesiastes, and yet it does encounter qualifications. For it is in the lack of 59 60

61

“Edge” is Seow’s (Ecclesiastes, 104) language. So also 2:15–16 and with other lexemes derived from ‫( יתר‬e.g., 3:19; 7:11). Regarding the contradictory statements of “there is no gain” (2:11) and “there is a gain” (2:13), we can say that there is no gain with respect to the efforts of work and the pursuit of pleasure, but there is a gain in wisdom, especially in comparison to folly. That said, both the wise and the foolish will alike die (2:14–15). Gerhard von Rad (Wisdom in Israel, trans. James Martin [London: SCM, 1972], 231, 235) suggests that the “lot” (‫ )חלק‬given to humanity is the search for meaning (Eccl 3:22; 5:17–19[18–20]; similarly, Köhlmoos, Kohelet, 56–57). But the ‫ חלק‬extends more from the search for “profit” (‫ )יתרון‬in life and refers to the portion of life’s activity (5:18[19]; 9:6), possessions and pleasure (2:10; 9:9) that one has been granted. Based on psychological categories, each of these may render life meaningful or meaningless depending on its conditions. As for arguments that have Qohelet probing whether there is ‫ יתרון‬a beyond the grave (e.g., Ogden, Qoheleth, 27–30), implicating the possibility that it may entail “some experience beyond death” (29), these are not convincing. Qohelet decidedly explores the possibility of a ‫ יתרון‬in this life, and only in 5:14–15[15–16] does a postdeath trajectory come into play, which in 5:16[17] is matched by another reference to the drudgery of the present. For a present-world interpretation of ‫ יתרון‬that still distinguishes it from one’s ‫ חלק‬with respect to time, see Diethelm Michel, Untersuchungen zur Eigenart des Buches Qohelet, BZAW 183 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1989), 19–20; cf. Jones, “The Values.”

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ability to enjoy one’s possessions that life’s value is compromised, driving Qohelet, in those moments, to prefer death in a world that otherwise seems livable.62 The case for life’s value can also be made in the search for an extra edge in life’s work. Qohelet conducts a grand investigation to determine what, if any, surplus can be had from human toil. In this, he does not probe the value of life as such, but he certainly explores the value of life’s activity by considering the profit of its produce.

 The third and final perspective on the meaning of life is “purpose,” what Martela and Steger associate with direction in life and its future-oriented goals: “Despite some differences in definition, research on purpose in life seems to agree that it is essentially about some future-oriented aims and goals that give direction to life.”63 As we have seen, Qohelet knows that the future of life entails death, which will be accounted for in this section too, but it is not death alone that he sees on the horizon. He upholds with confidence the lengthened life of the righteous: “For a sinner does evil a hundred times and prolongs himself, but I also know that it will be good for those who fear God, because they fear before him, and that it will not be good for the wicked, and he will not prolong days like a shadow, because he does not fear before God” (8:12–13).64 Qohelet reflects on the well-being of those who fear God, asserting that their future will not be dissolved like the wicked but will entail good, an assertion about the 62

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These distinctions have produced more nuanced conclusions than those of Longman (Ecclesiastes, 171), for instance, who sees the preference for death in Eccl 6:5 as plainly “in tension with Ecclesiastes 11:7” and its value of life. “It is such tensions,” he says, “that lead me to characterize Qohelet as a confused, skeptical wise man.” Qohelet may be far more coherent than interpretations like these have allowed. Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 534. For more specific nuances that could be wrapped up with purpose and, especially death, such as “termination,” “telos” and “closure,” see below. The ‫ כי גם‬. . .‫שר‬ ׁ ‫ א‬of 8:12 may serve a number of grammatical functions: “Though a sinner does evil . . . yet I know” (ESV) or “A sinner . . . even though” (Seow) or “as a result, a sinner [JM §169f ] . . . I know [emphasis; cf. Hos 9:12; Jer 46:21] / but I also know [cf. Jer 48:34].” In Ecclesiastes ‫ כי גם‬often indicates a concession (4:14; 8:16) but can also function somewhat epexegetically (4:16; 9:12; cf. Deut 12:31) or offer grounds for what precedes (7:22). The solution for 8:12 is not clear, but, with grammatical attestation, the passage makes good sense as “[v.11] Because (‫שר‬ ׁ ‫ )א‬. . . therefore (‫ )על כן‬. . . [v. 12] For (‫שר‬ ׁ ‫ )א‬. . . but I also know that (‫ )כי גם יודע‬. . . because (‫שר‬ ׁ ‫ )א‬. . . [v. 13] and that (‫ )וטוב‬. . .” (interestingly, the maqqaf was placed on ‫)כי גם־יודע‬. So 8:12a reiterates 8:11a, and 8:12b introduces an adversative clause that the following cola elaborate. On the place of 8:12–13 within 8:10–14, see discussion of 8:14 above.

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direction of life and its future-oriented goal that correlates with the “purpose” perspective on life’s meaning. Qohelet also broaches purpose when he mentions future judgment: Rejoice, young man, in your youth, and let your heart please you in the days of your youth. And walk in the ways of your heart and in the sight of your eyes. And know that for all these things God will bring you into judgment. (11:9) The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for all humanity must do this.65 For God will bring every deed into judgment, concerning every secret thing, whether good or evil. (12:13–14)

These passages disclose a confidence about the direction of life and stabilize certain concerns that Qohelet and his readers have about the present.66 Ecclesiastes 11:9 places confidence in God’s judgment after admitting the unknowability of which human efforts will and will not prosper (11:6). In the same way, the enigmas of life and morality explored throughout the book lead Qohelet to conclude that God judges all deeds, even those “secret things,” based on objective good and evil (12:14). Therefore his advice is simple: “fear God and keep his commandments” (12:13).67 The confident claims about future events give direction to less

65

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The clause reads ‫כי־זה כל־האדם‬, which woodenly translates, “For this is all humanity.” Although it may vary in poetry, with a determinate noun ‫ כל‬generally refers to a totality (“all”) and not a plural singularity (“every”) as it does with indeterminate nouns (see JM §139e–h). Similar ellipses have been well recorded (e.g., Seow, Ecclesiastes, 390–391), but translations may miss the mark by applying ‫ כל‬to “duty” rather than “humanity”: “this is the whole duty of man” (ESV). The point seems to be that this duty applies to all people, which fits with their “every deed” and “every secret” that will be judged by God (12:14). It is unclear whether or not these references to judgment identify an eschatological judgment or simply a judgment that will occur at some unknown future time. They are clear enough, however, to suggest that God’s action will occur in the future, as opposed to “an acknowledgment that whatever will be done is entirely in the hand of God,” as Seow contends (Ecclesiastes, 175). Although he is referring to 3:17, Seow’s reading of 3:22 as a denial of any knowledge about the future need not mean that Qohelet is uncertain about any future judgment. He seems well aware that God will judge the righteous and the wicked, even if this timing lies beyond one’s ken. For further discussion of 11:9, see Chapter 6. Based on the theme of judgment, then, Eccl 12:9–14 coheres with other portions of the book. It is with respect to tone, differences in language and the connection of 1:2 and 12:8 that interpreters have excluded 12:9–14 from some prior version of Ecclesiastes (see, e.g., Barton, Ecclesiastes, 197–201). Recent, sharp disjunctions between the message of Qohelet and, the very brief, 12:13–14 have also been proposed, despite attempts to salvage a unifying intent for the entire work (so Kumiko Takeuchi, Death and Divine Judgment in Ecclesiastes, BBRSup 26 [University Park: Eisenbrauns, 2019], esp.

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certain aspects of current life, lending credit to the conclusion that Qohelet views life as meaningful due to its purpose.68 While 8:12–13, 11:9 and 12:14 attest to goals in the future, notably affixed to God as their point of anchor, another perspective on “purpose” appears to contradict the optimistic conclusions just made. In multiple instances, Qohelet asserts that death comes to everyone, regardless of behavior or status, and that at times it even arrives prematurely. For instance, those who act wickedly sometimes prolong their lives even though such long life should be enjoyed by the righteous person (7:15; 8:14). The righteous and wicked do not receive their just deserts, not at least in this life, for ultimately, Qohelet observes, death comes to all without distinction (3:19–20; 9:1–2). How, then, can Qohelet know “that it will be good for those who fear God” (8:12) and motivate godly behavior based on promises of divine judgment? James Loader’s conclusion presses the point: “In the face of death it makes absolutely no difference whether one is religious or not.”69 While death, which comes to all and uniformly deletes life’s direction, appears to contradict the positive, theologically certain statements of purpose, which seem to orient that same life, the tension actually exposes the textures of Qohelet’s thought on the matter.70 In the first place, in the passages mentioned earlier it is the impending and just judgment of God rather than delayed death or an afterlife that informs meaning of life’s purpose for Qohelet. Assured death and God’s judgment are distinct and create no tension for life’s meaning. A swift sequence of reasoning in 3:16–22 dissolves the

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150–169). While sympathetic to this idea, I think there is good reason to see 12:9–14 as a part of the book as a whole and to ascribe an intriguing, even compatible, function to it as argued by Weeks, “‘Fear God and Keep His Commandments’: Could Qohelet Have Said This?” in Wisdom and Torah: The Reception of “Torah” in the Wisdom Literature of the Second Temple Period, ed. B. Schipper and D. A. Teeter, JSJSup 163 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 101–118. In The Doomed Prince (AEL 2:200–201), a prince, at birth, is fated to die by one of three animals, and so his father keeps him within a house. Once grown, the prince asks, “To what purpose is my sitting here?” While the prince questions the reason for remaining inside, and in that way resembles “purpose” meaning of life, the narrative reveals an inquiry not so much into this concept as it does into the prince’s desire to follow his heart despite prophetic prediction. Concerns for purpose are more firmly taken up by Aristotle (Hallvard Fossheim, “Individual, Society, and Teleology: An Aristotelian Conception of Meaning in Life,” in On Meaning in Life, ed. B. Himmelmann [Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2013], 45–64). James Alfred Loader, “Emptied Life – Death as the Reverse of Life in Ancient Israel,” OTE 18 (2005): 694. He refers to Eccl 9:2–7. For a fuller treatment of Qohelet’s “contradictions,” see discussion below.

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issue by observing a flip-flop of righteousness and wickedness (v. 16), a judgment from God in accord with both qualities (v. 17), and the conclusion that humans remain in the dark as to the mechanics of all this; the same goes for humans and beasts, confusingly similar in their mortality and yet, in suspense of knowledge about a future entrusted to God, humans are assured that God’s hold on the unknown ought to guide how they live before their final breath (vv. 18–22).71 In the second place, death does inform Qohelet’s observations about the present life, as it constitutes an object of knowledge for the living (9:5) and leads to his carpe diem refrain (8:15; 9:7–10). So “there are righteous people to whom it happens according to the deeds of the wicked, and there are wicked people to whom it happens according to the deeds of the righteous” (8:14), and yet “I commend joy, for man has no good under the sun but to eat and to drink and to be joyful” (8:15).72 While the experience of death extinguishes the positive possibilities of living (9:5) and at that point renders life “meaningless,” it will be seen shortly that the carpe diem refrain, prompted by the reality of death, instills life with meaning in the “purpose” sense. In short, dying ends a potentially purposeful life and in that sense can be said to make it meaningless. However, impending death, while not a “purpose” to live for, does offer direction for the living and thereby renders life, in certain ways, meaningful.73 Last, amidst his remarks about the future, Qohelet still obscures the impending events with a cloud of mystery (3:21; 8:7–8; 9:1; 11:1–6). 71 72 73

The MT of 3:18 is difficult. For a convincing and thorough treatment of the passage, see Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 548–557. For a discussion of 8:14, especially its link with the unjust distribution of death, in addition to general arbitrariness, see above. Qohelet could have conceived of death in several other ways, such as the three types of (narrative) ending: “termination” (something being finished), “telos” (having direction or final causality) or “closure” (resolving a problem) (Joshua Seachris, “Death, Futility, and the Proleptic Power of Narrative Ending,” RelS 47 [2011]: 148). More religiously, perhaps, we expect that he could have envisioned an eternal bliss with God which, furthermore, would have been better than the current sufferings of life. But as far as I can tell, death includes no qualitative eternal life – whether good or bad – and instead turns on the definitiveness of divine judgment. That act – not bliss or a recovery of what one lost in life – brings Qohelet comfort in the present, and in this way the “proleptic power of the narrative’s ending” (Seachris) serves to make the present miserable (i.e. death leads to suffering and despair) but also to bring some solace. For a helpful outline of the evidence in Ecclesiastes pertinent to the afterlife, see Stefan Fischer, “The Glance of an Afterlife in Qoheleth,” in “My spirit at rest in the north country” (Zechariah 6.8): Collected Communications to the 20th Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, Helsinki 2010, ed. H. Niemann and M. Augustin, BEATAJ 57 (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2011), 105–114.

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In 2:18–19; for instance, he says that after death all of his toil will be left to someone else, and “who knows if he will be a wise man or a fool?” The character of Qohelet’s inheritor remains unknown, indicating that in certain respects humans do not know what comes after them, that a look towards the future offers little insight and thereby less direction than one might wish. In 3:16–22, he also acknowledges the unknowability of what occurs after life (vv. 21–22) and leaves action in the hand of God (v. 17), suggesting a limitation in his theological knowledge.74 The future, then, in terms of meaning of life “purpose” entails aspects of certainty – namely, the future action of God, one’s relationship with him and death’s arrival – and yet each of these acquires the flavor that pervades all of Ecclesiastes: epistemological limitation.75 The tensions within Ecclesiastes most pertinent to psychological meaning of life categories have been assessed to reveal that life may have purpose and therefore meaning but only from limited perspectives and in limited amounts.76 These tensions involve the “contradictions” so often associated with Ecclesiastes, those premises that Qohelet seems to affirm and at the same time deny, including divine activity, the value of life, the usefulness of wisdom, the pursuit of pleasure, the dignity of work and the efficacy of 74

75

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Seow, Ecclesiastes, 175. According to Françoise Laurent (“L’homme est-il supérieur à la bête? Le doute de Qohéleth Qo 3,16–21,” RSR 91 [2003]: 15–22), Eccl 3:16–17 too gives the assurance of divine sovereign action along with the incertitude as to when it will occur. Qohelet, furthermore, sees humans as morally responsible, whether just or wicked. On an apparently mundane level, but again theologically informed, the sayings of 11:1–6 may advise various postures toward an unknown future, whether taking risks and being generous despite the circumstances (vv. 1–2) or guarding against analysis paralysis (v. 4). Although the meaning of these passages and their relation to purpose are not as clear as the others, they seem to reinforce the combination of epistemological limitations and future-oriented thought and action (so “you do not know” in vv. 2, 5–6). For a detailed, corroborative discussion, see Christopher Whitwell, “The Variation of Nature in Ecclesiastes 11,” JSOT 34 (2009): 81–97. For additional biblical literature, see, Schellenberg, Erkenntnis. She considers “Erkenntnis als Problem” in OT wisdom, prophetic and apocalyptic literature, asking where, why and how this problem arose and occurred. With a sharp look at Qohelet’s epistemological struggle, Schellenberg determines the greatest thematic areas of knowledge and its limitations as “Tod, Zukunft, ‘Tun Gottes’” (74, also esp. 36–43, 64–74), as a whole, exposing a manifold set of knowledge themes. Compare the less nuanced, and perhaps strictly negative, conclusion of Bundvad (Time, 118, 122): “For Qohelet, the notion that the future is inaccessible creates disorientation in the now. He repeatedly insists that our ignorance regarding the future is a significant factor for our lacking ability to establish in our day-to-day lives any form of meaning. . . . Qohelet denies humankind the ability to orientate themselves in their temporal reality. Properly understanding and responding to the temporal reality of the present becomes impossible when one cannot connect it to the past and future.”

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retribution.77 I have already shown that the contradictory nature of two of these propositions rests upon inadequate qualification, as the conditions that Qohelet himself places upon apparently contradictory viewpoints are overlooked. First, he does deny the value of life and prefer death (4:2; 6:3), and then asserts the value of life and a preference for living (9:4–6), and yet it was made clear in the discussion of life’s significance that Qohelet prefers death only under certain conditions and that he otherwise values life. If his approach to life and death indeed reflects a contradiction then it is so only when considered in isolation from the qualifying criteria set out in the passages themselves.78 Second, the book’s views of purpose can also be framed as contradictory (cf. 7:15; 8:10–14; 9:2–3). On the one hand, the wicked will live shortened lives of misfortune, while the righteous will prolong their lives and see good days. On the other hand, the wicked get what they do not deserve while the righteous suffer an unfortunate and short existence. These premises do not hold up once considered in light of death, divine action and human knowledge, all issues associated with life’s purpose that provide a combined explanation for seemingly incompatible views of retribution. But this is not to say that they simply explain the problem away. For incoherence undoubtedly occurs in Qohelet’s world, and some, though not all, of his observed “contradictions” are intended to make that point.79 The varied categories of life’s meaning sanction a careful interpretation of Qohelet’s supposed contradictions, some of which make the very point that life is contradictory while others stand as no contradiction at all. The category of purposefulness has also exposed a set of issues that are often classified as concerns about the “future” in Ecclesiastes, particularly death and the judgment of God. Notions of purpose as understood here, however, rarely receive attention among interpreters, who may comment, as Aarre Lauha does, on the “Ziel” and “Zweck” of life in Eccl 1:3–11, or wonder, as Gregory of Nyssa did as early as the fourth century CE, “What is the purpose of life?” or render, as Aquila did, the “end” (‫)קץ‬

77 78 79

For literature and discussion, see Kim, Reanimating, 5–17. For example, Takeuchi, Death and Divine Judgment in Ecclesiastes, 151. Along these lines, see Fox, Time, passim. There is also the possibility that Qohelet’s thought develops across the book, so that what appear to be contradictions are simply lessons learned, expressed as updated conclusions about life. The idea of development across the book is given most credence in the commentaries of Weeks and SchwienhorstSchönberger.

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of work as τέλος (4:8).80 However, such questions have not been extended to the whole of Ecclesiastes, nor has it been identified how Qohelet’s view of the future might inform them. Hence, the psychological resources pertaining to life’s meaning not only sharpen our definition of the concept but also illuminate overlooked relationships of frequently observed material within Ecclesiastes.81 While calibrating the definition of life’s meaning is a starting point for exegetical insight, it is not the total or terminus in the case of Ecclesiastes. For I have argued that the book attaches a collection of ideas to these bare notions of meaning, which are further complicated by the scenarios within which Qohelet describes them. But still, his take on life fits remarkably well with the explanations of life’s meaning from psychology, and the discipline has without question helped to articulate much of what occupies Qohelet.

   ,      Coherence, significance and purpose are each present in Ecclesiastes, and if that were all that could be said exegetically, then this would be the place to stop. But there is, indeed, more going on within the book and between these categories, and it is their interrelationships that call for further detail. The most plausible of such relationships are revealed at the intersection of themes broached throughout this chapter, namely, mystery, commendations of joy, and the future. When Qohelet encounters either epistemological limitation (“incoherence”) or the cessation of life (“purposelessness”), he commends joy with his carpe diem refrain. Hence a lack of coherence in life (2:18–26) and the sheer unknowability of it all 80

81

See Lauha, Kohelet, 30–33, 36; Robert Gordis, Koheleth – The Man and His World: A Study of Ecclesiastes (3d ed.; New York: Schocken Books, 1968), 115–116, also 113–121. See S. G. Hall, ed., Gregory of Nyssa, Homilies on Ecclesiastes: An English Version with Supporting Studies: Proceedings of the Seventh International Colloquium on Gregory of Nyssa (St. Andrews, 5–10 September 1990), trans. S. Hall and R. Moriarty (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1993), 35 (original 281:5–8). For Aquila’s text in comparison to other versions, see Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 594. It might also be said that, through the lens of purpose, the present takes precedence over the future and that the future seems to have meaning for Qohelet only in specific senses, like the divine distribution of justice which is perhaps nonexistent in or inconsistent with the present. For a discussion of how the present and future can be scaled in terms of life’s meaning, see Erik J. Wielenberg, Value and Virtue in a Godless Universe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 28–31; and also my interaction with Bundvad (Time) elsewhere.

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(3:11–13), as well as the event of death (9:6–7; cf. 5:17[18]) and what appears to be a combination of incoherence and death (8:14–15) prompt the conclusion that one should “eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil.” It seems, then, that, as Martela and Steger put it, “coherence and purpose likely work together synergistically.” it is difficult to imagine the kin of overarching, self-organizing, sustained aspiration as a purpose becoming established in the absence of being able to make sense of one’s life. At a basic level, a person must have some basis for deciding what would be an apt purpose, and thus cognitive coherence can direct the selection of goals. After all, people consciously select, identify, and commit to their purposes. Even if we break a purpose down into subcomponents like intermediary goals, there is a fundamental requirement for some understanding of personal capacities and tasks, some conceptualization of things that need doing in the world, and some ideas about how to do them. One could thus argue that coherence creates the field from which people draw their purposes.82

In Qohelet’s case, coherence and purpose do not combine to produce a meaningful life. They rather exhibit the antithesis of what Martela and Steger describe, being joined together to compound the lack of meaning in life, as death impedes purpose and inconsistency impedes coherence. Qohelet seems to know little about the future, in part due to the fact that predictability has gone out the window given the observable counterexamples to what is “normal” or what “should be,” and he consequently has little advice to offer that might reliably guide one’s life, given most to caution and the advice to do what you can, while you can, with what you have. He depends instead on the fact that God knows all things, acts accordingly and judges human beings, and that death comes with certainty. Among these, it is perhaps divine judgment that provides the most positive direction for living in the present, as it motivates one to act uprightly, but these phenomena otherwise function negatively, dismantling a potentially purposeful life, and they certainly reflect objective rather than subjective accounts for one’s raison d’être. However, this is not the whole story, for the carpe diem passages themselves reflect a sort of purpose statement that sets a goal for life in the present. In view of incoherence and an unhopeful future, the commendation of joy offers purpose for the present, something, that is, to live for.83 In this way, life

82 83

Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 539. Though he refers to life’s “meaningfulness” without specification and does not frame his interpretation in terms of purpose (cf. 270), Matthew S. Rindge (“Mortality and Enjoyment: The Interplay of Death and Possessions in Qoheleth,” CBQ 73 [2011]:

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may be meaningful in the sense of purposeful without being meaningful in the sense of coherent; there is something to live for even though life makes little sense and fails, sometimes, to meet expectations. Said otherwise, having described his world as a place deficient in meaning, Qohelet proffers motivation for living meaningfully therein. As for meaning of life significance, I argued that life as such carries marginal value over death (9:4–6), unless life itself includes an abundance of unenjoyed possessions, thereby making death better (6:1–6). Here again, the carpe diem refrain asserts its authority. The scenario in 9:1–6 can be understood as a depiction of life that lacks purpose, in want particularly of a realizable goal of enjoying one’s lot. Life consequently loses its significance – it is not worth living – suggesting that, to an extent, meaning of life significance depends upon meaning of life purpose. If one has purpose, say, the ability to enjoy God-given possessions, then one has significance. But in the event that enjoyment becomes unattainable – that, for example, one has riches and companions and yet cannot seem to derive any pleasure from them – then life loses its significance. Based on 6:1–6, the same might be said of coherence, without which life is drained of its significance. For when work and longevity produce no joy and thus defy their predictable pattern, it is better to be “a stillborn child” (6:3) than to live at all. In sum, a lack of purpose or coherence leads to a lack of significance. In addition to these possible relationships, a final and firm observation remains: nearly every aspect of life’s meaning yields to epistemological limitations, in some way either failing to make sense or exceeding Qohelet’s cognitive reach. But within this situation aspects of meaningfulness still protrude, as life has a goal of joy whenever and to what extent one can find it, and to that end has significance. Perhaps, then, Qohelet advocates that his readers embrace a meaningful life, one with purpose and significance, in spite of not knowing everything about it.84

84

265–280) has picked up on the connection of death and enjoyment, arguing that in the wake of the former Qohelet commends the latter as “an effort to find some way of exerting control in the face of the loss of control represented by death” (268). But, like Rindge, many scholars see death as the primary problem to which Qohelet responds with carpe diem (e.g., Meek, “Fear God and Enjoy His Gifts: Qohelet’s Edenic Vision of Life,” CTR 14 [2016]: 23–34), and yet the meaning of life categories have disclosed that death sometimes forms one part of Qohelet’s broader concerns about life’s coherence or significance. This embrace of meaning in life over-against its incoherence perhaps reflects Qohelet’s point in 11:1–6, put so well by Weeks (Ecclesiastes and Scepticism, 96): “Any life faces

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It would seem, then, that more knowledge about life, at least having enough knowledge to make life coherent, is necessary for a meaningful life. For it would certainly satisfy the epistemological side to coherent living and would plausibly enable Qohelet to identify stable goals to live for. Conversely, a lack of knowledge about the world seems integral to the many shades of meaninglessness that appear in Ecclesiastes, as Qohelet’s lack of knowledge especially compromises life’s purpose. But in addition to the carpe diem refrain, which endows life with one form of meaning, Qohelet adds a theological pillar, which offers a point of stability amidst what seems to be a world vacant of comprehension. For in spite of lacking knowledge, one can live meaningfully by relying on the Creator: “Remember your Creator in the days of your youth. . . . The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments” (12:1, 13).85 Given that coherence serves to describe life while significance and purpose evaluate it, God alights on the descriptive level of Qohelet’s analysis, forming a part of Qohelet’s world as it is and thereby challenging the unstable patterns that he observes within it. For Qohelet, God is, simply, there, and by keeping him and his superior grasp on life at the forefront of one’s mind, the human’s limited domain of knowledge becomes livable, and the moments of misapprehension are perhaps overcome. In this way, one’s knowledge and comprehension of the world are not necessary for a meaningful life. That is not to say that God is entirely predictable. He does not subdue incoherence by making everything coherent in the strict sense. For, although it may be troublesome to some, God seems to play a necessary role in each form of life’s meaninglessness. He demarcates human knowledge while endowing humans with a sense that knowledge exists beyond these boundaries (3:11).

85

uncertainty and unpredictable ruin, but no life will be improved by indecision and inaction.” There are no textual grounds to read something other than “Creator” in 12:1 (‫)בוראיך‬, but there is some justification to see an allusion to one’s “cistern” as deliberate (‫ ;בורך‬i.e. wife; Prov 5:15). See additional examples of sound play in Ecclesiastes in Gustav Boström, Paronomasi i den Äldre Hebraiska Maschalliteraturen (Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1928). Ogden (Qoheleth, 215) rightly reads 12:1 not only in relation to youth and pleasure but also in relation to the book’s wider concerns, which congregate in chapters 11–12, and to notions of life’s direction: “When we recall that this writer has already reminded us that our demise may come at any moment (e.g., 9.11–12), that it is not confined to the old, then it is clear that old age is not the focus issue in this section, but rather it is the end of human life whenever that might come. Qoheleth calls the young reader to establish quickly the direction his/her life will take, for when death enters, it is already too late to give thought to it.”

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He may make a life not worth living, even if that is an exception to normal circumstances (6:1–2), and the vagaries of the future too belong to God, who knows and controls what will happen (3:14–15; 11:5), perhaps jeopardizing human hopes of purpose. In each of these senses, God rids life of meaning. But along with each of these lines of thought, which charge God with making human life meaningless, there comes within his charge a necessary role in making it meaningful. Although he limits human knowledge, humans remain responsible for the knowledge they do have, and while God may be a cause of injustice (6:1–2; 7:13; 9:1; cf. 5:7[8]) he is also the sole power of its resolve (3:17; 8:12–13). Also, even though humans may not know how God will treat one person or the other, life remains significant, perhaps most of the time (9:1–6); it is, all things being equal, worth living, and for any able to have such a life, God unquestionably makes this possible (5:17–19[18–20]). Similarly, the ability to enjoy one’s lot, an ability granted only by God, may be of greatest assistance for making life purposeful, since one can live for the sake of eating and drinking and enjoying the portion granted by God. A purposeful life, in Ecclesiastes, receives direction also from God’s judgment of human action and favorable dispensation toward those who fear him (8:12–13; 11:9; 12:13–14), all of which inspires upright living in public and in secret. Therefore, God’s role in the meaning of life is double-sided. He plays a necessary part in making it meaningless, in all senses of the term, and yet without him no life can be meaningful. Qohelet would have us see both sides of the situation and take some responsibility for how we respond.

 Rather than imposing a definition of “meaning,” or assuming a popular notion of it, or leaving the concept undefined, as most interpreters of Ecclesiastes have done, I have brought external research to bear on the biblical material to show that Qohelet did investigate the meaning of life and did so from all three psychological explanations of meaning, most of all, “coherence.” Consulting such psychological definitions also alleviates what otherwise appear to be disagreements among interpreters of Ecclesiastes, revealing that many who counter meaning of life interpretations propose an exposition that actually corresponds with psychological notions of meaning. In view of the three categories of the meaning of life – coherence, significance and purpose – Qohelet foremost struggles to view life as “coherent,” that is, as composed of patterns and reliable correspondences that would help him make sense of the whole. Instead, cause and effect appear to be breaking down, rendering correlations in life unpredictable

Conclusion

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and unreliable, which relates to the epistemological barricade that rises again and again in Ecclesiastes and the apparent problem with human expectations of work. Knowledge is limited and at times misapprehended. Therefore life, to some extent, is “meaningless” in the sense that events fail to correspond to their outcomes and strain a sense-making mind. The category of “significance” correlates to Qohelet’s statements of value, which primarily concern comparative values and “good” objects other than life as such. But Eccl 9:4–6 and 11:7–8 do disclose a concern for life’s inherent value and demonstrate that, for Qohelet, life is worth living and thereby significant, that is, meaningful. Under certain conditions, though, such as the possession of wealth without the ability to enjoy it, the significance of life is lost. Last, so long as one is living, life possesses “purpose,” that category of meaning that encompasses future-oriented goals to offer direction in life. Qohelet makes confident claims about God’s role in the future and in view of impending death uses carpe diem to direct life, but he nevertheless continues to acknowledge the future’s unknowability, disclosing a vision of life’s purpose that remains limited as well as theological. To each category of meaning, Qohelet contributes a particular nuance. He notes the tragic feeling that arises for those who perceive a lack of coherence in life; he considers the question of a “surplus” or an extra edge (‫ )יתרון‬for the significance of life’s activities; and, overall, including for life’s purpose, he champions the epistemological limitations in discovering each conception of life’s meaning and couches them within a theological context that exceeds any “philosophical” or “psychological” reflection. For Qohelet, God provides a sort of anchor amidst life’s unpredictability, and while the divine in many ways remains beyond human comprehension, it serves an indispensable role when exploring the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes. For God, in large part, makes life meaningful and just as surely renders life meaningless; the question for the audience seems to be one of how they will live within these conditions, so long as Qohelet’s views of the world are assumed to be acceptable.86 As to the relationship of these meaning of life categories, I tentatively argued that life may be “coherently” meaningless yet “purposefully” meaningful, and that a lack 86

The question of how the audience of Ecclesiastes may have or should have responded to the statements of the book is not straightforward. It depends upon how the epilogue was understood, not least in relation to the monologue, and to what degree normative expectations were held. When taken as a whole, it seems that the book aims to provoke the thought of its readers and not to demand imitation. The book of Proverbs does both, for instance, but I think that a healthy, even productive, degree of puzzlement at Ecclesiastes was possible, if not intended, for an ancient audience.

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of purpose or coherence leads to a lack of significance. Amidst this exploration of relationships, the carpe diem refrains emerged as points of stability for life’s meaning, endowing it particularly with purpose so that, through reliance on the Creator, life remains meaningful in spite of epistemological limitation. As a motivational category according to psychologists, purpose in Ecclesiastes can spur one on amidst a potentially chaotic life. Not all, though, is framed positively in Ecclesiastes, and one of the more interesting insights related to life’s meaning but unexplored so far is Qohelet’s negatively affective language. He attributes emotions of sorrow and anger to his own experience of reflecting on life (1:13, 18; 2:20–21), as well as to the experience of others working in the world who likewise feel frustrated at the lack of predictable outcomes (2:22–23). The study and experience of incoherence in life beget despair, and it is this unpleasurable feature of life’s meaninglessness that occupies the following chapter.

6 Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy

In its comments about unreliable outcomes, the limited scope of human knowledge, the conditions under which human life is not worth living and the sort of goals that orient or disorient life, the book of Ecclesiastes exhibits a concern with the three ways that psychologists have understood life’s meaning. The book formulates these types of meaning in distinctive ways, with particular interest in their relation to God, and it gives most attention to the notion of coherence, which depends upon life having reliable and perceptible patterns within it. All the while, these three notions of life’s meaning are presented from the perspective of the man called “Qohelet.” It is his response to the meaning, or more accurately the meaninglessness, of life that occupies the present chapter. For admissions of anger, pain and despair appear throughout Ecclesiastes, and I will suggest that they bear a consistent relation to each type of life’s meaning: purpose, coherence and significance. That life’s meaning and human anguish have any significant relationship seems palpably modern and more suited to a study of French l’existentialisme than to a reading of ancient literature. But we need not drag along twentieth century anachronisms to find such a connection in Ecclesiastes. For it is in the book already and not only present but, I would argue, significant for Qohelet and the book as a whole. By giving attention to a theme often overlooked in Ecclesiastes, I run the risk of giving it too much attention, of overplaying something that has, maybe for good reason, been underplayed by interpreters. So while I am convinced that what Qohelet observes and undergoes is indeed a form of “suffering,” he nevertheless does so from a slightly removed standpoint, prioritizing his reflective, cognitive disposition and never quite matching 121

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the drama of distress so familiar in Job and the Psalms. To be sure, Qohelet thinks more than feels, but not at the expense of the latter. He is also quite concerned with joy – a theme of Ecclesiastes that is famous in comparison to suffering – and the meaning of life has direct bearing on that too. So, having considered how the meaning of life arises in Ecclesiastes, it must now be determined how these conceptions of meaning relate to the book’s remarks about human suffering.

    The “suffering” that I have in mind corresponds most with two definitions offered by the Oxford English Dictionary: “To undergo or submit to pain, punishment, or death” and “to have (something painful, distressing, or injurious) inflicted or imposed upon one; to submit to with pain, distress, or grief.”1 The fundamental aspect that arises from these definitions is the process of “undergoing pain,” which is quite a general idea and conducive for disclosing Qohelet’s suffering as described within Ecclesiastes.2 What Qohelet has in mind, of course, depends on what language is used in the book itself. Biblical Hebrew rarely mentions “suffering” as such and prefers to depict particular forms of suffering or to employ a set of terms that express some varietal of pain, such as grief, turmoil, sorrow and so on. Nevertheless, when the concept of “suffering” is mentioned, the lexeme ‫ מכאוב‬is used.3 And the Lord said, “I have surely seen the affliction of my people who are in Egypt, and I have heard their cry because of their taskmasters. For I know their sufferings (‫)כי ידעתי את־מכאביו‬.” (Exod 3:7) And they sat with him [i.e. Job] on the ground, seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that the suffering was very great (‫)כי ראו כי־גדל הכאב מאד‬.4 (Job 2:13)

1 2

3 4

OED “suffering,” I.3.a; I.1.a. There is such a thing as “pain studies,” which has been used to interpret the book of Proverbs and its remarks about sensory and affective pain (Ryan O’Dowd, “Pain and Danger: Unpleasant Sayings and the Structure of Proverbs,” CBQ 80 [2018]: 619–635). The simplicity and generality of the language used for pain in Ecclesiastes, though, makes a use of pain studies more cumbersome than helpful here. Two rarer options are ‫“( עצבת‬pain/trouble”; Job 9:28; ESV, “suffering”) and ‫( נשׂא‬Ezek 18:20). Job 2:13 uses the form ‫ כאב‬rather than ‫מכאוב‬.

