Ecclesiastes is, in my opinion, the most powerfully contemporary work of the Old Testament. The ‘Teacher’, or Qohelet (the commonly used Hebrew name), could find a happy place amongst most Postmodern philosophers. And this potent voice has much to say to a fragmented and disillusioned world.

The central concept of Qohelet’s wisdom is the Hebrew word hebel. Literally meaning ‘vapour’ or ‘breath’, it is the recurring ‘meaningless’ in the NIV translation. There is a lot of debate over what the English word should be to best recreate Qohelet’s sentiment. It is my belief that the alternative renderings ‘absurd’ or ‘pointless’ provide a significantly more helpful translation of hebel than does ‘meaningless’, for one crucial reason.

In Ecclesiastes Qohelet records the results of an experiment. Through highly poetic form a clear empirical method is evident, particularly from 1:12 – 2:26. Life is the subject of this trial and the wisest man its examiner. The conclusion: it doesn’t make sense!

Death is the Teacher’s mighty enemy. What is the point, he exclaims, when all will pass away and be forgotten? (2:15-16) The fact that everything has an end makes all projects of scope, all myths of advancement, absurd.

But, and this is the crux of the matter, meaning is not lost. Far from it. Unless, of course, you found meaning in life through the enduring purpose of things, in which case you need a counselling session with a sympathetic Qohelet. Meaning is found but, wait for it, yes, in eating, drinking and finding enjoyment in work! (2:24; 3:12-13; 5:18-20; 8:15; 9:7).

Jean-François Lyotard’s famous definition of postmodern as ‘incredulity toward metanarratives’ (in other words, a sceptical disbelief of any overarching theory that tries to make rational sense of the world) finds a companion in Qohelet’s wisdom. For it is not meaning that suffers at the hands of the Teacher’s rhetoric, but an over-confidence in our rational faculties. Qohelet’s argument is simply that for the human mind to claim to make sense of life is like claiming to hold onto wind. And why would you chase it when you know you could never grasp it?

Things still matter, though, but only if you get close enough to them. The quality of this commentary, for example, doesn’t matter from a global perspective, so utterly insignificant it is. Yet to me it matters. Close-up in my world many things mean a great deal that have no discernable purpose or long-standing effect. It is our perspective on life that really defines its meaning for us. Even the most ordinary tasks can be full of meaning from the appropriate point of view.

The power of this idea must not be underestimated. Fuelled by a world full of questions, postmodern culture, by and large, has been defined by a thirst for intense experience. Clubs, bars, cinemas, theme parks, extreme sport, niche-fashion, music, video games, even charismatic Christian meetings provide ever more concentrated moments of emotion, be it desire, fear, hope, exhilaration, love. The associated danger is that each intense experience so raises the bar of what is ‘normal’ that a new ‘high’ is required for continued engagement or meaning. By cherishing the very ‘normal’, mundane activities of eating, drinking and finding enjoyment in work Qohelet keeps our feet on the ground. For postmodern spirituality this message may be the paracetemol we need to cure the hang-over of our multi-sensory long night out.

In the current tussle between the certainties and exalted rationality of Enlightenment Modernism and the questioning subtleties of Postmodernism Qohelet is a clear and persuasive advocate for the latter. Not that we should read into Ecclesiastes every postmodern agenda, but it is clear from the book that it is written into a context of over-confidence in rational wisdom (2:12-16). In similar vein the heart of Post-Modern critique is the over-confidence in rational knowledge displayed so unrestrainedly during the Modern era. For the evangelical movement this siding with postmodern ideas can be unnerving, so formed have our doctrines been by the rules and reason of Enlightenment dogma. Yet Ecclesiastes waits for us, patiently, to gently enter its world and see what freedom we find.

(pause)

Questions for reflection:

1. In today’s fast-paced, multi-ethnic, pluralist, technologiculture, what gives your life most meaning?

2. How do you feel about the undermining of things that once seemed certain?

When my garden hedges grow to become a maze;
When my ornaments crack to become impossi-puzzles;
When my tidy house unravels to become a haven for disorder;
I lift my eyes up to this light-polluted sky;
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the author of all things.

(play)

It is, however, the Modern myth of Progress that most spectacularly flounders in the tepid marshland of Qohelet’s mind. The idea that things can carry on getting better and better is ruptured by the harsh reality of death. For Qohelet, death not only kills people, it kills ambition, purpose and self-importance. As Christian readers we approach Ecclesiastes with a different take on death to its author; the hope of resurrection and with it a continuity of purpose; things of this life taking significance beyond death. We could very easily see this belief as a convenient bridge over the Teacher’s quagmire. Face death, however, and a colourless finality looms.

The simple reality is that death will level us all. However much we have invested in the life to come, we will lose everything for a while, subjected to the heavy powerlessness of utter decay. If we think that gung-ho goals and persuasive purpose will save us, it will not. At some point we will all be forced to bow to demise and give up everything we have ever worked for and everyone we have ever loved.

This should make us sad, this should make us deflated and this should make us angry! And when we scream ‘what is the point?!’ then we have heard the Teacher.

Ecclesiastes is the antidote to a life consumed with purpose. It humbles us with our own mortality and reduces our confidence. God will meet us here and offer us his hand, a hand scarred with the marks of death

The positive power of Qohelet’s acknowledgment of death, however, is that it opens up cracks in the very close and immediate forcing us to revisit what has long seemed familiar, ordinary or even boring. Were we so consumed in tales of destiny far beyond our small world that we missed the healing power in what has been under our nose all along?

Reflection:

Can’t stop this train, get off, postpone my journey;
Can’t slow it down, speed up or stand it still.
Can’t force it left, or right, round in a circle
Can’t make it mine, heed me, obey my will.

This train is moving and one day it will crash,
I fear the impact.
This shattered train will someday soon forget me,
I am small, and my impact is smaller.

My father of time; my mother of light, remembers.
Out of nothing she plucks my memory; out of chaos he holds me still.