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The Lord, he is right, for I have rebelled against his word; hear, all peoples, and see my suffering (‫;)וראו מכאבי‬ my young women and young men have gone into captivity. (Lam 1:18)

These passages use ‫ מכאוב‬to denote the suffering that some person or group of people is undergoing within the context of specific pains, such as oppression, loss or grief.5 The root ‫כאב‬, on the whole, denotes “injury that exists as an objective fact and is also suffered and felt as such.”6 The lexeme ‫מכאוב‬, then, unsurprisingly seems to refer to suffering in its holistic form. The swathe of other lexical items that give voice to such internal and external forms of pain that humans suffer will be addressed in due time, but for now I look closely at the language used in Ecclesiastes, which includes ‫מכאוב‬, in order to determine how it conceives of human suffering, especially in relation to the meaning of life. The first aspect of language to consider is the recurring comment of Qohelet that often appears after he identifies “incoherence” in life. He repeatedly labels this form of meaninglessness ‫הבל‬. The nearly infamous lexeme refers metaphorically to “idols” or more woodenly to “wind/ breath” and carries no sense of pain or human emotion as such.7 Although it may acquire such nuance from its context, ‫ הבל‬does not denote any sort of suffering. More promising candidates – the noun ‫רעה‬ and adjective ‫רע‬, which Qohelet also uses to label observed phenomena – often mean “evil” or “bad.” For instance, Qohelet has seen a “grievous evil” (‫ )רעה חולה‬under the sun (5:12[13]), where a father lost his riches in a “bad venture” (‫ ;ענין רע‬5:13[14]). When ‫ רע‬modifies “the face” it refers to “sadness” (7:3) and when juxtaposed with good it can mean not just bad or generally wicked but moral “evil” (12:14).8 These uses of ‫ רע‬and ‫ רעה‬in 5

6 7 8

The Septuagint translators use a variety of terms for the lexeme in these passages, including ὀδύνη, πληγή and ἄλγος, respectively. More helpful, and perhaps indicative, is V, using dolor in each case. R. Mosis, “‫ כאב‬k’b,” TDOT 7:8. See discussion in Chapters 1 and 2. For recent work on the meaning of ‫ הבל‬see Sneed, “‫הבל‬ as ‘Worthless,’” 879–894. The phrase “under the sun” (‫ש‬ ׁ ‫שמ‬ ׁ ‫ )תחת ה‬does not entail anything inherently negative or pain related. It refers to that “temporal universe of the living” (Seow, Ecclesiastes, 105) within which Qohelet observes much suffering indeed (e.g., 10:5) but also good, wisdom and even divine activity (e.g., 9:13). Living “under the sun” is not explicitly treated as a cause of human sorrow nor as something that implicates a moral quality, as several despair-inducing problems

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Ecclesiastes represent the semantic flexibility of the terms, both of which, as H. J. Stoebe rightly says, are “more general and thus also more difficult to determine.”9 In other words, Ecclesiastes contains instances of ‫רע‬/‫רעה‬ that may connote human pain, such as that which may refer to the “evil/ bad business” that God has given to humans to do (1:13) or possibly to an “unpleasant” or “painful” task.10 Likewise, Qohelet might admonish youths to “put away evil (‫ ”)רעה‬from their flesh or to remove “pain” from the body (11:10). Plausible arguments could be made either way for the meaning of ‫ רע‬and ‫רעה‬, as either “evil” or “pain,” but definitive conclusions can be made only for certain passages. While these lexemes harbor the semantic possibility of pain or suffering and occur most frequently in conjunction with Qohelet’s evaluation of the meaning of life, two other terms offer the most patent evidence of suffering in Ecclesiastes.11

arise for reasons outside of human control, apparently independent of human piety (e.g., Eccl 2:18–21; 9:11). Some scholars have argued that the phrase confines Qohelet’s thought to the earthly domain at the expense of theological thought. For example: “This phrase restricts Qohelet’s thinking to this earthly life and the limited horizon of an earthly perspective apart from divine revelation. Qohelet does not allow the theological reflections he makes to correct the conclusions he draws on the basis of his observations. . . . God is never brought in as a solution to the problems that plague Qohelet” (Richard P. Belcher Jr., Finding Favour in the Sight of God: A Theology of Wisdom Literature, New Studies in Biblical Theology 46 [Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2018], 142). But it is “under the sun” that Qohelet discovers the gifts of God (5:17[18]; 8:15) and God’s work itself (8:17). The appropriate contrast to “under the sun,” therefore, is not “divine revelation” or pious, “above the sun” reflection but rather a preoccupation with that heavenly realm itself, as may appear in Job 1–2 with its celestial preview into the work of God and the satan. It is a spatial distinction more than a theological or methodological one. For the proposal that the phrase connotes an OT eschatological vision based on Genesis 1 and Isaiah 60, which Qohelet then critiques, the interpretation of which is questionable at points (e.g., that the sun “ruling” implies human life “under” it; Gen 1:18), see J. Gerald Janzen, “Qohelet on Life ‘Under the Sun,’” CBQ 70 (2008): 465–483. On the debates about divine presence and absence in Ecclesiastes, and elsewhere in the OT, see Brittany Melton, Where Is God in the Megilloth? A Dialogue on the Ambiguity of Divine Presence and Absence, OtSt 73 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), esp. 106–109. 9 H. J. Stoebe, “‫ רעע‬rʿʿ to be bad,” TLOT 3:1251. 10 Translations select more affective language for ‫ רע‬in 1:13: “unhappy” (ESV); “grievous” (NASB); “heavy [burden]” (NIV). See also Fox (Time, 169; “unfortunate business”); Seow (Ecclesiastes, 121; “terrible preoccupation”); Bartholomew (Ecclesiastes, 123; “evil task”); LXX, περισπασμὸς πονηρός. Cf. Proverbs 15:10, 15; Ps 112:7. Whybray (Ecclesiastes, 49) captures it well: “Following ‘inyan rā’ (an unhappy – literally, ‘bad’ – business), however, it may be intended also to remind the reader of another ‘ānāh which denotes affliction or suffering.” 11 Other lexemes, of less significance for my concerns but addressed below, include ‫ חלי‬and ‫( קצף‬5:16[17]), ‫ שׂחק‬/ ‫ בכה‬and ‫ ספד‬/ ‫( רקד‬3:4) and ‫( בית אבל‬7:2).

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The first term that denotes suffering in Ecclesiastes is ‫כעס‬. As a substantive, ‫ כעס‬often refers to “anger,” whether the anger of the Lord (e.g., 1 Kgs 15:30) or the anger of humans (e.g., Prov 12:16), and yet, in some cases, it refers to an emotion of grief or sorrow (e.g., 1 Sam 1:6; see below).12 Occurring as a noun six times in Ecclesiastes, ‫ כעס‬is translated as “vexation” (ESV), “sorrow” (NIV) or “grief” (NASB).13 For example, Qohelet summarizes his introductory remarks with the adage “in much wisdom is much vexation (‫( ”)כעס‬1:18) and shortly thereafter says that one’s work “is a vexation” (2:23). The sense of “anger” that ‫כעס‬ elsewhere expresses does not capture its meaning in Ecclesiastes. For while elements of anger may cohere with the book’s six occurrences of the root ‫כעס‬, the sense of “grief” or downcast emotion suits the context, particularly given the fact that it is twice paired with another lexeme for emotional sorrow.14 Ecclesiastes 5:16[17] mentions ‫כעס‬, probably as a verb, and also uses a term that clearly means “anger” (‫)קצף‬, which suggests that the author had language for “anger” more explicit than ‫ כעס‬at his disposal. Last, given that outside of Ecclesiastes the root mostly occurs within an interpersonal context, often signaling “a bad temper,” its use in Ecclesiastes within more impersonal, non-social contexts fortifies its meaning as “grief, sorrow, displeasure.”15 It is this semantic category of sorrow denoted by ‫ כעס‬that must be explored and that will unearth the textures of suffering in the book. First Samuel 1 recounts the story of Hannah being unable to conceive a child, for which another woman, Peninnah, harasses her and, according to the narrator, “provoked her to grief” (‫ ;כעסתה גם כעס‬1:6). It is possible that Hannah feels anger in this situation, given the bullying from Peninnah that could plausibly “provoke her to anger” rather than “grief.” But the surrounding descriptions of Hannah’s trouble suggest that ‫ כעס‬signals her emotional grief and even depression. Given the provocation against her, Hannah weeps and refuses to eat (1:7); her husband asks why her heart is “sad” (‫ ;רעע‬1:8); she is deeply distressed (‫ש‬ ׁ ‫ ;מרת נפ‬1:10), afflicted (‫ ;עני‬1:11) and then speaks from her “great anxiety (‫שיח‬ ׂ ) and grief (1:16) ”(‫)כעס‬. Because of her closed womb, Hannah attracts scrutiny from another lady, precipitating a host of responses that align not so much with anger as they do with grief and 12 14 15

13 See BDB 3708.1–2. See Eccl 1:18; 2:23; 5:16[17]; 7:3, 9; 11:10. Ecclesiastes 7:9 may use ‫ כעס‬to refer to “anger,” particularly in its association there with fools and a spirit quickly piqued. So N. Lohfink, “‫ ָּכַעס‬kā’as,” TDOT 7:284.

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depression: weeping, loss of appetite, sadness, distress and so on. Hannah feels sorrowful, grieving her inability to conceive and the consequent treatment from Peninnah. However, once granted a child, Hannah “exults in the Lord” and “rejoices” (‫ )שׂמח‬in his salvation (2:1), a remark that places ‫ כעס‬in direct contrast to ‫שׂמח‬, which will prove important in the subsequent discussion of suffering in Ecclesiastes. A similar emotional response arises in the psalmist when his enemies provoke ‫ כעס‬within him so that his “eyes are wasted” because of it (Ps 6:8 [7]). The psalmist says that he is “languishing” (‫)מלל‬, that his bones and soul are “troubled” (‫ ;בהל‬6:3–4[2–3]), that he is weary with moaning (‫ )יגע אנחה‬and floods his bed with tears (v. 7[6]). Psalm 6 depicts a man riddled with a distress that is accompanied by faintness and groaning and weeping. The sequence of 6:8[7] – “My eye wastes away because of ‫כעס‬, it grows weak because of all my foes” – and the whole context of the psalm indicate that ‫ כעס‬refers to an internal state that gives rise to the various expressions of pain and emotion.16 As in 1 Samuel 1, it denotes deep emotional sorrow as a form of suffering. The same could be said of other occurrences of ‫כעס‬, which arise in the context of people who have been stricken by grief and, in certain cases, contrasts with the type of “rejoicing” denoted by ‫שמח‬ ׂ (Ps 10:14; 31:10[9]; Job 6:2; cf. Prov 17:25). The second term used to refer to suffering in Ecclesiastes is ‫מכאוב‬. Occurring twice in the book, both instances of ‫ מכאוב‬appear with ‫כעס‬: For in much wisdom is much ‫כעס‬, and he who increases knowledge increases ‫מכאוב‬. (1:18) For all his days are ‫מכאבים‬, and his business a ‫כעס‬. Even in the night his heart does not rest. This also is ‫הבל‬. (2:23)

Elsewhere in the OT, ‫ מכאוב‬may refer to physical pain and more often to emotional pain (Jer 30:15; 51:8; Ps 38:18[17]; cf. 69:27[26]). In the wake of Babylon’s destruction, Jeremiah says to “wail for her! Take balm for her pain (‫ ;)מכאוב‬perhaps she will be healed” (51:8). Retaining the nuance of “pain,” the lexeme ‫ מכאוב‬often identifies an emotional sorrow or grief quite similar to ‫כעס‬. It characterizes the pain of lamenting Jerusalem, as in Lam 1:12 where the city asks if someone has seen “any sorrow like my sorrow” and then possibly refers to “my suffering” (1:18) as such. These comments are joined by weeping, groaning (‫)אנח‬, a faint heart, trouble

16

The Hebrew of Ps 6:8[7]: ‫עשׁשׁה מכעס עיני עתקה בכל־צוררי‬.

Lexical Evidence for Suffering

127

(‫ )רעה‬and no comfort (1:16, 21–22), a set of expressions stemming from what summarizes as ‫מכאוב‬. Like ‫ מכאוב‬, ‫ כעס‬seems to represent an internal state or emotion of sorrow that gives rise to external expressions of it, such as weeping and groaning. Similar antonyms also arise within this context, seeing that along with the city’s experience of sorrow, Jerusalem, who was once called the “joy” (‫ )משׂושׂ‬of the earth, has now ceased from all “joy” (‫ ;משׂושׂ‬2:15; 5:15). As for the daughter of Edom, who has yet to be punished, she should “rejoice and be glad” (‫ ;שׂישׂי ושׂמחי‬4:21). ‫ מכאוב‬elsewhere retains this notion of painful emotional sorrow that stands opposite rejoicing (Ps 32:10; Jer 45:3; cf. Prov 14:13; Ps 69:30 [29]), and it may have been the closest way in biblical Hebrew to refer to the concept of “suffering.”17 The final way that Qohelet seems to describe the experience of human pain, particularly in this emotional register, is with piel ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫יא‬, according, at least, to the prevailing interpretation: “So I turned about and gave my heart up to despair” (‫ ;וסבותי אני ליאשׁ את־לבי‬2:20, ESV). More often occurring in the niphal stem, ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫ יא‬refers to being hopeless or “despairing of” (1 Sam 27:1; Isa 57:10; Jer 2:25; 18:12; Job 6:26), and in Job clearly occurs within an emotionally sorrowful context (6:26). Commentators have, for a long time, considered Qohelet’s response in 2:20 to be a principally emotional one, whereby he turns away from his efforts in despondency of them. The context of the verse makes this all the more attractive, given Qohelet’s declarations of hatred for his life and subsequent comments about the days of sorrow that laborers must endure, and yet “despair” is just not supported by the lexeme or earlier interpretations

17

Similarly, see ‫ כאב‬at Isa 65:14. Although it combines and revises the ideas of Eccl 1:17–18, the Targum supports these conclusions. The one seeking to understand wisdom will incur a “breaking of the spirit” (‫ )תבירות רוחא‬and, if successfully obtaining it and yet dying young, will increase the “pain of heart” (‫ )כאיב לבא‬for those near him, an expression figurative of depression. It seems that ‫ כעס‬was readily available but not used, and note the reference to God’s anger as ‫רגיז‬. In full, the Aramaic of 1:17–18 reads: ‫ויהבית ליבבי למידע חוכמתא וחולחולתא דמלכותא ומנדעא וסוכלתנו בחנית למידע דאוף דין הוא תבירות רוחא לגבר‬ ‫דמשתדל למשכח יתהום׃‬ ‫ארום גבר די מסגי חוכמתא כד יחוב ולא יתוב בתיובתא מסגי רגז קדם ייי ודי מוסיף מנדעא וימות בטליותיה מוסיף כאב ליבא‬ ‫לקריבוי׃‬ “And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and the fear of the kingdom, and knowledge and discretion, by experience knowing that even this is a breaking of the spirit for the man who endeavors [lit. wrestles] to find them. Because a man who increases his wisdom when guilty, and does not repent, increases anger before God; and he who accumulates wisdom and dies in his youth increases the pain of heart for his relations.”

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of it. The Septuagint, Vulgate and Luther’s translation, for instance, though varied in their exact renderings of the phrase, get at the idea of “giving up” on one’s achievements (the sense of “despairing of,” again, could work), which more accurately reflects the Hebrew. Stuart Weeks has picked up on this and reads, “So I turned away, letting go of my concern with all the business at which I had worked under the sun.”18 The significance of the verse will be evident later, and at this point it is worth noting 2:20 does not serve as explicit evidence for emotional distress in Ecclesiastes, though one would be led to think so given the near consensus interpretation of it. Further to the point, Qohelet need not “despair” in 2:20 for there to be ample evidence of it in his experiences. Ecclesiastes 1:12–2:23 leaves one in no doubt about the fact that work and, as we will see, frustrations to a meaningful life involve suffering. ‫כעס‬ and ‫ מכאוב‬quite adequately make the point. I have so far been trying to determine what sort of suffering Qohelet describes in Ecclesiastes and it seems that he chose terms to indicate emotional sorrow or grief, a pain of inner despair, even depression, that he gives little external evidence of. Only one other lexeme might connote this sort of pain – ‫ – יגון‬which often seems to accompany terms for other sorts of human pain. These alternative options for describing human suffering each include their own nuances of meaning that distance them from the emotional, depressive character of ‫ כעס‬and ‫מכאוב‬. ‫ אבל‬means “mourn” and ‫ אנח‬means “groan” and both of these indicate an act or a formal practice more than a state of being.19 Other, more clearly distinct options include “dismay/terrify” (‫ ;בהל‬e.g., Job 4:5; Isa 13:8), “anguish/ writhe [in pain]” (‫ ;חול‬e.g., Ps 55:5[4]; Zech 9:5; Job 15:20), and “be weak/diseased” (‫א‬/‫)חלה‬. ‫ און‬ties sorrow to wickedness (Job 15:35; cf. Hos 9:4) and further accentuates that Qohelet chose language that does not necessitate particular actions or a moral condition, as many of these alternatives do. In short, among these synonyms, ‫ יגון‬is the closest contender and suggests no distinctive semantic contrast from what appears in Ecclesiastes. The remaining synonyms accentuate the internal emotional character and affirm the stative nature of ‫ כעס‬and ‫מכאוב‬, clarifying how Qohelet uses language of sorrow and grief, even

18

19

Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 447. For a treatment of the lexeme, especially the Greek, see pp. 457–458. A portion of Talmud b. Metzia (21b) goes on at length about regulations involving ‫יאוש‬. For ‫ אבל‬see Job 29:25; 30:31; 2 Sam 14:2; Ps 35:14; Jer 31:13 and for ‫ אנח‬see Prov 29:2; Lam 1:4.

Coherence

129

depression, when characterizing phenomena in the world and the exercise of reflecting upon them.20 Having sketched the sort of suffering that Qohelet described based solely on lexical evidence, it is now possible to determine how this language relates to the meaning of life concepts and how it informs the remaining affective language in Ecclesiastes, namely, the text’s references to “joy.”

 Incoherence Induces Suffering As outlined earlier in Chapter 5, the primary category of life’s meaning that fits with the remarks of Ecclesiastes is what psychologists call “coherence.” A life is deemed coherent when it makes sense to humans due to the predictable and reliable patterns that they discern within it. In other words, cause and effect work in a secure pattern, meaning that actions beget certain foreseeable results. It is the breakdown of such patterns that Qohelet frequently observes, as particular actions fail to produce their expected results. Thus, in 2:18–19, Qohelet says, I hated all my toil in which I toil under the sun, which I must leave to one who will be after me. And who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will be master over all my toil for which I toiled and was wise under the sun. This also is ‫הבל‬.21

It is possible to see an underlying assumption here: after a wise man dies his toil and produce should be left to other wise men (so Prov 13:22), so that a business built up by a prudent and sapiential entrepreneur, for 20

21

Based on these lexemes alone, I cannot agree with the view that Qohelet feels mildly melancholy and primarily retiring: e.g., “Qoheleth’s attitude is resigned acceptance of life’s ultimate meaninglessness and of death’s finality. This can rightly be called despair – yet it is peaceful” (Jerome T. Walsh, “Despair as a Theological Virtue in the Spirituality of Ecclesiastes,” BTB 12 [1982]: 47). His response to life is an acute sadness, even if he is at times more despondent and not ever wildly lamenting. Ecclesiastes 2:17 and 2:18 both begin with a waw + perfect (‫שנאתי‬ ׂ ‫)ו‬. The first concludes Qohelet’s observations on the effects of wisdom (2:12–16), which result in his hatred for life; the second prefaces another set of observations with a conclusion, “I hated all my toil.” Given the use of the ‫ עמל‬participle in v. 18 with ‫אני‬, Bo Isaksson (Studies in the Language of Qoheleth: With Special Emphasis on the Verbal System, Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 10 [Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1987], 77) places Qohelet’s remark in the present: “I hate all that I am toiling for under the sun.” While possible, that seems unlikely given the retrospective use of the perfect throughout chapter 2 and, in either case, has little consequence for my concerns.

130

Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy

instance, will go into the hands of another man like him. Qohelet possesses no confidence that this will occur and instead states that a fool may very well inherit the produce of his labor, showing that an action may not correspond to its appropriate outcome.22 If Qohelet is rather making the point that, sage or fool aside, his own accomplishments will pass to someone else after him – which seems to be more the point in 2:21 and yet downplays the wise-fool contrast prior to that – then that very transfer would in itself be an injustice and therefore an incoherence.23 To overstate it, someone who never worked a day in his life may suddenly find himself the owner of a great estate, and that strikes Qohelet as ridiculous. I find the former interpretation more plausible for 2:18–19 and the latter applicable to 2:21, but in either case an incoherence is spotted and becomes the cause of trouble. Qohelet also underscores the epistemological limitation surrounding this pattern, which is likewise characteristic of meaning of life incoherence. For he asks, “Who knows whether he will be wise or a fool?” (2:19), suggesting that such knowledge remains beyond mortal reach, except the fact that what he made will no longer be his own. It is these observations of incoherence – unpredictable patterns of cause and effect, and the limitations of human epistemology – that Qohelet associates with the language of suffering when introducing his overall line of thought in Eccl 1:12–18. In 1:13 he summarizes his endeavor – “I set my heart to seek and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven” (v. 13a) – and evaluates it: “It is a bad business that God has given to the sons of humankind to be busy with” (v. 13b). He then claims that he had great wisdom and knowledge (1:16) and further sought to understand these things (1:17) only to find that this task “is but a striving after wind” (v. 17b).24 Finally, he forwards an adage to 22

23

24

Regarding Eccl 2:18–21, Schellenberg (Erkenntnis, 83–88, esp. 86) argues that Qohelet’s hatred arises not simply due to a missed deed-consequence connection but also due to the failure of an acquisition gained through wisdom to continue in existence. Although the longevity of the acquisition may be a problem, Qohelet makes it clear that an inappropriate inheritor may receive the fruit of labor that he conducted “with wisdom” (vv. 19, 21). The deed-consequence connection most certainly takes center stage here. Framed by early Jewish interpreters as a concrete reference to Solomon’s historical progeny in this passage, there is ongoing interest in its allusion to the “Solomonic Tradition” (so Krüger, Kohelet, 146). For this line of thought, see Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 448: “The point is rather that his property will pass to somebody else regardless of their qualities (2.19) and of whether they have made any contribution to it (2.21). What outrages Qohelet is that his own hard work will be for the benefit of somebody else, and he does not care whether they are able or not. All this is treated, essentially, as an injustice.” Emphasis in the original. On this phrase, see Chapter 5. Gordis (Koheleth, 213) is probably correct to read the waw-consecutive in 1:17, following several verbs in the perfect (1:13–16), as a logical

Coherence

131

summarize his experience: “In much wisdom is much vexation, and the one who increases knowledge increases sorrow” (1:18).25 In 1:18, Qohelet asserts that increasing wisdom and knowledge increases vexation and sorrow, using the two central lexemes for emotional distress outlined above. “In much wisdom is much ‫ ”כעס‬and “the one who increases knowledge increases ‫מכאוב‬.” These statements look ahead to what is discussed throughout Ecclesiastes. They respond to the incoherence in life that Qohelet will demonstrate by asserting that, with a greater means of investigation (i.e. wisdom), one only sees the greater extent of unpredictable and unreliable patterns in the world and furthermore realizes how little one can know.26 At the outset of his investigation, Qohelet informs his readers of its results and its emotional effect upon him. For the investigation itself induces suffering, as the wisdom and knowledge required for it only accentuate the grief and sorrow of the investigator. Although Qohelet has investigative wisdom in mind here – something akin to sagacity and sharpness of mind – he incorporates a broad conception of wisdom into the book. Often paired with “folly” or “righteousness,” and allusive of Woman Wisdom (7:26), the term’s complexity comes into play, and Qohelet seems uninterested in making too many distinctions between investigative power and moral capability. The latter is indeed less in focus, but the burden of proof lies on anyone who would wish to disassociate Qohelet’s use of ‫ חכם‬from its compound definition of a power for success begotten by intellect, will and emotion, moral and cognitive excellence included. That “wisdom” is an object of study for

25

26

conclusion of Qohelet’s experience. Affirming that progression, Isaksson (Studies, 58–62) also thinks that the ‫ לאמר‬of v. 16 warrants a further historical digression in Qohelet’s remarks that is fully recovered in the final statement of v. 17: “Once in my life I thought. . . . Now I have come to recognize that even this is a chasing of the wind.” How confident we can be about that exact wording I do not know, but it does, in general, reflect Qohelet’s flow of thought, particularly based on the indicative verbs of the passage. I follow most commentators in taking 1:13–18 as a pronouncement of what Qohelet has done and the conclusions that he reached, all of which anticipates the record of his experiences that appear throughout the book. Cf. Ogden, Qoheleth, 42. Ecclesiastes 7:23–24 compounds the issue of pain and epistemological boundaries (HansPeter Müller, “Neige der althebräischen ‘Weisheit’ zum Denken Qohäläts,” ZAW 90 [1978]: 248). According to Bundvand (Time, 168), “it is reasonable to assume that this pain should be associated not only with the possibility of knowing too much for one’s own good. . . . Rather, searching for wisdom is painful also because of the limitations placed upon the human intellect which doom the wisdom search to failure.” As we shall see, much more can be said about the wisdom-pain relationship than one having too much knowledge or too many limitations paced upon it.

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Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy

Qohelet, who conducts his research “by wisdom,” and like the latter investigative ability can beget suffering, as we shall see. The clear statement in 1:18 brings us back to the less clear comment in 1:13, where Qohelet says that “it is an unhappy business (‫ )ענין רע‬that God has given to the children of humankind to be busy with.” Although often translated in affective terms (“unhappy business” ESV; “grievous task” NASB), ‫ ענין רע‬does not necessarily hold any sort of emotional character, and upon first glance we might consider it “an evil business.” The phrase occurs two other times in Ecclesiastes, used in both instances to label a problematic event of unfortunate financial ends accompanied by a lack of satisfaction. One person (4:8) is characterized as “deprived of pleasure” (‫)מחסר את־נפשׁי מטובה‬, a situation that Qohelet labels an ‫ענין רע‬. Given the lack of satisfaction, and the work without pleasure (‫שמחה‬ ׂ ), a clearly emotional term, it is plausible that ‫ ענין רע‬connotes an aspect of sorrow or at least an unpleasant feeling. The second occurrence refers to a “bad venture” (5:13[14]), in other words, a venture that most likely does not work as it should, which does not refer to an emotionally problematic venture but does likely entail unwelcome feelings.27 These occurrences, particularly in 4:8, suggest the possibility that in 1:13 ‫ ענין רע‬refers to an emotionally unpleasing business that God has given to humankind. Based on 1:13 alone, it is not clear what this “bad business” refers to, though it may point to “all that is done under heaven,” a notion supported by the use of ‫ ענין‬elsewhere in Ecclesiastes, which denotes human work often nuanced with a negative character (2:23, 26; 3:10; 8:16; cf. 5:2[3]).28 But 1:13 may just as much, if not more so, refer to the study of such events. For although ‫ ענין‬does not explicitly refer to intellectual activity in these cases, in 1:17 Qohelet says that his study of wisdom and folly was itself a “striving after wind,” the same descriptor he uses for the “business” that occupies humankind (e.g., 2:21–23; 8:15–16).29 Therefore, it seems that the “bad business” given to

27 28 29

The language indicates that the venture itself is bad, not only or even primarily because it causes harm to the person (cf. Longman, Ecclesiastes, 166). So Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Kohelet, 187. Most commentators argue that the “bad business” refers not to “all that is done under heaven” but to the task that he himself has set out to do. Schwienhorst-Schönberger’s (Kohelet, 187) objection to ‫ ענין‬referring to that task of human exploration does not consider 1:17 (similarly, Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5). He also argues that if such research were the gift of God then Qohelet’s critique – it being ‫“( רע‬schlecht”) – is untenable. But surely much of the work given to humans by God in Ecclesiastes is “bad” in that it vexes the laborer (reckoning with this seems to be part of Qohelet’s inquiry anyway), not to

Coherence

133

humans includes, perhaps, the events under heaven and, certainly, one’s study of them. According to 1:18, this work of studying the world clearly results in grief and sorrow, which begins to form a connection between a life without meaning (i.e. incoherence) and suffering of an affective nature. Once Qohelet embarks on his study he uses similarly doleful language to describe how he feels about incoherence. Reflecting on all of his labors done under the sun, he says that he gave up hope (2:20) and names the reason for this: “because there is a man who has toiled with wisdom and knowledge and skill, he must give his portion to a man who has not toiled for it. This also is ‫ הבל‬and a great evil” (2:21).30 The statement implies that what a wise person produces in life ought to go to another wise person after him and not to a fool, that the property acquired by an aged, triple-prudent man is passed to a prudent inheritor rather than to a dolt. These concerns are ongoing throughout 2:12–23 and induce Qohelet not first to despair of his efforts (2:20) but to hate them (2:17–18) and to eventually characterize human labor as frustrated and sorrow-laden (2:23). The very possibility that one’s accomplishments transfer to someone who has not worked for them leads Qohelet to anguish. For the thought of a fool obtaining the fruits of a wise laborer makes him feel

30

mention that wisdom itself produces unpleasant results (e.g., 1:18). More contentious is what “all that is done” refers to. Some see all human activity, supported by the parallel “all deeds that are done” in 1:14a (Ogden, Qoheleth, 39–40; so Krüger, Kohelet, 134), and although Qohelet’s investigation certainly targets such activity, it also encompasses divine action and, more generally, “what happens” on earth (3:10–11; 7:13; 8:16–17). Furthermore, that this bad business of inquiry specifically denotes “secular” endeavors (so Krüger, Kohelet, 134–135), as opposed to activities done both on one’s own initiative and on God’s, seems implausible for several reasons: the orthodox frame of the book (1:1, 12; 12:9–14), its universal scope (see Chapter 1) and the acknowledgment of wisdom and God’s role in Qohelet’s enterprise. For a detailed treatment of occurrences of ‫ ענין‬that appear in “the context of statements about human cognition” and a defense of it referring to an endeavor for knowledge, see Schellenberg, “Qohelet’s Use of the Word ‫ענין‬: Some Observations on Qoh 1,13; 2,23.26; 3,10 and 8,16,” in Language of Qohelet, 143–155, esp. 145–148. For further discussion of 1:13, see Chapter 5. On ‫שרון‬ ׁ ‫כ‬, see Chapter 5. The reflective tone of 2:20 begins with Qohelet “turning” (‫)וסבותי‬, which recalls the consideration he gave in 2:11 (on this verse, see Chapter 5) but in this case extends from affective lows. His abandon stems from an extension of his prior thought (2:19) and may indicate that he has accepted what precedes as a fact of life (Whybray, Ecclesiastes, 61). The ‫ש אדם‬ ׁ ‫ י‬of 2:21 (“there is a man”) may signal an exception to normal circumstances (cf. as conditional, Murphy, Ecclesiastes, 24), and yet that need not counter that this tragedy features in human experience. It may be heinous, occasional and yet a part of the way life is, in Qohelet’s eyes. If explanation is needed, then 2:21 may envision an heir who is not the wise laborer’s son (so Longman, Ecclesiastes, 104), which would, in every case perhaps, strike Qohelet as ‫הבל‬.

134

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the emotional corollary of hopelessness. This event entails aspects of all three types of meaninglessness, but since the unfair inheritance was subjected to epistemological limitation, as Qohelet says “who knows whether he will be wise or a fool?” (2:19), it is fortified as a concern of coherence, and while we will see that this issue of produce and its future also involves life’s purpose, it most clearly represents an unpredictable pattern of act and result, combined with an epistemological limitation, that aligns with a breakdown in the coherence of life. When it comes to the future possessor of the work started by the wise man, Eccl 2:18–21 shows that the unknown and unreliable result renders life meaningless in this regard and consequently causes the wise worker to hate and possibly despair over his labor. Qohelet’s study of such a phenomenon and his participation in it induce suffering of an emotional nature, which may even capture the entirety of his being, given that it is his “heart” that pursues and responds to this investigation conducted by the “I” of Qohelet (1:16; 2:1; cf. 1:13; 2:20).31 The discovery and experience of incoherence in life causes Qohelet to suffer. I have so far exposed two layers of suffering in Ecclesiastes that pertain to life’s meaning. First, suffering arises from an investigation into life, increasing in severity for those with greater means to conduct such a study (1:13, 18; 2:11, 17). Second, suffering arises from experiencing a lack of meaningfulness in life, as attested to by the despair of one who works while knowing that his wise labors may very well be left to a fool (2:18–21). One ensues because of reflection; the other proceeds from unpredictable outcomes. The final perspective on this sort of suffering targets humankind, as Qohelet generalizes in 2:22 by asking “What does a man have from all his toil and the striving of his heart at which he toils under the sun?” He then concludes that “in all his days are sorrows, and vexation is his business. Even in the night his heart does not rest. This also is ‫( ”הבל‬2:23).32 Toil is again associated with “sorrow” and “vexation,”

31

32

Schwienhorst-Schönberger (Kohelet, 192) includes “kognitiven und sensitive Erkenntnismöglichkeiten” based on ‫ לב‬and ‫ חכמה‬in 1:13. Although he cites these terms to support the cognitive aspect only, Ecclesiastes uses ‫ לב‬as an organ of cognitive (e.g., 1:13, 17; 8:16) and emotional (e.g., 2:10; 7:3) function, suggesting that it signifies a substantial engagement of the person. See discussion in Chapter 5. On the interaction of the heart and self (i.e. “I”), see Fox, Time, 77–78. The plural of ‫ )מכאבים=(מכאוב‬is used here, which may signify intensity or abstraction (JM §136f–h; probably Isa 53:3 with ‫)מכאבות‬. Psalm 32:10 and the plural “days” in Eccl 2:23, however, favor numerical plurality, as if the pain has been amassing, hence “sorrows.” With Seow and Gordis, I read “all his days” as an accusative of time (cf. 2:16; 5:16[17]).

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and this time among humankind in general rather than only within Qohelet’s reflection and experience.33 However, despite the conclusive nature of this claim the exact relation between meaning of life categories and suffering remains unclear. The question posed in 2:22 – what does one have from toil? – and the assertion made in 2:23 – all his days are sorrowful – may relate in one of two ways, the first being that 2:23 answers the question of 2:22 by enumerating the products of human labor: sorrow, vexation and a restless heart. According to Michael Fox, the ‫“( ענין‬business”) “is pain and irritation insofar as it produces these feelings.”34 Another interpretation views the suffering in 2:23 not so much as a product of toil but simply as a reality of life amidst toil. Throughout all the days of one’s life, including its work but not necessarily as a result of its work, a person feels sorrowful. The decisive difference between these interpretations is whether suffering arises from toil or whether it is a simultaneous experience. Does one feel sorrowful all his days because toil never quite provides the payoff that one would hope, or is a life of toil simply one of suffering, regardless of cause-effect relationships? Although the question may seem insignificant, it is not, for it determines whether or not 2:22–23 addresses a form of life’s meaning. If work (v. 22) produces suffering (v. 23), then this observation is consistent with the points about incoherence made so far, but if suffering is a given in life and not necessarily a product of work then these passages might not pertain to the meaning of life category and must be accounted for in another way. I maintain the former, since even though the evidence prevents a definitive conclusion it certainly inclines towards sorrow being a result of toil. Ecclesiastes 1:13 and 1:18 use similar language to 2:22–23 and clearly make the point that work of the investigative sort, and perhaps of all types, produces sorrow.35 The

33

34 35

Some argue that 2:22–23 refers to the same specific case that has preceded, and in a sense to Qohelet himself, rather than humankind in general (Whybray, Ecclesiastes, 62; Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 451). But the echoes of 1:3 in 2:22 and 1:18 in 2:23, and Qohelet’s reflection on ‫ אדם‬in 2:24 color his statements with a gloss of generality. There is also the transition from “I” and “my” (2:18–21) to “man” (‫ )אדם‬in 2:22. This is not to put undue weight on ‫ אדם‬here, which is used to refer to several figures throughout 2:12–22. What is significant is that Qohelet replaces himself as worker and possessor (vv. 18–21) with “the man” as worker and possessor (vv. 22–23). The ‫ אדם‬in vv. 18–21 refers to the unnamed inheritor of Qohelet’s labor, not the laborer himself as in v. 22, where it seems that Qohelet’s perspective is extended to humans in general. Fox, Time, 188. So Seow, Ecclesiastes, 157. Schellenberg (Erkenntnis, 147–150) may put too much stress on “striving” in 2:22 as striving for knowledge at the exclusion of understanding striving

136

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product-related focus of 2:18–21, not to mention of all 2:1–17 and the repeated mention of “gain” (‫ )יתרון‬therein (also 1:3), supports this reading.36 Furthermore, by accepting the interpretation that sees suffering as a result of work, the second interpretation naturally follows: one will therefore suffer amidst life’s labor.37 I have been delineating the relationship between Qohelet’s language of suffering and his observations or experiences of life’s coherence. The evidence shows a consistent pattern of incoherence leading to suffering and does so from three perspectives. First, Qohelet experiences sorrow by investigating life and discovering its lack of coherence. Second, he himself experiences incoherence in his work and despairs as a result. Third, he indicates that humans in general feel grief and sorrow due to their labor. When life fails to adhere to predictable and reliable patterns, and in many ways lies beyond the cognitive grasp of humans, it causes a deep, internal emotional distress reminiscent of depression.

The Pleasure of Coherence Despite the ongoing admission of suffering, Qohelet’s experience of life does not always end in pain. In 2:1–11 he recounts an experiment into pleasure (‫שמחה‬ ׂ ), testing his heart with the many enjoyable things of life, holding none back and all the while wondering what is good for humankind (2:1–3). After all his toil – his waterworks, gardens and parks, everything that elevated him to a supreme status of luxury (2:4–9) – Qohelet says that he indeed found pleasure in all of this work. “I did not keep my heart from any pleasure, for my heart found pleasure from all my toil, and this was my portion from all my toil” (2:10). Toil was the source of Qohelet’s pleasure and its object, in the same way that a man might “find pleasure in” or “rejoice in” the wife of his youth (Prov 5:18).38 Such pleasure is called a “portion” (‫)חלק‬, a term that can refer to a physical plot of land or an inheritance, as well as a possession in the

36 37

38

as general human efforts. In other ancient Near Eastern texts and in contrast to Ecclesiastes, pain was a means to wisdom rather than a product of it (see discussion in Chapter 7). Although it could hold some durative sense, the temporal significance of the ‫ הוה‬participle in 2:22 (“what does a man have . . .”) is not transparent enough to contribute here. Perhaps the result orientation of 2:22 is complemented by a more present or ongoing orientation in 2:23. Work will leave one with little to nothing, except anguish, that rotten and wearisome state that continues to soil every day of life’s labor. These interpretations reflect the possibilities of the syntagm ‫שׂמח מן‬.

Coherence

137

form of a person (Deut 32:9; Num 18:20). In Ecclesiastes, a ‫ חלק‬refers to one’s God-given allotment of life, the wealth, possessions, work and all opportunity that belong to humans among the living (2:10, 21; 3:22; 5:17–18[18–19]; 9:6, 9; cf. 11:2). As one’s portion, a ‫ חלק‬is by nature limited and yet, one’s own. As Seow rightly says, “The word ‘portion,’ then, conveys a sense of limitation both in space and in time. Yet there are distinct possibilities for enjoyment within this admittedly restricted and impermanent lot. It is in this sense that Qohelet says he was able to have pleasure from his toil. Joy in the midst of toil was his portion, his lot.”39 Seeing that Qohelet’s toil produced pleasure, Eccl 2:1–10 evinces a level of coherence in life, where certain actions beget fitting results, thereby rendering life meaningful in this way. This coherence, in the first place, suggests that toil does not only and always entail suffering but may also include emotional cheer. But in the second place, Qohelet seems to undermine this coherence in 2:11 by concluding that “all was ‫ הבל‬and striving after wind and there was no gain under the sun.” Such a dismissive conclusion along with the similar comments in 2:1–3 appears to nullify the positive results spelled out in 2:10. How can Qohelet claim joy from his work and call this his “portion” while also questioning the use of such pleasure and smashing the whole experiment as ‫ ?הבל‬Never mind the subsequent calls to pursue such “pleasure” in life, which seem to further contradict his defeatist attitude (e.g., 3:22). A number of proposals have sought to explain this apparent tension between finding pleasure and condemning the pursuit of it, all of which distinguish two types of ‫ שׂמחה‬in Ecclesiastes. Perhaps Qohelet achieved a frivolous quality of joy but failed to experience a deeper type of pleasure; perhaps when passively received, joy is possible, and when actively pursued it escapes one’s grasp; or maybe Qohelet is distinguishing practical from absolute pleasures, as one is realizable and the other not.40 I, however, like certain interpreters, find none of these explanations convincing. The pleasure that Qohelet receives in 2:1–10 is his “portion,” and it is the same portion that is elsewhere described as one’s God-given allotment in life. God gave joy from and amidst human toil. What Qohelet did not receive was a “gain” (‫)יתרון‬, that very “surplus” or extra produce that he claims to hunt for from the start (1:3).41 Although it is unclear what would meet the criteria for a ‫יתרון‬, it is not a “portion” (‫ )חלק‬and thereby not contradictory to say, I received a ‫( חלק‬2:10) but no ‫( יתרון‬2:11). The 39 41

40 Seow, Ecclesiastes, 151. For these options, see Fox, Time, 123–124. For further discussion of ‫ יתרון‬and its contrast with ‫חלק‬, see Chapter 5.

138

Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy

failure to attain a ‫ יתרון‬partially inspires Qohelet’s judgment in 2:11 that “all is ‫הבל‬,” but this judgment likely derives also from the limited nature of the ‫חלק‬, since kings, just like other mortals, receive a restricted allotment in life, particularly in their share of joy. Enjoyment comes but it comes bridled and fraught with unpredictability and inconsistency, as we have seen throughout 2:12–23. A final issue remains as we determine how 2:10 fits within the whole of Ecclesiastes 1–2, namely, how does 2:10 relate to 2:22–23? How does toil produce pleasure (2:10) and yet, if my interpretation is correct, also come with a constant accompaniment of sorrow (2:22–23)? In the first place, it should be remembered that the joy acknowledged in 2:10 is immediately critiqued in 2:11, where Qohelet says that after considering all of his accomplishments and toil, he deemed such efforts ‫ הבל‬and, although not denying that he found pleasure, says that his experiment in 2:1–9 produced no “gain” (‫)יתרון‬. Hence work, at least experiences of the kingly sort, may entail some pleasure, but upon reflection such enjoyment encounters critique and limitations. I argued that in 2:22–23 toil not only produces sorrow at times but seems characterized by sorrow itself. “What does a man have from all his toil and the striving of his heart at which he toils under the sun? For in all his days are sorrows, and vexation is his business. Even in the night his heart does not rest. This also is ‫הבל‬.” But now, it is not clear how the sorrow of toil can accommodate pleasure. Fox suggests that the toil referred to in 2:22 is not just the toil of any person but the toil of a workaholic, one occupied with “obsessive and excessive work.”42 Given the description of “striving of heart” for this worker, a level of overwork is possible, and perhaps the work here refers specifically to that done with an ardency fueled by the hope of creating a legacy (2:16, 18–19). Although possible, the view that 2:22–23 describes a workaholic may be countered by the fact that “striving of heart” simply recalls the “striving after wind” so often mentioned in Ecclesiastes rather than denoting a particularly ambitious approach to work.43 Furthermore, Qohelet has already notified his readers that the specific problems of death and an unknown inheritor cause him to hate life and toil

42 43

Fox, Time, 188–189. So ‫ רעיון לבו‬and ‫רעות רוח‬. See Eccl 1:14, 17; 2:11, 17, 26; 4:4, 6, 16; 6:9; cf. 5:15[16]; Ogden, Qoheleth, 51. Depending on its translation and interpretation, 8:16 applies ceaseless ambition to Qohelet’s activity of investigation or human toil in general (cf. Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, 292; Seow, Ecclesiastes, 289).

Coherence

139

(2:17–18). There are other issues with toil and sorrow happening, not solely the issue of working too much, and perhaps 2:22–23 generalizes these problems. It seems that 2:22–23 describes the norm for human work, that it produces sorrow and grinds on continually amidst days of vexation, and as 2:1–11 shows kings are not exempt from this. So there is tension but not necessarily contradiction between these passages. The matter of how one finds enjoyment in this work reasonably follows (2:24–26), where it will become clear that to escape the norm of painful toil humans need divine assistance, as God gives enjoyment to those who please him.

Joy against the Suffering of Incoherence This discussion of pleasure brings us to the next point in our exploration of suffering and the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes: the role of joy within this nexus. For in view of incoherence and the suffering that it induces, Qohelet commends pleasure. Of the seven times that Qohelet commends joy, he uses five such commendations to conclude a series of observations on the lack of coherence in life, all of which either explicitly or implicitly position suffering as a consequence of incoherence.44 In other words, the majority of recommendations to joy in Ecclesiastes come in response to life’s incoherence. Although often cited as the first instance, Eccl 2:24–26 is actually a difficult passage and may not commend joy in any straightforward sense.45 It likely states that “there is no good in the human who eats and drinks . . .” rather than “there is nothing better for him but to eat and drink” (2:24a), and given the uncertainty we should not put too much weight on this single verse. It does, nevertheless, assume that one desires to enjoy her toil, and the commendation to pursue such enjoyment will be made elsewhere with all clarity. What this passage seems more intent on is to explain how one might come across such enjoyment, which is ultimately up to God (2:24b–26). Thus, in response to the lack of reliable outcomes and predictability in human work, which invokes sorrow in the laborer and causes Qohelet to hate life and work, one wants 44

45

The five commendations include 3:12–13, 22; 5:17–19[18–20]; 7:14; 8:15. As discussed above, 2:24–26 presumes the pursuit of enjoyment but should probably not be considered, strictly, a “commendation,” and in each of the clearer instances, he is not making the same point each time, though a pattern nonetheless emerges (see the discussion of Whybray below). The two remaining commendations pertain most to meaning of life significance (9:7–10) and purpose (11:9–12:1). See Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 470–471.

140

Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy

to enjoy life and ought to know that such enjoyment lies largely in the hand of God. For the sorrow that infringes on so much human work is countered by the enjoyment that only God can give. Another explicit reference to suffering followed by a more direct commendation of joy occurs in 5:12–19[13–20]. Ecclesiastes 5:12–16 [13–17] tells the story of a man who lost his money in a business venture and has nothing to leave his son, as the father departs from this world just as he came into it: empty-handed.46 He “shall not carry away anything for his toil that he may bring in his hand” (5:14[15]).47 This “grievous evil,” as Qohelet calls it, gives rise to an ongoing question: “What is the gain (‫ )יתרון‬for him who toils for wind?” (5:15[16]). As argued in Chapter 5, the ‫ יתרון‬that Qohelet seeks is not just any gain from one’s toil but a surplus, an extra “edge” that one might accrue from life’s labor. The only gain from toiling for wind – in the case of one who will leave his son empty-handed – is specified in the remark that “All his days he eats in darkness and is much vexed (‫)כעס‬, having sickness and anger” (5:16 [17]).48 The suffering here involves not only the emotional grief mentioned before (‫ )כעס‬but also “sickness” (‫ )חלי‬and “anger” (‫)קצף‬, so that the worker not only despairs but makes himself sick and rages. As in 2:22–23, Eccl 5:12–16[13–17] depicts “vexation/sorrow” (‫ )כעס‬as a result of toil that lacks coherence. When work does not produce its appropriate gain and fails to land into the hands of an appropriate inheritor, it constitutes a form of meaninglessness in life that consequently brings suffering.49 46

47

48

49

Although the “splendor of the rich man’s wealth is gone” (Schwienhorst-Schönberger [Kohelet, 335]), the loss of wealth is not the only factor that causes the man despair, as Schwienhorst-Schönberger implies. Rather, the expectation of retaining his riches and leaving his son an inheritance which then fails to materialize also contributes to the rich man’s anguish. On “for his toil” (‫)בעמלו‬, see GKC §119p. “His” empty hand could refer to either the father’s or the son’s, and v. 14[15] suggests the former. The point remains the same, regardless. The ‫ גם‬at the beginning of this line functions as an intensifier rather than an adverb (i.e. “also”; see Seow, Ecclesiastes, 207). “Darkness” (‫שך‬ ׁ ‫ )ח‬can function metaphorically for unhappiness (Isa 47:5), dread (Amos 5:18) or ignorance (Job 37:19; Eccl 2:14), among other things, and here probably connotes the first, as evident in the LXX (“all his days [are] in darkness and mourning”; ἐν σκότει καὶ πένθει). Several versions read ‫ כעס‬as a noun and drop the masculine suffix from “sickness” (‫)חלי‬, all of which renders an intelligible verse, but the MT does make sense as it stands, especially if Gordis (Koheleth, 254) is right about the suffix indicating possession (‫ חליו‬as “the sickness he has”; see, e.g., Ps 115:7). Although I accept the MT, I do not deny the possibility of the alternative, which, contra Gordis, may have a single preposition governing several nouns (IBHS 11.4.2). It is not death alone that causes distress here, as if a man or son dying poor were the problem, although it certainly constitutes a tragedy in its own right (5:15[16]). The point

Coherence

141

In response to such suffering, Qohelet commends joy (5:17–19 [18–20]), again calling this enjoyment one’s God-given “portion” and this time accentuating the necessity of God’s role in making this enjoyment possible. For this is the gift of God: “Everyone also to whom God has given wealth and possessions and authority to consume them, and to carry his portion and take pleasure in his toil – that is the gift of God” (5:18[19]).50 The language of hiphil ‫שלט‬ ׁ here, denoting that God “gives one the power” or, as Eunny P. Lee has argued, “authorizes,” likely indicates “a transfer of authority to act and the right of disposal.”51 One should take up the summons to enjoy life and know that such joy is only possible as God grants it. The response to suffering is God-given enjoyment in work and yet that is not all. Ecclesiastes 5:19[20] summarizes with a final admonition: “he should not much call to mind the days of his life.”52 According to Seow,

50

51 52

is more that death and poverty were unexpected and part of larger, incoherent circumstances, hence the expression of death in terms of acquisition and loss (came with nothing; goes with nothing). Furthermore, the story begins by noting that the man’s riches “were kept” by him to his harm, putting greed or hoarding on the table as a potential problem that could contend with the primacy of incoherence. While ambition and hoarding are problems in this passage, suffering also arises due to problems possibly outside of the man’s control, such as the “bad venture,” about which no further details are divulged, an imprecision that characterizes the entire story, which has much to say about one’s relation to wealth and ambition and yet keeps unpredictability, a lack of control and, to that degree, a lack of knowledge in the foreground. This is seen more clearly in view of preceding scenarios, as described by Fox (Time, 237): “In 2:19, Qohelet brooded on the possibility that one’s heir will be a fool. In 4:8 the absurdity of the toil is worsened by the worker lacking a relative to benefit from his labors. Here the toiler does have a son but, in an unhappy twist, has nothing to give him, whether during his, the toiler’s, lifetime or after his death.” Similarly, that 5:9–19[10–20] concerns the “relative worth of wealth” (Krüger, Kohelet, 228–231) does not mean that it depicts wealth within entirely coherent situations or that one’s “minimum amount of possessions” facilitates a successful life. Even 5:18[19], where one has wealth and may enjoy it, suggests that there is more than a critique of affluence and ambition at play. Last, Eccl 5:16[17] retains the ambiguity of sorrow as a product of toil and an ongoing accompaniment of it, as in 2:22–23. Fox (Time, 240) interprets the ‫ מן‬of ‫ אכל מן‬as partitive: “partake of it / consume some of it.” The syntagm often functions partitively but more often carries the sense of eating “any” of something (e.g., Exod 12:9; Deut 28:31), and regularly to eat “from/of” something. As a simple direct object marker, though, it is not unattested, notably in a metaphorical context (Prov 1:31; cf. 2 Kgs 4:40; Isa 59:5), and that seems to be more fitting for the subsequent occurrence (Eccl 6:2) and so 5:18[19] (cf. 4:5; 5:10–11[11–12]). Lee, Vitality, 45. See CAD 17.1:240. I interpret the verb as injunctive (see Seow, Ecclesiastes, 209, 223).

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Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy

the problem throughout the book is that people do so excessively, paying so much attention to their misery and their uncertain future that they cannot enjoy what they have . . . [5:19(20)] is addressed to people who already think too much of their lives and of their future, and hence, cannot accept the pleasures of the moment.53

The joy given by God keeps people from being preoccupied with the sorrow of their lives and in this way manifests as a solution to suffering.54 Just as for “all his days” a man eats in sorrow, so he should “not much call to mind the days of his life,” in a sense ignoring the pain or perhaps cultivating a long-suffering attitude toward the lifelong process of inevitable hardship. Without spelling out the mechanics of this disregard for pain and pursuit of joy, Qohelet proffers both strategies as the solution to the despair invoked by experiencing life’s lack of coherence. The final instance of Qohelet clearly positing a commendation of joy in the context of incoherence and sorrow occurs in 7:14, which says “In the good day be glad, and in the bad day consider: one as well as the other God has made, so that humankind might not find out anything after them.” This passage expresses life’s lack of coherence by featuring epistemological limitation – humans cannot find out what will arise in the future – and it introduces sorrow through a contrast with joy.55 The “good day” entails joy and the bad day, by implication, would entail sorrow, but instead of fulfilling the reader’s expectations by associating joy with a good day and sorrow with a bad day, Qohelet commends an alternative response to hapless times. He says that in the day of trouble one should consider that God has made both it and the good day and that the future remains unknown. Thus it is not joy that replaces sorrow in 7:14 but theological reflection, while joy remains the commendable way of feeling in the world. Amidst hard times humans should pursue joy, it

53 54

55

Seow, Ecclesiastes, 223. By “solution,” this is not to say that joy absolutely resolves the problems of suffering and meaninglessness. For as we will see, the pursuit of joy comes with certain conditions and Qohelet gives no expectation that life will at some point be devoid of suffering (e.g., 11:9–10). That said, 5:17–19[18–20] provides a well-connected contrast to 5:12–16 [13–17], as the preceding depicts a “grievous evil” and the latter a “good that is beautiful,” and both passages refer to “riches” (‫שר‬ ׁ ‫)ע‬, the former a “gain” (‫ )יתרון‬and the latter one’s “lot” (‫)חלק‬. These connections account for only part of a larger network of terms and topics within 5:9[10]–6:9 that have been comprehensively laid out by Daniel C. Fredericks (“Chiasm and Parallel Structure in Qoheleth 5:9–6:9,” JBL 108 [1989]: 17–35). A few interpreters identify an idiom within ‫על־דברת שׁלא ימצא האדם אחריו מאומה‬, meaning that one might “not find fault with him” (so Murphy, Ecclesiastes, 61).

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seems, but they should also ponder the fact that God brings about both good and bad days (so 7:13). The cognitive response to tough times suits the observation from the previous passage (5:12–19[13–20]) where joy should occupy humans and offset their propensity to call their present sufferings to mind. As Lee puts it, enjoyment is a matter of embracing the here and the now, not dwelling nostalgically on former days (v. 10) or seeking to calculate and control what will be in the future (v. 14b; cf. 6:12b). It is a disciplined yet joyous concentration on the present, recognizing that the present moment is endowed with a moral significance all its own and therefore merits the full attention of the moral being. Indeed, the present is the only realm in which human beings may assert and fulfill their moral agency.56

Reflecting upon theological principle joins joy as a fitting response to suffering the meaning of life. Ecclesiastes 5:17–19[18–20] and 7:14 commend joy in response to the suffering induced by life’s lack of coherence, while supplementing this response with additional strategies, such as reflecting on God’s powers of governance and not calling one’s painful days to mind. Ecclesiastes 2:24–26 sets the theological context for enjoyment, assuming that one prefers joy amidst coherence and prioritizing the role of God in that. Three remaining instances of the commendation to joy function in a similar way but in a context that does not explicitly refer to a form of suffering. Although human sorrow is not explicit, these passages do respond to the same sorts of incoherence that inspired suffering in the other passages. Ecclesiastes 3:12–13 commends joy on the back of a question about toil’s gain (3:9), the “business” that God gave to humans (3:10) and their inability to find out God’s activity (3:11). Ecclesiastes 3:11 does assert that God has made all things “beautiful” (‫ )יפה‬in their time, a positive interpretation of human experience that may seem to override the pessimistic conclusions made elsewhere in the book (e.g., 1:13), especially where incoherence clearly results in human pain.57 56

57

Lee, Vitality, 53–54. This seems to be a more cogent way of qualifying the wisdomproduces-pain syllabus of Ecclesiastes. For I do not think that we can confidently conclude that thinking in the way enjoined by 7:14 simply counters suffering. It is a cognitive response that complements the more aggressive pursuit of joy in life. Schwienhorst-Schönberger (Kohelet, 382–383) argues that such contemplation advantageously distances the human from situational entanglements. See also Jay K. Hollinshead, “‘What Is Good for Man?’ An Exposition of Ecclesiastes 7:1–14,” BSac 170 (2013): 48–49. So Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Kohelet, 267–269. Debate over 3:11 thrives on the question of what ‫ יפה‬and ‫ עולם‬mean in this context. As for ‫עולם‬, the lexeme clearly means

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However, God’s aesthetic determination of all things in 3:11 simply substantiates the authoritative role given to him throughout Ecclesiastes, especially chapter 3, and actually contributes to the human limitations noted in this passage. God has made all things beautiful in their time, but like the question of one’s gain from toil or discerning the mechanics of God’s ways, even his good activity remains obscure to humankind. While sorrow is not explicitly noted in this case, all causal elements appear, suggesting that suffering lies in the background and correlates with the observations of incoherence that precede the commendations of joy (3:12–13).58 In the same way, 3:22 advocates enjoyment in the wake of discovering a justice-wickedness flip-flop (3:16) and the unknowability of future destinies (3:21), problems, or those like them, that have elsewhere caused despair. Finally, Qohelet identifies injustice in the world – the wicked prolongs his days by means of wickedness (8:10–14) – and again praises joy. This joy, as Ludger Schwienhorst-Schönberger rightly notices, “is no episodic event, differing from the other efforts of humans, but rather an attitude, a tune, which should penetrate all one does.”59 Even though no reference to sorrow or any form of suffering arises in this context, the experience of despair named elsewhere in Ecclesiastes and the juxtaposition of incoherence (8:14) with the commendation of joy (8:15) make such feelings plausible in 8:10–14. The notable absence of explicit comments about sorrow in much of the second half of Ecclesiastes is matched by the notable increase of

58

59

“eternity” in Ecclesiastes, that is, something transcending time (esp. 1:4; 3:14; 9:6; 12:5), and I am hard pressed to find any other sense for the word in 3:11. As for ‫יפה‬, within the OT it means “beautiful” and only its occurrence elsewhere in Ecclesiastes (5:17[18]) may suggest “right” as a possibility. That sense becomes clearer in Sir 39:16, 33, which echoes Eccl 3:11 and uses ‫ טוב‬instead of ‫יפה‬. In either case, Qohelet forwards a positive interpretation of God’s activities in relation to time and, as the wider context makes clear, that action, and even time itself (see Bundvad, Time, 102–106), remains largely inaccessible to human comprehension. For various interpretations of 3:11 and a defense of revocalizing ‫ העלם‬as “darkness/ignorance,” see Brian P. Gault, “A Reexamination of ‘Eternity’ in Ecclesiastes 3:11,” BSac 165 (2008): 39–57. For an extensive discussion and emendation, resulting in the conclusion that 3:11 refers to God’s beautiful and ordered creation, and the placement of “the unknowable” in the human heart with consequent “unhappiness,” see Aron Pinker, “The Cause of Unhappiness in Qohelet 3:11,” Scriptura 107 (2011): 213–222. Cf. Longman (Ecclesiastes, 121), who argues against the idea that Qohelet finds rest in God in spite of his attempts at knowledge: “Qohelet’s compulsive ‘drive to know’ leads to frustration and exasperation, not to rest.” Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Kohelet, 432. “[This joy] kein punktuelles, sich vom sonstigen Mühen des Menschen unterscheidendes Ereignis ist, sondern eine Haltung, eine Gestimmtheit, die all sein Tun durchdringen soll.”

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comments about joy in this part of the book. Given most attention by R. N. Whybray, the joy commendations seem to amplify over the course of the book, beginning with the basic formulation in 2:24 that he translates as, “There is no good among humanity [except] that one should eat and drink and make oneself see good in his toil.” Later in the book these calls to enjoy life mature into extensive recommendations, such as those found in 9:7–10.60 Perhaps Qohelet can be called a “preacher of joy,” as his reiteration to pursue joy in life drowns out his despairing remarks over the course of Ecclesiastes. The calls to enjoy oneself do amplify over the span of the work, but this is not, I think, at the expense of Qohelet’s view on suffering. For in 11:7–12:7 amidst the reality of old age and death, we hear the resounding noise of imperatives – “rejoice,” again “rejoice,” and “let your heart cheer you” – which for Whybray gives the “prevailing note” of the passage. However, it is within these admonitions that we hear a stark admission of human pain. Before the old age and death of 12:1–7, suffering is said to be a part of life (11:8–10). The days of darkness will be many and here, in his final assertion to enjoy life, Qohelet acknowledges that suffering is a part of the human experience, into which he integrates ongoing attempts to attain joy. To preach joy may have been Qohelet’s dying effort, but the message does not displace the reality of suffering, which threatens life at every turn and certainly lasts until its end.61 60

61

Whybray, “Qoheleth, Preacher of Joy,” JSOT 23 (1982): 87–98. Interestingly, if the interpretation of 2:24 noted earlier is accepted (that “there is no good in humans”), then perhaps the statements about joy escalate all the more, placing Qohelet’s first true commendation in ch. 3, prefaced by the assumption that enjoyment is preferred in 2:24 with a statement about the role of God within 2:24–26. The debate about Qohelet’s “joy statements” seems fixated on the issue of their tension with his less-than-joyful comments, which is certainly a real tension in the book, but, as I have argued, might it not be framed as an is-ought distinction: the world is a difficult place and suffering is a reality, but you ought to pursue joy as and when you can. This interpretation has been called the “indicative carpe diem” reading of Qohelet’s joy statements, for which one of the foremost critics – William H. U. Anderson – offers only irony as an alternative interpretation. So “A Critique of the Standard Interpretations of the Joy Statements in Qoheleth,” JNSL 27 [2001]: 57–75; see there also for an extended critique of Whybray’s argument. Otherwise, interpreters seem inclined to choose either “joy” or “pessimism” as the overriding note of the book (e.g., Crenshaw, “Qoheleth’s Hatred.” Cf. Rudman’s [“Anatomy”] brief proposal that Qohelet has a positive attitude toward suffering, advocates contemplation of it, and, in 11:9–10, suggests that wisdom can drive sadness away.) For similar issues addressed from the perspective of possessions and their worth under the rule of God, see Hermann Spieckermann and Michael Welker, “Der Wert Gottes und der Wert des Besitzes für den Menschen nach Kohelet,” Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 21 (2006): 97–107.

146

Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy Alternatives to Joy as a Response to Suffering Incoherence

As for the three passages noted above (3:9–13, 3:16–22 and 8:10–15), if these do imply sorrow over the lack of life’s coherence then they join the three explicit references to fortify my initial conclusion: in view of incoherence and against the suffering that it engenders, Qohelet commends joy, which in turn suggests that enjoyment in toil, and at times theological reflection or the deliberate disregard of life’s pains, counter such suffering. What arises even more clearly here is the confident appeal to God’s work as a response to incoherence. In view of the incoherence noted in 3:16, Qohelet appeals to the judgment of God, who will “judge the righteous and the wicked” (3:17). This assertion outweighs any implicit feelings of sorrow in the passage and offers a confident response about divine judgment that seems to resolve the incoherence of justice being displaced by wickedness. A similar conclusion can be made about 7:15–18, another passage indicative of incoherence and yet without mention of sorrow, which furthermore does not depend upon 7:14 (discussed above) but rather constitutes its own section about meaninglessness. “There is a righteous man who perishes in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man who continues long in his evil” (7:15). The disordered relation of personal character to living and dying, where the righteous die and wicked live lengthy lives, prompts Qohelet to recommend two courses of action. First, do not be overly wise or overly righteous, and do not be too wicked or too foolish, meaning that the overly confident or perfection-driven pursuit of righteousness and its opposite should not be sought by human beings.62 For appropriate outcomes – life for the righteous and death for the wicked – just do not always occur reliably. Second, he suggests that the one who fears God will avoid both pitfalls.

62

It has been argued that Qohelet warns against pretense in the area of righteousness here, based on the argument that the hithpael can convey “pretend to . . .” (2 Sam 13:5; see, most notably, Whybray, Ecclesiastes, 119–120; and “Qohelet the Immoralist (Qoh 7:16–17),” in Israelite Wisdom: Theological and Literary Essays in Honor of Samuel Terrien, ed. J. G. Gammie et al. [Missoula: Scholars Press, 1978], 191–204). But Longman (Ecclesiastes, 195–196) rightly observes that the prohibition of righteousness uses the phrase ‫“( אל תהי צדיק הרבה‬do not be overly righteous”) rather than the hithpael, as is the case for being a fool (and not overly foolish) in the following verse, which would be an unprecedented way to connote “pretend.” Verses 16–17 express bona fide warnings against being too wise, too righteous, too wicked, and being a fool to any extent. It curbs overly ambitious, perhaps an unrealistic (so 7:20, 23–24), pursuit of righteousness, in view especially of the fact that one might not receive just returns for it. For a further defense of this interpretation, see Seow, Ecclesiastes, 266–268.

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The God-fearer, that is, is spared from striving for righteousness to an unrealistic degree or giving oneself over to wickedness and foolishness. In neither 3:16–22 nor 7:15–18 does Qohelet explicitly mention sorrow as a consequence of life’s incoherence and, although it remains a possibility, what these passages more clearly offer are two theological responses. Rather than joy, but not opposed to it, Qohelet appeals to God’s judgment of those entangled in injustice, and he also commends the fear of God, which regulates one’s relationship with righteousness and wickedness. These passages now account for all material in Ecclesiastes that portrays the incoherence of life and yet does not mention emotional pain. To the admission of sorrow and commendation of joy that regularly follow on from the loss of life’s coherence, a couple of responses are added, both of them theological, suggesting that if bothered by incoherence one might receive comfort from the inevitability of divine judgment and the boon of fearing God.63 These additional responses to the suffering of incoherence show that joy is not the sole solution to a meaningless life and that alternative responses may be more appropriate. But even more than that can be said. For although it may appear that joy rides an unobstructed wave of approval throughout Ecclesiastes, even amidst a couple of alternative responses to suffering, it is broken in at least two instances. At the end of chapter 6, , Qohelet raises the question of “who knows what is good for man while he lives the few days of his ‫ הבל‬life?” (6:12) The subsequent verses (7:1–13) represent a collection of proverbs and sayings that offer commentary on this question of what is good for humans to do, and 7:2–4 especially intrigues someone interested in the role of sorrow in Qohelet’s attempts to figure out his world.64

63

64

Ecclesiastes 5:7–8[8–9] and 6:7–9 are not discussed in this chapter and, although they may incorporate notions of incoherence, they seem more concerned with oppression as moral wrongdoing (5:7–8[8–9]) and the sort of trouble that arises for those dedicated to a particular love, and in that sense a purpose, in life (6:7–9). Ecclesiastes 7:2–4 is enveloped by two “houses,” though any severance from the surrounding verses is only partial. The meaning of verse 2 depends on verse 1, and the wicked/foolish contrast that picks up in verses 5–10 begins in verse 4. The interpretation of most any material within 7:1–13 rests on how one construes the entirety and weighs up one set of connections against another. For further structural possibilities, see JeanJacques Lavoie, “La philosophie comme réflexion sur la mort: Étude de Qohélet 7,1–4,” LTP 54 (1998): 96–98. On 6:10–12 as a janus passage, along with the suggestion that 6:12–7:14 “seems to rest on the social setting of the mourning event” (120), see Katharine Dell and Tova Forti, “Janus Sayings: A Linking Device in Qoheleth’s Discourse,” ZAW 128 (2016): 119–122.

148

Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for it is the end of all humankind, and the living will set it to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of face the heart is glad. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure. (7:2–4)

Aside from differing interpretations of the particulars, these passages most of all intend to demonstrate the lack of knowledge that humans have about what is good.65 According to 7:1, the day of death may in fact be better than the day of birth, which means the mourning event (i.e. a wake) is preferable to the wedding feast (7:2). Other axiological premises similarly disconcert our preconceptions about good in life, and in the remainder of the passage, Qohelet takes certain axioms to their logical conclusions, for “sorrow is better than laughter” (7:3), and the wise mourn while fools feast (7:4). These sayings turn the other statements about sorrow in Ecclesiastes upside down. The emotional despair that evil and incoherence have been shown to cause now seems preferable to joy. But how can Qohelet commend joy in response to sorrow, especially sorrow that was invoked by evil events like death, and then commend such sorrow in 7:2–4, including the sort of mourning that occurs at a funeral? Four interpretations forward themselves as ways to reconcile this issue, starting with the possibility of a straightforward contradiction wherein Qohelet commends joy and then disparages it.66 Second, these proverbs may upgrade the quality of commended pleasure to a more resilient type of joy, a joy of the sort that can persist amidst sorrow or at least combat those situations 65

66

See, e.g., Seow, Ecclesiastes, 242–246; Fox, Time, 250–251. Whybray (Ecclesiastes, 114), for instance, holds a softer view of 7:3b, that it suggests “a distinction between the outward appearance and the hidden inner reality,” as one might look sad but actually be glad. This depends on how the ‫ ב‬is interpreted (“by sadness”) and finds some support if it is pointed as a qal ‫“( יטב‬is glad”), as opposed to hiphil (“is made glad”[?], so ESV; cf. Prov 15:13). The contradictory or “uncompelling” nature of 7:2–3, for example, emerges in Krüger’s (Kohelet, 251–252) comments: “Dass man in Anbetracht des allen Menschen bevorstehenden Todes lieber trauern soll als feiern (V. 2), erscheint keineswegs zwingend. 9,7–10 und 11,7–12,7 werden genau umgekehrt angesichts der Vergänglichkeit des Menschen zum Genuss des Lebens aufrufen. Ebenso fraglich muss es erscheinen, ob es dem ‘Herzen’ des Menschen wirklich besser geht, wenn er verdrießlich ist, als wenn er lacht und sich freut (V. 3; vgl. dagegen 9,7 und 11,9f ).”

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where sorrow seems preferable. Perhaps Qohelet hypothesizes that his readers will receive advice along the lines of 7:2–4 and, in that case, implies that they must respond with joy. Third, 7:2–4 may temper the enjoyment of life by admitting space for sadness.67 Instead of idealistic pursuits of pleasure, moments of sorrow should find their proper place in life and should perhaps be dictated by death given that the sayings revolve around this theme. “Humankind always stands coram morte,” according to Lauha, so that “the awareness of death should determine one’s attitude.”68 Fourth, these sayings may serve the purpose of showing, in axiomatic form, the absurdity of addressing a question like “what is good for humans to do?” “That is precisely the point that the text is making,” argues Seow, “no one really knows what is tôb for humanity in general _ and at all times.”69 The proverbs would not so much, then, contradict enjoying life as much as they would function to make a point about epistemology. The third and fourth interpretations are commendable in their interpretive nuance, as the third coheres the apparently contradictory texts with the larger message of Ecclesiastes, and the fourth remains sensitive to the literary form of 7:2–4 and the message of chapter 7 in particular. Perhaps, as the third interpretation would have it, it is better to sober up in view of death and accept that the wise will feel the pain of such realities. However, the remainder of Ecclesiastes 7 accords with option four, since it seems to relativize the value of wisdom by showing its limits and vulnerability (e.g., vv. 15–18), and forwards sayings that scramble an ordered axiological grid (vv. 6–13). These points have been convincingly defended elsewhere, so I only add that this fourth interpretation of 7:2–4 coheres with 7:14, which commends joy in good days, acknowledges bad 67 68

69

Lee, Vitality, 50–57. Lauha, Kohelet, 124. “Der Mensch steht immer coram morte . . . das Bewußtsein des Todes soll seine Haltung bestimmen.” Similarly, see Lavoie, “La philosophie,” who may overstate the role of death in Qohelet’s thought and advice but, in that, makes a cogent case for the interpretation of 7:1–4, arguing that Qohelet underscores the importance, for life, of thinking about death: “En donnant sa préférence à la maison de deuil, Qohélet nous invite en quelque sorte à un travail de deuil, travail qui nous confronte à la mort, comme événement, mais qui nous oriente résolument vers la vie” (106). Seow, Ecclesiastes, 246. This interpretation might also be couched in terms of irony (so Sophie Ramond, “Y a-t-il de l’ironie dans le livre de Qohélet,” VT 60 [2010]: 629–630; for an assessment of what irony means and how it may be present in Ecclesiastes, see Anderson, “Ironic Correlations and Scepticism in the Joy Statements of Qoheleth?” SJOT 14 [2000]: 67–100). For a more positive interpretation, see Schwienhorst-Schönberger (Kohelet, 372), who takes the “sad expression” to signify something “good,” namely, the importance of correct insight.

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days and yet offers a way to lean into them (i.e. theological reflection). Instead of knowing what is good in each situation, Qohelet appeals to God while admitting epistemological limitation. In short, 7:2–4 demonstrates the absurdity of asserting the good of life and coheres with the larger context of Ecclesiastes 7, seeming to break the flow of Qohelet’s enjoyment commendations but providing no conclusively positive perspective on suffering.

Human and Divine Control over Joy and Suffering A final qualification incorporates issues of human control over suffering into the scenario of incoherence, pain and joy. Despite extolling pleasure in life and largely preferring such enjoyment to suffering, Qohelet shows that both joy and suffering may lie in some sense within the control of humans but are ultimately dependent on divine administration. As a question, in what ways does Ecclesiastes indicate that these experiences lie within the control of humans? According to Eccl 2:26, joy is given to those who please God: “For to the one who is good before him, [God] has given wisdom and knowledge and joy, but to the one who misses [out on divine favor] he has given the business of gathering and collecting to give to the one who is good before God. This also is ‫ הבל‬and a striving after wind” (2:26).70 The verse distinguishes the person “good” (‫ )טוב‬before God and the one who “misses” (‫ )חוטא‬such favor to suggest that those in the former category receive God’s gifts of wisdom, knowledge and joy and that those in the latter category work to give their produce to the former. If it sits within the human’s volitional realm to be the “good” person then it follows that the acquisition of joy is within human control. For those who achieve good in God’s eyes obtain his joy. Taken together, these lexemes give reason to think that joy and sorrow do in part lie within the volitional sphere of human beings.71 Ecclesiastes 2:26 refers to the person who is “good before God,” and the phrase of being “good before” anyone (‫ )טוב לפני‬only occurs in 2:26 and 7:26, while it more frequently appears as ‫“( טוב נעיני‬good in the eyes of . . .”; Mal 2:17; 1 Sam 29:6, 9), often with ‫שה‬ ׂ ‫“ – ע‬do good in the eyes of [someone, esp. oneself]” (e.g., Gen 16:6; Judg 19:24; 1 Sam 14:40). Each of these 70 71

See the explanation for this translation below. I do not know why ‫ צדק‬and ‫שע‬ ׁ ‫ ר‬are not used here, as they seem to function as similar categories in Ecclesiastes (e.g., 8:12–13; 9:2). For suggestions, see SchwienhorstSchönberger, Kohelet, 242; Gordis, Koheleth, 227.

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expressions connotes the favor or preference given by the perceiver. So the Philistine lords do not approve of David (1 Sam 29:6) and the men of Gibeah do what they wish to two innocent women (Judg 19:24). The emphasis lies on the perceiver rather than the recipient who is or may become good in someone’s eyes, so that to be “good before” someone offers little indication about what role that recipient plays in being judged as good. Malachi 2:17 does, however, make a point about how an agent’s activity warrants divine favor. The prophet says that the people have wearied the Lord with their words by saying, “All who do evil are good in the eyes of the Lord, and in them he delights” (‫)כל־עשׂה רע טוב בעיני יהוה ובהם הוא חפץ‬. The passage, of course, implies that such a viewpoint is erroneous, that the people have wrongly associated the Lord’s approval with those who do evil. Being good in God’s sight does not derive from doing evil, and therefore the notion of doing evil contrasts with the notion of attaining good status in the sight of God, in a necessarily active sense. In Eccl 2:26, then, being good in God’s sight may entail not doing evil, and therefore the one who “sins” or “errs” (‫ )חוטא‬may indeed do wrong. Overall, however, when we consider Eccl 2:26 in light of other references to being good in the Lord’s eyes, it seems that the emphasis lands largely on the perceiver rather than the good agent. The term ‫ חוטא‬offers similarly open evidence for answering the question of if and how, according to Ecclesiastes, human agents influence their experiences of joy and suffering. ‫ חטא‬holds a fundamental notion of “erring” that carries over into the verb’s most common usage, namely, to do wrong, “sin” or “err” in the religio-ethical sense. Job offers sacrifices for his children in the event that they “have sinned (‫ )חטאו‬and cursed God in their hearts” (Job 1:5). In Job 33:27, Elihu tells of one who confesses, “I have sinned (‫ )חטאתי‬and perverted (‫ )העויתי‬the right,” as the psalmist likewise remarks, “We have sinned (‫ )חטאנו‬with our fathers; we have committed iniquity; we have done wickedness” (Ps 106:6). ‫ חטא‬is often defined by wrongdoing and especially features the errors of its agents (so Job 10:14; 35:6; Lam 5:7; Neh 9:29).72 According to R. Knierim,

72

Arguments to categorically expunge the religious significance of ‫ חטא‬from the wisdom literature are unconvincing. The lexeme carries various shades of meaning within Job, Proverbs and Ecclesiastes (see, e.g., Seow, Ecclesiastes, 141–142). For the manifold actions included in offending the gods of Mesopotamia, particularly distilled in The Poem of Erra, see Daniel Bricker, “Innocent Suffering,” 208–210.

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That the term objectively disqualifies an act, left otherwise unspecified, as a crime, an error, makes it a comprehensive term for “sin.” In this respect, both the basic meaning itself and the usage of all derivatives in whatever context indicate the factuality of the error.73

The lexeme occurs eight times in Ecclesiastes and can indeed imply the agency of the wrongdoer, such as the ‫ חוטא‬who “destroys much good” (9:18) or “does evil a hundred times” (8:12). In 5:6 the “sinner” receives a disapproving response from God, who will “be angry at your voice and destroy the work of your hands.” This response seems to be a fitting contrast to being favored by God and good in his sight. Last, ‫ חטא‬contrasts with those who “fear God” (8:12), as Qohelet says that it will “be good” (‫ )יהיה טוב‬for such people because “they fear before [God]” (‫)ייראו מלפניו‬. The use of language in 8:12 resembles that of 2:26 where those “good before God” (‫ )טוב לפני האלהים‬are set in contrast to the ‫חוטא‬, suggesting that these people favored by God in 2:26 may also fear him. Be that as it may, ‫ חטא‬can mean to “miss” something, also in a sense that may imply error but not necessarily sin in the traditional sense. In Job 5:24, Eliphaz remarks that “you shall inspect your fold and miss nothing” (‫לא תחטא‬, NRSV), while in Proverbs the one who “makes haste with his feet misses [his way]” (Prov 19:2; see also 8:36; 20:2). That the same lexeme can, in the same pieces of biblical literature, refer to overlooking aspects of a sheepfold or missing one’s path and then elsewhere to “sin” without ambiguity ought to curtail any automatic translation of the term in Eccl 2:26. Furthermore, it occurs in Job 5:24, Prov 19:2 and Eccl 2:26 without a grammatical object, though in the former two cases an object is obviously implied, leaving us to wonder whether the same might be the case for Eccl 2:26. With this evidence and a careful consideration of the ancient versions, Richard Clifford suggests the following translation: “For to the person he favors, he has given wisdom and knowledge and enjoyment, but to the one who misses [out on divine favor], he has given the urge to gather and collect for the one favored by God.”74 That offers a very plausible rendering of the phrases in Eccl 2:26, especially in view of its linguistic peculiarities.

73 74

R. Knierim, “‫ חטא‬htʾ to miss,” TLOT 1:407. __ Richard J. Clifford, “Qoheleth 2:26: The Versions and Two Disputed Lexemes,” in A Necessary Task: Essays on Textual Criticism of the Old Testament in Memory of Stephen Pisano, ed. D. Candido and L. P. da Silva Pinto, AnBib 14 (Rome: G&B Press, 2020), 205.

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Perhaps the greatest problem with reading 2:26 as if it refers to “sinners” and to human agency determining divine favor is that 2:24, as mentioned above, most naturally reads as a declaration that “there is no good in the one who eats and drinks and finds pleasure [lit. good] in his toil,” which seems incompatible with a statement about being good in God’s eyes just a few lines later. Ecclesiastes 3:12 will use similar language of good being “in” humans and yet it identifies that good with enjoyment and the ability of humans to do good. What exactly Qohelet means with his language of “good,” then, is not entirely clear, though it does not seem to have the same meaning in every instance, and the “good” that is not in humans according to 2:24 may very well mean something slightly different to doing things that make them “good” before God according to 2:26. That would cohere with the very distinction between the good person and the sinner in 2:26, since if no one is good (2:24) then everyone is a “sinner” (2:26); but that would quash Qohelet’s point in 2:26, which would rather refer to a different category of “good” altogether. While it is unclear how “active” the role of fearing God is, it seems to ascribe some agentive weight to those good in God’s sight. As for ‫חטא‬, there may be some control in the hands of those who “miss out” on God’s favor,75 but the point of the passage seems stayed on God himself and the fact that he determines how he will dispose himself to humankind. This passage originally prompted the question, in what ways does Ecclesiastes indicate that suffering and joy lie within the control of humans?, and I contend that if they do, then it is not Qohelet’s point to make here.76 The person ‫ טוב‬in God’s eyes may fear him and practice good acts that warrant a positive evaluation from God, and the one who “misses out” (‫ )חוטא‬on such favor may, like a “sinner,” do wrong. For such a viewpoint has support within Ecclesiastes. But that does not seem to be Qohelet’s point here. So while people may, in general, hold some level of control over their emotions and over their life’s meaning, it is God who subjects one to the very incoherence that Qohelet bemoans and suffers over, leaving joy and rightly productive labor to those whom he favors.

75 76

Cf. certain OT passages that address unconscious sin but nevertheless hold the sinner responsible (Gen 20:9; Num 22:34; Leviticus 4–5). So Seow, Ecclesiastes, 141–142, 157–158; Schellenberg, Erkenntnis, 149–150; Lee, Vitality, 36–37. The alternative view is not without support (so Whybray, Ecclesiastes, 64; Ogden, Qoheleth, 53–54; Weeks, “Fear God,” 108–110).

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Elsewhere, Ecclesiastes places the final dispensatory authority of joy and suffering into the hands of God, as evident subtly in 3:4 and baldly in 6:2. “There is an evil,” says Qohelet, that I have seen under the sun, and it is great upon humankind:77 a man to whom God gives wealth and possessions and honor, and his soul has no lack of anything that he desires, but God does not give him authority to consume them. For a stranger consumes them. This is ‫ הבל‬and a grievous evil. (6:1–2)

In the same way that God “granted one authority [‫שליט‬ ׁ ‫ ]ה‬to take his portion and to enjoy his toil” in 5:18[19], so just verses later God “does not give authority [‫שליט‬ ׁ ‫ ”]לא י‬for this person to consume his gifts. At this point a distinction protrudes between possession and enjoyment, whereby someone might own many things and yet lack the ability to enjoy them. The unfortunate scenario plausibly represents the exception to the rule, but both cases – God authorizing enjoyment of one’s things or God giving many possessions without granting the ability to enjoy them – endorse the principle that God ultimately determines who has joy and who does not.78 A similar point made with more subtlety emerges from 3:4, one of the many propositions situated within the thesis that all things have their time and season (3:1–8). Here, there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh, a time of mourning, and a time of dancing” (3:4). Although some scholars interpret the list of seasons as an invitation for humans to know the fitting time and place for each act or event described, the context favors an alternative reading, one that endorses God’s control over time.79 Given that Qohelet goes on to inform us that God has made everything beautiful “in its time” and restricts humans from knowing the full span of his activity (3:11), while adding that everything done by God “endures forever” (3:14), another reference to time that places God in control and gives humans no reason to think they have access to determine the

77 78

79

On this phrase, see note below. On 6:1–2 as an exception to the rule, see Lee, Vitality, 46–47; Peterson, “Is Coming into Existence,” 42–47; and the discussion of ‫ש‬ ׁ ‫ י‬in Chapter 5. Lee notes the contrasts between 5:18[19] and 6:2, namely, the positive claim followed by a negation, the reference to “all people” versus “a person,” and the perfect forms of “give” and “authorize” in 5:18[19] followed by the imperfect in 6:2. That seems to be a hefty counterweight to the proposal that the “evil” is not “heavy upon humankind” (so 8:6) but rather “frequent among humankind” (6:1, ‫ ;רבה היא על־האדם‬Longman, Ecclesiastes, 169; Ogden, Qoheleth, 95–96; V frequens). According to Bartholomew (Ecclesiastes, 162–163), humans should endeavor to know the fitting time for such events by means of wisdom.

Coherence

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“right time” for the events of 3:2–8, I contend that 3:1–14 advocates God’s determination over time and human openness to it.80 God dictates the seasons of this world and humans ought to respond appropriately. For, as Stuart Weeks puts it, “individuals have no choice but to partake in something much greater than themselves.”81 This talk of God as governor of all serves to inform the question about how much or little humans control the emotional suffering exhibited in Ecclesiastes. Ecclesiastes 3:4 places “weeping” and “mourning,” as well as “laughter” and “dance” in divine management. Emotional suffering, despair, and sorrow, plausibly but not in this case explicitly of the kind that Qohelet describes, lie in the hands of God rather than humans, supporting the notion that he, not they, has control over suffering. Summary I have been arguing that a consistent connection appears in Ecclesiastes between incoherence and suffering. When human activity fails to produce the expected results or when one bumps up against an epistemological boundary, life becomes meaningless because it is no longer coherent. The incoherence consequently causes suffering, especially for Qohelet, as he himself experiences such meaninglessness and at times observes incoherence in the lives of others. But incoherence and the despair that results from it are not the end of the story, for this emotional pain leads Qohelet to commend joy, and it is enjoying life when and as one can that serves as the primary solution to this sort of suffering. Such joy depends upon God, who grants it as one’s portion and enables people to be glad in their pursuits. While it may in some sense lie within human grasp to please God and thereby receive the ability to enjoy life, such enjoyment ultimately depends upon God who himself exceeds the bounds of human knowledge, giving one cause to reflect upon the fact that both good and bad days have been administered by God and to find consolation therein amidst the suffering. In the same way, certain occurrences of incoherence, instead of explicitly leading to sorrow, prompt the recommendation that one ought to trust God’s judgment and fear him. As widespread as it is in Ecclesiastes, the nexus of suffering-incoherence will prove itself, in interesting ways, different from the second category of meaning in life: significance, and the relationship of suffering to it. 80 81

See Seow (Ecclesiastes, 170–171) for a similar argument; cf. Bundvad, Time, 95–99. Weeks, “Fear God,” 107.

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 The concept of significance as a category of life’s meaning differs from coherence in that rather than considering the patterns of events in life and life’s epistemological accessibility, significance considers the worth or value of life. It asks, “Is life worth living?” and in its purest form questions the value of life as such, its intrinsic worth and, correlatively, the reasons why one might want to end life. In Chapter 5, I found that Qohelet addresses the significance of life strictly on two occasions and to a lesser extent two other times. In 9:4–6 he sees the “evil” fact that all people will alike die and responds by preferring life to death: “For whoever is joined to all the living, he has hope; for a living dog is better than a dead lion” (9:4). Life is preferable to death because of the hope (v. 4), knowledge (v. 5) and share in life’s activities (v. 6) that it grants to the living, a selection of affirmations that uphold the inherent value of life. All things being equal, life is meaningful in the sense of significant. In this context the issue of suffering does not arise, although it may seem to be based on the references to “love and hate” in 9:1 and 9:6: For all of this I set to heart, exploring all of it, that the righteous and the wise and their deeds are in the hand of God, even love, even hate. Humankind does not know everything that is before them.82 . . . Their love, their hate, their passion have already perished, and they do not have a portion, forever, in all that is done under the sun. (9:1, 6)

Perhaps “hatred” here connotes emotional despair, as it does for Qohelet in Eccl 2:17, so that in affirming the value of life as such 9:1–6 makes provision for some level of suffering. Given their love and hatred, even the righteous and wise experience despair, which therefore offsets the observations about the emotional implications of life’s significance.83 However, it is more likely that “love and hate” capture features of human living, connoting not affection and despair but rather the sum of affective and relational experience. For the pair functions almost as a metonymy for lived experience, since it is set in contrast to the dead who no longer access love and hatred.84 These terms in 9:1–6, then, do not bear on the 82 83 84

The syntax of this entire verse is difficult, and several alternatives are plausible even when adhering to the BHS. See below for particular comments. Ogden (“Qoheleth IX 1–16,” VT 32 [1982]: 167) argues that 9:13–16, referring back to 9:1, shows the outcome of the wise man’s actions to be always “love.” The love, hate and passion of 9:6 are not strictly good or bad feelings but rather vibrant passions of the living (cf. 4:4 in Chapter 5). The suffix “their,” on each of these, may refer

Significance

157

possibility of suffering. While Qohelet commends joy after this brief discussion (9:7–10), the pain and sorrow denoted elsewhere in Ecclesiastes seems unrelated to meaning of life significance. In the three other texts pertinent to significance, Qohelet does feature suffering. Ecclesiastes 11:7–8 holds that “it is good for eyes to see the sun,” meaning that living is good and thereby life as such has value. In the same breath, Qohelet admits that while life is good it nevertheless contains many dark days – “remember the days of darkness, for they are many” – and that one should rejoice all the same. The connection of meaning in life and suffering here does not seem to be one of cause and effect, as if an insignificant life produces despair in the way that an incoherent life did. Instead, life itself possesses significance; therefore, a person ought to acknowledge painful times and pursue joy in spite of it. The relationship of suffering and life’s meaning nevertheless remains unclear in 11:7–8 and it is only in view of the two other passages about significance in life that more certainty begins to emerge. Ecclesiastes 6:1–6 compromises the intrinsic value of life asserted by 9:1–6 and 11:7–8, suggesting that life is not worth living if someone possesses life’s good things and yet cannot enjoy them. Qohelet theorizes, a man to whom God gives wealth and possessions and honor, and his soul has no lack of anything that he desires, but God does not give him authority to consume them. For a stranger consumes them. . . . If a man fathers a hundred [children] and lives many years and the days of his years are many, but his soul is not satisfied with good things, and he also has no burial, I say that a stillborn child is better than he. (6:2–3)

to the living’s love, hate and passion of the dead (i.e. “of them”; so Ogden, Qoheleth, 163), but while “their memory” may function that way, the surrounding remarks refer to things that would belong to the dead, were they alive, such as their “reward” (9:5) and “portion” (9:6). Perhaps, also, since these emotions have “already” (‫ )כבר‬perished for the dead, there is a contrast with the living whose joyful consumption of food and wine has “already” (‫ )כבר‬been approved by God (9:7). The phonetic repetition of [em] and [am] in verses 5b–6c may also contribute. As for the love and hate of 9:1 belonging to God, the human attribution of these terms in 9:6 suggests that they belong to the wise and righteous in 9:1, which does most naturally read as if their “love and hatred” are “in the hand of God,” to mean that, to an extent, even one’s own life remains beyond one’s grasp and hence the outcomes are puzzling, not least because they are universal (6:2). Although the word-pair love and hatred does not appear to be a trope in the ancient Near East, it does occur in “The Memphite Theology” (57) and, interestingly, in the context of asserting Ptah’s supremacy, not least over the gods, with ideas of determinism (the translation is difficult; see AEL 1.55).

158

Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy

In this case, God “has not authorized” (‫שליט‬ ׁ ‫ )לא י‬a man of incredible wealth to enjoy his many possessions and as a result “his soul is not satisfied” with these good things. Void of enjoyment, life no longer has significance; death is preferable. It is reasonable to assume that without enjoyment and satisfaction, and with a stranger who all the while enjoys what the owner should, this man feels a bit of that sorrow and grief that contrasts elsewhere in Ecclesiastes with enjoyment. In the wider context of Ecclesiastes, he has much but cannot enjoy much and thereby suffers much, and it is suffering – or a lack of enjoyment – that in 6:1–6 constitutes life as insignificant. This suffering seems to be of the sort derived from incoherence, given that this man has the means to enjoy his possessions but in the end someone else does so (v. 2; an injustice), with the added hitch that not even long life and many children can compensate (v. 3).85 In other words, life does not matter if you suffer for the reasons that this man has, and the link between coherence and significance emerges as follows: incoherence produces suffering among those who experience its disadvantages, and this suffering then renders life insignificant. One form of life’s meaninglessness tips over into another, and the fulcrum is human suffering. It cannot be overlooked that this passage portrays God as the one who determines whether or not this man enjoys life and thereby whether he suffers. Although the aggrieved may not see God as the controlling agent here, instead finding cause for his pain within the anthropological realm, it is unclear if that impression holds in this case. Qohelet intends to portray God as the causal agent of suffering in 6:1–6, corroborating the evidence assessed earlier which shows suffering to be divinely ordained. What differs in this passage from those examined above is that Qohelet does not recommend joy but instead asks what, if anything, is good for humans and who, if anyone, might know such a thing (6:7–12)? Suffering has left its deep impression on the state of living by purging life of its 85

The connection between incoherence and insignificance in 6:1–6 depends on how the relation between 6:2 and 6:3 is understood. Verse 3 may introduce an entirely different case (so Whybray, Ecclesiastes, 105) and refer back to the example(s) in 5:12–16[13–17] (Seow, Ecclesiastes, 210–211; on its textual links with this passage, see Chapter 5). While supported by the conclusion of verse 2 (‫ הבל‬and “grievous evil”) and the “fictive exaggeration” that begins in 6:3 (Krüger, Kohelet, 235), the argument for a disjunction between verses 2–3 is not entirely convincing. Ecclesiastes 6:3 can be seen as an intensification of 6:2 (Murphy, Ecclesiastes, 53). For the failure to enjoy things remains the text’s binding theme, so that 6:3 asserts that not even a long life and many children can overcome the lack of enjoyment presented in 6:2. Along these lines, see Krüger, Kohelet, 235–236.

Significance

159

significance and no immediate recourse is made to offer a solution. Perhaps in that sense, then, we can see a development of thought from chapter 6 into 8–9 and then 11.

The Suffering of the Oppressed The second passage that connects suffering and the significance of life is 4:1–3. I turned and saw all the oppressions that are done under the sun. And behold, the tears of the oppressed, and there was no one to comfort them. And from the hand of their oppressors was strength, and there was no one to comfort them. And I commended the dead, who have already died, more than the living who are still alive. And better than both of them is the one who has not yet been, who has not seen the evil deeds that are done under the sun.

Qohelet reasons that because people are oppressed and receive no comfort, and other people experience this and witness it, then being dead is preferable to being alive. Even better than death is the person who has never been born to witness such oppression.86 Two lexemes in this text connote the sort of suffering that appears elsewhere in Ecclesiastes. The first (‫שק‬ ׁ ‫ )ע‬refers to “oppression” as well as those who enact or undergo it, and in most instances the context of the term underscores the wrongdoing of the oppressor. Those who oppress people “devise wickedness and work evil,” “covet fields and seize them” and steal homes (Mic 2:1–12; Ezek 22:29), much of which suggests that a form of extortion rather than general political maltreatment is in view here.87 As for the victims of such action, three occurrences of ‫שק‬ ׁ ‫ ע‬give a sense for how the oppressed might feel, particularly whether or not they suffer in the emotional sense that Qohelet has described elsewhere.

86

87

Ecclesiastes 4:3 does not refer to never being born, as if the most preferred option is no birth at all (so 6:3–5), but refers to those “not yet” born (‫)את אשׁר־עדן לא היה‬. That, observes Seow (Ecclesiastes, 187), is “not an option for the humans, inasmuch as they already are living and have already been witnessing life’s inevitable tragedies. The alternative of not having lived is not an option that people can choose.” In terms of preferability, the unborn state ranks first within the circumstances that Qohelet describes here, but that does not does not make it universally preferable to enjoying life (see Peterson, “Is Coming into Existence”). For a fuller treatment of the lexeme, with special attention to its sense “hold back,” see Paul Joüon, “Verbe ‫שָע‬ ַ ‫‘ ק‬retenir’ (Le bien d’autrui), Secondairement ‘opprimer,’” Biblica 3 (1922): 445–447. For its financial connotations and additional linguistic discussion, see Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 571–572.

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Ecclesiastes, Suffering and Joy

According to Job 10:3, God has “oppressed” Job, apparently causing the man to loathe life, complain without hindrance and speak “in the bitterness of [his] soul” (10:1). Though not using the exact language as Qohelet, Job nevertheless expresses the emotional angst that his oppression has caused. According to Isa 52:4, Israel has been oppressed by Assyria, and although the nation’s grief is not explicated, constructive responses to their oppression accumulate. For when God saves the people from their oppressor, the watchmen “sing for joy” (52:8) and the nation should do likewise, for God has “comforted” (‫ )נחם‬has people (v. 9).88 The comfort that delivers the oppressed inspires a positive emotional response from them, suggesting that with oppression comes a lack of joy. The third pertinent instance of ‫שק‬ ׁ ‫ ע‬occurs in Deut 28:29 as a part of God’s promised curses upon disobedient people (28:15–68), which, in addition to oppression, also entail madness (v. 28), continual robbery (v. 29), marrying a woman who is then taken by another man (v. 30), other nations reaping the benefits of Israel’s labor (v. 33) and physical pain (v. 35), among other troubles. Omitting any of the negative emotional language explored earlier (cf. vv. 20, 55, 65), Deut 28:15–68 associates oppression with other forms of suffering to such an extent that I wonder how these cannot entail the sorrow and depression mentioned by Qohelet. Along with Job and Israel suffering as oppressed people, two remaining elements of Eccl 4:1–3 erase any doubt about the oppressed suffering emotionally. Ecclesiastes 4:1 mentions the “tears of the oppressed,” another lexeme that crops up in the context of terms for sorrow (Lam 1:2; 2:11; Ps 6:7–8[6–7]), and also includes the phrase “there was no one to comfort,” which occurs exclusively in the first chapter of Lamentations (1:2, 9, 17, 21), a text speckled with that “sorrow” (‫ )מכאוב‬mentioned by Qohelet (Lam 1:12, 18).

Summary This study of ‫שק‬ ׁ ‫ ע‬and ‫ נחם‬verifies that the reference to oppression and comfort in 4:1 implies emotional suffering, such as sorrow and depression, among the oppressed, and it also assumes that those who witness such activity will themselves suffer. Thus, it’s better to be dead or, if we could, remain unborn and spare oneself the pain, for, again, suffering in life has produced the conclusion that it is not worth living. As in 6:1–6, 88

See similarly Ps 105:12–15, 42–45.

Purpose

161

but perhaps less clearly, incoherence (i.e. unjust oppression) causes suffering, which in turn strips life of its significance. Ecclesiastes 4:1–3 also sheds light on the solution to this problem, as Qohelet repeats his lament that “there was no one to comfort them” (4:1) in order to shift the weight off of suffering itself and onto the fact that no cure is provided. While none is provided, a cure is desired, lest we succumb to the idea that Ecclesiastes recognizes inevitable suffering as approved suffering. Even if Qohelet cannot fix it, sorrow is not the way life should be, or at least sorrow without comfort is not the way it should be. As has already appeared in Ecclesiastes, it seems that Qohelet observes suffering (i.e. the pain of the oppressed) and then himself suffers. While inferred, interpreters agree that Qohelet incurs despair from the affairs in his world. He is, states Fox, more sensitive to, and more troubled by, the wise observer’s pain, which is, after all, his own. . . . He feels sorry for the pain of the wretched and regrets that no one will offer them solace, yet he seems more concerned with the disturbance to his own equanimity.89

While not as prevalent as Qohelet’s observations of life’s coherence, remarks are made about the significance of life. Life inherently has value, and yet that value is compromised in the event that life is plagued with suffering, especially of the sort that stems from incoherence, meaning that a life lacking in significance does not necessarily cause one to suffer, but that a life with suffering may cause one to lose significance. In one instance Qohelet does advise joy as a response to potential insignificance (11:7–8), but overall the message is clear: life will include dark days and incoherence will threaten the joy that one ought to pursue, and when such suffering sets in it may indeed render life insignificant. In some cases, a life that suffers because of meaninglessness is a life not worth living.

 The third and final meaning of life category is purpose, which arises when someone’s life has a future, overarching goal. Life obtains purpose neither when it contains predictable and comprehensible patterns (coherence) nor when it is simply worth living (significance) but when it acquires direction. A purposeful life goes somewhere and thereby has meaning. Chapter 5 showed that purpose arrives with Qohelet’s commendations 89

Fox, Time, 218–219.

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of joy, as they instill life with a goal, and with his assertions about God’s future judgment, as well as the phenomenon of death, which in a way strips life of purpose while providing a certain future direction. In other words, Qohelet looks toward the end in many ways to question the purpose of life, but he does this more so in order to orient life and make it purposeful. Like coherence and significance, purpose as a meaning of life category relates to suffering in Ecclesiastes and first does so in 2:15–17. Then I said in my heart, “What happens to the fool will also happen to me. Why, then, have I been so very wise? And I said in my heart that this also is ‫הבל‬. For there is no enduring remembrance for the wise as with the fool, in that already in the days to come all will be forgotten.90 And how the wise dies just like the fool! So I hated life because the work that has been done under the sun was bad (‫ )רע‬to me. For all is ‫ הבל‬and a striving after wind.

Speaking of wise and foolish people, Qohelet has said that “the same event will happen to all of them” (2:14), which leads him to reflect on his own endeavors – “Why, then, have I been so very wise?” (2:15) – and conclude that he “hates life” (2:17) because all of this strikes him as so grievous. Two things emerge clearly in these comments – the problem of death ending lives of all qualities and the result that this problem produces, namely, Qohelet’s questioning of his life’s purpose. Everyone dies, so why have I become so wise? he asks. The interrogation of life’s direction is put well by Weeks: “If it does not offer a way to change direction, or deliver him to a destination different from that of a fool, then Qohelet’s wisdom appears useless to him, and after laying so much emphasis on his acquisition and use of wisdom since the beginning of the memoir, he now questions the very point of it.”91 The third aspect is less clear. Although Qohelet concludes that he hates life, it is not immediately certain whether such hatred constitutes suffering in any real sense. If it does, then we can say that the suffering occasioned by his hatred comes about due to purposelessness, whether 2:15 refers to a complete absence of purpose in life or to some doubt about it. According to Fox, “Qohelet’s reflections 90

91

This verse contains two difficult points of translation. The first is the “remembrance” that is not ‫לעולם‬, which might be interpreted “auf Dauer” (in the long run) (so SchwienhorstSchönberger, Kohelet, 221, 227). Second is the construction ‫בשׁכבר‬, which contains ‫כבר‬, always meaning “already” in Ecclesiastes (2:12; 3:15; 4:2; 6:10; 9:6–7). Here, this sense is associated with additional particles in order to indicate the grounds on which the preceding assertion can be made: no one receives enduring remembrance because, after all, everything is forgotten in the days to come. Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5, 435.

Purpose

163

on the leveling power of death (2:12–16) brought him to a nadir of anger and despair.”92 Taken on its own, the lexeme for “hatred” (‫)שׂנא‬, which in two cases occurs in contexts that may involve the despair of the one who hates (Isa 1:14; Prov 5:11–12), maintains the possibility of associating sorrowful emotions with 2:17–18. But it gives no degree of certainty. However, connotations of despair are supported by Eccl 3:16–22, where universal death – the same phenomenon that causes him to hate life in 2:17 – leads him to endorse joy. With the same event in view, Qohelet advocates the positive emotion (i.e. joy) in 3:22 that logically counters his negative response (i.e. hatred) in 2:17. Therefore, his hatred of life and toil in 2:17–18 most likely includes sorrow and despair as forms of suffering. Last, it should be noted that 2:14–17 does not only relate meaning of life purpose to suffering but also incorporates the notion of coherence. The universal hammer of death strikes the wise and the fool, which counters the normal expectation that wise people live longer than fools and that one therefore ought to set growth in wisdom as a goal of life. Qohelet is suggesting that this expected pattern does not occur, not predictably at least, and that it qualifies as a breakdown in life’s coherence. Therefore, Qohelet’s hatred for life in 2:17 derives not only from a disruption in purpose but a related phenomenon of incoherence, as the incoherent threat of death impinges upon one’s goals in life.93 In contrast to 2:15–17 and the sorrow caused by a lack of purpose in life, the primary relation of suffering and purpose in Ecclesiastes arises in 11:8–12:1. In the wake of further epistemological uncertainty, of the brand that does not know what and when something will prosper (11:6), Qohelet says that humans ought to rejoice in all their days while remembering that many of those days will involve darkness (11:8). Although this passage informed life’s significance, it also, if not more so, pertains to life’s purpose. Its train of thought reflects what appears in most of Qohelet’s joy commendations, which instill a painful life with purpose, a goal for which one can live and from which can find meaning. Striving to live for joy meets the criteria of meaning of life purpose and 92

93

Fox, Time, 184. As Ogden (Qoheleth, 49) remarks, “Qoheleth is pained not only by the heavy burden (‘ālay, ‘upon’) of the universality of death, but by his own inability to explain it.” For Whybray (Ecclesiastes, 59), “And how [‫ ]ואיך‬the wise . . .” indicates “more than just an exclamation: it is a lament.” Seow (Ecclesiastes, 155) rightly notes that Qohelet is vexed because he finds no discernable order in this scenario, which aligns this passage with coherence. Ecclesiastes 2:17 may in fact represent the only passage in the book that incorporates all three meaning of life categories.

164

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offers a correlation to life’s suffering, as the juxtaposition of recognized pain with recommended joy suggests that the latter alleviates the former, that even though the many days of darkness must be remembered, as 11:8 says, the ambition for joy must be maintained. So the purpose instilled by seeking joy in life provides a solution to the sorrow.94 That solution appears in 11:10–12:1, where Qohelet explicates the affective mechanics of attaining joy in one’s youth: Remove sorrow (‫ )כעס‬from your heart and put away pain (‫ )רעה‬from your flesh, for youth and blackness are ‫הבל‬.95 Remember your creator in the days of your youth before the days of evil come and years draw near of which you will say, “I have no delight in them.”

Instead of simply acknowledging the experience of “sorrow” (‫)כעס‬, and perhaps recommending that one not think about it, Qohelet for the first time advocates its removal. Sorrow should be uprooted “from the heart,” especially as this feeling becomes an increasing threat later in life, during those days when people say, “I have no delight.”96 While bad days seem inevitable according to this passage, the text places suffering back into the hands of humans. “Removing vexation from your heart” implies that humans have the agency to influence their emotions, which does not contradict the quite determinative role of God elsewhere in Ecclesiastes but certainly offers an alternative perspective.97

94

95

96 97

Seeing the relation instead as one of enthusiasm (11:7) tempered by a recognition of death, Longman (Ecclesiastes, 261) adds this passage, along with 11:10–12:1, to his thesis that Qohelet is “a confused, skeptical wise man who vacillates between the traditional doctrine in which he was trained and the harsh realities of life.” But that seems odd given the reiteration in 11:10 to remove sorrow and the book’s clear pattern, when taken holistically, of joy commendations that arrive on the tails of observed or experienced suffering. Longman understands 11:10 as an admonition to joy followed by a ‫ הבל‬exclamation that “deflates” the preceding enthusiasm (261), and yet 11:10a couches joy in terms of negating pain, and the final clause provides grounds, perhaps motivational grounds, for that admonition rather than deterrence against it (cf. Krüger, Kohelet, 345–346). For additional references to joy with less immediate links to purposelessness, see Eccl 2:24 and 5:17–19[18–20]. The term ‫ השׁחרות‬refers to “blackness,” specifically black or dark hair (Song 1:5; 5:11) and designates the time of youth (so Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Kohelet, 521–522). As ‫שחר‬ ׁ can mean “dawn,” it is sometimes translated as “dawn of life” (ESV), which retains the same thrust as “blackness.” The second phrase – “take away pain from your flesh” (11:10) – specifies physical suffering. For an interesting distinction between having pleasure and removing sorrow, see Fox, Time, 318. Cf. the commands of Sir 30:21–25.

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The Conditions of Joy Having examined the key passages that relate suffering and meaning of life purpose in Ecclesiastes to find that the pursuit of joy makes life purposeful and thereby alleviates sorrow, one aspect of this relationship still requires explanation, namely, the limitations on joy and appropriateness of suffering. Ecclesiastes 11:8–12:1 does not advocate joy unconditionally, as if youths should pursue it at all times in all circumstances and in every way.98 Joy is most notably tempered by God’s judgment, for although the young man should “rejoice” and let his heart “cheer” him, he should “know that concerning all of these things God will bring you into judgment” (11:9).99 God’s future judgment regulates the present pursuit of joy.100 Qohelet does not clarify the nature of this judgment except to note that it accounts for the good and evil deeds of humans (12:14; cf. 3:17), yet it nevertheless stands as a sure and certain end of life, exercising its control over the present. From this it follows that suffering may have a place in human experience, as a necessary part of living a life in which one pursues joy under the regulation of God’s judgment. Denying oneself certain pleasures, such as the wine and oil so loved by spendthrifts (Prov 29:17), may invoke sorrow and despair of the sort Qohelet describes, at least for a time, suggesting that suffering has an appropriate place in his vision of humanity. The discipline so praised by Proverbs, for instance (e.g., 5:8–13), requires a level of restraint that 98 99

100

Bartholomew (Ecclesiastes, 344) observes that 11:9 concerns more than youths, since according to 11:8 a person who lives many years ought to rejoice in them all. Some see the command to “walk in the ways of your heart and in the sight of your eyes” as more than a reiteration of the joy imperative from 11:9a, as it rather qualifies that joy as a pursuit guided by reflection and critical assessment (see Krüger, Kohelet, 347; Ogden, Qoheleth, 210–211). Granted, the “sight of the eyes” does contrast with the “wandering of the heart” in Eccl 6:9, and the connection in 11:9 between a collective command to rejoice, albeit stated in various ways, and “all these things” that God will judge is not self-evident. But the context of the verse unquestionably highlights joy, and the Egyptian equivalent of “following one’s heart” refers to pleasure (šms-ib; see Ptahhotep 186–196 [AEL 1:66] and the discussion of Intef in Chapters 2 and 7). Thus, here the Lord’s judgment regulates pleasure and in 12:13–14 extends to the entirety of human action. So Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Kohelet, 529; similarly Lauha, Kohelet, 208–209 (despite views of this line’s interpolation). Discerning of more than the future, Murphy (Ecclesiastes, 118) finds temperance in the here-and-now for one’s pursuit of joy based on 12:1 – “mindfulness of the creator conditions the enjoyment of youth.” For a discussion of the possibility that this portion of the verse is secondary, see Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Kohelet, 527–529. For a thoughtful account of divine judgment in Ecclesiastes, its status as an assumption and significance for Qohelet’s thought, see Weeks, “Divine Judgment and Reward in Ecclesiastes,” in Goochem in Mokum, 155–166.

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allows one to pursue joy via certain limited avenues, such as sex within marriage or making money by fair means. In short, pursuing joy with a knowledge that God will judge the good and evil of one’s life may require one to forgo what would otherwise be pleasurable and in that sense suffer for the sake of divine approval. A similar point is implied by Eccl 4:7–8.101 Again, I, I saw ‫ הבל‬under the sun: There is one who has no other, neither a son nor brother even. But there is no end to all his toil. Even his eyes are not satisfied with riches. “For whom am I toiling and depriving myself of goodness?” This also is ‫ הבל‬and an evil business.

This passage depicts a man working without progeny to whom he can pass down his accomplishments. Working with no end and no satisfaction, the man raises the query, “For whom am I toiling and depriving myself of goodness?”102 The question implies that his toil entails a denial of pleasure, which plausibly equates to sorrow and relates to his life’s purpose. Not only does this passage echo the testimony of 2:18–21 that, as Lauha says, “all effort includes the risk of loss,” but it also has the man voicing that he “deprived” (piel ‫ )חסר‬himself of goodness.103 That leads him to ask, “For whom am I toiling?” suggesting that a recipient would constitute the goal of his efforts – someone to whom he could pass on his

101 102

103

On the text, see Chapter 5. Based on an examination of quotations in the OT, Gordis (Koheleth, 95–108) considers the quotation “For whom am I toiling . . .” a hypothetical statement of what the man should have said (hence translations: “he never asks, ‘For whom am I toiling’” ESV). But such postulation, which Gordis also applies to Eccl 2:13 and especially 8:12 in order to reconcile supposed contradictions in Qohelet’s thought, takes too much interpretive license, making Fox’s warning correct: “If the translator-exegete allows himself such liberty in supplying transition phrases for the sake of harmonizing contradictions, there is no limit to what can be harmonized” (“The Identification of Quotations in Biblical Literature,” ZAW 92 [2009]: 418). Fox argues that the quote in 4:8 belongs to Qohelet himself, as in 2:18–19, and I would suggest that although Qohelet clarifies third-person speech in 8:4, in a way that he does not in 4:8, in that case the clarification is necessary. It seems most natural to read 4:8 as a statement of the toiler himself. For in 2:18–19 Qohelet explains that “I” was toiling and must leave “my toil” to another, but in 4:8 he features the solo toiler: “his work,” “his satisfaction” and, so we expect, his question. Supplying the laborer’s hypothetical denial that he asked this question is not warranted and, ultimately, impacts little upon my concerns. For quotation criteria and examples of swaps in voice, see Fox, “Identification,” 421–423. Lauha, Kohelet, 89.

An Order to Suffering and Life’s Meaning

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work or who might benefit from his labor.104 The lack of said recipient means this man’s life lacks purpose, and the deprivation of pleasure that he undergoes in his toil suggests that working for someone (i.e. working with purpose) may offset such pain. For example, say, a father hopes to save money for a larger home with the intent that his son will inherit it. To do so, the father must refrain from hosting a weekly feast with his friends, an event that would increase his overall enjoyment of life. According to this passage, the larger, long-term purpose of providing an inheritance would make the denial of other pleasures bearable. But without a son to inherit the bigger home, the father obtains no satisfaction from his wealth and unfortunately does not question the loss of pleasure in his life. In other words, toil may impede pleasure, a sacrifice worthwhile if someone inherits the produce; without such an inheritor, as is the case with the man in 4:7–8, sacrificing pleasure for the sake of toil is not worth it. A purpose to work for might override the suffering that is necessary for accomplishing that purpose.

     ’  Suffering relates to each and every type of life’s meaning in Ecclesiastes. When life becomes meaningless it bears some connection to human pain and despair, driven first and foremost by the experience or observation of incoherence. When reliable patterns break down or epistemological limitations confront human beings, they feel sorrow. For Qohelet bemoans the lack of coherence in his own life and expresses grave sadness even when observing incoherence in the lives of others. While a lack of significance and purpose may also cause suffering, Qohelet consistently relates 104

While different in perspective, my interpretation does not conflict with the focus on the man’s isolation in this passage, noted by many, which is then contrasted with the benefits of community in 4:9–12 (see, e.g., Bartholomew, Ecclesiastes, 188–190) or the fact that the solo worker in 4:7–8 may have no one to share his benefits with in the present or future (Seow, Ecclesiastes, 188). If responding to the critique of solitariness in 4:7–8, the following passage (4:9–12) recommends communal ventures, rather than the pursuit of joy, as a solution. Although communal work may be a form of such joy, the recommendation seems practical: by working with others, one gains a better reward (v. 9), recovers reliably (v. 10) and endures hardship (v. 12). Furthermore, when viewed from the very grounds of purpose itself, the connection between 4:7–8 and 4:9–12 is not as obvious as it may seem, since the first queries solitariness and purpose, having no apparent concern with success, while the second displays the means to success, with no apparent concern for purpose (so Whybray, Ecclesiastes, 86–87). In other words, 4:9–12 does not really address the primary problem raised in 4:7–8.

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human pain to these forms of meaninglessness in other ways. Life itself is valuable; it has significance, and it is suffering which, instead of flowing from a life without value, actually rids life of such value and renders it insignificant. As for purpose, its loss too can cause suffering, but Qohelet presents purpose primarily as something to be gained, that when one pursues joy, as he recommends, life acquires a purpose and defends itself against inevitable moments of sorrow. Each of these trends relates suffering to a conception of life’s meaning in a distinct way and when taken together offer an intriguing interrelation.105 Suffering is produced most consistently by life’s incoherence, which in turn causes life to lose its significance, and yet that suffering is combated by pursuing joy, which also creates a goal in life and thereby gives it purpose. Given the complexity of Ecclesiastes and the more subtle messages that it might convey, such as how humans (mis)interpret these experiences of meaning or meaninglessness and how Qohelet’s views themselves might evolve over the course of the book – the most notable of which I have tried to account for – the pattern that I have identified may not hold for each and every passage in the book. In short, meaning of life psychology is a strong interpretive resource but may not be the master key to Ecclesiastes. Suffering too, though often unmentioned in scholarship on Ecclesiastes and yet holding a significant place in the book, does not dominate it. In fact, I have risked overplaying the theme in order to do it at least some justice. There is a large network of elements associated with each type of life’s meaning, and to account for all of them requires a much longer argument than I can provide here. But there are passages obviously relevant to the meaning of life categories, and the conclusions reached based upon them do offer a broad explanation for how suffering arises in life, affects life and is resolved in life with respect to its meaningfulness.

105

Interestingly, while it has become clear how suffering influences life’s meaning for Qohelet, what is much more difficult to discern, if discernable at all, is how a meaningful life might affect, perhaps alleviate, one’s pain. In other words, does meaningfulness have a positive relation to human suffering, and, relatedly, does evil in a (more) meaningful world become more bearable?

7 In Context Suffering, Meaning and Ecclesiastes in the Ancient World and Old Testament

The meaning of life concepts that appear in the book of Ecclesiastes, whether purpose, significance or coherence, are intriguingly positioned near comments about pain that Qohelet observes in the world or experiences himself. In Chapter 6, this gave rise to an exploration of how suffering – of a largely cognitive-emotional sort – relates to the meaning of life. Sorrow and emotional despair, complemented by shades of anger, arise from Qohelet’s investigation itself, as he discovers swathes of incoherence in life, and the same affections are felt among those who toil in a world fraught with incoherence. Although some pleasure may ensue from work, it does not seem to displace the emotional problems of that work, and ultimately, in view of life’s incoherence, Qohelet advocates joy as a counter to the suffering. Joy ameliorates the pain of incoherence and in the end lies within God’s control, a theological fact that humans ought to be mindful of when days are dark. I have so far engaged in a segregated study of ancient literature, compartmentalizing not only the traditions and texts themselves but also the categories of life’s meaning. There are good reasons for doing this, as explained above, but at long last the many insights from Chapters 2–6 can be gathered into one place and made sense of together. I refrain from excessive re-summarization, a choice that may require readers to move back and forth between chapters, but the order of evidence and concepts remain the same, which, if not totally amalgamated, should provide as naturally clear a synthesis as possible.

 The reflective mode of Khakheperraseneb affixes his work stylistically to Ecclesiastes, which also records the wrongs done in society and the 169

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observer’s process of reflecting upon them. Like Khakheperraseneb, Qohelet consults with his heart and may undergo an internal conflict, but he does not approach his heart as a source of resolution and gives no indication that it may or can supply an answer to his problems as Khakheperraseneb did. However, the primary difference is one of scope, as the Egyptian text displays suffering and incoherence on a national scale, while Qohelet forwards examples of a seemingly discrete nature.1 Furthermore, Khakheperraseneb forwards no solution, although he looks for one, and in the extant text concludes on a note of despair, which I argued is not the final word for Qohelet. The man of Ecclesiastes instead offers coping strategies and at times hopeful remedies for suffering the meaning of life.2 Last, the phenomenon of incoherence obviously vexes the author of Khakheperraseneb – for he presents a nexus of suffering and life’s meaninglessness that is reminiscent of Ecclesiastes – but it is not entirely clear whether his reflections themselves kindle a form of suffering, that is, whether his process of observation and reflection, in addition to the societal problems themselves, provoked emotional pain.

1

2

Arguments for a national consciousness in Ecclesiastes have been made. Jennie Barbour (The Story of Israel in the Book of Qohelet: Ecclesiastes as Cultural Memory, Oxford Theological Monographs [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012]) contends that a constant “mediating consciousness” is crafted in Ecclesiastes, as a composite of all the nation’s kings sets the book up to be colored by national historical memory. This stems from what she sees as the primacy of an Israelite background to the book rather than Egyptian, Mesopotamian, or Greek one, making Qohelet a pastiche of Israel’s kings who views the world from within the whole story of the OT. While commonalities with much of the OT are undeniably present in Ecclesiastes, several connections that Barbour proposes fail to convince and are, as she admits of literary relationships within Eccl 5:12–16 and 6:1–6, “vestigial and subconscious, rather than deliberately exegetical” (119). For my purposes it is her denial of links with foreign kingship (except for Persian) that seems least plausible, an argument taken up further in Barbour, “The Eastern King in the Hebrew Bible: Novelistic Motifs in Early Jewish Literature,” in The Romance between Greece and the East, ed. T. Whitmarsh and S. Thomson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 183–195. There is also the tendency, especially in German scholarship, to interpret Ecclesiastes as an expression of crisis, even a crisis of “meaning,” amidst a historical situation (e.g., Otto Kaiser, “Die Sinnkrise bei Kohelet,” in Rechtfertigung, Realismus, Universalismus in biblischer Sicht: Festschrift für Adolf Köberle zum 80. Geburtstag, ed. G. Müller [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1978], 3–21). Blumenthal (“Die literarische Verarbeitung,” 116–120) argues that when compared with other laments Khakheperraseneb expresses the least amount of hope for an ideal world (i.e. “eine Heile Welt”; 120) and responds primarily with “Pessimismus.” Alternative responses to chaos included “Zukunftsangst” (Die Klagen des Bauern), “Lebensverdruss” (Ipuwer) and “Todessehnsucht.”

Egypt

171

The Dispute Between a Man and His Ba contains speeches that bemoan the evils of society, including widespread greed and violence, the dissolution of friendship and an indifference to evil. These evils, though perhaps not incoherent as such, do align the Dispute with Ecclesiastes, as Qohelet also observes wrongdoing in the world that then causes him pain. So too the man’s reflective activity in the Dispute, which seems to compound his worry, coheres with Qohelet’s statements that investigating “all that is done under heaven” is “an unhappy business” and that “he who increases knowledge increases sorrow” (1:13, 18). Death, that feature of the Dispute at first dreaded by the man and later embraced “like a man who desires to see his home, after he spent many years in captivity” (140–141), gives Qohelet much trouble and is seen as a cause for suffering, while at the same time being a recourse amidst a challenging life. A final cause for distress in the Dispute – solitude – does not pertain to Qohelet, who, although he does problematize isolation (4:7–12), does not present his own perspective as a solitary, and thereby distressingly lonely, one. The predominance of incoherence in Khakheperraseneb and the Dispute accords with Ecclesiastes, where (in)coherence too is the main engine of sorrow. But Khakheperraseneb’s own struggle to find the right words of expression and the solitude and death for the man of the Dispute also invoke despair, and it is these factors that distinguish both Egyptian texts from Ecclesiastes. The wrongdoing described in the Dispute and the incoherent misfortune in Khakheperraseneb drive men to despair, and it is these matters that also induce Qohelet’s sorrow, showing that a coherence-related nexus of suffering and the meaning of life was at work in ancient Egypt. Such incoherence frustrated these figures in view of the fact that the standard was coherence. For the wicked to prosper, for evils to go unchecked, for the national scale of injustice to form such a feature for these texts all amounts to an expectation of right order. And that is exactly what we find elsewhere in ancient Egypt, epitomized in the saying of Anksheshonq: “there is no wise man who comes to grief” (21.7). Not only do wisdom and reflection not beget grief in Anksheshonq, they may even shield one from it; for the wise man seems immune to grief. Qohelet could not disagree more, given that in his experience “much wisdom” brings “much vexation” (1:18), meaning that on the surface at least, Qohelet’s views seem to find no welcome within Anksheshonq. Similar views of coherence appeared in Papyrus Insinger, where the upright man acquires wealth and a long life, and also in Papyrus Lansing, where the wise person proves immune to grief, and wisdom may even increase one’s

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happiness. Again, such a view directly opposes the argument of Qohelet, who shows that wisdom does not necessarily beget positive results and that the intellectual reflection entailed in being wise actually induces suffering as one looks around the world and thinks about it. In Egypt, we find an antithesis to the “more wisdom is more vexation” motto of Ecclesiastes. But there are exceptions. In Insinger already one finds that people are “worried about prosperity” and hopeful for “a lifetime without despair,” suggesting that hunger for riches and the toil that it requires drive one to worry and instill life with despair. These quite gloomy products of work match the types of results that Qohelet vents about in passages like Eccl 2:22–23 and 5:12–16[13–17], where he asks, “What does a man have from all his toil and the striving of his heart at which he toils under the sun?” to conclude that “in all his days are sorrows, and vexation is his business. Even in the night his heart does not rest. This also is ‫( ”הבל‬2:22–23). According to Insinger, toiling for certain ends contributes to sorrow. This network of causes that gave rise to suffering in Egypt smacks of incoherence as conceived of by Qohelet, wherein the upright and deserving do not always seem to attain long life (e.g., Eccl 8:12–14). Of course, at times Qohelet comes to the point of preferring a premature death to experiencing the incoherence of the world (6:1–6), a notion that outside of the Dispute Between a Man and his Ba is largely foreign to Egyptian literature. These trends largely resemble the nexus of suffering and meaning of life coherence within Ecclesiastes, particularly the first causal link whereby toil produces vexation. In Ecclesiastes too, toil begets pain and is even characterized by it, and yet this similarity between Ecclesiastes and Egyptian literature does not come without distinction. Although that distinction possibly appears when the wise in Egypt avoid suffering while the wise in Ecclesiastes seem susceptible to it – though this might overinterpret the evidence – a clearer difference arises when we ask what happens as a result of this pain. In other words, what does suffering accomplish? According to Seow, “It was, indeed, a common pedagogical assumption in the wisdom literature of the ancient Near East that pain and trouble would lead to wisdom. . . . Pain commonly was advocated by wisdom teachers as a necessary means to an end.”3 Seow points to the Egyptian verb sb3 “instruct, teach” and its determinative – a man striking with a stick – to support this recognition of

3

Seow, Ecclesiastes, 149.

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173

the positive results of pain.4 Others have noted that the injustices and suffering in Insinger 19.6–21.6 are portrayed as opportunities for character development,5 and I would point to two sayings in particular: “The fate together with the god bring happiness after anxiety” (19.15); “Good steering comes out of trouble after grief” (20.20). Anxiety and grief produce good results in the end, whether “happiness” or “good steering,” the latter being an idiom interpreted as “the sense of being rightly guided,” that is, “a man’s own guidance of himself.”6 The optimism of this Egyptian text contrasts with the judgment of Ecclesiastes. For in Qohelet’s view, pain produces no good result and should simply be removed from the heart so that one can pursue joy in return. By looking beyond the book of Ecclesiastes and into the OT as a whole, Aarre Lauha has rightly found that “The positive remark of distress and worry is wellknown in the wisdom literature.”7 He lists a number of OT references to support the possibility that Eccl 7:3 shares the ancient Near Eastern view that suffering results in good.8 “Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of face the heart is made glad.” Lauha’s OT evidence checks out and corroborates the ancient Near Eastern premise, but instead of bolstering Ecclesiastes, in my judgment, it etches the contrast even deeper. The OT often portrays suffering as a form of trial from God, labeling it “discipline” and indicating that it is designed to correct human beings, especially the wayward. But Qohelet gives no indication that the suffering he observes or experiences constitutes divine discipline. Incoherence and therefore pain strike all, and while God remains behind the scenes of these

4

5

6

7 8

A determinative in Middle Egyptian is a sign placed at the end of a word (a word, in this case, being represented by a series of phonograms) that indicates the general idea of the word. In this case, the determinative sign is literally a man holding a stick, as opposed to, for example, a man sitting or kneeling, or a pair of legs walking. Goff, “Hellenistic Instruction,” 163; Lichtheim, Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature, 140. On Insinger 19.20 (“He [the god] creates happiness through [i.e. with] the fate at the end of old age”) see Lichtheim, 130–131. A similar contrast with Ecclesiastes has also been observed in Hellenistic philosophy and Ben Sira. Epicurus, for instance, calls for carpe diem, and “Das Denken wird in diesen Genuss ausdrücklich einbezogen. Besonders für die philosophische Erkenntnis gilt” (Dietrich, “Macht Denken traurig?,” 310; also Ben Sira 6:23–31). AEL 3:216 and Lichtheim, Late Egyptian Wisdom Literature, 137–138. She ties the term to Hebrew ‫( תחבלות‬e.g., Prov 1:5). Anksheshonq may imply a similarly productive view of suffering in 12.4, which uses the text’s only occurrence of “misfortune” (stb): “Do not entrust your people to one who has not experienced distress” (AEL 3:168). Lauha, Kohelet, 125. “Die positive Bemerkung der Bedrängnis und der Sorge ist in der Weisheitsliteratur allgemein bekannt.” For my treatment of 7:3, see Chapter 6.

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events he does so as governor and not as tutor. In Ecclesiastes, happiness does not come after grief; happiness or joy comes in spite of grief and quite independently of the suffering undergone in the world.9 Although Insinger forwards similar commendations to remove despair from oneself, it holds out the expectation that despair will result in well-being. Qohelet was not alone, then, in his witness of incoherence in life and his sorrowful response to it. For this connection appears in Egyptian texts, which show a close resemblance to Qohelet’s ideas on the matter. But this comparison gives way to the distinct vision of Ecclesiastes, which in contrast to a broad scope of evidence (Anksheshonq, Insinger and Lansing) indicates that wise and righteous people suffer incoherence, not only as much as the sinner and fool but plausibly more than them. Rather than suppressing grief, wisdom accentuates it because the wise observe incoherence at exceptional levels and furthermore know it ought not to be. Thus, Khakheperraseneb’s activity of reflection on these events may accentuate his suffering, so too the man in the Dispute, but in that regard Qohelet excels his Egyptian counterparts. When compared to Khakheperraseneb, Ecclesiastes sounds somewhat hopeful with its commendations of joy, and yet when sidled up to Egyptian texts that commend joy while also addressing sorrow, Qohelet sounds relatively despondent. Although it fits somewhere in the middle of these texts emotionally, Ecclesiastes falls on the side of Khakheperraseneb and displays how all forms of a meaningless life warrant despair. Thus for both Ecclesiastes and ancient Egyptian thought, the nexus of suffering and life’s meaning lies upon incoherence.

9

This is not to say that suffering is only a result of Qohelet’s intellectual work. He makes it evident that wisdom results in pain but that it also entails pain in the process, which has been rightly observed by Murphy (Ecclesiastes, 14): “The saying can be explained both as process and end result. One has to reckon with difficulties: the failures and trials that the pursuit of wisdom entails. Moreover, the end result is not satisfactory; the more you know, the less you know. Qoheleth himself confessed that wisdom eluded him (7:23–24).” These comments are matched by Bundvad (Time, 168), who expounds the wisdom-suffering nexus based on references to wisdom in Ecclesiastes: “it is reasonable to assume that this pain should be associated not only with the possibility of knowing too much for one’s own good (as also in 5:19). Rather, searching for wisdom is painful also because of the limitations placed upon the human intellect which doom the wisdom search to failure (as in 3:11, 6:10–12, and 8:16–17).” While knowing too much and facing the limits of human knowledge may capture the most obvious connotations of 1:18, the saying, as I have shown in Chapter 6, encompasses the pain associated with all three types of life’s meaning, and it is not just the knowledge of meaninglessness that distresses Qohelet but often the experience of it.

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The concepts of death, joy and purpose appear readily on Egyptian tomb murals, as songs inscribed therein, like The Song from the Tomb of King Intef. The song commends joy on the day of death and therefore resembles one of the perspectives found in Ecclesiastes, which advocates joy in the face of future death (3:22) and encourages youths to enjoy life before the days darken and inevitably leave one wanting in the area of delight (11:8–12:1). Likewise, Nebneteru mentions human emotion when reflecting on death and in his autobiographical style recognizes no cracks in his life of joy, an existence “without worry, without illness” that Qohelet cannot even conceive of. Nebneteru’s hard work, furthermore, characterizes his happy time on earth instead of creating more despair, as it does for Qohelet. The joyful response to death that Qohelet does attest to, though, does not characterize his total view on the matter. He often sees death and the cessation of purpose as a sad thing, hating the fact that all people alike will die and that his life’s purpose is brought to question (2:15–17). I would argue that the tomb inscription of Intef and statue of Nebneteru offer no consolation in view of death but instead keep a stiff upper lip and demand joy, all the while contrasting with Qohelet who sanctions some amount of sorrow when life appears purposeless and when death breaks the horizon. Despite his calls to joy, Qohelet even seems to invite the reader in with an empathetic tone, allowing his audience to feel despair upon discovering that death disrupts the purpose of life.10 I am not saying that Qohelet endorses sorrow but rather that he permits some amount of it when grappling with life’s purpose. Ultimately, in terms of his prescriptions, he gives the final word to joy, though that should not erase the scope of emotions for which he makes room. What the Egyptian texts seem to do is forbid mourning among those who fear their future and demand a singular emotional response. But the ebullient tones of Egyptian reflections on life’s end should not be confused with a resolution of death’s onslaught. For these writings remain confident about the end of life; they just do not let that end validate sorrow in the present and only upon certain beliefs about the future do they regulate the pursuit of joy in this life, which Qohelet 10

See discussion in Chapter 6. In view of the enjoyment refrains and reflections upon death in Ecclesiastes, Rindge (“Death,” 275) contends that “Meaningful living, chiefly characterized by the enjoyment of goods, is made possible by a willingness to face one’s own mortality. Qoheleth insists that reflection on death’s inevitability is a sine qua non for living meaningfully.” See my own qualifications of Rindge and this conception of meaning in Chapter 5.

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subjects to the overriding judgment of God and Egyptians to the apparent Judgment of the Dead.11 Therefore, while the Egyptian material sanctioned no grief over the loss of life and simply established an immediate goal of enjoying the life one has, Qohelet also re-establishes the pursuit of enjoyment as a purpose in life when ultimate purpose seems to fail. But he, at the same time, seems to make room for and even normalizes despair over purposelessness. A brief word about significance: it was clear that while Egyptian texts grant life, or at least living, with a basic level of significance, there are also conditions that may make it worth living. Amenemope, for example, endowed simple yet happy living with more value than a well-funded and vexed existence. The premise aligns with Eccl 6:1–6, which devalues a life of abundant resources when one is unable to enjoy them. However, the alignment is not exact. For the text from Ecclesiastes takes an entirely different approach to the comparison, as Amenemope simply prefers happiness to vexation while Qohelet, although he would agree in principle, says that if the only option is a rich but unenjoyable existence then no life at all is preferable. The bolder claim of Insinger 19.18 – “Do not prefer death to life in misfortune out of despair” – assumes that life is better than death, even amidst hard times and emotional distress. Not even Qohelet advises such an optimistic mood for someone in the throes of despair, as he examines the case where a man has much but lacks the power to partake of it, including to enjoy it, because God has not authorized him to do so. To such a life “a stillborn child” takes preference (6:1–6).12 The intersection of Insinger 19.18 and Eccl 6:1–6 requires a look at the theology that underlies them, which in this case makes all the difference. In Qohelet’s scenario, God himself has removed all ability of the man to enjoy his possessions. In Insinger, the author’s view of the god emboldens his hopeful claim, as evident from the two passages that follow 19.18. “The god returns contentment, the dead do not return. He creates good through the fate at the end of old age” (19.19–20). While the deities of both Egypt and Israel remain in control of the human situation, the Egyptian god seems to ensure some amount of future well-being in a way that Qohelet’s God does not, providing contentment and good in this life.

11 12

The primary “validation” of sorrow that appears in the evidence presented above is the sorrow of those participating in the funerary rites, such as the families of the deceased. The language of “partake of” comes from ‫לאכל מן‬, which refers to “consume some of” or “partake of” something. To translate this phrase as “enjoy” (ESV; NIV; NRSV) may capture its implications or connotations but not its immediate sense.

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Therefore it is no surprise that Insinger prefers life to death even amidst despair, since the god will eventually enable a good existence. The theological contexts of Insinger 19.18 and Eccl 6:1–6 offer one explanation for their differing views on the significance of a life with suffering. However, when we consider the second passage about the significance of life in Ecclesiastes (9:1–6; so 11:7–8) this difference disappears. Ecclesiastes 9:1–6 affirms the inherent value of life, at least in its expected state of hope, knowledge and the possibility of activity, and resembles the placement of value on life as such in ancient Egypt. Assmann’s remark that in Egypt, one could be “more or less alive and also more or less dead” may also hold for Ecclesiastes, where life, in general, is worth living, and yet life of a certain sort is not.13 Perhaps it is better, though, when describing Qohelet to speak of conditions for life, which make it more or less livable. In the end, Qohelet emerges with a vision of life’s meaning all his own and stands apart from varied Egyptian literature in five notable respects: (1) He apparently does not suffer due to solitude or the struggle to find the right words of expression. (2) Wisdom does not necessarily beget positive results or promise a happy end for those who suffer but instead accentuates suffering because the wise observe incoherence at exceptional levels and, furthermore, know it ought not to be. (3) When life ends and consequently lacks purpose, joy is not the only recommendation or reality; despair is a justifiable feeling, and while joy is commended, it remains regulated by God’s approval. (4) Although Qohelet in principle prefers happiness to vexation, if the only option is a rich but unenjoyable existence, then no life at all is preferable. (5) Qohelet’s God does not, like the Egyptian god(s), seem to ensure contentment and good in this life.

 Two Assyrian royal autobiographies – The Cuthean Legend of NaramSin and Sin of Sargon – show generic similarities to Ecclesiastes, in that a royal figure speaks to himself, reflecting on his own story, and they further cohere in that both texts present a king admitting some form of despair, keeping in mind that Sin of Sargon does not explicate this issue. However, the Assyrian king Naram-Sin does explain himself and suffers

13

Assmann, Death, 12.

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for three interrelated reasons: a military defeat, a compromised legacy and the questionable safekeeping of his people. Finding parallels between Ecclesiastes and Naram-Sin, Tee-Von Koh characterizes the emotional state of the Israelite and Assyrian kings and has proposed a cause for their grief: “The most striking similarity between both compositions, however, is the image of the despondent and resigned royal narrator who, in both texts, is regularly found in a pessimistic and reflective mood, brooding over his lack of power to influence dire events and circumstances.”14 Qohelet and Naram-Sin may lament, as Koh puts it, because they “lack power to influence dire events and circumstances,” a lack of control over order that sounds a lot like incoherence in life. However, the reasons are more specific and do not warrant so close a parallel between the two texts. Qohelet cannot control the day of death or societal injustices or render a “surplus” from his work; Naram-Sin feels powerless over military victory, his own legacy and the protection of his kingdom. What is interesting, in this case, is that the Assyrian king despairs for reasons unrelated to the meaning of life. Naram-Sin’s hope of a legacy may resemble a purpose for life, but it stands apart from Qohelet’s concern with legacy, since in Ecclesiastes he sees the issue in a generalized way – the legacy of anyone – and particularly bound to issues of coherence – people who deserve a legacy do not receive one, while the Assyrian king laments the collapse of his own legacy for very coherent reasons. He primarily feels sorrowful because he has failed at his royal responsibilities, that is, he loses in war and has failed to care for his people. He does not suffer because the world appears incoherent or life void of value as in Ecclesiastes. The distinction impresses itself even deeper in view of the fact that Naram-Sin does not suffer due to the action of reflecting. For although he presents his autobiography in a self-reflective mode like Qohelet, he does not connect reflection and suffering in the way that Qohelet does. He records his situation without reservation. Therefore, a slight biblical resemblance appears in the Assyrian king’s concern for his legacy, and yet the main cause of suffering in The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin – the failure of royal responsibility – finds no parallel in Ecclesiastes. Similarly in Sin of Sargon, Sennacherib gives no indication that his selfreflection itself caused sorrow, and one of the possible reasons for suffering – his father’s sin – differs from Qohelet’s notions of life’s 14

Tee-Von Koh, Royal Autobiography in the Book of Qoheleth, BZAW 369 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2006), 116–117.

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meaning. However, the question, spoken to the heart – “who can comprehend the deeds of the gods?” (obv 3–4) – if it indeed constitutes a reason for sorrow, reflects the epistemological limitations of Qohelet. Tangential evidence of meaning of life concepts appear in both of these texts, such as the purpose-related worry over Naram-Sin’s legacy and the coherence-related question of comprehending the deeds of the gods by Sennacherib, but more prominently we see reasons for suffering in the Mesopotamian literature that differ from Qohelet’s. Naram-Sin laments over his failure to carry out his royal responsibilities, losing thousands of troops and compromising the safety of his people. Sennacherib feels joy after the god hears his prayers, which were invoked by his father’s sins and plausibly led the king to feel despair. The royal autobiographies of Assyria give no evidence that “increasing wisdom increases sorrow” or that their kings “hated life” because of incoherent events, and they therefore illuminate these characteristic features of Ecclesiastes. Moving to one of the most well-known poems of Mesopotamia, evident in its impressive number of titles – Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi or “I will praise the Lord of Wisdom,” Babylonian Job and The Poem of the Righteous Sufferer – I identified two elements of incoherence, both of which bear a plausible relation to its main figure’s emotional trouble: unreliable patterns in the world, particularly the mechanics of divination, and the man’s limited grasp of theological knowledge. When looking toward Ecclesiastes, however, the apparent similarities gradually fade, as Christoph Uehlinger contends, we cannot correlate the topoi of theological mystery in these texts once we look at their respective contexts.15 Although Uehlinger does not explore these contexts, in my judgment his assertion has some validity. Ludlul exhibits the basic Mesopotamian belief that men who suffer have offended the gods, even if these men do not know how.16 Qohelet, however, is not so vexed about the unreliability of divination or why God has caused suffering in a certain scenario. For he does not fret about divination, and his epistemological limitations are tangentially concerned with piety and good fortune.17 Despite these distinctions, Ecclesiastes and Ludlul, even if at a general level, maintain a 15 16 17

Uehlinger, “Qohelet,” 166. On the difference between Job and Ludlul, see Oshima, Babylonian Poems, 56–60. Although Eccl 4:17–5:6[5:1–7] does advise readers on how to act appropriately in view of theological limitations (5:1[2]), it does not concern absolution but rather the reverence and piety with which one should approach God (so 8:10–13), only implying the possibility of just punishment in the event that one makes a vow (cf. Lev 5:4–6; Deut 23:21–23). For an extensive discussion of the passage and its connection to other OT texts, see Ruth

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connection between meaning of life incoherence and suffering, also sharing a solution in joy, all of which may differ in detail but remains similar at its core. The main differences between Ludlul and Ecclesiastes lie first in the contexts of the laments, as distinct theological situations inform the distress of the speakers. Second, and related to the first, the solution to the man’s suffering in Ludlul is Marduk’s mercy and the atonement of the man’s offenses, a type of restoration that leads to many positive expressions, including joy. That joy differs from Qohelet’s recommendations of joy which do not arise because his problem is resolved but rather form the basis of his cure. Third, distinctions appear in the form and style of these materials, as the extended poetry of Ludlul features the pain undergone by the sufferer, while the prose of Qohelet, blended with poetry, presents a reflective experience of life with comments about suffering interspersed. Even in view of the other Mesopotamian works examined, Ludlul stands apart in its lack of explicit comments about reflection. It is only the friend of the sufferer who tries to convey notions of limitation in human knowledge. Ecclesiastes, therefore, differs in its portrayal of a man who suffers over his very self-aware limitations in theological knowledge, something the friend in Ludlul encourages his despairing dialogue partner to learn.18 Nonetheless, several elements in Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi create a nexus of suffering and life’s meaning that features the incoherence of life, with its upturned notions of order and justice, and a possible but implicit causal link of epistemological limitations when trying to understand the gods. In the end, Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi, or whatever one chooses to call it, provides a valid connection with Ecclesiastes and in its very differences reveals where Qohelet stands within his ancient literary context.

18

Fidler, “Qoheleth in ‘The House of God’: Text and Intertext in Qoh 4:17–5:6 (Eng. 5:1–7),” HS 47 (2006): 7–21. See also Antoon Schoors, “(Mis)use of Intertextuality in Qoheleth Exegesis,” in International Congress Volume Oslo 1998, ed. A. Lemaire & M. Sæbø, VTSup 80 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 45–59, esp. 48–56; citing the theological and torah-based trappings of Deuteronomy and Joshua, Schoors finds “nothing of all this in Qohelet but only the consideration that ‘God is in heaven and you are on earth’ and those who think they can manipulate him through ritual are fools” (56). The biblical Job certainly appeals to innocence and attempts to reckon this with God’s justice. Taken as a whole, as Uehlinger (“Qohelet,” 175) rightly argues, the Theodicy comparison reveals that Qohelet “bezweifelt nun vielmehr den (existenziellen wie kognitiven) Nutzen bzw. die Verläßlichkeit der Weisheit.” Uehlinger specifically concentrates on the place of piety in both texts. As I have argued, coherence-related issues can also be found in Papyrus Insinger, The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb and The Dispute between a Man and His Ba.

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Counsels of a Pessimist offers evidence of meaning of life purpose and its connection to human suffering, this time in language reminiscent to Ecclesiastes. It might be summarized as: no purpose, no joy. The comments of the pessimist recall the comments of Qohelet, who acknowledges the temporality of life: “the days of darkness will be many . . . youth and the dawn of life are ‫הבל‬. Remember your creator in the days of your youth before the days of evil come” (11:8; 12:1). The pessimist’s comments also recall that Qohelet, on these grounds, advises one to “Remove sorrow from your heart and put away pain from your flesh” (11:10).19 In both texts, an awareness of the end of life generates emotional despair that ought to be rooted out. The removal of this pain is joined by an additional parallel that appears in two broken lines that bookend Counsels of a Pessimist, where the poet refers to the face smiling (22) and something that “makes joy [ulsum]” (3).20 Given the affinities observed thus far, the _ Babylonian poet may very well hold joy to an esteem similar to that of Qohelet, who not only advises the removal of pain but also that one rejoice: “Rejoice, young man, in your youth, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth” (11:9). Incoherence and purposelessness contributed to suffering in Mesopotamia without question, and in their broadest conceptions resemble life’s meaninglessness in Ecclesiastes. But as a result of this comparison the distinctive aspects of biblical material now protrude: the act of reflecting on life, especially its incoherence, contributes to Qohelet’s despair, who drives the point emphatically. While much of the Mesopotamian literature, including the Assyrian royal autobiographies, involves a sufferer reflecting on his world, no indication is made that this activity precipitates despair. Also unlike the extant royal autobiographies, such as Naram-Sin’s distress over failing to fulfill his kingly duties, Qohelet’s royal responsibilities do not seem to feature as potential reasons for despair. Furthermore, unlike parts of Babylonian skeptical literature, Qohelet is not concerned with reconciling his or anyone’s innocence and God’s justice. He despairs over issues of justice and simply asserts that the Lord does as he wills. Most notably, however, it is Qohelet’s self-aware, intellectual cogitation on life’s meaninglessness and his insistence that this

19

20

On these passages, see Chapter 6. Lambert (BWL 107) points to the recommendation to “continue the duties of religion, and not to neglect the agricultural tasks,” which also resemble Qohelet’s advice to “eat and drink” and do whatever lies before you as a share in life. See BWL 108–109.

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causes further suffering that sets Ecclesiastes apart from its Mesopotamian literary contemporaries. The Epic of Gilgamesh has long enjoyed a privileged place of comparison next to Ecclesiastes, and that place is not unwarranted. The epic features matters of meaning, life’s meaning in fact, that give rise to despair for its lead character. Tied to incoherence and especially purpose, the theme of death also has a great deal of sway throughout the story. Like Gilgamesh, death causes despair for Qohelet. It too threatens the purpose of life and particularly endangers his goals of gaining wisdom and renown, and contributes to other issues more related to incoherence (e.g., the injustice of uniform death). Qohelet, however, especially in Ecclesiastes 2, does not so much fear death as he laments its effect on life’s purpose. Giving no indication that upon death he will lose a friend or that death is somehow terrible in its own right, Qohelet laments the injustice of life’s universal cessation, as if some people do not deserve to die when they do, and furthermore berates death because it compromises his hope of being wise or remembered. Therefore the connection of suffering and purpose in its broad sense is strong in both Gilgamesh and Ecclesiastes, but the particular contexts of these texts reveal significant differences. This assessment aligns with two comments about Gilgamesh’s sorrow over death, as he laments Enkidu’s death, in this case bidding others to join in his grief (VIII.1–45, esp. 41–45), and then fears his own death in the wild, again comparing his situation to that of Enkidu’s (IX.1–4).21 Lauha has likened the parallel deaths of Enkidu and Gilgamesh to Qohelet’s observation in Eccl 2:15, where he says “What happens to the fool will also happen to me. Why, then, have I been so very wise?” According to Lauha, The anacoluthic words break forth like a frightened gasp. A similar comparative observation also shocks Gilgamesh, when he repeatedly cries out: “I will not die like Enkidu!” . . . He desperately asks whether all that he has aspired to and accomplished, and of which he has been proud, is only wasted effort. The answer is resignation.22 21 22

In a dream that occurs just after his mindful horror of death, Gilgamesh grows glad of life under the moon and kills beasts (see IX.14). Lauha, Kohelet, 54. “Die anakoluthartigen Worte brechen wie ein geängstigtes Keuchen hervor. Eine ähnliche vergleichende Beobachtung erschüttert auch Gilgamesch, wenn er mehrmals ausruft: ‘Werde nicht auch ich wie Enkidu sterben!’ . . . er verzweifelt fragt, ob alles, was er erstrebt und erreicht hat und worauf er stolz gewesen ist, nur verlorene Mühe sei. Die Antwort ist Resignation.”

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The comparison of Gilgamesh and Qohelet here, grounded upon the apparently similar leveling effect of grief over death, does not constitute a robust connection. Gilgamesh laments the death of a friend, Enkidu, as death has left the king bereft of his favored companion and, as argued above, compromises his life’s overarching purpose. Qohelet, in contrast, despairs over the fact that death conquers not a personal friend but rather both the wise and the foolish person without distinction. One man laments a beloved friend and fears his own similar end while the other bemoans a large-scale injustice, as if death has not been dispensed rightly. Gilgamesh would bear more resemblance to Qohelet if he identified himself as wise and Enkidu as a fool, or perhaps also as wise, which would have led Gilgamesh to expose an injustice in the equal termination of life. However, wisdom and folly play no apparent role in Gilgamesh’s feelings about death; for Qohelet, though, wisdom and folly determine the meaning of life problem that provokes his grief. The meaning of life purpose aspect in Gilgamesh does not parallel the one we see in Ecclesiastes, where eternal life is no issue of concern and death itself causes Qohelet to question his reasons for living, such as pursuing wisdom or renown. For Gilgamesh, the possibility of defeating death is a goal for at least part of his life so that no other purpose falls within his purview. Death, however, brings this purpose to an end, deletes the possibility of living forever, and possibly jeopardizes life’s significance when it takes the life of a friend. Qohelet, in contrast, does not seem to fear death or the loss of his own life per se but rather bemoans it because it renders the pursuit of wisdom or establishment of a legacy pointless. Again, the movement from purposelessness to sorrow is similar in Gilgamesh and Ecclesiastes, but the network of ideas and exact purposes that are threatened differ significantly. As for coherence, both men broadly connect toil and its incoherence to suffering, and do so, though in different respects, as kings. This seems to be the strongest link between the texts and their portrayals of suffering the meaning of life. Although I have focused, and understandably so, on features of the meaning of life that relate to suffering in Gilgamesh, the narrative does place this suffering in an additional context, that of kingship. The failures and sorrows of Gilgamesh must also be understood from the perspective of his role as a partially mortal king. He struggles with futile toil and fails to hold on to the plant of youth, in part because of his mortal limitations; as Andrew George argues, “The limitations of his own mortal condition are thus cruelly and incontrovertibly revealed to him,” referring especially

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to Gilgamesh losing the plant.23 That brink of immortality is far less threatening in Ecclesiastes. For while Qohelet may subvert the successful portrayal of other mortal kings in the ancient Near East, he does not reckon with a blended constitution of mortal and immortal, which frames so much of Gilgamesh’s distress. Therefore, while the causal mechanics of suffering and certain meaning of life concepts are similar in Gilgamesh and Ecclesiastes, the experiences of Gilgamesh and Qohelet are strikingly different. These differences apply not only to the individual figures themselves but also inform the entirety of their stories, particularly as the division of mortal and immortal cuts through the Epic of Gilgamesh. George argues that the Epic located hope for its original audience in the immortality of all humanity, as an extraordinary man, Gilgamesh, goes on an exceptional journey to the realms beyond death and encounters an immortal man, Utanapishti, who represents humanity itself, showing that while one life may end in death, before and beyond it stretches the eternal life of humankind.24 George’s perceptive comments magnify the greatest distinction between Gilgamesh and Ecclesiastes with regard to death and the purpose of life. For Gilgamesh these issues revolve around his loci of mortality and immortality, which are his ultimate concerns throughout the epic. He fears one and loses the other, struggling with an endangered purpose in life, to consequently despair. For Qohelet, death and life’s purpose do not relate to mortality and immortality. He begins and ends his monologue within the realm of the finite, that limited and terminal experience of life on earth. Within this context he associates death and despair with the problems of incoherence and the troubles of his life’s particular pursuits. Interestingly, at the moment when Gilgamesh’s horizon is limited to a finite one of this sort, he is recommended to feast and rejoice while he can, at least according to one version of the story. The Epic, then, tells a tale of death and purpose and sorrow as a man realizes the inevitability of death and the loss of eternal life, while Qohelet, in a way, tells a story with such mortality as its starting point. My reading of the grand Epic of Gilgamesh has teased out important issues of the story and also positioned our perspective toward new angles of comparison with Ecclesiastes. As has been long noted, the biblical text contains passages that starkly resemble the Mesopotamian epic but, as

23

George, Gilgamesh, 526.

24

George, Gilgamesh, 526–528.

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I have argued, the network of themes shared by both texts shows dramatic moments of both union and distinction.

        At several points in this discussion, self-reflective and autobiographical texts have been drawn upon as comparative evidence for Ecclesiastes. However, the supposed similarities of genre in these materials have not been fully accounted for, particularly Eccl 1:12–2:11 and its resemblance to royal testament or autobiographical literature. Qohelet makes comments that sound very much like the kings of Mesopotamia and to a lesser extent Egypt, as he refers to himself in the first person and by name, compares his accomplishments to those of his predecessors, mentions his wisdom and itemizes his achievements.25 Why this assemblage of ideas and literary forms? Scholars often explain the author’s motivation as one of subversion or polemic, arguing that Qohelet demonstrates the limitations of wisdom and that he, a king, ends up no better off than ordinary people, showing how human accomplishments are ultimately ephemeral.26 Although I think some of the connections are questionable, it is worth reckoning with the possibility of deliberate subversion, and we can at least say with some certainty that Qohelet demonstrates the inadequacy of royal accomplishments and the inability of these endeavors to produce a lasting memory of oneself or a material-emotional gain for oneself. However, amidst this literary strategy, Qohelet’s emotional response is overlooked. For Qohelet admits the limitations of his accomplishments and, in the same breath, acknowledges the distress that it has caused him. He ultimately hates life, finds only limited amounts of pleasure and 25

26

On the possible significance of a remark like “I built houses for myself” (Eccl 2:4), and did so with wisdom, within an ancient Near Eastern context, see Raymond C. Van Leeuwen, “Cosmos, Temple, House: Building and Wisdom in Ancient Mesopotamia and Israel,” in From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, ed. Mark J. Boda and Jamie Novotny, AOAT 366 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2010), 399–421. See, e.g., Seow, “Qohelet’s Autobiography,” in Fortunate the Eyes that See: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. A. B. Beck et al. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 275–287; Suriano, “Kingship.” To the texts mentioned in Chapters 2 and 3, I would also add the Phoenician Kilamuwa Stele, in which the king boasts of his own accomplishments in light of his predecessors who “achieved nothing” (‫)בל פעל‬. See Lavoie, “La folie,” esp. 319. The particular view that rulers will not escape death, which is only part Qohelet’s point, does appear in several texts of ancient Greek and Near Eastern literature. See Cohen, “Les neiges d’antan.”

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corroborates his motto that with much wisdom comes much vexation. While Qohelet is nearly alone in his admission of royal frailty, he is not the only one to admit emotional defeat. As I argued, Naram-Sin fails at his royal responsibilities and feels distressed about it, having disobeyed his gods and let down his people, and yet his story unfolds to show that his disobedience to the gods and failure to care for his people are exchanged for an obedient attitude and consequent success and fame. He is given another chance to obey the gods, and so he does, preventing the downfall of the kingdom and leaving a confident example for future kings and peoples. In another text that bears even more similarity to Ecclesiastes, a king figure, like Qohelet, too confronts the limits of his mortal kingship and for that reason suffers. Gilgamesh’s journey did not achieve the expected results, and ultimately he will die rather than secure immortality, sending him down several pits of despair. However, the epic concludes with an admiration of the walls at Uruk, Gilgamesh’s lasting monument (XI.319–329), and he remains, all suffering and failure aside, what he was at the outset of the story: “Surpassing all (other) kings, hero endowed with a superb physique, brave native of Uruk, butting wild bull! Going at the fore he was the leader, going also at the rear, the trust of his brothers!” (I.29–32). The happy ending of Gilgamesh and the heroic example that he leaves for others, including the legacy of his city, softens the emotional despair that he expresses throughout the story. This character provides one of the closest parallels to Qohelet in terms of his emotional response to life’s lack of meaning, and yet there is something about the tone and seeming permanence of Qohelet’s sorrow that distinguishes his experience from all of these other royal figures. Emotional pain is not simply a peripheral aspect of Ecclesiastes. It rather forms a central component to the book’s message, in the same way that the book’s commendations of joy leave readers assured of the painful affections that have or will arise in a life without purpose, coherence or significance. Aside from these particular examples of suffering, the larger topoi that emerge from the Egyptian and Mesopotamian texts considered in Chapters 2 and 3, which in some way resemble the self-reflective mode of Ecclesiastes, are that a figure, often royal, finds himself in a situation of disorder or compromised purpose and then re-establishes order, while also being blessed from this feat or other accomplishments. The trend of bringing order to a disordered situation occurs throughout ancient Near Eastern texts, particularly in West Semitic royal inscriptions, such the Karatepe Inscription and Tell Siran Bottle, where Assyrian society,

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originally in order, comes under threat of disorder, such as a military attack, which a king then returns to a state of order and not only to the degree that it previously held but to a new and heightened level. It is these accounts that may most resemble Eccl 1:12–2:11, where the accomplishments of the king always succeed, as portrayed in the grandeur of his public and private prosperity and domestic construction. But there are two intriguing differences. First, Ecclesiastes gives little indication that Qohelet is bringing order to a disordered state, unless we affirm the links to Genesis in this passage and interpret them in a particular theological way. There is also no indication that he holds any militaristic role, which seems to be part and parcel of the trope elsewhere in the ancient Near East. Second is that most of the extra-biblical cases do not mention the affections of the king, instead simply boasting of his accomplishments and at times qualities of wisdom, justice and goodness.27 In one case, the king’s affections are mentioned, namely, those of king Amminadab of Ammon as recorded on the Tell Siran Bottle: “The works of Amminadab, king of the Ammonites . . . (are) the vineyard and the gardens and the irrigationchannel and cisterns. . . . May he rejoice and be glad [gyl wyšmh] for _ many days and long years.”28 The final lines of the bottle do not indicate that the king necessarily felt joy and gladness, but they certainly suggest that he should and would, as they offer a blessing for his continued joy in years to come in conjunction with the sorts of achievements that he has accomplished. In many of the texts that bear closest resemblance to Eccl 1:12–2:11, a state of disorder is renewed to a superior level of order, which includes domestic accomplishments realized by royal wisdom. The king’s joyful response arises in at least one case of West Semitic inscriptions, not to mention the royal testaments of Egypt such as Merikare, which suggests that joy was the expected result of such work.29 27

28

29

Douglas J. Green (“I Undertook Great Works”: The Ideology of Domestic Achievements in West Semitic Royal Inscriptions, FAT II 41 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010], 94, 191–193, 262–265, 281) argues that the king enjoys life in the inscriptions of Yehimilk, _ The Hadad, and Karatepe (Azatiwada), and the Tell Siran Bottle. See also Merikare and Moabite Stone (ANET 320–321), along with inscriptions in ANET 655–656. For text and translation, see Henry O. Thompson and Fawzi Zayadine, “The Tell Siran Inscription,” BASOR 212 (1973): 5–11. On “irrigation-channel,” cf. Green, “I Undertook,” 269–270. Merikare (AEL 1:97–109) is a work of advice, packaged in historical recollection, from a king to his son named Merikare. Kingdoms are attacked, the king’s own people may rebel, and so order must be restored and the king’s action must benefit the people, all of which his successor should bear in mind. The king is once referred to as “the lord of joy”

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Scholars have rightly cast doubt on many of these connections between Eccl 1:12–2:11 and ancient Near Eastern material, and while the linguistic evidence has certainly been pressed too far and comparative selections made without justification, perhaps the aspect of Ecclesiastes that requires most explanation is that of why, amidst the possible resemblances with renowned figures of the ancient world, Qohelet bears a royal mantle.30 If he were solely concerned with materialistic gain and satisfaction, would such an identity be necessary? To set all extra-biblical context aside would leave the impression stated above: that if anyone can achieve excessive pleasure or lasting gain, then it is surely the king, and since he cannot, then surely no one else can. In this regard, especially in using royalty as a vehicle for a more universal message, the biblical text resembles Šima Milka (“Hear the Advice”), a Mesopotamian instructional work – and in that sense of general scope – containing a discourse between a father and son. The father is called “the most famous of men” (Šūpê-amēli) who has been given wisdom from the god of wisdom, and his son questions what his father has achieved with building a house, acquiring a storehouse of grain, fine garments and money, while death approaches.31 The achievements bear a materialistic edge, and there is no indication of militaristic prowess, but neither is there a clear indication of royalty, and the misgivings about wealth come not from the king himself but from his son, leaving, yet again, important elements of Ecclesiastes unmatched.32 Whether or not Qohelet was reckoning with these traditions and using some tactic of subversion remains unclear, and yet his own take on wisdom, royalty and suffering is seen more clearly amidst them. He not only diverges from a common path by demonstrating the impotency of kingship and its lack of distinction from non-royal existence but also contradicts the emotional expectation of kingship that we see throughout the ancient Near East. When the rare admission of sorrow does appear on the mouth of a king, it is temporary and in no way characterizes the terminus of his emotional state. Kings who build houses, cultivate gardens and prosper abundantly, although they do not mention their feelings and

30 31 32

(79) and, with no foes in his territory, ought to “follow his heart” (80), which, in its context, may refer to the joy that the king brings to his kingdom and yet, given the comments about security and following his heart and receiving gifts from other peoples (76), surely means that the king himself is joyful in this restored realm. For those most vocal skeptics, see Weeks, Ecclesiastes 1–5; Bolin, Ecclesiastes, 41–51. See Yoram Cohen, Wisdom from the Late Bronze Age, SBLWAW 34 (Atlanta: SBL, 2013), 99. See the helpful discussion, especially of the father’s title, in Cohen, Wisdom, 115–123.

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by rare explication feel joyful, do not despair. According to Eccl 1:12–2:11, one king felt pleasure but only to a limited extent and for a limited time, as he instead plummets into despair, hating life and thereby recommending, but by no means indicating that he was achieving, joy. This is not to say that other members of society who either wrote or received attestation in the literature examined here felt no sorrow for reasons similar to Qohelet’s. Many Egyptian and Mesopotamian figures did despair over the lack of meaning that they perceived in their world. Neither is this to say that Qohelet leaves sorrow as the final and only response to his experiences of meaninglessness. For he too sees great possibility in ridding oneself of sorrow and pursuing joy. However, as a king and in the context of Ecclesiastes 1–2, which has appealing parallels with similar forms of literature in the ancient world, it should be said that Qohelet stands apart from these relatively contemporaneous views of kingship with respect to attitude and emotion. He hates life, and as a wise man finds little to boast in except the fact that such a designation only increases his sorrow.

 As a final extra-biblical context for Ecclesiastes, Chapter 4 drew upon several Greek authors from a couple of Hellenistic schools of thought. Epicurus, I argued, is concerned to show that pain primarily arises not from incoherence in the world but from unnatural human fears. He consequently creates a correlation between study-knowledge-happiness over and against ignorance-fear-pain (e.g., DL 10.143), positing what seems to be a reliably coherent solution to life’s problem. Qohelet does indeed bid his audience to banish pain from the body and himself appears to experience “trouble in the soul,” but Epicurus seems to think that prudence – specifically in one’s consideration of ends – will relieve that trouble and keep one free of pain, at least as free as possible. Qohelet gives less credence to the power of one’s own wisdom and perhaps more to the influence of external circumstances, and most of all names pleasure as one of many goods, not necessarily the greatest.33 Of course the 33

Depending on how we interpret his references to the “good” and “pleasure” itself, Qohelet may stand in stark contrast to Epicurus. The latter seemed to define good based upon one’s natural sensations of pleasure and pain. Qohelet, however, holds a definition of good that is independent of basic pleasures or “natural” human drives and rather associates good with several concepts, which he then critiques or affirms. Also, he often

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“study-knowledge-happiness” motif that Epicurus champions, Qohelet aims to poke holes in, and perhaps the only way to reconcile these two figures, in this respect, would be to view Qohelet as working through some of the flaws that Epicurus bids his audience to avoid. Qohelet appears to follow his desires too far, or at least reveal “pleasure” for what it is, and is clearly not “tranquil” about things he sees in life, putting him at odds with the Epicurean therapeutic ideal. Perhaps Ecclesiastes intends its audience to respond with something akin to Epicureanism, but I think the book would rather suggest that Epicureanism is not achievable. We may be able to adjust some of our internal life but incoherence stops for no one, not even the wise. Epicurus, of course, combated death, specifically one’s fear of it, as the greatest threat to a tranquil life. Now, Qohelet certainly regards death as something, and moreover regards it as an inevitable and equalizing intrusion on lives of all sorts. And while little can be said about what he thinks may occur after death, that lack of knowledge and the possible eradication of moral distinctions therein have implications for this life. So although Qohelet admits that death lies outside of our control, that it may assail the undeserving and that, as far as he knows, nothing may occur after it, he nevertheless admonishes “the young to live well” and, perhaps, “the old to make a good end.”34 In this, he has a less avoidant view of death than Epicurus does. However, Epicurus does share a qualitative view of life, as explained by Sellars: “Although he does not say this explicitly, Epicurus’s view, in line with his ethics, seems to be that the bare fact of existence is neither good nor bad in itself, and its value is determined by the pleasures and pains that it contains . . . pleasure can always be found in life.”35 Qohelet holds to this, at times, but ultimately places a stronger value on life as such, when compared to the limited evidence we have from Epicurus. Overall, and theology aside, Epicurus would not have subscribed to Ecclesiastes, and may even have viewed it as somewhat elementary or as (negative) proof for his moral philosophy. His principal connections

34

35

refers to pleasure as something more holistic than just sensual feeling or rational joy (Epicurus makes this difference clear), though distinct senses do appear in the book. It is not clear whether Qohelet thinks old age will come with particular misery. Dark days are guaranteed throughout life and yet, in the same breath, he admonishes humans to find joy in all of them (11:8). Giving counsel especially to the young about enjoyment, as he does, does not consequently mean that the elderly have lesser capacity for joy (cf. Ranston, “Ecclesiastes,” 109–110). Sellars, Hellenistic Philosophy, 152.

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between knowledge, the natural world and human pleasure/pain arguably put him at odds with Qohelet. The primary difference between Epicurean and Stoic schools was mentioned earlier: “While the Epicureans were most concerned about fear of things such as the gods and death, the Stoics were primarily concerned about the disruptive impact of emotions or passions (pathé) on the individual’s ability to live well.”36 Here too Qohelet seems alien. For he is anything but indifferent toward external circumstances, and could even be seen as contending with the claim that one’s character serves as a simple remedy to life’s trials. Furthermore, the Stoic Zeno claimed that “The wise man will never be distressed” (DL 7.118). But this raises the question of whether Zeno and Qohelet mean the same thing by “wisdom.” For perhaps we should not assume that they had the same concept in mind, since even the “wisdom” that Qohelet possesses seems, at moments, somewhat different from the wisdom of the wise man in Proverbs.37 But if we are to make some connection between Ecclesiastes and the Stoics in this respect, then when it comes to wisdom and suffering, the two remain dissimilar. The second point of comparison with the Stoics was determinism, which, as we saw in prior chapters, plays an important role in settling certain meaning of life issues. It inhabits an important place in life’s purpose but also seems to ease some of Qohelet’s concerns with other forms of meaninglessness, such as the divine judgment brought to incoherent circumstances and the divine gifts that make a life worth living. Dominic Rudman has dedicated a monograph to determinism in Ecclesiastes to argue that Qohelet was not only a determinist but one very much like, even influenced by, the Stoics, especially Cleanthes.38 Cleanthes (c. 331–232 BCE) regarded external stimuli as determined 36 37

38

Sellars, Hellenistic Philosophy, 188. For an interpretation that sees these senses of wisdom are distinct, with Ecclesiastes dealing only with ideas of “ingenuity, good sense, and rational intellect,” as opposed to the moral virtuosity of Proverbs, see Fox, Time, 72–75. Certain references to “wisdom” clearly have a cognitive character, taking a sense of studiousness as that possessed by Qohelet in 1:16, and yet Qohelet refers to himself and to others as “wise” in the sense of morally upright rather than foolish (e.g., 2:15–16; 6:8), suggesting that any amount of “good sense” comes also with virtuosity. In short, distinctions in types of “wisdom” are made, sometimes more clearly than others, but the holistic notion so prevalent in Proverbs – which does not actually equate to a simple notion of “moral virtuosity” – does come into play in Ecclesiastes. See the discussion of 1:18 in Chapter 6. Dominic Rudman, Determinism in the Book of Ecclesiastes, JSOTSup 316 (Sheffield: Sheffield University Press, 2001).

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and outside of human control but that our character determines how we respond to them. Similarly, and perhaps most contentious about his thesis, Rudman suggests that determinism and free will were disputed problems among ancient Jews and that Qohelet weighed in on this debate. However, rather than being a matter of debate or trouble for Qohelet (though it could have been), divine determinism seems to be a matter of fact and a comforting reality. If it causes any problems for him, then the trouble is not so much what determinism occludes or produces but rather that humans remain in the dark as to its ways. So if Qohelet did hold to some idea of “nature” – which normed life for the Stoics – then his point is that nature is unpredictable and largely unknowable, making adherence to it impractical. Most likely, though, he is dealing with a different conception of nature, regardless of any theological conceptions that the Stoics held.39 Interestingly, when it comes to the meaning of life, Qohelet’s “determinism” strikes most when explaining or resolving an otherwise meaningless scenario: someone has great things but cannot enjoy them, impinging on life’s significance; or the wicked have been enjoying what the righteous deserve, an incoherence solved only by divine work. Despite what might appear to be promising comparisons, the Hellenistic philosophy of Epicurus and certain Stoics seems to deal with suffering, wisdom and the meaning of life in ways very unlike the book of Ecclesiastes. There is one final philosopher of this ilk from the Hellenistic period with whom Qohelet may have more in common: Hegesias of Cyrene, probably best known at or just after the start of the third century BCE, who formed a part of the Cyrenaic school of philosophy. Thomas Krüger has suggested that in his despair and hatred for life, Qohelet comes closer to the ideas of Hegesias than he does to the Epicureans or Stoics.40 Although we have a decent amount of testimony about the Cyrenaics in general, about Hegesias in particular little remains (e.g., DL 2.93–96). But he apparently thought that because humans experience a great deal of suffering they are unable to realize happiness, that happiness was even nonexistent (ἀνύπαρκτος), that poverty and riches have no special role in begetting pleasure, just as nobility and the rank of one’s birth have no role either, and that the wise man has principal advantage in being able to avoid evils, since he remains indifferent to the pleasures of life. The similarity of Qohelet’s thought comes through immediately, 39 40

Cf. John G. Gammie, “Stoicism and Anti-Stoicism in Qoheleth,” HAR 9 (1985): 180. Krüger, Kohelet, 150–152.

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given his somewhat deconstructive attitude toward life’s pleasures, but Krüger rightly notices a key difference: what Hegesias deems nonexistent or impossible, Qohelet deems unavailable in certain degrees and certain respects. Pleasure remains good and achievable but unworthy of the title “gain.” That the wise look upon life with indifference also seems out of character for Qohelet, who acknowledges, and may even sanction, the pain that comes along with wisdom. These Hellenistic schools of philosophy give us a great deal to talk about but not a great deal of comparative insight into suffering and life’s meaning. That, to me, remains a more productive question for Egyptian and Mesopotamian texts. The question that lingers in this discussion is how similar we ought to regard “wisdom” in the Greek and biblical sources. If Qohelet labels himself as wise in any moral sense, as opposed to possessing a simple calculative faculty, then the comparison is apt, and I think in that sense it is. But, in the end, it is the question of life’s good and the ends toward which humans aim that proffer the most promise for Qohelet and his Hellenistic counterparts. At last is the supposed aristocrat Theognis and his Elegies. In my judgment, his work bears the most remarkable resemblance to Ecclesiastes when it comes to ancient Greek literature, and, what is more, these resemblances pertain to the very issues of life’s meaning under discussion. The primary parallels include incoherence (particularly the injustice of people and outcomes, and one’s ignorance of success and failure); a strong sense of the superior knowledge of the gods and their control of life; references to despair, death and enjoying one’s youth; and remarks about the lack of satisfaction and accomplishment in work. What strikes one when reading Theognis and Ecclesiastes is not the singular, similar quotation or the resemblance of several ideas or a concentration of shared vocabulary, but rather the combined presence of each of these, their volume and, in this case, the consistent import that Theognis gives to human suffering and its relation to the meaning of life categories. This is not to say that the Elegies and Ecclesiastes contain only similarities, with minor differences. For the quotations cited in support of this (see Chapter 4) could be followed by a whole series of quotations that display Theognis’ alternative concerns. But what these alternatives do not seem to do is compromise the generalizations made above and the similarities that have been drawn out. Of course, most recognizable is the difference in form, as Theognis takes a proverb-like tone and Qohelet adopts a first-person experimental perspective, for the most part, which relates also to a difference in perspective. Theognis reflects lessons learned

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and presented; Qohelet presents lessons being learned and in that way arrived at. Furthermore, there are scattered thoughts about wisdom in the Elegies but no apparent controlling idea or recurrent interest in it. Theognis presents himself as renowned and wishes the “seal of the wise man” to be set upon his poetry (19–23), but if any consistent pairing appears in his poems, it is “the bad” (κακῶν) and “the good” (ἀγαθῶν) rather than wisdom and folly. In all of this, Ecclesiastes remains distinct, and yet thanks to the work of Theognis, Qohelet was not entirely alone in much of what he thought about suffering and the meaning of life, not at least in the Greek world. When it comes to coherence, purpose, and significance, their compromise and the place of human pain, there is little contact with the Greek philosophers most commonly associated with Ecclesiastes. Among the Epicureans and the Stoics, I find little that is relevant; although it should be borne in mind that the style of these schools and what was normative for their inquiries limit certain comparisons. Questions about the good and respective metaphysical views remain of utmost importance in this regard. If any positive conclusion can be sustained it is that Theognis says a great deal that is relevant to the topics of Ecclesiastes, also maintaining a concern about incoherence that was dissimilar to his Greek counterparts and successors, and yet even there Qohelet holds to a thesis about wisdom and suffering that is not entirely evident in the Elegies. For that, we must turn to a succinct remark by Euripides’ Achilles: I have learned to grieve in misfortune and, with moderation, to rejoice in lofty successes. For there are such men who count on passing their lives through uprightly by intelligence. True, there are cases when it is pleasant not to be exceedingly wise, but there are some where it is advantageous to have prudence.41

The characters of Greek tragedy were not strangers to pain, and although wisdom might not feature in the plays, it does here and admits of a possible correlation between being wise and feeling pain, even if it sounds more like Eccl 7:16–17 than 1:18. What is nevertheless evident throughout this discussion, finally, is that Qohelet’s first-person royal mantel, in 41

Iphigenia at Aulis 921–925. Despite appearances, the Greek uses language dissimilar to LXX Ecclesiastes. μετρίως τε χαίρειν τοῖσιν ἐξωγκωμένοις λελογισμένοι γὰρ οἱ τοιοίδ’ εἰσιν βροτῶν ὀρθῶς διαζῆν τὸν βίον γνώμης μέτα ἔστιν μὲν οὖν ἵν’ ἡδὺ μὴ λίαν φρονεῖν ἔστιν δὲ χὥπου χρήσιμον γνώμην ἔχειν

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the context of Ecclesiastes’ ideas – not least his concern with coherence – may place him more comfortably within an ancient Near Eastern world than a Hellenistic one.

    Standing among Mesopotamian, Egyptian and Greek literature, Ecclesiastes begins to come into its own, sharing aspects of form, an acute concern with life’s coherence and the suffering that goes along with it, while at the same time differing in the affective power it grants to reflective activity and offering several qualifications about what sort of life remains significant and how, exactly, one can live purposefully. In comparison to other ancient Mediterranean texts, the book makes a strong link between suffering and the meaning of life, and it explores these topics with a scope unmatched. Our gaze at the book’s hallmarks, though, remains a bit strained if only non-Israelite traditions are used for comparison. For Ecclesiastes belongs first to its Hebrew, canonical context, the Old Testament or Hebrew Bible, which remains its primary residence, despite the book’s place therein having long been questioned by readers. So how do the views on suffering and the meaning of life in Ecclesiastes, and most importantly their connection, relate to other texts of the OT? Are the remarks made by Qohelet that seem so distinctive among his Greek, Mesopotamian and Egyptian neighbors stripped of their distinctiveness once placed within an OT context, or do his characteristic features only intensify once seen in view of books such as Job and Proverbs? I will argue when interpreting Ecclesiastes within the OT, several conclusions can be made: the book retains its distinctive features; its portrayal of meaninglessness, particularly its assumptions about the phenomenon, is plausibly explained; and Ecclesiastes itself illuminates the nature of suffering in the books of Proverbs, Job and Psalms. Suffering arises in the OT for several reasons, including personal loss, individual and corporate sin, sin’s consequent guilt, one’s enemies, divine absence and disease.42 Easily drawn to mind are the examples of Job and 42

Suffering also strikes the vicarious representative, and behind all of these particular forms of suffering, the OT widely attests to the Lord as the primary cause (e.g., Isa 45:7; Amos 3:6). For treatments of suffering and its causes in the OT, see Thomas Krüger, “Leiden und Tod,” in Die Welt der Hebräischen Bibel, ed. Walter Dietrich (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2017), 369–381; Hans-Jürgen Hermisson, “Gott und das Leid: Eine alttestamentliche Summe,” ThLZ 128 (2003): 3–18; Edmund F. Sutcliffe, Providence and Suffering in the Old and New Testaments (London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1953);

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his anguish over losing all assets, the people of Israel and Judah suffering under exile because of their sins, and the psalmist who groans because of his adversaries. However, none of these causes for suffering, so prevalent in the OT, aligns with meaning of life categories. Neither incoherence, nor purposelessness, nor insignificance equate to loss, sin, enemies, divine absence or disease as such, even though these latter elements may play a role in contributing to a meaningless life.43 Apparent exceptions to this claim are considered in this chapter, which will nevertheless show that, when compared to the rest of the OT, Ecclesiastes investigates psychological conceptions of life’s meaning in the most meticulous way. Although the widespread causes of suffering in the OT do not match the meaning of life categories that appear in Ecclesiastes, these causes do trigger a form of suffering that sounds very much like what Qohelet describes. He expresses a hatred for life because of incoherence (2:17), and he gives the impression that one may desire death rather than life if circumstances become too grim (6:3). Similarly, several biblical figures, in their experience of suffering, long for death due not to meaninglessness but to fear (1 Kgs 19:4), personal loss (Job 3:20–22), persecution (Jer 20:14–18), frustration or an overburden of prophetic demands (Exod 32:32; Num 11:15), or what one prophet deemed an inordinate display of God’s mercy (Jonah 4:3). In other words, fear, loss, oppression, frustration and indignation cause individuals to suffer and thereby long for death, suggesting that these forms of suffering compromise life’s significance.44 For if life is not worth living, then it seems that its value has been

43

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Renate Egger-Wenzel, “Leid / Leiden (AT),” WiBiLex, May 2006, www .bibelwissenschaft.de/wibilex/das-bibellexikon/lexikon/sachwort/anzeigen/details/leidleiden-at/ch/396decdbcdae2ff292dec3c8290a8f1a/. Loss itself is largely understandable for biblical characters. Even someone like Job, who undergoes unpredictable loss, frames his loss within the Lord’s sovereign causation and is later frustrated not so much by any incoherence in his privation but rather the response of his companions and lack of response from God with respect to it. Although it is terrifying (Ps 104:29) and at times perhaps misperceived (Judg 6:13), God’s absence is an expected result of the people’s sin (e.g., Deut 31:17; Isa 59:2) – even in the context of mourning (Num 14:39–42) – and the response of the faithful amidst such absence is one of patient hope (Isa 8:17). To characterize Jonah’s situation as similar to Qohelet’s we would need to say that he perceives God’s display of mercy as unfair. Jonah’s distress can then be viewed as a result of a perceived injustice. Within the book, though, it seems that he simply takes umbrage with the fact that God has extended mercy to these people (so James Limburg, Jonah: A Commentary, OTL [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993], 92; Uriel Simon, Jonah: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation [Philadelphia: JPS, 1999], 38). According to Jack M. Sasson (Jonah: A New Translation with Introduction, Commentary, and Interpretation, AB 24B [New York: Doubleday, 1990], 296–297),

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eradicated. Therefore, the expressions of sorrow resemble Qohelet’s but the causes do not. That said, some of these common causes do appear in Ecclesiastes. Reference is made several times to “sin,” oppression and scenarios of loss, and these do cause pain to those in their wake. “Sinners” are a group that Qohelet accounts for when weighing up the meaning of life (e.g., Eccl 8:12; 9:2), in these cases noticing the incoherent outcomes of a wicked life or the leveling effect of death for saint and sinner alike. In a sense then, sin can cause apparent advantage for the sinner (i.e. a longer life), but Qohelet assures us that the story does not end there and he elsewhere acknowledges that certain forms of wrongdoing will bring about divine anger (5:5[6]). But to say that sin causes suffering in Ecclesiastes, in a clear manner as it does elsewhere in the Bible, probably says too much. Likewise, while loss and oppression likely make their victims grieve, Qohelet suffers due to what these events imply about the world. That loss of possessions often occurs after one’s death, and it is the loss of one’s legacy, which fails to outlive said person, that strikes Qohelet as most painful (e.g., 2:16, 20–21; 5:12–15[13–16]; 9:5–6). He portrays people not so much losing things as he portrays them not gaining any surplus or being satisfied in the first place, which means his lament derives not so much from losing one’s livelihood, such as Job would have endured, but rather from the fact that there is no “gain” to be had. Furthermore, although oppression endangers life’s significance (4:3), perhaps causing some grief for Qohelet, it should ultimately strike one as no surprise, being a fact of life as we know it and no cause for astonishment (5:7[8]; see also 3:16–17). In summary, Qohelet does mention aspects of life that cause widespread suffering elsewhere in the OT, and they may even bring him some amount of despair, and yet these concepts do not seem to drive Qohelet’s suffering. For while he witnesses sin and loss, it is the problems

Jonah is vexed about his prophetic calling: “if we deem him angry because of God’s mercy on Nineveh, should we not expect him to vent his rage on God rather than on himself? . . . when a prophet carries a message of doom, especially to a great city such as Nineveh, and God revokes it without giving his prophet a role to play in the reversal, how could that prophet trust in his own calling? How will Jonah know that he remains God’s prophet?” This interpretation is less convincing than the former because Jonah seems well aware of who the Lord is and how he acts, which makes him recalcitrant in his prophetic calling from the start (1:2–3; 4:2). Furthermore, might not the Lord’s severity and strength, which Jonah is or has been made aware of, be good reasons to “vent his rage” on himself?

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of meaningfulness that these issues contribute to which generate real sadness for him. If we consider the lexemes used in Ecclesiastes for emotional pain that arises due to life’s loss of meaning, we find that elsewhere in the OT these words are not associated with the meaning of life. Suffering as ‫ מכאוב‬is caused by oppression (Exod 3:7; Isa 53:3), punishment for sin (Jer 30:15; 51:8; Lam 1:12, 18; 2 Chron 6:29), sin itself (Ps 32:10; 38:18[17]; 69:27 [26]) and reflection upon both sin and punishment (Jer 45:3).45 ‫ כעס‬comes about by provocation and infertility (1 Sam 1:6), fear of enemies (Ps 6:8 [7]), oppression (Ps 10:14), loss, perhaps public shame (Job 6:2; 17:7), foolishness (Prov 17:25) and a personal flaw or sin (Job 4:2; Ps 31:10[9]; maybe anger also, see Job 4:6–7). Hence, ‫ מכאוב‬and ‫כעס‬, not uncommon language for OT suffering, arise for reasons other than meaninglessness, indicating that within his OT context Qohelet therefore expressed sorrow with common language and yet did so for uncommon reasons. He was vexed not so much by sin, punishment, oppression or enemy threats but more so by conceptions of meaninglessness that bear no necessary relation to these issues. The swathe of reasons mentioned so far for which people suffer in the OT, however, even when collocated with ‫ מכאוב‬and ‫כעס‬, do not account for each and every driver of human pain in OT literature. They account, on the one hand, for the prominent types of suffering in the OT and, on the other, for the immediate language of Ecclesiastes. Aside from this, two cases display the closest relationship to Ecclesiastes in their portrayal of suffering, as someone reflects upon injustice in life and suggests, with varying degrees of clarity, that this induces suffering. The first example to mirror Ecclesiastes is Job 21:6–7, where Job admits that “When I remember, I am dismayed, and my flesh seizes, trembling. Why do the wicked live and advance [in years], even become mighty in strength?”46 It is the long life and increasing vitality of wicked 45

46

‫ מכאוב‬also arises for no stated reason except its ultimate educational purpose (Job 33:19), a final rather than efficient cause. Jeremiah refers to his ‫ כאב‬as pain that is “unceasing” and a wound that is “incurable” (15:18), bringing to the Lord his questions about why this is the case. He seems concerned with the relentless nature of this pain rather than its cause or mechanics, though he does specify that the people’s insolence contributes to his distress (15:10) and that the Lord, whose word itself brought about suffering, plays a role (15:17). Contra most translations, I take “my flesh” as the subject of “seize” (‫שרי פלצות‬ ׂ ‫)אחז ב‬. In ‫גברו חיל‬, the noun may function as an adverbial accusative of manner or specification, categories sometimes combined in grammars. Although as a finite verb ‫ גבר‬does not operate this way, the adjective ‫ גבור‬is often paired with ‫ חיל‬to denote a man “mighty in

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people that cause Job to tremble here. The wicked produce offspring who also live long, inhabit dwellings in safety and sing and spend their days in prosperity (21:8–34).47 In bringing these things to mind, Job trembles and presumably compounds the grief that he already feels. But this episode of reflecting on prosperous wicked living, no doubt an exemplary case of incoherence, is not the primary cause of suffering for Job. He still suffers principally because of his material loss and the dishonor that he has experienced (30:1–15), pains that are propelled by God’s silence against his cries for justice (chs. 23–24). That silence might strike Job as incoherent, and what he interprets as God’s anger toward him as an innocent man may qualify as incoherence too, but it is only the prosperity of the wicked that ascends to the standard of incoherence that Qohelet has witnessed. The wicked grow old and enjoy the presence of many offspring, and although that problem alone does not capture the whole of Qohelet’s problem, it is certainly acknowledged and a cause for grief. For Job, although the phenomenon is meaningless in the incoherent sense, its link with emotional pain is far from substantial and it remains tangential to his experience. For it makes Job, who has already maneuvered the depths of despair, “tremble” (‫ )פלץ‬and causes him not to despair but to feel “dismay” (niphal ‫)בהל‬. He is indeed puzzled by incoherence but feels sorrowful primarily for other reasons. The second text to resemble Qohelet’s suffering over the meaninglessness of life is Psalm 73. The psalmist is tempted to envy the wicked who prosper and admits that understanding the incoherent phenomenon was to him a “labor” (‫ ;עמל‬v. 16). In his experience, the wicked acquire riches, they live at ease and, as a result, they strut around with pride. Why would

47

[or, with respect to] valor” (e.g., Judg 6:12; 11:1; 2 Kgs 5:1). For a classic comparison of Job and Qohelet, though not without its contentious points, see Lauha, “Die Krise des religiösen Glaubens bei Kohelet,” in Wisdom in Israel and in the Ancient Near East, ed. M. Noth and D. Winton Thomas, VTSup 3 (Leiden: Brill, 1955), 183–191. The present chapter, for example, will take issue with Qohelet seeing God as “ein ferner, unbegreiflicher Despot, ein willkürliches Wesen” (186), from whom all things and values do not stem, making Qohelet’s questions and judgments anthropological and eudaimonistic (190). Many of these images recycle the previous comments of Job’s associates, which in their own ways assert the coherence of wickedness and suffering (see Norman C. Habel, The Book of Job: A Commentary, OTL [London: SCM, 1985], 325–326). David J. A. Clines (Job 21–37, WBC 18A [Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006], 524–525) rightly associates 21:6–7 with what follows, so that Job is not here remembering his own plight but his experienced observations of others: “the world has turned topsy-turvy when the wicked live comfortably, and the effect on the moral onlooker like Job is to shake his equilibrium.” Cf. Habel, Job, 326.

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the psalmist, then, strive to be righteous and to keep his heart clean of sin (v. 13)? For the life one expects from righteousness seems to come by means of wickedness, which is understandably envied by those who value upright living and yet fail to attain the good fortune that supposedly comes along with it. But, instead of converting to a life of evil, the psalmist cogitates: “when I thought, aiming to understand this, it was a labor [‫]עמל‬, in my eyes” (v. 16).48 Thinking about incoherence is a “labor.” It “constitutes,” according to Kraus, “unbearable torment.”49 It is a “wearisome task” (ESV) to ponder the prosperity of the wicked, which in a line summarizes the experience of Qohelet, as he contemplates the incoherence of life – the wicked getting rich and the righteous facing hard times. Psalm 73, though, ceases the thought of toil just as it comes to mind. As soon as the psalmist says that “it was a labor, in my eyes,” he moves on to another plane of thought. “It was a labor, in my eyes, until I went into the sanctuary of God; I discerned their end” (v. 16b–17). Instead of enduring in their prosperity, the wicked will perish when the Lord confounds their way, which the psalmist has discerned as their latter end.50 The psalmist confesses his envy over the apparent advantage of wickedness and terminates his thought with confidence in God, who puts an end to the unfaithful and remains a refuge for those in his presence (vv. 27–28). The psalmist does not express sorrow over incoherence, but he does analyze incoherent events and find the process wearisome.51 If any unpleasant feelings do arise, they are soon assuaged by the justice of the Lord. For unlike Ecclesiastes, Psalm 73 promises a coherent end to wickedness, which will indeed meet poverty, misery and ultimately death, a just end that in Qohelet’s eyes may simply not happen, at least not in the human purview. Therefore the two texts graze each other, Ecclesiastes

48 49 50

51

The MT reads: ‫ואחשׁבה לדעת זאת עמל היא בעיני‬ Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 60–150, trans. H. C. Oswald, CC (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993) 89. The “end” in view may be a revelation from God about what will happen to the wicked in the future, which assures the psalmist (so Kraus, Psalms 60–150, 89), meaning that the difference between this and Ecclesiastes may very well be one of prophetic knowledge, given to the psalmist and undisclosed to Qohelet. Two additional passages disclose incoherence and a level of reflection upon it, but they do not suggest that this activity brings about sorrow, not explicitly at least, and instead couch their response as a “complaint” or case brought to God. Jeremiah complains to the Lord because the wicked prosper and so he petitions for justice (12:1–4). Habakkuk protests the fact that the wicked surround the righteous and himself demands a response from the Lord (1:4, 13; see also Mal 3:13–15).

Suffering in the OT

201

and Psalm 73, where stark incoherence is cogitated upon and considered a tiresome activity. Both the psalmist and Qohelet can agree that “when I thought, aiming to understand this – [that is, the wicked living and living well] – it was a labor in my eyes.” But the contextual trappings of the psalm – what it does with this wearisome labor and how it resolves the problem of incoherence – differs from Ecclesiastes, where temptation, confession and an unquestionable emotional assurance, all hallmarks of the psalm with regard to life’s meaning, find no place.52 In view of the ample material on suffering in the OT, Job 21:6–7 and Psalm 73 portray cases of suffering over the meaning of life that are most similar to Ecclesiastes. In both, the observer calls to mind wicked people living in prosperity, considers this inordinate and expresses an attitude similar to Qohelet’s. The incoherence makes Job “tremble” and contributes to his overall anguish. It causes the psalmist to think on such phenomena and label the exercise a “labor.” Each of these responses lies within a context quite distinct from Qohelet’s, as Job recalls examples of prosperous wicked men in order to rebut Zophar, who insists that heaven and earth and God himself will meet wickedness with suitable misfortune (ch. 20). The psalmist broaches inordinately fortunate evildoers not to investigate the mechanics of such lives but rather to admit his own faithless response to them. Envy, he says, draws him to the arrogant and yet by the end of the psalm his confession has been made. God remains tender toward such repentance, and he also secures a bad end for the wickedly prosperous. Qohelet prefers to investigate the many instances of life’s incoherence – of the unsuitable lifestyles granted to righteous and wicked folk – and drives himself not to confession, nor explicitly to rebut a strict doctrine of coherence, nor even to substantiate an independent experience of personal suffering. The drama of his suffering is arguably far less than it is for Job and the psalmist, who are less intellectually distressed than Qohelet but probably in a greater deal of pain. He instead probes incoherence to

52

Temptation could lie behind many of Qohelet’s admonitions, such as the propensity for people to pursue too much wisdom or give themselves over to folly, which would make sense of the warning against both of these possibilities in Eccl 7:16–17. Such implicit, even if plausible, interpretations of temptation in Ecclesiastes remain just that, implicit. The advice in Eccl 4:17–5:6[5:1–7] likewise does not explicate confession but rather concerns one’s overall posture when approaching God and making vows (see note above). As for emotional assurance, Qohelet commends joy, suggesting it possible for some, and yet never musters the unwavering confidence of the psalmist, who is assured of that emotional relief once under the Lord’s protection.

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In Context: Suffering, Meaning & Ecclesiastes

find no immediate resolve for the issue, and laments because of it, ultimately demanding no trial with God or a change of heart among his companions (Job), and neither resorting to a confession of sin while leaving a firm distinction between the latter days of the wicked and those of the righteous (Psalms). Everyone will simply die, all will be subject to God’s judgment and those stricken by the pain of cogitating on such things ought to pursue joy while they can.53 The most prominent causes of suffering in the OT, the lexemes used in Ecclesiastes to denote suffering and the categories of meaninglessness in Ecclesiastes all distinguish the book within its OT context. What has not been considered are additional themes and lexemes that connect Ecclesiastes to other portions of the OT. Several passages in the Psalms use language related to the meaning of life, and yet in each case the observation of a problem about meaning leads to results alternative to Qohelet’s. Psalm 39:6–7[5–6] asserts that humans are ‫ הבל‬and that they heap up produce without knowing who will gather it. “Behold, you have set my days as handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely, every human, standing firm, is every ‫הבל‬. Surely, a man goes about in shadow. Surely, [for] ‫ הבל‬they are turbulent. He heaps [things] up and does not know who will gather them.”54 The meager measure of a man’s days, the ‫ הבל‬quality of humankind itself and the unknown result of one’s productivity all sound very much like Qohelet’s world. But the end to which this drives the psalm is not like the aim of Ecclesiastes. For the ‫הבל‬ nature of humankind sets the greatness of God into relief, a God who becomes the psalmist’s hope, the possible source of pardon and deliverance from all trouble. Even if the psalm “looks for an answer beyond the limits of certainty set in the Old Testament,” the breath-like status of humans in Psalm 39 causes neither final despair nor a commendation of

53

54

It cannot be said then, so simply, that Qohelet sees the suffering as God’s secret, putting his stake near the soil of fatalism (so Gerstenberger, Suffering, Biblical Confrontation Series [Nashville: Abingdon, 1980], 115). The aims of suffering may, perhaps, be explained in this way, but these are not really addressed in the book, and certain causes for suffering certainly seem clear. Two clauses in this passage are obscure, though the general sense of both is clear. ‫כל־הבל כל־אדם נצב‬ is emended by some to omit one ‫( כל‬cf. Ps 39:11[12]), and no satisfying explanation of the MT has been given by commentators. But the expression, however unusual, equates well-established humans with ‫ הבל‬and may be translated “all humankind . . . is all ‫הבל‬.” For the second issue – ‫ – אך־הבל יהמיון‬a preposition is often implied, such as “in vain” (Ḥakam) or “for a breath” (Goldingay, Kraus), which accords with the following line, though emendations have also been proposed (e.g., Craigie).

Suffering in the OT

203

joy but a desperation that acclaims God’s incomparable might as well as his ability to comfort and forgive.55 Though not mentioning ‫ הבל‬as Psalm 39 did, Psalm 49 depicts scenarios that Qohelet would label as such. It says that a man “sees that the wise will die; together, the fool and the stupid person will perish and leave their wealth to others” (v. 11[10]). Death comes to all, and the produce of everyone’s labor is left to another.56 Further echoes of Ecclesiastes occur in verse 13[12]: “Humankind in its pomp will not remain. It is like the beasts, they perish.” Although, as verse 11[10] specifies, humans face a common end in death, verse 13[12] and much of the psalm feature human arrogance in this formula and further specify that ruin is the end for those who are foolish, who boast, and that the upright will rule over them and be saved (vv. 14–16[13–15]). Therefore even though death comes to all, both the wise and the foolish, the righteous are saved in the end.57 Last, Psalm 127 mentions the toil that features so prominently in Ecclesiastes. “Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain [‫שוא עמלו‬ ׁ ]” (v. 1). The vanity of labor extends into the lives of individuals who get up early and go to bed late (v. 2), as toil becomes laden with anxiety and loses its productive nature because it is done without trust in the Lord. In short, life is spent in anxious toil if one works without God. The psalmist does not reflect on this premise, and there is no evidence that he feels sorrowful about it. Furthermore, by naming a clear cause for troubled toil, the psalm is further removed from Ecclesiastes. For Qohelet, toil just is difficult, but for the psalmist, toil is only difficult, it seems, when one does not trust in God. So long as one builds with the posture that God is the ultimate builder, then toil remains, to some extent, painless. Psalms 39, 49 and 127 each contain thematic or lexical content related to life’s meaning as described in Ecclesiastes, and yet in each case the psalmist observes a problem in order to serve an end alternative to

55 56

57

Kraus, Psalms 1–59, trans. H. C. Oswald, CC (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 420. Similarly, Ps 103:14–18 attests to the transience of humans – they are “dust,” flourishing momentarily like a flower only to be swept away by the wind – a point made in order to accentuate the grandeur of the Lord. For man’s ‫הבל‬-like quality gives way to the eternal character of the Lord’s steadfast love, who keeps his covenant with the faithful and rules over all things. On the question of whether the righteous are saved before death or from death, see Markus Witte, “‘Aber Gott wird meine Seele erlösen’: Tod und Leben nach Psalm XLIX,” VT 50 (2000): 540–560.

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In Context: Suffering, Meaning & Ecclesiastes

Qohelet’s. The ‫ הבל‬status of humans and the universality of death cast light upon the greatness of God, and even toil is put at ease so long as God remains one’s working companion. These psalms introduce the darker parts of life, problems, we could say, about its meaningfulness, in order to disclose the triumph of God over such problems. In this way, the psalms attempt to establish life as coherent, despite its moments of incoherence, appealing to God as the source of order in life.58 But where the Psalms triumph, Ecclesiastes despairs and, instead of resolving the problems, leaves one with a mission of joy in their midst.

   The divergent views of toil discovered in Psalm 127 and Ecclesiastes lead to another question about Ecclesiastes’ place in the OT. Qohelet attributes no explicit cause to toil’s frustration, and at most blames God as the one who has made human labor burdensome (1:13). All in all, work simply hurts and that is just the way it is. It seems that even sin holds no place of influence in this state of affairs, so that regardless of whether one does right or wrong, toil is difficult. The inherently troubled toil of Ecclesiastes, in contrast to the toil of Psalm 127 which becomes arduous because one fails to trust in God, finds one very plausible explanation within the OT context, namely, that all human labor has been cursed. According to Gen 3:17–19, the produce of work has been stunted, and humans will work all their days “in pain” (‫)בעצבון‬. A link between the initial chapters of Genesis and the book of Ecclesiastes is well attested, as several scholars have identified thematic and linguistic connections between these bodies of material.59 For example, words for “plant,” 58

59

Psychologists would explain this response in the Psalms in various ways, one of the most interesting being the Meaning Maintenance Model, which “builds on the assumption that humans have an inherent need to make sense of their environment, and thus, in situations where meaning is disrupted, we experience notable distress spurring our innate capacity to construct meaning to become activated” (Martela and Steger, “Three Meanings,” 533). See also Psalms 22 and 34. See Lavoie, “La folie”; Robert V. McCabe, “Navigating Life in a World That Has Been Scarred by the Fall: Reflections on Ecclesiastes 9:7–10 and Living in a World of Suffering,” SBJT 17 (2013): 56–71; Andreas Schüle, Theology from the Beginning: Essays on the Primeval History and Its Canonical Context, FAT 113 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 142–145; W. Anderson, “The Curse of Work in Qoheleth: An Exposé of Genesis 3:17–19 in Ecclesiastes,” EvQ 70 (1998): 99–113; Arian Verheij, “Paradise Retried: On Qohelet 2.4–6,” JSOT 50 (1991): 113–115. Whybray (Ecclesiastes, 29) rightly acknowledges that Qohelet “caught the original flavour” of Genesis 2–3 and “recognized the extent to which it corresponds to the real world which we know.”

Toil Is Cursed

205

“garden,” “trees” and their fruit, “watering,” “sprout” and “make” all occur in Eccl 2:4–6 and Genesis 1–2, while “toil” and “returning to dust” appear at various places in Ecclesiastes and in Gen 3:17–19. I am unconcerned to suggest theories about how Ecclesiastes might allude to material in Genesis or the possible ways in which Ecclesiastes aims to use such material; my intent is, rather, to propose an explanation for Qohelet’s view of toil. In this, I make no definitive claims, as any decisive thesis needs its own monograph, which could at least suss out the many assumptions that come with this sort of question. It touches on canon, one’s theology and intertextuality to an extent that I must bypass and rather offer a tentative, perhaps provocative, idea of how and if Qohelet’s toil has a home. Human labor has great bearing on how Ecclesiastes envisions the meaning of life, and it is one of the few things that by nature causes suffering. In this way, Ecclesiastes is distinct within the ancient Near East. Agrarian life in Palestine was no easy task, and life within a more urban context brought its own challenges,60 and both lifestyles, for the Israelite, differed from the daily practices and social structures of Egypt and Mesopotamia, but there too the regularities of agricultural living and urban toil appear challenging yet bearable. Like Palestine, Egypt enjoyed an extended summer period that required less attention to crops, leaving only one’s domestic garden and livestock to care for. The bulk of “commoners” worked in agriculture, which was no luxurious existence but neither one inherently miserable. Professions increased in privilege as one became an artisan, then soldier and then scribe, at which point we encounter the minute “upper class,” formed by a qualified hereditary structure (e.g., Egypt) or one independent of this (e.g., Mesopotamia). The upper classes held privileged positions, had wealth and avoided physical labor. It is no surprise, then, to find works such as Satire of the Trades and Papyrus Lansing giving an idealized portrait of the most prestigious of lower professions – the scribe – and demeaning those below it. The texts

60

Although Qohelet certainly views reality as somewhat somber, I am not sure that his picture of God is as “bleak” as Whybray makes it out to be. Furthermore, Ecclesiastes’ connections with Genesis make Berger’s (“Qohelet,” 151) argument less persuasive: “Qohelet does not present this state of justice as a perversion of an ideal state. Rather, it seems that these existential incongruities, this falseness in conventional wisdom, are a product of the way in which the universe is assembled.” For discussion and literature, see Arthur Jan Keefer, “Family and Everyday Life,” in The Biblical World, ed. Katharine Dell, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2022), 665–680.

206

In Context: Suffering, Meaning & Ecclesiastes

most likely exaggerate the misery of agricultural labor and other occupations, and although it may not be said with any certainty how much or little suffering arose from the majority of labors, evidence from a perhaps more “normative” viewpoint gives a positive impression of work. According to Anksheshonq, “Do not say ‘I have plowed the field but there has been no payment.’ Plow again, it is good to plow” (9.14); “Teach your son to write, plow, fowl and trap against a year of low Nile, so that he will reap the profit of what he has done” (17.23). For Insinger, “Do not undertake any work and then fail to be satisfied by it” (27.10).61 These passages resemble the perspective of the book of Proverbs, which recognizes the rewards of diligence and the dignity of basic occupations in a way that Ecclesiastes does not. The satirical works of Egypt provided a contrast to Ecclesiastes. For aside from their debasement of non-scribal occupations, their evaluation of reflective work led to a conclusion opposite that of Qohelet’s. A learned contemplation of life does not bring, and especially does not compound, the sorrow that one feels. But as for a standard view of labor, to whatever extent that can be reconstructed, life in the ancient Near East accepted toil as necessary and tough but at the same time rewarding and not inherently miserable. Given this broader context of labor, Ecclesiastes’ patent connections with Genesis, and the coherence of a divine curse instilling human work with weariness, it seems plausible that Qohelet conceives of work against a biblical theological background. Labor has been cursed, and although one’s lack of trust in God may accentuate this strain (Psalm 127), or certain circumstances might enable one to work with ease, the toil of humankind is characterized as an “unhappy business.” The explicit connection of this unhappy business with emotional distress sets Ecclesiastes apart from other OT literature. Psalm 73 briefly suggests such distress, but it stops at the entry point of a painful journey

61

Lichtheim (Moral Values in Ancient Egypt, OBO 155 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997], 94) puts it succinctly: “The goods of life were goods of peace and of communal amity. They consisted of a modicum of possessions, an occupation that brought satisfaction along with an income, a good family, a long life in good health and good repute, and provisions for a good burial.” See also Ank 6.24; 8.15–16; 18.2 (cf. 10.2–3; 26.17–18); Insinger 3.18; 14.4, 10, 23; 26.11; 28.1; Ptahhotep 162–163, 368–369. The analogies applied from peasant occupations to judicial responsibilities in The Eloquent Peasant suggest that work was not entirely miserable but rather ruined by vicious moral character. On the various social strata in Egypt, see Lichtheim, Moral Values, 50–54.

Toil Is Cursed

207

that Qohelet investigates in full.62 This investigation itself further distinguishes Ecclesiastes, as nowhere else in the OT does reflecting upon life cause such suffering. Job’s pain arises primarily due to his personal loss, and it is quite hard to tell what topics and perhaps what acts of reflection throughout the book instigate additional sorrow. As I have argued, the matters of incoherence that he does reflect on seem more a part of the process of his suffering than causes of suffering themselves. A final feature of Ecclesiastes that stands apart from other OT literature is the way Qohelet responds to life’s problems. Although he recognizes meaninglessness in life, he does not aim to alter the situation but rather aims to alter those who encounter it. For the psalmist, God will rectify incoherence by straightening out a crooked situation; for Job, although he in the end must change, the immediate solution is to obtain a hearing with God, to put his situation right by maintaining his innocence before the Almighty. For Qohelet, life confronts one with meaningless scenarios, and that is just the way life is. There is no indication that the situation will change, and so instead his readers themselves are invited to adjust.63 The responsibility to adapt and so overcome life’s meaninglessness as much as possible lies in the hands of those who encounter episodes of meaninglessness. Perhaps, as the psalmist says, the situation will change, but in Qohelet’s judgment one should be prepared for the worst. Given Qohelet’s experiences, his

62

63

Compare the use of ‫ עמל‬in Job 3:10 and 5:7 with Qohelet’s view of “toil.” It refers to a specific “trouble” that Job has encountered (3:10) and, on the lips of Eliphaz, the general trouble produced by humans: “For affliction does not come out from the dust, and from the ground suffering [‫ ]עמל‬does not sprout; for humankind begets suffering [for himself]” (5:6–7a). I interpret the verb of the final line – ‫ – כי־אדם לעמל יולד‬as hiphil ‫ילך‬, meaning “beget” rather than “is born” (see Clines, Job 1–20, WBC 17 [Dallas: Word Books, 1989], 116). For those who interpret the verb as a passive, the suffering portrayed in 5:7 is consequently viewed as normal to anyone born, as Krüger (“Leiden und Tod,” 370) suggests it “belongs to human life” as “der conditio humana” (he translates 5:7 as “der Mensch ist für das Unglück geboren”). But based on the active hiphil pointing and the context of the verse, this Joban toil arises not as part of life but apparently, in Job’s particular circumstance and according to Eliphaz, due to his sin (Clines, Job 1–20, 88–89, 142). Later, Job does begin to generalize about the troubles of life, saying that “Humankind, born of woman, is short in days and full of agitation [‫( ”]רגז‬14:1; in 7:1–3 he projects his experience onto all human life). If we were to take the attitudes of moral agents, or even Qohelet himself, as the starting point of this analysis, then some intriguing, though I think less cogent, conclusions may follow. Take, for example, Luca Mazzinghi’s interpretation (“The Divine Violence in the Book of Qoheleth,” Biblica 90 [2009]: 557): “one can consider Qoheleth as the antiAdam, or as the antithesis of the ‫ אדם‬of Gen 2–3. Qoheleth is the wise man who refuses to gather the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and who knows instead how to accept life, as God offers it to humanity, with the good and the evil.”

208

In Context: Suffering, Meaning & Ecclesiastes

observations and the limited grasp that humans have on the whole of life, we had best attend to what lies before us. It is those immediate aspects of life within our control and the emotional converse to suffering, namely, joy in whatever moments possible, and finally one’s fear of God that constitute the heart of the human effort to impede a meaningless life.64 The post-lapsarian order presupposed by Ecclesiastes comes into further relief when juxtaposed with the sin and incoherence described by other OT passages such as Isa 3:1–5. Isaiah proclaims judgment upon the people of Judah, which will include the confiscation of bread, water and all figures of human authority, such as the soldier, judge, prophet and counselor, among others (vv. 1–3). The Lord promises to make “boys their princes,” corrupting society into a place where “people will oppress one another,” where “the youth will be insolent to the elder and the dishonorable to the honorable” (vv. 4–5). Due to Judah’s sin, the Lord will revoke its strength and tip society into what can be described as nothing other than incoherence. The youth rules the elder, and those without honor pay no respect to whom it is due. Society has, to an extent, been flipped, and it has all come about because of the people’s unfaithfulness. For Isaiah, sin causes incoherence, and it is just this sort of incoherence that subsequently causes Qohelet to despair.65 For he explains society not as a place of sin or its consequences as such but rather bears witness to what Isaiah would label the outcome of sin, particularly the Lord’s punishment of it. In Qohelet’s world, the youth rules the elder, and oppression occurs with no sign of stopping, which according to Isaiah would reflect a sin-laden set of relationships. Ecclesiastes may, therefore, presuppose a world where sin, even if not of the exact sort that Isaiah envisions, has corrupted society into a place of incoherent associations and also preestablished human work as wearisome labor.

    Ecclesiastes occupies a unique space in OT thought not only in its view of life’s meaning, life’s suffering and their solution, but also in its stance 64

65

To say that Qohelet wants his audience to “‘turn back time’ to before the fall, to a time when eating, drinking, working, and marriage was fully enjoyable and not yet marred by sin” (Meek, “Fear God,” 30) may be overstating the case. Though an echo of prelapsarian life may be audible, his is aims seem more realistic than a full-fledged return to the “very good” life of Eden. Epistemological limitations may too play a role in making toil difficult (so Schellenberg, Erkenntnis, 147–150; Von Rad, Wisdom, 230). Cf. the discussion of Insinger.

The Wisdom of Ecclesiastes

209

toward wisdom. Among those books most interested to intellectually investigate life, its order and morality, and to present these findings in relation to what it means to be wise, Ecclesiastes stands apart.66 Proverbs, on the whole, portrays the regularities in life, where actions and qualities of character beget particular consequences, attesting to what I have been calling coherence. The world of Proverbs is a coherent world, where life goes well for the wise and poorly for the foolish, at least most of the time. The coherence of Proverbs and incoherence of Ecclesiastes also pertain to other common interests of the books, such as profit and knowledge. Contrary to the profit that escapes Qohelet throughout Ecclesiastes, Proverbs says that “in all labor there is profit” (14:23), and against the surplus of knowledge that causes so much grief for Qohelet, Proverbs sets no limit of acquisition: “The understanding heart acquires knowledge, and the ear of the wise seeks knowledge” (18:15). Said otherwise, the one who listens to wisdom becomes wise, so that an increase in wisdom leads to an increase in astute living (1:5; 9:9).67 So Proverbs portrays a coherent world where work begets gain and knowledge causes no grief. But a strict doctrine of coherence, otherwise known as the retribution principle, does not characterize the entire book, which contains several exceptions to the rule. The wise and righteous may undergo discipline from the Lord (3:11–12) or be knocked down (24:10); the wicked do get rich, at least temporarily (10:2), and when Proverbs says that evildoers go after “innocent blood” (1:11; 6:7; cf. 12:6), who else could their victims be but the undeserving? The suffering of the righteous and prosperity of the wicked may very well be temporary and unusual, but so long as it lasts it dents any cast-iron doctrine of retribution in the book. These exceptions to retribution in Proverbs, however, give no indication of an incoherence that then causes suffering, and they certainly do not serve the purpose of displaying such pain as an ongoing problem.68 66

67

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Fruitful reflection could also be had on how death is treated in Ecclesiastes and elsewhere in the OT, not least in the Megilloth. See, e.g., Chloe Sun, “Ecclesiastes among the Megilloth: Death as the Intertextual Link,” BBR 27 (2017): 185–206. The comparison of Prov 1:5; 9:9 and Eccl 1:16, 18 becomes only more incisive when their lexemes are compared. In the OT, only these passages contain hiphil ‫ יסף‬and ‫ חכמה‬together (cf. Prov 16:21, 23; 1 Kgs 10:7; 2 Chron 9:6), not to mention the dense pairing of lexemes based on ‫ חכם‬and ‫ ידע‬in Prov 1:2–7 and Eccl 1:16–18. The man who “groans” at the end of his life attributes sorrow to his disregard for instruction and decision to affiliate with the wrong woman (Prov 5:8–12). Proverbs does display what it considers inordinate affections, such as taking joy in disaster (17:5), for which it promises punishment, and makes provision for those times when affections may lead to unexpected ends, such as joy resulting in grief (14:13). Bruce Waltke (The Book of

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Those who seek innocent blood will in the end have their own blood shed (1:17–19), and the Lord’s discipline should be welcomed, not lamented (3:11–12; 12:1). Only Agur, in Prov 30:1–9, moans in a way that Qohelet might find agreeable. Having failed to attain wisdom to the degree that he had hoped, Agur bemoans the fact, admitting his weariness with the educational program and expressing a realization of his own stupidity. The words of Agur, son of Yakeh; the oracle.69 The utterance of the man: I am weary, O God;70 I am weary, O God, and wasted away. For I am too brutish for a man; and I do not have the understanding of a man; And I have not learned wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One I do not know.71

This confession, though distraught and possibly sorrowful, relates not so much to the meaning of life and the pains it might cause but focuses instead on the distress and consequent humility of the wisdom pupil. Agur may have not fulfilled his purpose of attaining wisdom, and yet rather than exchanging or abandoning this aim of life, he carries on with a renewed, humble vigor. Nothing in the passage seems incoherent, and life’s significance stays out of the picture. For Agur’s primary concerns are

69

70

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Proverbs: Chapters 1–15, NICOT [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004], 592) presumes that 14:13 is indicative: “Even in laughter the heart may ache, and the end of rejoicing is grief” (578). For Waltke, this means that joy always ends in grief, since death comes for all, and that the proverb points to a hope of future salvation. The saying, however, need not indicate what always occurs, and 14:14 does not seem to be a relevant qualifier for such a view. Although it is hard to determine either way, 14:13 more likely expresses the possibility that certain feelings might mask an alternative or end up in unexpected emotional territory. The ESV captures this well: “Even in laughter the heart may ache, and the end of joy may be grief.” The ‫“( גם‬even”) suggests that these emotional events are not necessarily the norm, or at least not expected. ‫שא‬ ׂ ‫ המ‬may refer to “the Massahite” but this would be its only occurrence. For “Lemuel, king of Massah [‫שא‬ ׂ ‫ ”]למואל מלך מ‬in Prov 31:1, the term modifies “king” and lacks the article. To render “the Massahite” in 30:1, we expect ‫שאי‬ ׂ ‫ המ‬or ‫שא‬ ׂ ‫ממ‬, and “oracle,” widely attested elsewhere, suits the reference to the “words” of Agur and the ‫ נאם‬of 30:2. For the “utterance,” see Num 24:3, 15 and 2 Sam 23:1. The oddity of a repeated “to Ithiel,” and the clause starting with ‫ כי‬in v. 2 (Franz Delitzsch, Biblical Commentary on the Proverbs of Solomon, trans. M. G. Easton [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1865], 2:269), which supposes a prior statement, favors the majority interpretation presented above. The meaning of ‫ ֻאָכל‬is unknown, and revocalizing it as a form of ‫ כלה‬renders a sensible translation, hence the LXX’s καὶ παύομαι (see Fox, Proverbs 10–31: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 18B [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009], 850, 853–854). See the explanation for this line in Keefer, Proverbs 1–9 as an Introduction to the Book of Proverbs, LHBOTS 701 (London: Bloomsbury, 2020), 123–126.

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to attain wisdom and to remain faithful to God, as he attributes knowledge and security to the Lord (vv. 4–6) and hopes for circumstances conducive to trusting him (vv. 7–9). From these positions, Prov 30:1–9 ultimately advocates the humility upon which 30:10–33 builds and in no way approaches the sort of suffering that we see in Ecclesiastes.72 The doctrine of retribution that appears in the book of Proverbs, albeit not unqualified, receives direct attack in the book of Job, which takes any exception to the rule and makes it, for at least one man, the rule itself. The book establishes that accidental circumstances, particularly material prosperity, personal health and one’s security, do not necessarily indicate the moral character of the person. Job suffers greatly and yet remains innocent. Among other things he suffers emotional despair due to the loss of his family and wealth, and because of the physical pains faced at the outset of these events (chs. 1–2). While his companions attempt to raise his awareness of guilt, attribute him with guilt and become enraged as he consistently denies guilt, the reasons for Job’s suffering are never his own. Regardless of how he responds later in the book and of what he may need to repent (42:1–6), the events that inspire his well-documented sorrow occur in chapters 1–2 and are no fault of his own.73 As argued earlier in this chapter, the loss of family, property and health in no absolute way correspond to meaning of life incoherence; they are common reasons for suffering found elsewhere in the Bible, and although their loss may occur for unexpected reasons, loss as such does not coincide with meaning of life categories. For it is not just missed expectations (e.g., loss) that constitute incoherence but rather those instances where elements are in place that typically or expectedly produce a certain result but then do not. When loss is joined with Job’s innocence and 72

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On humility in Proverbs 30, see Waltke, The Book of Proverbs: Chapters 15–31, NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 482. The remarks in 30:10–17, 20, 32–33 clearly address problems of pride, such as a servant slandering his master (v. 10) or a child mocking a parent (v. 17) or someone succumbing to self-exaltation (v. 32), but the numerical sayings (30:18–31) are not so obvious. By design they puzzle the reader, and yet these may suggest problematic changes in station or status that convey a lack of humility (for a discussion of the text’s structure and coherence within Proverbs 30 as a whole, see Andrew Steinmann, “Three Things. . .Four Things. . .Seven Things: The Coherence of Proverbs 30:11–33 and the Unity of Proverbs 30,” HS 42 [2001]: 59–66). Agur himself reckons with epistemological limitations and the humility that these limitations require in acknowledging, and receiving from, God as the one who gives knowledge and the stuff of life. For discussion, see Clines, Job 38–42, WBC 18B (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2011), 1218–1223; and “The Wisdom of Job’s Conclusion (Job 42:1–6),” in Goochem in Mokum, 34–42.

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righteousness, the picture does begin to look like incoherence, especially in view of the Proverbial pattern of retribution, which would suggest that Job should not have lost his prosperity or that it had unjustly or undeservedly befallen him, and yet it is not entirely clear whether Job suffers due to this link of innocence and catastrophe, which would be necessary in order to correlate Job’s suffering over the meaning of life with Qohelet’s.74 In chapters 9–10, Job articulates the incoherence of his pure moral status and God’s treatment of him as guilty (9:22; 10:13–17), but he does so from a state of despair, so that already suffering, Job consequently speaks by exploring the possibility of a case with God (10:1–2). Similarly, he later expresses a coherent understanding of his situation, namely, that God has caused his demise, and again appeals to him for a trial (13:1–3). The most plausible connection of innocencecatastrophe-suffering arises in Job 16:16–17, which gives short-lived evidence that incoherence induces suffering. “My face is red from weeping, and upon my eyelids is darkness. For there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure.”75 The statement of moral purity in verse 17 constitutes the reason for which Job suffers in verse 16. He knows his moral innocence, and yet he faces catastrophe, and because of this disjunction his face is red with weeping and life goes dark (i.e. approaches its end). However, the problem drives him again to appeal to God for a hearing (16:18–21; see also 27:7–10). Job suffers due to his initial catastrophe, and he becomes frustrated at those who question his innocence, but when he puts innocence and catastrophe together, though he in one case briefly 74

75

From one perspective, Job suffers because of his righteousness, since the Lord offers up his exceptional character as grounds for Satan’s consideration (1:8; 2:3). But this differs from Ecclesiastes, where although the righteous do suffer, they do not suffer, so far as the text indicates, due to their righteousness. Qohelet portrays the treatment of righteous and wicked people as unpredictable rather than deliberately skewed or as grounds for inordinate treatment. Depending on its interpretation, Eccl 7:16 may indicate that righteous people suffer because of their righteousness, as it warns one from being “overly righteous” on the heels of the observation that righteous people have perished in their righteousness (7:15). However, the verse more likely refers to striving for an unrealizable degree of righteousness, as if the unpredictable distribution of death can be avoided, which makes sense in view of the fact that “Surely there is no righteous person on earth who does good and does not sin” (7:20). See further discussion in Chapter 6. The contribution of Job 16:16–17 to suffering and life’s meaning depends on the interpretation of ‫ על‬in v. 17a. “My face is red from weeping, and upon my eyelids is darkness, although/for [‫ ]על‬there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure.” If translated “although” (ESV), which is unattested elsewhere, then ‫ על‬signals an incoherence but no strict connection between Job’s moral state and his suffering (this concessive sense differs from the adversative, “against” or “in spite of”). As “for,” a well-attested meaning of the preposition, ‫ על‬indicates the grounds for which Job suffers.

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suggests that this causes sorrow (16:16–17), he seems to demand a hearing with God rather than tripping into further despair. As for Job’s companions, although they recognize his suffering and grieve because of it (2:11–13), such sorrow ceases when they witness Job proclaiming his innocence. That is, when the situation reveals itself as one of incoherence, all sympathy is lost and for Job’s companions suffering ceases. Qohelet, on the other hand, would look at Job’s situation, taking Job’s innocence as a matter of fact, and express sorrow and vexation. For it is these very scenarios that Qohelet observes in life and feels so pained about.76 But more significantly, for Job’s scenario to meet Qohelet’s standards of incoherence, he would need to have all of his possessions and at the same time feel no contentment or pleasure. According to Job 1–2, this is not the case, as a prosperous man enjoys his God-given lot in life. Instead of debating the moral character of a man who suffers or fighting for the recognition of his own innocence, Qohelet explores a world where such matters are a given. In a way, Ecclesiastes picks up where Job left off, with God in control of a world that for humans remains largely mysterious.77 For Qohelet, in the first place, assumes limitations in life, restricting one’s “portion” to whatever opportunities and resources one has throughout life. To Job belongs an immense portion, but when his lot in life is lost, he mourns, almost as if his portion was an entitlement, and it is not until the end of his experience that he seems content with his lesser lot. Of course, his colossal portion is returned to him, again fortifying the lack of limitations in the book of

76

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Perhaps this comparison of Qohelet with Job’s companions reveals one aspect of “orthodoxy” in Ecclesiastes. Where the book of Job disapproves of how Job’s friends respond to his trial – being maladaptive, sometimes cruel, and certainly too simplistic and presumptive – Ecclesiastes may be seen to affirm and, from a Joban perspective, rightly approve of Qohelet’s sorrow at the injustices of life. For several textual links between Ecclesiastes and Job that support these contentions, particularly Eccl 5:12[13]–6:6, 10 and Job 17:15–20, see Thomas Krüger, “‘And They Have No Comforter’: Job and Ecclesiastes in Dialogue,” in Reading Ecclesiastes Intertextually, ed. K. Dell and W. Kynes, LHBOTS 587 (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 94–105. I am not sure that if interpreted as a warning against over-righteousness Eccl 7:15–20 “undermines” Job, as if he wrongly considered himself as free of sin. The passage does warrant the remark that “Ecclesiastes makes it difficult, if not impossible, to imagine a case of completely undeserved misfortune, as is related in Job” (p. 102), and Krüger is right to admit that it is hard to prove that the author or editors of Ecclesiastes had Joban texts in mind. The relationship becomes further complicated because it depends upon the intertextual link to which we point within the Joban narrative, as Job 3 might provide Ecclesiastes with a significantly different interpretive insight than, say, Job 31.

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Job when compared to the presupposed restrictions of Qohelet’s world. The second given in Ecclesiastes is the world’s crookedness. As Job acknowledges that “God has made me wrong [‫]עות‬,” doing him violence so that Job demands justice (19:6–7), so Qohelet says that “What is crooked [‫ ]מעות‬cannot become straight” (1:15; so 6:10–12; 7:13–14), neither demanding immediate justice nor hinting that what is crooked will be put right, not at least in his lifetime. In a world like this, then, how ought humans to deal with such crookedness, with the suffering that is inevitable and death that looms close by? In the process of answering that question, Qohelet shows some distinctive causes of suffering, which stem from life as is and from the particular issue of whether toil produces any extra results. So rather than detailing the standard reasons that people suffer throughout the OT – whether sin, loss, enemy threats or disease – Ecclesiastes presents issues that remarkably reflect a life without meaning and the consequent sorrow they induce. Only in Ecclesiastes do we find in-depth case studies of the breakdown in meaning. Job is absorbed in his suffering and once considers incoherence at length. The psalmist soon turns attention to God’s resolve, to right the wrongs of injustice, giving momentary consideration of what Qohelet belabors line after line. Whereas Job reckons with immense piety and wisdom, and immense possessions and loss, Qohelet accounts for immense wisdom and empirical advantage, along with unparalleled opportunity and no “gain.” If mottos of suffering were attributed to those OT books so concerned with wisdom, then it could be said that Proverbs encourages one to acquire wisdom, which in turn prevents suffering; Job, perhaps challenging the Proverbial motto, exercises wisdom and so endures suffering; while Qohelet studies wisdom to propose that it produces suffering. That motto, captured by Eccl 1:18 – “In much wisdom is much vexation, and the one who increases knowledge increases sorrow” – is Qohelet’s way of saying that he suffers the meaning of life, which is the very thesis of the present book. It is also the core of what differentiates Ecclesiastes from its ancient Mediterranean counterparts, as the book explores life’s meaning in terms of coherence, purpose and significance, qualifies each of these to an unmatched degree, and has its vocal persona, Qohelet, suffer when they appear meaningless, only compounding the pain the more he reflects upon them. In other words, if the book of Ecclesiastes stands out in the ancient world with respect to the meaning of life, then it does so thanks to its thesis that investigating life begets suffering. Assessing the ways in which meaning breaks down – whether coherence, purpose or significance – stirs

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Qohelet to agitation and likewise weighs him down. He presents several observations and examples to drive this thesis, and arrives at several conclusions because of it, most of which I have teased out over the course of this study: life’s meaning as “coherence” preoccupies Qohelet most; suffering can be a consequence and a cause of meaninglessness; joy and living within one’s given limits are not airtight solutions to life but certainly the best ways to go; and God affects life and its meaning on almost every level, especially in judgment, joy and faith. For only he can grant the joy that one pursues or the satisfaction for which one strives. Above all, it is the deliberateness with which these ideas are investigated and presented in Ecclesiastes that seems unprecedented within the ancient world. The ancient Near East has nothing extant along these lines, and although Greek philosophers look at the topics systematically, much of what Ecclesiastes deems central, for them, goes missing. The book of Ecclesiastes is, then, very much about the meaning of life, but only when we are clear about what that “meaning” is. And though not without hope, Qohelet has shown us the more despairing end of human existence; he suffers the meaning of life and, in that, reflects some piece of human reality.

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Index of Sources

Old Testament Genesis 1–2 124 n. 8, 187 1–3 20 n. 40, 204–5 1:18 124 n. 8 3:17–19 204–5 16:6 150 20:9 153 n. 75 Exodus 3:7 122, 198 12:9 141 n. 50 20:17 93–4 32:32 196 32:33 101 n. 33, 196 Leviticus 4–5 153 n. 75 5:4–6 179 n. 17 20:6 14 n. 26 Numbers 10:33 13 n. 25 11:15 196 14:6 13 n. 25 14:39–42 196 n. 43 18:20 137 22:34 153 n. 75 24:3 210 n. 70 24:15 210 n. 70

Deuteronomy 4:1 11 12:31 108 n. 64 23:21–23 179 n. 17 28:15–68 160 28:29 160 28:31 141 n. 50 31:17 196 n. 43 32:9 137 32:16–18 90 n. 2 32:21 90 n. 2 Joshua 6:28 13 n. 26 13:1–7 11 Judges 6:12 199 n. 46 6:13 196 n. 43 11:1 199 n. 46 19:24 150–1 21:5 101 n. 33 1 Samuel 1 126 1:6 125, 198 1:7 125 1:8 125 1:10 125 1:11 125 1:16 125

229

230 2:1 126 13:17 14 n. 26 14:40 150 17:43 101 n. 36 24:14 101 n. 36 27:1 127 29:6,9 150–1 2 Samuel 3:8 101 n. 36 13:5 146 n. 62 14:2 128 n. 19 20:11 101 n. 33 23:1 210 n. 70 1 Kings 3–11 20 n. 40 8:28 14 n. 26 10:17 209 n. 67 15:30 125 19:4 196 2 Kings 4:40 141 n. 50 5:1 199 n. 46 8:13 101 n. 36 18:19 101 n. 33 1 Chronicles 22:19 13 n. 25 2 Chronicles 1–9 20 n. 40 6:29 198 9:6 209 n. 67 Ezra 5:17 100 n. 31 7:18 100 n. 31 Nehemiah 9:29 151 Esther 9:26 91 n. 3 Job 1–2 124 n. 8, 211, 213 1:5 151 1:8 212 n. 74 1:15 214

Index of Sources 2:3 212 n. 74 2:11–13 213 2:13 122 3 213 n. 77 3:10 207 n. 62 3:20–22 196 4:2 198 4:5 128 4:6–7 198 5:2 100 n. 32 5:6–7 207 n. 62 5:7 207 n. 62 5:24 152 6:2 198 6:10–12 214 6:26 127 7:1–3 207 n. 62 7:13–14 214 9–10 212 9:22 212 9:28 122 n. 3 10:1 160 10:1–2 212 10:3 160 10:13–17 212 10:14 151 13:1–3 212 14:1 207 n. 62 15:2 100 n. 31 15:10 198 n. 45 15:17 198 n. 45 15:18 198 n. 45 15:20 128 15:35 128 16:3 100 n. 31 16:16–17 212–13 16:18–21 212 17:7 198 17:15–20 213 n. 77 19:6–7, 20 214 21:6–7 198 21:8–34 199 21:34 104 23–24 199 27:7–10 212 29:25 128 n. 19 30:1 101 n. 36 30:1–15 199 30:31 128 n. 19 31 213 n. 77 33:19 198 n. 45

Index of Sources 33:27 151 35:6 151 35:16 90 n. 2 37:19 140 n. 48 42:1–6 211 Psalms 6 126 6:3–4[2–3] 126 6:7[6] 126 6:7–8[6–7] 126 6:8[7] 126 10:14 126 22 101 n. 36, 204 n. 58 27:2 94 n. 15 31:10[9] 126 32:10 134 n. 32 34 204 n. 58 35:14 128 n. 19 36:6–7[5–6] 202 36:7[6] 90 n. 2 38:18[17] 126 39 202–4 39:6[5] 90 n. 2 39:11[12] 202 n. 54 49 203–4 49:11–16[10–15] 203 55:5[4] 128 58 103 n. 45 69:27[26] 126 69:30[29] 127 73 199–201, 206 73:13 200 73:16 199–200 73:16–17 200 73:27–28 200 94:11 90 n. 2 103:14–18 203 n. 56 104:29 196 n. 43 106:6 151 115:7 140 n. 48 127 203–4, 206 127:1–2 203 Proverbs 1:1 22 n. 47 1:2–7 209 n. 67 1:5 173 n. 6, 209 1:11 209 1:17–19 210 1:31 141 n. 50

3:11–12 209–10 5:8–12 209 n. 68 5:8–13 165 5:11–12 163 5:15 117 n. 85 5:18 136 6:7 209 6:10–11 94 8:36 152 9:9 209 10:1 22 n. 47 10:2 209 11:29 100 n. 31 12:1 210 12:6 209 12:16 125 13:22 129 14:13 127 14:14 210 n. 68 14:23 209 14:30 93 n. 12 15:13 148 n. 65 15:16–17 53 n. 69 16:21 209 n. 67 16:23 209 n. 67 17:5 209 n. 68 17:25 126, 198 18:15 209 19:2 152 20:2 152 21:6 90 n. 2 23:26 13 n. 25 24:10 209 27:16 100 n. 31 29:2 128 n. 19 29:9 103 n. 45 29:17 165 30 211 n. 72 30:1–9 210 30:2 210 n. 69 30:10–33 211 30:30 102 n. 37 31:1 210 n. 69 31:30 104 Ecclesiastes 1:1 133 n. 29 1:2 106, 109 n. 67 1:2–11 1 n. 1 1:3 4 n. 12, 106, 135–7 1:3–11 113

231

232

Index of Sources

1:4 144 n. 57 1:4–7 96 n. 20 1:4–11 22, 96 n. 20 1:7 96 n. 20 1:8 29 n. 9, 96 n. 20 1:8–11 96 n. 20 1:9 96 n. 20 1:10–11 96 n. 20 1:11 96 1:12 133 n. 29 1:12–18 106 n. 56, 130 1:12–2:11 185–9 1:12–2:23 128 1:13 13, 15, 22, 120, 124, 130–6, 143, 171, 204 1:13–16 130 n. 24 1:13–2:11 18 1:13–2:26 104 1:14 106 n. 56, 133 n. 29, 138 n. 43 1:14–15 90 n. 2 1:15 97, 214 1:16 29, 130, 134, 191 n. 37, 209 n. 67 1:16–18 209 n. 67 1:17 106 n. 56, 130, 132, 138 n. 43 1:17–18 127 n. 17 1:18 15–16, 38, 125–6, 131–6, 171, 174 n. 9, 194, 214 2:1 29, 117, 134, 165 n. 100, 181 2:1–3 136–7 2:1–9 138 2:1–10 97, 106, 137 2:1–17 136 2:3 13 n. 25, 99, 106 n. 56 2:4–6 205 2:4–9 136 2:9–23 91 n. 4 2:10 106–7, 134 n. 31, 136–8 2:11 13, 90 n. 2, 107, 133–4, 137–8 2:12 13 n. 25, 106 n. 56, 162 n. 90 2:12–16 129 n. 21, 163 2:12–23 135 n. 33, 133–6, 138 2:12–26 4 2:14 106 n. 56, 140 n. 48, 162 2:14–15 107 n. 60 2:15 11, 29, 106 n. 57, 162–3, 182 2:15–16 106 n. 58, 107 n. 60, 191 n. 37 2:16 134 n. 32, 138, 197 2:17 15, 106 n. 58, 129 n. 21, 133, 138–9, 156, 162–3, 196 2:18 106 n. 58, 129 n. 21

2:18–19 11, 43, 112, 129–30, 138, 166 n. 102 2:18–21 92, 124 n. 8, 130 n. 22, 134–6, 166 2:18–26 114 2:19 195–6, 130, 133 n. 30, 134, 141 n. 49 2:20–21 120 2:21 42 n. 40, 90 n. 3, 35 n. 12, 106 n. 58, 130, 133 2:21–23 132 2:22 100 n. 31, 134–9 2:22–23 106 n. 58, 120, 135, 138–41, 172 2:23 15, 95, 125–6, 132–6 2:24 99, 135 n. 33, 139, 145, 153, 164 2:24–26 139, 143, 145 n. 60 2:25 101 n. 33 2:26 87 n. 20, 132, 138 n. 43, 150–3 3 144 3:1–8 154–5 3:4 124 n. 11, 154–5 3:9–11 91 n. 4 3:9–13 146 3:10 132, 143 3:11 91–2, 95, 117, 143–4, 154, 174 n. 9 3:11–13 115 3:12 99, 106 n. 56, 153 3:12–13 139 n. 44, 143–4 3:14 106 n. 56, 144 n. 57, 154 3:16 106 n. 56, 144, 146 3:16–17 112 n. 74, 197 3:16–22 91 n. 4, 110–12, 146–7, 163 3:17 109 n. 66, 111–12, 118, 146, 165 3:17–18 29, 127 n. 17 3:19 90 n. 2, 107 n. 60 3:19–20 110 3:21 111, 144 3:21–22 96, 112, 127 3:22 101 n. 33, 107 n. 61, 109 n. 66, 137, 144, 163, 175 4:1–3 97, 159–61 4:4 90 n. 2, 93–4, 99, 138 n. 43, 156 n. 84 4:4–6 93–4 4:5 94, 141 n. 50 4:6 138 n. 43 4:7–8 95–7, 166–7 4:7–12 94, 171 4:8 42 n. 40, 90 n. 2 and 3, 93 n. 12, 95 n. 17, 97, 99, 114, 132, 141 n. 49, 166 n. 102 4:9 99–100, 106 n. 58 4:9–12 167 n. 104 4:12 99

Index of Sources 4:14 108 n. 64 4:15–16 91 n. 4 4:16 108 n. 64, 138 n. 43 4:17–5:6[5:1–7] 179 n. 17, 201 n. 52 5:1[2] 87 n. 20, 197 n. 17 5:4[5] 99 5:5[6] 197 5:5–6[6–7] 93 n. 11 5:7[8] 97, 118, 197 5:7–8[8–9] 147 n. 63 5:9[10] 91, 93 n. 11 5:9–19[10–20] 141 n. 49 5:9[10]–6:9 142 n. 54 5:10[11] 93 n. 12 5:10–11[11–12] 141 n. 50 5:12[13] 123 5:12–14[13–15] 42 n. 40 5:12–15[13–16] 197 5:12–16[13–17] 40, 91 n. 4, 140, 142 n. 54, 158 n. 85, 170 n. 1, 172 5:12–19[13–20] 98, 140, 143 5:12[13]–66 213 n. 77 5:13[14] 132 5:14[15] 91, 93 n. 11, 140 5:15[16] 106, 138 n. 43, 140 5:17[18] 99, 106 n. 56 and 58, 115, 124 n. 8, 144 n. 57 5:18[19] 106 n. 58, 107 n. 61, 141, 154 6 147, 159 6:1 90 n. 3 6:1–2 118, 147, 154 6:1–6 12, 40, 102–3, 116, 157–60, 170 n. 1, 172, 176–7 6:2 141 n. 50, 154, 157–8 6:3 157–8 6:3–5 159 n. 86 6:4 103 n. 44 6:5 103, 108 n. 62 6:6 99, 103 n. 45 6:7–8 91 n. 4 6:7–9 147 n. 63 6:7–12 158 6:10 162 n. 90, 213 n. 77 6:10–11 105 n. 55 6:10–12 147 n. 64, 174 n. 9, 214 6:11 106 n. 57 6:12 96, 101 n. 33, 105, 147 6:12–7:14 147 n. 64 7 149–50 7:1 99, 105, 148 7:1–4 149 n. 68

233

7:1–13 147 7:1–14 105 7:2–4 147–50 7:3 105, 123, 125 n. 13, 134 n. 31, 148, 173 7:6 95 7:6–13 149 7:8 105 7:9 125 n. 14 7:12 106 n. 57 7:13 90 n. 2, 101 n. 33, 118, 133 n. 29, 143 7:13–14 98, 214 7:14 92, 95, 105, 139 n. 44, 142–3, 146, 149–50 7:14–15 91 n. 4 7:15 90–1, 110, 113, 146, 212 n. 74 7:15–18 146–7, 149 7:15–20 213 n. 77 7:16 106 n. 57, 212 n. 74 7:16–17 146 n. 62 , 194, 201 n. 52 7:18 99 7:20 99, 146 n. 62, 212 n. 74 7:23–24 131 n. 26, 146 n. 62 7:24 96–7 7:25 106 n. 56 7:26 99, 150 8 159 8–9 159 8:4 166 n. 102 8:6 154 n. 78 8:7 96 8:7–8 91 n. 4, 111 8:10–13 91, 179 n. 17 8:10–14 90 n. 3, 108 n. 64, 113, 144 8:10–15 146 8:12 93 n. 11, 108 n. 64, 152, 166 n. 102, 197 8:12–13 11, 108, 110, 118, 150 n. 71 8:12–14 172 8:13 99 8:14 10, 90–1, 93 n. 11, 97, 110–11, 144 8:14–15 115 8:15 99, 106 n. 58, 111, 124 n. 8, 139, 144 8:15–16 132 8:16 106 n. 56, 108 n. 64, 132, 134 n. 31, 138 n. 43 8:16–17 133 n. 29 8:17 90 n. 3, 92, 95, 124 9:1 95, 111, 118, 156 9:1–2 110 9:1–3 91–2 9:2 99, 113, 150 n. 71, 197

234

Index of Sources

9:2–7 110 n. 69 9:3 100, 113 9:4 99–101, 103 n. 46 9:4–6 12, 100–3, 106–7, 113, 116, 119, 156 9:5 97, 111 9:5–6 102, 157 n. 84, 197 9:7 99, 157 n. 84 9:7–9 16 9:7–10 98, 111, 139 n. 44, 145, 157 9:9 107 n. 61 9:11 10, 91, 93 n. 11, 106 n. 56, 124 n. 8 9:11–12 91–2 9:13–16 22 n. 46, 96, 156 n. 83 9:17 103 n. 45 9:18 99, 152 10:1–4 18 10:5 91 n. 3, 123 n. 8 10:5–6 91 n. 4, 92 10:11 106 n. 57 10:15 106 n. 58 11 159 11–12 117 n. 85 11:1–6 91 n. 4, 111–12, 116 n. 84 11:2 96, 137 11:5 95, 118 11:6 99, 109, 163 11:7 16, 81, 99, 103, 164 11:7–8 100, 103–8, 119, 161, 177 11:7–12:7 145, 157 11:8–10 15, 145, 181, 190 11:8–12:1 163–5, 175 11:9 12, 109–10, 118, 165, 181 11:9–10 142 n. 54, 145 n. 61 11:9–12:1 139 n. 44 11:10 21 n. 45, 46, 95, 124, 125 n. 13, 181 11:10–12:1 164 12:1–7 145 12:1 117, 165 n. 100, 181 12:5 144 n. 57 12:7–8 90 n. 2 12:8 12:9 106 n. 56 12:9–14 x, 23, 109 n. 67, 133 n. 29 12:11 100 n. 31 12:12 106 n. 57 12:13 117 12:13–14 109–10, 118, 165 n. 99 12:14 99, 123, 165 Song of Songs 1 22 n. 47

1:5 164 n. 95 5:11 164 n. 95 Isaiah 1:14 163 3:1–5 208 8:17 196 n. 43 13:8 128 30:7 90 n. 2, 104 30:15 103 n. 45 36:4 101 n. 33 38:18 101 41:29 100 n. 31 44:9,18 103 n. 44 45:7 195 n. 42 45:20 103 n. 44 47:5 140 n. 48 49:4 90 n. 2 49:26 94 n. 15 52:4 160 52:8–9 160 53:3 134 n. 32, 198 57:10 127 57:13 90 n. 2 59:2 196 n. 43 59:5 141 n. 50 60 124 n. 8 65:14 127 n. 17 Jeremiah 2:5,8 90 n. 2 2:25 127 10:8 90 n. 2 12:1–4 200 n. 51 15:10,17,18 198 n. 45 16:9 90 n. 2 16:19 104 18:12 127 20:14–18 196 25:8–14 11 30:15 126, 198 31:13 128 n. 19 45:3 127, 198 46:21 108 n. 64 48:34 108 n. 64 51:8 126 Lamentations 1:2 160 1:4 128 n. 19 1:9 160

235

Index of Sources 1:12 126, 160, 198 1:16 127 1:17 160 1:18 123, 126, 160, 198 1:21 160 1:21–2 127 2:11 160 2:15 127 4:17 90 n. 2 4:21 127 5:7 151 5:15 127 Ezekiel 18:20 122 n. 3 20:6 13 n. 25 22:29 159 36–37 11 37:25 11 Daniel 2:30 100 n. 31 7:28 100 n. 31 10:12 13 n. 25 Hosea 9:4 128 9:12 108 n. 64 11:2, 7 100 n. 31 12:2[1] 100 n. 31 12:8[7] 100 n. 31 Amos 3:6 195 n. 42 5:18 140 n. 48 Jonah 1:2–3 197 n. 44 4:2 197 n. 44 4:3 196 Micah 2:1–12 159 3:1–4 94 n. 15 7:14 100 n. 31 Habakkuk 1:4, 13 200 n. 51 Zechariah 4:10 101 n. 33

9:5 128 10:2 90 n. 2, 104 Malachi 2:17 150–1 3:13–15 200 n. 51

Egyptian Texts Admonitions of Ipuwer 26, 29, 33 n. 17, 50 n. 59, 58 n. 2, 170 n. 2 The Complaints of Khakheperraseneb rto 1 28 rto 2 30 rto 7 28 rto 7–9 28 rto 8 30 rto 10–11 29, 31 rto 10 – vso 6 30 rto 12 31 rto 12 – vso 1 28, 33 rto 13–14 30 rto 13 – vso 1 32 rto 14 – vso 1 30 vso 1 33 vso 2–4 32 vso 3–4 32 Dispute Between a Man and his Ba 3–4 33 18 34 19 35 21 35 22 34 31–32 36 n. 27 31–33 36 55–68 103 59–60 103 68 36 69–80 54 79–80 54 103–130 34 108–109 34 130–142 34–5 140–141 171 The Doomed Prince 110 n. 68 The Eloquent Peasant 27, 29, 206 n. 61

236 The Famine Stela 2 27 7 27 Instruction of Amenemope 9.7–8 53 9.10–15 53 Instruction of Anksheshonq 4.9 39 6.7 38 6.24 206 n. 61 8.4–5 38 8.15–16 206 n. 61 9.14 206 10.2–3 206 n. 61 11.21–23 42 n. 38 12.3–5 45 n. 49 12.4 173 n. 6 16.12 39 17.23 206 18.2 206 n. 61 19.20 38 21.1–25 38 21.7 38–9, 41, 171 21.8 38 21.9–11 38 n. 32 21.12 38 26.7–8 42 n. 38 26.17–18 206 n. 61 Instruction to Merikare 37 48 41 48 76 188 n. 29 79 188 n. 29 80 188 n. 29 127–128 48 Instructions of Amenemhet 1.6–7 21 “The Memphite Theology” 57 157 n. 84 Papyrus Insinger 2.10 43 n. 42 3.18 206 n. 61 4.8 42 9.23 43 n. 42 10.19 43 n. 42 13.9 27 14.4 206 n. 61

Index of Sources 14.6–7 43 n. 42 14.10 206 n. 61 14.17 44 14.23 206 n. 61 15.19–20 43 n. 42 39 18.5 42 n. 38 18.13 42 n. 40 18.17 42 n. 40, 43, 45 19.4 43 n. 42 19.5 46 19.6–8 42–3 19.6–21.6 43, 45, 173 19.9 42 n. 38, 43 n. 41 19.11–12 43 n. 41 19.15 173 19.18 43 n. 41, 44–6, 53, 176–7 19.19–20 54, 173 n. 5, 176 20.2 42 n. 38 20.7 43 n. 42 20.12 45–6 20.14 43 n. 42 20.19 43 n. 41 20.20 173 21.1–2 45 21.2 42 n. 38, 43 n. 41 21.4 43 n. 42 21.5 43 n. 41 21.6 46 24.23 43 n. 42 25.24 43 n. 42 26.10 43 n. 42 26.11 206 n. 61 27.10 206 28.1 206 n. 61 32.11 43 n. 42 34.16 43 n. 42 35.6 43 n. 42 35.6–7 42 Papyrus Lansing 1.1–2 41 2–3 40 2.3 40 5–8 39 8.2–3 40 9 39 9.4–5 39 9.8 27, 39 13b.1 41 13b.9 41 14.8 41 14.10 41

Index of Sources The Long Biographical Instruction of Petosiris 3–4 43–4 4 44 5–6 44 8 44 43–45 27 88 27 Prophecies of Neferti 26, 29, 30 n. 10 Ptahhotep 162–163 206 n. 61 186–196 54 n. 71, 165 n. 99 368–369 206 n. 61 Satire of the Trades 39 n. 35, 205 Stella of Taimhotep 15–16 51 n. 64 19 51 n. 64 Story of Sinuhe 34 n. 19, 44 n. 45, 48 n. 55 The Song from the Tomb of King Intef vi.9–10 49 vi.10 49 vi.11 49–50 vii.3 50 The Statue Inscription of Nebneteru 50–2, 175 The Song from the Tomb of Neferhotep I 17, 49 n. 57 The Letter of Wermai 27

Mesopotamian Texts The Adad-Guppi Autobiography 57 n. 2 Amarna Letters 77:9 91 n. 3 The Autobiography of Idrimi 98–101 57 n. 2 The Babylonian Theodicy 1–11 66 8 66 12–22 67 n. 31 78–88 67

82–83 67 83 67 n. 32 181–187 66–7 185–186 67 243–253 66 245–246 66 256–257 67 n. 32 256–264 67 265–275 66 n. 28 287–288 66 289–290 66 n. 28 Ballad of Early Rulers 68 n. 36 Counsels of a Pessimist 3 181 9–10 68 17–18 68 22 181 The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sin 84–87 59 88 59 89–92 59 Dialogue between a Man and his God 21 Dialogue of Pessimism 21, 105 n. 54 48 58 Epic of Gilgamesh I.29–32 186 II.174–191 70 II.289–290 70 III.46 70 VII 73 VII.88–95 75 VII.106, 115 70 VIII.1–45 73, 75, 182 IX.1–4 73, 75, 182 IX.1–X.204 72 IX.14 182 n. 21 X 72–4 X.7–8 73–4 X.35–45 73–4 X.40–43 74 X.61–71 73–4 X.256–257 71 X.266–275 73 n. 40 X.296–300 71 X.301–322 71 X.319–322 72

237

238

Index of Sources

XI.307–309 76 XI.313–314 76 XI.319–329 186 OB II.94–105 70 OB III.1–9 75 n. 43 OB III.6–13 16

Man and His God 104–105 21

Diogenes Laërtius Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers 2.86–92 82 2.91 80 2.93–96 192 2.98 80 6.86 80 7.4 79 n. 5 7.88 85 7.89 84 7.92 84 7.95–96 85 7.111 85 7.118 85, 191 7.127 84 10.27–28 79 n. 5 10.78 83 10.122–135 82 n. 12 10.124 83 10.126 83 10.126–127 83–4 10.127–131 83 10.128 79, 82 10.131 82 10.134 83 10.136–154 82 n. 12 10.137 83 10.139 82 10.140 83 10.142 82 10.143 83, 189

Nabopolassar’s Restoration of Imgur-Enlil 1.7–2.5 61 n. 10

Euripides Iphigenia at Aulis 921–925 194 n. 41

Sin of Sargon obv 3–4 60 obv 10 60 obv 37–38 61 rev 21–23 61 n. 9

Hesiod Works and Days 176–178 80

Ludlul Bēl Nēmeqi (“The Pious Sufferer”) I 62, 64 I.52 64 I.105–112 63 I.105–117 64 I.119–II.3 64 II.1–30 63 II.1–48 62 II.6–8 64 II.33–35 64 II.36–38 63–4 II.36–47 65 II.39–47 63 II.40 63 II.43 63 II.48 65 II.49ff. 65 II.49–III.36 62 IV 62 IV.90 66

Šima Milka (“Hear the Advice”) 188 Words of Ahiqar 57

Greek Texts Diodorus II 23.1–2 80 n. 6

Herodotus Histories 1.30–32 80 n. 9 2.121 80 n. 9 2.133 81 n. 9 7.45 81 7.46–47 81 7.47 81 Theognis Elegies 19–23 194 133–142 86

239

Index of Sources 161–164 86 171–172 87 227–232 87 271–278 87 341–344 87 425–428 87 567–570 87 659–666 87 903–930 87 949–954 87 989–990 88 1007–1012 87 1029–1036 87 1075–1078 87 1157–1160 87 1225 88 1323–1326 88 Sophocles Oedipus Tyrannos 80

Other Karatepe Inscription 57 n. 2, 186, 187 n. 27 Ben Sira 6:23–31 173 n. 5 34:1–2 100 n. 31 39:16, 33 144 n. 57 Matthew 7:6 101 n. 36 Philippians 3:2 101 n. 36 Revelation 22:15 101 n. 36 Talmud b. Metzia 21b 128 n. 18

Index of Authors and Topics

’-m-l (‫עמל‬, “toil”) 39–47, 71–3, 76–7, 80–1, 86–7, 93–7, 100, 106–8, 129, 133–40, 166–7, 172, 183, 199–200, 203–8, 207 n. 62 Anderson, William H. U. 106 n. 57, 145 n. 61, 149 n. 69 Annas, Julia 83 n. 13 Aristotle 79, 110 n. 68 Assmann, Jan 29 n. 7, 35, 40 n. 37, 44 n. 47, 46 n. 53, 52–4, 177 autobiography, royal 18, 23, 47, 50, 57–62, 69, 175, 177–9, 181, 185 ba 33–7, 103 Barbour, Jennie 170 n. 1 Bartholomew, Craig 2, 18 n. 37; 78 n. 2; 93–4, 101–2; 154 n. 79; 165 n. 98; 167 n. 104 Barton, George 1 n. 1, 109 n. 67 Berger, Lyle 91 n. 7, 96 n. 21, 205 n. 59 Blumenthal, Elke 33 n. 17, 170 n. 2 Bolin, Thomas 22 n. 47, 80 n. 9, 188 n. 30 Boström, Gustav 117 n. 85 Bricker, Daniel 67, 151 n. 72 Brunner, Hellmut 42 n. 39, 45 n. 50, 46 Bundvad, Mette 103 n. 46, 112 n. 76, 114 n. 81, 122 n. 76, 144 n. 57, 174 n. 9 carpe diem 111, 114–20, 145 n. 61, 173 n. 5 cause-and-effect (see: deed-consequence) Chrysippus of Soli 84 Cleanthes of Assos 84–5, 191–2 Clifford, Richard 152

Clines, David J. A. 199 n. 47, 207 n. 62, 211 n. 73 coherence in Ecclesiastes 90–9, 129–55 in Egypt 28–47 in Mesopotamia 57–77 coherence, purpose and significance definitions of 9–14 relationship of 114–18 contradictions in Ecclesiastes 15, 107 n. 60, 110, 112–13, 137–9, 148–9, 164, 166 n.102 control, human 3, 50, 85, 92, 97–8, 116 n. 83; 124 n. 8; 141 n. 49; 143; 150–5, 178, 190–3, 208 Crenshaw, James 2–4, 14 n. 28, 145 n. 61 date of Ecclesiastes 22–3 death 11–12, 33–55, 70–7, 81, 83–4, 87, 92, 96, 100–3, 107–16, 119, 129 n. 20; 138; 140 n. 49; 145–6, 148–9, 156–9, 162–4, 171–2, 175–8, 182–5, 188, 190–1, 193, 196–7, 200, 203–4; 209 n. 66; 212 n. 74; 214 deed-consequence 10, 25, 29–32, 35–8, 42, 44 n. 45; 45, 47–8, 57, 60–1, 64–7, 69–77, 85, 95, 118, 123 n. 8; 129–30, 134–6, 138–40, 144, 155, 157–8, 161, 163, 167–8, 171–2, 178–9, 182–3, 195 n. 42; 196–9, 202–9, 212–15 disorder, social 26, 31, 33, 36–7, 44–7, 55–6, 64, 68–9, 171, 178, 180, 186–7 divination 60–1, 65, 179

241

242

Index of Authors and Topics

Enkidu 69–77, 182–3 Epicurus 20, 24, 79–80, 82–4, 87, 173 n. 5, 189–92 epistemology 3, 15 n. 29, 23, 32–3, 45–7, 60–1, 65–8, 72–3, 91 n. 4, 93–9, 106 n. 56, 112, 114, 116–20, 130–1, 134, 142, 149–50, 155, 163, 167, 179–80, 208 n. 65, 211 n. 72 eudaimonia 12 n. 23, 82–3, 199 n. 46 evil 11, 34–7, 55, 68, 81–8, 91, 94–5, 97, 100, 108–9, 123–4, 132–3, 140, 142 n. 54, 146, 148, 151–9, 164–6, 168 n. 105, 170–1, 181, 192, 201 Fischer, Stefan 57 n. 2, 111 n. 73 folly/fool 10–11, 38, 44–5, 47, 51, 73 n. 40, 76, 80, 83, 85 n. 16, 92, 94–5, 99 n. 30, 100 n. 31, 107, 130–4, 146–8, 162–3, 174, 182–3, 191 n. 37, 194, 198, 201 n. 52, 203, 209 Fox, Michael V. 4, 49 n. 58, 50, 91–3, 100 n. 31, 102 n. 40, 105, 113 n. 79, 134 n. 31, 135, 137 n. 40, 138, 141 n. 49–50 161–4, 166 n. 102, 191 n. 37 funerary writings 27, 47–54, 175 Gardiner, Alan 31 n. 13, 32 n. 15 George, Andrew 70 n. 38, 72 n. 39, 73 n. 40, 76 n. 45, 183–4 Gericke, Jaco 6 n. 15, 104–5 Gilbert, Pierre 50 Gilgamesh 69–77, 79–80, 182–4, 186 goals (see: purpose) God knowledge of 92, 95–100, 117–18, 181, 197 n. 44, 198 n. 45 judgement of 90 n. 3, 109–13, 115, 118, 146–7, 162, 165–6, 176, 200, 202, 209 fear of 108–12, 117, 146–7, 200, 203–4, 206–8 approval/favor of 12, 102, 116, 118, 139–44, 150–7, 177 god(s), the 21, 29, 31, 39, 41–2, 45–6, 51, 53–5, 57, 59–75, 82, 84, 86–7, 173, 176–7, 179–80, 186, 188, 191, 193 good, the 78 n. 3, 99, 105–6, 150, 166, 194, 206 n. 61 Green, Douglas J. 187 n. 27–28 Hallo, William 20 n. 42 happiness (see: joy)

heart, the 12–13, 15, 27–35, 42–4, 46, 49–51, 53, 59–60, 68, 70–1, 74, 106, 110 n. 68; 125–7, 130, 134–6, 138, 145, 148, 162, 164–5, 170, 172–3, 179, 181, 188 n. 29; 200; 210 n. 68 hebel (‫ )הבל‬1, 3, 6–7, 90 n. 2, 91, 93–5, 99, 100 n. 31, 104, 123, 133 n. 30, 138, 202–4 Hegasias 85 heleq (‫חלק‬, “portion”) 107 n. 61, 136–8, 142 n. 54 Hepburn, R. W. 5 n. 14, 9 n. 20 Herodotus 80–2 Hesiod 80 Homer 79–80 illusion x, 15 n. 29, 96–9, 117, 119 immortality 70–7, 83, 184, 186 injustice 16, 30, 33, 47, 55, 66–9, 86–7, 97, 118, 130, 144, 147, 158, 171, 173, 178, 182–3, 193, 196 n. 44, 198, 213 n. 76, 214 intellect, the (see: reflection, intellectual) Isaksson, Bo 129 n. 21, 131 n. 24 isolation 35 n. 24, 52, 54, 95 n. 17, 167 n. 104, 171 Jarick, John 81 Job, Book of 21, 62 n. 11, 211–14 joy 3, 9 n. 20, 15–17, 27, 40–1, 49–52, 53, 57, 61, 66, 70, 80–4, 86, 97, 99, 101–3, 105–8, 110–12, 114–19, 127, 132, 136–9, 146–68, 171–81, 186–93, 202–4, 209 n. 68, 213, 215 (see also: carpe diem) conditions of 165–7 human and divine control over 136–45, 150–5 judgment, divine 12, 44 n. 47, 109–14, 115, 118, 146–7, 155, 162, 165, 176, 191, 202, 215 ka’as (‫כעס‬, “vexation”) 25, 63, 95, 125–9, 131, 140, 164, 198 Kadish, Gerald 30–2 Khakheperraseneb 28–34, 36–7, 47, 55, 169–71, 174 Kim, Jimyung 15 n. 30, 20 n. 41, 113 n. 77 kingship 19 n. 38, 21, 26, 59–61, 69, 72 n. 39, 73, 79–81, 170 n. 1, 177–9, 183, 185–9

Index of Authors and Topics

243

Koh, Tee-Von 178 Kraus, Hans-Joachim 200 Krüger, Thomas 7 n. 17, 78 n. 2, 104 n. 48, 130 n. 22, 133 n. 29, 141 n. 49, 148 n. 66, 158 n. 85, 165 n. 99, 192–3, 207 n. 62, 213 n. 77 Kynes, Will 20 n. 42

Ogden, Graham 94 n. 15, 102 n. 39, 107 n. 61, 117 n. 85, 133 n. 29, 156 n. 83, 163 n. 92 oppressed, the 159–61 order (see: disorder, social) Oshima, Takayoshi 62 n. 13, 65 n. 23–24, 66–7

labor (see: toil) Laërtius, Diogenes 79, 82 n. 12, 85 Lambert, W. G. 21, 62 n. 13, 63 n. 18, 64 n. 21, 65, 181 n. 19 lament 26, 33 n. 17, 35–7, 43–4, 51 n. 64, 57 n. 2, 60–4, 73, 75, 126, 129, 161, 163 n. 92, 170 n. 2, 178–83, 197, 202 Lauha, Aarre 4, 70 n. 37, 113–14, 149, 166, 173, 182, 199 n. 46 Laurent, Françoise 112 n. 74 Lee, Eunny P. 141–3, 154 n. 78 legacy 48, 59–61, 138, 178–9, 183, 186, 197 Lichtheim, Miriam 26, 38 n. 32, 42 n. 38 and 40, 48 n. 56, 51 n. 64, 91 n. 3, 173 n. 5–6, 206 n. 61 Long, A. A. and Sedley, D. N. 85 n. 16 Longman, Tremper 57 n. 1, 59–61, 90 n. 3, 94 n. 15, 104–5, 108 n. 62, 144 n. 58, 146 n. 62, 164 n. 94 Lord, the (see: God)

Parkinson, Richard B. 26 n. 2, 28 n. 5, 29–32, 50 n. 59, 54 n. 70 Peake, Arthur 1 n. 1 pessimism 15, 18 n. 37, 33 n. 17, 145 n. 61, 170 n. 2 Peterson, Jesse M. 103 n. 46, 159 n. 86 Pinker, Aron 144 n. 57 pleasure (see: joy) post-lapsarian state 208 prosperity 38, 42, 67, 83, 172, 187, 199–201, 209, 211–12 Proverbs, Book of 25, 85 n. 16, 94, 119 n. 86, 122 n. 2, 151 n. 72, 191, 195, 206, 209–12, 214 Psalms, Book of 25, 122, 195, 202, 204 n. 58 purpose 5, 9, 11–12, 48, 76–7, 176, 182–3 in Ecclesiastes 108–14, 161–7 in Egypt 47–53 in Mesopotamia 57–77

makhov (‫מכאוב‬, “sorrow”) 25, 63, 122–3, 126–8, 131, 134 n. 32, 160, 198 ma’at 55–7 Marduk 61–5, 180 Martela, F., and Steger, M. 5–6, 9–14, 99, 101, 108, 115, 204 n. 58 Mazzinghi, Luca 106 n. 56, 207 n. 63 Meek, Russell 90 n. 2, 116 n. 83, 208 n. 64 misapprehension (see: illusion) Müller, Hans-Peter 20 n. 40, 22 n. 49, 131 n. 26 Murphy, Roland 19, 90 n. 3, 133 n. 30, 158 n. 85, 165 n. 100, 174 n. 9 Naram-Sin 58–61, 177–9, 181, 186 national distress 18, 26, 29 Nebneteru 50–1, 175 Nyssa, Gregory of 113–14 Ockinga, Boyo 31 n. 12 Odysseus 80

r’ut ruah (‫רעות רוח‬, “striving after wind”) 100 n. 31, 138 n. 43 reflection, intellectual 13–14, 28, 33, 36–41, 55, 60–1, 65, 68–9, 95, 119–20, 131–5, 143, 165 n. 99, 169–82, 191 n. 37, 195, 199, 200 n. 51, 201, 207, 209, 214 Renaud, Odette 34–6, 44 Rindge, Matthew S. 115 n. 83, 175 n. 10 Rudman, Dominic 145 n. 61, 191–2 Schellenberg, Anette 112 n. 75, 130 n. 22, 133 n. 29, 135 n. 35, 208 n. 65 Schoors, Antoon 22 n. 46, 180 n. 17 Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Ludger 78 n. 3, 113 n. 79, 132 n. 29, 134 n. 31, 140 n. 46, 143 n. 56, 144, 149 n. 69, 162 n. 90, 165 n. 100 Seachris, Joshua 6 p. 15, 111 n. 73 Sellars, John 83–5, 190–1 Seow, Choon-Leong 3, 40, 92–4, 99 n. 30, 103 n. 44 and 47, 107 n. 59, 109 n. 66,

244

Index of Authors and Topics

123 n. 8, 137, 141–2, 149, 159 n. 86, 163 n. 93, 172–3 Shupak, Nili 29, 31–2 significance in Ecclesiastes 99–108, 156–61 in Egypt 53–4 in Mesopotamia 57–77 sin 21, 34, 38, 60–1, 93 n. 11, 151–3, 178, 195–204, 207 n. 62, 208, 212 n. 74, 213 n. 77, 214 skeptical literature, Babylonian 23, 58, 62–9, 181 Sophocles 80–1 Spieckermann, Harmann 64, 145 n. 61 Stoebe, H. J. 124 Stoics 20, 24, 79–80, 82, 84–5, 191–2, 194 Tell Siran Bottle 186–7 Theognis 20, 24, 80–4, 86–8, 193–4 Thothrekh 43–8 toil 11, 41–2, 45, 47, 92–4, 97, 104, 127, 130–6, 139–40, 153, 166–7, 199–209 (see: ’-m-l) tomb (see: funerary writings) tragedy, Greek 194 Uehlinger, Christoph 179–80 Utanapishti 71–6

wealth 3, 10, 12, 36–9, 42–3, 45, 47, 53, 67, 76, 80, 91–2, 102, 119, 137, 140–1, 154, 157–8, 167, 171, 188, 203, 205, 211 (see also: prosperity) Weeks, Stuart 14 n. 26, 15 n. 29, 17 n. 36, 93 n. 13, 96–7, 110 n. 67, 113 n. 79, 116 n. 84, 128, 130 n. 23, 155, 162, 165 n. 100 Whybray, R. N. 105 n. 55, 124 n. 10, 145, 148 n. 65, 163 n. 92, 204 n. 59 Wirz, Gretel 51, 54 n. 71 wisdom 10, 13, 15–16, 25, 38–41, 80, 85, 91–3, 96–7, 106 n. 58, 107, 112, 123 n. 8, 125–7, 129 n. 21, 130–3, 136 n. 35, 143 n. 56, 145 n. 61, 149–52, 154 n. 79, 162–3, 171–4, 177, 179, 182–3, 185–95, 201 n. 52, 208–15 wise man 10, 38–9, 41–2, 47, 76, 80, 83, 85, 105, 107 n. 60, 108 n. 62, 112, 129–30, 134, 148–9, 156, 162–4, 171–2, 174, 177, 183, 189–94, 203, 207 n. 63, 209 Witte, Markus 203 n. 57 worth (see: significance) Xerxes 81

Van Oorschot, Jürgen 18 n. 37

yesh (‫ש‬ ׁ ‫י‬, “there is”) 90 n. 3, 133 n. 30 yitron (‫יתרון‬, “gain”) 106–7, 119, 136–8, 140, 142 n. 54

Waltke, Bruce 101, 209 n. 68, 211 n. 72

Zeno of Citium 79 n. 5, 84–5, 191